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beegomess · 16 days ago

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ferrari

as part of a social visit, you spend a fortnight at an English politician's estate with his god-awful son (politician's son!theo x american socialite!reader)

a/n - this fic took sooo long im so excited to publish it!!! also im such a sucker for the trope where one half of a couple is THE most insidious hater with absolutely no chill but then halfway through they start feeling like...why's the other person kinda........hmmmmmmm (p.s. this started off inspired by the song by the neighbourhood but idk if i would call this a songfic ehehe enjoyy)

tropes/warnings - enemies to lovers, forced proximity, fluff/banter, mildly british-phobic, incorrect descriptions of ferraris as manual (god i researched too much about ferraris against my will also i apologise for the inconsistencies car/f1 girlies)

word count - 5.8k

taglist - @kandralice @justme989898 @iamheretoread1234 @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @user089167

A car.

A yellow car.

A bright, disgusting, honest-to-god canary yellow Ferrari was peeling into the driveway at the ungodly hour of a quarter to 7 in the morning.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes. Most of yesterday had passed in an exhausting blur, given how jet-lagged you were, but this took the cake. You blinked, opening your eyes further. The car was still there, as loud and insecurely showy as it had been at first glance.

Perhaps your eyes hadn't adjusted to the English countryside gloom. Yes, that had to be it. You were sure that in proper daylight, the car would appear a luxurious cream, or perhaps even an elegant taupe.

Once you had dressed and crept downstairs, shivering in the early morning chill that blanketed the vast estate, a butler informed you that Master Nott would be down shortly to join you for breakfast. But it wasn't the genteel, elderly man that had welcomed you and your father the day before that walked in.

"Apologies for my absence yesterday," said the man walking towards the breakfast table, fiddling with a button. "I hope my father wasn't too boring. I was occupied with some other business. Theodore Nott. Junior."

He stuck out a hand at the last bit, and you eyed it with a restrained distaste. Perhaps it was just the cynic in you, but something about his demeanour felt politically calibrated to dazzle you. The apple clearly didn't fall far from the tree - Theo Nott Jr. was every bit his father's son. However, this Theodore appeared more charismatic and charming, whereas his father seemed more reserved and cordial.

And yet, there was something untrustworthy about his smile. What kind of business did he occupy himself with?

"So, Theodore," you asked as you buttered a piece of toast, "what do you like to do for pleasure?"

"Nothing much out of the ordinary - golfing, collecting art, skiing. I enjoy a good holiday every now and then."

Your lips quirked a little at that. Calling it 'a little holiday every now and then' was putting it lightly, you decided. Theodore Nott Jr. had a reputation that could easily rival any of your more scandalous counterparts. It seemed like all he did was travel, jet-setting from one location to the next, finding ever-brilliant ways of dragging his father's name in the mud. Given his father's staunch refusal to comment on his son's debaucherous behaviours, you guessed there was no love lost between the two.

"Oh, and cars," Theo continued obliviously. "I do like cars."

You placed your toast down, frowning.

"Your business yesterday. It wouldn't have had anything to do with that...you know...the yellow..." you trailed off, motioning with the butter knife.

Theo looked surprised. The mildly curious look on his face felt miles more genuine than his unscrupulous smile just minutes ago. The curve of his lips hinted at something - like a smile, but not quite.

"Your bedroom does overlook the driveway, doesn't it? But yes - I was in town yesterday afternoon to pick up my new car." Misreading your curiosity as interest, he probed further. "Why? Do you like it?"

You thought back to the grotesquely gleaming vehicle. You barely held back from pulling an unbecoming face.

"Car is...a strong word for that monstrosity."

Theo's lips parted, giving you the impression that he had a dozen replies on the tip of his tongue, but no voice for any of them.

"Well. You Americans have the strangest ways of describing classics."

You raised your eyebrows. "Classic? Little Women is a classic. That...is a Colleen Hoover book at best."

Theo watched you curiously, uncomprehending.

"What? You're not up to date on contemporary unfeminist literature?"

From the blank look on his face, the quip was clearly lost on him. Merlin, was he going to be this slow the entire visit?

"When Father mentioned contacting a translator, I assumed he was having a laugh," the boy said, prying open a tiny jar of honey. "Now, I'm not so sure."

The two of you endured a painfully awkward meal and you excused yourself at the first available opportunity, taking care not to seem overly eager to leave the room. Behind you, you heard a faint clink of china and a muttered, sardonic echo.

"Monstrosity."

You didn’t intend to play. That much you wanted to make perfectly clear.

After spending the morning occupied with other business, Theodore's father had invited you and your father for afternoon tea and a game of lawn polo with Theo and his friends - all carefully groomed hedges and intimidatingly pressed uniforms. You had been under the mistaken assumption that you'd be on the watching end of things. When Theo invited you to join the game, you offered a tight-lipped smile.

"I'm afraid I didn't pack any riding clothes," you said apologetically. It was true, you hadn't, but your worries had more to do with the fact that you hadn't ridden since you were 12.

Theo turned towards you, his hair sun-tousled with a sly slant to his eyes that promised nothing good for you.

“Whatever you’re wearing now is more than fine.”

You looked down at your blouse and loose linen trousers, uncertain.

"Unless, of course," he continued, dropping his voice, "you don't feel up for the game?"

You glanced up, reading the challenge in his words. He was goading you, and you knew better than to fall for it. But you just couldn't stand the idea of him holding this over your head, subtly or otherwise, for the rest of your visit. And so, as utterly infuriating as it was, you took the bait - hook, line, and sinker.

"Don't be ridiculous," you muttered through clenched teeth, taking the helmet he held out for you.

And so you awkwardly mounted a dapple-grey gelding under the watchful eye of yours and Theo's fathers, pretending you weren’t one misplaced pebble away from sliding off your horse, face-first. Theo carelessly introduced his friends from boarding school - Mattheo Riddle and Blaise Zabini. They waved at you good-naturedly, and you nervously smiled back. They seemed friendly enough, but then again, so had Theo.

The game started fast - faster than you were comfortable with, if you were being completely honest. Within minutes, you were hopelessly lost while Theo, unsurprisingly, was in his element. He rode like he’d been riding all his life, and he probably had - back straight, jaw tight, eyes narrowed with something more intense than friendly competition. Meanwhile, you struggled to keep up, your hands slick with sweat on the reins.

Theo whirled past you on his stallion, calling over his shoulder, “Next time, try aiming for the ball.”

The others laughed, well-mannered, while Theo smirked with a special kind of malice, as if he were all too aware of the heat crawling up your neck. You smiled through it, chin high, your thoughts drifting to violent fantasies of bashing his perfectly sculpted face in with your mallet.

He wasn’t just fast; he was precise. Every time you neared the ball, he was there, cutting you off with easy, practiced turns or thundering by close enough to rattle you. Not enough to technically break the rules, but enough to make you painfully aware of how out of your depth you were.

At some point, the teasing and missteps began to chip away at your carefully composed expression. Your lips thinned. Your jaw locked. The linen blouse that once felt effortlessly chic now clung to your back.

You glanced around the lawn irritably when one of his friends caught your eye from across the field. Blaise, if you remembered correctly. He gave the subtlest flick of his wrist, adjusting the way he held his mallet. You mirrored him instinctively, and almost immediately, your wrist felt less strained. Stunned, you shot him an appreciative look.

A few minutes later, Mattheo came riding up beside you at a slower pace, his horse snorting softly.

“Alright, New York?” he asked with a lazy grin.

That piqued your attention. Although you currently lived in LA, it wasn't exactly common knowledge that you were born and brought up in New York City. Still, you weren't sure how much you could trust either of them. They were Theo's friends, after all.

“Just peachy,” you replied coolly.

He leaned a little closer, and you felt mildly jealous and how effortless he made it seem.

“You know, Theo only acts like this when he really hates someone.”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Or,” he added casually, as he gathered his reins in one hand, “when he really likes them.”

The implication hit only after he had steered his horse away. You blinked, before seizing your own reins with a newfound determination. Whatever game Theo thought he was playing, you weren’t about to let him win it.

With your grip improved and your instincts finally catching up, you started anticipating the ball's path. Your swings grew sharper, more confident. You manoeuvred around Theo once, twice, three times.

At the final play, it was all heat and desire for vengeance. You galloped forward, timing your swing just as the ball veered to the left. Your mallet connected with a satisfying crack, sending it cleanly rolling between the makeshift goal posts.

The applause was courteous but audible; your father's a little more effusive than was strictly polite.

You trotted past Theo, heart still pounding, your smile flushed and wicked.

His face remained as impassive as marble. “There are less showy ways to win, you know” he said, voice neutral.

You leaned in. “But hardly half as satisfying.”

You dismounted and handed off your reins to a stablehand, still floating on the high of your victory.

“A play like that deserves its own prize,” Nott Sr. said with faux formality. “Perhaps a small trophy. Or a drink named after you in the club lounge.”

You nodded graciously, murmuring something demure.

But your eyes flicked to Theo as he dismounted a few paces away. His jaw was tight. His shoulders tense. The bad-tempered flick of his brow as he handed off his helmet was the clearest reaction you’d seen all day.

And, if you were being completely honest, that little crack in his perfectly constructed exterior was the best trophy you could’ve asked for.

"Bored out of your skull, aren't you?"

You jumped, startled from where you had been resting your head for a brief shut-eye. This afternoon, the Notts were hosting you, your father, and some Ministry officials at an art gallery. With considerable effort, you lasted about half an hour before you excused yourself to the car outside Even now you had to contend with a humidity that made your hair stick to the back of your neck. It had been drizzling incessantly since morning, introducing a dampness to everything.

"Understandably so," Theo continued in a smug tone that made you kick yourself for letting him catch you unawares. "It's all a little dry for me, and I grew up with this stuff."

You straightened in the passenger seat, resisting the urge to nervously fix your hair, smoothing out whatever scrap of dignity you had left.

"I don't know what you're talking about. The tour was highly intriguing. I was just in here looking for my...my sunglasses." You peered into the glove compartment. What had left your lips as a fib was now becoming a rather real problem, actually - where were your sunglasses? You were too distracted to notice Theo climbing into the driver's seat beside you until the door shut. You closed the glove box, defeated, thinking hard about where you last saw them.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked. "Or - what would that be for you? Dollar for your thoughts?"

"Cent."

"Are you sure? With these exchange rates?"

For what felt like the hundredth time since the beginning of your trip, you shot Theo a dirty look. Not that it seemed to upset him.

"Nice weather we're having," he tried again.

You shrugged, glancing up at the clouded skies. "I guess. Does it never get fully dry here?"

You regretted opening your mouth as soon as you saw the ill-disguised amusement on his face. Clearly, you had just said something wilfully ignorant of the place. It wasn't your fault. Who had the time to vacation in dreary old England when the rest of Europe seemed so warm, colourful and dry?

"'Fraid so. You must understand, we're quite a bit of ways from Californ-yuh."

You grimaced.

"Was that your attempt at an American accent?"

Theo grinned. You had been around your fair share of good-looking people, but when Theo smiled - genuinely smiled, full of mirth or adolescent mischief - it almost hurt to look at his beautiful face.

If only didn't come attached with that insufferable personality.

"Come on. It wasn't that bad."

"It didn't even sound like English."

"It did - and what's more, that is exactly what you sound like."

You gasped, appalled. This miscreant was supposed to be the well-bred progeny of an English Ministry official? The mocking and teasing you could put up with, but outright insults were where you drew the line.

"Is not!"

"Is too."

"Is - " you stopped yourself, giving Theo a dirty look. He looked hardly apologetic; if anything, he seemed awfully pleased with himself for successfully having roped you in some inane, childish spat.

"You know what? You're right. The day's wasted just sitting around."

Theo didn’t wait for you to respond. He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life.

You froze.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you for a spin," he said casually, as if it were nothing. “You clearly need to get out more, get some fresh air in those lungs.”

"The hell I do - Theodore, no."

But he was already reversing, one hand on the wheel, the other behind the passenger seat headrest. The car jerked at a hard turn, gravel spitting beneath the tires. A moment later, he punched it forward, the sudden acceleration slamming you back against the seat.

“I am not dying in a British clown car,” you hissed with a white-knuckled grip on the door handle.

Theo didn’t even look at you. “It’s Italian,” he said smoothly, switching gears like it was muscle memory. “And she likes to be pushed.”

He turned towards you, peering over his sunglasses with his startlingly dull eyes.

"Though I have to warn you, if you insult my car again, I'm not above leaving you at the side of the road."

You could barely process the words before he was tearing down a narrow country road, weaving between bends. The hedges blurred into a smear of green. Your stomach lurched with every curve he barely braked for, the car swinging wide, tires shrieking with every corner he turned too fast.

“You're a lunatic!” you shouted, clutching your seatbelt, as the speedometer soared past any sane number.

“And you’re too uptight,” he said coolly, shifting gears with a little flourish. “But here we are.”

The tires skidded slightly as he made another turn. Raindrops streaked the windshield. Your fingers frantically fumbled along the seat. Seatbelt. Seatbelt.

“Jesus - Theo - SLOW DOWN.”

But he didn’t. If anything, the Ferrari sped up, surging forward like it had something to prove.

You felt it in your chest, in your teeth, adrenaline flooding your veins. Your heart was beating so fast it hurt.

“I swear to God, if you kill me—”

“Oh, I’d never. Imagine the paperwork.” His smile widened as the road narrowed. “Besides, this car is worth considerably more than your life.”

“You are such an asshole.”

Theo clicked his tongue, entirely unbothered. “Language,” he rebuked. “Bit unladylike, don’t you think?”

You'd have had your hands around his neck by now if he wasn't the one driving this death trap machine. Your stomach flipped as the car surged forward again. The car lifted slightly as it hit a bump, just enough for your breath to catch in your throat. When it slammed back down, you swore you felt your bones rattle.

“This isn’t fun,” you said, voice ragged.

“Not for you, maybe.” Theo downshifted just to hear the engine snarl. You were going to throw up. Or pass out. Or both.

All of a sudden, you felt the car slowing down. You looked up, dizzy with relief, just as Theo slowed to a stop outside the gallery. He looked invigorated by the ride, and also as though he was trying not to laugh. Delicately, he pulled down the sunglasses that you had stuck in your hair earlier that morning.

"Found them," he said, far too cheerfully.

But you were at your limit. You finally snapped.

You stepped out of the car on wobbly legs, slamming it closed just as your father and a couple of Ministry officials were exiting the gallery.

"Which way to the estate?" You asked crossly, interrupting their conversation. Your father looked between yours and Theo's faces, alarmed.

"What h- "

"Which. Way. to the estate."

Your father hesitated in his reply, clearly appalled by your bright red face. Or perhaps the state your hair was in.

"That way. But Y/N, honey, if you take one of the cars - "

"I'm walking."

"All the way back, darling?" he asked fretfully. "At least let Theodore drive you."

This was clearly the wrong thing to have said, if your aggravated shriek was any indication. You gracelessly turned and started walking back to the manor, uncaring of the scene you were making. And as for Theo -

Well. You didn't care to even spare him a glance.

"It was awful, Vee. He's awful. He just does whatever he wants whenever he wants, consequences be damned." You were lying on your room's window seat, fresh out of a shower after the hike back, talking to a friend on the phone while staring hatefully out the window at the blissfully peaceful sprawling grounds. Stupid England and its stupid politicians and their stupid sons and its stupid mud.

Your gaze drifted sorrowfully towards your boots, which hadn't survived the walk home. "And Daddy calls me spoiled," you sniffled.

You heard a familiar crunch of gravel and looked out to see a disgustingly familiar car pulling in. You glared at it as Theo killed the engine and stepped out. You watched him scan the exterior, presumably counting windows until he met your gaze. He waved at you, motioning for you to come downstairs. For a moment, you indulged in the fantasy of flipping him off and drawing your curtains.

"What?" You started crossly as you walked out to the porch, still too peeved to even pretend at civility.

Theo just tilted his head, leaning against the car, eyes hidden behind his sleek, rectangular shades. "You know, I don't think I've seen you smile once your whole trip. Is everyone in America always this discontent?"

"I don't know. Is everyone in England always this unpleasant?"

Theo had the decency to look a little embarrassed. "Touché."

He cleared his throat and stood up a little straighter. Prick. He probably liked the idea of you having to tilt your head upwards just to look him in the eye.

"I really am sorry about this afternoon. It's just - sometimes there's no stopping me when I really get going. Especially if it has anything to do with my father."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "So that's it? I'm just a pawn for you to use to get back at your dad?"

"No, that's not - " Theo ran a hand through his rougishly dishevelled hair. He took a deep breath.

"Let me start over. My behaviour has been...rude, and disrespectful, and you didn't deserve any of it. So..."

Theo turned and picked something up from the passenger seat - a navy blue, velvet box. You eyed it skeptically.

"What's this?"

"Peace offering."

You stared at the box for a while before you caved in out of curiosity. You grudgingly accepted the box and opened it. You felt your mouth go dry. Nestled in the thick, rich fabric was the most delicate, exquisite set of diamond earrings you had ever seen. They glittered as if in slow motion in the late afternoon sun. This was no American brand - Cartier, perhaps?

"Truce?"

Your head snapped up, and you remembered why you were here, and who you were talking to. You traced part of the earrings' outline longingly. Damn. With diamonds like these, he could have a truce and then some.

"Yeah. I mean, fine. Truce, I guess," you stammered out disinterestedly, trying to hide how the gift had rendered you speechless.

You had specific tastes. You didn't shop excessively but precisely. It was why you could never take to a personal shopper - no one seemed to understand your tastes or preferences as well as you did yourself. Until today, that is.

With considerable difficulty, you shut the box. After all, it would be rude to reject such an expensive gift. You didn't even know if they did returns in this part of Europe. Why should you begrudge yourself such a fine piece of jewellery just because he decided to be an ass?

"Is that all?"

"Mostly. How did your boots hold up?"

You stayed resolutely silent, but something on your face must have given it away. Theo wrinkled his nose sympathetically. "Thought so. We have a cobbler a little way in the town. I can drop them off for you, if you'd like. They should be done by the time I get back."

"Back?"

It was only then that you noticed the trunk propped up in the backseat of the car.

"I'm visiting Normandy for a few days."

You raised your eyebrows, unimpressed but not surprised. "Didn't you just get back from Italy?"

"This one's more of a house call. Speaking of, I really should get a move on." "So, your boots?"

You hesitated. These were your Manolo Blahniks. Your babies. Could you really trust a man as vile as he was with them? Then again, it didn't look like they could get much worse.

While you deliberated, Theo rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. Keep your boots. Just wait for the mud to dry and then brush it off. That should get most of it."

With that, he stepped back into the car and fastened his seat belt. He looked up to where you were still staring at him mistrustfully.

"Well, I'm off. Feel free to direct some of that snark towards my father while I'm gone."

You numbly watched him reverse out the gate and turn into the main streets, the gift weighing heavily on your mind.

You hadn't anticipated how quiet the manor could be without Theo. Did he really occupy so much space that the manor felt incomprehensibly vast and cold without him? You whiled away your days at dinners and luncheons and how you usually occupied yourself on these kinds of alien social vists, but it just wasn't the same without anyone your age. You were starting to get so bored, it almost felt like you were beginning to miss him.

It was almost a week since you last saw Theo. You were in your room, making plans to go into town, when you glimpsed a figure near the perimeter of the estate's front lawn. You opened your window. There was something familiar about the carelessly sun-kissed crop of curls.

Looking closer, you realised you were right. You didn't know he was back, but it was most certainly Theodore Nott in the black suit - Merlin, that had to be uncomfortably warm - glinting cufflinks, purposeful stride. He looked stiffly formal in a way you’d never seen him. Polished and imposing with his usual languid gait replaced by something far more measured.

Theo's gaze drifted up the estate until his eyes met yours. You leaned against the windowsill and gave him a look, brow arched, lips parted, and he...nothing. Theo had absolutely no reaction to you. His eyes were on yours, but it was as though he was seeing straight through you. Just a tiny, barely there tick in his jaw before he looked away.

That was when you noticed the foreign dignitary following closely behind, dressed as sharply as Theo. You propped your chin up on your hand, watching with renewed interest. Ah. Hosting, are we?

Really, he only had himself to blame for you turning it into a little game. He should have known it would be dull as tomes without him. Every time his gaze wandered towards you, voluntarily or otherwise, you waved brightly, blew him a kiss or two, and the like, all while he did his best to keep a straight face and look away.

His posture changed. Stiffened. A flick of his shoulder. A twitch of the hand. A slight turn of his head as if fighting the urge to look again. You could see him biting the inside of his cheek. At one point, he even coughed. This all only further encouraged you.

Eventually, Theo turned away from you fully, his mouth moving as he muttered something to the dignitary. His face was mostly hidden now, but not before you caught the faintest curve of a smile biting into his cheek.

Victory.

You watched them retreat to the cool indoors. You stayed at the window watching the stray sprigs of dandelions toss their heads in the faint breeze until you ran out of patience. You hurried downstairs, determined to vex him for being away for so long. Theo apparently had a similar idea and you nearly ran smack into him as you turned the corner on the spiral stairs.

"How was Normandy?" you asked in a breathless rush, his hand warm at your elbow.

"Terribly pleasant without you constantly looking down on everything." Up close, he looked a little more bronze, a little more rosy than when you last saw him. Or maybe that had to do with him running up the stairs.

The hand Theo had stuck out to stop you from running into him had regrettably fallen. "Mother sends gifts." Then, as if his body couldn't physically handle being nice to you, he added, "Clearly, she's never met you."

Your lips twitched. "Clearly."

You let Theo lead you down to the living room, where there was no dignitary but only a fabulous spread of French cheeses, smiling at him prettily as he somewhat sarcastically offered you a seat. You took a sip of the wine he poured you, watching him pretend not to watch you back. The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon lazily picking at the variety of French cheeses Theo had brought home, talking about any and everything under the sun, from his trip to the summer camps you used to go to.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you were back," you said an hour later, when the two of you were beginning to run out of things to talk about.

Theo gave an exaggerated wince as he refilled your glass. "Please. I came here straight from the jet, I promise you."

You rolled your eyes.

"Well, next time, you can tell your mother that I loved the - er, hang on...fromage de bois?"

"What?"

Theo sat up, watching your mouth intently. Your face was starting to feel a little hot, probably from all the wine.

"Say that again?"

You cleared your throat. "Um, fromage de bois?"

Theo shook his head. "Again."

You repeated yourself a little haltingly. French had never been your strong suit. Theo stared at you, brow furrowed, mystified.

"You are doing strange and unusual things with that tongue of yours...and none of it is right." He looked enthralled. Fascinated. Tipsy. You rolled your eyes. "Your accent is...in a word, abysmal."

You nibbled at the cheese you apparently couldn't pronounce right. "Sorry, Mr. Intercontinentally Educated. Some of us have to contend with the Ivy League legacies we were born into."

Theo busied himself with another wheel of cheese. You thought back to the foreign dignitary from that afternoon.

"I thought you didn't do your father any favours," you asked. It was a risky topic to broach, but you could always blame it on the wine.

Theo chewed for a long while.

"Usually, I don't."

"But?"

"But my mother thinks I should be less hard on him."

"Oh."

"And I think she's starting to forget what he's like."

Theo dusted his hands with a wry smile before reaching over you towards the crackers, broad-shouldered, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. Too late, the thought to lean back crossed your mind, but by then Theo was already back in his seat, turning over the empty dish and eyeing you with mock disapproval.

"Someone's finished all the crackers."

You smiled innocently, crumbling the few crackers left in your hand as you watched him call for more.

It was your last night at the estate. There's no place like home, but it saddened you to leave this quaint slice of English countryside in the middle of nowhere. You were curled up on your window seat, trying to focus on a book you weren’t actually reading. You should have gone to bed hours ago, but something was keeping you up.

You were so sure he'd show up. One last time. Just for you.

You finally snapped your book shut, admitting defeat, and swung your legs into bed with a sigh. Then, you heard it - the low, unmistakable growl of a stupidly expensive sports car.

You hurried over to your window, shivering with anticipation. There Theo was, dressed down in a soft black sweater and slacks, leaning against that yellow Ferrari. You never doubted him for a second.

You padded downstairs with ill-disguised excitement.

"I'm here for your big send-off."

You raised your eyebrows. "Send-off?"

"Yeah. What kind of host would I be if I didn't give you the right send-off?"

Your eyebrows disappeared into your hair. The levels of hypocrisy of this man were astounding.

"You left the country for a week while we were here. Or have you forgotten?"

Theo was starting to look annoyed.

"Do you want a big send-off or not?"

"...okay."

You were in the passenger seat for barely ten minutes, cruising through narrow, moonlit country lanes, before Theo pulled into an empty side road.

You blinked at him. Maybe you trusted him too much, too quickly. Was this how you died?

“Why are we stopping?”

Theo walked over to your side of the car, opened the door and held out the keys. You eyed them distastefully.

"Please don't tell me you're giving me the car. Respect for other people's property is the only thing stopping me from driving this off a cliff."

"I'm not giving it to you," he said, as your fingers curled uncertainly around the metal. You relaxed.

"I'm teaching you how to drive it."

You laughed. Then stopped laughing.

“You’re serious?”

You were glad it was the middle of the night with nobody around, because you were gaping at him rather unbecomingly.

"Dr - drive this? Are you crazy?"

"I'm picking up a pattern here. I'm starting to think you have a very low bar for insanity."

"This cannot be legal. You guys don't even drive on the right side of the road here."

"Relax. I'll walk you through it."

And so, Theo eventually wheedled you into getting into the driver's seat, fastening your seatbelt and switching on the engine.

"Okay, so, foot goes on the brake, hands on the wheel - " For a moment, Theo's large warm hands enveloped yours, pulling them up to 10 and 2, and you felt your heart flutter. " - and, try not to kill us, yeah?"

You shot him a glare. "You're so funny," you deadpanned.

Theo grinned. You wiped the smile right off his face as the car lurched forward, nearly concussing him on the dashboard.

"Gentle, gentle," he wheezed.

The drive that followed was a mixture of cautious lurches and unexpected smooth patches. Theo’s instructions were teasing but not unkind. He guided you through each shift, each turn, with his voice low and amused. At one point, when you stalled the car trying to reverse out of a hedgerow, you noticed his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. You gave him the silent treatment for five blocks until he effusively and somewhat mockingly apologised.

When the two of you had had enough excitement for one night, Theo gave you directions back to the estate. Even in pitch dark, Theo knew the network of roads surrounding his family home like the back of his hand.

You pull into the driveway and kill the engine. A deafening silence settles over the two of you.

"So? How was I?"

Theo takes his time responding. "You did better than I expected."

You make a show of twirling your hair. "So you think I'm a natural."

Theo's oddly quiet. You can't make out his expression in the shadows.

"I think you're something," he says quietly. He leans forward enough for his expression to take shape in a sliver of moonlight. You feel your heart hammering in your chest.

All of a sudden, you don't want to go up to your room, knock out, and leave in the morning. You want to sit here in this god-awful Ferrari with Theo and his windswept hair and his bedroom eyes and the look on his face like he really wanted to kiss you.

"Theodore - "

"My friends call me Teddy," he murmurs, barely managing to force the words out before his mouth covers yours.

It’s not careful or practiced like most things Theo does. It’s a little desperate, a little clumsy - like he’s scared to hesitate. His hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth as he tilts his head slightly, deepening it enough to make you blush with the intimacy of it.

When he pulls back, just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours. You can feel how uneven his breathing is. How unsure.

You blink at him, stunned.

"Your friends don't call you Teddy."

Theo laughs shakily, and you realise that that isn't the most sensible reaction. For the first time in your trip, you laugh with him.

"What? You think I'm some idiot that doesn't notice what your friends call you?"

"You're right. They don't," Theo agrees with a breathless laugh. His breathing evens out. "But I was hoping you might."

You shake your head slightly, feeling a flush creeping up your neck.

"I can't believe I ever thought you were cool. You're so lame."

"And yet," he says softly, nudging his nose against yours, "you still haven't run for the hills."

You don’t answer. You don’t move. Not for a long, long while.

595 notes · View notes

beegomess · 17 days ago

Text

the one with the runaway bride

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader

Word Count: 12.1k (damn)

Summary: Sometimes running away from a wedding leads you exactly where you're meant to be — preferably into the arms of a much better guy.

A/N: These fics just keep getting longer and longer. again lowkey kinda hate this and i feel like i made theo heavily ooc but it is what it is ig

Theo hated churches.

He wasn’t particularly religious—never cared much for the belief in some higher power watching over them all. After all, if someone like that did exist, his mother—a devout, gentle woman—wouldn’t have been ripped from the earth so soon. It should’ve been his father, not her. At least, that’s what he’d thought as a boy.

Still, despite his aversion to anything even remotely sacred, he found himself sitting alone in the pews of a quiet chapel. The sun streamed through stained glass, washing the room in warm, fractured color. He didn’t believe in prayer, but he came here anyway. This had been his mother’s favorite place before she died, and somehow, being here made him feel closer to her—like she might hear him, if only faintly.

“Mamma,” He murmured, voice low, “sometimes I truly wonder what my future was meant to look like.”

The war was over, but the silence it left behind was deafening. He spent a lot of time now, wondering about his place in the world. He and the rest of his mates—Berkshire, Riddle, Malfoy, and Zabini—had played a crucial role, working as double agents under Dumbledore’s orders. But because their involvement had remained classified, carefully buried under the Ministry’s politics, they were still seen as Slytherins first. As former sympathizers. As a threat. Pariahs.

It stung. He had done the right thing, when it mattered most. And yet, he wondered if this cold reception was all he’d ever receive.

A few years ago, he hadn't even expected to live this long. His younger self had been certain he’d never survive the war—that he’d be killed for his betrayal of Voldemort and reunited with his mother much sooner than expected. But he had survived. And now, once again, he was adrift.

That’s why he came back here—hoping for clarity, for a sign. But as always, the silence answered him back.

He sighed softly, rising to his feet and tucking his hands into his coat pockets, ready to leave. His shoes echoed against the marble floor as he turned toward the exit.

But before he could cross the threshold, the chapel doors burst open with a loud bang.

Theo blinked.

A vision in white stumbled inside.

Satin, lace, curls escaping from a veil. Breathless. Flushed. A wild gleam in her eye.

His heart paused mid-beat as he recognized the chaos incarnate now standing in the aisle, clutching the skirt of her wedding dress like she’d just escaped a dragon, veil askew, bouquet long gone, and cheeks flushed pink like she’d run from hell itself.

His mouth opened before he could stop it.

“(L/N)?” The name left his mouth before he could stop it, soft and shocked and just a little bit disbelieving.

You looked up, startled — like you hadn’t expected to see another soul inside — and your eyes widened in delight.

“Theodore Nott!” You beamed, chest still rising and falling in heavy breaths, curls frizzing at the edges, voice giddy and strange, “Fancy seeing you here! Gosh, I haven't seen you since Hogwarts! How are you? And the others—Riddle, Berkshire, and the lot? All good, I hope.”

Theo stared at you in complete bewilderment as you keeled over to catch your breath, tugging off your veil and fanning yourself with it like some kind of deranged society lady.

“Merlin’s sweaty balls,” You gasped, dramatic as ever, “It’s impossible to breathe in this damn corset.”

“They’re good,” Theo said slowly, brow furrowed, “I’m sorry, are you in a wedding dress?”

You nodded, breathless, laughing like the question itself was hilarious, “Unfortunately, yes. Bit of a pity I didn’t realize I didn’t want to marry the sorry bloke thirty minutes ago. Would’ve made my escape a lot easier if I wasn’t drowning in fifty pounds of satin.”

He blinked at you, still speechless, hands deep in his coat pockets.

“I mean—” You barreled on, eyes wide and shining, “there I was, standing at the altar, looking at my so-called fiancé, and it just hit me: I cannot wake up to his sorry mug for the rest of my life. To hell with my parents. And society. I don’t want to be a Bulstrode. That name sounds like the arse-end of a toad, don’t you think?”

You paused, eyes narrowing playfully, “(Y/N) (L/N) sounds so much nicer, doesn’t it?”

Theo arched an unimpressed brow, “You know you can get married without changing your last name, right?”

At that, you absolutely lost it—doubling over in wheezing laughter, slapping your knee like he’d just told the funniest joke in history.

“You always were such a crack-up, Theodore!” You gasped between giggles, “Where are my manners? What brings you here today? Certainly not for the wedding, I hope—because, well—” You gestured at yourself, still panting in the middle of the cathedral, “you can probably tell that’s not happening.”

Before Theodore could get a word in, the sound of heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. Your eyes went comically wide as you pressed yourself flat against the stone wall, wedged just behind the chapel door as it swung open with a bang.

In marched your father—red-faced, sweaty, and breathing like a charging Hippogriff. His eyes locked onto Theodore like he was a bloodhound catching a scent.

“Have you seen a girl in a wedding dress?” He barked.

Theo quirked a brow, gaze sliding—slowly, deliberately—to the right, where you were doing your best impression of a human statue. From where he stood, he could see you mouthing frantic no’s, shaking your head so violently he was almost certain you’d give yourself whiplash. Your hands were flying in wild, desperate gestures, pleading silently.

He turned back to your father, the picture of calm.

“No, sir.”

Your father squinted, suspicious—but apparently not enough to question it. “Well, if you do,” He huffed, already half-turning, “you tell her to march her sorry behind back into that hall and marry the boy, or she’ll be sorry.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

You clutched your chest like you’d just survived a curse, eyes squeezed shut as you slid bonelessly to the floor in your crumpled wedding dress.

“That,” You breathed, “was nerve-wracking.”

You peeked up at him with a grateful look, “You’re a good liar, Nott. Thank you.”

Theo looked down at the breathless, sweaty heap you’d become, still sprawled on the stone floor like a very distressed meringue. With an amused smirk, he cleared his throat, “Well… good luck with everything, (L/N). Let me know if you actually go through with becoming a Bulstrode. I’ll send a wedding gift.”

You gaped up at him in horror as he began to sidestep the tangled mass of satin and lace that was your gown, clearly preparing to leave the chapel and abandon you to your doom. Without thinking, you grabbed his calf—your perfectly manicured nails digging into his trousers, the massive engagement ring catching the light like a cursed artifact.

“What?! You can’t go now! You have to get me out of here!”

Theo arched a skeptical brow, “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

You pointed at him in outrage, still clutching his leg like a deranged bride octopus, “You just lied to my father! That makes you an accomplice. A—A conspirator! You're already implicated!”

Theo looked thoroughly unimpressed, “I could just tell him you were hiding behind the door like a terrified possum.”

You gasped, “You wouldn’t.”

He tilted his head, “Try me.”

Panic glittered in your eyes before you straightened your spine and went full Slytherin, “Fine. You want to play that game? I’ll tell everyone you’re my secret paramour. That you seduced me, took my virtue in the belfry, and that’s why I fled the altar.”

Theo’s mouth dropped open, scandalized, “I beg your pardon?”

You clasped your hands together, expression softening into exaggerated, pleading sweetness, “Please, Theodore. I’m not asking for your soul. Just… apparate me out of here. One quick jump and I’ll be out of your life forever.”

He stared at you. Then sighed.

“Merlin help me,” He muttered, “You’re even more unhinged than I remember.”

“So that’s a yes?”

He offered you a hand, “Only if you swear not to mention the word ‘virtue’ ever again.”

You grinned, already taking his hand, “Deal, my paramour.”

He groaned. Loudly.

Theo stepped closer, one hand sliding around your waist, tugging you flush against him. You blinked up at him, stunned into silence by the proximity. Up close, you finally understood why half the girls in your year had harbored crushes on him. He had that kind of face—the infuriatingly beautiful kind that made your stomach swoop before your brain could catch up.

Then—with a sharp crack—the world twisted out from under your feet.

You landed hard against him, fingers fisting the lapels of his jacket like your life depended on it. Which, to be fair, it had.

