For a second, he thinks he might well strike him with those claws, in the feverish grip of the rage that's consumed him. But Anduin doesn't back away, doesn't so much as flinch.

He stares back, as remorse creeps up his throat and threatens to choke out any reconciliatory words.

It had to be real, he wants to explain.

If you're going to take it out on someone, I'm the one you're angry at.

But none of those words come out of his mouth. He just sees pain and smoldering fury in the dragon's face, and his first instinct shouldn't be to reach up and press his palm to his cheek.

It shouldn't be to feel the tension that's been strung taut between them for weeks now finally snap, and leaning forward to press his mouth against his, the air thick with smoke and blood.

But they've never gone about any of this the right way, why start now?