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myelocin · 3 years ago

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Postcards From: Kanazawa | Tsukishima Kei

Synopsis: The fear that comes with love is the realization that it isn't always just light. Love, rediscovered as both the fear and the drive that depicts the push and pull of whether it's worth it to say "I do," if the unknown is what's to come beyond the vow. In which it's a week until the wedding, and the both of you return to Kanazawa--to day one--as strangers.

Characters: Tsukishima Kei

Genre/Tags: Engagement!AU, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending | WC: 10,200+

A/N: this is a piece commed by @tsukishumai ;w; tq for trusting me w u and ur bb boi ily to the moon n back

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commissions | ko-fi

The illusion of the soul is the false belief that love must always—always—be just light.

The truth is, it’s not. Love is many things. Primarily, love begins from desire. Then, that desire seeps into a drive that pushes you to keep wanting. Then finally, when it’s seeped in through the skin deep enough, love pools in the soul.

Love is bound to be raw at the very core. A desire. To say, “I want you,” and think it holds as much credibility as “I love you.” To look at what you know is only the tendrils of something at the very most, and trick yourself into thinking that it’s enough. A beating heart—bloody red. The line just barely hanging in-between what’s selfish and selfless, before it ultimately sways and becomes selfish sometimes.

Sometimes, being right now, Tsukishima thinks.

Sandwiched in-between you to the left, and Yamaguchi to his right, he finds his eyes flickering towards the clock a lot more often than he would have liked. Akaashi, who sat across from his seat on the table, was the first to catch on.

He quirked a brow, presumably in question earlier, and mouthed the question if he was in a rush. Tsukishima’s never been known for having too many words, but because Akaashi pauses and insists to relieve his question with an answer, he shrugs, waving him off and mouthing back that he’s alright.

“So,” Bokuto starts, his voice already slipping into somewhat of a slur. “How’s it feel to be the first to pop the question?”

You laugh, finding amusement in the man’s enthusiasm. Turning to Tsukishima, you sit and wait, expectant of a reaction.

In response, he just shrugs, but a smile breaks through and redefines the nonchalance of his expression anyway. Raising the glass to his lips, he takes a quick sip before answering smugly, “It’s nice to finally settle down. You should try it sometimes.”

Bokuto waves him off, cheeks flushed and eyes already drooping from the inebriation. “Nah,” he slurs, shaking his head. The exaggeration warrants a quick laugh from Sugawara, who sits on the other side, nursing his own drink. Continuing, Bokuto huffs and takes a slight pause before he connects the last of what he says with, “—getting married is nice and all, but I don’t know, man,” he laughs. “Just feels like I’ll end up hitting a fucking blank space after I do or whatever. Not my vibe.”

Visibly, Tsukishima shifts a little, the smile on his face maintained but the lighthearted energy that earlier fueled it just slightly more drained now.

From the corner of your eye, you notice it. Though, Akaashi’s the one who gives him a pointed stare, to which the former simply ignores.

“But—“ Bokuto continues, as if trying to remedy the cracked part of the atmosphere that isn’t even visible in the first place—“If that’s your thing, then I’m obviously not going to judge you for that.”

Tsukishima responds by his silence. Bokuto, with his head still warped around the heavy state of his inebriation, doesn’t do so much other than sip a little more of his barely filled glass of beer, Tsukishima’s apathetic expression just a blur in his eyes now.

“You seem happy, though,” Bokuto notes, then raises his glass towards you.

Blinking at being the sudden subject of his interest, you raise your own glass of water. The ice inside shifts, clinking against the sides of the glass, and slowly, Tsukishima watches. There’s familiarity in the way it moves down: trickling slow like the patience inside him that’s suddenly running by the clock. His palms just barely gripping the utensils, clammy. While his head, still whirs at Bokuto’s halfhearted words.

It’s halfhearted, he reminds himself.

The thought of hitting a plateau after “I do,” in a way is terrifying.

But he is happy, right?

The way his palms respond solely through tensing suddenly spikes the fear that maybe his ring will slip. So he looks at you, trying to find an anchor to keep the love he pushes to stay intertwined with his truth afloat as he responds, “Of course I am. I’m happy.”

You look back at him, eye to eye, though you find something waver just for a split second— wondering if there’s credibility in the saying that gold will always deliver truth.

The rest of the night flows easy.

Almost naturally, he’s quick to wave off Bokuto’s invite for more drinks at the bar just down the street, tugging your interlaced hands towards the parking lot as soon as the group found its way to the exit.

“You know he probably just wanted more company,” you laugh. Thirty minutes after making it back home, instead of jumping straight into the shower and getting ready for the night routine, you instead take out the suitcase and take your place, seated on the floor in the living room.

“We needed to pack,” you hear him respond, his voice a little distant from the bedroom down the hall.

You shrug. “Yeah, but we could have made time.”

“Sometimes we can’t just make things, if we don’t have any to make it with in the first place,” he sighs.

You chuckle. Perhaps it’s just one of those nights again. In the ten years you’ve known Tsukishima Kei, you found that he had a tendency to become a multitude of things.

A stranger, at the start, because that’s where every connection begins. The neighbor who lived with his grandfather across the street from your childhood home. Kanazawa was a long way from Sendai, but before his parents had whisked him off to Miyagi some years later, he had been the friend that oftentimes spent his afternoons with you.

Strawberry cake and tiny sips of boxed juice from the convenient store down the street, and not much conversation exchanged between the both of you. He’d tell you about the things on his grandfather’s old encyclopedia, and you’d listen with rapt attention, finding it nice how he seemed to carry a little bit of the stars the more his eyes gleamed. He just talked about dinosaurs, you remember. At ten, Tsukishima had always been a wonderer.

Then he moved.

From the friend who told you stories and shared his juice boxes with you under that tree, to the occasional email that would pop up on your phone, when you were in highschool and weaving your way in and out of pathways and dead-ends. Miyagi was a little like Kanazawa, he said. There was a lot of quiet in the two cities. His email would come once a week, then twice when you reckon he felt a little lonely.

You’d reply with the same kind of enthusiasm as he had established, though you still couldn’t deny the fact that the notification with his name on it never failed to have you smiling—at least just a little bit. At fifteen, Tsukishima was far from a stranger, but he was also falling just a little short in making it to the halfway mark of being a friend too.

The once-a-week emails were welcome, none the less. It stayed like that, until once a week turned into twice. Though most were just the customary how-are-yous and obligatory holiday greetings once the seasons came and went, one year it turned into emails about the little nothings.

‘I had strawberry cake today,’ it once read. ‘The one we used to share tasted sweeter.’

‘I joined the volleyball team.’

‘Winter here is a little colder. I remember your puffy green jacket.’

‘I don’t know if you want to know…or if I should tell you...but our team won, and we’re going to nationals.’

Somehow, you were managed to be convinced by one of your friends that same week to travel with your own highschool’s volleyball team to assist in the preparation for nationals in Tokyo. It was just a coincidence, you used to reason. You were there, and so was he. There was a hundred other courts his team could have played at, and your priority was assisting your own team in what they needed.

But still, you couldn’t help but wave back and cheer the loudest from your stands when he perfected the block and scored the winning point for the first set.

It was then, where you realized that perhaps Tsukishima Kei wouldn’t just be a stranger.

Kanazawa to Miyagi, but somehow Tokyo became the in-between. Childhood friends to the sort-of friends from the other ends of the country sharing a few scattered memories in slices of strawberry shortcake and random dinosaur trivia from an old man’s outdated encyclopedia.

He was the first to approach you after that match. A hand held out to shake, perhaps to commemorate the evident shift between strangers to friends—but it was nice.

Because after that, friends turned into something more.

Maybe Tokyo really was the middle ground. After you graduated and moved out of your respective cities, Tokyo became the third place of hello.

Then things just slipped into place. He was here, and so were you. He had plans to stay, and you just signed the contract that bound you to the city for the next two and a half years. The apartment right down the hall from yours was recently vacated, and he was looking for a place to stay.

His new work place, coincidentally enough, was just a stop away from the train station closest to your place.

You had always doubted the presence of serendipity and everything that had to dictate with the celestial control of fate, but the ease that came with the relief of him signing the lease the very next week almost seemed to validate what had been just a farfetched something.

From strangers, to friends, to lovers, then to this:

Ten years later, a ring on your finger, and an I do, bound to be said just a little over seven days from now.

Tokyo was kind to the both of you. His mother’s close enough to visit on the weekends, while Kanazawa was just a shinkansen away from Tokyo station. A new apartment with enough space for two, plus maybe an extra, and a bakery right down the street with the best strawberry shortcake made fresh every day.

The wedding’s just a week away. His grandfather, still living in Kanazawa was meant to travel with Akiteru to Tokyo last week, but because plans changed, the both of you were instead tasked with going there yourselves to travel with him. While Tsukishima hesitated, you didn’t. Yes was easy to say in a situation like this. Though your parents had moved to Tokyo some years ago, you were aware that his grandfather didn’t.

The house across the street was still his, while the one you grew up in just now became a summer home your family would frequent to when Tokyo became too swarmed with tourists.

You look at the half-filled contents of the suit case on the floor in front of you. The right side’s meant to hold your clothes, while the left was left bare for Tsukishima’s. You turn and look at him.

“You can just grab the stuff you need me to bring for you and I’ll fold it in. We should probably catch the first train tomorrow if we wanna get there before sundown.”

What comes as a reply is only prolonged silence.

You let what he started stay for a little, but because you had never been the type to be fond in gouging out answers from the blank spaces, you sigh, and break the impending silence before it could get a chance to even settle. “You’re quiet again, Kei.”

When he makes it to the living room, instead of coming back out with a stack of clothes, he stands by the wall with his hands in his pocket. His eyes shift from wall to wall, but skip over you.

Knowing that you’ll just prompt another conversation again the more he keeps his silence, he sighs, swallowing the hesitation and clinging onto the bits of courage that floats by him in the moment. Grasping at the very tips of it, he forces the words out of his mouth. “Are you really coming with me?”

You raise a brow. “Back to Kanazawa? Of course. I’m from there too, you know. Plus I haven’t seen Grandpa in a while.”

He shifts his gaze to the side, thankful for the blur that came with forgetting to slip on his glasses. He’s always had a tendency to give in the moment he looks at you, so the vagueness in the blur was a welcome change. “It’s just for a week,” he mutters. “I think I’ll handle the trip just fine.”

“Plus,” he adds, the hike in the tone of his voice giving away his panic. “—I heard there was a problem with the florists? Maybe one of us needs to go in and fix it ourselves just in case.”

In the ten years you’ve known him, you’ve always considered it a given that you’ve well perceived him by now. In front of you, he’s stammering. While Tsukishima has never been the face to poise and perfection—because at the end of the day he still is just a boy—you knew he only stammered when he was nervous.

Perhaps trying to manipulate the situation through a wordless exchange was his way of doing so. In your head, you chuckle. Tsukishima Kei is many things, and is witty when it counts—but he could never be blunt when it came to the things he was unsure of.

You try to gouge out his truth. Speaking straight to the point, you let him know that there’s no purpose in trying to skirt around. You turn to him, his sweater half folded on your lap. “You know I could have believed what you just said, but,” you pause, giving him a pointed look, “—you’re not even looking at me.”

“Is this about what Bokuto said earlier?”

The way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly, confirms your suspicions that that it is about that, before he can muster up the courage to even say it. “Tell me,” you initiate. You’ve never been afraid to speak what needs to be said. “What’s got you so afraid?”

Once more, he hopes for the silence to speak for him. And like before—it doesn’t. Silence was never meant to fill in the blanks. What it did, rather, is add three seconds more on the clock that’s ticking regardless. Tsukishima bets on a timed clock to speak for him, and because you’ve never been the type to shrink at the presence of raw truth, you huff and poke into what obviously hits for him just a little deeper.

“You’re afraid we’ll hit a blank space after we get married, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t look away, but little by little, his body language starts slipping bits and pieces of the truth you’ve already long sensed. “I think I just need to think this through.”

“What?” you scoff. “You planned to go to Kanazawa by yourself for a week to what? Soul search? To decide if you even wanna marry me?”

“I’m sor—“

“That’s what you’re not supposed to say,” you interrupt him. “You don’t say you’re sorry for how you’re feeling, because you’re allowed to feel it how it is, but shit, Kei,” you exhale, pausing to suck in a quick breath. “You couldn’t have just said this earlier?”

He looks away again, the guilt evident on his features. “You’re mad.”

“Do you blame me?”

This time, he turns to you. “No,” he murmurs. “I don’t, but I’m gonna be blunt here—“

“—first time—“

He gives you a pointed look, but in the moment, you don’t really have much in you to care too much.

“I think I need space to clear my head.”

“Sounds like you’re contemplating on whether you wanna stay with me or not,” you respond. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

Tsukishima’s steady, this time. “Of course I wanna stay with you.”

“But,” you counter. “You aren’t sure if you want to marry me.”

He looks away. “What if—we hit a plateau after.”

“That’s still not an excuse to back out before we even try, Kei,” comes your reasoning.

“You’re right,” he sighs. “It’s not.”

Then it’s you, who shrugs this time, giving in a little and throwing him what you hope he doesn’t see as a lifeline. There’s no comfort found in knowing that an out is a means of mercy when it comes to love. Why should there even be an out?

You settle for just cracking the door open instead. Though it was never locked, the fact that it remained close must have been understood differently by him.

“Let’s go back to Kanazawa separately, then,” you propose. The open suitcase in front of you still has the right half filled with his half folded clothes, so you reach in, taking it out one by one. “You stay with your grandfather and I’ll stay at my parent’s house.”

Tsukishima raises a concern. “He’ll wonder why we aren’t staying together.”

In response, you shrug. “Just make something up then.”

“Is this just a passive aggressive way to say you’re mad at me?”

You scoff. “When have I ever been passive aggressive, Kei? I’ve said shit as it is since day one.”

He flinches, maybe because of what you said or the tone of the deliverance, but either way, you decide you can’t give much of a shit. It’s a given that you’re angry, but because being hurt just paves the path to silence more than lashing out, it’s not much of a surprise that you probably look deflated in front of him.

“What I’m saying is,” you explain. “Let’s go back to Kanazawa as strangers. Do what you gotta do, however you’ve gotta do it to get your head sorted out, and then we’ll talk. I’m not dancing around in circles with you on this. Either we get married next week, or we don’t.”

He panics. “I don’t want to lose you—“

“You’re already talking like you’ve decided that you won’t be at the other end of that aisle, Kei.”

Words feel lacking all of a sudden, so you pause. The absence of the split second brevity has Tsukishima standing still, his breath held, throat dry.

But like always, clarity seems to weave its way through the cracks in the room and find you first. “Yes or no isn’t easy to decide between,” you finally mutter. Eyes to the half folded sweaters you meant to tuck into the other half of the suitcase, you realize that you’ll need to switch to a smaller trolley now because you won’t be needing this much space anyway. “I don’t know what I should tell you, because I don’t know that we’d be having a possible fallout a week before the wedding. But at the same time—I don’t want to say you’re despicable for feeling like that, Kei. It just—“

“—fucking sucks,” you sigh.

“If you feel like you need a week to figure whatever this shit is, then okay,” you nod. “Okay. Let’s be strangers for a week and by the time we’re back in Tokyo, you give me a yes or no and be fucking blunt with it.”

Later that night when you turn your back against him and face the wall, his whisper breaks through the quiet. “Why are you still patient with me about this? You could have just left me.”

You shift, laying on your back and sighing to the makeshift glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling of your room. “Because I love you,” you sigh. “Loving someone just means you have to exhaust every other option before even thinking of throwing in the towel.”

He sleeps that night, feeling heavy.

He woke up later that morning, feeling the same too.

In a sense, things admittedly started weird. You woke up before he did this time, when he usually would be the one trying to be quiet when he slipped out of bed. Even though early mornings had never been a thing for the both of you, there was still something unpleasant in waking up to an empty bed.

The sheets on your side were done, and your phone that usually would be pinging with email notifications by now wasn’t there.

It’s odd, he thinks. While he agreed to be strangers for a week, the walk to the train station was the same. Silence was normal, but the five extra inches that added to the distance between the both of you wasn’t. You nodded his way when he pointed at the shinkansen’s direction, and wordlessly would hand him his usual brew when you stopped at the coffee shop just before going in.

Seated beside you in the train, he tries to ignore the urge to poke you on the side and make conversation. Words have always come easy when it came to moments with you, he noticed.

Tsukishima’s aware that he’s always been dubbed as the kind of person who never preferred to say too much, and while that was true—to an extent—he realizes that there is some truth to the saying that silence kills.

You’re seated beside him on the train, eyes to your phone, and earbuds in place. He resorts to just staring at you through his peripherals, caught in between wanting to satiate the want to talk to you by breaking the silence, or keeping it as is.

This is where fear grips him a little tighter. The deal was, as you had pointed out just last night, that the both of you would move through the week pretending to be strangers again. You’d stay on your side of the street, while he stayed in his.

It’s a given that his grandfather’s bound to ask about you, and so in the event that it does happen, you would just spend a few hours with them and pretend like everything was fine.

You made it clear that you’d try to exhaust all the options before resorting to that, though. And it’s easy, he thinks, doing so. It doesn’t take much to fake a phone call from work or a last minute meeting with an old friend that wouldn’t be able to make it to the city for the supposed wedding.

The lines were drawn, and the outline of what was to be expected in the next week was made clear.

He thinks of what you said before you slept. Love, as that one drive that has you exhausting all your options before even thinking of quitting. It’s fair, he thinks. You’ve always been the rational thinker in the relationship.

But then again, he doesn’t doubt your hurt either. A week was lengthy, he realizes, and to act as strangers again just a week before the wedding was a different kind of test when it came to your patience.

Still, he owes you truth.

You’ve always told him to lay things bare, and even though what’s bare is ugly, because love always pushes to try—he stays, doing just that.

Undoubtedly, this is a jump. There’s no question in the fact that the possibility of reaching the peak and coming face to face with a plateau scares him. But still, his thoughts counter, to face a drop that doesn’t guarantee a landing somehow terrifies him even more.

The sound of your phone vibrating snaps him out of his thoughts. Before you answer it, he snags a look of the name written on the screen—Akiteru’s.

Tsukishima sighs, shooting you a cautious stare as you pick up the phone and turn to him.

The tone of your voice is easy, though you look at him, unbothered. “Hey,” you answer. “Just got in the train, so Kei should be calling you in about three hours when we’re there.”

In comes a pause, before you chuckle a little. Unconsciously, Tsukishima scooches in, curious. But before he could get a chance to lean in too close, you pull away a little, looking at him curiously, an eyebrow raised. “I meant to tell you,” he hears you say, and as you look at him, he chooses to hold your stare.

“Kei and I will be staying separately for the week.”

Beside you, he shifts, fighting the urge to turn away and face forward.

Assuming that your flinch afterwards was only a response to what he’s only certain is Akiteru’s sudden outburst, the prior nervousness of his stare shifts into concern. Understanding the are-you-okay that he mouths, you wave him off. “We’re fine,” you laugh. “I just miss staying at the house that’s all, and I’m pretty sure Kei wants to spend quality time with his grandfather.”

You stay silent after that, which truth be told, doesn’t exactly help with his nerves.

“He’s right next to me,” you add. “We’re fine, I swear. Just wanna enjoy Kanazawa in different ways that’s all.”

To put it bluntly, the first day is awkward.

His grandfather’s waiting from outside the gate the second you make it to that familiar street. Nothing much has changed, the two of you notice. The gate’s rusted a little by the edges, and the door’s still got the same chip on the left side he always said he’d take a look at.

“Heard they were cutting down that tree,” his grandfather says, when it’s a little over three hours later and you’re all seated at a local restaurant for dinner. His old friend owned the place, he explained. Low lights, home cooked meals, and a family run business you vaguely remember your father talking about when you were young.

Tsukishima pauses, eyebrows rising in question. “What do you mean that tree?”

“The one you used to run off to,” he laughs.

Elbowing him, you nod towards his grandfather before pointing out, “We met by that tree, you know.”

His grandfather’s quick to responding, laughing at Tsukishima’s perplexed expression. “Seems like your grandfather’s memory is doing better these days than you, boy.”

You suppose that at the end of the day, it shouldn’t have been a big deal that he forgot. You’ve never been one to dwell too deep within the symbolic little nothings that’s bound to come with life. Rationally speaking, maybe you’re just a little miffed because of what he said the night before. And maybe that’s the reason why you’re taking this a little harsher than you would have on a normal day.

But strangers, you remember. Strangers wouldn’t care if the other forgot.

So with that, you shrug. You take another spoonful of the food in front of you and shift your body just slightly to the left—to which Tsukishima took noticed—and leaned forward. Without even saying much, his grandfather already has his attention on you, the smile on his face kind.

He’s always been kind, you remember. With a smile, you choose to keep the peace in the room at bay, willing yourself to ignore Tsukishima’s stare boring holes into the side of your head from beside you.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t remember a lot of people stop by that tree,” you comment, as you take a step into nostalgia.

His grandfather shrugs, absentmindedly nodding his head as he mulls over your word through a spoonful of broth. “It was in the middle of a residential area. Bound to get taken down if you ask me. People nowadays need a place to park.”

This time, you really feel his stare beside you almost intensify. Truth is, you can make sense of what you know he only fears. The point in life was to brave through the unfamiliar to establish a consistency in familiar grounds. To continuously rise from day one, only to hit the peak and possibly come face to face with a plateau instead of something greater than even the height of all highs—you admit that it’s terrifying.

The plateau, that perhaps works sort of like that tree.

It’s been there, so here it still is.

You’ve both been at that tree—at the start—so here you both still are. Side by side back in Kanazawa, sharing a meal like I do, isn’t hanging on the line.

His grandfather’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

Tsukishima’s voice is quick to cut into the conversation, his voice smooth. “She just doesn’t wanna lose it.”

You nod along to his lie, undecided with how to feel in regards to how smooth he seemed to have delivered his lie.

“You know, now that I think about it, it’s good that they’re cutting down that tree.”

Tsukishima speaks his mind this time. “Last week, you said you were looking forward to coming back home so you could visit that tree again.”

You don’t look at him when you answer. “I know, but your grandfather has a point. When things change, what else can you do but get rid of it?”

“Oh nothing’s changed,” he laughs across you. “Even before the two of you were born, people would always talk about how it’s just there when the space could have been used for parking.”

“Then why put off cutting it down this long?”

“Who knows,” he laughs. There’s an unfound wisdom in his eyes that read through your soul when he looks at you. “Maybe cutting down what people already see as a permanent fixture will do more harm than good in the long run.”

“Even if it doesn’t contribute anything?”

Tsukishima thinks of his fear, then of the plateau.

Through the rim of the glass, he keeps a steady eye on his grandfather, breath held as the anticipation for his words begin to really settle.

“People these days just see what’s the most obvious from the surface and consider it as the only fault then run with it. Maybe it’s not the tree,” he laughs. “Maybe it’s just the people. They want convenience so they cut off everything around them instead of adjusting to it.”

The food tastes bland in his mouth, suddenly.

“Goes to show how selfish people can get sometimes,” his grandfather finishes, as an afterthought. “A shame, really. That old tree’s done nothing but give people shade.”

At the end of the day, you really had to give his grandfather a lot more credit than what was due.

The second and third day was awkward. Even though you tried to stay inside for most of your day, venturing outside and meeting up with old friends was inevitable. And really, you should have remembered that he often started his day with a couple laps walked around the block.

On day two, he hinted that he could sense something was off. Tsukishima had been a lot more silent lately, he pointed out. First, as just a passing comment, then by the third time he’d bring it up and wouldn’t get too much of a response out of you, there came more emphasis to what he says.

He passed by the tree every time you’d round the street too. It occurs to you that passing through it was a shortcut, and contradicted his prior statements to having a route that catered towards the long way home, but you chose to not comment much about it.

The second day was curiosity, and you figured that you could live at least just a week with it.

The third day, on the other hand, gave you a little more trouble than you had bargained for.

You’re on your way home from an old friend’s house, and ironically enough, both Tsukishima and his grandfather are out by their front door, tending to the weeds of a garden that doesn’t even look remotely grown.

Tsukishima’s the first to look at you.

Stubborn, and frankly intent on upholding your end of the deal in staying strangers, you attempt to wave them off with a passing greeting as you look through your bag, feeling around for the keys to the gate.

“You don’t have to think of an excuse,” you hear him say. “He’s back inside now. It’s just you and me here.”

It’s funny how ever since you’ve made it back to Kanazawa, he’s been the one to break the silence a lot more lately.

You don’t turn. Strangers, you think. The deal was to pretend the other was a stranger.

“Cam,” he calls out again, the desperation in his voice inching more and more out of its shell. “I’m really sorry.”

You turn around, the buried anger getting the best of you in the moment. “You know the more you say that, the more convinced I am that I should just give you back your ring right now and go back to Tokyo alone. You talk like the only thing you’re sure of is the fact that you won’t be marrying me next week, Kei.”

The moment you shift your gaze from the ground to his eyes, a part of you aches at the idea that you may have to bid farewell to gold. Swallowing down the mass of emotions you hope isn’t entirely just made of anger, you steady yourself and sigh.

It hits you that it’s been a long day.

“It’s just you and me here,” you repeat, slowly. There’s a flutter in your heart that tells you it’s still love that stares back when you look at him. “Then why do you feel so far away, Kei?”

He doesn’t sleep that night.