Warm sunlight spilled over your face, the bustling sounds of the street around you cutting through the fading disorientation. You blinked. Then smiled.

You were free.

Theo watched you quietly as your eyes danced over every detail—the streetlamp, the baker’s cart, a child chasing a butterfly. Everything ordinary now seemed extraordinary through your gaze. You looked like someone seeing the world for the first time.

“Are you good, (L/N)?” He asked, low and cautious.

You didn’t take your eyes off the street. “A new world’s waiting for me,” You said softly, “It’s… terrifying.”

He didn’t say anything, but his grip around your waist didn’t loosen.

You stood there, trembling fingers still tangled in the fabric of his coat, heart pounding like it was trying to sprint back to the cathedral.

Theodore’s sharp gaze softened as he took in your messy lipstick, sweat-dampened curls, and the way you clung to him like the world had just tipped sideways. You looked like a woman on the edge of disaster—or greatness. Maybe both.

"Where were you planning to go?" He asked quietly.

You blinked up at him, dumbly, your glassy eyes beginning to sting as the reality of what you’d just done crashed over you like cold water.

Oh Merlin.

What had you done?

You didn’t have a house. You didn’t have a job. You didn’t have money of your own. Your entire life had been orchestrated by your father—who’d been all too eager to sell you off to your so-called fiancé—and you’d just thrown a wrench in his perfect little plan.

"I... I hadn’t thought that far." You admitted, voice barely a whisper as your bottom lip began to tremble.

Theo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, “Bloody hell.”

You started to stammer, trying to save face, “Look—I’ll figure it out. I just needed to get away. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t be dense,” He muttered, “Come on.”

You furrowed your brows, confused, “Come on where?”

“My home,” He said bluntly, “You’re clearly overwhelmed, and you need to breathe somewhere that isn’t a chapel or the middle of a bloody street. You can crash in the guest room. I’ll pour a cup of tea. Or Firewhisky, if you’re feeling rebellious.”

You stared at him, stunned silent, “You’d really do that for me?”

In all honesty, Theodore had no idea why he was doing this for you.

Maybe it was the way your eyes looked—raw and frightened—that struck something in him. He remembered that look. Back when his mother died. Back when he was stuck between two worlds, pretending to be loyal to the Death Eaters while secretly fighting for the other side. When the war ended, and he had no bloody idea who he was without it.

He knew helplessness like an old friend. And though he’d never admit it aloud, he also knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight if he walked away now—knowing you were out there, wandering the streets in a bloody wedding dress or dragged back to marry someone you didn’t love.

“Yeah,” He said finally, “I would.”

You exhaled shakily, blinking back tears, “Okay.”

“Okay.” He echoed.

He held your arm carefully—like you were a glass about to crack—and apparated you both away.

By the time your feet touched down again, you were standing in a warmly lit corridor outside a tall, modern-looking door. Theodore slid a key out of his coat pocket and unlocked it with a click.

“My flat.” He said simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You blinked, glancing around as you followed him, “Wait. Don’t you have a whole family manor somewhere?”

He raised a brow as he tossed his coat onto a sleek brass hook, “Not fancy enough for you, darling? Would you rather go to the five-star resort your family booked for your honeymoon instead?”

You gaped, then closed your mouth, then opened it again—only to come up short, “Touché.”

He chuckled, pushing open the door, “I live in a flat because the manor’s too bloody big for just me. I might move back in when I’m older, but right now? No one needs twenty-three bedrooms unless they’re running a boarding school.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside after him, “Just say you’re rich and move on,” you muttered.

You were mid-sigh when your eyes took in the space—and almost instantly, the tension in your shoulders loosened. His flat wasn’t enormous, but it was stunning. Dark hardwood floors, rich emerald and charcoal accents, and floor-to-ceiling windows framed the London skyline like a painting. The air smelled faintly of pine, leather, and something warm—like spice and magic.

Books lined custom-built shelves along one wall, and a record player quietly spun something soft and jazzy in the corner. A massive velvet sofa sat in the center of the open-plan living area, flanked by brass sconces and a few well-kept plants.

Theo disappeared into a side room, leaving you standing awkwardly in your crumpled wedding dress in the middle of his living room. When he returned, he had a folded stack of clothes in his hands.

“I grabbed whatever looked closest to your size,” He said, handing them over with a half-shrug, “Might still be a bit big—but it’s cozy, at least.”

You unfolded the hoodie and held it up. It fell nearly to your knees.

“You’re joking.”

“Or you could stay in your wedding dress. Very sexy.”

You let out a laugh, “You got me again.”

You eyed the clothes, then glanced back up at him, “You sure none of your… lady friends left something behind? Something a bit more...appropriate?”

Theo smirked, unfazed, “I don’t keep a lost and found bin, sweetheart. But nice try.”

You grinned despite yourself, clutching the clothes to your chest.

“Go on,” He added, gesturing toward the hallway, “First door on the right—bathroom’s there. Take your time. Come out when you’re ready. I’ll sort dinner.”

“You cook?”

He looked at you, mock-offended, “I’m Italian.”

“That’s not a yes.”

Theo placed a hand over his heart, feigning injury, “Wow. So little faith.”

You laughed—a real one this time—as you padded off toward the bathroom, the ridiculous rustle of your wedding dress trailing behind you. Hoodie and sweats in hand, feet aching, heart still thudding from everything you’d run from.

But somehow, in the warmth of this space, with the sound of jazz humming in the background and Theo cooking up dinner—you started to feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Safe.

Maybe, just maybe… you were going to be okay.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, the last remnants of your old life had gone swirling down the drain—hairspray, waterproof mascara, and everything else that once held you together. You felt… lighter. Your skin was clean, your hair damp, and the oversized hoodie you wore—Theo’s—smelled faintly of cedar and citrus. It hung down to your thighs like a dress, and the joggers were barely hanging onto your waist.

The scent hit you first—garlic, tomatoes, fresh herbs—and your stomach let out a traitorous growl.

Theo looked up from the stove, giving you a once-over before turning back to stir the pot. “Look at you,” He said with a lopsided smirk, “Didn’t think my clothes would suit you that well.”

You gave him a smirk and did a twirl to show off the outfit—just in time for the joggers to fall right to your ankles. You both burst into laughter.

“The elastic’s useless and the drawstring’s just for decoration.” You said, tossing the offending trousers over the back of a chair.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I charmed the pants off a woman.” Theo replied smoothly.

You snorted, shaking your head.

He slid a bowl across the island toward you—tagliatelle with a thick, rich Bolognese sauce, steam curling up like it had its own mind.

You took one bite, and your eyes fluttered shut. “Oh my god,” You groaned, “This is… this is unreal.”

He gave a small shrug, “I told you.”

You were already shoveling in another forkful, “I haven’t eaten something that didn’t taste like sadness in months.”

Theo leaned against the counter, watching with amusement, “Easy, love. You keep going at that pace, you’ll make those giant joggers fit.”

You swallowed and let out a dramatic sigh, “Wedding diet. I’ve been living off steamed vegetables and heartbreak.”

He laughed, deep and full, “Well, lucky you. There’s more where that came from. And gelato in the freezer.”

Your head snapped up, “You’re kidding.”

“‘Chi mangia bene, vive bene,’” He said with a smirk, “‘Those who eat well, live well.’ My mamma drilled that into me.”

You blinked, then smiled, “Incredibly smart woman.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, your smile didn’t feel like something you had to fake or force. You sat there, in someone else’s hoodie, with sauce on your cheek and your hair still damp, in a flat that smelled like warmth and comfort and garlic.

Theo reached across the table, brushing his thumb gently against the corner of your mouth, “You’ve got a bit of sauce—right there.”

You blinked, startled by the tenderness of the gesture. His hand lingered a second longer than necessary before he pulled back.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” He asked, quieter now.

You gave him a half-smile, soft but guarded, “Sick of me already?”

His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed serious, “I just mean… are you sure you won’t regret this? People get cold feet. Panic at the altar. Happens all the time, or so I hear. And the longer you stay here—the more real this gets—the harder it’ll be to undo without fallout.”

You sat still for a moment, then set your fork down, appetite forgotten.

“It wasn’t cold feet,” You said, voice low, “I never wanted to get married.”

Theo didn’t interrupt. He just waited.

“My father did. Desperately. He’s been obsessed with bloodlines and alliances since before I could walk. Marrying into the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Like that still means anything in this world.” You let out a bitter laugh, “Somehow that old bastard managed to squirm his way out of Azkaban after the war. And now he’s back to doing what he does best—peddling blood purity and ruining my life.”

Theo’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

“I spent months shoving my feelings down, just trying to be the daughter he wanted. The obedient one. Because what choice did I have?” Your fingers curled around the fabric of his hoodie, “But when I was standing there—at the altar, staring down a future I didn’t choose—I realized something. Maybe I didn’t have choices before. But I could make one now.”

Silence stretched between you for a beat.

Then, softly, Theo said, “That was brave.”

You let out a watery laugh, swiping your sleeve beneath your eyes, “Please. Not like you, playing double agent for Dumbledore. Now that was brave.”

He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “That was reckless.”

“It was noble. Valiant,” You said, voice steadier now, “Really, the kind of madness only a true Slytherin could be ambitious enough to pull off.”

Theo arched a brow, “Flattery? From you?”

You gave him a crooked grin, “Don’t get used to it. Mine was just… selfish. Desperate.”

He looked at you, the warmth in his gaze soft but unwavering, “It’s good to be selfish sometimes.”

You held his gaze, breath catching slightly when his eyes didn’t waver. There was something weighty in the silence—something soft and unspoken stretching between you, tugging gently at the space that separated your bodies.

Theo’s fingers drummed once against the tabletop, then stilled. Neither of you moved.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears. He looked at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face, and for a second, just one second, you let yourself wonder what it would feel like to close the distance.

Then you blinked, cleared your throat, and reached for his plate. “Well. Since you think it’s good to be selfish,” You said, trying to sound casual, “I’m gonna eat the rest of your pasta.”

Theo let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—or a sigh. Maybe both, “Oi—at least leave room for dessert.”

***

Loud, boisterous laughter was the first thing that dragged Theo out of a half-dream. He groaned, arm flinging over his eyes as the unmistakable sound of his front door swinging open—without ceremony—hit him like a freight train.

“What the—who the hell is making all that noise?” He muttered, voice hoarse as he blinked toward the ceiling.

The culprits were, predictably, already raiding his kitchen like starved hyenas: Draco, Lorenzo, Mattheo, and Blaise, helping themselves to his fresh bread and the groceries he’d actually gone out and picked himself—because unlike those degenerates, he cared about food quality.

He should’ve never given them spare keys.

“For emergencies,” He’d said. “Only if it’s important,” He’d said.

Idiotic. Clearly, their definition of ‘emergency’ included hungover brunches and unsolicited early morning gossip.

“Morning, sunshine,” Draco drawled with an infuriating smirk, already sprawled across Theo’s sofa, eating the hand-picked strawberries Theo had searched three markets to find, “You’re just in time for the morning news”

Theo groaned louder and face-planted into the cushions, “Could you shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep in our own damn flat.”

“Oh, come on,” Blaise said, smirking as he rifled through Theo’s cabinets, “You must’ve heard by now. (L/N). You remember her—Pansy's roommate. She left Bulstrode at the altar. Just ran right out.”

Lorenzo let out a low whistle, “Left Bulstrode standing there like an absolute mug. At the altar, mate. In front of everyone. Just turned and walked straight out mid-vows. I mean—iconic.”

Mattheo, chewing thoughtfully on a stolen slice of sourdough, shrugged, “Serves him right. No way Bulstrode was ever gonna bag a babe like (L/N). He’s got the charm of a wet napkin.”

“And get this,” Blaise said, lowering his voice into a tone of mock-conspiracy, eyes glinting, “Rumor is—she had a lover on the side. Secret romance, hidden rendezvous, the whole nine yards. Some bloke she’s apparently been in love with for ages. No one knows who, though.”

Theo, face still hidden by the couch cushions, flinched.

Blaise squinted at him, “You look... twitchy. Something you wanna share with the group?”

Before Theo could invent an excuse, a sound cut through the room—soft footsteps padding across the floorboards.

The guest bedroom door creaked open.

You stepped out, bleary-eyed, rubbing your face with the sleeve of Theo��s oversized hoodie—his hoodie that hung off your frame like it had been stitched for you. Your hair was tousled from sleep, legs bare, the joggers you’d worn the night before still draped over a chair in the corner, clearly forgotten.

Theo’s eyes flicked up to you for a moment—heart skipping a beat at the sight of your flushed cheeks and mussed hair—but he quickly masked the softness with a cool, unreadable glance.

Every sound in the room died on cue.

You blinked at the kitchen full of frozen Slytherins and offered a sheepish smile, “Um… morning?”

The silence that followed was nothing short of reverent.

Mattheo dropped his toast. Lorenzo’s jaw unhinged. Draco choked on a strawberry. Blaise turned—slowly, dramatically—to Theo with the grin of a man who had just unearthed a scandal.

And then—chaos.

“No bloody way,” Blaise said, pointing an accusatory finger, “You?! You’re the lover?!”

“No, no,” Theo said immediately, sitting up straighter, “She’s not—I mean, it’s not— It’s not like that.”

You nodded, “It’s really not what it looks like.”

“She’s not—” Theo added, standing abruptly.

“We’re not—” You said at the same time.

“Dating.” You both finished in unison.

The pause that followed was only broken by Blaise’s slow, disbelieving laugh, “You two seriously rehearsed that or something?”

Mattheo’s gaze flicked from you, to the hoodie, to Theo’s bedhead and thoroughly disheveled state, “You sly, secretive little bastard.”

“You’re blushing,” Lorenzo cackled, pointing at Theo.

“I’m not blushing.”

“You’re so red your freckles are blending in.”

“You lot need to leave,” Theo growled, yanking the mug out of Draco’s hand.

“Oh, we’ll leave,” Mattheo said, standing with an exaggerated sigh, “Just as soon as we finish processing the greatest plot twist since Dumbledore kicked it.”

“I don’t know,” Lorenzo mused, “This might top it. Runaway bride finds solace in former classmate’s bed—”

“Spare room!” You and Theo barked at once.

“Oh right,” Blaise said, lazily gesturing to you, “Because that totally explains the no-pants situation.”

You threw up your hands, “He doesn’t have any trousers that fit me!”

Mattheo let out a low whistle, “Stars above, I wish I had popcorn.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, “She needed a place to stay. I offered. That’s it.”

“And I accepted. Platonically.” You stressed.

“And Theodore isn’t some adulterous whore,” You added with a sigh, “He’s just an unfortunate bloke with terrible timing who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The way your voice softened at the end made something twist in Theo’s chest.

“Well, you did good,” Lorenzo said, grabbing another slice of bread, “Bulstrode’s an ugly git anyway.”

You shared a glance with Theo who gave you a soft, barely there smile that was meant to reassure you in a way that conveyed, 'See? What you did wasn't so bad.'

“So what’s the plan now?” Blaise asked, eyeing the two of you over his coffee, “You two just gonna keep playing house?”

“Oi, ease up,” Theo said, casting him a warning look, “Don’t overwhelm her.”

He glanced at you briefly, then added, “We talked last night.”

“Ooo, pillow talk.” Mattheo smirked—earning himself a slap to the back of the head.

Theo rolled his eyes, “We were talking, and I offered to let her stay here. As long as she needs.”

You caught Theo’s eye and saw a softness there that only came out when he looked at you. In that moment, the chaos of friends and gossip faded away, leaving just the quiet promise of safety and belonging between you two.

***

You sat cross-legged on the floor, the open suitcase in front of you spilling out clothes, books, and a few small trinkets you’d brought from your old life. The boxes stacked neatly nearby were still untouched—silent reminders that this was real, that you were here now.

Getting your things back from your home had been easier than expected. You’d slipped in while your father was at work, your heart racing as you moved quietly through the familiar halls. The moment your hand wrapped around your wand—left behind for safekeeping during the wedding—it felt like you could finally breathe again. You packed up your life swiftly, shrinking and sending each box to Theo’s flat before you could second-guess yourself.

“It feels weird seeing all my stuff here.” You murmured, running your fingers over your old Slytherin scarf. A soft smile tugged at your lips as memories from Hogsmeade weekends and late-night gossip sessions filled your head. Back in school, your dormmates used to call dibs on the boys in your year—Pansy obviously claimed Draco, Daphne was hell-bent on Mattheo (she had a thing for bad boys, she used to say). The others squabbled over Blaise and Lorenzo, leaving you with Theo by default. You’d taken it in stride, because Merlin forbid you end up with Crabbe or Goyle. If only sixth-year you knew you’d one day be living with Theo Nott after bolting from your own wedding.

“Like this is really happening.” You said softly.

Theo leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite place. You let your eyes rake over him—how he somehow made jeans and a simple black long-sleeved tee look sinfully good without even trying.

“Don’t you want to unpack?” He asked after a moment, voice casual, “Make it feel a bit more like yours?”

You shook your head, teeth tugging at your lower lip, “I don’t want to get too comfortable. I need to move out soon, find my own place. Can’t just settle in someone else’s flat.”

Your eyes drifted to the empty dresser and the bare walls, imagining them filled with your perfume bottles, your shoes lined up in the closet, your keepsakes resting in quiet corners of the room. It felt… indulgent. And dangerous.

Theo pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room with that quiet confidence that always made your stomach flip. He crouched beside you, fingers brushing yours as he gently pulled the scarf from your hands.

“Don’t be so pressured,” He said softly, “Take your time.”

Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice, so at odds with the sarcasm he usually deflected with. His gaze held yours—warm, steady, unflinching.

“What kind of fake adulterous whore would I be,” he added, smirking just a little, “if I didn’t give you a comfortable place to stay while you figure things out?”

You let out a shaky laugh, swatting his arm as your cheeks flushed. The warmth in his eyes made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. It felt... safe. For the first time in a long time.

He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second too long. Your breath hitched. Your heart thudded. And before you could stop yourself, your gaze flicked to his mouth.

The moment hung there—suspended and fragile—until it broke like glass.

Theo cleared his throat and pulled back. You dropped your gaze and fanned your burning cheeks, pretending not to notice the way your entire body buzzed with unspoken tension.

He stood, casting a quick glance around the room before his eyes landed on a box labeled “Bathroom.” With a quiet smile, he bent to pick it up.

“I’ll go put this over there.” He said, voice gentler now even though you both were well aware he could've used his magic to charm the objects in its place.

You watched him go, heart fluttering wildly in your chest, feeling strangely steady for the first time in days.

Strangely at home.

***

Watching Theo get ready for work every morning had become your newest, most humbling routine. In the quiet hours before he left—hair perfectly styled, cufflinks glinting faintly in the sunlight—you were struck with the growing realization that your life was a blank page. And not in the hopeful, inspiring way. No, it felt like staring at an overdue assignment you had no idea how to finish.

When he was home, everything felt a little easier—light conversation over breakfast, quiet companionship in the evenings, his effortless presence filling the flat with a calm you hadn’t realized you craved. But once he was out the door, you were left with hours that stretched out like an endless, silent ache. And with that ache came the inevitable realization: you weren’t here to play house with Theodore Nott. You needed to get your life in order.

Which was why, this morning, you were dressed. Not just dressed—put together. A soft, Chanel-inspired ensemble hugged your form, elegant and mature, polished right down to the glossy sheen of your lips.

Across the table, Theo sat in his usual tailored suit and tie, sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper.

He was a dream roommate—unbothered, polite, attentive without being invasive. He cooked most mornings and evenings, and you handled lunch and dishes out of principle more than anything else. And yet, no matter how well you split the duties, you still felt like a freeloader in silk pajamas. He never asked you to contribute, never brought up rent or groceries or anything at all.

Which, ironically, only made the guilt settle heavier in your chest.

It was unbearable. So this newfound spark of motivation—this desire to prove you could stand on your own two feet again—burned fast and hot.

He was fixing his watch by the mirror beside the door, running gelled fingers through his hair, smoothing it back with that practiced grace. You stepped over, holding his coat in one hand and yours in the other, and offered it to him with a quiet, “Here.”

He murmured a small thanks as he slipped into it, but you didn’t step back.

Instead, you reached up to adjust his tie, fingers deft as you corrected the slight tilt in the knot. “I know you’re just going to mess it up the second you get to the office,” you said, smiling softly, “but it’s driving me crazy.”

You smoothed the tie down gently, fingertips brushing the lapels of his coat. When your eyes lifted, you caught him staring—not at your eyes, but your lips, still slick with gloss from your post-breakfast touch-up, and suddenly it felt like a mistake to stand this close, in this kind of silence, with him looking at you like that.

You met his gaze. Your heart stuttered.

Was he leaning in?

Or were you imagining it—some cruel trick your body played when it got too used to his scent, his proximity, the low hum of affection that vibrated just beneath the surface?

Before you could answer, he inhaled sharply and stepped back, the moment snapping like a taut string.

“Busy day today?” He asked, voice neutral, composed.

You cleared your throat, recovering quickly.

“Yeah,” You said, grabbing your purse and your coat, avoiding his eyes, “I’m visiting Slughorn at Hogwarts. I was always good at potions, and he used to favor me—mostly because I always showed up to those ridiculous Slug Club meetings.” You gave a faint chuckle.

“I heard he’s still teaching and struggling to keep up with his personal research. I was kind of his unofficial assistant in seventh year, so… I’m hoping he’ll consider taking me on. As an apprentice or something.”

You kept your tone light, casual, even though your pulse thudded in your throat. You avoided his eyes as you adjusted the strap of your purse.

Theo held the door open for you, and your heart flipped in your chest like it always did when he did things like that without thinking—like it was natural. Like you belonged here.

“Good luck, (Y/N).” He said simply, his voice low but earnest.

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small smile. The way he was looking at you made your steps falter for just a second.

“Thank you.” You said, voice barely above a whisper.

And then you walked on, heels clicking softly on the marble floor, heart fluttering like mad against your ribs.

***

You practically skipped down the stone steps of Hogwarts, the weight of your nervous anticipation completely lifted from your shoulders. The crisp air smelled of old parchment and damp moss, and for once, you didn’t mind. Your cheeks were flushed, your hands clutching the letter Slughorn had scrawled in excitement after your meeting: an official offer to join him as his private research assistant, with the intent of training you to become a certified Potions Master.

Your heart was hammering by the time you reached Theo’s flat, and you didn’t even knock—just flung the door open and stepped inside, calling his name like a storm announcing itself.

“Theo!”

He appeared from the hallway, towel slung over his shoulder, clearly mid-way through drying his hair, shirt sleeves rolled up, “What? Are you okay?”

You beamed so brightly you could’ve lit the whole room with just the force of it, “I got it—I got the position! I’m going to train with Slughorn! He’s taking me on!”

For a second, Theo just blinked at you, frozen in place. Then your words seemed to register fully and he opened his mouth to say something—but before he could, you launched yourself at him.

Your arms flung around his neck, and he caught you with a startled grunt, stumbling back half a step before wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, instinctively keeping you upright. You laughed, giddy and breathless against his shoulder, your legs kicking slightly off the ground.

“I knew you would.” He said against your temple, voice low and warm and slightly amused, though the hug he gave you was grounding, solid, and real.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes bright, “I’m going to be a Potions Master.”

Theo’s hands stayed on your waist, his lips twitching into a rare, open smile, “You’re going to be brilliant.”

You didn’t know what possessed you then—maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the way he was still holding you like you were something precious—but you leaned in without thinking and pressed a kiss to his cheek, quick and full of warmth.

Theo blinked, stunned.

You blinked, too, realizing what you just did.

He slowly set you down on your feet, clearing his throat, but the faintest shade of pink had crept up his neck.

"Thank you, Theo." You whispered, looking up at him like he hung the moon in the sky, "For everything."

***

You were halfway through folding the laundry while Theo showered when the door flew open with no warning, the sharp click of heels on hardwood echoing like the cue for a dramatic entrance.

“Surprise, darling!” Pansy announced grandly, stepping into the apartment with a flourish, a pastry box in one hand and designer sunglasses in the other, “I brought macarons from that place you liked in Paris—Theo, you better be decent!”

She strutted into the living room expecting to find her best friend brooding over black coffee, muttering about case files or the Ministry’s latest idiocy.

Instead, she found you.

Her heel halted mid-click. Her eyes went wide, lips parting in stunned recognition.

“(Y/N)?”

You blinked, holding a half-folded jumper, “Hi—?”

The pastry box slipped from her fingers, forgotten as she gasped.

“(Y/N)!”

Before you could react, she barreled across the room, arms wide, heels thudding across the floor. She crashed into you with a hug that nearly knocked you into the couch, her perfume wrapping around you like a familiar blanket as she squeezed you breathless.

You laughed, arms wrapping around her just as tightly, “Oh God, I’m so sorry I didn’t make it to the wedding! I couldn’t get a Portkey in time—I felt awful. I’ve missed you so much!”

Pansy pulled back to get a proper look at you, holding you at arm’s length like she needed to confirm you were real, “Oh, how’s newlywed life treating you? How’s your husband—” she started brightly, then trailed off.

Her eyes scanned your outfit—comfy shorts and an old Quidditch tee—and then flicked to the half-folded laundry scattered across the coffee table.

And that was precisely the moment Theo stepped out of the bathroom.

Shirtless. Damp. Joggers slung low on his hips. A towel around his neck, his hair still dripping.

Pansy blinked. You blinked. Theo froze like a deer in headlights.

Her eyes snapped between you and Theo. Once. Twice.

Her jaw dropped.

“No. Bloody. Way.”

You swallowed hard, “I, uh... I ran from the altar. I’ve been living here for a month. Surprise?”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“You absolute plonkers!” Pansy shouted, whirling around like a furious peacock as the front door opened again and the rest of the boys filtered in—Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, Enzo—all pausing mid-step at the scene.

Theo grimaced.

Pansy turned on Draco with fury, “You ranted to me for an hour last night about Potter’s work ethic, but you didn’t think to mention that one of my closest friends from school ran out of her own wedding and moved in with Theo?”

Draco’s eyes widened, “I thought you knew!”

“You lot are unbelievable.” She huffed, throwing her hands up.

Draco looked caught somewhere between amusement and panic. Blaise choked on a laugh. Mattheo raised his hands in mock innocence.

Pansy, eyes glittering with mischief, turned back to you with an exasperated scoff, “We’re getting drinks tonight. You and I are going to unpack every bloody bit of this madness. And if there’s any scandal you’re hiding from me, I swear to Merlin—”

You gave her a sheepish smile, heart fluttering with the kind of warmth that only old friendships could bring.

“I wish. But I can’t tonight. I’m working with Slughorn now—officially—and I’ve got my first full day tomorrow. Still need to study up a bit. I really don’t want to get fired before I even make it to lunch.”

Pansy’s features softened instantly. She stepped forward, cupping your cheeks with warm hands and smoothing your hair in a way that made your eyes sting.

“Slughorn?” She breathed, proud and a little misty, “You’re working with Slughorn? That’s incredible. I’m so proud of you.”

Your throat tightened, “Thanks, Pansy. God, I missed you. Let’s do a proper catch-up this weekend, yeah? I don’t want to keep you from your homecoming party—you should go have fun.”

She nodded and pulled you into one last tight hug. “This weekend,” she warned playfully, “or I swear I’ll come kidnap you from this flat myself.”

You laughed, hugging her back, “Deal.”

Just then, Theo reappeared in the living room, now fully dressed and slipping his watch onto his wrist. He reached for his coat, but you were already there, stepping behind him to help him shrug it on.

“Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?” You asked gently, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve.

From behind you, Blaise gave a low whistle.

“Ooooh, listen to that,” Mattheo drawled with a teasing grin, “Wifey’s making sure the hubby gets to bed on time.”

Theo rolled his eyes, already used to these jokes and glanced down at you, a quiet smile pulling at his lips, “It’s just one drink.”

You sighed, half amused, half resigned, “Okay. Just… don’t come home completely smashed.”

“No promises.” He said with a wink, and the door shut behind them seconds later.

***

The bar buzzed with the low hum of chatter, clinking glasses, and a jazz cover of a Weird Sisters song playing over the speakers. The group had claimed a corner booth, drinks in hand, laughter spilling over every few minutes.

Theo nursed a firewhisky, sitting back with his usual composed expression which caught the attention of Mattheo, “Oh, don’t drink that too fast, Teddy boy. You don’t want to go back absolutely hammered to the missus.”

“You lot are ridiculous,” Theo muttered, though a hint of fondness softened his tone.

“Oh, come off it,” Blaise grinned, swirling his drink, “You like it. You’re practically glowing these days. It’s very unnerving.”

“Very domestic of you, Theo,” Enzo added, smirking, “Sharing a flat, cooking her breakfast, letting her steal your clothes—”

“She doesn’t steal my clothes.”

Mattheo grinned, “Mate, I saw her wearing your Chudley Cannons jumper yesterday.”

Theo looked away, clearly caught.

Pansy took a slow sip of her cocktail, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m shocked you let her stay with you. You’re usually so…” She waved a perfectly manicured hand, “emotionally unavailable. Allergic to company, really.”

Blaise leaned in, eyes gleaming, “I mean hardly a surprise considering how badly gone he was for her back in school.”

Pansy froze mid-sip.

“Wait—what? Who was gone for who?!” she gasped, nearly slamming her glass on the table, voice sharp with disbelief.

The boys blinked in surprise.

“You didn’t know?” Draco asked, brows raised.

“You’re kidding,” Blaise said, laughing, “You always shoved them into group projects and made them sit together during dinners — we thought you were matchmaking!”

“I was!” Pansy snapped, whipping around to glare at Draco, “Because I wanted to go with you, and the other cows in our dorm had already called dibs on Enzo, Mattheo, and Blaise. Theo was just—left!”

She turned back to the table, eyes wide with the horror of missed opportunity, “Don’t you think if I’d known he fancied her, I would’ve shoved them into a broom cupboard and locked the door?”

Mattheo cackled, “That’s so on-brand for you.”

Pansy groaned, dramatically dropping her head onto Draco’s shoulder, “You absolute wankers. If one of you had opened your mouth years ago, that wedding she had a month ago? Could’ve been yours, Theo.”

Theo sipped his firewhisky quietly, hidden behind the rim of his glass. Flashes of you in a wedding dress and veil flickered behind his eyes, a soft blush spreading across his neck. None of them missed it.

Blaise nudged Mattheo, “He’s thinking about it now.”

“Oh, he’s been thinking about it.”

Theo threw his head back, downing the rest of his firewhiskey in one go, “I need another drink.”

***

The door flew open with a crash, nearly coming off its hinges.

“We have arrived!” Lorenzo declared, clearly drunk, arms wide, as if expecting applause.

Theo stumbled in between Blaise and Mattheo, arms slung over their shoulders like a war hero being carried off the battlefield. His shirt was half-untucked, hair a mess, and his eyes—when he managed to open them—were glassy and unfocused.

You poked your head out from the kitchen, arms crossed, “What happened to ‘just one drink’?”

“He drank.” Blaise said simply.

“Like a fish.” Mattheo added.

“Like a moron.” Draco corrected as he strolled in behind them, tossing Theo’s coat over a chair, “He’s your problem now.”

Theo blinked at the sound of your voice and perked up immediately. “Tesoro!” He slurred, trying to walk toward you but very nearly face-planting into the floor. You caught him under the arm just in time.

“Hi, Theo,” You said softly, “Oh gosh you smell like bad decisions.”

“You need to eat,” You added, “Something starchy. Or you’re going to feel like roadkill tomorrow.”

“He never eats when he’s like this,” Blaise said from where he was sprawled over a kitchen chair, “We’ve tried. It’s hopeless.”

“Chi mangia bene, vive bene, remember?” You said softly, probably butchering his mother's saying as you guided Theo toward the table.

That stopped him. His gaze sharpened just enough to find your eyes.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours with a quiet breath, “E chi ha te… ha tutto.”

Your heart skipped even though you hadn't a clue what he just said.

Mattheo made an exaggerated gagging noise, “Okay, Casanova, wrap it up.”

Draco, grinning, gave you a mock bow, “He’s all yours. Good luck with drunk Shakespeare.”

As the door shut behind them, Theo was still leaning on you, breathing you in like he needed your scent to stay upright.

“You smell like a distillery.” You said, amused.

“You smell like home.” He mumbled.

Your cheeks warmed, and you pushed the plate gently into his lap, “Eat your toast, Romeo.”

***

The bar was warm and golden, tucked away on a cobbled side street with velvet booths and enchanted candles flickering lazily overhead. You and Pansy had claimed a prime table by the window, cocktails already half-finished and a bowl of enchanted peanuts floating between you, occasionally popping like popcorn.

“I swear,” Pansy said, leaning in conspiratorially, “if Draco mentions his new wand polish one more time, I will hex him bald.”

You snorted into your drink, eyes gleaming, “You wouldn’t. You like running your hands through his hair too much.”

She grinned, “Touché. But I’d still threaten it. Keeps him humble.”

It was the first proper girls’ night out you’d had in what felt like forever, and Pansy — ever the scene-stealing, chaos-bringing goddess she was — made it feel like the war, the heartbreak, and everything in between had never happened.

“So,” She drawled, resting her chin on her palm with a wicked glint in her eye, “Tell me everything. Are you dating? Shagging? Secretly married? Come on, give me the details.”

You laughed, swirling the pink liquid in your glass — some fruity, glittering cocktail you hadn’t tasted since your Hogwarts days. It cooled your fingers while your cheeks burned hotter by the second.

You rolled your eyes, trying to bite back your smile, “It’s not like that, Pans. We’re just good friends. Honestly, I don’t think I’d have made it this far without him.”

“Oh darling,” She said with mock pity, “it’s always ‘not like that’ until you’re wearing his jumpers and catching feelings.”

You opened your mouth to object—but the words caught in your throat. You had worn his jumper. You were catching feelings.

Pansy’s eyes widened. She gasped, clutching her chest with dramatic flair, “No. No way. You like him.”

“I didn’t say that." You muttered.

“You didn’t have to!” She squealed, grabbing your hands across the table, “Oh, you poor lovesick thing. I knew it. I knew it!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, “You are insufferable.”

“I’m right, though,” She sang smugly, taking another sip of her drink, “And I actually happen to know that our dear Teddy has been—”

“(Y/N).”

The voice cut through the air like a curse.

You froze.

Pansy’s glass paused halfway to her lips. Her smile vanished.

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t have to look to know who it was — that voice had once lived in your dreams. Now it only haunted your nightmares.

Slowly, you turned in your seat.

And saw your ex-fiancé standing at the edge of your table.

You stared up at him, heart thudding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. He looked mostly the same — slicked-back hair that tried too hard to look effortless, a coat more expensive than it was tasteful, and that same smirk he always wore like armor. His jaw was tighter now, clenched like he hadn’t unclenched it in months. His eyes were cold, sunken a little, and mean in a way they didn’t even bother to hide.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.” He said, voice low, razor-edged.

Pansy was on her feet before you could speak, stepping in front of you like a drawn wand. “And yet here you are,” She said, all sugar and venom, “Funny how you manage to show up where no one wants you.”

He didn’t even glance at her. His eyes stayed locked on you, “We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t,” Pansy snapped, “Back off before I hex your bits so far inward you’ll need a St. Mungo’s specialist to find them.”

“Pansy,” you murmured, brushing your fingers against her sleeve. Your hand was shaking.

He took a step closer, “Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You rose slowly, pushing your chair back, jaw tight, “Fine. Five minutes. Nothing more.”

“Absolutely not—” Pansy began, but you shook your head.

“I’m okay.”

You weren’t. Not even remotely. But you needed this to end. To really end.

The night air was sharp against your skin, the hum of the city muffled as you stepped into the alley behind the bar. You folded your arms, more out of defense than cold.

“So this is what it takes to find you now?” He said, voice curling with disdain, “Are you selling yourself like a whore on street corners now?”

You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your voice steady, “What do you want?”

