[ Here's the most aggravating thing about all of this– it's like his entire cycle has been knocked off balance. As with everything, Arthur is meticulous about keeping track of his biological urges. It allows him to keep his head in the game, an especially vital thing when dealing in life or death situations. When the alarm could sound at any time and the two of them could be sent out with the rest of the fleet.

He'd watched himself in the New Republic fleet and applied that same restraint here, if not moreso. By now, it should be old hat, recognizing the signs and ensuring he had time to either take a suppressant or hole himself up for a few days while it passed.

Unfortunately, something about being around Poe has his entire system twigged out, at least a week early, and the longer the two of them stand in close proximity, the worse the onset. Arthur can feel everything ramping up, that itchiness under his skin, how everything seems to go into hyper focus. ]

With all due respect, you think I'd hold my tongue if it was?

[ After all, he's never held his opinion back before, preferring to let someone know exactly how he felt about something.

Shifting from one foot to another, clearly in some kind of discomfort, he takes one step closer to Poe, simultaneously regretting the decision and enjoying it. Even under the flight suit, he can pick out his distinct scent, something that has him swallowing with a dry click. ]

Am I dismissed? Because I'd rather keep myself from doing anything embarrassing.