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hairmetal666 · 8 months

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Eddie's supposed to be writing. The guys, they all agreed they'd each come to practice armed with two whole new songs they could pick from to add to their set list at the Hideout. And he's got his pen, and he's got his most recent trusty Composition Book, and all his lyrics are fucking bullshit about golden tanned skin and honeyed eyes and tracing constellations in freckles and moles, pathetic lines about being twisted in bed sheets, and the hopeless love he found himself in.

For the fifth time in an hour, he rips out the offending page, crunches it into a tight ball, and throws it across the room.

He can't write about Steve Harrington for the rest of his life; spend his nights aching for the boy who established himself as a fixture in Eddie's life and then just disappeared.

The worst of it--the very worst--is that Eddie knew better. Steve was never his, not in any real way, no matter how many times they fucked. He's Steve Harrington. Straightest guy in Hawkins. Popular. Rich. Whole fucking life laid out for him on a silver platter. And Eddie fell for him. It's the Munson curse, he supposes; always wanting what you can't have.

It started the way these things usually do, "got any weed?" and "come back to my place, Harrington" and "I got this stupid job at the mall, meet me there?" and lying "hey, guys, can't make band practice, gotta help Uncle Wayne" and "Munson, I really want--can I kiss you?"

In every other fantasy Eddie's ever had, it ends there. Steve gets his kiss and they never see each other again. But Steve Harrington--he's full of surprises. It catches Eddie off guard, makes him want, makes him trust. Because it's not just kisses. It's hands and mouths and "anything you want, Eddie. Let me make you feel good."

Maybe it wouldn't have hit so hard--maybe Eddie could've stopped from falling--if Steve hadn't been so good. Bitchy, sure, but genuine and kind. Had this whole gaggle of junior high kids he babysat, like what the fuck. Would hang out with Wayne and shoot the shit about whatever sports nonsense was on tv. Harrington never was as mean, as spoiled, as superficial as Eddie suspected.

Then Starcourt. That's when it all changes. Steve stops coming around then, in the aftermath. It hurts, but Eddie tells himself it's for the best. Now, he knows it would have been.

Two weeks with no contact, and Steve shows up at his door in the middle of the night. Eddie winces at the healing bruises and cuts on his face, can't imagine how much worse they were to start. He steps aside, lets Steve in, plans to say that he can't be whatever they are anymore.

Steve kisses him. It's a hot, needy thing, wild with teeth and tongue, nothing like before. Eddie is helpless to it, helpless to the way Steve grinds against him, already hard. He should slow it down, check-in that Steve is in the right headspace for this, but Steve is moaning low in his throat and Eddie can't think.

They're in Eddie's bed and Steve says, "fuck me, Eddie?" and Eddie says "are you sure" because he can't stop himself. Steve rolls his eyes (beautifuly bitchy), says, "I need to feel you inside me, baby."

How can Eddie say no?

Eddie's never done this before, but it doesn't matter. It's everything--Steve is everything--he could ask for.

The next morning, he expects Steve to be gone. Thinks they'll never see each other again. But he finds Steve in the kitchen, in his boxers and Eddie's Iron Maiden shirt, making eggs and talking to Wayne like it's the most normal thing in the world.

The next month and a half are the best of Eddie's life. He and Steve spend more time together than they do apart. Nights at Eddie's trailer, in Eddie's bed. Days lounging at the Harrington pool and driving around the nothing that surrounds Hawkins. Sometimes they'll stop in the middle of nowhere, climb on top of the van, and just--be. Steve takes his shirt off, and Eddie traces their names in the sun-soaked freckles, thinking maybe he really gets to have this, have Steve.

It ends as quickly as it started. One morning in September, Steve is cupping Eddie's neck, pulling him in for a goodbye kiss, saying, "sorry, baby, gotta get home for my parents. I'll see you later tonight, yeah?"