He took a step forward, “I heard the rumors. People talk, you know. Especially when a bride vanishes in silk and ends up playing house with that filthy blood traitor Theodore Nott.”

Your lips parted in disbelief.

“I should’ve known,” he sneered, “You always acted so self-righteous. But look at you now — just another slag hopping into the next man’s bed. Must be nice not needing vows to spread your legs, yeah?”

The words hit like a slap, your stomach twisting with fury and disbelief.

“I’m done listening to this.”

You turned—and before you could even brace yourself, he yanked you sharply by the collar and slammed you hard against the brick wall. The air whooshed out of your lungs as your back hit the cold surface, the impact jarring your entire body.

His hands tightened suddenly around your throat, fingers digging into your skin in a cruel grip. You gasped for air, panic surging as darkness edged your vision.

“Don’t you dare think you can just walk away from me.” He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes wild and merciless.

You clawed at his hands, desperate to break free, but his strength was overwhelming, pressing down harder, choking the breath from you.

"Reducto!"

The spell hit him square in the chest, blasting him off you with bone-jarring force. He flew backward, crashing into the far wall of the alley with a sickening thud before collapsing in a heap, gasping and stunned.

Pansy didn’t hesitate.

She stormed toward him like a vengeful shadow, wand leveled between his eyes as he groaned and tried to sit up. Her voice was shaking—but only with rage.

“You filthy little coward,” she spat, every word laced with venom, “Touch her again, and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

He growled, trying to rise—Pansy kicked him flat in the chest, knocking him back to the ground with her heel, “Stay. Down.”

Your knees buckled, the sudden rush of oxygen burning your throat as you slid down the wall, coughing and trembling.

“Whoa—hey.” Pansy caught you, strong and certain, one arm steadying you as the other clutched her wand, “I’ve got you, love. You’re okay. We’re going home.”

And this time, you let her carry the weight.

***

The world spun sharply as Pansy apparated, the crack of displaced air still echoing in your ears. The warmth of her body vanished the moment your feet hit solid ground—wood floors, familiar scents. You were in Theo’s flat.

Laughter and chatter from the living room fell to a jarring halt.

Five pairs of eyes turned in unison: Theo, Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, and Enzo—all frozen mid-conversation, drinks in hand. The moment they saw you, everything dropped.

“(Y/N)?”

Your name left Theo like a punch to the gut.

You were trembling, arms wrapped tight around your middle as if they could hold your ribs together. Pansy still held onto you, as if she wasn’t entirely sure you wouldn’t collapse, and even she looked rattled under the scrutiny of the room.

“That fucker,” She said through gritted teeth, “Grabbed her outside the bar. Slammed her into a wall. Tried to—” her voice faltered, thick with fury, “She couldn’t breathe.”

Theo moved.

Fast.

He crossed the room in three strides, gently brushing Pansy aside like she was made of smoke. Then he was in front of you, hands hovering for a split second before he cupped your face, cradling you like you were something fragile and sacred.

His eyes roamed over your features—your split lip, your glassy eyes, the bruising fingerprints beginning to bloom like violets around your throat—and something in him shattered.

His jaw clenched, fury crashing through him like a tidal wave. He looked like he could tear the world apart.

“I’m fine.” You rasped, voice barely more than a whisper.

You tried to smile—a brittle, curling thing, “I know that probably doesn’t help my case, but… trust me, I’m fine.”

“Don’t do that,” Theo said softly, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, his voice hoarse and tight, “Don’t lie to me right now.”

Your breath hitched.

Draco hovered beside Pansy now, brushing her hair behind her ear as he muttered something only she could hear. She nodded once, giving her boyfriend a soft smile before turning her gaze back to you, eyes gleaming with steel.

Theo gently tugged you forward into his chest.

You didn’t resist.

You couldn’t.

Your limbs had surrendered somewhere between the alley and the flat, and he was warm, steady—home. Before you could stop it, a sob cracked loose from your chest, raw and shaking. Your hands fisted into his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

He held you tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice trembling beneath the quiet, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

The flat was eerily quiet now. One by one, the boys filtered out, their faces grim with the weight of what had just happened.

Mattheo lingered just long enough to press a firm, reassuring hand to your shoulder. His voice was low, steady, almost a promise, “You’re safe now. We’ll take care of everything from here.”

Blaise didn’t say a word. Instead, he gave a slow, deliberate nod to Theo, then to you, his expression taut with barely restrained anger and resolve.

Enzo’s jaw clenched as he glanced at you one last time. “He’s a dead man,” he muttered under his breath before turning away and joining the others.

You barely noticed them leaving. Your world had shrunk to the steady rhythm of Theo’s heartbeat humming against your ear, the comforting warmth of his hand pressing into your back, and the ache lodged deep in your chest — a raw, stubborn pain that refused to fade.

“I want him arrested. Tonight.” Pansy’s voice cut through the silence like ice, cold and deadly calm but laced with a fury that made the room vibrate, “Draco, I’m serious. He attacked her in public. Slammed her against a wall. Choked her until she could barely breathe.”

Draco’s tone was clipped, measured, but the sharp edge of anger was unmistakable, “You have a name?”

“Graham Bulstrode.” Pansy replied without hesitation, her voice razor-sharp and unyielding.

Draco’s jaw tightened, “Consider it done, my love.”

Every word settled into your foggy mind — distant but painfully clear. The tremble in your hands hadn’t stopped, but Theo’s arms wrapped around you only tightened, as if willing to keep the danger at bay. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head, a quiet vow whispered without words.

When the door finally clicked shut behind the last of the others, the tension finally broke. The tears you had been holding back surged forward, hot and fierce, tumbling freely down your cheeks. You clung to him, the safety of his presence grounding you as the storm inside began to settle.

You buried your face in Theo’s chest, shoulders trembling as the sobs broke free, wracking your entire body with every breath. He held you through it, solid and steady, one hand gently combing through your hair like he could smooth away the terror still clinging to your skin.

“I’m so stupid,” You gasped, the words catching in your throat, “I’ve—I’ve thought about that moment for the past month. What I’d say. How I’d stand up for myself. I imagined throwing that stupid ring back in his smug face, saying something cutting, something final—but when it actually happened…”

Your voice cracked, guilt burning behind your ribs.

“I couldn’t even speak. I just froze. I have a wand but I couldn't cast a single spell. I let him say all that shit about me—about you—and I... I didn’t even defend you, Theo. I’m so sorry. I'm so useless.”

He didn’t answer right away.

He just held you tighter, like your apology hurt more than anything else that had happened. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—gentle, but resolute.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His words rumbled in his chest, warm against your cheek.

“I don’t give a damn about what you said or didn’t say to him. You don’t owe me a defense—not ever.”

You looked up at him, blinking through the tears. His eyes found yours, fierce and heartbreakingly soft, like you were something sacred—something he’d never let break.

“And you’re not stupid, (Y/N), or useless,” He said, voice thick with emotion, “You’re incredible. Brave. Stronger than you even realize. And I’m so fucking proud of you.”

His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, grounding, safe.

“He’s not going to get away with this,” Theo whispered, “I promise you.”

You sighed, sinking deeper into him, like you could finally let go of everything you’d been holding in. His arms wrapped around you again, warm and sure.

“Come on,” he murmured, “Let’s treat that bruise. Get you something to eat.”

But you shook your head, face pressed tight against his chest.

“Don’t let me go.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore—it was tender, healing. You curled into him like you could disappear there, into the rhythm of his breathing and the thrum of his heart.

“I’m never going to let you go.”

And you believed him.

His heartbeat echoed beneath your ear, strong and unwavering. With every beat, the weight in your chest began to lift—slowly, steadily.

Safe. Loved. Finally, home.

***

A couple weeks later it was raining softly outside, the kind of slow, constant drizzle that blurred the windows and made the world feel far away. You and Theo were curled up on the couch, legs tangled, a blanket lazily thrown across your laps. A half-empty mug sat abandoned on the coffee table beside a crumpled takeout bag. The telly hummed faintly in the background, long forgotten.

“So then she goes, ‘I forgot to run the control,’” You said, exasperated, “and I swear to Merlin, I have never seen Slughorn that mad in his life.”

Theo snorted, one arm draped across your shoulders, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “Serves her right for always nicking your freshly ground moonstone.”

“Right? And of course, the one day I’m not there to supervise her, she completely tanks it. It’s not like I was goofing off—I was at the Ministry signing off the paperwork for Bulstrode's trial.” You sighed, “Slughorn knew, so I didn’t get in trouble, but I still have to repeat all her damn trials for the next few weeks. As if I don’t already have enough on my plate.”

“What’s keeping you so busy, Bella?” Theo asked, smiling as he gently unraveled the curl and let it spring back into place, “Maybe I can help.”

“Well, I’ve been needing to check out some apartments. Can’t really leave that to you, now can I?” You yawned, “But if you want, we could go together?”

Theo stilled.

He pulled back just slightly, brows furrowed as he studied your face, “Apartment hunting?”

You blinked, “Yeah… I’ve been looking at places closer to work. Just something small. I mean, I don’t make much yet.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “Wait—(Y/N), are you planning to move out?”

You nodded slowly, suddenly self-conscious, “I mean—I’ve been here for a while now and I love it, obviously, but I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. I figured—”

“You think you’re overstaying?” His voice cut gently but sharply through your words.

You faltered, “Well, I just—”

“You’re not,” Theo said, a little breathless now, like the words had been sitting on the edge of his tongue for too long, “You’re not overstaying. I want you here.”

Your breath hitched.

“I want to come home to you. Every day. Not to an empty flat. Not to a world where you’re somewhere else.”

His hand found yours, threading your fingers together like a lifeline. His voice dropped lower, steadier.

“Stay. Please.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and sure, “I want to come home knowing the woman I love is safe. Here. With me.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, the world narrowing to his hand in yours, the soft thunder of rain against the windows, the warmth of his words blooming in your chest like magic.

“What do you mean, the woman you love?”

Theo let out a quiet laugh, a little stunned you hadn’t realized it already. His smile turned lopsided, eyes shining.

“Are you daft, (Y/N)?” He said, voice thick, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been taken with you since we were kids, and I’m still—” He broke off for a breath, like the truth was catching up to him all at once. “Still completely gone for you.”

Your heart did something unsteady in your chest.

“Say it again.” You whispered.

He cupped your cheek with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stuttered. The words lingered in the air between you, delicate and heavy all at once—like the hush after a spell’s been cast.

You didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

“I’ve loved you for a long time too, Theo,” You whispered, the confession trembling on your tongue, “I don’t even know when it started—when I began falling for you—but I did. And I fell hard. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

You smiled through the softness in your voice, “You’re the kindest, most patient man I’ve ever met… and I’m thanking my lucky stars that I met you on the day of my wedding.”

That pulled a laugh from him—warm, full, and brimming with disbelief. He tilted his head back slightly, grinning like you’d just handed him the entire sky.

You leaned in just a fraction, voice softer now, “I want to stay. Not just in the flat. In your life. With you.”

That did it.

Theo closed the distance, his hands cradling your face as his lips found yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It was fierce and tender all at once—like a dam breaking, like every moment of yearning pouring out of him in one breathless, burning exhale.

You melted into him, arms winding around his neck, your body pressed close as the kiss deepened—hungry now, desperate. His fingers tangled in your hair, yours fisting in his shirt, both of you trying to memorize the moment, to feel every inch of it like it could make up for all the waiting.

Weeks—months—of unspoken words, of lingering touches and stolen glances, of intimate moments that always ended with breathless silences and aching restraint—crashed into a single breath.

Theo kissed you like you were his lifeline—like he’d been holding back a storm and had finally been given permission to let it break.

You gasped as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, your throat—reverent, hungry, like he was rediscovering you with every breath. “Tell me to stop,” He murmured, voice hoarse with restraint, “Say the word, and I will.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you tugged him closer, heart pounding under his palm as your fingers slid into his hair, voice trembling with a dangerous sort of affection, “If you stop, Theodore Nott, I’m sleeping at Pansy’s tonight.”

He let out a low, incredulous laugh—half-choked and fully wrecked—then kissed you again, deeper this time. Certain. Claiming. The rain tapped gently against the windows, forgotten behind the haze of fogged glass and the thrum of two hearts finally letting go.

And when he lifted you off the couch, carrying you down the hall with all the tenderness in the world and not an ounce of hesitation, the only thing either of you could think was:

About bloody time.

***

It was barely 9 a.m. when the front door to Theo’s flat creaked open—again, without so much as a knock.

Mattheo’s voice cut through the quiet, “I swear, if this idiot didn’t do the groceries and we hiked all the way here for his strawberries for nothing, I’m setting the place on fire.”

“I brought croissants.” Lorenzo offered brightly.

“You brought them from my kitchen,” Draco said flatly, “You literally stole them from my counter.”

Theo stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Do none of you understand the concept of boundaries?”

He was mid-scowl when Blaise’s voice drifted in from the hallway, “Don't you imbeciles think it's too early to—”

And then they all fell silent.

You had just stepped out of the bedroom—the master bedroom this time, not the guest room—bleary-eyed and yawning, wearing nothing but Theo’s hoodie. Again. Hair a little messy, legs bare, looking entirely at home.

Draco blinked, “Déjà vu.”

Mattheo let out a dramatic sigh, “Alright, but like… why is it always the hoodie and no pants? Not that I’m complaining—it’s just, you know what, never mind.”

Blaise leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, “So what’s the excuse this time? Sleepwalking? Laundry explosion? Sudden amnesia about how trousers work?”

You didn’t even flinch.

“We’re dating,” You said flatly, tugging the sleeve of Theo’s hoodie over your hand as you rubbed your eye, “And I’m not wearing pants because I had sex with your friend. Good morning.”

Silence.

Four pairs of stunned eyes stared at you.

Lorenzo made a choked noise, “I—okay.”

Mattheo sputtered, hands flailing, “You can’t just say that without warning!”

“You asked.” You replied dryly.

Draco took a long sip of coffee, muttering behind the rim of his mug, “I owe Pansy ten Galleons.”

***

Bonus:

Your heart pounded as you stared at the closed doors, the soft strains of the wedding march beginning to drift through the wood. Your palms were sweaty around the bouquet you carried, nerves and excitement swirling in your chest.

Then, the doors swung open, revealing you in a stunning white dress, your smile bright and genuine as you began your walk down the aisle. The hush of the ceremony wrapped around you like a warm embrace, the aisle stretching ahead lined with friends and family.

A memory flickered through your mind—just a couple of years ago, you had run away from a different wedding down the hall, only to find refuge in this very chapel. It was here that you met your to-be husband, the love of your life.

Your eyes locked onto the man standing across the room, looking impossibly handsome in his tailored suit. His gaze locked onto you immediately, and for a moment, all the noise and bustle melted away. It was just you and him.

Only a few feet separated you now, but something in your heart couldn’t wait. Before you realized what you were doing, you broke into a gentle run—this time towards the groom.

Theo’s face broke into a gentle smile—the kind reserved only for you—as he reached for you. Before you could even think twice, his arms closed around you, catching you effortlessly. Your feet lifted from the floor as he spun you gently, twirling you in a slow, perfect circle.

The world blurred—lights, faces, music—all faded into a whirl of warmth and happiness.

He pressed his forehead to yours, a slow smile curling on his lips as he whispered, "You just can't wait to marry me, can you?"

You laughed softly, breath warm against his skin, "I couldn’t run away—tried it before. Too much work."

His eyes sparkled with amusement and love as he pulled you closer, the world around you fading into nothing but this perfect, shared moment.

***

EXTRA BONUS BECAUSE I CAN HEHEHE:

Hogwarts, Year 6:

You glanced across the potions table, scanning the clutter of ingredients before turning slightly toward the Slytherin bench.

“Theodore?” You said cautiously, holding your crushed lacewing flies with gloved fingers, “Could I borrow the asphodel? Just for a sec.”

He looked up from his cauldron like you’d just asked for his wand. There was a pause. Not rude, not angry—just... blank. Then, wordlessly, he slid the jar toward you across the table. His fingers brushed yours for the briefest moment when you took it. Cold skin. A little spark. His hand recoiled like he’d been burned.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” You murmured, blinking.

He just gave a short nod, already turning away, jaw tight as he went back to slicing his valerian root like it had offended him personally.

You blinked again, confused, then padded back over to your side of the room where Pansy was lounging against the workbench like it was a chaise lounge in the Slytherin common room.

She quirked an eyebrow, “What was that?”

You shrugged, a slight pout forming on your lips, “I don’t know. I guess he just really doesn’t like me.”

Pansy snorted, “Please. If Theo really didn’t like you, you’d know.”

Meanwhile, across the room, Theo was absolutely not concentrating on his potion anymore. He was staring blankly into the cauldron, stirring too fast, ears tinged pink.

Your hands just touched.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

Harry Potter Taglist:

@downbad4reid

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beegomess · 21 days ago

Text

🫶🏼

You as Paul Lahote's girl

Masterlist || Paul Lahote

xoxo, bee💋💋

56 notes · View notes

beegomess · 22 days ago

Text

Hearts woven in threads || Paul Lahote x Fem!Reader

A/N: English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any typos. I hope you enjoy! AI-revised translation*

masterlist || Hearts woven in threads

Chapter 08

Since that day, everything finally seemed to fall into perfect harmony in your life. The dust had settled, and your routine was starting to fit almost seamlessly. Your mother still called at least once a day—sometimes just to hear your voice and make sure you were okay. The patrols almost always aligned with Paul's, which made each return home feel less exhausting, more familiar. Rewarding. There was something deeply intimate about coming home together, dropping your coats by the door, and doing simple things like washing the dishes or talking about what to cook for dinner.

Without realizing it, you had created small, tacit agreements about what each of you did around the house—silent rules of coexistence. Paul was in charge of feeding Oliver, which brought the two of them closer in a funny way. The cat, who until recently only tolerated your boyfriend out of politeness, now shamelessly rubbed against Paul's leg whenever he walked by. You were already responsible for dinner, while Paul handled the mess afterward. A kind of chaotic balance, but it worked.

That morning, however, would be an exception. You had done the night patrol with Leah, Jacob, and Jared, because after weeks of putting it off, your mother had finally extracted a promise from you—that you'd visit her, sleep or no sleep, no more excuses. That's why, at dawn, you slipped into the house like someone sneaking into their own home.

In the bathroom, you took a quick, warm shower, trying not to give in to the fatigue weighing on every muscle in your body. You changed as carefully as possible, keeping the light low and the mirror fogged, as if even the silence was too fragile to break.

But when you returned to the bedroom—there he was.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his face illuminated by the dim bathroom light. His hair was messy, his skin still marked by the pillow, and his eyes half-lidded, clearly bothered by the glow. Paul blinked slowly when he saw you, as if caught between sleep and waking, but stood without a word.

You barely had time to smile before his arms wrapped around you. A full, warm hug, heavy with longing—even though you'd seen each other just hours earlier.

Paul pressed his face into the curve of your neck, taking a deep breath, as if trying to trap your scent there forever. It was the kind of silence that said more than any words.

You smiled against his warm skin, your hand finding the unruly strands at the nape of his neck.

—Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you —you whispered, like someone asking permission to break the peace.

He didn't answer. He didn't need to.

His arms just squeezed a little tighter, as if you were his anchor in the world. As if, even knowing he'd see you again in just a few hours, he still wanted to hold on to this moment for himself.

You closed your eyes and let yourself stay there, just a little longer.

Until Paul pulled back just enough to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, studying your face carefully. The touch was light, almost absentminded. His voice came low, still hoarse with sleep:

—What time do you get back?

—Before nightfall, I promise —you answered with a soft smile.

He looked at you for another second, eyes still heavy, but carrying that brightness that made the rest of the world fall away.

—Okay —he said, placing a long kiss on your forehead. Then he stepped back a bit more. —Try to get some rest there, alright? You must be exhausted.

You smiled wider, heart completely softened by his concern.

—I'll try.

He nodded with a half-smile and slowly let his arms slide away from your waist. The heat he left behind pulsed on your skin like an immediate absence.

—Tell your mom I'm going with you next time —he said as he walked toward the bathroom, scratching the back of his neck with one hand, still a little sleepy.

—I will —you replied, already finishing getting ready again, with a silly smile on your face that simply refused to fade.

But then you remembered—stopping him before he reached the bathroom.

—Oh, later... I'm going straight to Emily's, okay? —you said, and he turned to face you. —Sam asked me to go again tonight.

Paul nodded slowly, his brow furrowing slightly, as if processing Sam's request with a hint of suspicion. Still, he didn't argue.

—Alright —he finally replied, before disappearing behind the bathroom door, leaving the sound of running water and the scent of him lingering in the air.

You grabbed the bag you'd left ready the night before, checked your keys, and went downstairs without making a sound, determined not to waste time.

There was no time for breakfast, so you figured you'd grab something on the way.

Outside, the day had all the usual contours: a heavy sky, fine mist clinging to the trees, and the road still wet from early morning rain. One of those gray days that never seemed to end.

As you left Forks and La Push, the landscape began to shift subtly—dense pine forests giving way to more open fields, damp wooden fences, and old roadside signs advertising farms and workshops.

The fine rain tapped against the car windows in a steady rhythm, creating an almost hypnotic soundtrack alongside the soft hum of the radio. The song playing was old—some forgotten track from your teenage years that you only recognized by the melody—and it made you smile slightly, as if time had looped back on itself.

You ran your fingers absently over the steering wheel, trailing lightly over the worn leather. It was the same car as always, the one your father had treated like a family heirloom. For a brief moment, memory imposed itself without asking: you, small, in the backseat, legs still swinging in the air, while your parents laughed at something together.

You could almost swear you felt his presence there—not like a ghost, but like a soft warmth, as if he were sitting in the passenger seat for just a second.

The town your mother had moved to was bigger than Forks, but still held that quiet aura of places nestled in the woods—small grocery stores, old gas stations, schools that looked more like oversized houses. She lived in a more residential area, with calm streets, weedy flowerbeds, and children riding their bikes beneath the gray sky.

You climbed the external stairs, feeling the cold wind brush your face, carrying the scent of rain, damp earth, and freshly brewed coffee from some open window.

The apartment was on the second floor of a low-rise building, with exposed bricks and outdoor stairs. You recognized it instantly, even without ever having been there. It just screamed "Mom" in the most literal sense: the makeshift flowerpot on the balcony, the crooked floral curtain, the broken doorbell with a Post-it note that read "knock".

You knocked as instructed, and for a moment, there was only the sound of your fingers against wood. But soon the latch turned, and the door opened to reveal the most familiar smile you knew.

—Oh, my love —your mother said, opening her arms before you could even respond.

You didn't hesitate. You threw yourself into her hug like you'd come from far more than a few hours on the road. She wrapped you up tight, with that warmth only she had, and you let your head rest on her shoulder longer than you expected.

—I missed you so much, honey —she said, with the kind of emotion only a mother could express.

—Oh, Mom... I missed you too —you murmured, breathing in her scent.

She pulled back, though her hands still held your shoulders gently.

—Come inside, sweetheart. It's cold out here —she said, patting your arm before turning to lead the way.

You stepped through the door and were greeted by a small but cozy space. The apartment smelled of cake—probably banana or apple—and strong coffee. The walls were still a little bare, but there were framed prints leaning against the floor, waiting for nails and a hammer. A shaggy rug covered part of the living room floor, and the cushions on the couch looked like they'd just been fluffed to welcome you.

It felt like a home still under construction—but a home nonetheless.

—I'm still organizing everything, don't mind the mess —she said, closing the door behind you.

—It's beautiful, Mom. It's so you —you said, slowly turning in place to take in the details.

She smiled again, proud, and headed to the kitchen, which was open to the living room. As she calmly prepared two mugs, she glanced over her shoulder and asked:

—And Paul? Is he taking good care of you?

You smiled, sitting on one of the stools at the counter.

—Yes, Mom. More than well, to be honest.

She chuckled softly, setting the mugs down.

—And Oliver? How's he doing?

You laughed.

—So spoiled. Paul's basically become his best friend, can you believe it? It's like they have a deal—Paul feeds him, and Oliver pretends he's not jealous of me being with him.

She laughed louder this time, a sound that seemed to warm the entire apartment.

—Oh, so that's where you are already? —she said with a sing-song tone, eyes gleaming with teasing. —Feeding the cat and everything?

You laughed and shook your head, trying to sound indifferent.

—Mom...

—What? —she raised her hands in mock defense. —I'm just saying! Once you start feeding the house cat... it usually means you're basically living together, doesn't it?

You bit your lip to hide the stupid smile, but she saw it anyway.

—He's been there a lot, yeah —you admitted, a bit sheepishly. —I don't even know when it became routine... it just happened. Next thing I knew, he was already there.

—And you love it... —she said, with that look of someone who already knows all the answers.

You let out a small sigh and smiled again—this time, not hiding it.

And that's how time passed: conversation after conversation. You laughed, remembered old stories, talked about the past, the present, nonsense and serious things. Before you realized it, the smell of food cooking filled the kitchen, and the clock showed almost two in the afternoon.

Lunch was simple, but full of love. Afterward, the two of you collapsed onto the couch like teenagers after a movie marathon. And even though you insisted you were fine, your mother crossed her arms and made sure you rested.

You gave in and went straight to her bed. You lay on your side, sank into the mattress, and were out within minutes. Maybe you didn't even dream. One hour of sleep, at most.

What woke you was the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifting from the kitchen—a warm, melancholic aroma that tugged at your chest with a quiet ache.

You got up slowly, getting ready in silence, as if trying to delay the inevitable. And when you stepped out of the room, your mother was already waiting for you in the kitchen with a bag on the table.

— I know you have to go already — she said, almost defeated, a sad smile on her lips. — But I packed a snack for you to take.

Your heart clenched.

— Mom...

— Just take it. — She pushed the bag toward you. — You'll need something to hold you over until you get home.

You took the bag and hugged her tightly. This time, it was harder to let go.

The ride back was quiet at first. You turned on the radio but ended up letting the music play low, just a soft backdrop to the thoughts echoing in your head. The smell of the snack your mother insisted on preparing still lingered in the car.

The road felt shorter on the way back. Maybe it was the rush to get there, or the anticipation of seeing Paul again. The trees thickened, familiar, the contours of the forest returning to the landscape like an old song you knew by heart. And luckily, the darkness of night hadn't yet reached La Push.

You turned onto the gravel road that led to Emily's house, immediately recognizing the parked cars: Sam's truck, Embry's Jeep... and an orange vehicle you didn't recognize right away. Your brow furrowed automatically, fingers still resting on the steering wheel for a few seconds before you let out a slow breath.

After parking and getting out of the car, you felt it. Instantly. That scent that had clung to the clearing the other night—it was subtle, but unmistakable.

Female.

Your stomach twisted with a sudden knot, without even knowing why.

As you walked toward Emily's porch, you tried to think of what could've brought her here. Nothing reasonable came to mind. And usually, when Bella was involved, that wasn't a good sign.

You stepped inside and were greeted by the warm, familiar scent coming from the kitchen. Jared and Embry were at the table, laughing at something only they understood. And then, in a corner of the room, like an out-of-place element in a painting, stood Bella. Upright, eyes still slightly wide, as if trying to pretend it was just another afternoon.

Before you could say anything, Emily came into view, emerging from the kitchen with a cloth in her hands and a smile on her face.

— You got here fast! — she said, already walking toward you. Then she turned slightly and gestured toward Bella. — Bella, this is the other wolf girl.

You blinked slowly. "Other wolf girl"? It sounded odd. But you let it slide, the way you'd been letting many things slide lately. You just smiled kindly.

— Hi, Bella — you said with a soft nod. She replied with a faint smile, still visibly off-balance.

But before any conversation could gain momentum, Embry leaned forward with a gleam in his eye, like someone who couldn't hold the secret any longer.

— Paul phased in front of her — he blurted out, jerking his thumb casually toward Bella, as if she wasn't standing just a few feet away.

Your eyes widened, your body freezing for a second before your hand automatically dropped the bag onto one of the chairs.

— What?! — Your voice came out louder than expected, the shock clear on your face.

Jared and Embry burst into laughter like they'd been waiting for this reaction, and Emily let out a weary sigh, crossing her arms.

— Relax — Jared said, raising his hands as if to calm you — He didn't do it on purpose. Bella kind of... lost it and slapped him.

You blinked, not quite processing it yet.

— She what?

— A slap — Embry confirmed, already grinning. — Paul didn't even have time to react. It was all instinct.

— I already apologized — Bella cut in, her voice low, gaze fixed on some point on the wall, avoiding any direct contact with you.

You watched her for a second longer. She seemed genuinely subdued, but with Bella, it was always hard to tell. Her expression might be sincere, but chaos inevitably followed.

— And the solution was to bring her here? — you asked, not bothering to hide the discomfort as your eyes swept across the room.

— It was Sam's call — Embry replied with a shrug, like someone saying we just follow orders.

— It happened too close to the forest — Jared explained, more patiently. — She saw enough to freak out. Better to bring her here than let it get worse. Paul's calm now.

— Mhm — you murmured more to yourself than to them, heading toward the kitchen.

Your hand instinctively reached for one of the mugs in the cupboard—so familiar with the space that asking permission felt unnecessary.

— Where is he?

— Outside. With Jacob. They went to cool off a bit — said Embry, resting his elbow on the table and taking a bite of a muffin. — They were kind of... tense.

You rolled your eyes softly.

— Jacob got involved too?

— He protected me — it was Bella who replied this time, her eyes finally meeting yours. Her voice came out hesitant, as if unsure she should've said anything at all.

You simply arched an eyebrow, bringing the mug to your lips.

— Of course he did — you replied with a dry half-smile, not exactly hostile.

— I'd bet on Jacob — Embry chimed in, mouth full as always, his tone casual and sure, like he already knew the outcome of a hypothetical fight.

You laughed—a light, familiar sound—and shook your head with that indulgent air, as if you already knew the two would be back soon, probably laughing like nothing had happened. It happened often.

— So, how's your mom? — Emily asked gently, turning her attention to you as she moved something on the counter.

You answered warmly, your voice softening as you spoke about your visit—the smell of coffee from the kitchen, the snack your mom had made you take. The kind of detail that would usually make Bella smile too, but at that moment, she just watched you in silence.

Emily had introduced you as "the other wolf girl." But the truth was, in Bella's eyes, you two seemed to exist in completely different worlds.

You were leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, laughing with ease, entirely at home in that space. Your jeans hugged your hips perfectly, your blouse cinched neatly at your waist, and your boots had a subtle heel that seemed made for the creaking of the wooden floor beneath you. A bracelet jingled lightly on your wrist when you gestured. Everything about you felt deliberate. Needed. Beautiful.

She looked away quickly, as if watching you too long was a breach of some unspoken rule. But even so, she couldn't stop the comparison.

Her gaze met yours for a moment. Brief. You looked at her with a kind of calm, but there was something in your eyes—firmness maybe, or just an awareness of the chaos that always seemed to follow Bella wherever she went.

And then you turned away, answering Emily again, laughing at something Jared said. And Bella stood there, trying to reorganize her thoughts like someone clearing smoke from a small room.

The laughter came before the footsteps.

The front door—already slightly open—swung fully open as Paul and Jacob stepped onto the porch, still laughing at some joke they didn't bother to explain. Paul came in first, eyes alert, shoulders relaxed, that presence of his always arriving a few seconds before he did. Jacob followed close behind, the smile still lingering on his face.

Sam came in last. More reserved, more direct. He passed by the others and went straight to the kitchen where Emily was.

Paul only slowed when his eyes met yours.

The laughter died on his lips as if the world's volume had been turned down. His expression shifted instantly—the broad, teasing grin giving way to something deeper, more grounded.

Without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. The kiss was brief, light, almost automatic—but too full to be casual. When your lips parted, he murmured something just for you. Only for you.

You chuckled quietly, that soft laugh only he could draw from you—and Bella looked away.

She felt her cheeks warm, even without anyone watching her. And suddenly, it all made more sense. It wasn't just the way Paul had looked at you. It was the way you had looked back. She recognized that gaze—she had seen it in Paul. And now, she realized it was reflected in yours.

Bella looked around the room, searching for something to ease her discomfort, and her eyes landed on Embry, who exchanged a knowing glance with Jared.

That's when Paul stepped back and turned to Bella.

— I'm sorry, Bella — he said, that crooked smile playing on his lips—the kind of smile that said he knew he'd messed up, but wasn't about to apologize for being who he was.

Bella gave a small nod, not really meeting his eyes. There were still too many questions spinning in her head.

— Are you staying for dinner, Bella? — you asked, your tone softer now, your expression less guarded than it had been when you arrived. There was kindness there, maybe even a thread of empathy.

Bella hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by your tone. Then she shook her head slightly, like someone quietly excusing herself.

— Oh... no, thank you — she said, her voice low.

That's when you noticed Jacob standing near the door, giving her a subtle nod. Bella caught the gesture and followed him without another word, her steps quick, like someone escaping a feeling they didn't yet know how to name.

Night fell little by little, like a curtain slowly being pulled over the forest. Dinner at Emily's house had been noisy, full of laughter, teasing, and mischief passed from one side of the table to the other. The patrol afterward was quiet—no signs of intruders, just the sound of your own thoughts echoing among the trees.

Now, with your human body tired and clothed again, your feet followed the trail back home. You and Jacob walked side by side. The smell of wet earth mixed with sea salt still hung thick in the air.

Even with your body begging for rest, you couldn't resist the impulse.

— So, what's the verdict? — you teased, a suggestive smile tugging at the corner of your lips. — How was it with Bella yesterday?

Jacob let out a nasal laugh, shaking his head like he'd been expecting the question.

— Same as always.

— Oh, come on. No tension in the car? — you nudged, laughing. Jacob just rolled his eyes.

— Please.

— Okay, okay — you said, raising your hands in mock surrender. — Jokes aside... how did you tell her? Still clinging to the leeches?

He hesitated for a second before answering, his steps slowing.

— A lot. — The word came out low, half-swallowed. You glanced at him, hearing the weight in his voice. — She came with that whole speech about us being dangerous. That we hurt people. And that they... are the good guys in the story.

You let out a short sigh—disbelieving, but not surprised.

— I expected nothing less. She was the Cullens' little mascot until recently.

Jacob gave a half-smile, but that familiar shadow lingered in his eyes—the kind you only see in someone who still hopes too much from someone who's already shown they'll only ever give the bare minimum.

— I don't know — he shrugged. — I think she'll end up getting used to it.

You looked at him sideways, but he went on before you could speak.

— She asked about you, by the way.

— Me? — you raised an eyebrow, surprised.

— Yeah. Like... who is she? And why don't you ever talk about her?

— Huh, why don't you really say anything?

— Because you're unbearable — he replied right away, flashing that easy grin. — And because I knew she'd make up some ridiculous theory.

You let out a laugh.

— Hmm. I didn't know she was the jealous type.

Jacob didn't miss a beat.

— Sounds like someone else I know... — he hinted.

You gave him a light shove while both of you laughed. After a few more steps in silence, you spoke again.

— Take her to the next bonfire — you suggested, fussing with your hair, which was tied up any which way. — If she's gonna keep hanging around here, she might as well start getting used to all of us. Not just you.

Jacob didn't answer right away, but the thoughtful look on his face said he was considering it.

You said goodbye with a lazy nod and headed to your car. The sky was already starting to clear, painting the horizon a grayish blue.

The house was silent when you stepped inside. You took off your sneakers by the door, walked through the dimly lit rooms, and went straight to the shower, letting the hot water ease your tense muscles. It felt so good it nearly put you to sleep right there.

But what waited for you was even better.

You tiptoed into the room with your hair still damp, slipped into whatever pajamas you grabbed first, and eased yourself onto the bed. Paul was lying on his side, breathing deeply, his hair tousled by the pillow. But even in sleep, his body seemed to recognize yours.

When you slid under the covers, he mumbled something unintelligible and instinctively pulled you close. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his chest pressing against your back. A light kiss—sleepy and automatic—brushed your shoulder.

