Drawing his fingertips along the planes of Hyth's face, Emet-Selch allows himself this unguarded moment of naked concern, golden eyes so bright and wide as he checks and reaches the weave of his lover's aether. Everything is there, everything is put together right, but-- well, senses are senses regardless of body. Once he concludes his examination, he comes to the truth:

Hyth is just like this, and he was enjoying all of it.

"I don't understand you," he says, and he really means it.