Except Eddie doesn't. Eddie doesn't see Steve that night, or the night after, or the night after that. He stops coming around and all Eddie is left with is a broken heart and these piss poor excuses for songs.

He rips out the latest page, waxing lyrical about the wonders of August, and time slipping away, and the boy he'll never forget. Crumples it into a ball and bats it into a pile of junk accumulated in the corner of his room.

Eddie needs a break.

He flies into the living room, snatches up his keys from the floor by the coffee table, and flees his house and all those memories of Steve. It's not like he has anywhere specific to go, so he drives around town, with his windows down and his music up.

His tires screech as he rounds the corner to the video store and arcade. He's not planning on stopping, but honestly, maybe a few rounds of Space Invaders is exactly what he needs.

The van hasn't even come to a stop in the parking spot when his eyes fall on Steve Harrington. He's standing in the middle of the parking lot surrounded by a gang of kids (including some of Eddie's new little sheepies) and Robin Buckley. Steve wears a sunny yellow sweatshirt, tight jeans, and his hair is perfectly coifed, falling in an elegant wave. His hands are on his hips, mouth and brows pinched stern. He's gorgeous, perfect.

It's an assault, an attack, Eddie's entire body shakes as the months they spent together crash over him. He has the van in reverse before he consciously thinks to do so, flooring it out of the space hard enough to burn rubber.

The noise, the speed, it draws the entire group's attention to him.

His eyes meet Steve's.

Time stops and so does he, idling in the middle of the parking lot. For a second, one moment in time, Steve's face falls. His mouth loses that grumpy pinch, his eyebrows drop, his beauty transformed by grief, by fucking longing.

Steve takes a step forward, and Eddie hits the gas, van screaming out of the parking lot. He watches the group shrink in his rearview mirror, sure that he imagined the sorrow in Steve's face, anyway.

They're nothing to each other.

Never were.

By popular request: Part Two

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #oneshot #ficlet #angst #no happy ending #august #summer romance #heartbreak #mutual pining #based on a taylor swift song #i probably went overboard with the references to the lyrics #i'm not sorry #it's about the longing #august slipped away into a moment in time #whatever you do don't think about how the next time they see each other is Eddie pinning Steve to the wall in the boat house

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moonshine-nightlight · 8 months

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Thirty

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 30

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] Part Thirty [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You blink at the woman for a few long seconds, trying to comprehend her words. “Excuse me? Did you just say Lord Dale has called off the wedding? Our wedding?”

“I…” The maid is at a loss for words in the face of your incredulity. She swallows. “Yes, my lady.”

There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like wind roaring. You stay perfectly still, your face blank as you try to think. That is not possible. It’s not. How could he do something like that? Why would he? You’d dealt with so many surprises, jumped over every obstacle, and handled every challenge. Why instead did you feel as though you had survived a trip at sea only to find your ship crashing into the pier while within sight of home? You feel numb.

Perhaps you are making some sort of expression because the woman grows paler. “I’m sure it is simply pre-wedding jitters, my lady,” she hurries to reassure you. “Lord Archibald will have him seeing sense before you can blink.”

“Best to continue getting you ready,” Ms Dearden says as she lays out your corded underskirts. You appreciate her practiced dismissal even if you fear there’s more at play here than she’s aware of. “Young men these days always get cold feet. He’ll be over it soon enough.”

“Yes, of course.” Your own voice seems distant to your ears, but your words are enough for Callalily’s maid to resume work on your hair. At some point she finishes and you’re helped into your underskirts. Your mind stays blank as you try to conceive of reasons for him to do such a thing beyond tiring of you and this whole facade. Distant imaginings of what your life would be like without the wedding crumble to fog.

You’ve been so committed and focused on today that the news feels nonsensical more than alarming. How could the wedding not be happening? Did you just speak with your sisters? Has every moment of the last few weeks been in service of it? Are you not now suddenly dressed in your lovely yellow wedding gown? The person in the hand mirror looks as though they are marrying today.