You smiled into the darkness, closing your eyes with that familiar, complete feeling—the one that only came when he was there, wholly, just for you.

And finally, you slept. __________________________________

The routine kept its rhythm — the rounds, the mental whispers between the wolves, the constant heat in your body, and the stolen moments with Paul, which felt like they were worth their weight in gold. Then came the weekend, and with it, one of those nights when the fire was lit and the stories made their way between the snapping logs.

That night, not everyone was present. Sam, Jared, and Quil had gone out for a long patrol, covering the nearby territory.

That's when you heard light footsteps approaching.

Bella.

She came just behind Jacob, hesitant, as if walking on sacred ground. Her eyes scanned the gathered group, searching for familiar faces — and then they found yours. You greeted her before she could second-guess it.

— Hi, Bella. — You smiled softly, kindly, not at all forced. — It's... good to see you again.

She seemed surprised for a second but soon returned the gesture.

— Hi...

You made space for her to sit, and she noticed — maybe with relief. You weren't surrounded by shields like before, not this time.

Paul watched you with subtle attention but didn't say anything. Bella noticed the way he naturally settled his arm behind you — not possessive, just present. A small gesture, but one that didn't go unnoticed.

And then, almost imperceptibly, a mismatch.

On the other side of the circle, sitting next to Billy Black, Rachel kept her eyes fixed on the fire, but every now and then, they met yours. There was an almost physical tension between you — not violent, but old and dense. Bella noticed. Her gaze followed the invisible thread between you and Rachel, as if trying to understand.

You leaned slightly toward her, your voice low and calm:

— I'm glad you came.

Bella looked surprised for a moment but replied with a slight smile.

— Thanks. Jake said the idea to invite me was yours.

You shrugged, as if it was nothing.

— Well... if you're with him, you have to be with us too.

Bella nodded slowly, but her expression shifted slightly — something in her eyes gave away that the phrase "with him" had touched a nerve. She didn't respond, and you didn't push.

Instead, you turned to Paul, who was chuckling at some joke Embry had made, and let the conversation flow around you.

When the last story was told — an ancient legend narrated by Billy, between silences and reverence — the circle began to dissolve. Some still had shifts that night. Leah and Embry drifted off together until they disappeared among the trees.

But you and Paul were off duty. For the first time in days, Sam had released you both from the night patrol.

Back home, you dropped your boots by the door and went straight to make some tea. Paul appeared behind you, tossing the keys on the kitchen counter before heading to the living room. The sound of the sofa creaking came along with the soft click of the TV turning on.

As soon as you could, you slid under the blanket with the mug in your hands, settling in beside him. Paul made space for you without even looking, his arm already extended for you to fit under. Oliver jumped onto his legs before curling up at his feet, purring.

The episode playing was one of those you put on just to shut your brain off. Paul let out a muffled laugh at one of the lines, and you smiled too — more because of the sound of his laughter than the joke itself.

Oliver, who had started the night at your feet, climbed up with slow, deliberate steps, carefully choosing where to step. He settled into Paul's lap and, after a brief pause to knead the fabric with his paws, curled up between his legs, purring loudly.

Paul's hand moved lazily over the cat's back, his other arm still wrapped firmly around your body. From time to time, his fingers made small, distracted motions along your side.

You held the mug in both hands, the warmth of the tea already forgotten as your eyes stared blankly at the screen. Paul's breath touched the same spot on your shoulder, steady and warm. The cat snored softly.

It felt like the world had been suspended in that moment. No patrols, no worries, no sound but the occasional creaking of the wooden house.

Until the sound of a car engine broke the stillness.

Your body tensed at the same time his did. The sound was subtle, muffled by the distance and the walls, but your instincts caught it before your mind processed it. You lifted your head slowly, feeling Paul do the same behind you. The scent reached you a few seconds later — familiar, out of place.

Bella.

You were already untangling yourself from the couch when the knock came. Soft. Hesitant.

Paul let out a low breath and moved behind you, barefoot on the wooden floor. You exchanged a glance, confusion and tension hanging in the air.

When he opened the door, Jacob stood there with a serious expression, and Bella a step behind him, arms crossed, her gaze uncertain. Neither of them seemed to acknowledge the unease on both your faces — or maybe they noticed and chose not to comment.

The feeling was clear and uncomfortable: they shouldn't be there. And they knew it too.

— Hey — Jacob said, his voice a little tense. — I need to ask a favor.

You and Paul didn't even need to ask what it was. It was written all over their faces. You simply stepped aside, making room for them to enter.

Bella walked in slowly, half-buried in her coat, her eyes discreetly scanning the room. She didn't say anything, but she seemed to notice everything — the couch still sunken where you and Paul had been, the mug on the table, the blanket thrown to the side. Observant, as always, but clearly uncomfortable.

You closed the door while Jacob looked around. Maybe only then did he realize that he was truly interrupting something. He knew it was your first quiet night in days, but even so, he came. Because he trusted both of you.

Jacob rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes moving from you to Paul and then back again.

— Emily's alone — he began, avoiding direct eye contact. — And... Victoria's been hanging around Charlie's house. Sam thought it was better for Bella not to go home.

Paul crossed his arms slowly, leaning against the hallway doorframe.

— And you think it's safer here? — he asked, not hostile, but direct.

Jacob nodded, still a little tense.

— She wouldn't come here knowing she has two guard wolves. And it's just for tonight. Tomorrow we'll reorganize everything.

You glanced at Bella. She was still standing near the entrance, as if she didn't know whether to come in farther or apologize.

— I won't get in the way — she said, almost in a whisper. — I swear. I won't even make a sound.

— As long as you're not bringing any more vampires on your trail — you replied, before you even thought about it. Only then did you notice the way she lowered her eyes.

Jacob shot you a quick glance — brief, but meaningful. Paul remained silent.

— It's fine. She can stay — Paul said firmly, his voice final enough to end the conversation.

You let out a soft sigh and turned to Bella. There was no tension in his expression, just a quiet acceptance of what needed to be done. With a nod, you signaled for her to follow.

— Come on. There's a room upstairs.

Bella simply nodded, silent, clutching the strap of her backpack as she followed you up the stairs. The carpet in the hallway muffled the sound of your steps, and for a moment, everything felt absurdly quiet.

You stopped in front of your old room — now more neutral, still well-kept, but with no trace of you in it anymore.

— You can stay here tonight. The sheets are clean, and there's an extra blanket in the closet. The bathroom's at the end of the hall, and there's a clean towel there too.

Bella stepped in slowly, taking it all in with that cautious air of someone who always walks on tiptoe. Her eyes wandered across the light-colored walls, the neatly folded quilt, the slightly open window letting in the night air.

You leaned against the doorframe, unrushed.

— If you need anything else... anything — you said, in a lighter tone now — just call me.

Bella stared at you for a second, maybe surprised by your kindness. There was something vulnerable in her gaze, like she wasn't sure how to behave outside her circle — away from the Cullens, away from Jacob.

— Thank you — she finally murmured.

You nodded with a brief, discreet half-smile, then walked away.

When you came downstairs, you found Jacob standing in the middle of the room, his gaze fixed on the mug on the table and the blanket half-fallen on the couch.

He raised an eyebrow.

— Cat in her lap and hot tea? — he said with that teasing tone. — Who would've thought, Paul... she really domesticated you.

Paul let out a sound that might've been a muffled laugh, but there was no real amusement in it.

— I'm still wondering if Bella's really staying — you said quickly, with a light smile.

Jacob hesitated for a moment, as if considering saying something more. But in the end, he just nodded, his gaze flickering between the two of you a second longer than necessary before turning to leave, closing the door quietly behind him.

The silence that followed spread through the house, like everything had settled back into place — or almost.

You exhaled slowly and looked toward the coffee table. The tea was nearly cold. In an automatic gesture, you walked over, picked up the mug, and headed to the kitchen.

Paul followed soon after — lazy steps, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, walking with that loose, relaxed gait he only used when he was at ease.

In the kitchen, the sound of the tap breaking the silence felt almost too loud, but you didn't say anything. Your thoughts were louder than anything else.

— Do you think she actually likes him? Now that the Cullens are gone?

Paul leaned against the doorframe, watching you.

— Jacob sees what he wants to see sometimes — he said, without much emphasis. — Maybe he's just trying to convince himself of something.

You made a quiet face, rinsing the mug.

— I don't know. She seems so... I don't know, performative around him. Like every sigh is rehearsed.

Paul let out a short breath of laughter.

— Performative?

— Yeah. Like... the way she looks at him, the dramatic pauses, the touches that last half a second longer than they should.

— You've been paying a lot of attention... — he commented, amused.

You shrugged, drying the mug with a cloth.

— You don't have to pay that much attention. It screams, "I don't know what I'm feeling."

Paul tilted his head, thoughtful for a moment.

— I think you're projecting.

— Of course not — you replied, though with a half-smile. — I just think Jacob deserves more than this dumb game she plays. He acts like he's waiting for something. But she's just dragging everything forward until she's sure the vampires aren't coming back.

Paul didn't respond right away. He just kept looking at you with a calm expression, like he was reading you beyond your words.

Still, the conversation hung in the air as you both returned to the night's almost mechanical routine. The minutes passed slowly. You put the dishes in the dishwasher and put others away, while Paul organized the clean silverware. The soft clinking of plates filled the space, as if the outside world was too far away to matter.

Then, light steps echoed on the stairs.

Bella reappeared in the kitchen doorway, hesitant. She was still in the same clothes, her hands clasped in front of her, unsure where to rest her gaze.

— Hi — she murmured, not stepping all the way in. — I was just going to get some water.

You nodded and walked over to the cupboard, grabbing a glass.

— Want something to eat? — you asked, as you filled the glass at the sink.

— No, thank you.

You handed her the glass, and Bella accepted it with a small nod, not fully entering the space. She drank right there, quietly, avoiding looking at you for too long.

— We'll take shifts during the night — Paul said then, still leaning against the counter, his voice calm, like he was simply informing her of something already settled. — One on watch outside, one here. If you need anything, just call.

— Of course... thank you — she said, returning the glass. You took it and set it aside in the sink.

— Good night, Bella — you said, kind, but not trying to stretch things out.

She nodded and walked away in silence, her steps retreating up the stairs with the same care as before. But halfway up, she paused. Maybe she didn't even know why. A flicker of hesitation. Hunger wasn't urgent yet, but she knew it would come. She considered turning back to ask for food — but before she could move, the sound of your voice made her freeze in place without even realizing it.

In the kitchen, you were drying the last bowl when your eyes landed on the forgotten glass on the counter. Without saying a word, you picked it up and reached to put it in the cupboard above Paul's head. He didn't move — just turned his face slightly, catching the scent of your hair as you passed.

— Are you sure you don't want me to take the whole watch tonight? — you asked, stretching your arm up. — I can cover for you this time.

— I have — he answered, the tone calm, while you returned to the sink, drying your hands. — Besides... I think you'd better be here when she wakes up.

You let out a quiet chuckle, almost as if laughing to yourself.

— Just because you don't want to make the coffee.

Paul didn't answer right away—he opened another cupboard, grabbed Oliver's food container, and poured a small amount into the bowl. Then he leaned against the counter beside you, like someone circling back to the previous point.

— I just think you seem less threatening than I do — he said. — She trusts you.

— Yeah — you replied, closing the empty dishwasher. — I don't blame her for that.

Paul made a light expression, but said nothing—just looked at you with that half-smile only he knew how to give.

You walked over to where he was, more out of habit than intention, and stopped beside him. The air shifted slightly for a moment, something in his eyes that you recognized well—quick, subtle, almost a silent warning. But you pretended not to notice, smiling lightly.

— What's wrong? — you asked in a teasing tone, like someone trying not to show you'd already figured it out.

He turned his head slowly, his eyes fixed on yours, as if gauging the space between you.

— You know being this close is torture — he said quietly, almost a whisper, wearing that familiar half-smile.

You took another step, leaning in slightly, a laugh slipping out unintentionally.

— Oh, stop. You can't be that sensitive — you joked.

He didn't respond right away. He simply tilted his head, eyes glinting with that kind of mischief you knew all too well—the look that always came right before he made a move. Then, almost without warning, he leaned in and kissed you—brief, but undeniably intentional.

He was the one to pull back first, like he was giving you space—but only for a second.

Instead, his lips lowered to your neck, and you felt the heat of his breath against your skin. But instead of the intensity you expected, came soft, almost lazy kisses, placed in precise spots that knew exactly where to find you—not seductive, but ticklish.

You arched your body on instinct, trying to squirm away, but it was too late. He already had you pulled close, holding you firmly while laughing softly and continuing with those teasing kisses, as if it were all part of a plan.

— Paul, stop... — you pleaded through laughter, trying to push him off with your hands, though you weren't really using much force. Part of you didn't want him to stop.

You laughed harder, the kind of laugh that came from deep in your belly—unguarded and real—while he kept torturing you with kisses that weren't romantic at all—at least not in that moment.

That's when you heard the faint creak of wood. He turned his head, still laughing, eyes watery from the tickling—and that's when he saw Bella standing there, at the kitchen entrance, looking unsure whether to come in or back away.

You instinctively stepped away from Paul, your face flushing—not from embarrassment, but surprise.

— Is everything okay? — you asked, still half-laughing, trying to catch your breath and your most neutral tone.

Bella gave a small nod, her eyes avoiding yours, like she'd stumbled onto something too private. She didn't seem upset, just... careful.

— I... I think I should eat, after all — she said quietly, forcing a smile.

Paul didn't say anything beside you, but you felt his arm brush lightly against your back as he stepped away, giving you space to take the lead with Bella.

— Oh, of course — you said, focusing on her while watching Paul slip out of the kitchen. — What would you like?

— I think I'll just... — she glanced around, clearly looking for the least intrusive option. Her eyes landed on the fruit basket near her. — Just an apple, if that's okay.

— Thank you — she murmured, barely meeting your eyes, and left the kitchen before you could say anything else.

You opened your mouth to reply, but closed it again.

What you didn't know was that Bella was in a place where she avoided everything that reminded her of love—of easy touch, of silent understanding between two people. And that was exactly what she saw the moment she stepped into your home. The way you and Paul moved around each other, like you shared a language she didn't understand anymore. Maybe never had.

The house seemed quieter than she remembered. Not a silence of absence—but of restraint. As if something outside was breathing along with her. Paul. Or you. Taking turns. Watching. Guarding.

She thought it was pathetic to need that.

Not because she thought protection was pointless, but because accepting it felt like admitting she wasn't enough on her own. And that was one of the biggest differences between her and you. The wolves. You were never alone. They treated each other like family. Protected each other as part of something larger.

And that hurt her in a quiet way.

Bella knew you didn't look at her with anger or contempt. She even knew your reservations about her and Jacob weren't personal. You only saw him as a younger brother—someone you'd protect with teeth if necessary. Like any other member of the pack.

She sat on the bed but didn't lie down. Just sat there, staring into the dark, listening to the house breathing gently.

Hours later—she couldn't say how many—Bella woke up.

She didn't move. Just turned her face into the pillow and closed her eyes again. And for the first time that night, she fell asleep without resistance.

Your watch had been quiet—silent, almost numbing, as if your own exhaustion hovered over the forest. When you returned home in the middle of the night, Paul was already waiting for you on the porch. The only sound exchanged was your footsteps meeting on the wooden floor. He walked toward the woods, and you entered the house, shoulders heavy, though not quite tired.

You slept, but only a little. It was like part of you stayed on alert, sensitive to any sound from the hallway or the forest. Even with your body buried in the mattress, your mind hovered over the house, attentive.

Before the sun even rose, you gave up trying. After one last toss, you decided to get up. The shower was quick—more to shake off the night than anything else.

The first gray tones of dawn were already creeping through the windows when you went downstairs. The house still held onto that dense night-silence, broken only by a long yawn from the living room. Oliver, eyes half-closed, stretched lazily on the sofa.

— Morning, Oli — you murmured, running your hand over his pointed ears before heading to the kitchen.

His little bowl was filled slowly, the kibble rattling softly. Then you started preparing coffee—water on the stove, bread out of the cupboard.

That's when you heard the footsteps—light, tentative, like Bella was testing each board on the stairs before trusting it. You didn't turn around right away—you recognized the sound, the cautious rhythm.

She entered slowly, still in the same clothes from the night before, as if changing hadn't even crossed her mind. Her eyes wandered through the room, far too alert for someone just waking up.

— Good morning — she said, voice low, a trace of caution in her tone.

You turned just enough to see her and responded with a soft smile.

— Good morning, Bella — your tone was simple but warm. You nodded toward one of the chairs. — Did you manage to sleep?

She nodded as she sat.

— Yes.

But it wasn't quite true—you caught it in the pause in her voice, the way she avoided eye contact. Still, you let it pass. You moved between the counter and table again, keeping the air light.

Bella, meanwhile, watched you more closely than she wanted to admit.

You were simply dressed, but something about you looked... too put-together for that early in her view. The jeans—fitted and neatly pressed—were the same style she'd seen you in before. The blouse matched—thin fabric, long sleeves stopping just above the cuffs, shoulders exposed, no trace of cold in your body, as if it had been made for you. The low-heeled boots clicked softly on the wooden floor, marking your steps. And your scent... subtle, fresh, but unmistakable.

Bella looked away, eyes dropping to the empty mug in front of her, feeling silly for noticing. For comparing. It was like everything about you communicated balance—and that, in some way, placed you in direct contrast with her chaos.

— Coffee? — your voice pulled her out of her spiral.

Bella looked up to find a mug extended in your hand, your half-smile calm and unhurried.

— Yes... thank you — she replied softly.

You nodded and placed the cup in front of her before returning to the counter, bringing more items to the table. The clink of dishes, the bread being sliced, fruit being handled—everything filled the room with the gentle noise of morning.

A comfortable place that, for the first time, Bella didn't want to leave so quickly. She even considered telling you that.

— Paul hasn't come back yet? — she asked, her voice low, uncertain. Her eyes followed your hands as you sliced something at the sink.

— Not yet — you replied, then turned around with a small bowl of chopped fruit in your hands. There was a slight smile on your face as you set it down in front of her. — He went to Emily's—needed to talk to Sam.

Bella nodded slowly, saying nothing. You moved to the fridge and pulled out a yogurt container, as if already knowing she wouldn't say anything right away. And she knew it too—that was one of the things that disoriented her around you. The way you anticipated reactions, as if silence itself spoke to you.

Still, no matter how out of place she felt, she pushed against it. She didn't want to let the quiet become too heavy.

— I... I wanted to say I'm sorry. For getting in the way yesterday — she blurted out, as if needing to get it off her chest.

You looked at her with a faintly puzzled expression as you closed the fridge. Then your smile curved subtly.

— Oh, no... — you laughed softly, approaching the table with the yogurt in hand. — You didn't get in the way of anything, Bella. Really.

She nodded, and although she seemed calm, you noticed the faint blush rising in her cheeks—a restrained but revealing gesture. So you changed the subject before discomfort could settle again.

You grabbed a prepared sandwich, placed it gently on a plate in front of her, then filled your own cup with coffee.

— Jake told me it's your last year of school — you said casually, eyes still on your mug. — Do you already know which college you want to go to?

The question took her by surprise. She looked up at you with a slight jolt—not because of the topic, but because of the way you said it. As if, not even for a second, you doubted that she would go. As if her future were something certain, solid. Not a cloud of uncertainty hanging over everything.

— I don't know if I'm going, to tell the truth — she said, and her eyes flicked back to you, unable to hide her surprise.

— Why? — you asked, bringing the mug to your lips. The drink was still hot, so you sipped it slowly. Then you turned around, your back to her, and began preparing your own food.

Bella hesitated, as if searching for the right words—or deciding whether she could be honest with you.

— I think I have other priorities now...

You didn't respond right away. Your expression was serene, but there was something in your eyes—a calm firmness, something that looked like it had been hard-earned over time.

— Well... — you said softly — I would've gone, if I'd had the chance.

Bella looked up, subtle curiosity flickering across the tiredness on her face.

— Why didn't you?

You hesitated for a moment before stepping away from the sink to look for a clean plate.

— Because I can't have everything — you replied, your tone almost too quiet. You tore open the bread with your hands, avoiding eye contact. — Being part of all this... comes with a cost.

She didn't need to ask what "this" meant. She knew you were talking about the pack. About that invisible but ever-present weight Jacob had so often tried to put into words. The responsibility. The bond. The lack of choice.

— Jake said something about your father... — she began, hesitant, as if unsure whether she was crossing a line — That he wasn't part of it.

You returned to the sink, picked up the sandwich you'd assembled, and placed it on a plate. Then you started making another—probably for Paul. Your movements were steady, almost automatic. But your voice, when it came, was more cautious.

— Yeah... — you nodded — But things are never as simple as they seem. Jake usually sees my dad's situation as some kind of advantage. But my story's very different.

— But you can... disconnect, can't you? — she asked, genuinely interested. — Like... leave the pack?

You closed the fridge with a firm gesture before answering, already back at the counter.

— We can — you said, resting both hands on the counter — But if you sever the bond with the alpha, it extends to everyone else too.

Bella fell silent, absorbing that with more weight than she'd expected. The quiet hung in the air for a beat before she finished, in an almost too-soft voice:

— And that would include... Paul.

You turned toward her slowly, as if those words carried their own gravity. Then you walked to the table with your coffee and finally sat down, letting the steam rise between you like a soft, warm veil.

— Yeah... — you murmured, and that single word held all the truth it needed.

Bella looked at you with a gaze that mixed surprise and a kind of quiet respect. For the first time, she seemed to realize there was more to you than whatever Jacob—or maybe even Paul—had described. You were someone who had made choices—some difficult, some impossible—and still moved forward, grounded and steady.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—on the contrary, it was almost comforting. You took one last bite of your sandwich while Oliver stretched beneath the table, brushing against your legs like he, too, was content with the morning's calm.

— Does he always act like this in the morning? — Bella asked, watching the cat curl up like a cinnamon roll in the bed tucked into the corner of the room.

You followed her gaze and smiled, nodding.

— Always. He acts like he worked all night — you said with a quiet laugh.

The clock on the wall showed nearly half past eight when you collected the mugs and brought them to the sink. Outside, the sky had brightened, though it remained shrouded in the constant clouds of La Push.

— Do you want anything else? — you asked, drying your hands and turning back to her.

Bella shook her head, her eyes returning to the nearly empty bowl.

— No, thank you... this was already more than I could've eaten alone.

You gave her a brief smile and started rinsing the mugs in the sink. Bella stood up in silence and, hesitating a bit, gathered the remaining dishes and brought them over to you—like she was trying to offer something in return. You thanked her with a quiet look, no words needed, and she returned to the table, pushing the chairs back into place.

That's when you heard the heavy footsteps on the front porch—firm and steady. Then, the door opened with its usual soft creak, and the steps moved down the hallway.

Paul walked in and passed Bella with a distracted nod, his eyes already fixed on you. She gave a polite murmur in return, though he probably didn't even notice.

He walked straight to you, no pause, no hesitation, and when he reached you, his hands landed familiarly on your waist. His lips brushed against your exposed shoulder in a series of light, casual kisses that pulled a soft laugh from you—a sound that seemed to warm the kitchen more than any hot coffee had before.

— Morning — he murmured just for you, low enough that Bella could only catch the tone, not the words.

She looked away instantly, unsure if it was out of respect or discomfort. Maybe both. There was something about the ease between you two—too intimate, too natural—that reminded her that, in this house, she was just a guest. And you—you were home to each other.

— I left coffee for you — you said in a low voice, and he nodded, pulling away with the natural ease of someone who already knew where everything was. He opened the cupboard, grabbed a mug, and headed straight for the coffee pot.

You turned off the tap, drying your hands with the cloth hanging from the sink, then turned to him.

— Any sign of Victoria? — he asked, still in that quiet morning tone, as if the question were just part of routine.

— Not here — you replied, not looking up. Then Paul partially turned, his eyes flicking to Bella. — But Sam said she looked for you almost everywhere in Forks, Bella.

Her name lingered in the air like a weight. Bella swallowed hard, as if she'd been expecting it—but still let out a silent sigh.

— Well... at least she doesn't suspect you're here — you added, trying to soften the tension starting to creep back into the room. Your tone was calm, almost sisterly, like a reminder that—for now—she was safe here.

Paul leaned against the counter with his cup in hand, taking his first sip with a quiet sigh—and now, with the three of you in the kitchen, it felt full again.

That was when the hum of Bella's old pickup echoed outside, muffled by the walls, but unmistakable. Jacob had arrived.

You heard the heavy footsteps on the porch and then the door opening without ceremony.

— Hey — he greeted, walking in like he always did. His eyes passed over Bella, briefly landed on you, and then settled on Paul, like he hadn't expected to see him.

— Thought you went home — Jacob said. It wasn't hostile, but his brow arched with that familiar mix of confusion and suspicion.

You shrugged.

— He is home.

Paul smiled behind his mug, that smug little grin that said more than words ever could. Jacob frowned for a moment but didn't respond—and Bella seemed to mentally revisit every detail from the night before, now with a different weight.

— Well... Bella, I think it's okay for you to spend the day at your place today — Jacob said, turning his attention back to her in a tone almost too matter-of-fact. — You can grab your things, I'll take you.

She nodded with a restrained sigh, careful not to look at you or Paul as she left the kitchen. Her steps on the stairs were slow and light.

You waited until the creak of the last step before asking, your voice slightly lower:

— Is she coming here tonight?

The question came out casual, but the way your eyes lingered on the dish towel betrayed a quiet hope for a no. It wasn't personal. Not exactly. It was just that... Bella had a way of silently seeping into every space within the pack. And lately, it felt like that space was yours.

Jacob let out a soft laugh and rolled his eyes, like he'd read your thoughts.

— Don't worry. She's not coming here today.

Paul made a muffled celebratory sound, like someone scoring a silent point—which only made Jacob sigh deeper.

— She's going to my place.

Immediately, his gaze met Paul's. That was enough. Neither of them said anything for a second, but the smirks formed almost in sync. Paul's, of course, dripped with mischief. Yours was quieter—but carried the same unspoken irony.

— Oh, and does she know that? — Paul asked, using that teasing tone only he could pull off without sounding outright rude. You couldn't help but laugh, a soft sound muffled by the back of your hand.

Jacob exhaled sharply, looking away with a half-smile. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, clearly already regretting bringing it up.

And then, Bella returned, descending the last steps. She stopped in the kitchen doorway and, for a moment, seemed to sense the shift in the air from moments earlier. She didn't comment. Just adjusted her backpack on her shoulder, a bit hesitant.

— Shall we? — she asked in a quiet voice, and Jacob nodded quickly—maybe a little too quickly.

Before they left, Bella gave you and Paul one last glance. Her smile was polite—almost rehearsed.

— Thank you... for having me — her voice faltered just slightly.

— It was nothing — you replied with a small, sincere smile. Warm enough not to be cruel. Firm enough to close the moment.

She nodded, and the two of them walked down the hallway in silence.

You heard their footsteps recede into the living room, then the sound of the door opening... and finally, closing with a soft click.

And with that, the house was yours again. ________________________

Next Chapter coming soon

Comments, likes, and reblogs will be greatly appreciated!

xoxo, bee💋🫶🏼

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beegomess · 1 month ago

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₊⊹ mattheo and bubblegum!reader’s insta posts ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

disclaimer: the photos in this post are not meant to represent what the reader looks like; they are simply photos i came across that reminded me of this !reader and inspired me to create this ♡︎ tw. some sexual content.

fake social media posts

nav // m.list // au list // readers

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beegomess · 1 month ago

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You as Paul Lahote's girl

Masterlist || Paul Lahote

xoxo, bee💋💋

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beegomess · 1 month ago

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100 posts! 🥳🥳🥳

#100 posts #tumblr milestone

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beegomess · 1 month ago

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Hearts woven in threads || Paul Lahote x Fem!Reader

A/N: English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any typos. I hope you enjoy!

masterlist || Hearts woven in threads

Chapter 07

Every day, since the conversation with your mother, it seemed like a small farewell disguised as a routine.

You never told her about what happened on the last patrol. You hid the details as if they were invisible wounds. You just said that Sam gave you a few days off because of her change, and that was enough. It wasn't a lie... but it wasn't true either.

It's not that you were afraid to worry her. Or maybe it was. But more than that, you just didn't want to see that look again - the same one she gave the day she knew you were no longer just human. That look between fright and care, as if she tried to remember that you were still the same person. That hurt more than any broken bone. And if you're honest with yourself, it never passed.

Still, she seemed excited about the new phase. You spent your days between boxes, donations and memories. With each emptied closet, a small museum was revealed: drawings of his with huge eyes and scribbled titles, bracelets of beads that barely fit more on the wrist, tickets folded with silly and naive phrases. It was funny and beautiful at the same time.

Maybe it would be even better that way. Maybe she deserved days when the biggest problem was which curtain to match the new sofa, and not if her daughter would come back whole after a night in the middle of the forest. She had already lived worried enough, with her father, then with you. It was fair that now she lived something that was only hers.

And you were already used to the idea. Her absence didn't hurt you like before, it was more like an anticipated longing, which you had already been feeling before it even happened.

Still, it wasn't easy. The house now had the sound of a cardboard box and the smell of adhesive tape. There was something loose in the air, as if time was waiting for the exact moment to dismantle what was left of stability.

Paul showed up a few times in the last few days.

Sometimes with practical excuses - help your mother with something heavy or ask if you were better. Others, he just appeared, as if the path to his door was a muscular memory. And when that happened, the air between you seemed to change density.

There were no fights or stamped hurt. But there was a space between you that no one knew how to cross. You greeted him with a brief look, a contained word. He, in turn, remained calmer than usual. Measured. As if any more intense gesture could push you further away.

It was strange for you to see him interacting with his mother, as if nothing had happened. The charismatic way, the easy laugh, the unexpected kindness. You watched from afar, trying to understand what he might be thinking.

In some moments, when the eyes met unintentionally, you saw something in his eyes. A sweet tiredness. A contained longing. Or just the reflection of your own silence.

He didn't press, but you could feel the way he took a long time to leave, the way he kept looking at the door even after he said "bye" - that he wanted more. Even if he didn't say it. Even if he didn't dare to ask.

And that confused you. Because yes, there was a part of you that wanted too - you wanted the familiar touch of his hands, the comforting weight of his body on the couch, the comfortable silence that only happened between two souls that recognize each other. But there was another part, as alive as that, that spent days chewing memories and swallowing doubts.

You were never one to ruminate too much, but these days...

While helping his mother with boxes, clothes and donations, his head was still busy with unanswered questions.

The truth is that you used that time to hide behind the chaos of the change, your mother's distracted affection, the excuse of recovering - which, in part, was true. His body had already returned to normal. The pain in the ribs had dissolved into an uncomfortable memory, and a week away from patrols had given his physique the necessary rest.

But there was something else.

Something that time, by itself, could not cure. A raw and silent feeling still vibrated inside you - not anger, exactly, but a difficult mess to name. It was a mixture of longing and uncertainty, as if something had been left behind without being said. And maybe that was what hurt the most: the lack of clarity. You knew you felt what he felt - imprinting made a point of it - but even that couldn't order what was going on inside you. Was it regret? Missing? Or just the memory of something that could have been different? As much as he tried to follow, this doubt flowed into the gaps of his silence. In the way you hesitated before speaking, in the way your fingers hovered over the cell phone and went back

And that's how reality knocked on the door.

You had been avoiding it for too long and felt, like a call coming from within, that you could no longer postpone. Emily's house seemed like the first step. Not only because you needed to see them - the others, the pack, the world that was still spinning - but because deep down you knew that that night would bring something different or that maybe it was the moment.

It was almost a mandatory stop after the days you were away. The sky was still covered by heavy clouds, but from time to time the sun infiltrated through them, throwing golden spots on the wet asphalt. The air seemed suspended between the stuffy and the cold. A strange climate, tailor-made for that feeling that you also didn't know what it was.

Emily's house was still the same refuge as always, but it looked different that day. There was no smell of fresh food, this was replaced by something more subtle.

The front door, as always, was open. Practically wide open.

You smiled and went to her. Emily was on her back, stirring two mugs on the counter. Chamomile tea, for the smell.

- Trying to sleep earlier? - you asked with a half smile, leaning on the door frame.

Emily raised her face from whatever she was moving, with a tired glow in her eyes.

- You're back! - he said, surprised and happy. - Actually... I'm just trying to maintain sanity with this pack invading my kitchen every morning.

She poured the hot water into the mug, sighing with that air of someone who was exhausted, but had already accepted the routine.

You laughed low, approaching.

- I can imagine. And they don't even know what silence is, right?

She laughed back, taking another mug from the closet and giving it to you.

- Neither in human form, nor in wolf form.

You accepted the tea and leaned sideways on the bench, looking around. The house still had that good smell and that kettle noise that always gave you a feeling of normality.

- So, how are you? - Emily asked, after a sip.

- I'm fine - you said, shrugging your shoulders. - I mean... well enough.

- Is your mother really going?

- Okay. Only a few boxes are missing. And some things she wants to see if she throws away or not. - You gave a corner smile. - But the house is already getting weird. Half empty.

Emily nodded, resting her elbows on the bench.

- It will be good for her.

- Yeah.

She looked at you carefully for a few seconds, as if she was waiting for the right moment.

- And you two?

You didn't even pretend not to know who she was talking about.

- Honestly, I don't know - he said, letting out a weak laugh. - Maybe you know more than me.

- He's kind of quiet - Emily answered sincerely. - Stay here from time to time, help with some things. But... it's different. Half in his corner.

You looked at her with slight curiosity. He didn't use to stay in his "corner".

- I haven't seen him that much lately - you said, looking away and pretending to suddenly focus on the mug itself.

Emily watched you for a moment and then commented, with that light tone that disguised more accurate intentions:

- Maybe you're the one who's getting too far away.

You laughed, kind of incredulous, blowing the tea vapor as if it could push the conversation away. But he didn't answer. It was a simple comment, almost played... and even so, it hit somewhere deeper.

- Besides, things have changed around here - she continued, absently stirring the liquid in her own mug. - A certain person hasn't appeared that often.

You looked up again, now with a more open smile. Emily also smiled - not in a provocative way, but complicit. Like someone who holds a silly secret and likes the idea of seeing it reveal itself.

- What is this? Did Paul ask you to say these things? - you joked, half laughing.

- Someone has to do the dirty work - she replied with a fun shrug.

He didn't ask for much, he just let slip that maybe it would be good, if she could... remind you of some things. Show, with skill, what people sometimes pretend not to see out of pride.

But before anything could go too deep, the wood creaked under something and Jared appeared, with the usual energy, leaning on the stop as if he were already part of the house.

- Did I interrupt the tea club? - he joked, and you laughed.

- Yes. - he replied, still with a half smile on his face.

- Great, so I arrived at the right time - Jared replied, approaching and pulling one of the chairs without ceremony. - I needed a place to escape from Sam's closed face.

Emily let out a sigh, already opening her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a faster, urgent sound.

The door was crossed with loud footsteps once again and Embry appeared, breathing heavier than usual.

- We need to go. Now. - he warned directly. - Sam, Paul and Jacob are following a trail. One of the leeches passed by the trail that goes to a hill nearby.

You didn't hesitate.

The cup was left on the counter in an automatic gesture, almost abrupt - the sound of the ceramics touching the wood echoed dry, cutting the light climate that existed there a few seconds ago. In an impulse, his feet were already moving along with Embry and Jared towards the door, as if his body knew exactly what to do before you even thought.

On the short way to the interior of the forest, his heart was already beating faster - not out of fear, but out of urgency.

In a few seconds, the world fell undone in fabrics and heat - his body giving in to the instinct that pulsated under the skin. The sounds became clearer, the smells more vivid, and the moist ground under his paws seemed to pulsate along with the tension in his chest.

You and Jared followed Embry in silence, an agile trio moving in the middle of the closed forest. He ran in front, focused on the tracks left by Sam, Jacob and Paul.

