"Jedao?" The ninefox is still there, Fives knows Jedao's not gone, but there's a catch in his voice at the lack of an answer nonetheless.

Or maybe it's at the sudden awareness of heat pooling low in his belly, of the realization that he's back at the physiological age when all it had taken was a stray breeze or a stray thought or, Force, sometimes even a punch in the kriffing face to get him hard. When he'd been a giant, seething ball of hormones and all he'd wanted to do was fight or fuck, or sometimes both at once... and he'd been surrounded by brothers who felt exactly the same way.

But right now he's, at least physically, alone, staring at Jedao's shadow and straining to hear his voice as he stills his hand where it's just barely dipped beneath the waistband of his blacks.