The door flings open and Steward Bilmont hurries in despite the reproach from the women in the room at both his presence and the dramatics of his entrance.

You only need to look at his face to understand that the situation with Dale has not improved since the first maid broke it to you. He opens his mouth to speak, but something about your countenance, or perhaps your lack of reaction, must inform him that you know something of the situation.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, my lady,” Bilmont says, wringing his hands. “He’s not been this unreasonable in weeks. Lord Archibald has refused to put a stop to anything, but Lord Dale refuses to see reason. He’s barred the door to his chambers after Lord Archibald wouldn’t accept his words.”

“I see.” With careful fingers you put down the small hand mirror and begin to stand, adjusting your skirts as you do so.

It’s Miss Adir who asks, her voice filled with trepidation, “My lady?”

“Excuse me,” you say, an undeniable calm spreading through your veins, as you cross the room towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Steward Bilmont asks as you brush by him.

You realize your decision as you reply, “To speak with my betrothed. Please continue preparations without me.”

The maid who brought the news is the one who speaks up, as your hand closes around the door knob. “My lady, I don’t think—”

“Continue without me,” you cut her off, eyes snapping, because finally some emotion has made itself known to you and it is anger. You’ve worked so hard and been through so much. Dale thinks he can just put an end to it all mere hours before you’re to be wed? No.

“My lady…” Bilmont tries, his hand settling gently on your arm. He’s almost wincing, the look in his eyes resigned. As though he thought everything had been going too well and this was the inevitable shoe that dropped.

You shake his hand off. “If Lord Dale wishes to call off our wedding,” some of that anger finally bleeds into your voice and you see the surprise in Bilmont’s eyes, “he shall tell me so to my face. Get out of my way.”

He obligingly steps back, hands hanging back at his sides. You don’t bother to observe the others' reactions, opening the door quickly, and letting it shut heavily behind you.

You walk briskly down the hall and towards the Northridge family bedrooms. No one else, servant or noble alike, crosses your path as you head that way. Not until you’re closer. You hear shouting and decide to peek around the corner, wanting to get the scope of the situation you’re walking into.

“—utter foolishness!” Grandfather is shouting at Dale’s closed door with two guards flanking him. He bangs his fist on the door for good measure. “Do you wish for me to find your Grandmother? I’ve kindly not informed her of your idiocy, but I shall have to if you persist!”

There’s no reply from the other side of the door, not even a sound. Grandfather rattles the door knob to no avail, but doesn’t try anything further with the solid wood door.

He groans in frustration and turns to the guards. “I want to know the instant he leaves this room and if he does not within the hour, I shall have to inform Lady Deidre as promised.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guards chorus looked properly cowed by the threat, even if it isn't aimed at them.

Grandfather turns dramatically enough you see more of the original Dale in him than you thought possible and storms off. The guards take up posts on either side of the door, not baring it, but still present enough that you stay where you are. You’ve no desire to speak to them or to shout at Dale with them nearby.

You frown, unsure why but something doesn’t sit right with you the longer you look down the silent corridor. It seems…empty, or perhaps still, in a manner that makes you feel as if you are not where you should be. Not that your presence is unwanted, but as if you are lost.

You study the scene more closely and find your eyes drifting towards the bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the faint light coming from under Dale’s bedroom door. After a second, you realize what is wrong with the light and shadow—both are completely still. Before, the maid had said both of them were shouting and you’ve never heard this Dale raise his voice except in a physical fight. If he were truly upset, or at least strongly emotional, there should be some evidence in the shadows, some unnatural movement.