Day three of being strangers, but he hasn’t had anything figured out. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but what only grew was the silence. The distance is really just a few feet away—across the street and through the leaves of that tree that your father would always say he’d get to.

The light from your room is still turned on, though the curtains are drawn.

8PM and it’s early. 8PM, and on a usual day, you’d usually be seated beside him in your Tokyo apartment’s living room, mulling over the nothings that went on in your day.

It’s nice to talk about the rest of the world as if all they’re meant to be is just a passing blur in the background, he thinks. He’s never been much for words, but you were.

Then again, you had always been one for truth.

Reality is, he knows he could always swallow his doubts, walk across the street, cover the distance, and apologize to you with an I’m sorry, that covers all that needs to be addressed in a standard apology. Life can be lived as easy as that. You swallow your own thoughts, adhere to what they say needs to be done in the way they tell you how to do so, and be done with it.

But he knows you just as well as he knows himself.

You’d call him a coward—and truth be told, he’ll think the same.

Present wise—he does think he is a coward.

Tsukishima sighs, knowing that blinking at your closed curtain visible from his window won’t do much of a difference. Begrudgingly, he sits up, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table.

The streets around the neighborhood are quiet this time of night. The perks about living away from the city was the silence, he thinks. As soon as he tugs on a sweater, he makes his way downstairs, carefully, so he doesn’t stir his grandfather he presumes is sleeping on the room across the hall.

He exhales, relieved at the barely audible creak the door clicks to as soon as he shuts it and turns the lock from the outside. The keys, jingling in his pockets, is the only sound that rings in the quiet.

It isn’t lonely, but it isn’t comfortable either.

Kanazawa has always been a town he’s considered as a piece of constant that’s meant to drift inbetween.

Neither like Tokyo or the towns by the outskirts of Okinawa, it stays as is. Twenty years ago, the crack on the sidewalk was there, and now, twenty years later, it remains.

There’s comfort in recognizing constants, Tsukishima admits. The tree just down this road, the crack on the asphalt, and the fact that your room is still the second window to the left visible from his on the second floor.

When he was younger, he remembers he often would stand under your window, caught in between wanting to knock on your door and ask permission from your parents if you could accompany him for the afternoon, or just wait around until you’d come down yourself.

While he left a lot of things on chance, the conscious choice to stay rooted in the spot by your window remained constant.

The gravel under his feet crackle everytime he’d take a step. The moon’s hazy behind the clouds tonight, he muses. While you’d wish for the stars, he found a temporary safety in the midnight clouds. A timelessness felt when it’s midnight, stays.

Before he turns to the corner that would lead home, he stops midway—recognizing the tree from a good few meters away.

There’s a sense of feeling an urgency to let something go, the more he stares at it. Nearing autumn, the colors start to change, and just like that, he’s reminded of the impermanence in life.

As the earth eventually changes throughout the years, he fears that perhaps in love—it would too.

“You’re out late,” is the first thing Tsukishima hears as soon as he enters the room.

From the genkan, he peers over the shelf, noticing the lights from the kitchen is what floods into the dim living room. Slipping on his house slippers and making his way around the corner, Tsukishima gets a feel of the warmth that’s radiating from the familiarity of the space.

After his grandmother had passed, his grandfather stayed in Kanazawa. Though his mother often expressed her desire for him to move with the rest of the family in Tokyo, every time, he’d only wave them off and say that there’s too much rooted here for him to just up and leave.

Walking into the kitchen, his grandfather’s the first to raise a mug his way and offer a smile. “I’d ask you if everything’s fine, but I think I’ll just wait around and see if you’re even willing to tell me.”

Tsukishima chuckles airily. “Sounds like you wanna ask anyway.”

He takes a slow sip. “Okay then,” he nods, smiling like he’s just struck a deal. “First question is—are you okay?”

In response, Tsukishima smiles, pulling the chair and taking the seat across his. He nods. “’Course I am.”

His grandfather’s eyes don’t leave him. “You’re not wearing the ring, and neither is Cam.”

Suddenly feeling like he’s caught in between a blocked exit and the spotlight, Tsukishima freezes, but wills himself not to look away. “Just needed some space, that’s all.”

“To think?”

He sighs. “To reconsider.”

“Ahh,” the older man sighs. “Cold feet. Pretty normal, if you ask me.”

He raises a brow in question. “It’s normal?”

“To be nervous, yeah,” his grandfather laughs. “But looks like it’s a different case for you.”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond, his eyes fixated towards a spot on the wall that feeds more into the blank space of his thoughts than anything more.

“You’re afraid,” Tsukishima hears, and as soon as the retaliation he tries to string together at the very last minute don’t come—he realizes the core of all the chaos in his head is meant to be just like that—

Blank.

“What are you so afraid of, boy?”

In the silence, he lets the rawness of his truth slowly spill. “What if I hit a plateau after this?”

His grandfather wastes no second in countering. “How is it life if we just keep climbing? What’s the point in doing all that work if we never get rest?”

Tsukishima laughs. “You know, by that logic it can just go the other way around too.”

He settles in his seat, trying to appreciate the silence instead of looking for company in the noise, before he adds, “What if we decide we don’t love each other anymore?”

“That’s not all there is to a plateau,” he laughs. “It’s a valid fear, but being afraid isn’t all there is after you marry someone.”

“Then what’s there?”

With a smile, his grandfather leans back, raises the mug to his lips, and relaxes—his eyes looking fondly at a faded photograph hung beside the wall clock. “Everyday,” he answers. “What’s there after I do is just everyday.”

Sensing that his grandfather means to say more, he chooses to retain his silence. Sighing softly, his grandfather keeps his smile steady as he continues to speak. “Everyday you wake up. You roll over in bed, you think about the checklist you do to consider a day done, then you come home, eat a meal, rest a little and start the whole day over the next day. Everyday’s like that.”

He shifts, leaning forward with his arms crossed supporting his weight on the table as he eyes his grandson with a smile. “Best part is, you can do all that with someone you love. Makes the boring part of the plateau a lot more bearable.”

“You wake up with them and complain about how boring the rest of your day will be, then come home and eat a meal with them. Wash the dishes, share the silence, and just go to bed knowing you’ll wake up with somebody.”

The smile on his face is honest, then he shrugs. “It’s nice, though. The plateau after you hit a certain point in life is just inevitable, Kei. You can either complain about life alone or complain about it with somebody. At least there will be two pairs of slippers by the genkan waiting for you everytime you come home. You’ll say you’ve made it home and someone will greet you. You’ll roll over in bed at 2am and someone will be there with you. The point of climbing in life is to get somewhere, not ascend past the norm.”

Tsukishima stays quiet, pondering over the truth in his grandfather’s words. “So life’s just meant to stay in the middle?” he asks, slowly coming into terms with his grandfather’s redefinition of the plateau. “Life’s meant to find a consistency in everyday,” he corrects.

A few moments pass before he stands back up, pointing to the counter with a thermos. He knows it’s yours. The old one that your mother refused to throw away, because there’s a crack by the lid and a couple faded sailor moon stickers stuck by the side.

“Look at that,” Tsukishima hears. He turns his head just in time to see the old man offer him a patient smile, the message in his eyes delivered without a hitch. “That old thing’s seen a couple of decades, but it still gets to you when you need it, right?”

It’s not so bad to have an old thing be your constant, right?

Twenty minutes after his grandfather climbs back to his room upstairs, Tsukishima’s seated on the side of the table beside the window. Peeking through the half-opened blinds, he can still see that the light from your room is still flicked on.

Without mulling over the decision, he takes his phone out, scrolling through the contacts until he taps your name. A swipe without too much pressure, because even his thumb’s memorized where your name is by now. Kind of like muscle memory, he supposes.

Bypassing the unannounced rules about what to do as the strangers you had claimed from the start of this week, it results to the lack of hesitation as he types a quick text and presses send without a thought that would counter it.

I love you, it reads.

From his spot in the kitchen, he leans back and smiles, pouring himself a cup of the tea he knows you brewed yourself on the nights where he can’t sleep.

The lights from your room stay on for a few more moments before it dims, but before the metaphoric silence could take root, the screen of his phone lights up.

Stop walking around at night. Drink the tea and try to get some sleep.

Exhaling almost in relief, it’s the slow beating of his heart that resettles him back into the love he’s known everyday.

It’s not quite the end, but it isn’t exactly somewhere unpleasant either.

Two days before you’re meant to return to the city, instead of spending the day in your room—like you had initially planned—you somehow found yourself in the passenger seat of his grandfather’s old car, with a grocery list in hand.

You sigh, understanding what his grandfather’s trying to do.

As you look down, there’s nothing much written in the grocery list. He had complained about some back pain earlier, followed up by his insistent request of desperately needing his groceries done so when Akiteru was to arrive later on, dinner would be taken care of.

Beside you, with his hands on the wheel, Tsukishima sighs. “We could have just ordered in food for dinner. It’s just Akiteru coming,” he mumbles.

Keeping your eyes to the window to your left, you shrug. “He likes making the ordinary special, I guess.”

Tsukishima stays silent after that, mentally thankful for the green light and the empty roads. The more stops, the longer silence would stay. And even after the sort of middle ground from the night before, he doesn’t know what to say to you.

After making a quick turn, he pulls up into the parking lot and kills the engine. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turns to you, with an expectant look. “You can just stay here if you don’t wanna go in with me,” he offers. “It’s a short list, I can be in and out in a bit.”

You wave him off, already slinging on your bag and opening the car door—the list on your hand. “It’s alright. I think I’m more familiar with this area than you are, so we can just meet back in the car in thirty minutes if that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t need me to come with you?” he raises a brow.

You shake your head no, but upkeep the smile on your face anyway as you exit the car and close the door.

Something about what you say sticks with him, the more he thinks about it.

He can distinguish the hesitation laced each of your decisions. You look past him, but not exactly at him. You speak to him, but keep the conversations short. Though conversation was rare between the both of you this past week, the times that you did speak to him, your words often were clipped short.

It’s your means of upkeeping your end of the deal, he realizes.

You’ve always been one for communication, but then again, patience can only stretch so much.

He respects your wish for distance and walks the opposite way from the grocery store, towards a building he doesn’t really known. It’s a gallery, he realizes. Three steps past the entrance, he notices that he’s one of the few that’s in the room.

Traditional artwork line the wall, hung in frames that have rusted throughout time.

Tsukishima stares, eyes drawn to the pieces of art he recognizes from the few scattered memories in his childhood that relate to his time in the city.

A fieldtrip, when he was seven. He remembers leaving the house upset over the yellow hat he had to wear, and the rain boots his teacher wouldn’t let him change out of. Unlike the present, rain was present that day. He stood beside you in line, and had to tilt his head up at the piece of art he always thought was the prettiest out of the bunch.

And now, almost two decades later, he still thinks the same.

He smiles at the memory, finding the comfort of returning to what’s familiar, pleasant.

As if caught by an epiphany, and suddenly enveloped in a sense of a rediscovered home, here, within a room that’s familiar, he finds purpose in the permanence of love.

Love, that’s never meant to be stretched into the likeness of what the poets declare as the absolute form of love after “I do.”

Staring at the piece of art with the rusting frames, the strokes within the canvas still depict the same story. It still is beautiful.

It’s doesn’t become more—but it stays as is.

And maybe that’s what his grandfather was trying to convey.

To fear a certain phase in love is something that comes and goes, but it often never stays. It can linger, but eventually, it too, fades.

What stays is what’s rooted.

Primarily, just you. Truly, just love.

That tree in that old street, these paintings on the walls, and the kind of serenity that washes over him at the thought of you.

The fear in life comes in the form of thinking that beyond the peak lays a plateau. Beyond “I do,” what’s next to come is love, dwindling until “I don’t love you anymore,” is the only thing left to be said.

It’s fear, that spoke to him the past few weeks, so this time, as he gives in, he listens to love.

It’s quiet.

But through the smoke in the room, the message that’s meant to deliver truth comes in full clarity. Illuminated, it appears before him as it is. A painting that’s struck him as beautiful then and now, and the thought of you as the face that’s always been the first to greet him every morning for more than just a few years now.

An old man stands not too far from him, hands clasped behind his back as he stares—with a smile on his face—at a similar painting on the wall. Sensing Tsukishima’s presence, he looks over and redirects the smile his way. “Been coming here for years, and looking at this still feels the same.”

Poking at the doubts, Tsukishima responds, “Are you afraid that it won’t get old?”

The gentleman laughs, though soft enough so it doesn’t echo too much in the halls. The joy lingers around Tsukishima, on the other hand. “To have something grow old with you isn’t a bad thing. Day one, this piece was beautiful, and now, almost forty years later, I look at it and think the same too.”

A beat of silence passes, but the man speaks once more.

“My wife, when she was alive, showed me this piece. Maybe I look at this and still find it beautiful after all these years because I think of her, but I don’t think trying to focus on that matters much. The feeling’s the same, even if it grew old.”

Reciprocating the older man’s goodbye with a nod to the head, it’s then where he laughs, a little bit more of the truth unraveling as each moment comes and goes. Thinking of his words, he dwells on its meaning.

Standing there, alone in the museum hall, the smoke clears, and he presents himself his words of blended truth and patience.

Love is timeless, his thoughts say. The plateau after the peak is as possible as the drop, but life’s meant to be lived in the lows and in betweens as much as the highs. Time moves in waves, and perhaps love doesn’t always grow stagnant. It can be timeless, even though the frames rust. His hair will grey, and maybe you’ll stop linking your pinky with him beneath the sheets during the rainy season’s thunderstorms, but the root of love stays.

Within the plateau, time will move, and you’ll both grow old, but the taste of the tea you’ll brew for him will remain the same.

And thirty minutes later, when he makes it back to the parking lot with you waiting by the door, the love that steadies his beating heart will be the same too.

Steady, present, and timeless.

Eyeing the dashboard, you’re the first to break the silence. “Why’d you buy a postcard?”

Rolling into a stoplight, he eases on the brakes and shrugs. “Lived here for so long, and I don’t even own a postcard from here.”

“Me neither,” you blink.

A couple minutes pass, and the car’s rolling again, but he misses a turn. Assuming that he’s just not used to the usual route, you stay quiet—until about he pulls up to a familiar street.

Parked to the side, through the windshield, you find yourself face to face with a familiar tree. “Kei.” He hums.

The coming autumn has a few leaves beginning to change its colors, you notice. The summer hues, unbalanced, as bits of red begins to bleed through the green. “You were supposed to turn there, not here.”

He shifts the gear into park, then takes his hands off the wheel, leaning back. “I know.”

It’s quiet after that, but it isn’t all that unpleasant either.

This is the part where the questions begin to poke at you, the what-ifs in love let out in the open as you voice a little bit of your vulnerability. And because the truth is daunting, you hope he understands you through the metaphors. “Do you really think they’ll cut it down?”

He doesn’t allow the silence to take more than a moment. “I think so,” he nods his head.

“It’ll be good though, I think,” you add, nodding your head.

It’s quiet in the room even though the words of your truth coaxes the unhealed wound to resurface. As it comes into light, it doesn’t sting.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder beside him in the car, the tree that witnessed the first hello stays rooted, and watches.

He doesn’t turn to you as he speaks, but in a way, you feel as if a farewell was the finale that was meant to be delivered somehow. “It’s good,” he starts. “Letting go of something that needs to be let go of.”

Tokyo

Tsukishima’s the first to speak.

“I’m not good with words,” he starts.

There’s a hush in the crowd, so you stay with it, knowing you’ll only add to the silence should you choose to respond. It wasn’t your turn anyway, so you will yourself to be still and listen.

“Hey Cam,” Tsukishima continues, choosing to begin his vow with a hello. “I think a lot about what love’s supposed to have meant, mean, or eventually mean in the long run. I thought too much about it to the point where it…” he trails off, blinking at the piece of paper before flicking his eyes up to you with a slight shrug. “—to the point where love began to scare me.”

For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, confident in the fact that when he opens them, he knows he’ll see the world in clarity this time. With the smoke cleared and the scattered pieces of all his doubts set in order, the words of his truth may not speak of the most tender poem of love—but within the lines lies his truth.

As he lays his truth on you, he holds a breath and lets it all go. “I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” he laughs, exhaling softly, his shoulders shaking a little. “Never occurred to me how much of a liar the downside of your thoughts are when you listen to everything that isn’t love,” he continues.

Your shoulders relax, and even through the blur of the veil, you can tell his eyes are steadily watering.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the microphone just barely picking up what he says. You nod your head anyway, wishing you were holding his hands instead of the bouquet. Reassurance comes in many forms, but you know he’s always been the type to receive it well through physical touch.

A kiss on the cheek, your head on his shoulder, or your hands squeezing his. But the smile you give him suffices for now, you think.

“I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life. I’ll wash, and you dry. Nothing much happens in our day usually, but nothing has to. I’ll listen to you talk about how shit the traffic is in the city, because I know you’ll listen to me talk about the same complaints I have from Monday to Friday anyway.”

You realize he’s written his vows in the back of a postcard—the one you saw on his dashboard a few days ago, from Kanazawa.

He sniffles a little then looks up, laughing to himself at how emotional he’s getting. Allowing more than just truth to trickle out slow is a part of love too, he realizes, so with a soft laugh, he lets the tears be and speaks again. “What needed to be let go of was let go of,” he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for this long.

In a sense, maybe he has. Sometimes fear grips you tightly enough that it shifts your point of view from one thing to another. What’s love, becomes fear. Then what’s fear, becomes the smoke that buries the core of truth too deep within the haze.

“I let go of the thought the thought that after marriage, if nothing great would come then that would be the end of love,” he breathes. “I stared at that tree and thought of Grandpa’s words again and again then wrote my apology and I love you on the back of a postcard that only had one a couple of blank lines at most.”

He waves it for you, then to the crowd, to see. The words, jumbled up together look almost incomprehensible written so closely together, but in a way, you have a feeling that he’s just speaking the rest of his truth as it comes in the moment.

The truth in love, you realize, is that its truth comes, fully unraveled the moment the initial plan falls apart.

He puts down the postcard, and just looks at you.

“There’s a lot I don’t think I will ever understand when it comes to love, but maybe I’m here to just feel it and not try to decipher it.” He pauses, ignores the few tears that roll down, and shrugs his shoulders, admitting to himself that the truth in his love is the first thought that comes.

“Love doesn’t have to the greatest,” he tells you. “I just wanna wash dishes with you for the rest of my life and hear about how traffic was unbearable.”

You smile, and your assurance reaches him.

“I think that counts as love too,” he finishes, the smile on his face tender.

As he leans in after I do, he murmurs a question in your ear that you’ve been expecting since the start.

You could have just left, he said. How did you deal with me and still choose to stay?

Your answer was said without a hint of hesitation. With a shrug, and an honest smile, you told him, “Because I love you.”

“I think we both had to let go of the thought that to love always means to have the biggest reasoning behind it. We do things for love, and because of love. That’s just how it is,” you shrugged.

Oddly enough, it’s in that same exact moment where he remembers Bokuto’s question from that dinner a week and some days ago.

How does it feel? he recalls, and even though words have never found him first nor met him in the middle easy, he gathers what he can and just settles on the conclusion that it just feels like love.

Wherein love, is this.

An identical band on his and your finger, and the taste of I do pleasant on the tongue. I love you, as a truth that’s easy to fathom and healing to hold, and the fear of what comes next just a passing thought that goes as soon as it comes.

Later that evening his grandfather sits him down and asks him what he really thinks about why people have been putting off cutting down that tree for a few decades now.

With a laugh, the hesitation that often turns decisions is made clear to him. “You know I think that people would decide things and think they’re so solid on it before even being face to face with it. The second they get to that tree with a chainsaw, I promise you they changed their minds. You think you go there and cut off or let go of one thing, then realize you’re cutting off something else in the end. They go back to what’s been there and realize that it’s not the problem at all.”

Tsukishima sighs, and his grandfather watches, the smile on his face easy. It’s like watching some emerge from a smoked out room, he thinks. Clarity’s always been a blessing, and he’s glad his grandson’s finally found it.

“Sometimes going back to the start is the one thing you need to be reminded that it’s worth it to keep going.”

“Sounds like you’re not talking about the tree,” his grandfather comments. Looking at you, Tsukishima smiles. “You could say that too.”

299 notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt: Pro Athlete Sirius because that my and Remus' kink

~Notes: OMFG VICTOrIA!!!! I FUCKING SCREECHED!!!! lkadfjlaksdgjoiaejfalskdgjioeugisfkldshg Yes tis my kink as well!!! And then I saw this from Nonny and worlds collided and BOOM! I hope you like this my love<3<3 You incredibly talented sugarplum!!! TBH I want to write a thousand more things in this AU XD

FROM THIS LIST | Send Me A Prompt!💜 | A REBLOG MEANS THE GALAXY!!💜

When Remus was young— surrounded by the light breeze of the Welsh coast and the harmony of birds chirping in the distance— he would follow his mother to their small garden behind their cottage at the cusp of twilight as his father cooked their supper, and he’d watch as she laid flat all sorts of newspapers written in French and Arabic and English, watch as she brought her red pen against the ink and marked the articles with underlines and shorthand he wouldn’t understand for years still.

He asked her once, when he was barely eight years old, why she bothered to keep up with so many different publications, why she read the same story penned by countless perspectives when all the facts stayed the same at the end of the day. And he remembers how she had let out a quick, shrill of a laugh, tossing back her golden head while sucking in a puff from the bubbling hookah she had set up besides her— a habit she acquired from her Algerian, refugee parents, and one that became synonymous to those late nights in Remus’s eyes.

“Facts can be wielded to someone’s personal vendettas, Remus John,” she had crooned in that adoring way of hers whenever she spoke to him— honey eyes that were the same color and shape to Remus’s own flashing alight and their matching smiles going crooked in her stunningly beautiful face.

“Oh.” Remus had replied, still confused as all get out but was perfectly fine with just holding his small vigil, watching her beneath moonlight and the soft glow of their outdoors lamps, as he listened to the shuffling of papers while she commenced this odd quirk.

It’s a decade and a half later— as his editor for the Phoenix, a small, but bustling online editorial that plans on dethroning the likes of Politico and Vox in only a matter of years, scans his latest findings on the corrupt boosters linked to MP Avery from Leeds— when Remus thinks he suddenly understands what his mother, with her keen eyes and pixelated air, had meant by facts in how they can be colored differently simply by the words surrounding them. And he wonders if one day soon, one of his bylines will join her little stack of stories, if she’ll be proud of him even if she says as much even now, when he’s a lost twenty-something stumbling through life in the capitol and barely making it as is, between his actual job and the gig he has at the coffee shop nearest his dingy flat he shares with three other blokes.

“Mmm, this is good, Lupin,” Dorcas declares after what feels like an eon, dropping her long, dark legs from where they were lounging leisurely on her desk and scuffs out her cigarette in a pretty, glass ashtray. “Send it over to Flores to look into deeper, maybe it’ll corroborate the info she’s already gotten from her sources.”

Remus feels himself bristle, hopes that it doesn’t show, that his face stays passive as he contends, “I think I should at least help her write the expose, I’m the one who got this bombshell.”

“That’s not how it works, sweets,” Dorcas toots, tossing back her dark head of curls as she rises, perching on the corner of her desk delicately and looking down, straight into his gaze. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re fresh blood. barely six months here, but Alice has been with us for years. This is her baby, and we’re just here to nurture it.”

“So I’ll have to wait another ten months, at least, to get the same treatment?” He argues in an admittedly petulant way, making Dorcas laugh endearingly, and Remus is suddenly, searingly reminded of his age, and how he’s the youngest staffer that this London based news outlet has on hand.

“C’mon, love, it won’t be that long for someone as sharp as you, just be patient, and don’t try to pull a Zoe Barnes on us, yeah? You’re far too pretty to clean up on the rails of the tube.” Dorcas tousles a hand into his dark tawny curls, and Remus holds back the roll to his eyes that he feels willing up inside of him as he stands fully.

“Thanks Cas.”

She smiles beatifically, and throws him a wink. “You’re joining Emmy for the report tomorrow on those United footballers and their fundraiser for the hospital, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Remus replies, still feels a bit miffed that he was chosen to write up the charity function, considering he doesn’t know a lick about football and doesn’t really get on with anyone who does. But Caradoc— their typical sports reporter— is out sick with the flew, so it’s on him. “I’ll have it on your desk early enough so it’ll be published by tea time.”

“Good man,” Dorcas says in thanks, picking up her crowing cellphone before waving him off.

Remus isn’t all that surprised when he strides out of the office only to find Benjy Fenwick sitting against the opposite wall, knees pressed to his chest and quickly scrambling up when he catches sight of Remus. Sometimes it’s impossible to believe that the bespectacled man in front of him is one of the top editors for the Phoenix, that he’s a regular corespondent for places like the BBC or CNN— that his rebukes against the piss poor inquiries waged during PMQs have become more anticipated than the sessions themselves. Remus tends to forget all of that when he sees him like this, messy haired and wearing a graphic T-shirt with some marvel superhero embossed on the front. “Wotcher Remus.”

“Hiya Remus says, smiling softly and rocking back on his heels. “You wanted to talk to the sergeant then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. I didn’t want to talk to Dorcas, I just— Erm, I know you were showing her that stuff you got from that intern, Pettigrew, and i know you were chafed about not getting any opportunity here so—“ He trails off, scratching the back of his head and studying a point over Remus’s shoulder, and it’s all too endearing, and Remus is so beyond thankful he’s made such a good friend here.

“No cigar,” he says in answer to the unspoken question, shrugging noncommittally even if he feels like shit over it.