Further ahead, the smell of the vampire became stronger, recent, marked as an open cut in the air. The pace of the race intensified, his muscles already burning, but his mind focused on the smell and the trail - just a smell.

You began to see the other three wolves - Jacob, Sam and Paul - running in formation. They were close. The mental connection was established, more intense, clearer.

But then, in a burst, Embry changed direction to his left. Jared followed right behind.

You stopped for a second. Enough for the impulse to collide with logic. Your eyes followed the trail they left, and, by instinct, you ran after you. As he approached, he launched the thought:

"Why are you guys going this way?"

Embry answered, without stopping:

"Sam's order. The red-haired vampire may be hiding in that direction."

You didn't answer.

But it was impossible to ignore: her smell was not there. No trace, not the slightest trace. Only the vampire who was still going ahead.

Still, you followed Embry and Jared.

Until, at some point, you had moved so far away that the smell of the persecution seemed to have already dissipated into the air. The trail that was so clear before, had almost completely disappeared. There was nothing left, not even the slightest trace of any vampire.

The sounds of the forest, previously marked by the sound of the branches breaking under its paws, were now muffled. The darkness had fallen silently and heavily. Only the sound of his breaths and the snaps of the ground under his feet broke the silence.

The back trail seemed longer than before. The smell of the forest was no longer alert, it was just a reminder of lost time. Your muscles burned with the effort of the day, but what really bothered you was something else. A nuisance inside, trapped in the place where instinct and reason collided.

You arrived at Emily's house in silence. Jared passed by you, and before climbing the steps, he stopped:

- Aren't you going in?

You shook your head, your eyes fixed anywhere other than the house.

- I'm tired - I just said, going around the house next.

The air was cooler back there, and the sound of the conversations was extinguished at every step. It was only when he folded the side of the house that you saw him.

Paul, leaning against the hood of his car, as if he had been waiting for a long time - although he seemed casual. Dark shirt, crossed arms, the weight of the body distributed as if nothing was wrong.

But his eyes said something else.

As soon as you appeared, he straightened up subtly. Not surprisingly, he just felt you before seeing you. The distance between you seemed smaller than in recent days, but it still carried the weight of what had not been said.

You approached slowly, while Paul kept his eyes on you the whole time, but said nothing. Whatever he had thought of saying, he stayed there, between his teeth clenched and the slight movement of his throat when he swallowed dry.

You just reached out and put the car keys in his palm. A simple gesture. Almost automatic. But full of everything that was not yet resolved between you.

He took it without hesitation. His thumb lightly touched his fingers - just for a second.

Without a single comment, you bypassed the car. He opened the driver's door. You entered on the other side.

The silence that came after was not uncomfortable, it was just the kind of silence that exists between two people who know each other too well.

The car was already moving when you finally released the air trapped in your lungs. His smell filled the confined space - familiar, hot, disturbing. The open window let the wind in, but nothing removed the feeling that that silence said more than any conversation could.

You looked away to the road, then to his hand firm on the steering wheel. Only then did he break the silence, without staring at him:

- I don't want to go home today.

The voice came out low, almost as if it hadn't been made to be heard. But he heard.

Paul didn't say anything right away. He just looked quickly in your direction, his lips parted, and turned his eyes to the road. You didn't expect an answer.

Without thinking too much, he leaned his head on his shoulder. It wasn't an attempt to resume whatever it was. It was just... a gesture. A rest. As if that were the only possible place to breathe properly.

Paul remained motionless for a second, as if he was trying to understand if that was real. Then he relaxed, just enough to let his shoulder mold better to the curve of his head.

His heat was constant. And you stayed there, for a few seconds too long to be just polite silence.

- Do you want to go to my house? - he suggested, his voice hoarse, low, almost cautious. - Or somewhere else?

You didn't answer right away. The car's engine vibrated under the feet, the night outside was humid, dense. That was security, but also a memory.

Only then did you nod, almost imperceptible.

- Your house.

None of you said anything along the way. But the silence had changed. It looked like another - loaded, full of everything that still hovered between you and that, for some reason, no longer seemed urgent or chaotic.

His house was silent when they arrived.

You entered slowly. The weight on the shoulders was not only the long day or the meaningless run in the woods - it was the quiet longing, the feeling of having been too far from a place that, despite everything, still seemed like yours.

Paul came in behind you. He didn't turn on all the lights, he just followed you, who went straight to the room.

You entered and, for a moment, just stood at the door. The room was dark, except for the dim light of the lamp on in the corner. It was still the same place, but with something different - as if the time you spent away had changed the way things occupied the space.

You took off your coat slowly, dropping it on the armchair next to the bed. The fingers worked on the hem of his blouse, without haste, almost as if they needed time to feel the comfort of being there again.

Paul appeared leaning against the door frame a few seconds later, silent, as if he didn't want to interrupt anything. He watched you for a moment and then went to the dresser, taking a wide T-shirt from inside the drawer, throwing it to you, without saying anything, while you picked it up still in the air.

- Are you going to take a shower first? - he asked, his voice low, scratched by the tiredness of the day.

- No... I just need to lie down - you replied, and he nodded as if he had already expected this.

While you put on the T-shirt, he took off his own clothes, throwing them in the basket in the corner of the room. He took any other one in the drawer and dressed her without haste. Then he moved something on the bedside table before approaching the bed and sitting on the edge of the mattress, with his back to you.

That's when you said:

- I really didn't want to go home - the voice came out lower than you expected, but firm.

He didn't answer right away. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling slowly, as if he had been waiting for that moment for days.

- I noticed - he replied, still not facing you.

You kept looking at him there, standing still, so close and still so contained. Part of you wanted to reach out and touch him. Your other part was just too tired for any sudden movement.

- But I didn't want to come either... If everything was to remain the same - you said, now more firmly, although the lump in your throat still weighed.

Paul was quiet for another second. Then he released the air slowly, getting up.

- I know - he said, and there was something in the tone that was not defensive. Just... sincere. A little hurt, maybe. - It won't stay the same.

He said that walking to the other side of the bed and pulling the blanket before lying down next to you. The mattress sank gently, and now he was there - This time, he didn't respect the space as before. Paul turned sideways, one arm bent under his head, and the other stretched until he found his hand. The fingers touched his first carefully, then more firmly.

- I missed you - he said, his eyes fixed on your intertwined fingers, not on your face. But his touch was direct. And there was something in the way his thumb slid lightly on the back of his hand that said everything he still couldn't.

You looked at him, feeling a soft squeeze in your chest.

- Me too - he replied, his voice lower now, as if he didn't want to break whatever was forming there.

Paul nodded, almost imperceptible, before looking away. But he didn't move away. And you didn't insist.

The silence extended like a light blanket, and little by little the world became quieter. None of you noticed exactly when sleep arrived, but it came easily - wrapped in the warm truce of two bodies that no longer knew very well what they were, but still found shelter in each other.

Hours later, you woke up. The room was dark, even more than before, and the sound of his breathing was constant and close.

Paul had an arm around him, firm and natural, as if he had always been there. The chin rested on your head, and its warmth enveloped you in a calm - protective way, even sleeping. There was no tension in his body, only presence.

You didn't move. You didn't want to. Likewise, you stood there motionless, feeling the silent security of that touch. Just close your eyes again, letting the sound of his heart — strong, rhythmic, constant — cradle you back to sleep.

And maybe that was it: Allowing him to taste, over time, what was his and what came from the imprinting. You didn't know how to separate one thing from the other, but you were willing to find out.

For now, you didn't need to understand everything. You just need to breathe there, where everything seemed possible.

When the day came, it was slow. Paul was still asleep. His arm was still there, around your waist, as if the world hadn't moved since the last time you opened your eyes.

You didn't say anything. Just observed. He had a peace that didn't seem to match anything you had lived in recent days. And, for a small and precious moment, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe there was still room for that.

When he moved, it was just enough to squeeze you lightly against him, as if unconsciously confirming that you were still there.

- You're thinking too much for those who just woke up - he murmured, without opening his eyes.

- I think so.

Paul opened his eyes slowly and looked at you side by, his face still crushed from the pillow.

He watched you for a few seconds, quiet. It was just him trying to understand you.

- Was it yesterday's patrol? - he asked, straight, but carefully.

You nodded slowly, taking a while to explain. He, on the other hand, seemed to have all the time in the world when he said to wait for you.

- It just... it didn't make sense. The direction we took. There was no trace, no sign that the redhead was there. And even so, Sam told me to look for it.

Paul was silent for a moment. Part of him just wanted to say that orders are orders. That Sam has his reasons. But there was something in his tone - something contained, which did not come from disobedience, but from a real discomfort.

- We don't always understand everything... but sometimes, just following is already what we can do.

- Do you really think so? To follow without questioning? - you asked, not in a provocative tone, but genuine.

Paul didn't answer right away. The loyalty to Sam was almost instinctive. The leader. The alpha. But you... you weren't driven by rebellion. It was something else. Something he still couldn't name.

- I trust Sam - he replied, firm. - I think he just... wanted to give you a lighter return - he said finally, carefully. - It was your first patrol after days of standing still. Maybe it was a way to protect you a little.

You turned your face to him, staring head-on. There was no irritation, just an honest doubt.

- And do you think I needed that?

He let out a low sigh. Not because you disagreed, but because it was complicated. The line between protecting and underestimating was sometimes too thin.

- I don't know. Maybe he thinks so. Sam has the habit of deciding what is best for everyone. He doesn't always get it right... but he's almost always trying.

Paul shrugged, as if he didn't want to turn it into a bigger issue than it was - but still respected what you were feeling.

- And, well... anyway, the dreads vampire didn't escape this. - He let out a half smile. - No wonning.

You let out a low sound, between a short laugh and a skeptical sigh.

- Yeah. I don't think so.

You stretched slowly, letting out a low murmur when you felt your shoulder muscle protest.

- What time is it?

Paul turned his face on the pillow, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

- Ideal time not to get up.

You let out a sound between laughter and tiredness, pulling the sheet up to your chin.

- I think my mother finishes packing everything today.

He was silent for a moment, as if considering something before speaking.

- She texted me yesterday - she said, without fussing. - She asked for help again.

You looked away for a moment, staring at the ceiling. It was strange to think that that chapter of your life was really coming to an end. Paul, in turn, just ran his hand slowly on his arm, the unhurried gesture, as if silence was also a form of response.

- She cares about you - he said, finally, with a low voice.

You nodded, almost imperceptibly.

- I know.

A moment extended between you two. No hurry, no tension. Only that kind of silence that comes when words are no longer urgent.

The soft beat interrupted the calm weather.

- Paul? - his sister's voice sounded outside. - Can I come in?

- Yes - you answered first, turning your head slightly in the direction of the door.

Paul let out a low sound, almost a grumble, and turned slowly until he was on his stomach, his face sunk in the pillow, one of his arms hanging out of bed. His hand began to slide lazily down his back, in a distracted caress. You leaned against the headboard yourself, your legs covered up to your waist by the light blanket, your body relaxed against the stacked pillows.

The door creached slightly when it opened, and his sister entered with calm steps, like someone who already knew the way even with her eyes closed. Without ceremony, she sat on the end of the bed, pulling her legs naturally, as if that were a place that never stopped belonging to her.

- I thought Paul had done something stupid, since you didn't show up here anymore - she said, looking between you two with a half smile.

You laughed, keeping your fingers in slow movement on his back.

- No, I was just in a hurry with my mother.

She nodded, as if she had waited exactly for this answer, and without wasting time, she went straight to the point:

- So... I wanted to know if you could help me with my birthday.

Paul grumbled again, as if the simple mention of that was too exhausting to be heard so soon.

- She's been filling me with this for days - he murmured, his voice dragged with sleep.

The girl rolled her eyes, but the gesture was more affectionate than impatient.

- Because you're useless with these things - he replied, throwing a brief look in his direction before turning his eyes to you. - But you have good taste. It's common sense. Different from him.

Paul muttered something unintelligible against the pillow, which only made you smile slightly.

- Of course, I'll help. Do you already have any idea?

She cheered up a little, as if she was just waiting for the green light.

- More or less - she said, pulling her legs up the bed naturally. - I wanted to do something simple, but not boring, you know? Only with those who really matter. I thought about doing it right here... if you're up for help me with things.

You smiled, tilting your head a little.

- I think I can handle it.

She smiled, excited by the idea.

- So it's okay. When I get back from school, can we arrange everything?

- Actually, I don't think I'll be here. My mother is going for good tomorrow morning.

She nodded slowly, the smile diminishing a little.

- Oh... I got it.

A brief silence settled, but it was not uncomfortable. It only said more than any long sentence.

- But tomorrow I'll be back - you said, trying to soften the weight. - I can come here in the late afternoon, if you want. We sit down and see everything.

- Agreed.

She got up, fixing her sweatshirt with a distracted gesture.

The rest of the day passed at a strange pace, between boxes being closed and doors being opened for the last time. You tried to help as you could, but the truth is that Paul ended up doing almost everything. He was the one who lifted the heavy furniture, organized the bigger things in the truck he parked in front of his house, who answered patiently when his mother asked for the fifth time where they had put something she lost.

When it got dark, the plan was simple: ready-made food, a movie that neither of them would watch properly and Oliver wringing himself between you on the couch until sleep came. And, as banal as it seemed, it was the kind of night you knew you would keep all.

Neither of you two said much afterward—you two didn't need to. Your mother leaned against you in silence, her fingers running slowly through the sleeping cat's hair, her eyes almost closed. You stood there motionless, feeling the time pass in small waves.

She would leave early, even before the day really started. She didn't want anyone to accompany her. “Better this way,” she said with a half smile, trying to look practical — as if she didn't want to weigh, as if it were no big deal.

The next morning, you helped fit the last blanket in the back seat of her car. Her hands carefully passed through the corners, fixing everything with silent precision, as if that gesture was the last way to take care of something in that place.

When she closed the door, the keys tinked softly. The sound sounded too loud in the still air.

- Take it easy on the road - you said. Something that preceded her last sentence to you.

The look lingering a little longer on your face. One of those looks that don't have a right phrase to fit them. Her hand touched yours, warm despite the cold morning wind.

- You'll be fine - she said, but she seemed to be telling herself too.

You just smiled lightly, swallowing the tight knot of your throat.

The sky was still a pale and bluish stripe when the car began to move away, the tires making a subtle sound over the still damp street of the serene. You stood on the balcony, motionless, watching the car around the corner and disappear.

And even after that, you continued there. It was like a kind of respectful emptiness, the kind that comes when someone really leaves.

You didn't go back inside.

You sat on the steps of the balcony, hugging your knees, feeling the cold morning air slowly reach the exposed skin. Oliver came to you in silence, tangling up next to you. His smell was familiar, almost like the one in the house. Maybe more.

You didn't cry. But you weren't breathing properly, either.

The sun was slow to come out completely, as if it was ashamed to start the day.

When he finally got up, it was for lack of option.

_________________________________

A few days had passed since his mother's departure, and although the silence of the house still sounded strange, there was something comforting about having voices and movement back there. That's why, when the idea of having Lexie's party there came up - and you offered it yourself - no one was surprised. It was a practical solution, of course. More space, a larger kitchen, a room that accommodated more people. But deep down, you knew you wanted to fill that void that had spread around the corners of the house since your mother left.

It was late afternoon when you arrived. The cloudy sky seemed suspended, as if the weather was holding its breath for a moment. You rushed in, already knowing that you were late - the patrol had been extended longer than expected, and there were still things to fix and you needed to get ready yourself minimally.

Kim was in the center of the room, frowning while trying to attach a silver band to the wall. "Happy Birthday, Lexie" trembled between his fingers, and Jared held the other end, visibly impatient.

- Finally! - Jared exclaimed as soon as he saw you coming in with the bags. - I thought it was going to become part of the decoration.

- Sam is already waiting - you replied, dropping the bags on the bench.

Jared didn't expect anything else. He let go of the band with an almost theatrical relief, kissed Kim's cheek and disappeared out the door as if he were running away from a fire.

- Fearful - Kim murmured, getting off the chair with the tape still in her hand. - But anyway, you've arrived. Thank goodness, a thousand things are missing. Emily called and said that the cake is ready, but we still have to set the table, put the drinks, hide the adult ones, clean the bathroom and... - she stopped, looking at you more closely. - Are you okay?

You nodded with a slight smile, even though the exhaustion was hard to hide.

- I'm fine. Just tired. Pulled patrol.

Kim let out an understanding sound, taking one of the bags to help you.

- Sam is getting heavy with you, right? Jared commented that you've barely been sleeping.

- Only when you can. And when I can, I sleep like a rock.

- And yet she decides to have a party - she said, laughing and shaking her head.

You shrugged, starting to stack the sodas on the counter.

- The house was too quiet. And Lexie was excited. Just... it grew up more than I imagined.

Kim looked at you with a little smile.

- Maybe you need to put "don't overtake" banners on the stairs.

You laughed.

- I wouldn't doubt it.

There was a brief moment of silence, comfortable. You finished separating the drinks, leaving the alcohol ones more hidden in the lower cupboard, while Kim looked for glasses.

- She invited a lot of people - you commented then, casually. - A boy from her school will come... She likes him.

Kim raised her eyebrows, interested.

- Really? I thought she was one of those who only rolled their eyes when someone talks about dating.

- Yeah, it usually is. But I think this one she wants to impress - you said, with a corner smile. - And asked with all the letters not to tell Paul anything.

Kim laughed low.

- The famous look of an older brother.

You nodded, taking the glasses and starting to set the table. The environment was full, even too much - the kitchen, the living room, the backyard, everything began to take shape like one of those parties that no one plans big, but that ends up gathering half the city.

The following hours passed at an almost chaotic pace - people coming in and out, music being exchanged, someone always looking for an outlet to turn on something. In a short time, his house had become a perfect mix between real party and last-minute teenage improvisation: lights hanging from the ceiling and windows, hitting softly against the walls; lively music echoing through the rooms; smell of pizza mixed with the cake candy and some freshly sprayed perfume.

There were cushions on the floor, colorful glasses everywhere and a constant coming and going of teenagers laughing out loud, trying to look more adult than they were. In the kitchen, some drinks had already mysteriously disappeared from the top shelf, which made you sigh with a half smile - Nothing you didn't expect anymore.

Upstairs, his room had turned into an improvised dressing room. Lexie and her best friend occupied every corner with makeup, brushes and small pieces of contained anxiety.

You hadn't promised just the house. Somehow, she had also promised the hair, makeup and calmness that Lexie tried to maintain from an early age. And even if it was exhausting, you were there - fulfilling what you had said, making sure that everything went the way she imagined.

- Okay, I'm freaking out - Lexie said suddenly, facing the mirror. - Like, not really, but almost. I shouldn't have called him.

You held a loose strand of her hair with a clip, without stopping.

- Lex, breathe. You look beautiful. Everything will be fine.

- But what if he doesn't even talk to me? What if he just... stay there? - She turned on her heels, her eyes wide. - I should have canceled. Is there still time?

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms.

- Can you calm down?

Lexie snorted, walking from one side of the room to the other, clearly on the border between anxiety and collapse.

- That was a terrible idea. I'm an idiot.

- No. You are a fifteen-year-old girl who invited the boy you love to your party. It's like... the basic plot of any teenage life.

She laughed nervously, shaking her hands.

- And you won't even be with me! It will be down there, I don't know, with Paul, as always... - She said rolling her eyes and you didn't avoid a laugh.

- I'm here now. And, if you need, I'll run away to save you, I promise.

The door opened without ceremony, interrupting the teenage despair at the exact moment when Lexie almost dropped the toiletry bag on the bed.

Paul entered the room with the expression of someone who was not in a hurry - which, considering the generalized chaos of the house, was already saying a lot.

- There's a boy downstairs asking about you. The one in the blue sweatshirt - Paul said as he entered, leaning on the door with that way too direct to be neutral.

Lexie froze for half a second.

- My God, already?

She got up so fast that the brush almost fell off her lap.

- I'm not ready! Where are my white sneakers?

The two ran towards the closet, the door getting ajar while you bent down to gather some makeup from the desk.

That's when Paul approached. Silent, like someone who doesn't want to interrupt, but also has no intention of leaving.

- Will you still take long? - he asked, in a tone that seemed innocent, but the look left no doubt.

You raised your face, and he was already closer than he should. His eyes passed over his face, the corner of his mouth, and then landed on yours. There was something else there - something that was not only in the last weeks without contact, but in the way he saw you now. As if he missed what was only him.

- I'm almost ready - you replied, the voice too flawed to convince anyone.

- Almost? - He smiled and took another step, his hands going straight to his waist. The touch was slow, firm, as if it was remembering the way.

You stayed where you were, your heart beating in your chest with a silent urgency. He leaned his forehead against yours, his fingers walking through the curve of his waist until they met the bare skin of his rib, just a quick touch - enough to make you hold your breath.

- I missed that - he said, and his lips touched his slowly, in a mixture of calm and need.

The kiss was intimate, hot, a little more than it should, considering the open closet and two teenagers a few meters away.

You answered with equal intensity, but it was you who put your hand on his chest, slowly, moving away enough to face his gaze.

- They'll come back - you said, trying to sound firm, but it didn't seem like much.

Paul gave a half smile, and as if you had predicted, Lexie came out of the closet with her friend, carrying a pair of sneakers and a crossed comment:

- Oh, you two could at least try to wait for people to leave the room, right?

You let out a clumsy laugh, fixing your hair. Her friend just looked away, bushing.

Lexie put on her sneakers in a hurry and was already heading to the door when she stopped and turned around.

- Paul, are you coming?

He raised his eyebrows, as if considering the idea for a second.

- I think I'll stay. Your hostess needs help to change.

Lexie rolled her eyes so hard that she almost turned inside out.

You laughed, pushed his shoulder with your hand and went to the door.

- Yes, he will, Lexie.

- I'm going, I'm going - Paul replied, raising his hands like someone who surrendered, but the smile on the corner of his mouth revealed that he still had plans.

When he passed by you, he paused briefly, just enough to lean over and steal another kiss - fast, but cheeky. A hot snat against your mouth, more to provoke than anything else.

Lexie let out a sound of pure disgust from the bottom of the corridor.

- Argh, you're disgusting!

- That's why we do it - Paul replied, already walking after the two girls, clearly satisfied with the reaction.

You just shook your head, laughing, and closed the door slowly, with your breathing a little lighter.

On the one hand, you needed to thank Lexie for dragging her brother with you. Why, honestly? If he had stayed there for another second... you weren't so sure they would have been fast enough to arrive in time to see her blow out the candles on the cake.

But alone, you managed to be fast. In a few minutes, I was already downstairs.

That's when Kim appeared in her field of vision, with her eyes slightly wide and the expression of someone who saw something wrong.

- The drink is gone - she said directly, without preamble.

- What drink?

- The drink. The one you left separate for us. It's simply... missing.

You blinked, absorbing the information, while the first chords of some pop song exploded from the speakers.

- Really?

- Seriously. I went to look to get a glass and... nothing. Only the soda and that flavored water that no one wants remained.

You sighed, crossing your arms.

- And do you think they were...?

- Teenagers? Probably. But how did they find it? I hid it with you!

- Kim, we hid it behind empty pizza boxes. They're 14 years old, they're not that innocent. - You gave a corner smile, giving a dramatic pause. - But if you really need it, there are some bottles in the trunk of my car.

Her eyes shone with surprise.

- You think of everything!

That's when Lexie appeared out of nowhere, pulling her arm with energy.

- Come on, you have to meet the guys!

You were pulled by Lexie to the middle of the group, a lively circle of teenagers who laugh out loud. You tried to pay attention to the names, but everything seemed to spin too fast to memorize - it was a cacophony of voices, songs and laughter that made you a little dizzy.

While Lexie was talking excitedly with one of her friends, a boy with messy hair and a shy smile turned to you, his eyes shining with that clumsy curiosity.

- So, do you have a boyfriend? - he asked, a little disconcerted, as if he was trying to be kind.

Before you could answer, Lexie shot, without wasting time:

- She's dating my brother, you idiot.

The boy blinked, a little awkwardly, and another, who seemed even more relaxed, took the opportunity to comment:

- Wow, Paul is lucky, huh?

You almost choked on the comment, the dubious tone resoning too strange for your taste. She looked at Lexie, confused, and asked:

- Where do you know these guys from?

- Oh, you're not going to be Paul's now, are you? - Lexie replied with a light tone and you just accepted.

You let out a muffled laugh, raising your hands in a surrendered gesture.

- All right - he murmured, without great conviction.

Still, it was not your mission to become the party inspector. So you sighed, murmured something to Lexie and walked away from the wheel, sneaking among the teenagers who were already dancing and laughing in the room - some in choreographed steps, others just jumping to the rhythm of the music.

He crossed the corridor to the kitchen, where he found Paul leaning against the counter, covering a box with some of the bottles that Kim probably took from the trunk of his car.

You approached with a half smile and an arched eyebrow.

- So that's it? Have you become the drink security guard now?

Paul gave a short giggle, but didn't answer right away. He just looked at you - that kind of serious, kind of fun way - and when you stopped in front of him, his hands met your hip almost as if they already knew the way. A light, carefree touch, but firm enough to make you aware that he was there. Very there.

- Someone needs to keep order, right? - he said, his voice low, almost hoarse. - Especially when there are people hiding drinks in the trunk.

You laughed, trying to keep the tone light, but your breathing had already changed a little.

The party continued on the other side of the door - screams, hurried steps, loud music. But there, between you two, there was a silent bubble just the two of you.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, kind of without thinking, and let out a short sigh.

- I'm tired - she murmured, without moving away.

Paul passed one of his hands down his back, slowly, as if he were drawing invisible circles.

- Do you want to get away from here? - he asked, almost in a joking tone. But only almost.

- Yes, as soon as possible - you answer, laughing lightly against the skin of his neck.

The laughter turned into a sigh, and for a moment the two stayed there, in the corner of the kitchen, as if the party had given a break just for you. But it was just an impression - because the house was pulsating with life outside. Loud music, too many people, laughter echoing down the corridor. Everything working in "excited teenager" mode.

And then, the reality of the party hit back.

The light in the corridor was flashing, someone was shouting "be careful!" There from the backyard, and you heard your own name being called from three different places. In the time it took to cross the room, you found a glass of soda abandoned on the floor, saw a group reorganizing the speaker playlist and noticed that someone had already stuck a "truth or dare" post-it on the wall.

Classic.

Congratulations came like a buoy in the sea of chaos. Someone shouted that it was time, and soon the whole room gathered, pushing furniture and lighting candles. Lexie appeared in the middle of the mess like the star of the night - nervous, but radiant, with a sparkle in her eyes that you recognized.

The cake was already positioned, the candles lit, some cameras ready to register. You barely remembered which part of the song you were in when you started singing, and worse: there were so many people who no longer had any idea who was Lexie's guest, friend of her friend or some lost neighbor.

Kim appeared out of nowhere with a paper crown on her head and offered you a glass of something unidentified.

- You totally lost control of the party, you know? - she said, smiling as if it were a compliment.

- And I had control at some point? - You raised the glass and toasted her.

The rest of the party passed like a blur, and at that time the room was at another stage of the night: that of the early emotional hangover. The guests had already left - well, not all of them. Lexie's friends seemed to have made a silent pact to turn her house into unofficial accommodation. Backpacks appeared on the floor like mushrooms. Pillows, blankets, sleeping bags... one of them crossed the corridor dragging a mat, another asked you if you could use the upstairs bathroom, and a third... was wearing her robe. Yours. Preferred.

- I don't remember Lexie mentioning that they would sleep here. - You commented, while stacking empty glasses next to Kim, in the kitchen.

- Because she didn't mention it. - Kim replied, shrugging her shoulders. - I found out when I saw a girl with a toothbrush in her hand.

You laughed low, already accepting the chaos.

That's when Paul appeared, coming from the corridor as if he was finishing a patrol.

- I checked the rooms and bathrooms, without teenagers clinging to each other or feeling sick. - he said, leaning against the door frame with an arched eyebrow, his gaze fixed on you.

- At the moment, yes. But we still don't know what the morning will be like.

Kim appeared right behind you with a bottle of tequila and three glasses.

- Anyway, I think now is the time for adults to have fun. - She said with that smile of someone who was about to make bad decisions.

- You know this doesn't work for me. - You let me know.

- Oh, what is it? Don't be boring. - Kim replied, already filling the cups with exaggerated care, as if they were in a sacred ritual.

Paul let out a hoarse laugh and gave you a biased look, one of those that seemed to say "just join the joke". When Kim finished filling the cups and raised hers to toast, Paul did something unexpected: he took her glass from her hand.

- Hey! - Kim widened her eyes. - That's mine! I can fill another one if you want.

- You're not going to drink - Paul said with all the calmness in the world, while putting his arm around your waist. - There will be about fifteen teenagers sleeping here... it doesn't seem wise for you to be drunk.

- What? - Kim asked, a little confused and slightly offended.

Paul pulled you closer, with that lazy half smile that made everything worse - or rather, depending on the perspective.

- Both of us. - He looked at you. - We're leaving in a little while.

- Although? And me? - Kim protested, blinking in false shock.

You exchanged a quick look with Paul, still smiling from your comment half playful, half sincere.

- How romantic - you said, with a hint of mockery, but the truth is that you liked the way he took care of things.

Kim, who was next to her, chuckled, but rolled her eyes and soon walked away.

That's when Lexie's friend showed up, you recognized her, she still wore some of your accessories that you lent her. She came slowly, a little shy, her gaze oscillated nervously between you and Paul, but it always took a second more in him - as if she were seeing someone out of a movie.

She fixed her blouse unnecessarily, ran her hand through her hair and then stopped in front of you two with an expression of someone who was trying to look natural... and failing.

- Hi... so... Lexie asked you to go to the bathroom - she said, her eyes fixed on Paul's face, even if the phrase was clearly for you. - But... like, just you.

Her voice was low, with that typical intonation of someone who still doesn't know exactly how to dose nervousness - almost sweet, almost studied. She bit the corner of her lip and, for a second, looked at her feet, as if she was trying to remember what came next.

Paul raised an eyebrow, looking first at you, then at the girl.

- Is everything okay with her?

- Okay, yes - she answered quickly, and for the first time she really looked into your eyes, as if she remembered that you were there too. - It's just that... I don't know, she said it's a matter of girls.

- All right. I see. - you said, offering a little smile and walking away... only then realizing that the girl didn't follow you. She stood there, static, as if she had completely forgotten the "mission" that she herself tasked to deliver.

When you disappeared in the hallway, she turned to Paul with a posture that tried to imitate some maturity, but that could not hide the teenage glow in her eyes.

- I like your hair like this... kind of messy - she commented out of nowhere, with a meeke voice, almost rehearsed, as if she had repeated the phrase a thousand times in front of the mirror.

Paul, who was distracted by putting some empty glasses in a box, raised an eyebrow and replied in a neutral tone:

- Oh, thanks.

Uncomfortary silence.

She took a step closer, but didn't dare to touch anything - neither in him nor in the glasses.

- Lexie talks a lot about you, like... really a lot. I think it's so cool that you two get along.

- Yeah, she's my sister - he said. His tone was still gentle, but Paul was clearly trying to keep the line between polite and "please go away".

- I also have a brother, but he's not handsome... I mean, cool like that - she stumbled on the words, her face blushing instantly.

Paul only smiled lightly, clearly trying not to laugh. She bit her lip again, this time with real shame. And before he could continue, he turned around a little, like someone who suddenly remembered something:

- I think I'll see where she went - he said, already starting to leave.

Meanwhile, you went up the stairs and opened the door to your room. Inside, there was no sign of crisis in the bathroom, much less urgency.

- Lexie?

She raised her head from the middle of a circle of girls sitting on the bedroom floor, with magazines and gifts everywhere.

- Hi? - he said, as if nothing had happened.

- Are you okay?

She frowned. - I am. Why?

- Your friend told me that you needed me in the bathroom.

Lexie snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes with pleasure.

- Oh, my God... she must have only invented this to be close to Paul. She has been in love with him since she was 9 years old. You think he looks like a movie character... or something like that.

You laughed, but soon made a kind of indignant sound.

- What Judas. I made her un.

- I warned you that she was too excited - Lexie replied, still laughing.

You found him exactly where you didn't expect it - in the middle of the stairs, sitting sideways on one of the steps, with his elbows resting on his knees and his gaze lost for an instant. He seemed relaxed, but attentive, as if he had stayed there just waiting for you to pass. When he saw you, he raised his eyes with that half quiet smile, almost lazy, as if he already knew the answer to the question that came next:

- Is Lexie okay?

You nodded with a slight sigh, going down the last steps more slowly, finally feeling the body begin to accuse the tiredness of the night.

- She was in my room with the others. She didn't even go near the bathroom. - You stopped next to him, leaning your shoulder against the wall while crossing her arms. - When I asked what had happened, she just laughed, rolled her eyes, and said that probably her friend just wanted a reason to talk to you.

He let out a short laugh.

- I should have been suspicious.

- And I should have let her do her own hair. - you said, making a fake face. - And used her own lipstick.

He laughed again, softly, and got up from the step. It was close. Not only in distance, but in that kind of comfortable silence that existed between you.

His hand reached yours, without haste. A natural gesture. He didn't say anything, neither did you. You approached the front door and the house was still full of muffled voices and hurried steps, but outside the night was something else - quieter, cooler.

He unlocked the car with a click and opened the passenger door for you. You entered without saying anything, and he turned around, taking the wheel with that relaxed way, as if that escape was already planned since the beginning of the night.

The radio was off. No music filled the car, and even so the silence seemed full. It was the sound of the road under the tires, of the wind hitting the windows, of the engine at a constant pace.

You had your head resting on his shoulder. He drove with one hand, the other resting on his leg. The fingers beating slowly, impatient. Not with the traffic, even because there wasn't - with you, maybe.

You noticed. Not immediately, but he felt the way his touch changed. The drumming stopped and a soft pressure began.

That's when you started.

His hand moved subtly to his arm. First a light caress, almost unintentionally. But there was nothing accidental there. His fingers followed the line of the forearm muscle, rising towards the biceps with a purposeful slowness.

You knew he could feel it. More than feeling - realizing. Because it wasn't just his nerve endings answering, it was the instincts. The smell of your skin, of your intention, of your will stamped.

At each gear change, Paul began to rest his hand on his thigh. First fast, as if you didn't think about the gesture. But then... then he took a long time. The fingers settled in the soft space of his skin, and even when they got back behind the wheel, they left the heat behind.

You didn't say anything. Not even him. It was as if the silence was a thread stretched between the two of you - any word could break it and make everything collapse.

The air inside the car has changed. You felt the tension in his jaw, the firmer breathing, the thumb lightly pressing on his thigh - a small gesture, but one that seemed to ignite everything around.

And even so, he kept driving.

As if trying to keep control. As if he wanted to get to the destination. But you could see in his eyes, when he dared to raise his face for a moment and face his profile under the dim light of the street: he was losing.

You smiled, small, almost imperceptible.

- Are you in a hurry to arrive? - he asked, his voice too low, as if it wasn't to provoke, but it was.

Paul didn't answer right away. His eyes fixed on the road, his fingers squeezing his leg, as if it could help him maintain concentration.

- I'm trying not to stop the car. - he finally answered, his voice hoarse, slow.

You bit your lip, leaning your head back on his shoulder.

- I wouldn't think it's bad.

You said like someone who comments on the weather, but the phrase fell into the air with the exact weight of what it meant. Paul squeezed the steering wheel harder, as if the leather was the only link between him and self-control.

His breathing has changed. Not much - but it changed. You felt it.

The road was deserted, but he still didn't stop. His hand, until then firm on his leg, slipped a little higher, his fingers pressing slowly, as if testing limits.

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the heat that began to accumulate there - under the skin, between the ribs, on the back of your neck. Everything in him was hot. The touch. The presence. The wait.