You chance another glance down the corridor, but it looks utterly ordinary. As your gaze sweeps from further down where Grandfather disappears around a corner and then back closer to yourself they snag on the stairway down towards the studies and other meeting rooms. There’s no movement, but the shadows are deep and dark. There are no windows there, that stairway is more utilitarian than for show like the grand staircases in other places throughout the house, so that’s plenty of reason for the darkness, but…

You move as quietly and fluidly as you can towards that staircase, hoping not to attract the guards notice. You don’t want to talk to anyone except Dale. You don’t know what Grandfather would try to say to you given he is clearly trying to keep this news contained. He stopped attempting to prove anything with you since the attack, but you’re still not completely sure of what he thinks of you. Keeping your skirts just high enough off the floor and grateful your house slippers are soft and quiet, you make it to the stairs without the guards' notice.

Your footsteps are nearly silent as you hastily make your way down the flight of stairs. You’ve never given much thought to the amount of light that fills it, but surely it wasn’t this dark in previous mornings. Or is that simply your imagination? Is it just your hope that it means you can find Dale and talk some sense into him?

You peek out at the bottom, looking for anyone in this area of the house who might question one of the couple getting married wandering about alone. No one is present. An eerie silence permeates the corridor and like the staircase, it seems darker than it should be. You step out, eyes on the window that lets light in, but seems outnumbered by shadows.

Dale’s personal study is off a smaller side corridor from this hallway, in its own small tower. You think the upper floor might connect to his bedroom. Then there is the underground room, the real reason you believe the original Dale had requested his current quarters and this study.

There’s an oppressive aura that thickens the air as soon as you turn the corner and it builds the closer you get to his study’s door. You imagine that's partially responsible for the lack of others in this area, which in some ways you’re grateful for. You also manage to draw on its presence as fuel for your anger at such obvious overflow from his nature. The shadows under the door ripple, as if it were night and a lighted candle was guttering in the breeze, unremarkable except for the fact that it's closer to noon.

Cautiously, you reach out for the door knob. Grasping it firmly in your hand, you find that it's not locked as you had feared. The knob turns without effort and the door swings inside to reveal Dale’s study. The flickering shadows solidify as you step inside, eyes searching for Dale.

You find him quickly enough, a trunk half packed of books next to him. Somehow you don’t think they are being gathered for your wedding trip. He’s by the window, back to you, but you can see tension in every line of his body. All the breath desserts you at the sight of him. All the words you could say dry up in your mouth. The door shuts with an audible click behind you.

“WOULD—” Dale whirls, his frustrated voice cuts off the second his eyes land on you. Abruptly all the anger in his face leaves him. Instead he practically deflates, merely gaping at you. To your surprise, he spins away from you. “What are you doing here?” he asks, voice pitched higher than usual. “I thought we were not to see each other until—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, his shoulders slumping.

You take another few steps into the room and clear your throat. “Yes, well, I’m fairly certain that the betrotheds laying eyes on one the morning of the wedding is of no consequence if there isn’t to be a wedding, hm?” You’re grateful that you’ve rediscovered some of your anger and your frustration to draw on for the strength to weather this conversation.

“I…” Dale can’t seem to think of an adequate response even as he refuses to turn around.

Your heart constricts in your chest at this confirmation. “So it’s true?” You hadn’t realized how much you were hoping despite all the evidence to the contrary that once you found Dale he’d explain how it was all one big misunderstanding. “You’ve called off our wedding.”

He leans his head against the wall and says nothing.

“Dammit, Dale!” The words jump out of you, louder than you’ve ever spoken to Dale. “Look at me,” you say, your voice breaking. “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to look at me as you do so.”

Slowly, like a man condemned, he turns. Dale swallows, looking profoundly guilty. He murmurs your name, but you refuse to let his soft voice sway you and merely stare straight back at him. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“My reasons are complex, but unchangeable.” His words are rote and his voice wooden. You imagine he said something like this to Grandfather. “I apologize.”

“I don’t understand,” you say as plainly as you can, tired of talking around topics and pretending to be sure when you aren’t. “Complex? How complex can they be that you won’t even enumerate them for me now. Please explain, justify, anything.” Dale just stands there and that anger surges through your blood. You take another step forward, your voice as stern as you can make it, “You owe it to me. Tell me why you are calling off our future.”