Benjy nods, face contrite in a way that tells Remus he never thought it would’ve went otherwise. “I’m sorry, that’s bollocks.”

“’S whatever,” Remus shrugs off the apology, begins walking down the hall and straightening his report to hand over to Alice.

“Ah,, erm. We can get a drink, yeah? In commiseration,” Benjy offers, and Remus stilts only for a beat before continuing the twisting trail to where Alice is set up with the more senior members on staff. And he feels only sorta bad about wanting to refuse. He knows that if he says yes, it’ll mean something different to Benjy than it does him, that he’ll probably take it as Remus finally giving into his pestering and deciding to actually go out with him, even if he’s refuted the other four times he’s asked as much. Remus’s simply just too busy trying to get a footing in this city, and trying to figure out where he’s suppose to go from here, and what he’s suppose to do. And yes, Benjy is cute— a complete Seth Cohen archetype. And he’s sweet and smart and funny enough. But Remus is really not in the mood for doing the whole flowers and wine and candle lit dinners shtick, had gotten enough of that while still with his university boyfriend. And yeah, he’s only just turned 24, but he already feels too old and too jaded for that sort of puppy love— even if Benjy’s got a good decade and some change on him.

Probably sensing his hesitation, Benjy is quick to rectify the offer. “I’ll ask Mary, and Fabian too, and a few others. We can make a night of it, just some drinks on a Friday after work.”

Stalling by the last turn to Alice’s desk, Remus looks at him from over his shoulder, and sort of hates himself for being such a soft hearted fuck sometimes. “Yeah Benj, sounds nice. Just let me know on the group chat, yeah?”

Benjy grins, much more genuine than his awkward quirk of the lips from earlier. “Yeah, good call, I’ll let the others know pronto.”

“Aces,” Remus says, tosses him a obligatory thumbs-up before finding an expectant looking Alice who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

Yeah, today is so bloody shit.

Surprisingly, the round of drinks turns to another and then a third and fourth and Remus is currently nursing his fifth mango margarita on Benjy’s tab, and he actually feels lighter than he has since taking the job at Phoenix, feels bright and bubbling and like absolutely nothing could be wrong as long as he’s got this drink in his grasp and he’s sitting with the handful of reporters and photographers from the office that don’t all have sticks up their asses. It’s fun, it’s good. So obviously it couldn’t have lasted.

Mary is currently cackling about her Uber driver from last night who asked her all sorts of well meaning, but incredibly dense questions about her hijab— a freshly poured glass of coke in one hand, while the other is tangled into her girlfriend Emmy’s. And From his left Remus can hear Fabian ribbing Frank on his crush on Alice, while Benjy scoots intermittently closer as they watch Kingsley and Marlene sparring over something to do with a Kardashian or TikTok trend or whatever the fuck else— The guy has resilience, Remus has to give Benjy that.

“Right, who’s buying next?” Marlene asks, abrasive as ever while scrolling through her phone, ostensively finding something to prove her point against the managing editor.

“Reckon it’s my turn,” Benjy crows, standing up smoothly and glancing down at Remus with a nervous sort of half grin.

“Just a water for me, ta. I need to sober up,” Remus tells him, feels proud that he didn’t even slur slightly. Benjy bobs his head understandingly, and Remus turns to ask Marlene about her latest tinder hookup which always is a good laugh, but then he catches on it. On the sound of the pub’s doors flinging open, followed by a raucous crowd of athletic looking guys probably only a bit older than he is, clambering indoors.

They’re all so very sixth-form, broad grins and slapping each other’s shoulders with jeers, topped off with loud, bark like laughter that makes it obvious to Remus that these wankers think that they’re some sort of group of gods amongst men, roaming around like everyone should fall to their feet and offer everything they have. It makes Remus roll his eyes so far back that it feels like he might’ve sprained them. They just give off this exhausting aura that reminds him of a past boyfriend in tenth year who was on the footie team and who’s favorite activity was either making Remus feel lucky enough to go out with someone so popular, or dragging him around like some sort of bloody trophy.

To put it nicely, Remus sorta hates them on sight. So when he sees one of the tossers— regrettably the brightest of the lot who’s all pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste in an objectively infuriating matter— swivels up to the barkeep and jostles Benjy on his way, well Remus doesn’t hesitate to dart forwards to tell him off.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Benjy and the bloke who looks like he might moonlight as a model for Calvin briefs for when he’s not lounging in a yacht off the Tuscany coast, both turn to him at the same time. Benjy looking abashed, and the aforementioned tosser preening like the cat who’s just caught a canary.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t see you there,” he says in a delightfully deep tenner, giving Remus an appreciative once over, and Remus absolutely despises how the action makes him feel both thrilled and irritated. “Trust and believe, I wouldn’t have looked away if I saw you.”

“Not me, arse.” Remus spits back, refuses to pay any credence to how his cheeks have begun to flush. “You bumped into my mate right there, the one with the tray of loggers.”

The tosser darts his almost molten gray eyes over to Benjy for a sparing second before he laser focusses back onto Remus, the most phony expression of contrition all over his face. “Sorry to your friend,” he says the descriptor like a joke that no one else is in on. “Let me buy you a drink in sorry for the one I made slim here spill.”

Remus is officially unimpressed, hopes that his flat tone gets it across. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re mouthy,” he retorts, looks like it’s something he greatly appreciates— delights over even.

“Ah, ’s fine Remus, really. I’ll just bring these back and get us a new glass.”

“Listen to slim, Remus, he’s got the right idea.” The tosser hurriedly interjects, strutting close enough to him that he makes it so Remus has to tip his head back just slightly so not to drop his gaze. “I’m Black, Sirius Black, just to get the pleasantries out of the way.” His leer tells Remus that the name should probably evoke some response of aw into Remus, but all it does is make him sound so egregiously pretentious that Remus wants to smack his own bloody head against a dry wall and stay in the hole until this ruddy Sirius bloke leaves him the hell alone.

“Good for you,” he says instead of all of that, and spots Sirius’s friends from behind Sirius chuckling and elbowing one another. Evidently this is a line the tosser uses frequently, and Remus is pleased that he might be one of the first who aren’t at all impressed by the grandiose way he introduced himself.

“Hah, you know I’m use to the pretty ones playing hard to get, but I’m really feeling here that you’re not exactly liking my company, love.”

Remus sucks in a frustrated breath through his nose, shouldering past Sirius and taking the tray of drinks from Benjy before storming back to their table where the others have begun openly gawping at the scene— Marlene outright squawking with Fabian just as Remus takes his seat.

“Don’t,” Remus warns them all as he silently says fuck off to the water and instead gargles down one of the loggers. And if he has to steadfastly not turn around for the rest of the night towards where he can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into his back— well then so be it.

The next morning, Remus has to puke twice into the toilet, and gulps down three aspirins just to stave off his bloody hangover from the night before where he decided that getting properly sloshed would prove as a good technique to not end up making out with Sirius in some dark corner— or regrettably the backseat of his car. And if he does still remember flashes of ranting to him about how insufferable preppy, rich boys actually are while Sirius gazed at him endeared— well Remus just decides to purge it out along with the stomach acid. It’s not like he’ll ever see the douche again.

He meets Arthur— one of the accountants who also helps out by taking photos for more low key news stories— outside the hospital where the conference will be taking place with the Manchester United team. There was a scrimmage that they all played with some of the kids in the cancer ward that occurred at around eight in the ruddy morning, but thankfully Remus didn’t have to show up until an hour later when the team presented their big shiny check, to the big, shiny hospital.

However, Arthur has been here for hours, so he’s beyond chirpy and looks like he’s downed three cups of espresso as he chatters on about his son Percy starting secondary school, and his eldest, Bill, getting an award for his reading prowess, and all the strange craving his wife has been having throughout her pregnancy with the twins they’re expecting any week now. And Remus loves Arthur, he does— one of the sweetest folks he’s ever met— but God, his head is still thrumming from those misguided tequila shots and he really just wants to get his three quotes, and write up the story so he can find refuge back in his sheets.

While Arthur has moved to talking about his wife, Molly’s, plans to open up a daycare in their refurnished garage, Remus scans his eyes over the familiar face of reporters from other outlets who look just as bored as him, and then to the stage where a woman in a sharply pressed suit is ushering for the group of football stars to join her, so that the conference can finally fucking begin.

And Remus thinks that their faces are sorta familiar, probably from all the publicity they get on the telly— but then he freezes as he stops at one of them with dark brown skin, and thick rimmed spectacles— and he suddenly can hear him chatting about his redheaded girlfriend and drunkenly declaring that she’ll be the mother of his children some day soon. So he completely expects it when his stomach drops as he moves his glance just a bit to the right, being struck by pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste, made all the more infuriating by the tight kit he’s got on and the blazing number twelve splayed against his chest.

And fuck.

Remus runs through about a dozen scenarios in which he can make a discrete, or not so discrete exit before he notices him, but in tandem to his spiraling thoughts, the wanker actually looks forwards, and like a creepy metal detector, his quick silver gaze pinpoints onto Remus.

They stare at one another for a beat before his smirk goes wolfish, and he runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair in a way that practically screams, fancy meeting you here. And holy fuck he looks so mouth watteringly attractive with that faint film of sweat running down his neck, and how his smile pulls slightly more to the left, and how he’s looking at Remus like he’s his birthday and Christmas presents all rolled into one.

Remus suddenly hates everything— but most of all hates Sirius, and how bloody fit he is.

“Oh, you’re a fan then?”

Starting, Remus shifts around slightly so that he’s facing Arthur completely. “Pardon?”

“Sirius Black I mean, you’re a fan?” Arthur asks in that abrasively congenial and intensely scrutinizing way that he treats everything. “I mean he’s a great player, but I know you don’t really watch. So I bet it’s all that charity work he does, yeah?”

“Charity work?” Remus echos, feeling like a floundering fish.

“Truly some amazing stuff.” Arthur pontificates, rubbing a hand against his jaw as he tips his head back. “I mean obviously I’m partial to the fundraising for Reporters Without Borders, but of course the things he does with the more impoverished kids is great. And I know Molly likes his very outspoken posts about being anti war and his annual live streams to earn money for refugees in those war torn nations, like the last one he did for Syria?”

“Oh—“ Remus says, feeling like his head is being overrun by a fountain of new information.

“Yes well, you don’t usually see athletes get into the thick of it with political issues, but I reckon he never really minded. I mean the fact he’s the first football star from United to have come out without any fanfare really proved that. Oh, I think they’re starting, I should probably get some photos before Dorcas gives me a tongue lashing.”

And as quick as the flash of his camera’s lends, Arthur is using his considerable height to get to a more advantageous spot towards the front, and leaves Remus in the dust, as if he hasn’t just obliterated his every assumption of Sirius from after that initial meeting.

And unbidden, the words his mother had told him so many years ago, about facts and how they can color a situation just simply based off the person who’s speaking them— flood to the forefront of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” Remus mutters lowly, gets jostled by Greengrass, a hawkish reporter from a rivaling publication who always has on the most wickedly sharp acrylic nails, and perfectly quaffed curls— as she waves around her certification to speak her inquiry.

“My question is for Potter,” she announces when the woman leading the event, McGonagall, points her way. “And I was wondering how early you boys have to rise for training during the season? And how intense the sessions are that Coach Hooch puts you guys through?”

Potter, the one with the redheaded girlfriend that Remus heard so much about last night between his ranting at Sirius, parts his lips, but it’s not his voice that ends up reverberating through the outdoors space. Instead, it’s Sirius, who’s shouldering him with a goading air, obviously expecting his comment to have only ended up in Potter’s ear and not caught by the mike.

“I wonder if Lupin will let me wake up with’m so he can let me get some real training done before practices, eh?”

And just as soon as his words pitter off, the entire crowd drops to a hush— quiet enough so that they could probably hear it if a pen dropped.

Sirius’s handsome face— strong jawline, and broad but sharp cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose— goes suddenly ashen, and he flashes over to Remus as if he’s terrified that he’ll bite his face off.

God, what an idiot.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus plucks out the microphone from a slack faced Greengrass’s hand. “We can discuss the regimen afterwards, Black. Just meet me by the front doors and let your mate answer the bloody question.”

Everyone around them falls into laughter that’s caught between uncomfortable chuckles and amazingly amused cackling, but the only person Remus is paying any mind is Sirius, and how he seems to have gone absolutely incandescent, nodding electrically before miming the zip of his lips and gesturing for Potter to carry on.

Jesus help him, Remus has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

~Buy Me A Coffee

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #ILU Victoria!!!#also to anyone side eyeing the buy me a coffee plz do not judge me #i am so searing embarrassed about it #rip #just it's there i guess #calls;jalksdgjaeowifjsadlkgh #look away from me #!!!#lmfao #spilt ink

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magicalsalamander · 4 years ago

Text

Lacuna

Pairing: Jin ⇆ Reader

Genre: Law Students | Werewolf | Childhood best friends to idiot enemies to lovers | F | A | S

Summary: Lacuna(n): (1) In law, a non liquet (commonly known as “lacuna in the law”) is any situation where there is no applicable law. (2) An unfilled space or interval; a gap.

You are well equipped at handling whatever life throws at you. You had worked hard to erase the past and mold a new you, and the future were to become a lawyer. Well, everything was planned expect for your ex best friend who came back into your life like a crashing gavel. Just when you thought you could deal with his presence, he was now your partner on a case that was bigger than you had ever imaged.

Words: 21K

Warning: Mature; explicit themes, sexual content, and violence. Lots of law inaccuracies. Alcohol and club situations. Heavy angst with lots of arguing. Previous trauma of abandonment, harsh words and feeling unworthy. Knotting, cunnilingus, fingering, mentions of impregnation, soft dom Jin, marking/claiming, and possessive behavior.

A/N: It’s been so long since I’ve put out something! I want to thank everyone for being so patient and always supporting me! Thank you @heyitsmee2 for reading over this early on. I apricate you!

*Story mildly edited due to time constraint, will edit further

You were no stranger to the game; surviving and trying to be someone in the charade of corporatism. It was all too important to be unemotional. You’d soon find yourself in Prometheus place than on the highest rock on Olympus if you let yourself slip and you were sure of your path.

Calculation leads to quantification—and it takes only seven second to make an impression.

Your throat narrows with altitude, but the breadth of your career expands.

The raspy voice of the jazz singer was a rich wine as she caressed the vintage microphone intimately. The soft notes of the piano and band follow in tandem with the slow, romantic song she sung. The dark golden hue casted over the ballroom from the multitude of chandeliers only perpetuated the elegance of the atmosphere. Parties like this were suffocating despite being in a room sized for a hanger. You wouldn’t doubt either than some of the patrons here own their own planes.

You down the rest of your wine nearly rolling your eyes at the romantic lyrics. When you were a little girl events like this were a dream, places like this gave promise of finding a prince charming. At least that’s what all the movies feed you and lead you to believe would happen until reality set in. This event wasn’t romantic in the slightest. It was to celebrate the 70th anniversary of the law firm. The entire point of the function tonight was to schmooze and be seen. As an intern, this was prime time for you. However, you suppose you were living the dream, just not a fairytale. You had worked hard to get this internship, nabbing one of the four spots that over thousands applied to. You had done what felt like to be the impossible—coming form a school that wasn’t ivy made it all the more surreal. Important business people, old and new money mixed in with ‘top of the food chain’ lawyers were all present and hiring opportunities post-graduation. That is if you don’t end up getting a job post with the firm, but a smart woman always keeps her options open.

The obligatory greeting and sucking up to had already passed and it was the lull of time where everyone was wondering who would be the first to leave. Your senses go off as you catch a two of four making his way through the crowd towards you. Standing up as if you hadn’t caught glimpse of Logan from your peripheral. You smile at those who you had shared the table with, names already forgotten, number three’s included, silently bidding them an underserved excuse me. You grab at the bottom of your dress and move through the crowd. You miss the scrunch in brow from Logan as he picks up speed after you. He was the typical American type of handsome with brown hair, strong brows, square face, shadowed beard, lean and tall. Logan was nice, made his name memorable by persistence, but the guy couldn’t take a hint. How he’s made it this far has been a mystery to you.

As you break the crowd going into the hallway, you hear him calling your name. Acting as if you couldn’t hear him, you ask a server where the restroom was and quickly headed in that direction. He began jogging to catch up with you. Your pace began to pick up too. You counted down the seconds, four, three, two—the bathroom was still to far to accommodate for your sudden pick up in counting.

“Y/n! Wait, oh, sorry, excuse me.” Timely a cart full of new hors d'oeuvre blocks his path.

Seeing his distraction, you abruptly turned and head down another hall from the main meant for staff. You reached for the first door and to your muttered curse when it was locked. You jogged to the second door which opened and closed it behind you as if fire was at your feet. Not bothering to turn on the light, you backed up further into the closet until you hit something. You had expected to hit a wall, but instead what you bumped into what oddly felt human, a large one at that. When they oofed, you scampered away. Fear thickening in you as you rapidly apologized under your breath. Instinct dictated you get out, as you opened the door to leave the heavy sound of footsteps outside had you closing it right back. The person with you murmured a beginning of a question but you quickly reached up, cupping the mouth of whomever was inside with you. Shushing them they quieted up instantly. The slight stubble under your hand indicated it was a man. At this point you didn’t care if they were someone important. You winced as you heard Logan calling your name again. The man murmured a muffled question that you couldn’t understand and you shushed them again until the footsteps outside quieted.

Sighing in relief you removed your hand from his mouth, using the same hand to search for a light switch. With an apology on the tip of your tongue turning to face the stranger, you froze, staring back equally as motionless as him in shock.

Kim Seokjin.

Number four.

Dressed to the nines in a black suit that clung to him tightly. His broad shoulders were pronounced, and with his height tall he took a lot of space. His thick, dark hair was pushed away from his face. His eyes flashed red before it disappeared back into its espresso color. He looked gorgeous. You’d never utter that out loud, but you couldn’t ignore it either. It irritated you even more. He irritated you.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” You drawled out the oh incredulously.

A smirk pulled at his thick lips. “Hello to you too.”

“I never knew you to be so forward, at least take me to dinner first.”

Looking around you realized you were in a janitor’s closet. The scent of bleach was thick, taking up as much space as Seokjin’s personality in the confined space.

“What are you doing here?” You asked while wiping the hand that was over his mouth on your dress not so subtly.

He shrugged, suffocating a laugh at your gesture. “Needed a break.”

That was hard to believe. Jin was a natural at talking to people. He made it seem easy. He always had this sense of composure and poise about him. Staring at eachother his eyes broke from your gaze as he looked you up and down. Suddenly feeling self-conscious you adjusted your dress. The black satin dress you were wearing suddenly felt tighter than when you put it on. Under his gaze you’ve always felt this way, vulnerable, but you’ve learned how to conceal it better over time.

“What?” You hissed at him when he still stared.

“This isn’t the first time you caught me in a closet.” Quietly he followed up with, “Reminds me of the first time we met.”

You don’t know what bothers you more, Seokjin’s casual reference to the past or the fact that you suddenly are placed back there. You remember being terrified, wrapping your blue, pilling blanket over your head only letting your head poke through. You had been reading under your blanket when you heard thumping coming from your closet. With your flashlight pointing at your closet you swallowed harshly as the sound came again. Your parents had told you that monsters were fake, but the sounds sounded real.

Your light was shaking on the white double doors. “H-Hello?” you bravely called out. The thumping stopped. You gulped inching closer. You were taught to be brave. Your dad said that monsters couldn’t hurt you, especially if you don’t show fear. Like the book you were reading, “Where the Wild Things Are”, you like Max, could confront the monsters too. You could become and make them friends with them. You were sure of it.

“H-hey,” swallowing hard, ”I’m opening the door, don’t bite me okay. I won’t hurt you.”

When no response resounded you breathed in deeply through your nose. Reaching out and yanking the door open you came face to face, inches away, from a boy hiding in your closet. A majority of your clothes were pulled from their hangers and piled on the floor which he was laying on. Similarly in equal fright from you bursting open the door, a shirt he had over his head fell off revealing furry grey dog ears. At the sound of your gasp, he gasped, and a tail that swept to the floor wrapped around his middle.

Buffering in the moment you stared at the boy who seemed to be around the same age as you. Recognition filters through you, “Max?” Your eyes lit up in wonder.

The boy squinted at you, almost upset. “My name’s not Max, it’s Seokjin!”

“Why do you have ears and a tail like him then?”

His brows furrowed, “Because I’m a—.”

You heard a knock on your door from your mother hushing Seokjin instantly. “Sweetie, are you still awake?”

The boy lurched forward cupping a hand over your mouth seeing you were going to respond. “You can’t tell anyone I’m here.”

You whispered, “Why?”

“Y/N?”

His eyes gleamed as he silently pleaded with you, switching between the shadow from under your bedroom door and your eyes, bidding for you to understand.

Nodding in understanding, somehow you understood. Your mom from the other side of the door sighed, “I know you’re pretending to sleep, Pumpkin. Put the book away. I know its Saturday but remember lights out by 9.”

“Okay, Mom.” Finally speaking up.

“G’night.”

She walked away.

Seokjin studied you carefully, eyeing you skeptically. “You’re not scared?”

“No, should I be?”

He paused truly thinking. “Yes. You should be.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m brave.”

He’s getting nervous and began muttering to himself. “You shouldn’t have seen me. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. It just smelled so nice.” The last part was whispered out low enough where you couldn’t hear it.

“How did you get in?”

He pulled you into the closet down next to him, closing the door behind. The flashlight was between you both pointing towards the ceiling tightly grasped between your hands. His hands over you. His gaze serious and intent. “Promise you won’t tell anyone, swear on it! Swear on your life!”

You felt like you were being presented the ultimate challenge. This boy was trusting you with his all, maybe this was your adventure. Your destiny. You could be honorable. You nodded, “I swear, I swear.”

“What are you though? Why do you have ears and a tail? Are they real?”

“They’re real.” He said haughtily before pridefully confessing. “I’m a werewolf.”

Your eyes were sparkling, the blanket surrounding you long forgotten and dropped. “Oh, wow! Can I touch your ears?”

He nodded. Your reaction to his secret was surprising to him. He had been told by his parents and everyone in the pack that he should never real his truth. Humans had been enemies for centuries, hunting his kind since the beginning of time. Although, the kind had lived amongst humans for centuries, finding ways to blend in and look alike. The difference was the ability to shift into their natural form.

“Why are you not, like, you know—a wolf?”

“Papa said I can shift fully when I become a man.”

You carefully reached up and felt. He shivered at the touch. “Puppy.”

He growled at you, “Don’t call me puppy.”

“But you’re cute.”

He blushed, scrambling up and pushing your closet door open before heading over to your window. “I have to go.” He began climbing out of your window landing on the ground. Your home was one floor.

You stuck your head out of the window. “Wait!”

He turned around,

“Will I see you again?”

He looked around, nodding before he disappeared between the trees.

It was nearly magnetic the way you both clicked. It was nearly painful being apart from eachother after that night. He would come to your window and sneak into your room almost every night. The following school year you finally went to the same school, Jin having convinced his parents he wanted to change schools. That’s when you both became inseparable. Years later he still snuck into your room, even though he could come through the front door, and still hid in your closet just to scare you. Although, you learned to growl back at him.

It was your normal, but at some point things began to change.

More specifically you were no longer kids. Puberty hit and you were no longer innocent to the maturity that began to bloom in you both. You knew Jin was always touchy. He would hug you and sometimes his hand would linger on you longer than necessary. He would lean in sometimes to smell you, nuzzling his nose against your temple. Initially it had bothered you, the sensation ticklish, but he had explained it quickly it was a werewolf thing. That didn’t change the way your heart would flip each time though.

Jin grew taller than you towering over you, and signs of man began replacing the baby fat. Time was good to him. He found a pack and you no longer spent every waking moment together. It wasn’t that you weren’t welcome, the six boys in his pack were nice, but you had your own group of friends that you began hanging out with. You suppose that was the beginning of the unraveling of your relationship. Naïve and feeling lost you latched onto the first group that accepted you.

Even if they weren’t good for you. You were becoming aware of popularity and boys as it was the only topic they choose to discuss. You began to feel self-conscious because your friends all had boyfriends before, but you still hadn’t. When you introduced the girls to Jin, your presence was made solely into providing information about the boys. The pack were isolationist, but you suppose that’s what made them more attractive besides their looks to hormonal teenage girls. Only now do you realize they accepted you was because you knew Jin and his friends. Specifically, one of the girls, Jenna—if you could remember correctly, would always asking you about Jin.

The breaking point was when Jenny, who knew of your obvious unrequited crush, finally asked you. “You wouldn’t mind if I ask him out right?”

“Jin?” You repeated his name as if you were unsure you heard her right. Although you heard his name coming out of her mouth more times than you can count.

“Yeah, Jin. I mean, you don’t like him, right?” Like a snake she drew out the last words, expression full of pity to resemble comfort. It didn’t help when the other girls at the table all had a similar expression, encouraging her and cornering you.

“I-I—.” You were cut off as another girl spoke up.

“Be real Jenny, they’ve been friend since forever. If he liked Y/n, he would’ve said so already. He doesn’t see her that way.”

The other girl sitting next to her laughed, “Totally doesn’t.”

Blinking back the tears, her words weren’t wrong. Embarrassment flushes through you. Embarrassed that you had even believed that Jin’s affection towards you could ever mean more. The fact that he had made your heart skip a beat. Swallowing your heartache, with a voice more confident than you felt, “Yeah. We’re only friends.”