And then, the car started to slow down. It wasn't the way to his house - you knew that. You knew exactly where he intended to go. But it seemed that in the middle of the empty road, his self-control stumbled.

The first entrance appeared out of nowhere - a half-hidden curve, surrounded by trees, with an old sign pointing towards the beach.

He turned the steering wheel without saying a word.

You recognized the sound of tires on the dirt road. The sky there seemed more open, and the sound of the sea - muffled, distant - began to reach you. The parking lot was completely empty. No light, no car. Just you and the discreet sound of the waves. Paul parked in the darkest corner, turning off the engine.

The dashboard light went out, immersing the car in a silent pitch, broken only by the muffled sound of the sea and the breathing of both of you.

You were still with your face close to his, your body in suspended tension, the blood running under your skin as if you wanted to leave. His eyes met his - dark, dense, almost wild.

And then you said, with a low voice, almost in a whisper, as if it were just another provocation among so many:

- I thought we were going to your house.

It was a shot. A challenge he wouldn't ignore.

Paul turned his face to you once and for all, his eyes lingering on yours as if he couldn't believe that you still dared to play with fire like that. His jaw locked, as if he was holding something that came from inside, and his hand - which was still on his leg - squeezed more firmly.

- You have no idea what you're doing - he murmured, his voice hoarse, low, tearing the silence between you.

But you did. You knew exactly.

His hand slid from his leg, slowly going up the knee, while his body instinctively curved in his direction. His eyes sought his, challenging, playing with that thin line between control and desire.

Paul took a deep breath, slowly, as if trying to hold what was coming inside. Then, in a gentle movement, he slid his hand from your leg to your waist, pulling you slightly closer.

You answered by tilting your body even more, your lips approaching his, but before the kisses happened, he whispered:

- Do you want to go to the back seat?

His answer was a slow smile, full of ulterior motives. You didn't answer, you just walked away slowly as he got out of the car and entered through the back door.

Paul opened the back door with a quick, almost urgent gesture. You settled down slowly, passing over the front seat, you felt the immediate chill when the skin of your leg touched the cold leather. Outside, the sound of the sea was still constant, distant. Inside, there were only you two - and the dense silence of what was about to happen.

He closed the door with a dry, muffled thunt. When you turned around and your eyes met, there was no more doubt. The air between you was made of electrical voltage. You leaned over, your gaze going down to his lips, and then yours met his.

The kiss came hard - but not brutal. I was hungry. Hot. Long. His answer was immediate, as if he had been holding it for days, weeks, maybe forever. His hands pushed the jacket he was wearing, feeling the muscles hidden by the thin shirt. He let his jacket slip down his arms, without ever interrupting the kiss, and his hands found his waist under his blouse, his fingers spreading heat through his skin as if they were mapping every inch.

You leaned on the bench, your body glued to his, feeling the weight of his presence as something that crossed the fabric of the clothes. He held you more firmly, and the moment you tried to climb on his lap, Paul reversed the roles with an agile but gentle gesture. A light, precise push, and you felt your back touch the bench again.

He leaned over you, his eyes on yours for a second - Just to make sure you still wanted that as much as he did. He wanted to. . Every inch of yours said that.

Her legs instinctively opened just to accommodate him, the skirt going up more in the process, exposing the sensitive skin to his touch. His kisses went down to his neck, slow at first, then deeper, as if he was marking the way. One of his hands went up the side of her thigh, firm, slow.

The back seat seemed smaller at that moment - or maybe it was the time away, the absence that made the body of you two seem to need more space, more touch, more urgency.

- I missed that so much. - he murmured against his mouth, with that hoarseness that seemed to come from somewhere deeper.

You smiled small, almost debauched, before pulling him back.

The kiss came intense, deeper, loaded with everything that was dammed in the distant days. His mouth molded to his with familiarity, but the rush was new - as if they were running to make up for lost time.

You tried to reach him better, resting your arms behind you on the bench while leaning forward, looking for more - but Paul was still partially on you, maintaining the position of someone who dominated that space with his own body.

His hand went up under his shirt, his fingers meeting the warmth of the skin. He felt the muscles contract under his touch, and the sound that escaped from his throat made you smile against the kiss.

The back seat was too narrow for everything you felt. His body was tilted back, resting on one of his arms, while his legs sought to settle in the little space. One of them rested partially on the bench, bent on the knee; the other, he held firmly by the thigh, his fingers pressing his skin with a contained possessiveness - as if that kept him in place, as if keeping you there was what mattered.

That's when you felt his hand rise more - and more - until his skirt accumulated at the waist, wrinkled and forgotten, leaving your lingerie exposed to his touch. The fingers pressed the soft flesh of his ass with a silent certainty, as if he was just taking back what was his.

You broke the kiss with a subtle movement, your eyes still closed, your face too close to his. A sigh escaped from your lips, heavy, as if everything you couldn't say was there. He smiled lightly, the kind of smile that forms effortlessly, just because seeing you like this - surrendered, hot, with your thigh muscles still tense against his - was too good to hide.

Paul lowered his eyes. The curve of his body there, so close and so close to him, was almost a curse. He could swear that you looked prettier at every angle, but that... that was a problem.

With the back of his fingers, he slid slowly over the thin fabric of his lingerie, exactly where you wanted him. The touch was a whispered promise, a measured torture. He tried to hold back - not because he didn't want to, but because he wanted to too much.

And you too.

Paul could see this in his body arching discreetly against his hand, in the way his hip sought his touch without having to ask.

- Paul... - you whispered, your voice scratched, urgent, so close that he felt more than he heard. - Just, please... stop torturing me.

His laugh was low, muffled against his skin. It wasn't mockery - it was surrender. As if the mere fact of hearing you ask like that was already his victory.

He looked up slowly. His eyes were argaid, dizzy, as if the air of the car was made only of his. His lips were still half-open from the kiss, red, asking for more without sound. And he thought, for a very brief second, how could he deny you anything like that?

His fingers sliding under the thin fabric was like going through the gate of heaven for you. Your lips let out a short, loaded moan - letting out all the lack of it that you had swallowed in silence in the last few days.

Paul closed his eyes for a second, as if the sound had hit something in the center of his chest. As if it were more than desire.

His fingers failed to explore cautiously at some point, exploring the known path without difficulty.

His hip reacted before his consciousness, seeking more of him, asking without words. His eyes slowly rose to yours, and the way he looked at you... as if he were seeing something sacred.

The movements were precise, but suddenly they were slow. He knew exactly what he was doing, where to play. And what provoked in you. His head fell back, his breath short and choppy, mixed with muffled moans. You felt the body respond as if it was lighting up from the inside out, coming from the bottom of your belly.

When he raised his face again and kissed him, it was urgent. Letting him swallow every sound that escaped from his lips. Paul kissed you back with that known strength, one hand firm on your waist, the other still sliding between your folds.

But it still wasn't enough.

You moved his hand away from where you most wanted and moved firmly, climbing on his lap without asking permission.

The thighs fit on each side of his hip, the skirt going up together, leaving only heat between you. The narrow back seat only increased the tension. His body under yours, warm, firm, called you as if you were home.

Paul's look got darker, more intense. The hands went straight to your waist, squeezing hard, guiding you closer as if you couldn't stand any more centimeters of distance. His chin brushed hers for a second, his breath hot on her neck.

You leaned slowly, while your fingers began to work accurately between the two. The button of his pants gave way with a slight click, the zipper went down soon after. The almost imperceptible sound in that thick silence, but enough to make it catch the air.

Paul growled low, as if it was moving with something primal in him. His hands slid down his back, slowly climbing under his blouse, exploring every curve.

You stared at him for a brief second. His eyes were cloudy, stuck in theirs as if the world was restricted to that car, to that moment. One of your hands landed on his chest, firm, and you felt his heart beat hard.

- You're killing me - he said, in a low whisper, almost like a confession.

You smiled lightly, with your heart racing.

His hip moved by reflex under you, as if his words had crossed the skin directly. Paul's hand went down his thigh to the curve of his ass, pulling you against him with a firm, rough pull, and the air escaped from his lips in a muffled moan.

The contact between you was hot, wet, desperate. You felt the volume of him pressing between his legs, still covered by the last barriers, and his hips sought more.

Paul tilted his head, his mouth meeting his neck with wet and choppy kisses. The teeth brushed your skin, light, and you squirmed on his lap, feeling his hands squeeze hard as if trying to hold you there, prevent you from moving away. You moved away, just enough to lower your hand again, precisely pushing away any fabric that separated you two.

The sigh that escaped him when you touched him was almost a moan, and his hands squeezed a little on your skin.

His eyes met for a moment. Just a second. But enough for him to see - you weren't joking.

You wanted him so much... And you wanted to show that.

You passed your hand there as he had done with you - slowly, provoking, almost in circles, the fingertips pressing just enough to make him close his eyes for a moment and hold the air in his lungs.

- Fuck - he let go, almost in a low grunt, his eyes closed for a second.

You smiled, your lips almost touching his neck.

His hands squeezed her waist harder, almost like a warning. Almost like a request for you to stop, before he totally lost control.

But you didn't stop.

That's why, the next moment, Paul took his hands to the bar of his blouse, his fingers firm - and, this time, without hesitation. He pulled her up with a quick gesture, his eyes going down every inch exposed as if he were rediscovering you.

The kiss that came after was urgent, without ceremony, full of everything you couldn't say in the last few days. You felt when he regained control - the way he pulled you firmly, how he pushed your hand away with a certain hurry, almost desperate to take back what, for days, he missed.

You smiled in the middle of the kiss. A small smile, but full of understanding - he was still Paul who made you lose your breath just by touching. The same one who now impatiently moved away the thin fabric of her lingerie, finally fitting between her thighs. You lifted your body instinctively, guiding the movement, helping as if you were waiting exactly for this moment.

But when he sank his face into the curve of your neck and their bodies really met, you had to break the kiss.

His head fell back, his lips parted, his eyes closing in an immediate reflection. A hoarse moan escaped from his throat, and Paul held the sound against his skin, his fingers marking his waist as if he wanted to hold everything at the same time - the moment, you, the control he was about to lose.

He held you as if you were all he needed to keep around. As if letting go of your hands from your waist was too dangerous - for him, for you, for what they were building there, between gasps and hot skin.

His hips moved at the pace he guided, without resistance. His body seemed to mold to his, the muscles shaking slightly with each impulse. You seemed to fall apart in his hands - your fingers pressing your waist, then sliding down your back, thighs, moving you with precision. As if you were light. As if it were his.

And it was. Especially there, at that moment, you were only his.

Paul watched you between kisses and gasps, his forehead glued to his, his eyes half-closed. He didn't speak - he seemed speechless. The jaw contracted, the eyebrows furrowed as if fighting against his own body. Every reaction of his seemed to ignite something inside him. The sound of his breathing, the muffled moans in the corner of his mouth, the way his fingers grabbed his shoulders without asking permission... he felt everything.

I felt too much.

With each movement, you got hotter, more surrendered. His head fell back again, and he took advantage of the space to kiss your throat, mark you with his mouth, feel you pulsate against him. You were a living doll on your lap, but one who also drove - with your nails on his skin, with your hip that insisted on responding with hunger and precision.

You moved against him as if you knew exactly what he needed. Paul held you tighter now, trying to contain himself. His eyes wouldn't leave you, as if he was trying to record every second, every breath, every curve of yours in the dark of the car.

You let out a low laugh, interrupted by your own breath. He rested one of his hands on the blurry glass on his side, the other still stuck in his shoulder.

- Paul... - you moaned his name between your teeth, almost out of control, your eyes squeezing. Just that name, but said that way, with his voice stunned with pleasure, seemed to make him lose the little he still held.

He pulled you more firmly against his body, the movements now more intense, more precise. You felt floating, as if your body no longer obeyed - just react. His legs trembled around him, his whole body throbbed, and each thrust seemed to push you closer to what you had been waiting for since the moment he saw him again.

It was urgent, raw, but there was affection in the details. How he passed his hand behind your back when you arched your body. How he kissed her shoulder between the moans. How you leaned your forehead against his and whispered his name like a prayer.

Every time you felt him deeper, more right, your breath choked and your eyes tightened. Everything burned. Everything was too hot.

Paul brushed his mouth on his collarbone, his breath as out of step as yours. You whispered his name again - and that was it.

His body became more tense, firmer against yours. His, in response, trembled as if he were on the verge of an inevitable collapse. It was like being dragged by a wave that you didn't want to let go. And then... came. A hot relief, the explosion that took over every muscle, every cell, every part of it.

You fell against him soon after, your chest rising and falling with effort, your heart beating as if you wanted to leave your chest. He held you there, still whole around you, his face hidden in your neck, his body still in shock.

Just the two of them breathing together.

His fingers slid slowly down his spine, as if trying to calm something that was still pulsating.

You left a last lazy kiss on the corner of his mouth before moving away, with the slow movements, still a little stunned. His body seemed made of another matter - lighter, warmer, more alive.

He slowly left his lap, feeling his muscles still react to the touch that had barely finished. He leaned carefully on the bench, pulling the skirt back to his thighs and fixing the fallen blouse with distracted fingers. Paul did the same with his pants, his eyes still down, his chest rising and falling at a slow pace.

But before you could even think about organizing your hair, he stretched his arm and pulled you again, sideways, fitting you against his chest with an easy, instinctive movement. One of the arms wrapped around his waist, and the other slowly went up his back, until it rested between his shoulders.

- Come here - he murmured, almost in a hoarse laugh, his lips brushing the top of his head.

You released the air in a satisfied sigh, your face hidden in the curve of his neck. His breath was still warm against his skin, but now it was calm, comfortable.

There, in the tight bench, full of each other, it was almost easy to forget the rest of the world. Just the sound of the sea outside, the slightly foggy window, the smell of his skin and the silence full of everything that didn't need to be said.

You stayed there for a few more minutes, breathing together in the back seat, your bodies still hot, relaxing slowly as if the silence was also part of what you had just shared. He still kept his arm around your waist, his fingers tracing slow circles on your skin, and you with your head against his chest, listening to the calm sound of the heart.

- We should go - you murmured after a while, almost not wanting to leave there.

Paul let out a light sigh, as if he didn't want to either. But he didn't say anything. He just touched his face with his fingertips, his eyes still half-closed with tiredness and contentment. And after another long kiss, you moved slowly, returning to the front seats.

The engine turned on again. The lighthouse cut the gloom of the beach, illuminating the traces of the empty road as he drove. The city was still asleep, but the sky was already starting to clear in a shy blue behind the clouds. On the radio, some song played softly, as if respecting the silence of you two.

Paul kept one of his hands on your leg all the way, as if he needed to make sure you were still there. And you smiled, looking at him in the corner of your eye, feeling that kind of tranquility that only comes after good chaos - the chaos he was for you.

You two came home when the sun was still just a promise in the sky. The house was quiet, the facade illuminated by the low light of the pole. You got out of the car in no hurry, walking side by side. He intertwined his fingers in his, and this time there was no tension, no hesitation.

Inside the house, everything was still as before. The dim street light barely crossed the windows, but it was enough to reveal the improvised mattresses, the glasses forgotten on the table, a paused playlist on the TV screen. The smell of balloons, soda and teenage perfume still hovered in the air.

You entered on tiptoe, taking off your heels even before opening the door. Paul laughed softly when he saw you trying to balance a shoe in each hand. But in the dark, the inevitable happened - his bare foot stepped on a forgotten plastic cup on the carpet. The low snap echoed through the silent room, and one of the girls turned on the couch with a sleepy grumble, but soon went back to sleep. Kim was there too, sleeping deeply on her side, hugging a pillow. Jared... still no sign of him.

You climbed the stairs carefully, deviating from the steps that creaked. Your mother's room had the door ajar, the bed sheet stretched out as if no one had touched it for days. Entering there brought a different silence. A kind of silence that carried presence. You hesitated for a second at the door, as if you expected to hear something - maybe the familiar sound of the low TV, or the radio that she liked to leave on.

Your eyes are sweeping the familiar room. You didn't smell her anymore, but you still had the memory.

You lay down slowly. They didn't talk much, they didn't get rid of the uncomfortable clothes either. He pulled you close and put his chest on your back. For the first time in days, your body really rested and you finally slept.

When the sun was already entering through the window slatt when you opened your eyes. Paul was still sleeping next to him, his arm thrown over his waist, his hair messy and his face calm. You stood there for a few seconds, just watching. But the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen overcame the warmth of the bed.

You got ready slowly, with complicit smiles and eyes still half closed. Going down the stairs, they came across the most chaotic and domestic scene possible: Kim and Jared in the kitchen, trying to cope with the impossible task of preparing breakfast for fifteen hangover teenagers. Toasts flew from the toaster, milk spilled through the sink, a pot of chocolate bubbled dangerously on the stove.

- Look who decided to show up! - Kim commented without even turning around, stirring a bowl with a wooden spoon as if she were preparing a magic potion and barely standing another teenager screaming around the house at that time of the morning. Only then did she look up and stared at you two - It's a little late to wake up, don't you think?

- Sorry - you said, approaching with a half guilty smile, half embarrassed. - I promise to reward you.

Kim arched an eyebrow, but didn't answer. Paul, of course, was already after a mug as if nothing had happened.

- It must be because they arrived practically in the morning - commented the girl you had woken up when you stepped on the glass earlier that day, talking in a not at all subtle whisper with her friend next door. But Lexie heard.

- Where did they come from? I thought they were here. - she asked loud and well, thrown on a kitchen stool with a package of cookies on her lap.

Paul didn't even hesitate:

- We went to help Sam with something.

- At dawn? - Lexie frowned.

- His car broke down - you mended quickly, trying to sound natural. - He needed help.

There was a short silence. Short, but loaded.

Jared, leaning against the kitchen door frame, took a sip of the coffee and snorted. He wasn't an idiot. You were too radiant, too light... and he knew exactly where Sam was all night - and it wasn't with you.

- I preferred it when you were fighting - he grumbled, with a look that was half tired, half pure judgment.

Paul didn't even answer. He just threw that half-corner smile, without haste, while taking a slice of bread straight from the package. You muffled the urge to laugh, leaning against the bench next to him.

Kim passed by you carrying an almost empty milk bottle, her hair stuck in a crooked bun.

The room was still full of voices, scattered laughter, people looking for sneakers, hairbrush or some dignity forgotten between the mattresses. The sound of a loud laugh echoed from the corridor. Everything was chaos and life.

That's when your cell phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled the device and saw Sam's name above the message:

"Patrol in an hour."

________________________

Next Chapter

Comments, likes, and reblogs will be greatly appreciated!

xoxo, bee💋🫶🏼

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beegomess · 1 month ago

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beegomess · 2 months ago

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Guys, initially, I wanted to thank you very much for the growth of engagement in recent days. However, I bring a warning, I will be offline here in the next two weeks because I will travel. But I swear that the next chapter is already in preparation!!!!

For you who haven't read it yet, the story can be found on my profile or through the link masterlist || Hearts woven in threads.

Thank you again and see you in a few days. 💗💗💗

#paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x you #paul lahote imagines #quileute #twilight x you #twilight x y/n #twilight wolfpack #twilight fanfiction #twilight werewolves #jacob black #the cullens #wolf pack #imprinting

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beegomess · 2 months ago

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Hearts woven in threads || Paul Lahote x Fem!Reader

A/N: English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any typos. I hope you enjoy!

masterlist || Hearts woven in threads

Chapter 06

It was late afternoon, and the gray light passed through the living room windows. Your mother came in with one of those little smiles on her face. The kind of smile that tries to disguise something bigger behind.

She dropped her bag on the armchair with a light sigh, and it took a few seconds until she finally turned to you.

- Can I talk to you for a minute?

You were lying on the couch, your legs folded under your body and a book in your hands. You looked up slowly, already feeling that it wasn't one of those everyday talks.

- Of course. What's up?

She approached, took off her coat, and hung it on the back of the chair, as if gaining time would help find the right words.

- Your aunt... She called me yesterday.

You let out a distracted "ahem," waiting for the rest.

- She asked again if I didn't want to go live near her. She said she has a vacant apartment in her building, very quiet, close to everything...

You got set on the couch, the surprise invading you little by little.

- And are you thinking about going?

She hesitated, and then came the smile again - that one, with trembling corners and eyes shining too much.

- I am. I mean... I think I'm going.

The silence between you lasted a few seconds. It wasn't exactly a shock, but... still.

- Really?

She nodded, sitting next to you with her hands interlaced in her lap.

- I've been thinking about it a lot, you know? This house, this city... everything here always revolved around someone. First, your father. Then, you. And now that you're well, that you're taking care of your life... I kind of realized that I haven't taken care of mine yet.

You released the air slowly, trying to process without letting the weight of the idea settle down for good.

- So you want to... start over?

- Not exactly. I just want to... rediscover myself a little. - She shrugged, a little shy. - Sounds cheesy, doesn't it?

- It doesn't sound like it - you said, after a moment. - It's just... strange. Thinking about this house without you.

She looked at you affectionately, the warm hand landing on hers.

- You know how to turn around. I always knew. Besides, we'll see each other all the time; I just... I won't be here every day, walking around the kitchen in slippers.

- This will make the house 40% less noisy - you provoked, trying to relieve the tension. But his voice failed a little in the end.

She smiled, but soon the smile faded when she looked directly at you. Your eyes were full of water - you hadn't even noticed. It was that strange mixture of understanding and loss. A small knot formed in his throat, and the face his mother saw there was another. The same as years ago: your child version, frustrated, about to cry.

She carefully ran her hand over his cheek, the instinctive gesture of those who recognized every millimeter of his face.

- Oh, my love... - he said softly. - It's just changing, not abandonment. You know that, don't you?

You nodded too fast, as if that was enough to contain whatever was forming inside you. But his eyes began to burn. And, before the tears escaped, she had already gently pulled you close.

You settled down on the couch, like when you were little - you're with your head leaning on her shoulder, your feet bent. She's caressing her hair with her fingertips. They stayed there, in silence. As if time could stop just a little bit. Just for both of you.

It was just a change. But, at that moment, it hurt like a loss.

- And Oliver? You asked, with a genuine surprise in your voice. It was as if only now had he realized the most practical - and emotional - part of the change.

- The apartment is small. His mother replied with that calm tone of someone who had already considered everything. - But he always preferred you.

You let out a weak laugh, shaking your head.

- After I transformed, we came to have some difficulties. He commented with a light but sincere tone.

- You see, he was just trying to understand who you were now. - she said with a small smile, her gaze a little lost, as if she were also still trying to understand all this.

The silence that settled after that was not heavy, but carried a meely melancholy. As if they both knew that that conversation, as calm as it seemed, was marking the end of a phase. You were still going to see her, the change wouldn't be immediate, of course. Besides, you would visit her, they would talk often, but... it wasn't the same thing. The constant presence, the security of knowing that she was there a few rooms away, all this was about to become a memory.

You wanted to feel mature, independent, ready. But a part of you - the one who still carried a little of the girl who cried with fear of thunder - shrann inside, feeling the ground change under her feet.

It was your mother who broke the mood, with her way of knowing the right time to ease things, so she whispered low:

- You're still going out with Kim today, right?

You nodded, trying to change the focus of your thoughts.

- Yes. There's a party, she's been excited about it since Monday.

Your mother smiled with a quiet affection, but you hesitated.

- I can cancel. Stay here with you... if you want.

She denied with her head, her thumb drawing soft circles on her arm.

- No, my love. Go. Enjoy a little, distract yourself. I'll still be here when you come back.

You wanted to say something, but the voice crashed. She pulled you again, and you returned to the comfortable silence. It was her way of saying that everything was fine, even if neither of them was sure of it yet.

- Why don't you call Leah too? - she suggested still in the hug. - It would be good for her. And... maybe good for you too. You'll see, distract yourself a little.

You looked at her for a moment, without answering immediately.

He nodded, softly.

- Yeah. Maybe I'll call you.

The scene ended with you in silence again. But that strange feeling - between the beginning and the end of something - was still there, hovering, quiet. As if the world, in fact, was spinning too slowly, just for you to realize how different everything would be from now on.

__________________________

It was past five when you went up to the room, threw your cell phone on the bed and stood there for a few seconds. The fine rain continued outside, leaving the light of the late afternoon with that grayish tone that only the reserve knew how to have. Your mother was in the kitchen, stirring the pots and humming a song that you had already heard hundreds of times - only now it seemed more distant.

You sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in the towel, looking at your cell phone as if he was going to answer you by himself. Until he decided: he opened the contacts, slid his finger to Leah's name and called.

- Hi. - she answered in her own way, direct.

- Are you busy?

- It depends on what.

You smiled lightly, already imagining her expression. Direct, sarcastic, and always with a sharp tongue. Still, it was who you wanted to hear now.

- I want you to come to a party with me and Kim today.

- Party? - she let go, with that automatic tone of judgment. - Since when do you call me about this?

You sighed, throwing your body back on the bed.

- Since my mother decided to move.

The line was silent for a second.

- I never thought she would take your aunt's proposal seriously.

- She wants to start over. She's happy, excited. And I'm trying not to feel a little... I don't know. Out of place. - you ran your hand on your face, feeling the knot in your stomach that hadn't gone away yet. - She's going to leave Oliver with me.

- Hm. - Leah let go, thoughtful.

- Do you think I'm being selfish? - you confessed, in an almost shrunken tone.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, until Leah's voice came, lower, but firm - different from what you used to hear from her.

- It's not selfishness. - she said. - You're just scared. And rightly so.

She was silent a little longer, and then, with that provocative way that only she had, she sent:

- Does Paul know you're going out? Or you fought and now you're going to put on a short skirt just to test his patience?

- He knows. And the short skirt is because I got in the mood. - you replied, laughing lightly. - And also... maybe a little bit to test, yes.

Leah laughed on the other side.

- Okay.

- Are you going? - You asked excitedly.

- I will. - She said in a defeated tone. - I hope it's worth it.

- I wouldn't put you in a hole, Lee. You know that.

- I know... - Leah replied ironically, but she didn't seem upset. You hung up with a discreet smile on your lips, knowing that she would go - even if she grumbed on the way.

From the corridor, he heard the dragging of chairs and the voice of your mother calling you for dinner. Oliver passed by with his collar tinching, excited as always in the hope of winning a piece of the food at the usual time.

Time ran out. The conversation with your mother still echoed low on your chest while you got ready. The farewell was silent, with a last hug in the hallway before leaving - long enough to make you wish you didn't go, but firm enough to remind you that she would be there later.

It was already dark when you parked the car in front of Emily's house. The rain had given a truce, but the ground still reflected the wet brightness of the headlights, as if it kept the memory of the storm. Kim fixed the skirt bar on the car seat, excited. Leah, sitting behind, just watched the window.

You barely turned off the engine and already said, releasing the air lightly:

- I'll get in quickly, I'll just try to convince Emily. - he said, opening the door. - I won't take long.

Kim nodded with a small smile, and Leah leaned her head on the bench, letting out a slight sigh, as if she needed to breathe before any human contact.

The front door opened with a soft creak, and you entered slowly, sweeping the room with your eyes before closing it behind you. The heat of the interior contrasted with the cold wind of the night, and the comforting smell of fresh tea still hovered in the air.

Emily was in the kitchen, on her back, organizing some pots on the counter. The sound of the door made her turn around with a brief and tired smile.

- I thought you had already given up. - she commented, with a low voice, but gentle as always.

- I'm not the type to give up easily. - you answered, smiling. - Kim is excited, Leah pretending she doesn't want to go. I thought I could try one last time.

Emily let out a weak giggle, but the hesitation was still in her eyes.

- And where are you going again? - she asked, as if she wanted to convince herself that it wasn't that risky.

- Port Angeles. Nothing too much. A bar, music, light stuff. I promise we'll come back before the round even starts.

You approached slowly, without invading her space. Then, gently, he held his hands between his.

- Come with us. It will be good and the boys can turn around. - he said with a sincere look, without forcing.

Emily hesitated, the smile diminishing a little as she looked down, and you felt that maybe you were close to convincing her - or at least planting the doubt.

But before she said anything, the front door opened again. The sound of heavy steps on the balcony, followed by muffled laughter. Quil entered first, while Embry said something coming right behind. Sam came later, more restained, but with a curious look at you there, standing in the middle of the kitchen with the expression of someone who was setting something up.

Paul appeared last, and his eyes met you almost immediately - going up your legs to your face, passing through the short skirt and light lipstick. You knew him well enough to understand that he wasn't exactly satisfied with the idea of that night.

He didn't say anything right away, but his steps slowed down when crossing the door, as if absorbing the scene completely. The way his eyes lingered on you was more than evident.

- I didn't know we were going out today. - Embry commented with a biased smile, referring to the pack, but looking directly at you. The phrase came as a light provocation, which hovered in the air for a second.

- And they won't. - Sam replied, seriously, but without weight. The phrase was said naturally, like someone who just wanted to keep the order of the night.

You turned to Embry and smiled softly, without losing your charm.

- Girls' night. - he said, taking a half step to the side, turning his attention to Emily soon after. - So what?

Emily hesitated for a second, her eyes alternating between her hands still on the counter and her face. You already knew what was coming.

Emily hesitated for another second before smiling gently.

- Have fun!

You kept the smile on your face, even feeling that uncomfortable little tip on your chest. It wasn't exactly a disappointment, but something similar. Emily's refusal sealed a little frustration, but you just nodded lightly, keeping the desire to insist.

- All right. - he said, almost in a whisper, slowly moving away from the counter and went to the door with calm steps.

The boys kept talking to each other, but the conversation was briefly interrupted by Sam's firm voice, who accompanied you almost to the sill:

- Don't be late.

You stopped for a moment with a quiet smile and a nod.

- Okay.

Paul was there, near the door, and his eyes met you quickly. Without saying a word, you made a minimal gesture with your head - a silent invitation for him to accompany you. He didn't hesitate. He went through the door behind you and closed it in silence, muffling the warm sound of the voices coming from the kitchen.

On the balcony, the air was colder. The smell of wet earth still hovered heavy after the rain. You felt the steps creaking slightly under your feet as you turned to him.

Paul didn't say anything right away.

You noticed the way he kept his arms crossed, his jaw stiff, his gaze too fixed. You didn't need to ask. It was written in him - the annoyance that you were leaving, that you were not with him, that you went to a place where he couldn't protect you. That made you smile a little, almost funny. He looked like a sullen wolf. And you even thought it was cute.

- I confess that I thought you were going to stop me from leaving like that. - You provoked, the silly smile stamped on your face, knowing that the provocation would take effect.

He raised an eyebrow and, for a moment, the corner of his mouth curved into an almost smile, but his expression soon returned to seriousness.

- I still don't like the idea.

You let out a sigh, trying not to show the discomfort that had formed inside earlier that day. He was there, trying to be the usual protector, but you felt you needed something more.

- I need this, Paul. Only today.

He looked at you with an intense look, as if he was trying to understand what was going on inside. His eyes ran through his face, and his smile faltered, losing some of its lightness.

- What do you mean? - His voice came out softer, but the confusion was still there.

You took a deep breath and looked at him, feeling the weight of the situation set in. You didn't know how to talk about it, but you were already there.

- My mother is leaving. And... I don't know. I just need something to get my mind off it. Only today.

His expression became softer, as if now he began to understand the depth of everything. But still, he didn't seem completely satisfied with what you were saying.

- You could have told me before.

You looked away, your chest tight, feeling the difficulty of exposing your feelings. You didn't want to talk about it that day; you didn't want him to know how uncomfortable he was with the move, with the feeling that the house where he always felt safe was now about to become a strange and empty place.

- I know... - your voice failed for a moment, and you had to take a deep breath before continuing. - I just... I didn't want to talk about it today, to be honest.

The way he looked at you made his heart tighten. It was as if he was capturing the different energy that came from you, but he still didn't know exactly what to do with it. He remained silent for a moment, evaluating what was happening, until, finally, something in his eyes softened.

- All right. - He said in a lower voice, less incisive, as if he was suddenly more willing to understand you.

You smiled, more genuinely now, feeling the weight of the tension disappear a little, and, with a lighter sigh, tried to ease the moment.

- I promise I'll come back whole. - You provoked, softer, with a touch of humor in the tone.

He was still watching you, his eyes more attentive than before, but the stiffness in his shoulders was softening little by little.

You took a step forward, noticing that he still kept his arms crossed, like a silent barrier between the two of you. Without saying anything, you took your hands to his forearms, gently undoing the gesture. Paul couldn't resist. He let his hands be guided to his hips, his fingers fitting with a familiarity that hurt so intimate.

His touch was firm, but not possessive - it was a mute request to let you know that he was still there, attentive, involved, even contradicted.

You, on the other hand, couldn't let it go blank. Your mischievous smile appeared almost immediately, and before he said anything else, you couldn't resist.

- Relax, no one will take off my skirt... - you let go, with a mischievous smile. - Unless you show up there.

Paul raised an eyebrow, the serious expression only for a second before sliding into something more debauched.

- So maybe I should show up - he said, taking an imaginary step towards you, his voice full of irony. - Just to make sure no one tries.

You laughed, shaking your head.

Before you could say anything else, Leah, who was in the back seat, couldn't hold the comment.

- If it's not going to disturb the couple... We still have a party to go to.

Paul sighed, as if he was fighting against the need to be firm and the desire to let you do whatever you wanted.

- Just be careful. - He said, now with a softer tone, but his gaze still full of concern.

- I always take it. - You answered almost on the spot, with a wide and accurate smile, which came more from the chest than from the mouth.

And before he had time to doubt, protest or say anything else, you leaned over and kissed him quickly. It was like lighting a match and extinguishing it soon after.

You moved away slowly, without haste - his touch still weighed on your hips, like a hot mark that didn't want to disappear.

Paul stayed where he was, arms crossed again, but his eyes fixed on you. There was something there - between the contained laughter and the desire to pull you back - that made his chest tighten.

You went down the steps lightly, feeling his gaze like a second skin. When he got into the car, the smile came by itself - silly, satisfied, impossible to contain.

The car slid away from the house with a soft roar from the engine, and you held the steering wheel with one hand, your elbow resting on the open window. The night outside was warm, with the smell of sea salt and damp earth mixing in the air.

Kim chatted excitedly, commented something about a dress she considered wearing - or maybe the party playlist. It was hard to know. Her voice floated in the car like ambient music, light and lively, and you just responded with an "ahem" here and there, enough not to seem totally absent.

Leah kept her arms crossed and her gaze focused on the path. He said little, as usual, but released quick answers to Kim, loaded with that sarcasm that came almost automatic. Even so, there was a certain care in the tone. Since you pulled her to tonight, Leah had been giving in little by little, like someone who still didn't know if she wanted to have fun or just fulfill a favor.

The road passed in front of you as if time had been swallowed inside your head. It was hard to remember every curve. The kilometers simply evaporated. Because, inside, you were somewhere else - in other matters. Something at the bottom of the chest stirred, like a box of memories that someone pushed with their foot, unintentionally. It was the echo of the sound of the door closing behind your mother. The house getting empty. The kind of silence that not even music fills.

But you didn't say anything. And no one asked.

The parking lot of the party house was full. The asphalt still soaked by the rain reflected the lights of the poles and the arriving cars. People ran with their jackets over their heads, laughing and dodging from the puddles that splashed water everywhere. The sound of the party was already escaping through the walls, muffled, pulsating.

You turned off the car and went down. The air smelled of humidity, too sweet perfume, cigarettes and alcohol. Leah got out of the car in silence and adjusted the glued blouse that you had practically forced her to wear. The one that highlighted your shoulders and marked your waist. The pinned hair left the back of her neck exposed, and you noticed - even if quickly - that she was beautiful. In a discreet way, almost angry, but beautiful.

As soon as they crossed the entrance, the smell of the party hit his face hard - sweat, strong deodorant, spilled drink, smoke, too much perfume. A brutal cocktail. His sense of a lot of a loten. You felt Leah next to you, stopping for a moment too, her eyes slightly tight, as if you were choosing what to ignore.