“I…” Dale starts before his blue eyes meet yours squarely for the first time since you arrived and he appears to shrink in on himself. He sighs a deep sigh, looking weary. “I could say any number of reasons, but you’re correct. They’re just excuses.” He pulls himself back up and braces himself. “In truth, I simply cannot bear to deceive you any longer.”

“Deceive me? About what? What can you not have told me that would cause our wedding to be canceled?” Panicked, wild scenarios begin to fly through your mind. “Did you marry someone else on your travels and they’ve arrived today? Have you been caught smuggling? Are you a wanted man? Did something happen this morning?”

Dale looks taken aback. He blinks at you. “Wha-? No, no—none of that.”

You feel some exasperation mixing with your frustration as he continues to talk around whatever he’s worried about. You’ve done this dance every day for weeks now and you are so, so tired of it. “Then what? I thought,” you swallow, hating how small your voice has gotten. You clear your throat and try again. “I thought you wanted this—wanted our marriage.”

“I do!” The words burst out of him, surprising you. How can he say so when he’s the one who is ruining it. He continues more quietly, as if the volume was what shocked you, “I do, but you don’t know…” He trails off again, looking away.

“Then tell me,” you plead, taking another step closer. Only another step or two and you could touch him. You could try in vain to keep him from leaving you.

“I,” he starts, looking at you and away again. “A few weeks ago, there was a… I mean to say that I,” he begins again, obviously having difficulty getting the words out. At least you can see he’s truly making the attempt this time. “Well, not me, but he…” Is this something the original Dale had done that was coming back to ruin everything? That was what you hoped for, in a strange way, because at least it would mean that this Dale still might want you. That whatever prompted this was out of his control. That maybe you could fix whatever it was. “I care about you,” he finally says, his eyes bright, bright blue as they meet yours squarely once more and your breath catches at the genuine sentiment in his voice, “more than I ever thought I would, but I’m not who you think I am.” He takes another deep breath and says bluntly, “Dale of Northridge died weeks ago and then I possessed his body.”

Everything seems to screech to a halt as he stares at you, his eyes pleading with you to understand. Aside from the relief at finally hearing him say it out loud, you don’t. Understand, that is. “Yes…” you say slowly, nodding. “And…?” You’re still waiting for him to complete the thought. To tell you what he’s been building to. Prompting him seemed to help before. “Did you eat someone a few weeks ago and have just now been discovered? Did something you forgot come back to cause problems now?”

“What?” Now Dale looks nearly as confused as you feel. It makes you want to scream in frustration because he’s the one doing this—he has to be the one that knows what is going on. “No, I don’t think you understand.” He talks more slowly, like you’re not hearing his words right. “I’m not human, I’m a demon.” He once again appears to brace himself for your reaction, but you still don’t get it.

Maybe you aren’t hearing him right, but that’s never happened before. Is this some new demonic power or collateral influence? “Yes, I know,” you reply just as deliberately. You enunciate as you ask, “But what did you do that means we can not be wed?”

“You must not be comprehending my words.” He seems to be aware of the issue, getting frustrated himself. He runs his fingers through his long dark hair before he takes on a consoling tone, “I know it is a great shock to find out your fiance is now a demon—”

“What?” You stare at him because is that what he thinks you are getting caught on? You put your hands on your hips and can’t say anything except, “Of course, I know you’re a demon.”

“What?” He leans back, eyes wide. “No.” Dale shakes his head. “How could you know that?”

“Did you think you’ve been doing an exemplary job of hiding it?” The response bursts out of you before you can help it. Because no, this cannot be the conversation you’re having. It can’t be. “How about we begin with how the human Dale was obviously interested in demonology and black market dealing. How excited he was the night before this,” you gesture to Dale’s entire body, “happened. How sick you were after and your memory issues. The fact that you occasionally have more eyes than is proper and your influence on shadows and the claws. You’ve had a tail at times, for stars’ sake!”