Squeals and laughter echo out throughout the table in excitement. “Oh my god! Then when you two start dating, you should introduce us to the rest of the friends. I mean Y/n hasn’t done it, but I know you will.”

You were quickly forgotten. The bell rang and the all of them got up as they giggled and walked away to their classes. Sitting alone at the table, you stare at your tray, food partially nibbled on. A single tear falls down onto the table before you suck up the other that threatened to fall. How could you be so stupid. How could you have misread things all along? You get up from the table in a hurry, nearly tripping as your foot caught.

As you step out of the bench of the picnic table you make eye contact with Jin who had been standing at a lunch table a few tables away. The rest of the pack moving around him, but he was still staring at you.

Your embarrassment flushes deeper, had he had heard it all? Your heart breaks even further as you force a smile at him and he returned the gesture. The simple response solidifies everything—you’re just friends.

You miss the way his eyes follow you out of the lunchroom.

The heartache only gets worse as Jin begins making excuses on why he can’t hang out. Claiming he has pack things to deal with. You also begin making excuses no longer hanging out with the girls, even though they don’t seek you out. You instead dedicating your time in the library. You begin reading the books tucked away in the furthest corner of the library, vintage leatherbound books on laws, just to distract yourself. It becomes your new solace.

A few months pass, the sudden silence between you became increasingly awkward. You hadn’t realized how Jin was entangled with every single part of your life. You grew annoyed because your parents would always ask where Jin was. The visible change was when you began noticing the extra portion at the dinner table for him was no longer there. The look they began to give you, seeing the distress in you began to wear you thin.

Deciding enough was enough you decide to confront him, but still cowardly enough to do it between passing. Walking through the halls you headed towards his lockers, knowing he’d be there. His locker just a bit in from an intersection of the halls. When you finally catch sight of him he stood there with two other boys form his pack, Jimin and Hoseok. You swallowed hiding behind the wall where you could hear them, waiting for the two to leave so you could get to speak to him alone.

“Come on hyung. Come on another run tonight.” You could hear Jimin asking

Jin closed his locker after switching out his books then leaning up against it. “I can’t tonight.”

“Why? Gotta go see your girlfriend?” Jimin teases.

Jin hesitated.

You couldn’t see his expression from your place. Your heart sunk, lower lip trapped between your teeth. Had Jenny finally asked him out? Your heart was beating out of your chest.

“No, fuck off Jimin, you already know why.”

Your brows furrow. Has something been going on with Jin? How come he hasn’t told you. He used to tell you everything. You miss the conversation slightly as you contemplate what you’ve been missing with Jin. You had so much to ask him. The question on the tip of your tongue too was –had he finally fully shifted? He had always told you that he had wanted you to be the first he showed his wolf.

Zoning back in you hear Hoseok question. “Come to think of it, haven’t seen Y/n in a while, she doing okay?”

“Normally you’re like a dog in heat around her.”

“No I’m not! I don’t see her like that.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t have time for feelings or emotions.”

You cover your mouth, swallowing your feeling. You suffocate the tears. Everything the girls said were confirmed.

Jin had been so engulfed in his protecting his ego, he hadn’t been able to sense you just around the corner. He then smells it. He smells you. His head twirled towards the wall where he knew you were hiding just behind. He knows your there. He clenched his fist, he wants to go after you but he can’t, it would only prove the teasing.

Clenching your books closer to your chest you run away. Your mind working a thousand miles an hour. Lost in your turmoil you miss that you’re walking straight into someone. Stumbling slightly you look up seeing the person you didn’t want to run into. You don’t pause to apologize or recognize her yelling at you. You needed to get away. The whole day you manage to evade him and everyone—you praise that it was Friday.

Coming home your parents were sitting in the kitchen, the only light on in the house was hanging over the dinning table. Your parents look up at you sadly. “Honey, we have some bad news.”

Your backpack slouched off your shoulders and onto the floor as you took a seat.

Your mother swallowed, placing her hand on top of yours. “We’re moving. I’m sorry, Pumpkin. I know you have so many friends here. Your father’s job is forcing him to transfer to the city, the plant here is shutting down.”

You remain stoic, processing the information. However, you smile, squezzing her hand back in assurance. “How soon can we go?”

Their expression registered shocked. Clearing their throats as they somberly told you, “We’re leaving next week.”

Nodding you get up from the table, leaving your parents apologizing to you. You dragged yourself to your room. Standing alone in the darkness, words found you again. “Not soon enough.”

You moved away, and soon what it was like to be around him everyday was forgotten. You became strangers. An unpleasant memory.

You had done college, and decided early on that you wanted to go into law. Those leather bound, vintage law books was the only thing you actively brought with you from the past. Law was consistent, but ever changing. It allowed you to find a voice, a place where arguments meant something—your voice meant something. It paved the way for a new you and when you entered law school you flourished under the pressure. Everything felt like progress, at least until the day you showed up at the internship. You no longer had the luxury of pretending. Standing in the attorney’s office was Jin among the two other interns. Seeing him first saw him again felt like all wind had been sucked out of you. It was like a ghost had aspirated and so did the sting of rejection. It was all accompanied by an odd sense of longing that passed through you. You saw the way his eyes widened with recognition when he saw you.

But you both made no motion towards the other, frozen in space and time.

Ironically, time should have done its job and all healing had been done, but scars were just thicker scabs.

The nostalgia quickly washed away as it twisted into the familiar shape of disdain towards him. He was brilliant and It was irritating, so you always were sharp with him, cold even, not willing to lose to him. A rivalry quickly evolved between you. He seemed to feel the same way as he would always retaliate back. You couldn’t last a few minutes without bickering. Words just as venomous and an amused smirk always followed.

“What are you doing? Did I mess up a secret meeting?” He throws your question back at you, grounding you back into the present.

Looking at Seokjin now, he had grown up well. He had grown in height, completely towering over you. His shoulders were broad tapering off like a V to a tiny wait. He looked great in an all black suit. Thick, dark hair pushed away from his face showed off his thick brows and symmetric features. You had eyes, but your mouth would never admit it out loud how good he looked.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Avoiding Logan.”

“Logan?” You missed the way his red eyes darken deeply as it looks black. He had heard the footsteps, but now he could put a name to it. “Are you fucking him?” He questions easily, never one for a filter.

Your eyes widen, the crudeness expected despite your aggressive bickering. “Are you seriously asking me that Seokjin?” The though was so absurd and ridiculous. Has he lost his mind. What more you had never even touched this type of topic with him before, who was he to ask about your sex life.

He tucked his hands into the pocket of his slacks. “I don’t know, it’s just an obvious conclusion to draw. Considering he follows after you like a lost puppy.” He feigned a look of pity. “It’s pathetic.”

The tone he takes with talking about Logan surprises you. He never outwardly showed that the man irritated him. You had seen them chatting around the office even. Considering your desk were next to one another it was inevitable. Anger filled you again, was he calling it pathetic because he was pursuing you? Bastard.

Lazily he leaned up against the shelf, as if he was waiting for a reaction he knew he’d get from you.

“I can’t deal with you right now.” you groan, an onset headache coming on from how childish it all was. Growing frustrated and hotter by the second stuck in the closet with him. You turned to leave.

“Leaving so soon? Don’t you want to wait for him to come back around?”

“Seokjin, will you cut it out. What is with you right now?”

He shrugged, still measuring you with a hardened gaze and lips tight in anger. “Nothing.”

Why was he so angry? Earlier you had noticed that all the bigwigs were laughing easily at his jokes. Something you couldn’t deny about Seokjin was his charisma. It was easy be persuaded by him, you used to be stupid enough to be swayed by it too. Shouldn’t he be on cloudy nine, probably having already solidified a job post grad.

“Whatever. Enjoy your night Seokjin. Don’t suck off potential employers too much.”

That had him laughing. “Ever one to need footsteps to be followed. Lead the way then.”

You glare at him in what you picture to be intimidating at him. Pulling open the door. “Fuck you Seokjin.”

You stomped away, faintly hearing the laughing coming from the closet. Luckily, no one was in the hallway.

You had been aimlessly staring at an one of the many orange sticky notes you had tacked onto the glass pane between the desk. Pink was current deadlines, orange upcoming, and blue was for your frustrations. The low cubicles truly didn’t provide privacy, but it wasn’t permanent anyways so you didn’t really put effort into personalizing it. You were trying to read the orange sticky note with the date November 29th ominously written on it. You couldn’t for the life of you remember what was due on that date. The pink note next to it reading the date December 4th was a blaring reminder of the last day of your internship.

Awakening from your thoughts you heard Logan still been droning on to you about whatever he was talking about. You had stopped listening after he called your name, you hummed like you were paying attention, then zoned out. He was leaning on the glass, his desk situated right next to yours. Jin’s was situated across from yours, but he wasn’t at his desk at the moment. At least that saved you a headache.

Your phone rings and you answer it instantly, cutting off whatever he was saying. You give him a pretend fake smile, one to which he luckily accepts sitting back at his desk. Its quick as the secretary is hanging up on you before you can tell her that you’ll be there in a moment. Gathering your things, taking an extra pen just in case, you head towards the elevators.

Knocking on the door twice you let yourself in quietly behind you. Your boss was a passive man, preferring those to act than be told what to do. Turning around taking in the office before pausing noticing the back of someone’s head already sitting in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. The chair meant to occupy your boss was empty.

Remembering where you are you and ignoring him as you stride until you plop yourself into the empty seat. You refuse to look at him, instead sorting out your tablet to take notes on. You just had to wait until your boss came in the room—you could be patient. You had a vague idea of what he may want to talk to you about, but with Jin here you were at a lost. What was he doing here anyways? Had the secretary gotten his appointments mixed up? It’s been two weeks since the event. You had spoken to him since, but it had been the usual bickering. Something had changed though, it was something atmospheric between the two of you, but you couldn’t place an instance on the beginning of the feeling. Oddly, you found yourself searching for him whenever you came to the office, which had brought its own set of turmoil that you’ve yet to unravel. Now that you were sitting next to him, somehow you felt the sense of pettiness overcome you again.

Finally looking at him you notice how great he looked today. He wore common slacks and a button up, but he made the ensemble look great.

Jin asked, “What are you here for?”

Crossing your legs over you flip open your notebook. “None of your business Kim.” You hate that you had done such a good job hiding the layers of hatred and anger, but you could even recognize the coldness in your tone.

He rolled his eyes, “Typical.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying.”

“Clue me in Seokjin.”

He shrugged, clearly wanting you to put the pieces together. Rubbing at your scalp muttering under your breath. “It’s too early for this,” checking your watch, “it’s only eight-thirty in the morning, I haven’t had my coffee yet, and I have to deal with guy.”

“That explains your snappiness. You do seem constipated.”

You audibly gasp, a retort on the tip of your tongue when the door burst open to reveal your boss. A grin already on Jin’s face knowing he got the last word in before he neutralizes it. Paying you both no mind he continued grumbling into his phone that’s tucked between his neck and ear as his other hand holds a cup of coffee and a stack of paperwork in the other. Min Yoongi, your boss, was a man of few words elusive at times, but his tongue was sharper than any knife. His mind was brilliant too, a legend amongst law students. you had heard stories of his infamous mock trials when he was in school and how he had won trails out like a daredevil. He was intimidating to say the least.

Jin’s gaze was still on you before he turned to your boss who plopped into his chair. He seems frazzled, tie a bit disheveled and dress shirt not as freshly pressed as it should be. The fact that you looked kept together in front of him was kind of embarrassing. It was common sense that interns should look that way. Did his appearance have something to do with the 29th? Shit, you really needed to figure out what event was happening that day.

He flung a thick packet in a folder over to you and Jin. You flipped open the folder and read the first page. Peaking over from yours to Seokjin’s you see he was given the exact same paper.

“I’m assigning this case to the both of you.”

“Mr. Min, I don’t mean to impose on your judgement, but I can handle this on my own.” You squinted as you read it over. It seems like a generic divorce case based on the short preliminary interview.

“Can you?” Jin quirked a brow at you. You already have insults on the tip of your tounge but he continued. “Look, I’m just saying because remember that one time—.”

You bark out his name before he can continue, already knowing what story he was going to reference.

“Mr. Kim, Ms. Y/L/N.” You both instantly shut up. “If you both are treating this opportunity simply as some game between the both of you then I’m sorry to inform you that you may not be needed anymore. This is court of law. So tell me—do I need to provide this opportunity to someone else?”

At the same time you both respond. “No, Sir.”

The way he was glaring at the both of you had your toes curling in your shoes.

“Look, Ms. Y/L/N, I’ll admit you are smart, just as much as I think Mr. Kim is capable of handling his own cases. I need the both of you on it because this isn’t an ordinary case. It won’t only go to trial in court, but Kinds court too.”

The only thing you hadn’t expected to come to find out was he was also a kind. Kind being something they used in the human world to refer to their supernatural counterpart for political correctness. One afternoon not long into your internship, but months ago, you had called Jin wolf boy in the breakroom, not knowing your boss was walking in. Anyone else would think it was a passing comment, but the narrowed look that he gave you had you crystalizing. It had become second nature to you identifying when someone was otherly. Yoongi only commented as he walked out to make sure that you both keep it that only you knew.

Jin stiffened next to you, his gaze snapping up to look at Yoongi. An exchange of glances went between them that you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Seeing as you already know about our kind Ms. Y/L/N, I would like that you both work on this together. Prepare it for the courts and depending on how it goes there the Kind’s will deal with it following. Frankly, we need you on this case to keep things right on the human end. And Seokjin we need you because you have the knowledge that comes with it. I expect the both of you can approach this and prepare a case that is thorough. We cannot risk the underlying truth getting out to the public. Dress it up how you have to, leave the kind out of it until human laws can punish as needed.” He centers you both with a stare that’s unwavering, even you feel the expressive. “Do I make myself clear.”

“Yes.” Simultaneously you both respond.

Yoongi finally sits back taking a sip from his coffee that was still just a little too hot. “Everything you need is in the folder. Now get out.”

Beginning to gather you stuff, relaxing your jaw just a bit, “Thank you Sir.” You stride out of the room without looking back.

You leave not bothering to hold it for him. He was right behind you, closing the door so it wouldn’t slam shut. He watched as you strut down the hall. He huffed realizing you weren’t going to wait to talk about the case. Calling your name does no good as you still keep towards the elevators.

When the door closes, you take a moment. Truth be told, the gravity of it is not lost on you. This was going to force you and him to be close again. Backing down would prove you and the grin that would be on Seokjin’s face knowing you gave up would be enough to keep you up at night for the rest of your life. You swear you could handle it. It is just Seokjin. Your career depends on this and doing well.

But why was your heart beating so fast?

Sitting in an empty conference room, you were going over the material again. It seemed like a regular case of infidelity and the wife was filing for divorce. After Min’s pressing of the importance of this case it felt like he was mocking you. This was a case that felt “practical”. In school you had gone over these types of cases a thousand times—introduction on legal fairness and getting the most for your client. Just because it involved the kind doesn’t mean the law will treat it any different.

At least that’s what it all seemed to be.

Standing up from your seat when you heard the door handle clicking open you put on a an air of professionalism. A short woman, who nearly curled in on herself shuffled into the room. Her blue cardigan nearly engulfed her being, but her maxi dress underneath disguised most of her petite figure anyways. A male followed behind her with a hand on her back. That had you breaking your professionalism for a split second as you lifted your brow. The way he held her was anything but platonic. You wondered shortly if that was the man in the ex-husband in question.

Extending your hand out to her in greeting. “Hello, Ms. West, I’m Y/N. Pleasure to meet you.”

In the softest voice she greeted you back. You turn to greet the male he introduced himself as Damien Caldwell. With your hand still out towards him, he refused to shake your hand. Mentioning something along the lines of scent tainting. Pretending you understood you signaled them to take a seat.

You all take a seat with Jin next to you and them across.

Carefully observing her you monitor that she was fidgeting a lot, clearly nervous.

Jin glanced at you and his expression was conveying, “Stop it, you’re making her nervous.”

You forced a smile in his direction, reading into his silent message. “Fine.”

Jin adjust himself, pen in hand gesturing towards them. “Mrs. Gloria West , can you please restate your case?” Although you both had the intake form in front of you, you needed her to state clearly what she was here for.

She begins fidgeting, biting her lip tears welding up in her eyes. Damien gently began rubbing her back. “You can do this. This is your story to tell.”

She nods, sniffling, finally looking up and you finally get a glimpse of her face. Her delicate features look worn out, dark circles under her eyes.

Your features soften, and you give her a genuinely soft smile. Handing her a tissue she thanked you softly. Dabbing the corners of her eyes she began, “My,” she licked her lips as if uttering the words brought bitterness to her, “husband has been cheating on me. I found out he has another family.” She reached into her purse pulling out a card that says Happy Father’s Day. “I found it in his underwear drawer when I was putting his clothes away last week.”

Jin followed up. “You’ve previously stated that your husband has claimed you, is this correct?”

“Yes.” She pushed aside the collar of her cardigan exposing the flaring bite marks where fangs met skin.

Pen pausing on paper you forced your jaw to stay closed. You hadn’t really prepared yourself for what claiming really meant. The primal signature was jarring. The two puncture wounds looked poorly scared, the tissue surrounding it somehow still rejecting the mark.

She covered it up again. “I was young and naïve when we first met, just out of high school and didn’t have much experience. He was five years my senior. I didn’t understand what it all meant at the time. I thought the butterflies I got seeing him meant he was my mate. I was hopelessly in love.” Tears brimmed in her eyes again, but she sniffled preventing them from falling. “He told me I was his mate. I believed him. I let him mark me.” She spoke the words as if they burned her. “We got married three years ago, right after he marked me.”

You were disgusted, stomach unsettled, forced marriage seemed so archaic. Your fist curled under the table. You didn’t understand the depth of what happened in the kind context, but it still irked you. You didn’t let it show on your face though.

Damien was getting restless, clearly irate.

Jin visibly tensed. You see his jaw clench. You fill in for him. “Daniel West, your husband, how did you know he wasn’t your mate?” The word sounded unfamiliar in your mouth. You had heard it spun around before, but never truly knew the meaning. Although you could conclude that it seemed to imply partner.

She looked to Damien and her face seemed to lighten up, dark circles diminishing, as she looked at him. He had the same look at her. Clearly you could tell they were in love. “I found Damien. I knew it was the real thing because it hurt being apart. I couldn’t get him out of my head. Just a touch and it felt electric. I can’t explain it, but I just…knew. I just knew he was it.”

“Is there any other signs of another partner or family?”

“He smells like her.” She swallowed harshly. “He smells like other women too, but her the most.”

“Is there any other factors that are telling? Like photo evidence?”

“No.” You tilted your head considering it over. You couldn’t use smell in court to prove infidelity. You breathed in harshly, slouching forward. How were you supposed to find evidence?

Jin hasn’t spoken the entire time, lost in thought and focusing on the incoming information. “Are there any children?”

She nodded.

“How many? Please identify them.” She goes on to list two children, one three years old and a newborn.

Jin stared at the Damien for a moment. “I know this is a sensitive question, however, I must ask this. Did you mark him?”

It seems Jin had already predicted Damien’s response as the sound of paper crumpling in Damien’s fist was loud. His fist shook form the strength of his anger. Gloria reached over grabbing onto his leg, and his grip loosened up slightly.

She apologized to him. His fist completely unclenched as both of his hands cupped her face. “No, no, no, honey. Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault. You know that right.”

She closed her eyes, calming and basking in the affection. “I know.”

You blushed yourself, feeling as if you had intruded in an intimate moment. You can’t help but follow your instincts telling you to look at Jin. You feel like you see Seokjin for who he is, not how you’ve constructed him. At the same time you find yourself suddenly reminded—he was different. Stern and cold, eyes empty of all the things that used to make him goofy. It was as if you had lost the dictionary. Unable to translate a language that was once native to you. His quirky awkward fillers and jokes have matured into standards. He holds punctuation in his tone, powerful. Calculating in a way you didn't know he could be. Your eyes follow the curve of his plump lips, the curve of his nose and then the entire profile. It feels intimate.

You pause and wonder if Seokjin has a mate. Did he look at them like that too?

You pause diffusing those thoughts, you shouldn’t be thinking of him that way. Focusing back on the case at hand you know mating is something that cant be proven scientifically. It’s a feeling.

She blushed, taking both of her mates hands into hers and placing them on her lap. With more confidence she turned back to you both. “No. I didn’t know then that it had to be both. Daniel told me that marking me would be enough for the both of us. I didn’t realize it until later. When I brought it up he told me I was wrong, that I didn’t know any better. That people were just trying to put ideas into my head and he knew best. I believed him, until I felt the real feeling.”

“You will have a trail before the elders after this, are you aware of that?” Jin says.

“Yes.”

With a thoughtful pause, Jin smiled reaching out to shake their hands. “That concludes questions for today. Thank you both for your time.”

Reaching out to Gloria, you shake her hand, “You’re very brave for this. We’ll do whatever we can to help.”

She smiled, patting your hand. “Thank you.”

You help escort them to the door and they assure you they know the way out. Shutting the door with a click you find Seokjin hunching over his notes. All sense of comfort he offered earlier and professionalism drained form him.

Eyeing him curiously, you asked, “What’s wrong?”

“This…this…this is worst case scenario.” He says.

“Can’t she just get rid of the mark? Things like this are reversable right? She found her mate,” you say the last word with uncertainty as its unfamiliar on your tongue. Logical solutions are the only way you can navigate.

“No, Y/n. it doesn’t work like that.” Voice accusatory.

You shrink, feeling as he had called you stupid indirectly. His fingers couldn’t stop fidgeting over the papers, unable to look at you. “The mark is permanent and can’t be undone. She’s bound to him, but he wasn’t.” He raises his voice towards the end.

“Why are you getting angry?”

When he looked up at you his eyes are red. “You don’t get it.”

You falter. His words hit hard and ring like a ghost putting you back into your old room. Those words engraved like a scar on your heart. Pulling back the scar you are put back in time.

Pacing more folded clothes in the cardboard boxes you glance out your window. It was a full moon.

You couldn’t sleep so you began packing, you were due to move out the following day.

Standing up, you went to the window, staring at the moon. Your eye follows the bush and thick trees that line the property. The night seemed to be so quiet and clear. You felt suffocated in your room, your thoughts making you claustrophobic. You pushed open the window, carefully to make the least noise as possible. Going back to your boxes you fished out a jacket and put on shoes. You slipped through and hit the grass with a thud. Closing your window behind you, you turn back towards the beginning of the forest.

Suddenly a wave of sadness fills you as you remember how Jin used to always come through the same bushes to see you. Clenching your fist and tucking your jacket tighter over you, you force the thoughts of Jin out of your head.

You push pass the bushes, the light of the moon enough to light your way. You follow a faint overgrown carved out path. In all truth you had only ventured out a few times into the forest each time with him. Jin had always warned you that it wasn’t safe, but he wasn’t here to tell you otherwise. You could make your own choices. Remembering that there was a small ravine nearby you began heading towards it knowing it was somewhere nearby. The sounds of crickets was the only thing you heard besides the crunching of your shoes on mulch.

The air grew noticeably heavier with a mist and you could hear the soft sound of water running. Heading down a slope you end up at the shore of a riverbed. The water was running gently over the darkened stones underneath, just a bit further down the river picked up, frothing as it hit protruding stones. You dip your hand into the spring water, the cold causing you to shiver.

For a moment you can imagine that it’s just you in the world.

Tomorrow this would be all but a dream.

From across the bed, along the other shoreline, twigs crunch. Ripping your hand form the water you freeze in place. Scanning the shoreline, you couldn’t see anything. Your mind pictured a thousand things it could be. Even in the dark you could make out red eyes looking at you. The being shifted to an opening on the shoreline before taking on the large silhouette of wolf. Its fur was black, dark as the sky.

You stayed put, afraid to rile it up by running despite all instincts saying to do so. It stepped closer, entering the water and trudged closer to you. You weren’t ready to die. It held your gaze the entire time. As it grew closer the wolf was larger than what you’d expect to be average, it was more comparable to a grizzly bear.

It kept coming closer and your heart even louder in your ears. You lost your balance falling on your ass with a shriek. You weren’t quick enough to recover as it was hovering over you. You could feel its hot breath fanning over you with its heavy breaths. It growled and your muscles tensed in fear. It just hovered over you, you wondered if it was waiting for you to make a move.

Willing your eyes to open, all at once you felt like you had recognized the beast. “J-Jin?”

Sensing your fear, it then whined. Then he is shifting, limbs elongating and spine curving as he growled through the process. You can’t bear to look at him as you hear the sound of bone cracking and popping. The sound having goosebumps pill your flesh.

"What are you doing out here?" His voice was deep and cold, lacking its usual warmth. When you turn to look at him you no longer see a massive wolf but Jin. His eyes were still red and you stare, trapped within the color. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen it. The tattered clothing that had stuck to his previous form manifested in torn pants, but he was shirtless.

Wrinkling your nose. Just when you thought you could get away from him, he manifest. “I can be here if I want. Who are you to say I can’t?”

His wolf hadn’t settled, taking your challenge personal rather than rational. “Its too dangerous.”

“We haven’t spoken in so long and the first thing you do is yell at me.”

His expression softened, but he still appeared stern. “Go home.”

“Really Jin?”

“Go home!”

“Do you really not care about me? What you said to Jimin, is it really true?”

When he remained quiet, you found your answer. You bit your lip, forcing yourself to suffocate the tears.