Kim went straight to the bar. And you, faithful to the promise to take care of her, followed her. She asked for tequila with lemon, without even thinking. You and Leah accompanied her, none of you cared much - the alcohol barely worked, and you knew it. It was more for the gesture, for the attempt to seem part of it all.

Kim got lost in her own excitement soon after, pulling someone by the arm, waving to another group further ahead. When you disappeared among the people, you looked at Leah with intention. The dance floor vibrated in the background, full of sweaty bodies and flashing lights. She understood at the time and frowned, like someone who already anticipated what was coming.

- Don't even try - she said.

- You promised you would try to have fun - you replied, almost without a voice, but firmly.

It took a while. You had to pull it - lightly, by the hand - to the middle of the space. But in the end, Leah gave in. And when he gave in, he danced. With that contained way at the beginning, until you allow yourself. Even laugh. Until the hard look softens in the corners.

You danced too, as if the body was removing the dust accumulated for weeks. And for the first time that night, you felt what you haven't felt for a long time: lightness.

The weather began to dilute there. The songs changed, the faces too. The heat of the track went up. Kim reappeared and disappeared in cycles, always laughing too loudly, hugging unknown people, asking for more drink.

And then, in a moment of pause, you realized. Kim had already passed the point. She was leaning against a wall with a soft look, an empty glass in her hand, her speech stuck. Leah noticed it too. And without needing to exchange a word, she approached and put her arm around her friend's shoulders.

- I'll take her out. - she said, already decided. - See if you get her some water.

You nodded, the heat rising through the temples again. The promise made to Sam echoed again - before the patrol.

With one last look at Leah leading Kim towards the door, you turned on your heels and crossed the hall once again, now emptier. He deviated from people and the music no longer had the same impact. The sweat, the smell, the noise... everything seemed heavier now.

You approached the counter and had to raise your voice for the bartender to hear you.

While waiting for the bartender's return, he heard, behind you, that voice loaded with an inconvenient familiarity:

- I knew it wasn't just an impression... you still dance the same.

You turned, and there he was. Nathan. The same skewed smile, trying to look casual. The light shirt crumpled in the folds of the arm, the glass in the hand, and the look... the look taking longer than it should.

- Natan? - you said, surprised, but without much heat.

He opened his arms with a half laugh.

- What are you doing here?

- I came with some friends. They know people from the region. It was kind of last minute - he took a sip of the drink, resting his elbow on the counter, turning slightly in his direction. - But I'm starting to think it was worth it.

You raised an eyebrow. A typical comment from him.

- Interesting coincidence - you said, without moving.

He gave a sideways smile. The one he always wore when he thought he was one step ahead.

- You're different - he said, in no hurry. - More... I don't know. Intense, maybe.

You laughed, dry, looking away at your cell phone. The time was already screaming.

- Yeah, time goes by.

- But there are things that don't change - he risked.

You pretended not to hear. Or rather, he pretended not to care. He pulled the bottle from the bartender's hands and turned slightly.

- It was good to see you.

- Wait - he said, like someone trying to keep the game on the air for another second. - Can you give me your number? We'll bump into each other again... or make it easier.

You just hesitated the time to release a "hmm" and look at the cell phone screen again.

- I really need to go - he said, with a smile that didn't promise anything.

And then he left.

But he stayed.

He accompanied you with his eyes as you disappeared through the corridor full of people, still feeling the perfume in the air and the strange feeling that meeting you again, even for seconds, had been the best moment of the night.

For him, you were still everything he didn't know how to handle... but also everything he still wanted.

And for a moment - just one - he considered if he should have gone after it.

The parking lot was quiet now, the pole lights flashing as if they wanted to follow the slow rhythm of the night. The smell of rain was still in the air, mixed with the scent of the trees that surrounded the place. The sound of the party seemed to have already been left behind, now only a distant echo, but the sensation of the night was there, nailed to his back.

Kim was on the hood of the car, as if the only thing she wanted was to sleep right there. Her almost closed eyes were struggling to stay open, and you knew she wouldn't last long. Leah was next to her, her friend's arm fallen on her shoulder, seeming to be in a state of almost trance too.

You approached and extended the little bottle of water to Kim, who took a while to understand what was happening. Then, he accepted with a sigh, drinking slowly, as if each sip was a fight against fatigue.

- Drink more, it will help - you said, in a soft tone. She didn't even answer, she just took another sip, trying to keep her eyes open.

Leah watched everything in silence, her gaze leaking between calm and impatience, as always.

After a while, you helped Kim settle in the back seat, the seat belt slapping as it was pulled, and you moved away to pick up the jacket that was thrown on the car seat. He threw it over her legs, trying to make her as comfortable as possible.

You just smiled discreetly, and got into the car. Leah settled next to you, and you started turning the key. The engine choked, a dry sound, almost like a spasm of the car trying to convince itself that it still had energy to work.

You tried again. And nothing.

The car was shaking slightly, the dashboard light flashing and the speedometer numbers made no sense.

- How wonderful - Leah murmured, leaning forward and looking at the panel, as if she had some magical solution on the tip of her tongue.

You quickly looked at the panel, the light of the small gas pump symbol now flashing in an almost mocking way.

- Okay, I'll solve it.- you answered, more to yourself, but Leah gave a low, awkward laugh.

You let go of the steering wheel and pulled the key.

With a muffled sigh, he took his cell phone and, almost without thinking, typed Paul's number.

- I thought you were going to solve it. - Leah said with a light laugh and you turned to her still waiting for him to answer.

- And that's what I'm doing. - You answered laughing.

When he answered, the lightness in the air between you was already evident.

- So, I think the car decided to abandon me. I'm out of gas.— you said, with a smile in your words, already imagining his expression on the other end of the line.

He laughed softly on the other side, and the sound of his laughter made his chest warm.

- That's what I call perfect timing - He was still laughing.

- Could you save us? - You said smiling but without laughing directly.

- I'll see what I can do.

You leaned your head on the back of the seat and closed your eyes for a second, just breathing the relief of knowing that he was coming. But before he hung up, you opened your eyes again, almost in an impulse.

- Paul - he called, lower, with a quick tone, like someone who remembers something important at the last minute. - Don't tell Sam, okay?

On the other side of the line, he was silent for a second. You could almost see his expression, that half-corner smile, as if he was having fun with the request - but also as if he understood.

- I won't tell - he replied, with a warm voice, almost complicit. - As long as you promise that you will start walking with the tank full, at least once in your life.

- I can't promise. - you answered, but you were smiling.

The call ended, and the silence of the car seemed greater for a moment. Leah turned her face in his direction, still prop up on the bench, and arched an eyebrow.

- Did you tell him not to tell Sam?

You just gave a little smile and looked out the window again.

- Trust is the basis of any relationship - he replied, as if that explained everything.

Time was dragging on, dense as the low fog that began to take over the parking lot. Kim was still turned off in the back seat, her head leaning on the glass, her breathing slow and heavy. The almost empty water bottle slipped from your fingers, and the jacket you had thrown over your legs moved subtly with each sigh.

You released the door lock and left. The jump of his boot echoed against the wet, rhythmic asphalt. Leah did the same, getting out of the car with an audible sigh, her arms crossed. The air was fresh, with the smell of wet earth and remnants of sweet drink coming from some broken bottle in the distance, but nothing in you two felt cold.

The short skirt shaped your legs with the movements of the wind, and you leaned on the hood of the car, looking at the clear sky. Leah joined you, leaning next to her, the silence falling for a moment.

The muffled sound of music coming from the party shed had been too far away to be relevant, and the world around seemed to have diminished, leaving you two in a corner of time that no one else could reach.

Leah fixed her body leaning against the car, her gaze still stuck in the dark sky before deviating towards you with an arched eyebrow.

- Okay. But tell me something... you don't like her, do you? From Rachel.

You hesitated for a second. Then he released the air slowly, as if it wasn't worth denying.

- I don't like the way she's always around - she admitted. - It seems that it's never just a coincidence. It seems that she is always expecting something.

Leah smiled, skewed, like someone who found the confirmation more fun than worrying.

- I didn't think you were the jealous type.

You laughed, low.

- Maybe. A little. - But the laughter disappeared quickly, replaced by a seriousness that weighed on the shoulders. - But that's not all.

So, without staring at her, you said:

- Everyone acts as if imprinting were simple, but it's not. Not even remotely.

Leah turned her face slowly in his direction, but didn't interrupt.

- Like... it's beautiful. Of course it is. But it's also scary. It's too intense. Too fast. As if you had no choice - you continued, the lowest voice now, as if you were sharing something fragile, sewn too carefully to be exposed. - Sometimes I don't know what came from me... and what came from him.

Leah released the air slowly, as if she had been holding her breath for a while without realizing it.

- I wish I could say I understand, but...

The silence that came after the "but" was more eloquent than any end sentence. And that's when you realized.

His chest sank in a second, an immediate regret coming to the fore.

- Sorry. I didn't want to...

- It's okay. - she cut you with a calm tone, without bitterness. He looked forward, his eyes fixed on the dark. - You're just venting. I got it.

You swallowed dry, the warm air of the night getting a little heavier.

- It's just that... sometimes, even having the imprinting, even feeling everything with this absurd force... I'm still afraid. Fear of being swallowed for it. Fear of disappearing inside a feeling that may not even be just mine.

Leah turned her face, her eyes now on you, firm and attentive.

- So maybe you understand... Because sometimes I feel like I've already lost myself in something like that. The difference is that, for me, there was never an option. Not even space to try to do differently.

There was a shadow of pain in her voice, but there was no anger. Just a raw, naked truth. And a little respect for you trusting her.

You nodded slowly, your lips pressed, and let the silence speak for a few seconds. It was comfortable, in a way - as if, for the first time, you two had met in a middle ground of understanding that didn't need explanation.

And that's when you saw it. As soon as the headlights approached, cutting the gloom of the parking lot and illuminating for a second the edge of the shed in the background, his body responded before his head.

His stomach turned a little before the light revealed it. When the car stopped next to yours, the confirmation came full: it was Rachel's car.

Her smell arrived seconds later, dragged by the wind that crossed the space between the two vehicles. Familiar, too sweet, a little sickly. Invasive.

You kept your face neutral, or tried. But Leah already knew you enough. She was leaning lightly on the hood, with her arms crossed, and turned her face slowly, her eyes narrowing in a mixture of curiosity and subtle provocation.

As if it were a perfect coincidence. As if the universe had heard you two talking minutes before - and had made a point of answering, just to test what you really felt.

She didn't say anything. He just watched you, as if waiting for your reaction, as if he was sure you would say something.

But you didn't say. You just took a deep, firm breath, keeping your eyes on the car stopped next to yours. As if he could decipher everything just by the way he opened the passenger door.

And when Paul finally came down, you pretended you didn't see the smile Rachel threw before he closed the door behind him.

You, on the other hand, were too straight. Rigid. The chin a little too high for those who needed help.

Rachel was still inside the car, engine running, as if waiting for something. Or for someone.

Paul walked up to you with the gallon in his hands and a calm look, without hurrying. He stopped next to her and, even when he noticed the hardest way of his face, he didn't say anything - at least, not directly. He just bent down to fit the gallon's nozzle into the tank, the precise movements, and spoke naturally:

- Is Kim okay?

- You're fainted. - Leah replied, always practicing, while watching you two with that sharp glow in her eyes.

Paul gave a short giggle and glanced at the back seat of the car.

- At least she had fun.

You crossed your arms, looking away to the side. The moon reflected on the bodywork, and the breeze still brought the sweet smell of Rachel's perfume, insistent. That bothered you more than it should.

Paul finished refueling, closed the tank with a dry snat, and turned around, only then realizing his strange silence for good. The way you looked at him without really staring at him.

- Sam, do you know? - you asked, directly, your voice low but firm.

Paul raised an eyebrow, the serene expression, without defense or malice. Just sincere.

- No. I didn't say anything.

And even with the simple answer, there was something in his eyes - as if he was reading you, slowly, trying to understand what was behind that colder posture.

But still, he didn't pressure you. He didn't force conversation. He just stood there, waiting for what would come from you. As if he knew it was better to let you speak in your time.

- Thank you for coming - you said, still in a low voice, but this time with a little more heat.

Paul just nodded, simple, but present. His gaze took a second longer on your face, as if he wanted to make sure you were really well - even after the joke, the tension, the wait.

You looked away first, muttering a "I'll keep this" almost to yourself. He bent down a little and took the gallon, taking it almost empty to the trunk.

Paul stood there, a few steps away, one hand resting on the roof of the car, his body turned towards him. Leah, further away, watched in silence, her arms crossed, her head slightly tilted - attentive, as always.

And then, before you even heard it, you felt it. The smell came first.

Familiar. But completely out of place.

- You still have this habit of running out of gas, huh?

You didn't react right away, but Paul moved. The change was subtle, almost imperceptible. His gaze firmed on the point where the voice had come from. Leah turned her face slowly, as if observing the unfolding of a silent piece.

You looked up only when you closed the trunk, and saw Natan approaching with that smile that, one day, you had found charming. Now it seemed a little out of place. He was alone, the group of friends in the distance went in another direction, without looking back.

Leah didn't ask with words, but her face got a tone of curiosity that Natan noticed.

- Once I had to leave work to take a gallon like that to her. Remember? - For some reason he wanted to justify himself, as if he wanted to establish things between you.

You gave a half smile, forced, trying not to look at Paul. You didn't know what he had understood - but you knew his silence too well to know that he was listening to everything with the worst possible interpretation.

- Of course.

- You could have called me today. I still save ladies in danger, you know?

That was just a joke. But at that moment... it sounded like a provocation. You didn't answer. He just crossed his arms, the posture firmer than it needed to be.

- She won't need it. - Paul's voice was firm, unhurried. But it had a weight that made Leah raise an eyebrow.

Natan blinked, and his expression faltered for a fraction of a second. Then he nodded, almost in a polite gesture.

- That's right, then.

You didn't say anything else. He only observed when he walked away, the more hesitant step than on arrival. There was something on his shoulders - maybe it wasn't exactly disappointment, but it was close to it. A small defeat that he didn't expect to live that night.

You went around the car with firm, controlled steps. But what boiled under the skin was not only human. It was the wolf. Attentive. Offended. Injured.

- Are you coming? - you asked, without much ceremony. The straight look, almost challenging.

Paul was still leaning against the car. Just the body. Because the eyes were no longer there - they seemed far away, tense. He looked at you.

And that's when you felt: he was struggling.

His wolf wanted to follow you. He wanted to be close. There was no doubt. His posture said that - the muscles ready, the look that hesitated more for pain than for doubt. But he himself...

He was silent.

And it was this silence that hurt more than any answer.

You turned your back, with the blood throbbing strongly in your temples. You got into the car closing the door harder than you intended, but you didn't regret it.

Leah entered soon after, in silence. The tension took over the space.

You turned the key, feeling your fingers tremble slightly - or maybe it was just anger. The car started, and in the rearview mirror, like a poorly healed wound, you saw Paul was getting into Rachel's car.

Leah adjusted the belt next to her and, for a moment, silence took over. You felt your own heart beating too loud in your chest, as if your whole body was trying to process what had just happened.

Leah respected the silence. Maybe out of solidarity, maybe because she knew that any word at that moment would have a bitter taste.

The road seemed longer than before, but soon the lights of Emily's house appeared at the end of the road. You parked quickly, still without changing a word. The thin rain made the air denser, as if the weather itself was trying to stop you.

Kim was still sleeping soundly, her head dropped to the side, her breathing slowly. You opened the back door and leaned carefully.

- Kim... - you called, your hand soft on her shoulder. - We arrived, sleepyhead.

Leah turned around and helped, lightly poking her friend's arm.

- Wake up, before I throw you in Emily's cold shower.

Kim muttered something unintelligible, his eyes slowly opening.

That's when you heard it. The sound of the tires at the gravel entrance. You turned around at the same time, still with your hand on Kim's arm. Rachel's car.

The lighthouse went out and, seconds later, the doors opened. Paul left first, the firm and familiar silhouette, but too distant. Rachel went down right behind him, as if they had been talking - although you knew he wasn't much of a talker.

Leah gave you a look - fast, firm - and you knew she wouldn't break the silence for you. And you, in that state, didn't want to talk anymore either. Kim followed with you, her feet dragging a little, but her light laugh filled the spaces that the serious words had left on the way back.

You arrived first. Emily's house always seemed cozy, always the same.

Kim could walk alone, although still with a stumbling step. Leah supported her naturally, as if she were used to keeping others standing.

You stood a little behind, with one hand resting on the stop, you leaned over. Taking off those boots became almost a ritual - every time the zipper went down more, it was like leaving out of the house a piece of the tension that you didn't want to carry with you in there. The dirt sticks to the heel, the moisture on the skirt bar, all this was part of the road that had been left behind. But the weight, this one was still with you.

Rachel passed by you, without saying anything, without stopping. As if it were natural, as if she always had this place. You didn't even look. He just waited to finish getting rid of the boots before going in too.

Paul was further behind, but you felt it. You knew he was still there, even if he didn't say anything. Even if you didn't come close.

You went straight to the kitchen, and you were greeted by Emily as if you came back from a war and didn't want to talk about her.

She turned slowly, as if she already knew who had arrived - and how.

- So, did you have fun? - The smile was gentle, but the eyes didn't smile as easily. Emily seemed to be able to see through.

You tried to smile too. A reflex, almost automatic.

- Of course. - And then he went to the sink, opening the closet naturally to get a glass. The water came out too cold. You drank in silence.

Paul was in the living room, standing still. One of the hands still in the pocket, the other loose next to the body. His gaze seemed to wander through a fixed point on the floor, but you felt when he stopmed on you. What he didn't say made more noise than anything he could have said.

Rachel sat on the couch, pretending to pay attention to what was on TV, legs crossed, her body in a posture of someone who was not involved. But it was. The attention disguised in the corner of the eyes was almost visible.

- Kim, eat something - you said, without looking directly at her. - I can take you home if you want.

- No way - she grumbled, still laughing softly. - My mother will kill me if she sees me like this.

- I'm going to make her a tea - Emily said, like someone who took the reins of the situation. - It helps to deceive the body until the hangover passes.

- Thank you - you answered low, with a nod.

Outside, the muffled sound of approaching footsteps indicated that Jacob, Jared and Sam were arriving. It was the cue. Quil let out a sigh, getting up from the couch followed by Embry.

You just followed Leah's side to the door. Before leaving, his gaze crossed with Rachel's, it was fast, dry. She didn't even need to say anything. But the corner of the mouth slightly raised, the gaze fixed on you for too long... it was more than enough. You deviated before something escaped. Paul passed right behind you, silent. Her smell was still in his jacket, like a memory that wasn't yours - and that made everything look tighter inside.

The night outside was cold and humid, the sky without stars. The trail to the clearing was familiar, and yet, each step seemed more tense than the previous one. No one spoke. But everyone knew. The collective mind of the pack pulsed with the tension you felt in your stomach.

Jacob walked a little further away, as if he was afraid of being confused with the reason for his anger - which, in a way, he was. Sam didn't say anything, it wasn't the kind of thing that was discussed out loud. The pack felt, absorbed and respected. For now.

When they reached the clearing, the clothes were quickly left and the transformation happened as always - violent, fast, inevitable. Realigned bones, distended muscles, the momentary pain that gave way to the truest form.

The race started as soon as the last hairs took shape. Sam was clear with what you were looking for: The red-haired vampire who often appeared.

The forest seemed more closed, the ground more unstable, but none of this mattered. You wanted to meet her. Not only that. You wanted to make her body a target. A discharge point.

And she showed up.

You ran as if the ground itself pushed you, your paws cutting the wet bush, your muscles pulsating under the hot skin. Logs were irrelevant obstacles - you jumped them as if you mocked the forest, as if the whole world wasn't fast enough to hold you. She was close. And you wanted to be the first.

Jacob was left behind. Sam tried to reach, but you didn't give space. He passed by them with a nameless fury, guided by the red-haired figure who moved forward like a spark in the dark. The sound of others still surrounded you, but you heard nothing but the beat of your own heart - frantic, fierce.

And then she turned.

In a dry movement, almost impossible to follow, she stopped abruptly and used her own impulse to throw you against a tree. The impact was brutal. A deaf snap crossed his chest - a quick, deep crack made of bone and fury. You fell to the floor covered with leaves, the air torn from your lungs in a muffled and hoarse moan.

But it didn't stop.

Before you even tasted the pain, you got up. The blood throbbed in his ears. She turned around, ready to escape - and that's when you jumped back.

Her jaws found the flesh of her forearm. Her skin was firm, slippery with the cold taste like a corpse, but you stuck your teeth, even superficially. Her scream came sharp, angry, feral. She broke free, pulling a tuft of hair from you as she let go. The fangs didn't sink enough. They didn't cause real damage. But the message was given.

You would have gone again. You would have gone all the way. But Sam growled - a short, authoritarian sound - and she ran away, like smoke between the trees.

You were still shaking. Not for the adrenaline, but for what it represented. It was hurting. The rib reminded you of every movement. Even in the form of a slove, you limmed subtly, but followed.

Paul didn't say anything, but his presence was a constant roar in his mind - worried, angry, restless. You could feel it. Even in the form of a wolf, he tried to get closer, try to keep you close, more for fear of what she could do than for anything else.

The chase lasted another hour between back and forth, cold trails and fast curves in the middle of the dark forest. She was slippery like a cursed thought - she appeared for a second, and disappeared the next moment, as if she was having fun with the tiredness of the pack.

Sam kept the rhythm constant, his eyes attentive, his mind focused - but you saw, even from a distance, how much frustration gnashed in his teeth. Jacob was focused, without saying anything. Leah ran firm, her body thin and precise as an arrow. Paul always kept himself close to you, a little back sometimes, as if watching you with the corner of his eyes.

When he crossed the border to the north, towards Canada, Sam growled low. It was done. The pack couldn't get through there.

It was only when they began to slow down that the pain returned. A pointed weight fitting on the side of your chest, throbbing with each step. You didn't want it to be visible, but it was.

On the way back, no one said anything. No joke from Embry. No grumbling from Quil. Jared didn't even cast the usual curious looks. The forest looked smaller, suffocating. And everyone felt - not only the tiredness, but the tension. The shame they didn't make it. The veiled admiration for you having tried.

In the clearing, the transformation was painful. The human body seemed too fragile when it came back. As soon as the bones realigned, a dark bruise began to appear on the right side, near the rib. The skin burned to the touch, and even taking a deep breath made his body complain.

You put on the clothes slowly, your fingers trembling with cold and pain. No one helped - no one would dare. It wasn't pride, it was necessity. You needed to do it yourself.

Paul watched you from afar. He had been the first to notice his fall. He had felt the impact too. And that's why, maybe, he wouldn't take my eyes off you now. His expression was a mixture of anger and impotence, as if he was trying to understand if he was furious with you or the world for letting that happen.

The way back to Emily's house was almost mute. The leaves under everyone's feet muffled what was not said. Jared looked tired, Quil too. Jacob kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his jaw locked - evident discomfort. Maybe for you, maybe for Rachel. Probably for both.

The front door opened slowly when you arrived. The hot smell of herbs and wood still hovered in the air, coming from the kitchen where Emily probably kept a hot tea. The light was low, yellowish, and through the window you could see the fog starting to form outside. Jared entered first, followed by Leah and Jacob. You came soon after, with the slowest steps - forced to do so. Each movement seemed to cause a small fire on the right side of his body. Even so, she stayed upright.

Rachel was sitting at the table, her body turned sideways, one of her legs bent. She had changed places since you left, but you still watched everything from afar with that air of someone who pretended not to care. Her gaze crossed with his for a brief moment, as if he were expecting something - a word, a reaction. You didn't give either one thing or the other.

Emily approached when she realized that you were hesitating at the entrance, your eyes attentive.

- Do you want something? - she asked in a soft tone, as if she didn't want to expose you.

- Just my car keys. - Your voice came out lower than you wanted, but clear enough. - And my boots.

Emily hesitated, but didn't insist. He delivered the keys with a silent gesture and pointed to the carpet near the door, where his boots were still partially covered with dry clay. You leaned carefully to catch them with one hand, trying to disguise the choked moan that escaped when you bowed.

His whole body screamed, each breath was a reminder that something inside you was out of place. With the keys in one hand and the pain stuck in each step, you turned to leave.

- I'll take you home - Paul said, appearing next to him as suddenly as the cold of the night outside. His voice was firm, but not hard. There was something else there - an attempt, maybe.

But you were already with your hand on the doorknob. He didn't even turn his face.

- No need, thank you. - The answer came dry, without hesitation, like a closed door.

You crossed the balcony slowly, your steps strange, pulled, as if the body screamed for rest with every movement. He opened the car with a precise click and sat in the driver's seat with a muffled sound of pain.

The steering wheel seemed heavier than ever. Turning the trunk made everything burn. Changing gears was hell. Breathing still hurt.

But you could fix it.

Being there, locked up with the tension that no one named, with the cautious silence of the pack - it would be worse.

You started the engine. The vibration of the car made his rib protest. Even so, you started calmly, determined, without looking through the rearview mirror.

Inside the house, when the sound of your car's engine moved away on the dirt road, the silence settled like a heavy veil. The tea mug in Emily's hands still released smoke, forgotten between her fingers. She looked at Sam with her eyebrows slightly furrowed, like someone who feels that something got out of control.

- What happened? - he asked, in an almost whispered tone, as if he didn't want to break the fragile balance that remained.

Sam didn't answer right away. The tension on his shoulders said more than words. Quil moggled on the couch with discomfort and Jared exchanged a brief look with Embry, as if they knew they were witnessing something they shouldn't comment on.

- She was injured on the patrol. You'll be fine.

Leah leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, seemed about to explode, but she restrained herself. Her eyes were fixed on the door, as if she wanted to run after you.

Rachel, who until then had been sitting with her body half let go on the chair next to the table, stretched out with a certain tone of exaggeration, snapping her shoulders like someone returning from a quiet nap.

- Is she always like this? - he murmured, referring to the way you left. It wasn't exactly provocation... but it wasn't innocent either.

Paul turned around at the same time. The whole body seemed to change temperature. The tension in the back, in the arms, was almost palpable. When he spoke, his voice came low - and more dangerous for that.

- And what the hell are you still doing here? - Paul asked, his voice full of frustration.

Rachel blinked, clearly surprised.

- Paul... - Sam said, the word coming out with a firm tone, but still controlled. He glanced at Paul, trying to keep the situation under control.

Paul stopped, his fists clenched, his jaw locked. The silence that followed was even more uncomfortable. Rachel looked away, but the damage was done.

Sam turned to Jacob, who didn't hide his discomfort, as if he was counting the seconds until he could leave.

- Take your sister home - he said.

Jacob nodded with a slight nod.

- Let's go. - His voice came without humor, without the mood to argue.

Rachel hesitated. He looked around. No one defended her. No one smiled. He followed his brother in silence, and when the door closed behind them, the air finally seemed to move again.

Emily sighed slowly. The kettle whistled low on the stove, but no one got up.

Sam then turned to Paul, who still seemed trapped in place.

- Go after her. - It wasn't a request. It was a command.

Paul took a moment. The anger hadn't passed. Not the concern either. And somewhere between one and the other, there was you.

However, just before he crossed the door, Leah finally let go:

- If she will want to see you.

The voice came like a thin blade. There was pain there. And loyalty. A little point of mockery protecting all this.

Paul stopped. Just for a second. Then he left.

The door closed with a muffled thud.

___________________________

When Jared left him in front of his house, the sky was still dark. The bluish and cold light of the dawn bathed the deserted streets, and the silence seemed dense enough to be cut with a knife. Paul got out of the car without saying anything. Jared left.

He stood there for a few seconds, his hands in his pockets, looking at the crooked car in front of the garage. That wasn't just a badly parked car - it was a silent warning that you could barely use the right side. He felt his jaw lock.

He walked to the side of the house, bypassing the familiar shadows that crawled through the garden. His mother's vine, with its hanging flowers and thick leaves, covered the side of the wall until it almost touched the window of her bedroom, on the second floor. He knew that path as if it had been made for him.

Paul climbed easily, his fingers firm on the thick branches of the plant, the smell of the leaves mixed with that of the cold night. The window was leaning - as it always was - and he pushed it slowly, trying not to make noise.

The first thing he heard was the sound of the shower being closed.

The room was dark, but warm with the steam escaping from the bathroom. The dim light coming from there drew soft shadows on the wall. Paul sat at the end of his bed, his chest tight.

You appeared a few seconds later, wrapped in a towel, your hair dripping, your eyes down, as if it hurt until you raised your head. He was having trouble moving - every step seemed calculated, as if his whole body protested against him.

And then you saw him there.

- What are you doing here? - His voice came out low, hoarse. Annoyed, but more than that: tired. Exhausted. Hurt. Not only in the body.

Paul didn't answer right away. His eyes ran through his face with an intensity that seemed almost physical. Then they went down, analyzing every detail: the way you kept your left arm slightly raised, as if you wanted to protect the right side of the body; the short breath, avoiding expanding the lung too much to the point of touching the ribs. You were trying to look whole - and failing.

- I came to see if you're okay - he said, as if that alone was enough justification to have climbed a wall in the middle of the night.

You turned your face. It wasn't ingratitude. It was just... too much.

He approached slowly. One step. Then another one. Almost hesitant.

You looked away.

- Not now, Paul. Please.

The supplication in your voice did not come in screams or anger. It came in fatigue. In the way the shoulders fell a little more.

- I know. I didn't come to argue. - he ran his hand over the back of his neck, his voice lower now, as if he was forcing himself to contain something. - But... you drove hurt. Alone. At this time. After that.

You inspired - or tried. The air came in torn, trapped between the pain of the ribs and the lump in the throat. He needed a second before talking.

- I'm fine - you replied, with forced firmness. The sentence came broken. - I'm just tired... I just need to sleep.

Paul stood there, standing in the middle of the room, as if he didn't know what to do with his own hands. With their own feelings. As if you wanted to hold your pain without being able to touch it. His eyes wandered through the environment, through the towel barely attached to his body, through the way you avoided taking a deep breath.

- You should go. - His voice came out low, scratched. You turned around slowly, resting your left side on the nightstand while trying to pull the drawer with restrained effort. - I want to be alone.

But the drawer was too heavy to pull with one hand.

Before you tried again, he was already there. He pulled with ease, taking a pajamas. He didn't ask if he could. Just did it. With an almost intimate naturalness. The kind of care that came from instinct, not permission.

You started to dry yourself slowly, with your eyes down, trying not to move too much. Every move cost. Each arm stretch seemed to tear inside.

When you finished, he approached. Slowly. As if he were in front of a bruised animal that could still bite.

He extended the blouse with a hesitant gesture. You didn't say anything - just let him pass it first through one arm, then through the other. And then, with the utmost care, over your head.

That's where he saw it.

The bruise covered his right side, dark purple at the edges, bluish in the center. He stood still for a second, his blouse still stuck between his fingers, staring at what you two already knew - but seeing was different from imagining. Seeing made the pain too real.

But he didn't say anything.

It only helped to pull the blouse until it went down completely, covering the bruise. Then he turned to bed. He arranged the pillows, fixed the blanket without saying a word. When you approached, staggering a little, he supported you by the shoulders and guided you to the mattress. You lay down slowly, gasping discreetly when you touched the injured side.

He covered you with delicacy. As if the act itself could serve as an excuse not to directly touch what hurt. As if his care could relieve what you didn't let anyone see.

Paul stood there for a moment, standing next to him. Then he moved a lock of hair away from his face. The gesture was as fast as it was soft. But you felt his weight there. The fault. The frustration. Love.

- I'm going - he said, moving away, slow steps towards the window.

But before he passed through the open frame, his voice called him. A sound wire. A spent whisper.

- Paul.

He turned around immediately. He didn't say anything, he just looked, attentive, willing. As if anything you said would matter more than anything.

- I love you.

It was low. But firm. Like an anchor. Like someone who didn't want it to stay in the air, no matter how much the night was full of silences and unsaid things.

Paul smiled. Small. Almost sad. But true.

- I love you too.

That didn't fix anything. It didn't detach the hurt. It didn't cure what had been suspended between you. But it was a memory.

You still had what it took to try.

________________________

Next Chapter

Comments, likes, and reblogs will be greatly appreciated!

xoxo, bee💋🫶🏼

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beegomess · 2 months ago

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my tumblr is my private secret account

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beegomess · 2 months ago

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Ok, so everyone agrees that the best part of posting chapters/imagine is choosing the cover images, right???

#writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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beegomess · 2 months ago

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Hearts woven in threads || Paul Lahote x Fem!Reader

A/N: English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any typos. I hope you enjoy!

masterlist || Hearts woven in threads

Chapter 05

Normality seemed to return little by little - or the closest to what your new life could offer. Months had already passed since its first transformation, and now, it was no longer something out of the ordinary. Your body had learned to deal with impulses and changes, and with time, the mind too. Becoming a shey was almost instinctive now. It was like breathing. As if that gigantic four-legged animal had always lived inside you - you were only sleeping until recently.

His friendship with Kim also flourished during this time. The coexistence brought a lightness that you didn't even know you needed, even if there was still a space saved for Leah. She was missed, even when you tried not to think about it.

Paul, on the other hand, was a constant. You two slept together almost every night, sometimes in your house, sometimes in his, and when, for any reason, you needed to sleep apart, it was as if a part was missing. And if at first the instinct already united them strongly, now the loop seemed even more powerful - more hungry.

The connection between you has become urgent, almost wild at times. The imprinting seemed to have awakened something primitive, uncontrollable. You could barely stay away. The kisses lasted longer, the touches were more accurate. And on the nights when the house was only yours, it was as if the whole world disappeared.

Your mother seemed to have accepted that new phase of her life without many questions. Maybe because she don't know exactly what to ask. But her absences became more and more frequent - unexpected trips to visit family members, weekends away, messages left on the refrigerator door with vague return dates. Sometimes, it seemed too convenient. But you chose not to investigate.

As for the pack, you had found your place - or almost. The relationship with others was good, natural. Quil, Embry and even Jared seemed to have accepted his presence with surprising ease. But even so, there was something in the way Sam conducted everything that made you a little uncomfortable sometimes. Nothing open. Just a subtle annoyance, between the lines, a restlessness that you couldn't ignore. You didn't always agree with his methods, but for now, you preferred to keep it quiet. Maybe because you didn't know exactly what to do with this feeling yet.

And then, the day of your graduation arrived.

The typical heat of spring was already mixed with the first touches of summer, leaving everything with that end-of-cycle aroma. The school was decorated in an exaggerated way - balloons and colorful banners, the students wearing scholarships with faces that oscillated between relief and fear of what came next. You saw everything with a certain distance. So many things had changed. So many things were still changing. But there was something special about being there, even so.

Kim looked radiant, laughing with the group of friends she managed to gather around - and of course, from time to time, her eyes searched for Jared, who still oscillated between keeping a safe distance and surrendering to what he felt for her. You didn't really know how he could resist. Maybe it was fear, but Kim deserved more, and deep down, you knew she knew that too.

The ceremony passed in a blur of applause, speeches and camera flashes. The real celebration, however, would come later. Still that night, the school would organize a party for the graduates, something traditional and always chaotic. You would go, of course. Kim too. It was the least after all.

The spring sky still kept a remnant of reddish sun, dyeing the clouds with orange and pink tones while the crowd of students and family members began to disperse from the ceremony. The freshly cut grass in the school yard was all marked by heels and dress shoes.

While walking with Kim towards the entrance of the gym, where the party would begin, she laughed at something she told about how her mother tried to fix her dress with hot glue at the last minute.

- I swear I thought I was going to go on stage and fall apart a whole - she said between laughs, already holding a plastic punch cup.

You also laughed, lighter than you expected to feel that night. But the next moment, a chill ran down the back of his neck. And it wasn't because of the warm wind.

You knew before you even saw him.

- Hey. - his voice came low, close to your ear. - Can I steal you for a moment?

