[Hmm. That's an interesting emotion that rears its ugly head deep in the lizard portion of his selfish dragon brain. He took blood not too long ago, Trevor says offhandedly, and a cold and scaly impulse inside him demands how do you even know that, who was it, that's mine, how dare you, that's mine.

And it's — good that he's a dragon, the rational part of him thinks through a colder sweat, because Sanguis doesn't usually hit him anywhere near that strongly, and if he'd been a wolf in that moment instead of a dragon, he honestly doesn't know whether he would've snarled or not.

It's not like he scares easily. Still, that flash of a reaction — there and gone, like a strike of lightning — brings with it a sobering realization. Maybe he doesn't have Sanguis nearly as figured out as he's grown complacent enough to think he has. He thinks of all the analogies he's heard between Sanguis possessiveness and vampire possessiveness, and thinks of Wallachia burning, and then stops thinking about any of that as quickly as he can.]

What?

[Right. Right. Pay attention, idiot. Fuck is wrong with you.]

...Yeah. I mean...I guess after a while that's just "how it is".

[He's not going to snatch for the mug. He's not. He is going to control the stupid dragon inside him and behave like a normal NOT-DRAGON human being and let Trevor carry the fucking mug because he is NOT STUPID.]

You get into a habit. Don't schedule anything important for those five days. Organize your life around it, or whatever.