“You don’t understand.” He heaved.

“Obviously, so why! Why won’t you talk to me!” Your nerves finally snap. Tears were prickling at your eyes regardless of how much you fought to keep them down.

“Can’t you give me some space! You just need to give me space sometimes.”

“No! This isn’t you, you’d tell me everything. There are no secrets between us. I want answers. Is it that easy to you to throw away everything we have?”

He growled and stepped up to you, inches away looking down at you. Your neck was kinked back staring back at him with equal challenge. His nostrils flare as he takes in your sense. His chest rumbled.

“I don’t want you to know! I don’t want you know about that part of me. So stay out of it! Leave it alone and me alone. I don’t need you.”

Feeling so small, it hadn’t occurred to you that he didn’t see you as important enough. You hated how much you had relied on him. You feel like a child whining to a parent. Maybe the girls were right. Jin would never look at you like that. You were an outsider to his real world anyways. “Fine. You know what, you’re right I don’t understand and never will. I see what I mean to you now.” Tears were rolling down your cheeks but you swiped them away as soon as they broke.

“Y/n.” The anger melted away from his being instantly, realizing what he said. He wants to take it all back, but he can’t find the right words. He stepped towards you and you took two steps back. You wanted to get away from him.

“You’ll never have to see me again.” You laughed, but it wasn’t in humor, instead full of bitterness.

“What?”

“I’m leaving.”

“What do you mean leaving?”

“What do you care Jin? Aren’t you getting what you want? You don’t need me. You’ll never have to worry about me getting in your business or caring about you again. I’m moving tomorrow.”

“Goodbye.” You turned away from him. His red eyes imprinting in your memory like a branding. You swore before you turned away you saw tears, but you refused to believe it.

He had made his bed, now he had to lay in it.

When you remained quiet, Jin began packing his stuff quietly realizing his outburst. You can only assume he remembered the same thing.

Sighing heavily he tries to dispel the anger, his eyes flashing back to normal. “We’ll discuss things later.”

You hate that it makes your heart sink. You don’t like that he’s pushing you away. He had done it before, but he wasn’t going to do it again. “Of course I don’t, so explain it to me now.”

He ignores you and makes towards the door. Before he makes it you grab onto his forearm. “Will you listen. Don’t walk away from me.”

His body stiffens instantly, although his chest was still heaving. When he turns to look at you, you let go of him like you had been burned. You crossing your arms over your chest protectively. Knowing he no longer plans to leave you follow up, “Look, I don’t know as much as I thought. Don’t punish me for it. I just want to solve this case as you do.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I just…imagining someone claiming—.“

Your chest deflated too with his reaction it gave you an unspoken conclusion. He had a mate. You should’ve known better than to let your thoughts trail on earlier. Instead you focused on his apology. “We need to work together right? This is our last case here and we can get through this professionally.”

“Can we?”

You smirked, “I can behave if you can.” You straightened up, extending out your hand to him, “Let’s call a truce or something.”

He accepted it, but still held onto it which was something you didn’t expect. “Something?”

“I mean do you have a better status to call whatever this is?”

“Truce implies I hate you. I don’t hate you.”

The way Seokjin looked at you felt like he was truly looking at you. You almost felt paralyzed as you couldn’t look away. His words felt—genuine. But you refused to lean into that, you didn’t want to read into his words too much. You rolled your eyes, unconvinced pulling your hand out of his. “Okay, alright, I said behave”

“Really. I don’t.” Weakly he smiled.

“So truce or not?”

“Okay.” He answered.

“Okay.” You repeat back.

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Give me your phone.”

You pulled out your phone and handed it to him. He saved his phone number, calling himself, before handing it back. “Don’t abuse it now.”

You scoffed, nearly choking on your own saliva. Unable to stop yourself from laughing in disbelief. “You wish.”

He genuinely laughed, the high pitch sound unique and squeaky. Turning to leave, he paused in the doorway looking over his shoulder. “Another thing.”

You hummed, looking at him expectantly. You saw the cheeky smirk before it bloomed. “Keep the messaging to during the daylight hours, alright.”

“Seokjin!”

He closed the door quickly behind him, evading your spitfire.

He isn’t sinking back into your life. You aren’t even friends. You both were going to go your separate ways after the internship, and you were never likely to run into him again.

You had nothing to lose.

Truce.

Shutting the door behind you a bit harder than necessary, you toe off your heels and hook your keys up.

Your roommate, Mia, was already sprawled out on the couch. Slumping right next to her and crowding her out. The sounds you emit sounded like a deflating air mattress as you groan.

“Yikes, that bad of a day?” Shuffling to adjust herself again on the couch.

Closing your eyes you nodded. She laughed, clearly not buying the way you played victim. “What did he do today?”

Mia had been a friend you made during college, and quickly became your closets friends. When you both graduated you found yourself needing someone to roommate with while job searching and grad school stuff. You had found out about her being a Kind early on in your sharing of home. She was more surprised to find out that you had already known about it. That’s when you told her about your childhood, leaving out names, all until recently where she was too smart and connected the dots. Wolves and their intuition.

“Okay, first off, not everything isn’t about him. And secondly, how dare you be right about it.”

She laughed, her laptop nearly falling off her lap. You loath her, her and her perceptiveness. She was smart, but sometimes too smart for your own good. “It just—he’s so irritating! I just said one wrong thing today and he exploded. Then we had a truce and get this, he said he didn’t hate me.” Confessing all on your own, you felt accosted just by her silence.

Her eyebrow quirked at that, followed by a cheshire grin. “You two getting along now then? Is that’s what’s upsetting you?”

“No. It’s just—he played the good guy and it made me feel stupid. I have been doing my best and then he comes along and makes me feel—ughh! It’s just this case is stressful. I feel way out of my depths.”” You have your hands in the air scratching at the air.

“Leave then.” She shrugged, stating the obvious solution. She already had let this type of complaining go in one ear and out the other. Since the beginning of your internship you had come home and vented about your day, mostly revolving around him as the topic of choice. How he irritated you that day, or simply breathed the wrong way. Even to yourself, the amount of time he has been able to rile you up lately has become annoying.

“I can’t just leave, you know how hard I worked for this. You know how important this place is. Besides, I need it to graduate.”

“Well then, why were you arguing anyways? What does this have to do with your case?”

“Everything to do with it.”

She nodded. Realizing it must not be within your realm she opens up, “Need insight?”

You shifted on the couch tucking your legs underneath you. “What’s marking or ‘laying claim’?”

She turned to you, “Are you serious?” For the first time in your friendship you saw her blush. She was always forthcoming with sexuality and whatnot, so this was out of character for her.

“Yes.”

“Did he ask you about it?”

You squinted at her, “No, why?”

She cleared her throat, waving her hand, “No, nothing.”

“Well its not PG-13.” She licked her lips.

“Well thank goodness I’m not a virgin maiden in waiting. What is it? You’re stalling.” Her reaction made you infinitely more curious.

“Okay, well honey, when two mates, who love eachother very much—.”

“Oh god, stop it, please be serious for once!”

She laughed. “Fine. It’s a sacred ritual that connects two mates together. Or in layman terms, two soulmates together via a bite mark. It acts like rings? But its more than that. Its hard to explain.”

“Soulmates?” You suffocated the scoff. Out of all things she said to be appalled at. “That doesn’t exist.”

She smiled at you. “They do! You humans just don’t believe it because you’ve corrupted the system.”

“So it can’t it just be anyone? You know, fall in love and just know that person is it, the one?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s this instinctual feeling. This soul connection. You’ll know it when you feel it kind of thing.”

“Ugh, that’s what she said too.” You rubbed at your temples. “I can’t use a feeling as evidence.”

You sighed, “I can’t tell you about the case, but hypothetically if this happened. Hypotheticals only.”

She suffocated a laugh, rolling her wrist in a circle, hand gesturing for you to continue.

“So hypothetically, the client was hypothetically marked by someone other than her mate. What does that mean—hypothetically?”

Her face sobered, “Are you serious?”

You nodded.

Fiddling with her fingernails, she looked genuinely troubled. “How can that even happen?” She mumbled to herself before she turned to you. “I don’t know of any worse punishment. The pain that comes with that either is unimaginable. It’s violation of not only culture, but its inhumane. The human equivalency of forced marriage, but even then that equivalency doesn’t compare how bad it is. Murder, maybe?”

“What would happen to the one who bit the other…hypothetically?”

“Normally, death. There would be a match between the actual mate and the one who bit until death, but times have changed. The punishment is still severe.”

You take pause realizing how serious it all was. You weren’t sold to the idea of love, or soulmates, but being forced in a marriage the idea made you sick. You finally could see why Seokjin was so upset earlier. Sighing heavily you let your head fall back on the couch onto the cushion stared at the ceiling. How could you find evidence against this guy then?

“We gotta make him pay.” Looking towards her. “Do you think a guy who has a separate family would leave a paper trail?”

“You just need to find his social accounts. Cheaters usually have multiple accounts under different pseudonyms. Their downfall though is that most guys are stupid enough to not undo the geo tag or take the photos all in the same place.”

“I’ve already looked into it. He only has one account. It’s pretty generic, nothing telling.”

“But have you?” She gave you this side eye. “He must have a fake account then. Probably all his closets friends follow it, so we just have to find a similar name that seems to be a generic account.” The whole time she had been speaking to you she had been doing the research.

“Done.”

Your jaw dropped. She did that so fast. Could you blame her though, as an IT specialist she knew the ins and outs of things like this.

“You evil genius!” She pulled it back to herself, you scooching to sit next to her so you can watch what she does. Scrolling through, she squinted. “Seems he recently was on this page.” She clicked on link bringing up a page to a club named Fluxx. Scrolling through you both catch a comment under an event from West. The DJ who was playing there apparently was his favorite, him and his boys were going to be there to see it that weekend.

She turned her laptop towards you. “You’d think he’s in college still.”

“What if…what if I go. I’m sure he isn’t going to just party with his friends. I’m sure he’s going to be there looking for his next victim.”

She shut her laptop, scowling at you. “No. Absolutely not.”

You pout, “Why not? You realize this give me the evidence I need to proof the case.”

“You don’t understand. It’s a club for others. Humans can’t get in here unless you’re someone’s play thing or—.”

“Or what?”

“With someone who is.”

You stare at her expectantly.

“No.”

“Come on!” You whine, tugging at her sleeve.

“No, this is dangerous!” She set her laptop on the coffee table, moving away from you so you couldn’t provoke her. Getting up form the couch she headed towards the kitchen. You sigh following after her. She reached into a cabinet for a mug.

“Don’t treat me like a child.”

She slammed down her mug, and you jumped. You had never seen her upset. She turned to you with a look of disbelief. “Child? This isn’t a game, y/n. You apparently don’t what kind of shit you’re getting into. My kind have to live in the shadows, and do you know what happens in the shadow.” Her comment was rhetoric.

You kept your mouth shut.

“Humans are no longer the superior race in there. Not all kinds are what you think. You’d get eaten alive the moment you let your guard down.”

“I didn’t go through all this trouble to find a good lead to get scared away by the what ifs. Besides, you’ll be there with me, right?”

“They’re not what ifs, y/n.”

“Yes, they are. You went there before and are standing here today.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“I’m not. I understand okay! I know you don’t think I do, but I do. I’ve heard it before and I don’t need to hear it from you!”

She turned to look at you with a pointed glare. You stood your ground.

She huffed preparing herself a drink. You stared at her back. For a moment you held doubt. What if she was right. What if you were getting yourself in something bigger than you anticipated. Picturing back to earlier in the day to Gloria and the amount of fear she had regarding her husband had your stomach sinking. The look that Seokjin had, the anger in him, and now hearing of the significance. The sense of justice found itself rooting in you even thicker.

“Alright.”

Pushing off the counter you were leaning on, Mia dropped the spoon she was using to swirl her drink in the sink noisily.

“You’re planning on going anyways aren’t you.”

Painting her with a look of exhaustion and resolve. “I am.”

“How?” she tossed her hands up in the air.

“I don’t know, I always figure things out somehow.”

She picked up her mug pushing past you then picking up her laptop going into her room. She slammed the door.

You slumped back onto the couch. Biting on your thumb. How were you supposed to get in now?

She came storming out of her room thirty minutes later. Rubbing her temples with a look of distress.

“Can’t you just hire a PI or something?”

“No, you yourself said being a kind is a secret. I can’t hire someone to watch him.”

She bit her lip, “Do you have to be this stubborn?”

You chuckled. “Yes. A woman’s life is going to be decided if or not I can prove her husband is a dick. Even if that means putting myself out there to prove it. I really want justice for her.”

“God, I really hate you sometimes.”

You smirked sitting up. “Does that mean you’ll get me in.”

“I swear to God if you get hurt—.”

“We won’t, I won’t.” You rushed towards her wrapping her in a hug. “Thank you, this means a lot. You know I wouldn’t ask something form you if I didn’t mean it right.”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“You owe me big time!”

“Whatever you want darling, the world is ours!”

Finding yourself back at the office after finishing all your classes in the morning. You were exhausted. The week, on top of the internship, had been exam heavy. You found it difficult to raise your head from your desk. Luckily for you, the office was nearly empty including of the other three. All others were at their campus or otherwise. You purposefully came on this day to get your work done.

Your phone pinged, notifying you got a text. With your hand you blindly searched for your phone dragging it so you could look at it form your lap with your head still on the table.

You sat up when you noticed who had texted you. You blink at the ID a few times.

Partner in Crime [2:07 p.m.]: We should meet up to work on the case.

You knew enough to deduce it was Seokjin.

You [2:09p.m.]: Who’s this?

Partner in Crime [2:10p.m.]: Are you serious?

You [2:10p.m.]: I’m at the office now.

Pain in the ass [2: 12pm]: Can you meet me at my school’s library in thirty? The office is nearby. I’ll buy you a coffee.

Location sent.

You contemplate. You just wanted to go home. Deal with the case more after this weekend after going to the club. You want to present all your finding and seal the deal all in one session. However, the thought of coffee was convincing enough to have you texting back.

You [2:20pm]: Okay. Be there soon.

Pain in the ass [2:21pm]: I’ll meet you outside.

You found yourself standing outside of the library half an hour later, staring up at the towering building. This was their library? This looked more like a historical site. Well it explained why the tuition here was so expensive. He went to the ivy school, one of the best, if not the best, law programs in the nation. You eyed things with envy. You had applied for this school too, it was a dream of course. But you suppose going to state university granted you only so much prestige.

“The clouds telling you something?” You jump when Jin comes up next to you.

You glare at him. He’s laughed. “Sorry, you looked so lost in your thoughts. Didn’t actually think I’d scare you. Here.” He handed you the other coffee in his hand.

You accepted it gladly, fingers feeling frozen, but pause. “You didn’t poison this right?”

“No, that’d be too easy.”

You nearly snort into your cup. “Spoken like a true soon to be lawyer.”

You miss the endearing stare he gives you as you begin walking up the stairs. He quickly catches up with you putting a hand on the small of your back when a large group of students come your way. He guides you up the stairs keeping you close with the abundant of students pouring in and out. You suppressed the squeak you wanted to let out. His hand was large and warm, the touch radiating through your coat. Your mind tells you you should move away, but you don’t. He leads you to the lower floor where to your surprise was just as magnificent as the base floor. The gothic architecture feels almost as if you’re entering a cathedral. The tables were dark oak wood and heavy looking ordered in long rows of five. Green banker lamps were in the center of each table basking the old scratched up wood in golden light.

Leading you to a table secondarily inward, he took a seat next to you.

Finding it odd, you debate on moving, but you neglect to comment on it. He settled into the seat looking none the more comfortable. Settling in you pulled out your laptop plugging it into an outlet underneath the table. You needed a second to re-center yourself. You didn’t like that you instead of revulsion like you expected to, you felt his presence give you a sense of security. It’s all dangerous, the feeling all too close to the ease you used to have with him.

“Have you come across any new leads?” Jin asked.

You quirked you head, having been so lost in your thoughts. “Huh?”

“New leads?”

“Oh, yeah.” You bring it up a on your laptop and show him. “I found his secret Bookface account. It’s even under a different name, Ethan Miller. He must have many identities and more accounts than this one.”

He brought his arm up resting it on the back of your chair, bringing the both of you closer. You flush thinking nothing of it as his thick thigh brushes yours as he leaned in.

“How’d you find it?” He clicks through the photo album. Pictures of ‘Daniel’ and children appear that look very much like him. Children who were not his with Gloria.

“I know people.”

He looked mildly impressed. “I see, if you tell you’ll have to kill me kind of scenario.”

Shrugging with a bit of pride you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned on the desk. Lamely you shot a single finger gun at him. Realizing how lame it was you quickly tucked your finger back into your fist and crossing your arms. When did you do lame things like that ever? He laughed, and you tried to ignore the embarrassment.

“Anything else?” He was so close to you when he looked up. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flicker down to his lip for a second as he mouthed the words. You quickly brought them back up to his eyes, the dark chocolate color another vortex. Heat rises to your cheeks and he could probably hear your heart picking up in pace. It didn’t help that from how close he was you could smell the cologne he wore, which made you want to lean in and press your face to smell it from his skin. Heat flushes even hotter through you, how brazen of your thoughts were getting.

Remembering he asked you something you answer more breathier than you would like. “No.”

When he straightens up, you were glad he didn’t comment on it. You contemplated telling Jin where you were going, but you keep your mouth shut. You could handle it on your own, all you needed to do was bring the evidence.

You cross your legs attempting to move away from him.

He nodded, taking screenshots before moving on. He finds the photos of his other family just like you did, and the other woman too. He carefully zoomed in squinting at the image of the woman.

“She’s wearing a scarf and in a majority of them.”

“Didn’t take you to be in the fashion police.” That has him snorting a laugh before he goes back to the page. He looked around, finding no one in any of the other rows, you both completely had the basement floor to yourselves. “He must’ve marked her, or newly marked her when they took these photos. She’s trying to cover up the bruising.”

“Is that so abnormal?”

“Well, not necessarily. We just heal rapidly, cuts heal within hours. Marks do take a bit to heal, but it usually heals within a day if cared for properly. But just the way she hiding it and the bruising, It means she’s human. Kinds know marks aren’t meant to be covered up. They’re something sacred and to be worn proudly.”

“So…?”

With his head propped onto his hand he turned to you, eyes boring into you. That feeling arises in your stomach again. The way he was looking at you felt deeper than just a simple glance. You think back to when he said he didn’t hate you. The words still feel impossible.

“Human mates are rare.” Without letting you question it he says, “Bruising could mean it never healed because her body is rejecting him.”

“Wouldn’t he be feeling some repercussions too? It’s a two-way thing right?”

“Yes, but it seems that he’s not being affected. Gloria would have mentioned illness or signs of hyper aggression.” He scrolls over the images. “You’d expect this kind of behavior from—.” Again he pauses, lost in though.

“From what?”

“A rogue.”

You squint. “English, please.”

He smiles at you. “An exiled wolf. When we don’t have a pack for too long our sense of direction becomes distorted. Signs are aggression, loss of humanity and morality, eventually they lose their its ability to revert.”

“And you think he’s one?”

He leaned back in his seat. “It’s plausible.”

“Let’s go through his account and gather more evidence. I can began transcribing the interview. We can do case search too if we have time.”

He nodded his head. You send him the link to West’s account and begin sectioning out the work. Surprisingly, you had worked quietly next together, no bickering. It was—pleasant.

“How’s school going?” His husky voice breaks you out of your concentration. He was still looking at the laptop and writing down notes.

You hummed. “Getting by, you?”

“Same.” He hums back and the lull begins again. You bite at your lip, curiosity getting the better of you. “Why did you decide to go to law school? Weren’t you going to become a chef?”

He had always told you when he was younger, he wanted to become a chef. “Duty called.”

“Let me guess, pack stuff?”

He nods, not missing the way you said it. “I’m expected to become a council member when I graduate. I’m going to take my father’s position and practice in the kind’s court.”

You didn’t know much about his family, things were always surface when you were younger. Playtime and other things taking precedence. You had no idea his father was a lawyer. You had only spoken to his parents a handful of times. His mother was the one who spoke to you mostly, his father was a stoic man.

“But, your dream?”

“I still cook, I just don’t do it professionally.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No, I’m happy.”

You thoughtful consider his words. It pains you a little to know he gave up his dream.

“How are they, your pack?”

A fatherlike smile comes on his face. “They’re all well, Namjoon is to be the next pack leader. The others are all doing their own thing, but they’re doing great.”

You smile, the fond memories of the boys resurfacing. “I miss them.”

“Why’d you leave then?”

There it is. The conversation the both of you had been avoiding this whole time. You had asked him something so personal and now he was returning it. The implication of the question wasn’t only why you left town, but him. You knew that, both physically and emotionally. You don’t know if you could offer him that though.

Abruptly your smile leaves you. “My dad got a job here in the city. I had no choice.” Your tone was frigid despite how much you wanted it to sound neutral.

“That’s the only reason?” He didn’t buy it. Based on his tone he sounded hurt. Knowing there was another reason. You hated that he could still read you.

You shrug, maintaining your stance. “Yes.”

“Bullshit.” His voice comes out clipped and sharp.

“What other reason would I have Seokjin?” Willing your voice to stay leveled, you begin using a voice you only use in professional settings.

“You left me.” He spoke the pain that he had held within. When you look over to him his eyes are red.

Leaning back in your chair, you crossed your arms over your chest. You wanted to remain unaffected, but you wanted to reach out to him. You felt the urge to touch him, but your anger kept you steady. “I didn’t leave you, you weren’t there. How can you say I left when you weren’t there.”

“You know that’s not true.” He accused, gaze darkening.

“It’s true.”

“I tried, but you wouldn’t answer.”

“That’s bullshit Jin and you know it. For months you ignored me.” Using his words back at him you choked on your words towards the end. You want to say, ‘you didn’t need me’, but the word hung heavy on your tongue, too hurtful even to yourself. You know that you didn’t try to reach out because after what those supposed friends said, it was made true when he just suddenly left. The prioritizing of his pack over you. All your feelings for him were crushed. Heartbreak was easier to deal with when you didn’t have to see their face.

He growls out, “I had things in the pack to handle.”

“Good excuse.” You knew he avoided you for other reasons, it was beginning to urk you that he wasn’t voicing it.

“I couldn’t help it. I was being initiated and had my first complete shift. It was a lot.”

“It’s different and you know it. I—forget it.” You wanted to say so much more, confess how you used to love him. Those feelings feel trivial now, even if they still exist in the present. The realization of the words, even though spoken in your mind had you reliving the pain all over again.

He falters and you almost feel guilty. A darkness spreads over the atmosphere. You spend a moment staring at one another. There is a tension between you two. Yet you can’t deny it’s like magnets. You feel drawn to him despite it all. Always have been. The knowledge of that has you shattering inside.

You stand up. “I’m going to look for a case study.” The wooden chair screeches against the floor. You needed to get away, to cool down. The sound of your shoes echo with the emptiness of the library.

Slinking between the bookcases you keep walking until you are deep within, feeling far enough where you can breathe again. Leaning against a bookshelf you sigh heavily. How come he had this much effect over you still?

Suddenly you feel heat overcome you as Jin suddenly towers over you. Softly his chest rumbles in hushed growls as he caging you in.

“Seokjin, leave me alone.”

When he doesn’t move you attempt to escape, placing your hands on his firm chest and pushing him. Unsurprisingly he doesn’t budge, but he shifts to keep you within his outstretched arms on the bookshelf. His gaze is intense, the red seeming to glow. “No, why do you run away when the conversation gets difficult?”

Humiliation clouds you. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Seokjin I’ve never run, it was you. I stopped chasing when I realized you had other priorities then and I wasn’t one of them. You said so yourself. Simple as that.”

You see him register the memory. His expression turns bitter. “That’s not true.” Gaze narrowed, his hands turn white as he clutches the shelf behind you. “I didn’t ignore you on purpose. Things were complicated and there was a lot I didn’t understand yet.”

“Good excuse.”

“It isn’t!”

“So what?”

“I realized something that—.”

“You didn’t need me.” The words come out of your mouth quietly finishing the sentence for him.

“No!” he growled.

“Keep telling yourself that.” You bit back the feeling of tears. “What do you gain Seokjin from this, huh? Reliving the past? It’s not then anymore. The us, whatever it was, is not now. And nothing will change that.”

The bookshelf creaked under his grip. “Don’t. Don’t say things like that.”

“What? That I’m no longer that young naïve girl? The one that used to follow you around? The one that used to think you were—.” The word mine dies on your tongue. “I don’t need you anymore and haven’t for a while, face it.”

“Please don’t cry.” He looked at you sadly.

You hadn’t realized you were crying. Attempting to wipe your tears, Jin hand took yours holding it while he caressed your face with the other wiping it away for you.

“Please don’t. I can’t handle it.”

He lowers his head and kissed you. The first press of his lips was gentle but deep. A small whimper escapes you; he rumbles in response pressing you closer to the bookcase. His hand dictates yours onto his shoulders while it wrapped around your waist pulling you close to him. It was making you dizzy with how good it felt.

He pulled away warm breathes of quiet between you two. You slowly open your eyes meeting his fiery ones. The warmness and adoration of it catching you off guard. The boyish loopy smile that followed had your heart melting. He lowered his head, resting his forehead against yours. His lips press against yours again unyielding. You had imagined this before, but this felt better. He kisses your jaw down to your neck. You shiver. The implication of it is not lost on you. He trailed back up finding your lips again in a harsh mesh. With a sigh he pried your mouth open. He moans your name.

