"What?" Flynn blinked, caught with a deer in headlights expression, then quickly brought his hands up. "No! I don't do that. I don't do the thing, I, the blood bags? I have them here. But I don't have to eat. I mean, I do have to eat, but I don't know if... you know."

He waved his hand around, trying to find the right words to say. Or rather, finding different words to say for something that was just so difficult to talk about. Was there a way to make it sound better than it was?

"It's just... it's not nice and I just don't know if the wolf is going to like it...?"

Or if you are. The last day had been surprisingly nice and Flynn found that he suddenly hated the idea of a look of disgust or apprehension on Peter's face.