Mockingbird could understand the suffering part on a deep level, and he could feel the way that Dove could through the connection. The way that they had both gotten through so much to get to this point. And Mockingbird had been honest in the fact that he thought it was all worth it now that he had found his Dove. It gave everything a valid reason, a meaning for happening to him. It was to prepare him for this, to be better for his Dove. He was okay with that notion, because she deserved better than what she had endured before. He wanted to make everything good for her again, to show her that it did not have to always be a life full of suffering. There could be beauty to it, and Mockingbird only knew that now because.. he'd found her.

Watching her was a gift, to be here in her presence and not feel out of place like he normally would. To know that he could speak openly with her, that she would know his feelings and she hadn't yet turned away from him or told him to leave... he was awed and grateful for it, basking in how new and wonderful all these feelings were. The sense of purpose again, of having a reason to keep going. All of his predominate feelings surrounded her. He couldn't shake her from his mind now if he wanted to, though he did not. Mockingbird had never felt so soft towards anyone in his life, never acted quite this way, never been this wanting and allowing of touch until Dove. There were so many new things in this for him.

He smiles as she comes closer, returning the gesture to her before she was speaking and Mockingbird felt a welling of concern through his form. What would she have to confess? Should he be worried? Discomforted by the fact that somethong might be wrong here when all he wanted was to feel right for once in his life? But then she was speaking again, telling him that she was lost. He blinked, thinking of the previous conversation and wondering if he hadn't been careful enough. Or was it another kind of lost? He was trying to suss this one out, thinking it over before he noticed her moving to sit against him again. He felt the urge to press closer to her, to feel the warmth of her at his chest, but he waited, allowing the breeze to distract him for a moment.

Dove had more to say, and Mockingbird listened intently, staring back at her when she gazed at him. A shiver slid down his spine at her touches, and he flicked his tongue at the tip of her nose gently. She was cozy against his chest, and when her head lowered with the keening whimper, Mockingbird nuzzled along her ears in attempt to be soothing. He settled down like the time before, canting his head a little to press the side of his face to the top of her head. He felt warm and wanted and whole like this, as if a part of himself had been missing all this time and now it had been found. Mockingbird never wanted it to end, this feeling. Like he could do anything in the world because he was less broken, and whatever was, seemed to be broken just right for this.