Bringing you back to reality. “I—We can’t.”

This wasn’t right on many levels, but most importantly, didn’t he have a mate? Why was he kissing you? You had messed up, messed up big time. How had you caved so easily when he kissed you. You hate that you liked it so much too. You realize from the moment you both met again that the feeling you worked so hard to suppress came back strong. This was a mistake from the beginning. He still makes your heartbeat like it used to.

Seokjin’s arms were still extended towards you. “Why not?”

“I can’t—we can’t.”

You do what you do best. You run. Your heart breaks again for the second time.

Standing outside in line in the dead of fall would have to be the last place you wished to find yourself. The bombing bass thumped through the walls and neon lights outlined the vicinity. Other patrons in line to the club seemed at ease with the near freezing temperature. You suppose its a caveat of being human that your body didn’t run naturally warm. You had been to clubs throughout your college days, but they were far in between. Except this wasn’t any regular club, Fluxx was meant for the underworld. Those of the other kind.

Crossing your arms over your chest you attempt to conserve as much heat as possible. The fire within only kindled by the fact that you are only doing this for the case. The dress you had borrowed form Mia after she had deemed your choice to tame barely covered anything. It was too tight and you were sure that everything underneath was outlined.

Your phone vibrates in your clutch. You step away from Mia, although she was distracted chatting up some guy in the line. You answer it without looking at the ID.

“Hello?” Plugging your other ear with your finger.

“There’s something you need to know.” Jin’s voice comes through. You startle looking at the phone to check if it really was him. After what happened yesterday you hadn’t expected to never speak to him so soon.

Putting it back to your ear. “Can it wait?” You hiss.

“No.”

“What is it?”

“I talked to Yoongi about him being a rogue. It all checks out. I don’t know how much longer before he turns.”

You bite your lip, heart pausing in your chest. You stare at the club for a moment contemplating what you are about to do. You knew what you were doing was dangerous, entering territory still uncharted to you. However, this was the best way to get more proof.

“Y/n? Y/n did you hear me?”

His voice comes back into your ear, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Are you out right now?”

Form the corner of your eye you notice a bouncer going down the line, eyeing those standing in line. Mia grabs your elbow pulling you back to her. You hadn’t told her what happened yesterday. Unable to articulate it either. She mouthed to you, “Everything alright?”

“Where are you?” Jin asked.

You nodded to her.

“I gotta go.”

“Y/n, wait—.” You hung up on him tucking your phone back in your purse.

The bouncer scanned you over before looking to Mia. The smile that bloomed on his face was a bit salacious. “Go on in ladies.” Mia grabbed your arm pulling you to bypass the line. Going through the entrance, the dark narrow hallway, you focus on your footing as it was hard to see. The deep house thumping grew louder until it opened to a large room. Strobing lights were made opaque by the hazy air, thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. Bodies were moving to the music as Mia pulled you towards the bar. You were nearly knocked twice by people too drunk to notice or have body awareness.

Mia had already given you the rundown of what to expect. She had spent at least two hours lecturing you on what goes on. These clubs were not just host to one kind, but all. The fact that you were human would send off a few sense and mixing alcohol in the situation it makes things a bit more dangerous. It had already been decided early on that you both would split up.

Mia leaned in at the bar catching the bartender’s attention and ordered for the both of you. Without turning back.

“Spot him yet?”

Scanning the crowd, you look over the bodies, none of them striking familiarity. It isn’t until you scan the private section where the tables are do you find him.

Mia receives the drinks, handing you the soda. Stealthily she looked over spotting the area of where you were looking.

“I’m not getting good vibes Y/n.”

You nearly snorted into your drink. “It’s a club of course you don’t. This place is grimy and full of fuck boy energy.”

Her lips lift in a smile, but it doesn’t stay. “I’m serious.” Biting her lower lip in uncertainty, leaning in she spoke into your ear, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah.” An important detail you left out was telling her that he was a rogue. You knew that just like Jin she would talk you out of it. To her he was just a douchebag and you were just an ordinary girl hitting on him.

“I’ll come find you. Don’t do anything stupid okay.”

You nodded. She disappeared into the crowd weaving into the swaying bodies dancing seamlessly, leaving you at the bar.

You spotted him leaning into a woman, holding her by the hips and grinding to the beat. She wasn’t any woman you had found on his social media before. You snuck photos pretending to take selfies then going through a few other apps. Seeing him move away from her at the change of the song you took your cue. Moving through the dance floor you approximated yourself. Your heart was beating in your fingertips, fist tightly clutching at your drink. Steps beside him you went into action. Stumbling slightly in front of him, you spilled your drink on his black slacks. He growled as soon as the cold liquid spilled all over him.

Trying to swipe off the drink, “What the fuck!”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You played up to the image of innocence and a naïve human.

He paused in his attempt at brushing off the liquid. “A human. What are you doing here sweetheart?” When his eyes meet yours, they don’t just look they linger. The girl he had been speaking to completely forgotten. His eyes flicker down from your face to your body, lingering in erogenous zones before meeting your eyes again. Pretending you didn’t notice, you suppress the urge to smile knowing he’s playing into it.

Now that you were closer you couldn’t deny that the guy was attractive. It made sense how he was able to play so many. His tousled hair was dark and silky. His eyes were piercing and intimidating.

Seokjin’s words ringing in your ear again. Don’t know how much longer we have until he turns. Why did you have to think of him now at all times.

Touching his leg over the stain you squeezed it suggestively still pretending innocence of attempting to clean it. “I’m so sorry. I’m such a clutz.”

“Hold on princess. Take me to dinner first.” He grabbed your hand, but kept it over his legs.

You couldn’t explain it, you felt his touch turning nausea within you.

“Can I pay you to get it cleaned?”

“This thing? I got twenty more, its fine.”

You leaned in, putting your hand on his chest. “Is there another way I can repay you?”

That had him quirking his brows before a twisted grin bloomed on his face. “Got any ideas babygirl?”

You leaned in, playing with a button on his button up. “I can think of a few wolf boy.”

He growled clearly taking on the challenge. “My names Daniel and don’t forget it baby girl.”

He leaned in to capture your lips but you turned to the side. You whispered into his ears, chuckling, “Don’t tease me baby. you’re going to bring the beast out in me.”

Pretending his words were stimulating, you giggled, tossing your head back. Biting your lip you gave him a doe eyed look, “Let’s take this somewhere else.” Blinking up at him, “Please.”

He took your hand leading you through the crowd. You didn’t have time to search for Mia in the crowd, but you had hoped she saw you. He moved towards the back towards an exit door. He pushed open the door you were pulled out into the back alley. As soon as the door closes the noise of the club softened, and Daniel’s labored breathing is the loudest sound. Fog had settled in over the city, and you could see a group of guys lingering just at the entrance, the ember of their cigarette light.

Stepping closer to you he caged you against the damp brick wall. His overwhelming smell of alcohol was suffocating as he leaned in with a smirk on his lips. He leaned in close enough that his breath fanned over the side of your face. Moaning and humming, “You smell like a bitch, hard to believe your just human baby girl.”

“I’ve always had a bit of wild in me.” You smirked.

Throwing his head back as he laughed, then lowering his head following with a groan. He bit the bait. He presses himself closer to you, enjoying the soft curves of yore body against his. Leaning in to speak with hot breath into your ear, “I can tame you. You’d like it if I’d put you in your place right.”

Goosebumps pimpled over your whole being, except it wasn’t because of him. Something changed in the air. Your heart began beating faster in your chest, like a radar beeping when a target was nearing. Breaking eye contact with Daniel you turned towards the alley where your instincts were indicating something was coming. In turn you exposed your neck to him. Daniel rumbled contently in appreciation at your action. He leaned in sniffing your skin, trailing his nose along the column. The action having your stomach twist in a sudden nausea.

The radar in your chest pinged its loudest as through the dense, grey fog you saw red eyes. A shadowed figured, large and imposing, began taking form of the owner of the red eyes. They were heading towards you at a face pace like when a predator locked in on its prey. A harrowing growl comes from the shadow sends a shiver down your spine. Daniel was so lost in your scent he didn’t realize the figure coming at breakneck speed.

When the figure was close enough you finally caught a glimpse of the shadow.

In a whisper, “Jin.”

Fire burned in his eyes, as he struck like a missile. It all happened in a blur of motion; Daniel was ripped from hovering over you. The vicious growls that came from both beings was terrifying. Jin’s anger had always been cold and blunt. You had only seen it once before, but even then, that time feels minute to what happened in front of you. You had never seen him fight before. Fist struck and the sound of bone cracking was like thunder. It was gruesome.

Daniel lost his balance, his eyes turning red as well. Their heavy breathing steamed around their mouth, their fangs elongated to their lower lip. Daniel twitched seemingly resisting shifting fully. However, Jin was the larger of the two, his body partially shifted. His muscles bulged against the fabric of his clothes. The buttons of his dress shirt barely maintained against this broad chest. His sleeves were rolled up, veins pulsing against his muscular forearms. He was out for blood.

“What the fuck man! Get your own bitch!” Daniel growled at Jin, still maintaining his goal of getting you. When Daniel’s eyes shifted over to you, Jin charged him as the scent of lust filled the air. He grabbed at Daniel’s throat, moving backwards until he slammed him to the wall. He held him growling out words you couldn’t make out until he felt Daniel fall unconscious. His heart was still beating. Released him and let him slump to the floor, hovering over him like a predator.

“Jin.” The quiet whisper of his nickname has him coming back down to earth. He whipped around finding you leaning against the wall, knees weak. Your eyes were wide taking in his face. His eyes the deepest red you’ve ever seen, fangs over his lips, and body near feral. However, as soon as he sees that you, it dropped from him and he looking more like a puppy. He hurried over to you. Instead of greeting he grabbed your chin and angled your head to the side to get a glance at your neck. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was still more wolf than man at the moment. He leaned forward and whined. Your heart stopped in your chest. His body was warm sending a shiver down your spine. His scent was comforting. You hate how good it feels, you hate that your body relaxed instantly when he came to save you. As if you already know everything was going to be alright. To trust and rely on him felt so foreign, but so familiar.

He pulled away but you were so close you could make out his eyelashes individually. He growled, “What were you doing!”

Suddenly what you had been trying to forget comes back full force. Why was he acting like he cared so much? You curled in on yourself, the pettiness returning. “I could’ve handled myself.”

“Oh really? You were just going to let him mark you?” He seethed with an anger like wildfire.

You tried to remain indifferent. “I don’t see what the problem is. It’s just a bite, it’ll heal. I’m not one of you.”

Ignoring him, you pulled your phone out from your pocket showing him that you had a recording going. “I got it.” You pressed pause and saved the file. You hadn’t realized your hands were shaking, the adrenaline of it all still coursing through you.

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“I recorded everything. I even took pictures of him with other women. We can use this as evidence.”

“Y/n?” The moment shatters and you search for the familiar sound of your name.

You see your friend stumbling drunkenly through the door out into the empty alleyway.

“I’m here to save you!” For being a kind, her alcohol tolerance was low. She turned towards you, squinting her eyes. “Whoa, who’s the hot guy? Was I interrupting something.”

You pushed Jin away from you slipping past him to support her as her ankle kept rolling due to the uneven asphalt.

Jin didn’t bother smirking or returning the understanding. He was still beyond pissed.

She looked down to the passed out man, “Holy shit.” She looked to Seokjin, seeing the remnants of his partial shift as he hadn’t bothered to transition back. There was a silent understanding of one another between them as he could tell she was the same as him.

“You were supposed to keep watch, how could you get drunk?”

“I didn’t mean to, I was feeling really nervous about all this. I needed to calm my nerves, so I had a few drinks.”

“We’ll talk in the office.” You directed your words to Seokjin before you began walking away with Mia.

“No, I’m taking you home.”

Mia wiggled her eyebrows. “Can you stay forever?”

You shushed her, bewildered by her behavior. The intense glare he was giving you had you agreeing. “Fine.”

Walking towards his car in silence. She squinted, then her eyes then widened thinking she was whispering to you, “Oh my god is he the one you’ve been talking nonstop about.”

You hush her. “Shut up.”

Through the walk Jin had shifted himself back. A black Audi RS7 beeped as Jin unlocked his car. Mia whistled, “He’s rich.”

“Mia!” You whisper yelled at her. “Please, behave!”

She nodded holding her hands up in an apology. “I’ll behave. I’ll behave.”

You slip into the back with Mia. Her head falls on your shoulder. You gave him your address. He presses the car to start and pulls away. Not long your friend falls asleep, her head falling asleep on your shoulder. You caught him looking at you a few times through the rear-view mirror, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything.

Pulling in the parking lot of your complex, Jin got out first then opened the door for you. He helped you with Mia and supported her up.

Going to the first floor of your apartment complex you made sure Jin was following you with Mia. Shoving the key in your door you let him in, leading him through your apartment to her room. He laid her down onto her bed. You began helping take her shoes off, Jin leaving to go to the living room. Taking a moment to help her clean up and ready for bed. She smiled at you partially awake, partially asleep.

“What?” You smiled back.

Giggling, “He likes you too.”

You froze, staring at her incredulously before you played it off as she was too drunk to know what she was talking about. “You’re drunk go to sleep.”

She shook her head. She grabbed your hand staring you directly in the eyes. “No, I’m sure.”

“He already has a mate.”

Her eyebrows squinted. “No he doesn’t. He doesn’t smell like it.”

You refrained form rolling your eyes. “You wolves and your weird olfactory fixation.”

She sighed then let go, allowing her eyes to close as she fell asleep. You remained crouched by her bed, trying to decipher her words. Jin, didn’t have a mate? And liked you? She must mean that he tolerated you, civil at most. The kiss the other day meant nothing, you were sure of it. It was spur of the moment, high stress and you both didn’t know what you were doing.

She was drunk what did she know.

Standing up with a click to your knees you groaned, you were exhausted. The adrenaline finally wearing away of what happened earlier. Seeing Jin standing in your living room was awkward. He was looking at the photos on the wall. Specifically staring at a photo of when you were younger and Jin was also in it. You both looked so happy, with paint on both of your faces and white shirts.

You hesitate, weirdly feeling as if you were caught with something you should be. “Kinda hard not finding a picture of the old days without you in it.”

He looked at you, putting his hand down from touching the edge of the frame.

When he says nothing you clear your throat, “Thank you.”

He turned towards you, sticking his hands in his pockets, humming in acknowledgement.

“I’ll format all the recordings and photos for the—.”

He cut you off. “You looked happy here.” He pointed to the photo next to the one he was touching. It was of you and a few friends at the beach. It was taken the last year of college.

You smirked. “Hey, I know how to have fun. I’m not all business.”

He smirked, “Would’ve fooled me.” You knew he was poking fun. This time you enjoyed it. Turning to you. “You even turned our night off into a work night, at a club no less.”

You couldn’t argue there, in steading biting your bottom of your lip. He follow the motion before looking up. Clearing your throat you changed the subject. “He said that I was his mate.”

His whole body stiffened. “Impossible.” He crossed the room closer to you, just stopping a foot away.

You looked up at him, the sudden hostility throwing you off. He scanned you over once more. “Are you sure you’re alright? He didn’t touch you?”

“No.” You fought off the blush that threatened to rise to your cheeks. The attentiveness he was giving you was doing things to your heart that you promised yourself you wouldn’t let happen again. You flush suddenly remembering how soft his lips feel.

Nodding seemingly distracted with his thoughts. “I’ll look into that.” He began making his way towards the door and you followed. He stood outside your doorway.

He hesitated before nodding, as if he had contemplated something. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” You returned the words in a soft whisper.

He began walking away towards his car.

“Jin.”

He turned around.

“How’d you know where to find me?”

He paused, his face clearly. Your heart nearly stopped in your chest when a smile, an expression you haven’t seen on him. Jin looked like his old self. “I just went where the wild things are. I knew I’d find you there.”

You laughed, “I hate you.”

A smirk came back to his lips. “Don’t go soft on me now, Y/n.”

You watched him slip into his car before going inside. Alone with yourself you felt unsettled. Lately, it had been happening more. You chalked it up to being stressed, but stress was a constant in your life. This emotion was blaringly obvious to you, but you didn’t understand. Why did him leaving leave a hint of sadness.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, totally. I’ll catch up with you soon.”

Logan pulled a face saying he wasn’t convinced. The others had already gathered their stuff and were heading towards the elevators. Yoongi suddenly threw his arm around Logan’s shoulders. “Let’s go. I need a drink.”

You couldn’t help but smile biting back laughter. Yoongi was a man of few words, but he always knew when to insert himself.

You turn back to your desk when they’re out of sight. In all truth you didn’t want to go. You wanted peace, and despite wanting to follow the social cues it was the last thing you needed right now.

Accompanied by the lone light from your desk, the silence of the office greets you in full embrace. The electronic whorl of central air kicking on. You busy yourself with “last-minute” paperwork you had purposefully withheld on doing, knowing this celebrating was coming. The case had gone incredibly well, it was easy to prove the divorce with your added evidence. It was set to go to secondarily trial within the kind’s court. You just needed to give yourself enough time to know they were out of the building and you could go home.

“Y/n?”

You looked over your shoulder. Seokjin stood there, you could see wear of the day on him but it somehow painted him like oil paint. His hair was disheveled, and the top buttons of his white button up were undone.

“I forgot my wallet.”

You hum. It’s a bit awkward. Watching him round the desk to his in silence. Ever since you had turned in the case over to Yoongi, you had distanced yourself from him. There had been no incentive to not go because of him. It had been a looming idea over your head though that after this you weren’t going to be seeing him.

He held up his wallet, “Found it.”

“You found it.”

He swallowed tucking it in his pocket. He rounded the desk standing just near yours. His hand was clenched in a fist, words on the tip of his tounge.

“Well, it was great working with you Y/n.”

Standing up you extend out your hand. Staring at it for a moment his eyes soften taking yours in his.

“The truce was sufficient after all.” He joked.

“Don’t get too soft on me now.” You joked back.

He smiled. The handshake had long outlived itself, but you still held his and he held yours.

“Well, this is goodbye.” When you tried letting go his grip tightened. “Jin?”

“I can’t. I can’t keep pretending.”

“Pretending?”

“Pretending I’m okay with you walking out of my life again. Pretending that I’m not effected by you. I can’t. I can’t handle it for the second time.”

His logic was flawed. You didn’t allow your heart to pick up pace, fall into his words. “What do you mean? You said you didn’t need me.”

“I lied. I never meant what I said then. I never wanted to hurt you or push you away.”

Your eyes flicker about his face, looking for signs of deception but couldn’t find it. “Then, why did you?”

“I couldn’t control it, I couldn’t control my wolf. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Jin, you wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“No, I would have. I couldn’t control it back then, the urges were too intense. I’m weak when it comes to you.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do though. I was weak, and whenever you would come near me it became harder to control. The night I found you I couldn’t think straight. Now though, I can’t deny it anymore, I know what I want. And I want you.”

“What do you mean? Don’t you have a mate, what are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well don’t you?”

“I’m not seeing anyone or have claimed anyone—yet.”

You pausing looking at his distraught face.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t?”

“No.” His touches were romantic.

“Well I still don’t see what this conversation has to do with me.” , “Look, I’m not here to get mixed up in whatever.”

“Are you really that oblivious? Do you really not see it?”

“See what?”

He groaned rubbing his hands over his face. “Y/N, you’re killing me here.”

“It’s you. You are my mate.”

Everything froze around you.

Your hands trailed up his chest to wrap around his neck.

“My mate.”

“What?” You freeze. Attempting to put all the pieces of the puzzle together none of it makes sense to you. “You said so yourself humans can’t be mates.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. You aren’t bound by the same instincts or rules that I am. I was worried, I thought it was only me who felt something. But it’s you, always has been.”

He pulled you closer, and you didn’t fight him.

“Please, I’ll tell you everything, but I need to know. Do you feel the same?”

You swallowed hard. “I do.”

His body melted. “Do you mean that?”

You rolled your eyes. Your hands were around his neck, pulling him down and your lips crashing onto his even before he could finish that sentence. The sudden softness in the midst of the charged tension had you even more sure that you wanted this. The electricity just a kiss from him confirmed it all. You did feel the same way, have for a long time. He reciprocated gripping the sides of your waist and lips moving in tandem with yours. All the built-up tension from before exploded as your tongue brushing against his.

You push him away needing to breath. Tucking his head into your neck he presses kisses into your skin not wanting to part from you. “Why were you so worried? Didn’t you know that I was your mate before?”

“No, we can only begin to find our mates after we’ve fully shifted.“

Finding a place between your neck and collar he nipped at the flesh causing you to moan and shiver. Appreciating the sound he dug his hand deeper into your hair angling your head so he could access it better. “I knew it was you for sure after I shifted, but you were human and I didn’t understand. I had always been told that a mate couldn’t be human. But its been you all along. My elders had tried to talk me out of it, they had tried to keep me away from you. It didn’t help that I had so much to learn after shifting. It didn’t change anything, I kept looking for you. From the first time I found myself in your closet, I was too young to understand destiny, but its always been you.”

You didn’t realize how much you wanted to hear those words from him until he admitted it.

“Why? Why were you so mean.”

“I couldn’t get your attention otherwise.”

You giggled into eachother mouth. “Dumbass, all of this could have been avoided.”

He pinched at your side causing you to shriek.

“Let me take you home.” His voice is low and sweet, and drips like honey.

It takes a second to register what he said, awestruck by how much the words feel common place. “Okay.”

He chases your lips before pulling you along with him. “Wait! I need to get my stuff.”

You laugh at the whine that comes form him as you collect your things form your desk. When you turn around he has his hand extended and you tangle your hand in his. You can’t get the smile off your face. The next movements are rushed as you find yourself in his car. His hand tangles back in yours as soon as he’s in the drivers’ seat.

It takes all about fifteen minutes to get to Jin’s apartment. The moments in between getting there were filled with tension as his hand no longer was just content holding yours but clenching over your thigh and kneading the flesh. Upon reaching his unit he fumbled with the code for a few seconds. When he finally had you inside he pressed himself to you. He no longer appeared to be completely human. His fangs were extended, eyes gleaming red, and he at you like a man starved. He rolls his hips to your center, letting you feel the evidence of his erection tight against his slacks. “Tell me what you want. Anything you want, you can have it.”

“Jin.” You moaned at the feeling of him pressed against your center. You wanted all of him, but you didn’t know how to voice it all. You wanted to feel his weight on top of you, feel him within you and to hold him against you. You wanted more than just that though, but words felt unfulfilling besides his name.

“You really don’t realize what you do to me.” He grabbed under your thighs lifting you up so that your legs rested over his arms while he supported you against the wall. He grinded into you again, his hot breath fanning over your face before he sloppily kissed you.

“You turn me into a beast.”

He shifted so that your legs were wrapped around his waist and he held onto you tightly as he moved towards his bedroom. It all happens so quickly. You were pressed down on his bed with him hovering over you. He tugged at your shirt silently asking for permission to remove it which you give him happily. He pulled it off you delicately, as if you were an art piece he was afraid of breaking. He reached behind you an unhook your bra, tossing it.

He stared for a few moments. You wanted to cross your arms over your chest but he stopped you.

“Beautiful.” He swallowed harshly. He leans down trailing his nose along your sternum before nuzzling at your breast. His hand trailed up the side of your body before reaching your breast and kneading the flesh. His thumb traces over your nipple until they pebbled. With the other his mouth sucked marked into your flesh before taking your nipple into his mouth. You release soft gasp at the gentle pleasure. He switched showering each breast with kisses and small bites until they were both marked.

He propped himself up as he moved his mouth down from your chest to your stomach, caressing your sides. He moved until he was nestled between your legs. Sitting back on his heels he reaches for the waistband of your skirt again asking for permission. Intoxicated on the feeling you nod at him lazily. He pulled it down landing somewhere with your other clothes.

He spread your legs wider fitting himself between your legs. You were so wet that the fabric of your panties stuck to you. Using the slick he traced his finger over your slit, focusing on your clit. Your back arched off the bed, bowing towards the ceiling. It was a simple touch, but you were hypersensitive to his touch. With his face between your legs he looks deliriously in bliss.

The dichotomy of his nature made him an anomaly. He was domineering but tender in each of his approaches. Each motion was made with love, but eagerness to feel you. No partner you’ve had before had been so attentive, trekking your body as it was meant to be explored and learned.

“Shit, Y/n, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?”

You gasped his name when he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your clit. He chuckled, “Is my name the only thing you can say now?”

You flushed, “Stop teasing me.”

He pressed a kiss to your knee soothing the teasing.

“Fuck, you smell so ready for me.”

“Please.” You pleaded breathlessly.

“Just a taste, please.”

You nodded threading your hands through his hair. He hooked his fingers in your panties and pulled them down tossing them somewhere in the room. Yanking you forward and closer to him he spreads your legs for him putting you on full display. Kissing up your thighs moving closer to your center. When he places a kiss on your mound before he begins to gently. He sighed against your folds. “Delicious.”

He taste you longer than just a sample as he buries his head between your legs. The sounds of your moans and mewls awaken the cavernous part of him. He growled, the sound sending shivers down your spine and making you even wetter.

“Jin!” you gasp, as he eats you out. When he pushes a finger inside you can’t help but tighten your grip on his hair. It felt so good, the stretch was sending your sensitivity to overdrive. It has been a long time since you’ve had sex with someone, but your cunt was accepting his finger easily. He worked you up and slipped another finger inside you, the stretch causing you to screw your eyes shut. Letting out a pained cry of pleasure and a bit of sting from the stretch.

