[Settling in that familiar perch across Cy's hips, he looks down, unsurprised yet disappointed to be met with the smooth, unmarked skin of Cy's throat — but at least its permanency is there in his mind, in his memory.]

I didn't know there was another holiday. [Excuse me, this isn't fair. The tables have been turned on him.] I haven't seen anyone celebrating it around the resort.

[Yet any thoughts on cultural differences of other worlds and countries are swept from his mind upon sight of the gift, a handmade box small enough to fit in Cy's hands. His throat closes around the rise of emotion, having received few enough in his life that this is a significant moment — magnified by the person who has decided he is worth enough for such a demonstration of care. His right hand reaches, prying the box open while Cy keeps it held stable.

Any attempt at composure cracks as soon as he lays eyes on the item itself. Vulnerable surprise shines through, and he simply looks at it for a moment, unable to swallow past the gravity of its meaning. A collar. The statement is clear: Ownership.]

Cy... [His voice is rough, feeling the burn that threatens to herald tears. A hard swallows keeps him from falling apart. The careful, delicate touch of fingers grazes across that band of leather and silk.] Will you put it on me?