“Oh.” Dale’s voice is small and his eyes big as he stares down at you, clearly at a loss for words.

You’ve seemingly found a well of words with which to rebuke him. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to conceal your nature?” You take a step forward, unable to contain your ire and incredulity. He takes one back. “It is not as easy as you must believe to distract people from wriggling shadows and additional eyes and all the strange things you say. Did you really believe I didn’t know? That you were hiding it that well?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Dale sounds more flustered than you’ve ever heard him. “Humans are so oblivious most of the time!”

“Not that oblivious!”

Dale throws his hands up. “Well, no one’s instigated a purge, have they? And Grandfather and Grandmother don’t know, do they?”

Your heart rate is slowly returning to normal and you grudgingly admit, “No. Although Grandfather did think I’d cursed you for a couple weeks.”

“He thought you cursed me?”

“Yes!” you reply, exasperated that he didn’t even know. “After the hunt, where you did light knows what with the boar, he became convinced that I had cursed you or ensnared you with my ‘potions’. Perhaps while you were still recovering from your supposed illness. As a supposed practitioner of dark ritual or maybe even a summoner, he kept trying to exorcise me, which I had to make sure didn’t accidentally affect you.” When Dale just looks at you, obviously hearing this or putting the pieces together for the first time you can’t help, but feel as if you might be the one who has lost their mind. “You must remember when he practically threw a glass of holy water on us?”

Dale’s brow furrows. “…I did think that was a bit odd.”

You snort. “Yes, I would wager so.” Slowly, you realize you're laughing. You put a hand to your mouth but all it does is muffle the sound. Dale looks newly worried but you can’t stop. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that I knew.” Collapsing into a chair, you cover your face in your hands as you try to regain your composure.

How is this happening? How had you managed to get so far along without realizing he didn’t know that you knew? Who does that say more about him or you?

After a moment or two, you sense him near you and he asks, “Are you alright?” He sounds so concerned, like he’s still worried the knowledge of what he is, even if it isn’t new to you, might be capable of breaking your mind or whatever he feared would happen.

“Yes, yes,” you finally sit back up, blinking in the light as you attempt to reassure him. “I will be. I simply need a moment.” Dale hesitates from where he’s leaning over you before turning to fetch a cup of water. Haltingly, he holds out to you. “Thank you,” you say as you wipe away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes while laughing.

You sip it carefully as you pull the tattered remains of your composure around yourself once more. Dale watches you take the first couple of sips before he begins to pace in obvious agitation. He’s clearly waiting for you to finish the glass before saying whatever is so clearly on his mind. You’re content to take your time and make him wait after everything he’s put you through, seemingly without even realizing what you were doing.

After a minute, you set the glass down deliberately and Dale comes to a stop in front of you. “I don’t…” he starts to say before changing his mind. “If you know, then why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” you ask. He’s the one constantly doing incomprehensible things.

“Marrying me!” he says, rather emphatically, as though it should be obvious. He runs his hands through his hair. “Going through with this wedding! I don’t understand.” He sounds desperate to understand.

You feel of heat gather high on your cheeks, not having expected to have a light shown on your own actions so directly. “What do you mean? We’re betrothed. Getting married is the expected course of action.”

He gives you a flat look that says you’re not fooling him. “Try once more. I admit there were certain times where I did think you…” He looks at you, a distant look in his eyes as he remembers whatever particular instance. “Where I did think that you knew. Half a dozen times, I was sure you knew,” he continues, eyes intent once more, “but you didn’t do anything about it! You never revealed me or tried to exorcise me or even demand any sort of recompense for keeping it secret. You merely continued on as we had. You were still there, at my side.” He sighs and he looks so tired again. “And so I thought I must be wrong, that you couldn’t know.”