“Doing so good for me Y/n.” His fingers moved to spread you open, to let him in. He watched you from between your legs as he increased his pace when he felt you relax a bit around him.

He was driving you crazy, the sounds he was admitting as if he was enjoying it more than you was such a turn on. No one had ever made you feel this way, as if he wasn’t just touching your body but your soul. Your pressing your hips upwards, feeling your end coming near. Your pussy clenches around his finger when he keeps stroking that one spot within you. In combination with his lips on your clit and him finger fucking, you had never felt so much pleasure before.

“I’m—.” Your body tenses and you can feel yourself just on the edge.

“Come for me.” His words commanded you and like a band you snapped. Your walls pulsed around his finger as he kept you through your orgasm. He pulled his fingers out of you, licking them clean. When he seems your release dripping down from your entrance he leaned down licking it up. He pressed his tongue inside you. The action surprising and jerk, but you couldn’t move away. His tongue moved languidly and rhythmically within you until he was content. He continued to lap of your sweet release until you pushed him away.

He crawled over you. “So good for me. Fate couldn’t have chosen a better mate.” His words were possessive but you didn’t mind it. The word mate fell off his lips so easily.

You came down from the high gradually, chest heaving, and eyes

You see that he was still hesitant to let it through. You reached up cupping his face, gently tracing your thumb. “Let go.”

“I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you.” He peppers kisses along your collarbone.

Your fingers make quick work of his shirt. You pause to admire his broad chest. It had been .

He grabs your hand before you reach for the button of his pants.

“Do you really know what this means. Know what I mean when I say you’re my mate and want you?”

“Yes, mark me. Claim me. I want you. I want all of you.”

“Even if it means forever?”

“yes.”

He allows you to undress the rest of him, he kicks off his pants and underwear and he’s completely bare before you.

His endowment makes your thighs clench. His cock was hard, thick and throbbing, the tip ozzing.

Coming down to his elbows he fits himself snuggly between your thighs, cock brushing your pussy. He reaches between you gathering your slick before spreading it over his cock. He teases your pussy by teasing your entrance, and with your slick he coats his cock with it.

“I’m going to fill you with my cum y/n. Knot you so none of it spills out.” He rubbed your hips. “You’d look so beautiful swollen with my pups.”

You couldn’t help but tremble, excitement filling your veins. You wanted to be sated, to feel him inside you already.

“I want it Jin.”

‘Anything for you, my love.”

That was the last warning you got before he was pressing into you. He watched your face as he filled with you with this thick length. You cried out, as you fisted the sheet under you. “Oh my god.”

His grip tightened on your hips enough you were sure they were going to bruise later. He was trembling just as much as you were. Slowly sinking in you he pumped until he was full seated inside you.

“Holy shit, this is way better than I’ve ever imagined.” He paused allowing you to adjust to his size.

When you shifted against him he took it as a cue to finally move. He pulled out almost the full way before he was sliding back in slowly. It drew out a choked moan from the both of you. His length dragged against your walls hitting that spot each time.

“Harder, please, harder!” You cried out. You trusted him enough to know he would keep his strength in check. You knew he could crush you, as lifting you earlier seemed like nothing to him.

The pace was gentle until he picked up a merciless pace. Each powerful thrust pushed him in deeper to you. You were quickly unraveling approaching your second orgasm in record time. The sensation of everything was addicting as you lost yourself in the pleasure. Tears built in the corner of your eyes.

He mouthed at your neck murmuring, “My mate. My sweet little mate, so good for me. Taking me so well.”

Nearing your orgasm you began trembling in his embrace. “Come again for me, my love. Give it to me.”

You clenched around him, shattering around his cock and in the same moment he sunk his fangs sunk in between your neck and shoulder. The pain meshed with the pleasure into an addictive eliquer that flooded your system.

He kept going. “Too much Jin!”

Licking clean the marking he pulled away from your neck. He pressed your legs up into your chest. He could see his cock going in and out of your swollen lips. He kept pounding into you, somehow reaching deeper into you. “I’m going to fill you up, love. Do you want it baby?”

You nodded. “Give it to me.” Tears were spilling form your eyes from the overstimulation.

With a final slam of his hips his length swelled inside you spilling his seed within you. When you expected it to end his length was still swelling at the base.

“Jin, what’s happening?” Your nails dug into his shoulders.

“Shhh, baby, its okay.” His mouth slipped back over to your neck, kissing over the fresh mark. He peppered you with affection as his hands soothed your flesh. He relaxed your legs until they wrapped around his waist holding you close.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore the knot stopped swelling. You heaved, panting slightly from the painful stretch.

“You did so well.”

You smiled, pulling him to your lips to kiss. The way he was looking at you as if you were his world had you reaching up to cover your face.

“What just happened?”

He stilled, “Do you regret it?”

You pulled your hands away form his face. “No, no, no.” He easily succumbs when you pull him closer to you. You rub your nose against his back and forth, wanting to return the affection. “It was perfect.”

He flushed crimson.

You spend hours after within eachothers embrace, even when his knot swelled down. You talked, whispered words of affection to eachother and fell into eachothers embrace again. Like the first time his touch is gentle, he praises the moon for bringing him to you. He leaves no part of you untouched, and you his.

You feel at home for the first time in a long time.

When the sun rises, you wake in his arms, head in the crook of his neck, as he held you tightly to his chest. Bodies still bare, you both felt there was no need to cover, he had his hand over your hip. Breathing in the scent of him and . The silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable. The sound of his heartbeat in your ear was calming.

Slowly pulling away from his neck you reach up and caress his face. With your thumb you trace under his eye and cheek with a butterflies touch.

“I love you.”

He smiles. “No. I’m supposed to say it first.”

You quirk a brow at him. “Who says so?”

He opened his eyes, the trails of sleep still evident. “I do. I love you, always have.” He captures your lips in his.

“You stayed.”

You pulled away. “Of course, I would.”

He smiled. “I know, but to have you here. In my bed. Next to me. It all seems like I’m still dreaming.”

“Oh my god, you’re so cheesy, you dork.”

“But you like it.”

Giggling as he peppers kisses all over your face you manage to worm out of his embrace. You jump out of bed. Taking his dress shirt from off the floor you toss it over yourself buttoning up a few buttons. “Don’t sour the sweetness too soon, wolf boy.” You let the last word roll but with no real malice. You know the word will rile him up.

From the bed he watched you. He had never seen anyone more beautiful. You had his heart that was for sure. He tossed the blanket off of himself chasing after you. “You take that back.”

You giggled running down his hall and out of sight with him chasing right behind you.

Even after the wildest journey, some things in life, like home, just won’t change.

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nikethestatue · 4 years ago

Text

Spy Games

Elriel Month - Day 3

Spying

Spying Lessons

Elain, the pretty, polite, courteous sister, who spoke well and moved gracefully, was also one who was never considered with any seriousness by anybody. Not her mother, not their weak, gentle father, not the imperious, sharp-tongued Nesta, or the self-assured, determined Feyre. However, she was a merchant’s daughter, and she was as sharp-eyed, as Nesta was sharp-tongued.

She inherited the trait from their father--he was always able to spot a deal, or a weakness, a loophole and he used it to his full advantage when making deals. She watched him, and learned how to use her words, how to compliment and smile, how to appear innocent and helpless, while seeking favors and looking to get what she wanted. It worked. It worked with everyone--it worked with Nesta, worked with their servants (when they had them), and when they didn’t, and had nothing, Elain always managed to charm someone at the market for an extra apple, a couple of bread rolls, or a swath of cloth. Even Lord Nolan was not immune to her charms, and even though there were better offers from others, he encouraged Greyson to court Elain, despite her family's ‘reputation’. Elain loved Greyson, but she also watched and noticed. She saw groves of ash trees, the number of sentries patrolling the walled estate, and how many guard dogs there were. She didn’t even try, but she noticed...and counted...and remembered.

Nuala was good. Smooth and discrete, she’d never be suspected of keeping tabs on Amren. Though Amren was a vengeful Angel of a young god in her previous life, and she probably knew what Nuala was doing. Yet, Nuala was not so good as to suspect Elain. Because Elain knew as well. It came as a surprise, but it was apparent to Elain that Nuala closely monitored Amren, as well as Varian, when they were around.

They were making lemon cakes in the kitchen--Elain and the twins. Baking and cooking--many assumed that that’s what Elain was good for--the kind, tidy, domestic Elain. What no one, except for one person, was privy to was that these chores quieted the roaring in Elain’s head. They silenced the visions, cleared the pounding in her skull, gave her a sense of normalcy, even if for only a little while.

“What do you think Varian reports to his High Lord?” the question startled the twins and they exchanged quick looks.

Elain’s face remained placid, as she busied herself with grating lemon zest. “Do you think they laugh?” she chuckled. “Our court is dramatic, to be sure.”

The twins were silent.

“Is it wise though,” she continued, uninterrupted, “to have a representative of another Court so closely entwined with the affairs of the Night Court?”

“The High Lord trusts Prince Varian,” said Cerridwen, her voice neutral.

“Perhaps.”

Elain stirred the zest into the custard and there was silence, the twins assuming that the conversation was over.

“Does Azriel?” she suddenly asked.

They stared.

“Does Azriel trust Varian?” she pressed.

“The lord,” began Nuala, but Elain interrupted. “Not High Lord,”

“Lord Azriel,” corrected Nuala, “does what he must to keep the Night Court safe.”

That explained everything.

“Could Azriel use another pair of eyes and ears?” Elain didn’t even know where the offer came from. Perhaps, it stemmed from the desire to be useful, to offer something of herself that so few knew that she even possessed. She turned to the twins and stared them down, her gaze unflinching.

“Teach me,” she pleaded. “Teach me what you know. What and how you do it. Please.”

“Lord Azriel may not approve,” countered Cerridwen softly.

“Let’s not tell him,” whispered Elain,

“Lord Azriel will know.”

“Eventually. I am not asking you to lie to him,” she added quickly, sensing that this was the reason for their hesitation. “Just don’t tell him. Not yet. Teach me, a little something, and then I’ll decide if it’s for me. Please. I,”

“Fine,” said Nuala. Cerridwen gave her a silent look of admonishment and surprise, but did not argue. Perhaps that would come later. “We’ll teach you the way he taught us.”

“Yes!” Elain’s brown eyes sparkled with excitement. Goodness, she hadn’t felt this excited in….well, forever.

The lessons were not what she expected, but she did not question them.

There were no weapons, or peeking through peepholes, or breaking locks.

At first, it was a little bit boring even. Odd requests, such as making conversations with random faeries--in the park, on the street, at the markets. The twins would point out a fae and order Elain to go and start a conversation. It lasted for weeks, and she even grew frustrated, thinking that they were just humoring her and these ‘lessons’ were nothing but a game. Until one day, Nuala told her to obtain specific information. She pointed at an elderly male Fae and requested, “Approach. Come back with the following information--did he serve in the first War, what rank, does he have children, how many, and what is his favourite breakfast?”

“What?” Elain stared in confusion, but Nuala’s face remained inscrutable.

“Is there a problem?” asked Nuala. Her tone of voice...well, the tone was very much Azriel’s.

Elain shook her head and said, “no”, before crossing the street and approaching the male fae.

The realization that she could do this was thrilling. At once, she understood why she spent all those weeks approaching and making conversations with all those fae. She found ways, ways to ingratiate herself to them, to mark something small, but unique to each one, and then weave a connection around that tiny tidbit. It worked every time.

The elderly male fae had a small, but noticeable limp. This was Elain’s opening. He was hauling a basket of groceries, and she approached gently, offering help. Oh, he couldn’t possibly trouble such a pretty lady. And she was a High Fae to boot. No, no, thank you, he could manage. Not a problem at all, she was walking that way anyway. What was he making for dinner with all those vegetables? Oh, soup? Did the wife send him to the market? Oh, a widower? So sorry. Were there children to assist? Three? That’s good that they helped out…

“He was a Captain in the Third Legion during the first War. He is a widower, with three children--two male, and one female. Three grandchildren as well. He usually eats leftovers for breakfast, because he is too lazy to cook, but his favorite breakfast are almond croissants from the Brea Bakery,” reported Elain.

A small, satisfied smile touched Nuala’s lips.

So the lessons continued. She was ordered to obtain more detailed information, and in places which were harder to access. She did. Sometimes, she failed, but rarely.

In addition, Cerridwen began training her on walking.

Walking?

Walking.

“Make your presence unknown,” she explained and Elain only nodded. Sure, she would learn to walk, if that’s what was required. She learned how to roll her feet in such a manner that they were completely silent with every step that she took. Learned how to notice her own body, its presence, and the space that it occupied. And learned how to make it unknown. How to melt into shadows, stand near someone and have them be unaware of her, sneak quietly into rooms and spaces. It took a month, maybe longer. Meanwhile, she learned other tricks. How to swap papers, how to pull documents with a flick of her wrist, how to read upside down (very difficult).

“Could you take this to Lord Azriel please,” Cerridwen handed Elain a folder.

“Um...yes, of course,” Elain took the folder, a bit surprised that Cerridwen couldn’t deliver it herself, but by the time she was going to ask, Cerridwen had disappeared.

First things first--Elain didn’t know where Azriel was.

The River House was enormous, so she started with Rhysand’s office, but it was empty. She peeked out into the garden, but only saw baby Nyx and his nanny, who was attempting to contain Nyx on a picnic blanket, and failing. Elain smiled. Nyx crawled like a fiend and made an aggressive beeline towards the fluffy peonies. No doubt, they’d be trampled and pulled soon enough. Especially, if the nanny wouldn’t take her eyes off the handsome delivery male who was standing by the gate and flirting with her.

Elain closed her eyes. Smell. Sense. They haven’t gotten that far in their training yet, but Azriel’s scent--oh, she knew it well. The most delicious scent to ever hit her nostrils. The one scent that she craved and hungered for above all others. Even in this huge house, she could isolate Azriel’s scent, as it rose above all others, at least for her. The strongest trail led to Azriel’s bedroom, which was unsurprising, even if he did not spend much time here anymore. He and Rhysand met to discuss matters of state, and then there were the mandatory ‘family dinners’ that Azriel attended. They used to be obligatory, but after the last Solstice, they became mandatory, by order of the High Lord.

No, Azriel wasn’t in his bedroom. She followed the scent down the hallway, past the drawing room, then up the side stairs. Ah. She should’ve guessed. There was a terrace that overlooked the garden that Azriel favored. Sometimes, she thought that he observed her from there, when she tangled with weeds and seeds. But that couldn’t be. Not after the fiasco during the last Solstice and him pulling away from her with no explanation. A momentary lapse of reason on his part.

She spotted the spread of his wings. A smile touched her lips. How things were different before, when he was so comfortable around her. When he’d come and sit with her in the garden, sunning his wings, doing his work, both of them enjoying each other’s company without the need to talk. All of that somehow crashed and burned, and she didn’t know why and how to bring that intimacy back.

“Azriel,” she said, “Cerr,”

Azriel flinched and whipped his head to her. His eyes blew wide at the sight of her, standing in the doorway.

“Elain...Phhh, you startled me….” he muttered hoarsely.

And the Spymaster of the Night Court shifted with discomfort.

She had surprised him.

“Sorry,” she murmured and handed him the folder. “I apologize. Cerridwen asked me to give this to you.”

He was still staring at her, as if processing what had occurred. His hazel eyes raked over her body, settling on her feet for a few moments. It was like he was trying to discern how she managed to approach him so silently.

“Umm, thank you,” he said and opened the folder. It was empty.

Neither one said anything to each other, and Elain turned and stepped back into the house, her cheeks flushed.

As she hurried down the hall, Cerridwen and Nuala both appeared in front of her, grins plastered on their lovely angular faces.

“What?!” she snapped.

The grins widened.

“There was nothing in the folder!” she exclaimed, irritated.

“No,” agreed Cerrdiwen. “But you passed the first phase of your training.”

“You surprised Lord Azriel.”

#elriel #elrielmonth #elrielmonth21 #azriel #azriel and elain #elain archeron #spymaster #elain x azriel #elain x nuala x cerridwen #nuala and cerridwen #elriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction

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tenspontaneite · 4 years ago

Text

Across Shared Skin (Chapter 1/?)

When Callum was born, Sarai pored over every inch of his skin by candlelight until she found it: a tiny, diminutive patch of discoloured skin on the back of his tiny, diminutive left hand.

(Second of two pieces written for @falling-for-you-a-rayllum-zine) (Soulmate AU. For the ‘AU’ chapter. Only this instalment was written for the zine; future chapters are all new. Piece length: 7k. Ao3 link)

---

It was an interesting skin tone. Pale and purplish, almost, plainly evident against the ruddy colour of his newborn body. She wondered if, across whatever distance separated them, her son’s soulmate had noticed the corresponding shift on their own hand. She wondered how much older they were. She wondered many things that, in the end, only the passage of years would be able to answer. But for now, there were observances to meet.

She fetched a pen, and in the tiniest script she could manage, drew lines of ink carefully across the back of her son’s hand. Callum, she wrote, and left it at that.

Others might include a birth-date, or kingdom of residence, or the names of the parents. But Sarai was wary, and wrote only what custom dictated. The name.

She wasn’t expecting a response right away. For all the prominence of the mark’s location, it was late, and whoever waited on the other end might well be asleep. She had expected more to be waiting until morning, at the very least. But, mere minutes later—

Clear and careful, a name unfolded on her son’s skin, directly beneath the one she’d written.

Rayla, it said, and nothing else.

Sarai mulled the name over. It was unusual. Foreign, certainly, though that didn’t guarantee anything about how far away the girl might live. In the end, she nodded, and committed the name to her memory. It might be years until Callum could communicate with his soulmate himself, but until then, he deserved to know her name.

She left both names on Callum’s hand, and set him gently down to sleep.

---

“He might not be a human.” Lain attempted, yet again, looking down for what seemed like the hundredth time at the name on his daughter’s hand. “Elves use the common script, too. And the name—it’s not unusual. It would fit in well with any of the communities that use Draconic more than we do.”

Tiadrin sighed, and eased the glove once again onto Rayla’s squirming fingers. It wasn’t proper to have one’s mark visible in public, but children so often disliked restrictive coverings. “They didn’t write the primal.” She said, flatly, and that was a tired statement too. “What elf wouldn’t write the symbol of the primal their child was born to? It’s tradition.”

The name and the symbol were obligatory. All else—birthdate, location, family—was optional. But there should have been a symbol. Moon, or Sun, or Sky, or Earth—even Ocean—there should have been a symbol. But there wasn’t, and in its absence, they’d omitted Rayla’s moon. If her soulmate was a human, it would keep him safer. It didn’t seem prudent to declare arcanum to a human audience of unknown prejudices.

Lain was quiet, watching as she covered up the damning ink of the unaccompanied names. “He might not be a human.” He repeated, more softly. “Perhaps they omitted his primal for security reasons. Perhaps he’s the son of someone important.” His brow furrowed. “Perhaps he’s a Startouch elf.”

She snorted. “Fat chance of that. And even royalty declare their children’s primal.” She bent down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “No, Lain. Our daughter has a human soulmate, and we’ll just have to live with that.”

He frowned, resignation and concern written more clearly on him than the names on Rayla’s hand. “…We can’t let anyone find out.” He said, eventually, defeat weighing on his every word. “She’d never be able to do anything without someone questioning her loyalties. She’d be shunned. We can’t let that happen to her.”

Tiadrin nodded. It went without saying, really. “We’ll tell Runaan and Ethari. Everyone else…” She mulled the name over. Callum. It could mean ‘hard-skinned’. It could also, if derived from Columba, mean ‘dove’. Either way, it was a plainly Draconic name, and Moonshadow elves didn’t tend to name their children for Draconic. Others, though… “We’ll say he’s a Skywing elf.” She decided, and her husband hummed approvingly.

“What about Rayla?” He asked, then. “What will we tell her?”

She went quiet. “…I can’t lie to my own daughter about her soulmate, Lain.” She admitted. “We’ll just…have to impress on her the importance of discretion. Children aren’t always the best at keeping secrets, but…”

He held silent for a moment, then smiled. “She’s a Moonshadow elf. She’ll be fine.” He said, and she wished she could share his confidence.

“We’ll see.” Tiadrin said, noncommittal, and left it to that.

---

Once or twice in his early years, Callum experienced little hints of the shared skin between himself and his soulmate. Here and there, he felt phantom fingertips against the back of his hand, the weight of unfamiliar cloth, and—once—the sharp sting of a scratch from some sort of animal across the skin. It healed quickly, as all blemishes on soulmarks did, but he’d gone crying to his mother from the unexpected pain anyway.

People were circumspect about their soulmarks, and that was part of the background hum of culture that he was raised to. He wasn’t to show his soulmark in public. He wasn’t even to say where it was. He wore fingerless gloves, on both hands, to disguise it—and, at least until he was able to talk to her, he wasn’t even supposed to tell anyone her name.

He did, though.

He finger-spelled it out to Aunt Amaya, albeit clumsily. “Her name is Rayla,” he said, almost solemnly, with the motions of his hands. She smiled at him indulgently and raised a finger to her lips in a ‘hush’ motion.

She wasn’t the only person he told. He told the officer of the Standing Battalion who was watching his mother and Amaya’s latest sparring match. He told the baker that they went to buy sweets from. He told near everyone he met, when he was going through the typical three-year-old’s phase of desperate interest in the phenomenon of a soulmate, and his mother sighed at him for it every time.

Again and again, he asked her to write something to Rayla. To ask questions, to find out something more about her, anything. He had a soulmate, and he wanted to know more about her than her name and skin colour.

“It wouldn’t be right, Callum.” She told him, patiently. “Only soulmates should speak through their skin. You’ll just have to wait until you can write to her yourself.”

Callum scowled, and set back into learning his alphabet very vehemently indeed. Because that was the thing:

It wasn’t proper for someone else to write to your soulmate for you. It wasn’t even proper to be walked through spelling out an introduction. When you first wrote to your soulmate, you were supposed to do it yourself. And you were supposed to wait until you were good enough to manage basic conversation, too.

Callum didn’t want to wait until he had words to communicate with. So, one evening, in abject defiance of custom and propriety, he took off his glove and doodled a little flower on the back of his hand. He fell asleep feeling particularly pleased with himself, and somehow, didn’t consider that writing upon shared skin might garner a response.

He woke to a tiny, clumsy flower-doodle scrawled beside his own.

---

Rayla was something of a lonely child. She didn’t have friends her age, having never meshed well with the other children. She didn’t play like the other children did, preferring instead to train with Runaan, or go off sneaking into the forest alone. She didn’t socialise and the closest thing she had to friends were the adoraburrs she brought home by the armful. So, really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that she became so taken with her soulmate.

It started when, one day, Rayla ran up to them with her expression so bright it was impossible not to smile back at her. And then they saw what was on her hand, and Tiadrin had to restrain a surprised laugh at the neat little flower doodled on her daughter’s hand. “Oh, well,” She managed, and shared a glance with Lain. “That’s…” She remembered, for a moment, that this was a human, but… “That’s incredibly cute.” She sighed in the end, because it was, and Rayla was so charmingly pleased with the tiny drawing. “Congratulations, Rayla.”

“It’s only a flower,” said their rambunctious, headstrong little girl, but there was no hiding how delighted she was. “He didn’t even write anything.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know how, yet.” Tiadrin said, while she tried to remember how old Rayla’s soulmate was. “He’s not quite four, and that’s very young for writing.” She shook her head. “Well, I suppose we’d best get you your skin-inks, if you’re going to be talking now. Or drawing.” Suddenly, she levelled her daughter with a penetrating look. “Remind me what you know about talking to your soulmate, Rayla.”

She stilled for a second, and fell from her childish delight into the more bullheaded determination that accompanied her through her training. “Nothing ‘bout elves, or Xadia, or where we live, or anyone’s names, or magic, or assassins.”

Lain reached out and ruffled her hair. “Good girl.” He praised, and she beamed at him. When she was older, no doubt, she’d chafe against those restrictions. They’d make it very hard to talk to one’s soulmate about anything of substance, after all. But for now, she was content.

Rayla puffed up. “I’m gonna draw him an adoraburr!” She announced, and both of her parents made despairing noises.

“Rayla, honey, adoraburrs are magic.” Tiadrin explained, patiently, and her daughter’s face fell. Evidently, this might be more challenging than they’d thought.

(Rayla drew the adoraburr anyway. Adoraburrs were everywhere, after all. What could it hurt?)

Callum kept up a clandestine exchange of doodles with his soulmate for months before his mother found out. Rayla always used some sort of weird ink that washed off his skin really easily, while his ink lingered in faded outlines for days after he scrubbed it off. It was that which caught him, in the end.

“Callum,” his mother sighed, a little despairingly, at the evidence of many successive generations of doodles on the skin of his hand. “You’re supposed to wait until you can write.”

He made a face at her from the side of the bath, where he really should have expected he’d be caught. “It’s not hurting anyone.” He muttered, chagrined. “We’re just drawing.”

She pursed her lips, reluctantly curious. “She draws back? Or does she write?”

“She draws.” He admitted. “She got this weird ink that washes off easy.”

After a brief correction to his grammar, she shook her head. “Skin-ink. It’s made to wash off. I’ll have to get you some, I suppose.” She watched him almost tiredly for several long moments, then said “I’ll not stop you from drawing to each other, Callum. But this means we’ll need to have your security lessons earlier than normal. There are things you’re not supposed to talk to soulmates about—things that could hurt the kingdom. Do you understand?”

