FINALLY replying to this a month and a bit late, don’t say i never treat you right <3

When Sunveins tapped on his shoulder, Doe looked around with a venomous glower on his face — he’d become private since returning to SummerClan and now, sitting outside the nursery, he didn’t like to be interrupted. But, a second later, it changed into the picture of boyish, cheerful warmth and he gave her a sweet-looking little grin. Whatever his feelings for Foxstar, he had no ill will towards Sunveins — he knew it must have been a difficult thing, to have stepped up into the role of medicine cat with no proper guidance, and he felt nothing but a sort of mollycoddling, near-patronising sympathy for her, like she was made of glass. But she was resilient, too; he knew that. Doefreckle. “Mm,” he hummed in greeting, prompting her to go on now that she had his attention. His eyes had melted from prickly and withdrawn to gentle. Open. “It has a bit,” he agreed around that smile; it was probably the nicest anyone had seen him act with someone that wasn’t Shadedsun since his return. “I’d say longer than I would have liked, but it wasn’t all bad.” Plus, he’d already started scouting out the cathedral for a certain proposal — that certainly wasn’t bad. Then his brows quirked up. “Herb-hunting?” he echoed, caught off guard. They’d gone herb-hunting once before, during the NightClan occupation, when he’d shared a little moment of sameness with the russet tabby Guard that hadn’t lasted. Sunveins had only been an apprentice then. “You don’t have a medicine cat apprentice for that?” he ventured, brows pushed together in an agonised sort of friendliness, letting out a soft little laugh and ducking his head forward slightly like he was saying I’m trying to get out of this as nicely as I can. “Cypresspaw, isn’t it? Is he busy?”

And then he realised — and self-awareness wasn’t Doe’s forte — that he was being ungrateful. And ‘ungrateful’ was something he was trying to be less of. So, relaxing his brows and spreading a softer smile on his face, he let out a breath — a bit too relenting — and forced his shoulders to relax from where they’d tensed; he was acquiescing. “I suppose I do need to get out of camp. I’ve hardly been out since I came back — actually, have I been out?” He turned his head away slightly and tipped it back, like he was trying to think. His mouth moved slightly. “No, do you know what, I don’t think I have.” He looked down with such devastated shock at Sunveins while he said it. Aside from meeting Hywel once or twice, he hadn’t been out of camp since returning — and that had always been at night, a very there-and-back, no time for sightseeing sort of thing. Doe let out a sheepish sort of laugh, drawing his broken paw through the dust like he felt the need to explain, shoulders hunching up. “My daughter’s kits have been pretty,” he made a pushing gesture with his paw and blew out his cheeks, laughing again a second later like he was embarrassed; it somehow meant full-on, life-consuming, impossible to escape from. He supposed she knew the vague story. It still made him sound and feel horribly old, even if he wasn’t. But he was surprised by how happy he was in his new, low-stakes role, especially since he’d spent so much of his life terrified of commitment and responsibility and being tied down; and now here he was, with kits he had to raise and a planned proposal. “Anyway, yes,” he gave her another smile and a little dip of his head, eyes on hers, all warm charm, “a patrol would be nice.” It was clear he was still really just doing it for her, but since Doe rarely did things for others, that was a good thing. A step forward.

He stood and began to limp towards the camp entrance, stopping a moment later to let her fall in beside him. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to say — your name is so pretty. Usually I’m, like, really awful about names — I wasn’t there when my daughter got hers and, oh my gosh, I can’t stand it.” He let out a flustered burst of laughter, like it was such a relief to finally get it off his chest. He stopped limping briefly to touch his paw to his mouth, like he was horrified by his own brutal honesty (he wasn’t), before doing a few hurried limps to catch up again. “It’s pretty— no, it’s pretty. It is. It’s just… not the name I would’ve given her.” He cast Sunveins a sheepish little grin; it was far sweeter than he really was, and he wasn’t sorry for his opinion about his daughter’s name. “Anyway, no, your name. It’s gorgeous. Sunstar was always good with names…” His gaze drifted away, guilty and sorrowful and full of lack of closure, despite their foray together.