You turned around and found him there, with a half-crooked tie and that half-smile he wore when he was trying to look carefree, but there was something urgent hidden in the bottom of his eyes.

Kim looked from one to the other and, without saying anything, just nodded, walking away with a curious smile on his face.

Paul gently pulled you by the arm, guiding you to a corner further away from the courtyard, between the parked cars and a set of low trees that surrounded the place. The music of the party began to echo from the gym.

- Are you going to tell me that you can't stay away from me even for an hour? - you provoked, raising an eyebrow.

He let out a nasal laugh.

- Well... that too. But that's not why I came to talk.

His tone became more serious, although the smile had not yet completely disappeared.

- Sam called. It seems that he felt something at the northern edge of the reserve. It may be a mistake, but... you know how he is with these things.

You sighed, your shoulders falling a little.

- Really? Now?

Paul tilted his head, approaching a step.

- For a second, I considered going without you... - He said, pretending to think - But then I imagined your drama for being away from me for more than five minutes. And I decided to spare you from this.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to hold a smile.

- How attentive of you.

- I know. - he raised his eyebrows, theatrical. - I'm a responsible boyfriend. Which, by chance, looks terribly good in a suit.

You laughed, pretending to roll your eyes, but you couldn't help but agree.

- Well... it doesn't seem like we have much choice. So let's go soon.

You accompanied him to the others. Quil and Embry were already waiting near the edge of the courtyard. Jared was a few meters away, saying goodbye to Kim, who was now staring at the floor with her arms crossed, clearly trying to look strong.

You approached her slowly.

- Kim...

She looked up at the same time, reading everything on your face.

- I know - she said before you could open your mouth. - It's the world ending again.

You pursed your lips, feeling the tightness in your chest.

- I swear I didn't want to go...

Kim snorted a laugh, but it didn't look exactly fun.

- You promised me you would dance until you fell. I'm wearing heels because of you, even.

You held her hand.

- And I'll comply. It just won't be today.

She hesitated, looking over her shoulder where Paul was waiting. Then, he looked at you again.

- Okay. But you'll make it up to me. With a real party. Just us.

You smiled.

- The most iconic possible.

She laughed lighter this time, her face softening.

- It's agreed.

You hugged each other quickly, before it got too emotional. When you walked away, Kim stood there, watching you walk towards the boys. Paul was waiting for you with his hands in his pockets and a skewed smile. When you got close, he passed his arm around your shoulders automatically, his fingers sliding over the skin of your bare back.

Kim kept standing still, watching.

Paul said something to you, and you turned your face laughing, your eyes shining in a way she didn't see often. It was as if a bubble involved you two - everything else seemed just like noise.

She felt the weight of that intimacy like a cold touch in her ribs. It was as if she saw what she could have, what she might feel with Jared - and she didn't.

The forest looked darker that night, as if even the moon had chosen to hide. The branches rusped in the wind, and the air carried a subtle but continuous tension. The patrol was silent, almost automatic - each one following the designated trail, attentive to any unusual sign. But in the end, it wasn't a big deal.

No new traces. No strong smell. No threat.

When the patrol was closed, you and Paul decided not to go back to Emily's house with the others. The lights in his house were still off, and the street seemed even quieter than usual. It was already dawn when you came in.

The door closed behind you with a deaf snar. The house plunged again into silence, broken only by Paul's steps right behind you.

You dropped the keys on the sideboard and didn't even bother to turn on the lights. You already knew exactly where everything was.

He felt when Paul approached from behind, the heat of his body touching his even before his hands touched his waist. And it was fast - there was no hesitation, just need. He turned you in front of you with a firm pull, the eyes burning in yours, the heavy breathing still from the race in the patrol shift.

You opened your mouth to say something - maybe a provocation - but you didn't have time. His mouth took yours as if it were the only way to calm the tension that throbbed between the two of you. And maybe it was.

The kiss was voracious. There was nothing sweet, nothing calm. Paul pushed you until he touched the corridor wall, and his body went along with pleasure, as if he was waiting for it from the moment he appeared on his side in the forest.

His hands were already under his blouse, and yours was pulling his T-shirt over his head. The clothes were taken off as if it burned.

- Shower? - you managed to ask between one kiss and another, already panting, when he pressed his forehead on yours.

- Now? - he gave a half smile.

You didn't answer. He took him by the hand and pulled him in a hurry, the two almost tripping on the way. They went up the stairs shrugging, laughing low between stolen kisses. He grabbed her before you reached the bathroom door and turned her back against the corridor wall, his firm hands squeezing her thigh, pulling her leg up, fitting her hip tightly to yours.

The next second, the bathroom door was opened with force. In a few steps, you were already inside, getting rid of the last pieces of clothing on the cold floor. Paul turned the shower register with one hand, and with the other pulled you under the water without giving you a chance to retreat.

The hot water fell on the two as a relief and a provocation at the same time. The temperature contrasted with the impatience with which his hands slid through his body, as if he wanted to memorize everything again - as if he hadn't already done it dozens of times.

You were completely immersed in the fog that formed in your mind when he turned your body firmly, leaving you with your back to him, his chest hot and solid glued to your wet back.

Paul's mouth ran down his shoulder with precise, hungry bites, leaving small marks that the water did not carry. His lips met your neck and collarbone, and you gasped, your eyes closing when you felt one of his hands rise to grab your breast, while the other slowly explored between your legs.

You grabbed his arm instinctively, your fingers digging lightly into the skin of the forearm that wrapped your waist. It wasn't exactly to stop him - it was as if you needed something to hold on to, a point of support in the middle of the storm that his touch caused. His fingers slipped into soft scratches, which intensified as the pleasure increased, marking him as much as he marked you.

Each touch was like an electric current that ran down her spine and exploded in low heat in her womb. His body molded to his, looking for more, asking for more, even without words.

His head fell softly on Paul's shoulder, surrendering without resistance. His eyes closed, his lips parted, and a sigh escaped the second he pulled you even more against him.

- Fuck - you gasped in a hoarse whisper, more for the intensity than for the words themselves.

Paul just smiled against your skin, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. One of the hands went up slowly until it wrapped your neck firmly, your fingers pressing with the exact care of those who know your every limit. The other hand went to his hip, firm, determined - not to prevent, but to anchor, keep you exactly where he wanted.

And you already knew what would come after that.

His body responded even before his mind could reason, his legs almost failing with the weight of desire that accumulated too fast, too strong.

You bit your lip hard, trying not to moan too loudly, but it was useless. Paul moved behind you with precision and hunger, and the muffled sound of the colliding bodies mixed with the constant sound of water hitting the tile. It was raw and intense.

His fingers still squeezed his arm, but now in pure surrender. Sometimes they slipped to the tile or went up to the back of his neck, pulling their wet hair, seeking control where there was none.

And even when it was all over and you stood there, panting, the water still running, he didn't move away.

Paul kept you leaning against his chest, your arm wrapping around your waist, your chin resting on top of your head as if you still didn't want to leave there. As if even after the satiated body, the instinct still asked for more.

You took a deep breath, trying to recover, your eyes closed, and it was at that moment - almost without thinking, without brake - that you let out:

- I love you.

It wasn't rehearsed. Not very romantic, but it was real. A panting whisper, tearing the silence with all the intensity of that moment.

Paul smiled against his skin, his lips pressing a warm and long kiss on the curve of his shoulder.

- I love you too - he murmured, satisfied, as if he had waited for it.

Paul left the bathroom before you after that. When you came out of the bathroom still with wet hair, wrapped in one of your most comfortable robes. The house was silent, except for the soft sound of the fine rain against the windows.

He was drying the wires with the towel when he noticed that Paul was not in the room. Franziu frowned, but without worry. At this point, it was already more than common for him to circulate freely around the house as if it were his too - which, little by little, was starting to seem true.

He went down the stairs in light steps, still running the towel through his hair, until he heard a slight metallic creaking coming from the kitchen. When he approached, he caught Paul opening the closet, taking the cat's food and filled Oliver's pot with the same naturalness with which he breathed. Oliver appeared soon after, as if he had understood the cue, and brushed Paul's legs before leaning on the food.

You laughed low.

- You're living here and I didn't even notice?

Paul threw a crooked smile over his shoulder.

- I'm just being helpful.

He approached, took the towel off your hands and you went up together, and when you got to the room, you let yourself fall on your back on the bed while he closed the door. Paul joined you, pulling your body against his with ease. His still wet hair left a slight dark spot on his T-shirt, but he didn't seem to care.

Lying with her back on his chest, her leg intertaced with his, the television on some channel - everything seemed right.

You slept like this. Involved by him, by the calm breathing, by the constant heat of Paul's body. No dreams, no worries. When he woke up, the side of the bed where he had been was already cold. Paul had left before the sun rose. A note rested on the pillow, written with its hurried handwriting:

"Sam's emergency, I'll be back as soon as I'm done. love you."

You went down in silence. The house was empty - your mother was still traveling. It's been days since you heard any sound besides Paul's around the house. And now, there was only yours.

She prepared something to eat - more out of habit than out of hunger - and stayed for a while leaning against the kitchen door frame, watching the silent garden. There was something in the air that bothered. A light vibration, almost imperceptible.

That's where the beats came.

You frowned, your senses immediately alert. It wasn't Paul's way to hit. Not even your mother. Not even anyone from the pack.

When he opened the door, the world seemed to leave the axis for a moment.

- Leah...

The name came out in a whisper, but loaded with everything that has been kept since she left.

- Hi...

You opened the door for good and she came in without ceremony. Even far away, Leah still seemed to fit in that space.

- Your house looks the same - she commented, with a small smile, half of a corner. - But with less smell of food now.

You laughed, still a little incredulous by her presence there, closing the door behind her.

- Yeah. My mother is traveling. The house is quieter than it should be.

She nodded, walking to the couch, her eyes going through details as if she wanted to make sure that nothing had changed too much.

You followed her, sitting next to her, with your heart racing and calm at the same time.

- When did you arrive? - you asked.

Leah took a few seconds to answer.

- Earlier today. I didn't talk to anyone. I just felt that... it was about time.

You watched her in silence for a moment. Her face was different, but it was her. It was Leah, your Leah. And you had forgotten how much you missed it.

- Does Seth know you're here?

- Not yet - she replied, and after a pause, she completed with a brief smile. - But he'll know. And it won't leave me quiet for long.

- He missed you a lot. - You spoke gently. - And me too.

She didn't answer. He just looked forward, as if he was trying to hold something.

- You seemed... so far away - you continued, after a while. - Even when Seth told me that sometimes you answered one or two messages, it still seemed like you had really disappeared.

- I needed it.

- I understand, but... You could have called me... Before leaving. I couldn't solve your pain, but I would have listened.

She took a deep breath, without haste. But you already knew. I already understood. I just wanted to hear from her voice.

- I know, I just... I was tired. Of the pain, of the weight, of the place that everything occupied in here. I just... needed to shut up a little. Stop listening to the world. The pack. Sam.

You nodded slowly. No judgments. Because deep down, you always knew that when she left, it wouldn't be bad. It would be out of necessity.

A comfortable silence filled the space. You leaned your back against the sofa and let the words settle in the air.

- I imagined many ways to see you again - you said, with a weak smile. - But none was better than this one.

- Better how?

- You here. Whole. Even if still a little in pieces.

Leah laughed, almost relieved.

- I'm sorry for worrying you like that.

- Bullshit. You are my best friend. I would have worried if you were living with me.

She smiled back, this time for real. A shy smile, small, but that illuminated.

- And you're the only person who would call me best friend after two years of silence.

- I never stopped.

Leah settled on the couch with one of her legs bent and the other stretched, as if she still remembered exactly where she was most comfortable there. You sat sideways, pulling a pillow to your lap, and for a while they just stood there. No hurry. As if time had paused to allow the reunion to exist.

- And you? - Leah asked, after a while. The voice was low, but full of intention. - How were these two years?

You let out a light sigh and let your eyes wander around the room.

- They were... long and kind of chaotic - he replied. - Especially at the beginning. It was like a part of me was missing all the time, you know? I got very angry. Not from you. But of everything. Of how everything suddenly became different.

Leah listened in silence, her eyes fixed on you. And that was her way of hearing: whole.

- The transformation happened shortly after you left - you continued. - It was confusing. Too fast. I didn't have room to understand anything, just react. And accept.

She nodded slowly. You knew she understood more than anyone could.

- I thought I was going to hate you, really - you said with a small smile, almost melancholic. - But I just missed you. In everything. Even in your bad mood.

Leah laughed, and for a second, it was as if the two years had not existed.

- I needed to disappear - she said. - I knew Seth would handle it. And you too.

- I thought you needed it. That's why I didn't go after it - you answered sincerely. - But I wondered every day if you were okay.

She took a deep breath. And then, with an almost instinctive gesture, he turned his face towards the corridor. You noticed when her gaze narrowed for a moment, analyzing something in the air. The sharp wolf scent was never lost - she felt it. The smell she remembered to be Paul's was still there, impregnated on the walls of the house, on the couch, on you.

But Leah didn't say anything. He just looked at you again with a small, calm smile. Almost an accomplice.

You noticed.

- What's wrong? - he asked, trying to look casual.

- Nothing - she answered lightly.

You laughed low.

- Come, I'll do something to you. I'm hungry. And I bet you haven't eaten anything decent in days.

Leah followed you with her eyes walking around the house as if looking for the memories of a time that, even with everything, was still good.

In the kitchen, you opened the refrigerator with a sigh and shook your head when you saw the mess.

- It will have to be improvised. Can it be a sandwich with scrambled egg? It's at the gourmet level of my current cuisine.

- Gourmet? - Leah raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with a half debauched smile. - Since when have you become a breakfast chef?

- Since my mother started traveling all the time. - you replied, already taking the eggs and some bread. - I'm starting to wonder what she does out there.

Leah laughed weakly and you smiled too, putting the frying pan on the fire, and soon the sound of the eggs crackling filled the silence. It was strange how everything between you fell back into that old rhythm. As if nothing had changed - and at the same time, everything had changed.

- Ah - Leah said suddenly, leaning over to look better towards the corner of the kitchen. - What the hell is that?

You followed her gaze and laughed.

- Oliver's pot. Our cat.

Leah stared at you, surprised.

- Do you have a cat?

- Yes. - You answered casually, stirring your eggs. - My mother took him to a shelter. He hates me in the morning and loves to climb into the sink when I'm washing dishes. It's an intense relationship.

She laughed, and the sound of her laughter seemed to make the air lighter.

- You two are worse than I imagined. - Leah replied, with a dramatic and amused expression.

You laughed, shaking your head. He finished assembling two sandwiches and put one of them in front of her.

Leah took the sandwich and took a bite, still watching you as if she were absorbing everything little by little.

- Two years is a long time - she said, finally. - But I feel like I've never been.

You nodded. The truth was there between you, but it wasn't time to force it. So, he asked lighter:

- And where have you been?

Leah looked away, thoughtful.

- Around there. Some reservations in Canada, a few months in Alaska... I don't even know very well. - She gave a corner smile. - I never stayed long in one place.

- Alone?

- Always. - The answer came quickly, and then she added, with the lowest voice: - Seth knew, of course. He texted me sometimes, even when I didn't answer. I think it was just for me to know that he was still there.

You nodded in silence.

You looked at her and for a moment, it seemed that everything they had lived was there, hovering over the kitchen.

- Now I'm one of you. So, if you're going to run away, let me know.

- If you want so much. - Leah smiled sideways, her eyes narrowing slightly. - But there's something else... it smells like another wolf here besides yours.

You froze only for a second, enough for her to notice. But Leah didn't say anything. He just looked at you with that complicit smile, as if he had always known everything.

- Well, there's a lot I haven't told you yet, so... - you said, resting your elbows on the bench, looking at her.

Leah shrugged with that ironic air that only she had.

- Oh, as if this were a great news coming from you.

You laughed, throwing your head back.

- Was it that obvious?

She raises an eyebrow, sarcastically.

- You two have always been kind of... inevitable.

But before anyone could say anything else, the sound of the front door opening and then closing echoed through the house - the key turning, steps entering.

- Your mother called me and said she was coming back - Paul's voice arrived before him, crossing the house naturally. He showed up in the kitchen with two bags in his hands. - So I went to the market and bought...

His step slowed down when his eyes met Leah, leaning against the bench with the sandwich half in her hand. For a second, time seemed to hold my breath.

- I swear that was the last sentence I expected to hear coming out of your mouth someday.

You laughed, instinctively.

- He has his moments.

Leah gave a half smile, the one that always came when she refused to admit that she was surprised - or touched.

- Yeah, I see.

Paul let out a low laugh, but his eyes didn't disguise the surprise - as if he was still absorbing the scene there in the kitchen.

- There's a vision that I didn't think I'd see so soon - he said, dropping the bags on the bench.

Leah raised the sandwich, as if toasting it.

- Surprise.

You smiled, watching the two exchange barbs as if time had paused. Paul tilted his head, his eyes still on Leah.

- And whole, apparently.

Leah nodded with a half smile, without breaking the rhythm.

He took a step to the side, starting to take the items out of the bags - cereals, juice, a package of naturally fermented bread that you knew he pretended not to like, but always ended up eating.

- I'm glad you're back - he said, without much fanfare.

Leah looked at you, then back to him.

- Me too. I'm still getting used to it, but... it's good to see everyone. Or almost everyone.

Paul just nodded with a light sound in his throat, as if he wanted to say more, but didn't know if it was time.

- Sam will know you're around when you see us on the round today - he said, casually, like someone who drops a stone in the middle of a calm lake.

His gaze was automatic: a subtle, severe, silent cut. Nothing threatening, but direct. Paul felt - you saw it on his shoulders, which slowed down for a second. But he didn't back down.

Leah, on the other hand, looked away.

- Yeah... I thought that moment would come. I just don't know if I'm ready for him.

The silence that came after was not uncomfortable. He was one of those who respect the memory of unresolved things.

- You can stay here if you want. - you said, turning slightly in her direction.

Leah looked at you with that half smile that always appeared when she wanted to look tougher than she really was.

- I know. But I think it's better to go home. Seth will be there... he deserves it.

- So have lunch with us first - you replied, without thinking twice. - My mom is coming back now, she'll freak out when she sees you here.

Leah let out a nasal laugh, shaking her head.

- Emotional blackmail? Really?

- Oh, stop. You miss her too - you answered, opening the refrigerator as if that closed the subject.

Your mother arrived less than half an hour later. The noise of the car at the entrance was followed by a quick call around the house, and you barely had time to answer before it appeared at the kitchen door - the bag with clothes still hanging on your arm.

When her eyes met Leah, standing there between you and Paul, the world seemed to stop for a second.

- Leah, darling! - she exclaimed, dropping her bag on the floor.

Leah let out a surprised laugh, and the next moment the two were hugging each other. It was that kind of hug that doesn't ask, that doesn't require explanations. A hug that recognizes an absence and welcomes it back.

- I knew you were going to come back soon - your mother said, her voice a little stuckled.

- You and your scary intuition - Leah replied, smiling against her shoulder.

Lunch was simple, but full of life. Her mother didn't stop talking, asking questions, trying to make up for the two years Leah was away. Paul sat next to you, participating here and there, but also leaving space. He understood.

Oliver tuggled into Leah's legs as if she had always been part of the house.

After lunch, Leah seemed lighter, as if the weight of the turn was, little by little, fitting in the right place. When she decided to go, the tone was calm.

In the following days, life resumed its rhythm, but with a new frequency in the background. Leah was officially back. Everyone already knew. Seth walked with an evident glow in his eyes, although he tried to disguise it.

Sam also already knew - it was impossible for he not to know. Still, Leah didn't look for him. Not a word, not an appearance.

You didn't comment on that. No one commented. It was like a thread of tension that crossed the peace of the new beginning, but without bursting. Paul, in silence, respected. Your mother too.

And even now, lying in Paul's bed hours before the patrol, with the warm night breeze entering through the open window, this thought was still spinning inside her head.

You were on your back, your eyes fixed on the dark ceiling of the room, but your mind was miles away. The heat of Paul's body next to him was constant, firm. He was lying on his side, one arm thrown around his waist, and even in silence, it was as if he already knew.

- You seem too agitated for someone who says you're trying to sleep - he said, the grave voice cutting the silence naturally.

You let out a short sigh and turned your face a little, not knowing whether to smile or answer.

- I can't turn my head off - he murmured.

Paul didn't say anything right away. He just slid his hand through his ribs in a calm, almost automatic gesture.

- Leah?

You nodded.

- She's weird again. I don't know. Looks like she's... leaving without going, you know?

Paul turned his body a little more, now leaning on the shoulder of his own arm, facing you.

- I saw it too.

- And?

- And maybe she just needs to breathe a little. Really, this time.

You felt a slight discomfort in your chest.

- I invited her to Kim's birthday tomorrow. But she...

- ...won't show up - he completed for you.

You looked at him and found understanding.

- I keep wondering if she's going to run away again. And if it is, if I should try to stop it.

Paul took a deep breath and, for the first time that night, hesitated.

- Sam wouldn't let me.

His gaze narrowed a little.

- What do you mean?

- He said he would go after her in a few days. She asked if I had seen her.

You didn't answer, but Paul noticed the subtle way his body became more tense under his arm. He didn't justify himself right away. He just pulled his hand with his, intertwining his fingers firmly.

- I wasn't going to hide it from you. I just wanted to... give you a break.

You were silent for a moment before sighing, letting your face turn in his direction, shaking his hand back, without answering with words.

The night passed in a slow breath. After the conversation with Paul, sleep came light, almost lazy - as if the body itself respected the weight that its emotions still carried.

The dawn patrol ran quietly, marked only by the sound of the footsteps in the forest. As always, no one mentioned Leah.

The sky began to clear when you arrived at the beach, wearing a light blouse over your bikini. Emily was already there, with a basket in her hands and her eyes half-closed before the first golden light of the sun. One of those rare days when the whole sky seemed open.

- This is a birthday present - she commented, smiling, as you approached.

- I think even the weather likes Kim - you replied, taking another basket from the floor.

You spread a large towel over the sand, right there, where the sun began to warm discreetly. The sea still seemed dormant, quiet, and the wind played with the tips of your hair.

- And Leah? - Emily asked after a moment, the tone trying to sound casual, but not being able to totally hide the hesitation. - Is she coming?

You fixed a plate on the edge of the towel before answering.

- I invited. She thanked me, but said she couldn't. I didn't want to force... - you shrugged. - But she's fine. Just... a little far away, again.

Emily nodded, her eyes fixed on some point of the sea.

The silence that came next was interrupted by Kim's excited voice, calling from afar:

- I can't believe you guys set everything up.

You turned around and saw her approaching with a wide smile, her hair still a little messy. Jared came right behind, laughing at some joke Paul told, while the others went further back, with bags and towels in their hands.

The sun, already high, made the sand shine as if summer had woken up earlier that day. The sea breeze was light, and the whole scene seemed taken from a rare interval of the routine.

Kim approached slowly, her eyes running through the details scattered on the towel: the colorful glasses, the improvised cake, the sandwiches stacked in a large pot. And smiled.

- Seriously... this is so cute. I loved it - she said, sincere, with a joy that didn't scream, just warmed up.

- I knew you would like it - Emily replied with a soft smile, fixing the plastic cutlery next to the napkins.

Jared, with his laughter still stuck in his throat, added:

- It just wasn't easy to get her out of bed at this time.

Kim cast a dramatic look at him, but the expression fell into a laugh soon after.

- Irrelevant details. - And turned to you. - But seriously... thank you. This here is already worth my whole day.

You smiled and, without saying anything, took the wrapped package you had left aside. He reached out to her, who arched her eyebrows, surprised.

- More?

- A gift doesn't hurt - you said, with that casual tone that disguised the care with which you had chosen the bracelet.

Kim carefully unwrapped, and when she saw what it was, her eyes lit up again. She has already put the bracelet on her wrist right there, testing the fitting, turning her arm for the sun to catch right in the middle of the blue pebble.

- It's perfect - he said, without exaggeration, and then hugged you quickly. When he walked away, he already returned to the provocative tone. - But you still owe me that party.

You laughed, rolling your eyes lazily.

- I know.

Kim went to Emily to show the bracelet, excited, and you took the opportunity to stretch one of the towels better on the sand. Jared had already thrown himself next to you, saying something that only made sense to Embry, who laughed out loud.

The party was gaining body with a hot naturalness, without haste. The voices mixed with the calm sound of the waves, and the smell of the sea spread between the extended towels and the bottles partially buried in the sand to maintain the temperature.

Paul was already next to him, sitting close enough for his arm to touch his from time to time. He laughed out loud at some nonsense Quil said - a full, carefree laugh that made something inside you warm up.

You leaned on your arms, your feet immersed in the sand, and watched the group around. Kim was lying with her eyes closed, absorbing every ray of sun as if she wanted to save them for the gray days. Jared was still trying to convince her to get into the water, whispering something that made her laugh and shake her head, pretending to deny it.

Paul had his eyes fixed on you. When his gaze crossed his, a small wave of heat ran through his chest. He didn't say anything right away - he just arched an eyebrow, with that air of lazy challenge that you already knew well.

- What's wrong? - You asked with a light smile.

But then he leaned in his direction and said, with a low and provocative voice:

- Come on, come with me.

You stared at him, trying to keep your expression impassive.

- Is this serious? It's not even that hot yet.

Paul gave a half smile, getting up slowly.

- Are you cold? - He asked in a mocking tone.

You raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer. He just got up and took off his clothes calmly, standing now, his feet sinking deeper into the sand.

He approached, still with that half smile. And before he could predict, he took you in his lap with ease and ran straight to the water.

- Paul! - you shouted, laughing out loud, already preparing for the icy impact.

And then he threw you.

The sea swallowed you for a second, and when you emerged, your hair stuck to your face and your lips open in a laugh, you saw Paul dive soon after. You stayed there for a while, between splashes and provocations, playing as if the rest of the world had disappeared.

From afar, whoever looked at it would see two bodies that knew exactly how to exist together.

The water was still cold enough to get involuntary laughter, but it didn't matter anymore. You and Paul swam close, provoking each other between splashes and quick dives. He vanished under the surface and appeared on the other side, pulled you by the waist, stole a kiss or tickled on purpose. The world had disappeared, and the sea seemed to exist only for you two.

It was when you decided to get out of the water that he reached you from behind, his firm arms sliding around your wet waist. He laughed against his neck and began to kiss his cheek several times, one after the other, with an almost childish dedication.

- Are you trying to buy me cutely now? - you asked between laughs, your eyes closing with a meek joy.

- I'm trying to stop you from getting out of the water. - he murmured, laughing too, and pulled you back against him, as if he didn't want that moment to end.

And Leah saw it.

She was in her wolf form, near the top of the cliff, where the wind was strong and the smell of salt mixed with that of the forest. She had approached moved by an impulse that not even she herself had understood. She wanted to see. Just see. Like someone who checks an old scar, even knowing it's going to hurt.

And it hurt.

Imprinting was already a reality for both of you, she knew. She had already understood that it was mutual. But seeing you two together, with that lightness and intimacy that is not taught, you just feel... was something else. It was a punch of silence inside the chest. An absence that echoed. Maybe she was upset that you didn't say anything about it before.

Paul was light with you. You were gentle with him. What you had was whole.

And Leah, no matter how much she tried not to feel, not to think, not to compare, not to remember... she saw herself there, alone, seeing the kind of love she wanted for herself, but she couldn't touch. It was like observing through the window something that already had, but was broken even before using it.

She stayed there longer than she should.

But then Sam felt it.

And, in a second, you also felt it. A subtle vibration between the pack, the instinctive sign that something - or someone - familiar was nearby.

Paul frowned, looking away in the direction of the cliff. You followed the movement, but you didn't see anything.

That's when she ran away.

Fast, light, like the wind cutting through the trees. Sam, in the distance, stopped for a moment, his eyes fixed on a point high. The others also felt - a silent and ancient recognition. But no one said anything.

__________________________

The following weeks passed like the drag of the wind through the trees: constant, but never the same.

Jacob was changing - and everyone felt it. The tantrums, the inexplicable pains, the too much heat even on cold days. It was like watching a train about to derail, and Sam kept his eyes fixed on the rails. Paul too. Their presence around Jacob became more frequent, the two sharing silent glances during patrols and short meetings, as if each new step of the boy needed to be measured carefully.

This, in a way, took Leah's focus away.

Without having to deal with Sam's direct attention, she returned to the routine of the pack almost imperceptibly - like a shadow that never left, just waited for the right moment to move again.

Being back wasn't exactly easy. Even more so when much of the pack's life revolved around Emily's house. It was strange to see her there, even if Leah always kept a certain distance, occupying the quietest corners of the room, the words too contained for any real approach. But she was there. That was what mattered.

You, on the other hand, didn't see Paul as often as before. His obligations to Sam, the care for Jacob and all that seemed to fill the days more than any other subject.

You and Jacob got along well, the kind of strange well-being of those who share a nature that has not yet been fully revealed. He was curious, he watched you as if trying to understand something beyond the surface. And although he spoke little, there was firmness and respect in his every gesture - a presence that not everyone could conquer so soon.

In recent days, he had been spending more time with the pack. Afternoons like that at Emily's house became frequent. But in that one in particular, something weighed in the air - something that followed him from earlier, since an unexpected visit.

The rain was falling without truce when you parked in front of the balcony. The headlights cut the darkness for a moment, illuminating the almost comic scene of four soaked boys: Jacob, Quil, Jared and Paul, leaning against the wall as if they were punishments. They were laughing, clearly having fun at the expense of something - or someone.

You ran to them with your coat pulled over your head, dodging from the puddles.

- Emily didn't let you in? - he asked, laughing before the answer.

- No way - Emily appeared at the door, her arms crossed. - They were going to wet the whole house.

You took the towels Emily brought and started distributing them. Paul took his last, and before drying his face, he leaned over and left a quick kiss on his face - simple, usual, but still hot as always. You smiled without thinking, and leaned back on the wooden railing of the balcony, watching the group.

That's when he noticed the silence between the laughter. Or rather: the silence in Jacob. He smiled with the others, but it was as if the whole body was holding something.

- How was today? - you asked, without aiming directly at him, but feeling that the question was for him.

- Jacob delayed us. - Jared was the first to provoke.

- Bella showed up at his house - Quil added, almost without holding back his laughter.

You turned your head a little.

- Bella? That Cullen girl?

- Her own - Paul said, drying his hair with the towel and casting a look full of malice at Jacob. - Also known as Jacob's girl.

Jacob snorted, his gaze still low, but with a small smile on the corner of his mouth.

You arched an eyebrow, with a light tone in your voice:

- Oh, so she's your girlfriend now?

Quil burst out laughing even before Jacob answered. He, on the other hand, let out a low sigh, almost resigned, and shrugged.

- She's just a friend and seemed nervous, scared. But also angry. As if I had done something wrong. - his voice came out low, almost as if he was talking more to himself than to others.

- She doesn't understand - said Paul, seriously for the first time since you arrived. - No human understands.

Jacob nodded, his jaw tense. It was visible that he was still trying to find some kind of logic in what he was living, as if it were possible to organize all that within a common explanation. But it wasn't.

That's when Emily opened the door, and the delicious smell coming from the kitchen escaped along with her.

- Very well - he said, with an affectionate firmness. - No more teenage drama. Come in before I change my mind.

- Finally - grumbled Quil, entering as if that was the best invitation he would receive that day.

Paul passed his arm around your back naturally, his fingers briefly brushing your waist as he guided you to the entrance. A simple gesture, almost automatic... but full of everything that existed between you two.

Inside the house, the cozy warmth of the wood and the soft sound of the dishes being organized on the table helped to dissipate some of the tension that was still hanging in the air. The rain was still heavy outside, hitting the windows with an almost hypnotic intensity.

It was then that the sound of an arriving car echoed, followed by the steps of someone entering the door. Rachel, Jacob's sister, appeared at the entrance, with her hair wet from the rain. She entered with an almost calm naturalness, but still there was a slight formality in the way she behaved - as if she were in a place that, although she was familiar with, was not yet entirely hers.

- Your ride has arrived. - She said, looking briefly at Jacob, and then at everyone else, with a quick and polite smile. It didn't seem like a surprise with the presence of more people there. Everyone was already used to seeing her there, but it was recent, since Jacob's transformation, that she had begun to appear more frequently.

Jacob, with a somewhat tired look, turned to her, with a slightly closed expression.

- I could go on foot. - He said, but his voice carried a tone that was more habitual than really trying to refuse.

Rachel shrugged, the carefree movement, but her eyes shone for a moment, as if she was trying to disarm the situation. She didn't seem bothered.

- Okay, but just to warn you, you would be chased by a certain girl, out there. - She spoke lightly, but something in the way she said "girl" made the comment have more weight than it appeared.

Jacob raised an eyebrow, a mixture of surprise and discomfort.

- Did you see her? - He asked, as if he needed confirmation that the situation was real.

Rachel sighed, her eyes diverting for a moment to the rain outside, before looking back at him.

- She insisted that I ask you to call back. - She said, with an almost tired tone, but also cautious. - She only left there when she made me promise.

You, who was away, watching the scene while helping Emily in the kitchen, couldn't help but notice the lightness in the way Rachel spoke, but also the weight that each word seemed to carry, especially when you mentioned Bella.

Rachel looked at you for a brief moment. Your smile was cordial, polite, but you caught the small gesture of deviation in your eyes, as if you were holding yourself. You didn't know if it was because you were there or if it was because she already knew about you and Paul, but the discomfort was clear - it just wasn't too exposed. A subtlety that, somehow, you managed to recognize.

You knew that she and Paul had been involved in some way in the months you were away, Leah told you what she knew. But that wasn't really a problem. Well, it's not like you haven't experienced other things too. But you couldn't help but be curious to know how everything ended between them.

But, contrary to what many might expect, you didn't feel uncomfortable. It wasn't like you were being challenged, but something there, in that interaction, seemed... delicate.

She then turned to Jacob with a brief gesture of her head.

- Come on, Jake. - he said, in a lighter tone, already walking towards the door.

Jacob got up and took a quick look at the group, like someone who didn't want to leave, but knew he needed to.

- See you tomorrow. - he said, kind of automatically.

Rachel just waved her hand to the others, and soon the two were outside. The sound of the door closing was followed by the low snoring of the engine turning on outside. Lighthouses cut the rain, and their car disappeared among the trees on the road.

Still, the light - and silent - tension seemed to have left a trail there. A shadow in the air that no one wanted to name.

The night followed. Conversations resumed little by little, plates collected, the wood creaking under distracted steps. But on the outside, another kind of silence filled the interior of the car that went down the wet road.

The headlights illuminated broken strips on the asphalt and the fog that began to form close to the ground. Jacob still had remnants of laughter on his face, commenting on some Quil joke before they left. Rachel nodded slightly, firm hands on the steering wheel. It wasn't that he wasn't listening - it's just that there was something else there, haunting his thoughts.

- How long ago did she come back? - he let go, casually, like someone who talks about the weather.

Jacob turned his face a little, curious.

- Who?

Rachel didn't answer, but the quick and direct look was enough of the answer.

- Oh... it's been a few months, I think. It's been a while, yes. - he said, as if only now he really realized. - Why?

- Curiosity. - And he faced the road ahead again, as if that closed the subject.

The sound of the tires on the wet track filled the following minutes. Jacob spoke a little more, trying to start a conversation, but Rachel just murmured in response - present in the body, but distant in the look.

She knew you. In sight. From afar. She saw you walking through the school corridors, always next to Leah or Kim. She knew enough to recognize the name, remember the posture, the way you seemed to occupy space without making an effort. And yes - She knew about Paul.

Not everything. Not about imprinting, not exactly. But she knew enough to understand that, where once there was something, now there was something completely different. And this new presence - yours - messed with something inside her that Rachel didn't know how to name.

Maybe it was just discomfort. The type that appears when someone enters a space that, for a moment, you thought was yours. Even without ever having been.

________________________

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