He didn’t. But he pretended he did, to make her happy.

In the end, she held the skin-inks hostage until he could dutifully rattle off the list of things he wasn’t supposed to talk about. This included: local governance, anything about how much food people had or where the food or water was kept, anything about the military (this being especially relevant, considering his mother and aunt), anything about the nobility, and a laundry list of other things.

When he was older, he’d understand the rationale behind it; that the careless words of children to their soulmates could reach the ears of adults who knew how to use them. A complaint about always being hungry might not mean much to the soulmate—but to an adult, it might indicate famine in a neighbouring kingdom. It might indicate weakness. And there were many such ways to damn one’s nation.

Of course, by the time he understood, he was himself a member of the nobility—a prince of Katolis. The damage an unwary prince might do with spilled secrets was potentially catastrophic, and so the lessons were drummed into his head until he almost felt wary to so much as touch the nib of his pen to the back of his hand. It would be so easy to give something away.

But, for now, he was only a child, and the ink on his skin held no secrets. He drew flowers, and birds, and cats, and dogs, and horses. His soulmate drew flowers, and weird circles with eyes, and animals that either had spikes on their heads or extra ears, and occasionally she attempted birds too. She wasn’t very good, but the drawings were from her, so he treasured them anyway.

He just wished he could write already, and talk to her properly.

---

Callum tugged on his mother’s sleeve and requested a writing test every week. And, every time, she looked over whatever she’d told him to write, praised his progress, and said, “Not yet.”

Not yet, every time. It meant ‘you are not yet at the level appropriate for talking to a soulmate’, and Callum thought it was an exceptionally annoying standard to hold someone to. It wasn’t like he and Rayla weren’t already sort-of talking, with their pictures. What did it matter if his spelling was bad or his handwriting messy or his letters extremely slow to form? But his mother was adamant.

Time passed, and in the wake of the great upheavals in his life, Callum wished more than ever before that he could talk to his soulmate. His mother married royalty, and she was crowned Queen, and Callum named prince, and in the overwhelming confusion of trying to adapt to life in the castle he desperately wished he could talk to Rayla about it. He didn’t have anyone to talk to, really. The only kids at the castle were Lord Viren’s children, and he didn’t know them well enough to confide in. But Rayla was his soulmate. He should be able to talk to her, right?

…But then, he realised, when his mother started to hesitate a little before saying “not yet,” he wouldn’t be able to talk to Rayla about this, anyway. His mother marrying a King, and him moving into a castle…that was big, important stuff. The sort of stuff soulmates weren’t meant to talk about, if they didn’t know for sure which kingdom they were loyal to.

That realisation left him sour and solemn for days. Still, he wanted to be able to talk to her about some things, even if not the big stuff that he wasn’t allowed to mention. He thought he was getting close to being pronounced ready, but…

In the end, Rayla lost patience before he did.

When Callum felt the scrawl of pen on his skin, it was an automatic reflex to duck away to somewhere secluded to peel off his glove and watch. This time, though, the scrawl just…kept going, as he headed for a secluded spot among a few trees, and he thought she must be drawing something unusually large and elaborate.

He just about fell over when he removed the glove to find words there.

The handwriting was messy, and slow to form. He was slow to read it. But it was unmistakably words.

Are you ever gonna write? Rayla asked, through their shared skin, and he stared at the back of his hand with his heart beating so hard it made his head feel weird and dizzy and hot. She was talking to him! Really talking!

After a moment, she underlined ‘ever’.

He panicked for several long minutes about what he should do. Mom said he shouldn’t. She said ‘not yet’. But that was about him making contact. The younger soulmate was supposed to do it first, after all.

He hesitated, rummaged for his pen and inks, and finally wrote Sorry. Mom won’t let me yet. It took him a long time. The letters were huge and messy and barely fit on the shared skin. For the first time in his life, he felt embarrassed for his handwriting, and suddenly understood why his mother might be saying ‘not yet’.

There was a pause as she wiped off her skin-inks and both sets of words vacated his skin. In her impatience, she left a vague inky smear behind. But you just wrote now, she pointed out, and – and his face burned, he felt unbearably shy and unbearably excited and nervous all at once…was this how people normally felt when they talked to their soulmates for the first time?

He ducked his head, flushed, and scrawled You did it first. He accidentally wrote over some of her letters in the process.

She washed off the inks again. Yeah, cause you were taking forever!! She paused, then added a few more exclamation marks for emphasis. I was so bored waiting.

After a brief pause where he carefully sounded out the word ‘waiting’ to figure out what it said, he wrote Me too.

Waiting had been annoying, and senseless, and stupid. Maybe it was a bit embarrassing to put bad handwriting on someone else’s skin, but…shouldn’t that be up to them to decide? If she still wanted to talk even though his writing was bad…then wasn’t it okay?

She had contacted him. He couldn’t be blamed for that, right?

…And it wasn’t like he hadn’t already broken tradition by drawing, anyway.

As soon as she washed their ink off, he started writing again. But we’re writing now, so I guess it’s okay?

Finally! Rayla wrote, in a quick and victorious scrawl, and also drew a little smiley face next to it. It was fairly delightful.

I’m Callum, he offered, a little shyly, after a moment. This, at least, he had practiced a lot.

I know. She wrote, the letters blocky and cheerful. I’m Rayla.

I know, he scrawled back, and imagined that on the other side of their connection, she was smiling too.

---

Callum learned a lot of things about his soulmate, in the weeks after she opened contact.

He learned that she liked to go exploring in the woods, which her town was inside. She wouldn’t say much about her town, but he got the idea it was pretty small.

He learned that she spent most of her time ‘training’, and while she wouldn’t say what she was training for, he gathered that it involved weapons and fighting and—apparently—being able to jump and flip around a lot.

He learned that she loved her parents and had two sort-of uncles who were married to each other, and one of those uncles was the one who trained her.

He learned that she absolutely detested water, and was terrified of it, and even the prospect of a bath was completely awful to her.

He learned that she was stubborn, and determined, and occasionally so blunt it was kind of rude. He learned that she didn’t really have friends, and while she put on a good show of not caring about that…

We’re friends, though, he pointed out to her, and felt the warmth of her fingertips lingering beneath the words for several minutes before she replied.

Yeah, she said, and that was all.

---

Rayla learned many things about her soulmate, in turn.

He was kind of shy, and got nervous easily, and wasn’t very good at talking to the kids where he lived. He had moved towns not all that long ago, and really wasn’t used to it yet, and found the new place kind of big and scary. He loved his mother an insane amount, and…didn’t seem to have a father. His mother had remarried, though, and had a baby on the way. He was cautiously excited about that.

He wasn’t good at fighting, and though he’d started sword lessons, he hated it and wished he didn’t have to do it. He took a lot of lessons—with tutors, instead of at a school—and wasn’t terribly keen on those, either. What he did like was drawing, and even though they could write now, he kept drawing things for her. Because he wanted to.

I want to draw stuff for you, he wrote, very firmly, and Rayla’s heart fluttered too much for her to think of objecting.

In all, he was really nice, considering he was a human.

...Maybe he wouldn’t be so nice, though, if he knew that she was an elf.

---

Callum was a shy and often tongue-tied boy out in the halls and grounds of the castle. In private, though, he never seemed to stop talking. And, unsurprisingly, one of his absolute favourite topics was his soulmate. As such, Sarai found out very rapidly when they’d started writing, and honestly wasn’t surprised by it at all. Only a little exasperated.

Time passed and Callum chattered, and Sarai grew to know a lot about her son’s soulmate. But there were things about her that she didn’t know. That she hadn’t even guessed about. Until…

“She spells things weirdly.” Callum confided, one day, while she was brushing his hair. “I tried telling her she was spelling stuff wrong but she just said that I’m spelling stuff wrong. Like ‘color’. She puts a ‘u’ in it. And she spells ‘mom’ with a ‘u’ too. It’s so weird.”

Sarai paused, brush stilling in his hair for a second, before she made herself complete the stroke. “Oh?” She said, lightly, allowing no trace of her unease into her voice. “That is odd. Does she spell any other words like that?”

Callum thought for a while. “She uses ‘s’ instead of ‘z’ a lot?” He ventured. “Like…she’ll spell ‘realize’ with an ‘s’. And sometimes she uses different words for things too. She calls pants ‘trousers’. I think maybe she’s from a kingdom where they say stuff different?”

“The common tongue does change a little, depending on where it’s spoken.” Sarai agreed, by all appearances unbothered. “So more likely than not, your Rayla speaks and writes with her regional dialect.” She paused, and carefully, she asked “Did she ever say where she was from?”

She could almost hear Callum’s face scrunching up. “No,” he admitted. “I guess she’s had security lessons too. I know she lives somewhere in a huge forest, though. She talks about it a lot.”

Sarai hummed, with the usual fond interest, and didn’t ask him to tell her more. He would, in time; he loved talking about his soulmate. If she asked, it would only make him suspicious. He was a bright boy. He’d notice. “Maybe one day she can give you tree-climbing lessons.” She suggested, and then that was all he could talk about for the next hour.

She listened more closely, after that. And, slowly, day by day, the clues started adding up.

“She says she lives inside a tree!” Callum declared one day, absolutely astonished and absolutely delighted and wanting her to know all about it. “A tree big enough that they could carve a house inside it! That must be so cool!”

Sarai agreed easily that it was very cool, and did not mention that there were no trees so large within the Pentarchy.

“I still draw her stuff, even though we can write now.” Her son said cheerfully, maybe a few weeks after the treehouse revelation. “She draws back sometimes, but she doesn’t like doing it because she doesn’t think she’s very good at it.”

“What does she draw?” Sarai inquired, and was presented with his hand, the skin-ink a little smudged around the shape of a fuzzy ball with a cute little face.

“Mostly these round fuzzy things.” He confided. “Sometimes she draws them stacked on each other.”

For a moment, she couldn’t answer. She stared, silent, at what was unmistakably an adoraburr, one of those creatures so common and omnipresent in Xadia that sometimes their charred fuzzy bodies were found fallen into the crevices of the Breach. Viren frequently received shipments of them. Apparently they were useful in some spells.

“Cute.” She commented, in the end, and knew by her son’s abrupt quietness that she hadn’t quite managed to hide her reaction.

She went to Harrow, almost as soon as she let Callum go out to play.

“I think Callum’s soulmate is an elf.” She said to him, without preamble, as soon as they were in private. He froze, and studied her, and watched her with wide eyes as he exhaled. He reached out and took her hand.

“Tell me everything.” He said, and she did. She explained the dialect, and the treehouse, and the adoraburrs, and every other clue her son had cheerfully rattled off at her over the months.

They brought Viren in. He agreed, from his acquaintance with stolen Xadian texts, that the dialect matched. He mentioned that there were enormous forests in Xadia not all that far from the border, and that they were home to a number of communities of Moonshadow elves. There might be other great forests elsewhere, of course. But that was the one he knew of.

From there on, she started noting down everything. The vague idea of ‘maybe she’s a Moonshadow elf’ went from ‘possible’ to ‘very likely’ when Sarai relayed the soulmate’s enthusiasm for a monthly community dance that—when she checked—turned out to fall on the full moon, every month. (Coincidentally, Callum had stopped complaining about his ballroom dancing lessons. She’d have found this much cuter if not for the circumstances.)

“The history texts I have say that Moonshadow elf tradition places a lot of emphasis on dancing.” Viren told her, almost apologetically, when she came back with this latest report.

“There’s no sense denying it any more, is there.” Sarai said, wearily, rubbing at her aching temples. Her son’s soulmate was an elf. Perhaps a Moonshadow elf, even, and those were some of the deadliest and most vicious elves there were. Combined with all of Callum’s mentions of his soulmate’s training…

Harrow laid his hand on her arm in warm, wordless reassurance. “What do you want to do?” he asked, quiet, and she sighed.

“I don’t know.” She admitted. In the end, it took a long talk with her sister before she made up her mind, and even then…it was hard to know what to do. How to react.

“He should know.” Was Amaya’s brusque opinion, expression laced with sympathy as she signed. “He’s a prince now, and he needs to know to watch his words around this soulmate of his. It’s a shame, but he’s hardly the first person to have an enemy for a soulmate.”

“There’s that.” Sarai agreed, glumly, and tried to stop worrying about what it meant for her son’s future, that his soulmate was an elf.

It was hard, telling him. Hard to sit him down and inform him, very seriously, that she was near certain that his soulmate was an elf. It was hard to watch the way his expression went…blank, almost. Closed-off, for a few seconds before it became confused and vulnerable instead.

“…What does this mean?” He asked, quiet, and she wasn’t sure what to tell him.

“It means that you need to be very, very careful what you tell her.” She said, in the end, because that was what she knew. “Her people are at war with ours, Callum. I won’t tell you to cut contact with her—she’s your soulmate. You couldn’t. But…” She exhaled, and shook her head. “I’ll get you some reading.”

She sent him off with a number of historical accounts about the tragedies of loyalty and heartbreak that could come from soulbonds divided by war, and wished that fate had been kinder.

---

Callum was quiet for days, after he learned the truth. He read through the books his mother gave him, even though they were long with tiny script and big words that he didn’t know, and felt more and more upset at the possibilities they implied for his future.

His soulmate…was an enemy. An elf. One of the people Aunt Amaya called bloodthirsty monsters.

He was short and brusque in his replies to her, for a while. He looked at the almost purplish hue of the shared skin with new eyes, and wondered what she looked like. Did she have horns? Pointy ears? The wrong number of fingers and toes? He’d wondered what she looked like before, of course, but…never in terms of how inhuman she might look.

She caught on to his strange behaviour very quickly. Did something happen? She asked him, through their skin, her handwriting its familiar blocky scrawl. You’ve been all quiet.

He wasn’t sure what to say. Wasn’t sure how to reconcile his feelings towards Rayla, his closest friend and his soulmate, with the knowledge that she was an elf. Kind of, he wrote, in the end, heart heavy. He wished his mother hadn’t told him. He wished he didn’t know. I found some stuff out, and I don’t know what to think.

There was a pause while she washed the ink off. And then: Do you want to talk about it?

He didn’t. Not then. So he passed the following weeks, reading her usual reports of daily life, and wondering what exactly she was training for, day after day after day. Why such long hours, when she was so young? Who exactly was she planning on using those combat skills against?

They were heavy thoughts for a child as young as he was, but there was hardly any escaping them. He tried to focus on happier things, like his mother’s pregnancy, and the nigh arrival of his younger sibling. He tried to think of how Claudia was pretty and friendly and fun to talk to, and definitely wasn’t an elf. He tried to think of a lot of things that weren’t his soulmate, and failed fairly thoroughly.

In the end, after weeks of stilted conversation, he couldn’t take it anymore, and sat down with skin-ink and pen to write: You’re an elf, aren’t you.

She didn’t reply for a long time. But eventually, he felt the tickle of a pen-nib at the back of his hand, and retreated into private to peel off the glove. Yeah, she’d written, and nothing else. Not for a few minutes. Then: You’re a human.

It wasn’t a question. He hesitated, wiped off the ink, and wrote You knew?

Yeah, she said again, and then haltingly explained. Apparently, elves wrote their children’s names to their soulmates just like humans did, except they always included some sort of magic symbol, so her parents had known he was human the second his name came through without it.

He asked what hers was. He probably shouldn’t have, and she probably shouldn’t have answered, but she did. She drew a little symbol, and he took it carefully to his mother.

“Moonshadow elf,” she concluded, with honest sympathy, like someone offering condolences. “Like we thought. I’m sorry, Callum.”

‘I’m sorry’, like it was a death-sentence.

He sighed, and put his glove back on. “I’ll be careful.” He promised, quiet, and left to be alone.

---

Both of them were quieter, after that. There was less idle chatter. Less writing about their days, their experiences, the things that annoyed them and the things they enjoyed. He still wrote—he didn’t think he could have stopped himself if he tried. But there was a wariness between them now that he hated.

Still. There were at least some advantages to having an elf on the other end of his soulbond. Investigating rumours, for one. My friend says elves drink blood, he wrote, one day, with a sort of morbid interest. Is that true?

What?? No!! She wrote, furiously, and then underlined it twice and circled it for good measure.

She reciprocated, sometimes.

Is it true humans have extra fingers? She asked, and he responded by drawing his hand onto the back of his hand. Weird, was her response to that, and despite everything, he couldn’t help but smile.

---

I heard that in Xadia everything is magic, he wrote, one day. Is that true? What’s it like?

She hesitated a long while, then wrote I’m not supposed to talk about magic. Or Xadia.

It hurt, a little. But in the end, they both had their security lessons, and their people were still at war. There was nothing to be done.

Eventually, he wrote what had been on his mind for months, now. I wonder how we’ll meet, he said, with a twist of emotion that was half unease and half interest. It was on his mother’s mind, he knew, and it was certainly a thought he kept coming back to, for good reason.

Soulmates always met eventually, whether or not they contrived to. Even if they tried to avoid it…it would happen someday. His mother was worried about it. The circumstances under which a Prince of Katolis might meet an elf were almost exclusively unpleasant, after all. But he entertained childish thoughts of peace treaties and reconciliation, and clung to them, as unlikely as they might be.

I have no idea, Rayla answered him eventually, and he wondered if she was worried, too.

---

The next year or so was eventful for both of them. Callum’s little brother was born, and he instantly became utterly enchanted with him. He wrote to Rayla at considerable length about how tiny his fingers and toes were, how fuzzy his hair was, how he didn’t have a soulmark yet at all. He never wrote his name, because names were forbidden, but Rayla seemed entertained enough by the stories anyway.

Some time later, Rayla went quiet for a while, and was plainly subdued by something. Eventually, she admitted that her parents had agreed to taking a job that meant they had to go away. She wouldn’t see them more than once a year now, if that. Whatever job it was, it was supposedly an honour; but that didn’t help how much she missed them. She was living with her uncles, now.

You can write letters to them, maybe? He suggested. It wasn’t as good as the real-time writing between soulmates, but it was better than nothing.

I guess, she said, but didn’t seem very enthusiastic about it. Her life changed, but Callum’s went on.

---

And then Callum’s life shattered around him.

He shut himself in his room and cried for hours, burying his face in his hands, until tears were streaming between his fingers and his chest hurt and everything felt so awful he had no idea how to cope. How could he? She was gone.

Not much could carry across shared skin. But evidently, enough of the salt-water managed it for Rayla to be alarmed. By the time he checked what she’d written, the tears had smeared and diluted the inks, but the words were still recognisable. Is something wrong? She’d asked, hurried enough that it looked alarmed. Are you crying?

He nearly collapsed, when he went to get the inks. Could hardly see through tears when he wrote, lopsided and awful, My mom is dead. Writing it was terrible. An admission that it was real, it had happened, she was dead.

Rayla didn’t know what to say to that, and he could tell. She wrote I’m so sorry, Callum, and asked if there was anything she could do, if he wanted to talk about anything. But there wasn’t, and he didn’t. Mom was dead. What was there to talk about?

Eventually, perhaps for lack of anything else to try, Rayla drew him a little flower. She’d done it to try to make him feel better, and—and somehow, that made him start sobbing all over again.

A long way down the line, she asked him how it had happened. He couldn’t answer. Of course he couldn’t. That the Dragon King had killed her would reveal too much.

But saying ‘I can’t talk about that’ was revealing in its own way, too.

---

Years passed them by. Callum slowly pieced his life back together around the hole his mother had left, and learned to cope with the loneliness of being without her. His brother grew, and started talking, and swiftly became the dearest person in Callum’s life…except, perhaps, for the elf on the other end of his soulbond.

In many ways, things stayed the same. Callum hated his training and Rayla loved hers. He loved drawing—and became very good at it—and Rayla continued to hate water. She remained as stubborn and headstrong as ever, and she remained his friend.

Sometimes, he had no idea what he’d do without her. Soren was kind of an unpleasant friend, most of the time, and Claudia was always too occupied with her books or lessons or brother to answer his attempts to socialise. He had Ezran, of course, but without Rayla…he could only imagine how lonely he’d have been.

Sometimes he remembered all over again that she was an elf, and felt weird about how much he depended on her.

He still wondered how they’d meet.

---

King Harrow and Lord Viren, with very little warning, departed Katolis and rode into Xadia. There, they killed the Dragon King, and his son the Dragon Prince, and returned covered in a glory that Harrow’s bearing didn’t reflect. Callum wondered if the revenge had felt as hollow to enact as he felt to receive it. The one who killed mom is dead now, he thought, and didn’t feel vindicated. Didn’t feel happy. He just felt…empty. What was the use of it, so many years after her death? She was still dead.

He wished he could talk to Rayla about it. But if names were a forbidden topic, then revealing that his step-father had ridden into Xadia and killed their King…that was plainly out of the question. So he told her nothing.

He wondered if it was his imagination, that she’d grown quieter anyway. When she wrote, she seemed unhappy. Preoccupied, too.

Weeks passed, and she admitted that she was going to be travelling soon. She didn’t say why, or to where, or what for—all of that was proscribed. But she gave it as warning, anyway, that she’d be able to talk less while en route.

In the month that followed, the brevity of their contact left him lonelier than ever.

---

“You must be careful, Rayla.” Runaan said to her, in private, where the other assassins couldn’t hear. “For the first time, you are venturing into the human kingdoms. You must take particular care to avoid meeting your soulmate.”

“Everyone meets their soulmate eventually.” She muttered back to him, fingers resting reflexively over the guard on her left hand.

He was unmoved. “Yes. But, with luck, you can avoid it taking place on this mission.”

It was, in fairness, a very important mission. She sighed. “I’ll do my best.” She promised, though it wasn’t exactly within her control.

When the Full Moon was nigh, and the bindings tight around her wrists, Rayla broke into Katolis Castle and went looking for her quarry.

The first non-soldier she found was a young human boy, maybe around her age. She didn’t know how old Prince Ezran was, but she knew he wasn’t an adult, and…according to what she’d been taught, this boy was wearing pretty high-quality clothes. If he wasn’t Ezran, he should at least know who was.

She chased him. She cornered him. He said, “I am Prince Ezran,” and looked up at her with a resolve and solemnity that didn’t quite manage to mask his fear.

It hit her, then, looking down the length of her blade towards the face of this human boy waiting to die. It hit her that—that he was afraid, that he didn’t want to die, that he was a person, as much as she was, as much as her soulmate was, he was a human just like Callum and she was here to kill him—

But…she had to do it. She had to. She’d bound herself, it was her mission, it was the justice that the Dragon Prince deserved. She had to.

It was in the midst of trying to talk herself into it, and him trying to talk her out of it, that a child’s voice emerged from behind a painting.

It said, “Callum”, and she only had a moment for her blood to freeze before, at her feet, the terrified human boy, the boy who had claimed to be Prince Ezran, the boy she’d been about to kill—

He answered. He responded. It was his name.

What were the chances that she’d meet someone named Callum—the correct age, the correct species, everything—and it wouldn’t be her soulmate?

The painting edged open, revealing a younger human boy with some sort of weird pet. A pet she’d heard descriptions of, held in the arms of a child she’d been hearing about since he was born, looking worriedly between her and the boy she had at swordpoint—

She realised she’d been frozen for too long. She realised that, one way or another, she had to be sure. She reached over, and hit herself hard on the back of her left hand.

The human, in an instant and involuntary motion, flinched and gripped the back of his own left hand. Her heart thudded, and— it only took him a second to realise—

His eyes went wide. He glanced wildly between her and his hand, undoubtedly registering that she was a Moonshadow elf, that she was the right age, that she was—

“Rayla?” He squeaked, and if she hadn’t already known for certain, that would have told her.

She lowered her sword, utterly struck by how much of a disaster this was.

“Shit.” She said, succinctly, and stared at the astounded face of her soulmate.

What in Xadia’s name was she supposed to do now?

---

Notes:

I’ve adored this piece ever since I wrote it in Whenever, Early 2020. Really, really thrilled to be able to share it with everyone at last. As you can tell, it ends on a pretty rude cliffhanger. It’s always invited follow-up, and I think I knew from the moment I finished it that I’d be continuing it someday. And so I did! Eventually!!

According to my discord message history, I began writing chapter 2 in February this year, 2021. I probably wrote the following two chapters within a mad haze in the same week or two, knowing me. The chapters are uncharacteristically short, considering my usual habits, but it felt right for the story. I’ve completed up to the end of chapter 4, and have nothing written after that yet.

Minor edits have been made from the zine version, including some formatting, but nothing drastic. Writing this piece in general was a challenge. There was so much I wanted to include – about the differences in Callum’s life, about Ezran’s soulmate – that I had to cut out because of the word count restriction. Ultimately I opted not to edit that back in for the online version, and simply fill it in organically through the rest of the story. There’s some really interesting stuff, and the story as a whole is going to be wildly canon-divergent.

Some worldbuilding details: - platonic soulmates are considerably more common than romantic ones - there’s some cool weird soulmate metaphysics re: magic

I think I’ll keep it vague and let everyone discover how I’m doing soulmates for themselves, though. Hope everyone enjoyed! Would really love comments on this one; I’ve been waiting so long to share it and I’m so excited.

(also I’m fully aware that the fic’s acronym is ASS, and I’ve decided to embrace this)

#rayllum #rayllumzine #tdp fic #soulmate AU #tdp callum #tdp rayla #god I'm so excited for this fic you don't even know #I've been sitting on the extra chapters for months now #Across Shared Skin

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