You're not sure what to say in the face of his conviction that you knowing what he is and you continuing to associate with him were so unlikely he’d discounted it out of hand. He made it sound like tolerating or using him was the most he’d expected. “I…”

“And you’re afraid of demons!” The words burst out of him. “So why would—?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you reply because that’s certainly true. If the manner in which the shadows behind Dale are writhing in distress are any indication, the reassurance can’t hurt. You’re worried about how his nature makes life more complicated and what other people might do, but you’re long past the point of fearing he’d physically injure you on purpose.

“I heard you and Grandfather talking about Two,” Dale replies, as if that proves something. “How you feared them because of what they were. That night, when I remembered what I’d heard, I changed my mind again about what you knew.”

You stare at him before saying slowly, “Dale, I was afraid of Two because they were trying to kidnap and murder us. Their being a demon made them more dangerous, so yes, that made me fear them more than the others. You were who knows where fighting them on your own and I was worried about you.” If you thought Dale looked confused before, he looks downright confounded now. You keep talking, relishing in the opportunity to finally speak honestly about the attack, “However, you being a demon makes you stronger, which reassured me. I couldn’t say anything else because of Grandfather’s attitude, but I did not grow up in Northridge. I may not have met a demon before, but I didn’t live anywhere with the rigorous, studied suspicion and fear that Northridge cultivates.”

“The rest of the world is not Northridge,” Dale acknowledges having composed himself, “but it is not charitable in its view either. And it is not wrong in that opinion. I’ve been on the Surface before. No one has ever treated me in the manner you have after learning what I am. It was impossible to reconcile the person I got to know with someone who would want what humans understand demons to be.”

It’s not as though you can’t follow where he’s coming from. You haven’t told anyone else about what he is for a reason beyond just what Grandfather and Grandmother. You’d never even seriously considered telling any of your siblings because you know they wouldn’t understand. You want to ask further about the personal experience he’s alluding to but that isn’t what matters at this moment. “I…” You take a breath and finally say the obvious truth that you’ve never been able to say directly, even if you alluded to the sentiment right after the attack. “I do want to marry you.” Dale looks thunder-stuck. “Far more than I ever wanted to marry Dale before you took his place.”

“You do?” You’ve never seen Dale look so completely bewildered. “Why?”

“Because he was a selfish, mean, entitled prick.” The plain, honest words slip out without thought and Dale’s eyes widen. “Because you’re not. I like you.” You swallow and continue, “I think we get along well. I would have tolerated marrying him. You make me look forward to marriage.”

It's a weight lifted to finally say those words, but they inevitably bring up your own confusion, your own lack of understanding of this Dale’s motivations and you can’t pass up the opportunity to ask. “But this is not just about why I have stuck to this facade. Why have you?” You still have no notion of what a demon might want. You’d only barely convinced yourself that Dale wanted this partnership since he was going along with it. He isn’t now. So perhaps you don’t know anything at all. “You could have stolen all you could from Dale and then disappeared to live your own life about a week after being here. You don’t have to be, to be,” you search for the words to define what’s he’s been doing, especially knowing he’s not been working toward the same end goal as you, “taking part in all these events, and playing dutiful grandson with Grandfather, Grandmother, or all the others.” You take a deep breath and add, with only a small shake to your voice, “Or being with me. Why are you still here?”

Dale opens his mouth, but no sound comes out as he stares at you.

Your shoulders slump in the face of his inability to give any reason, let alone a compelling one. “Although, I suppose there is no more wedding, is there? You’ve called it off, for all you haven’t left or told me why.” The prospect of the fall-out to come leaves you exhausted and hurt already. “I assume that leaving will be your next move.”

“No, no,” Dale starts to protest, “I…” Something changes in his expression as he searches for the words to say and this time, they come out steady, “Originally, I stayed because it was easy. I thought the best stroke of luck I’d had in my existence was when that imbecile broke himself opening an unguarded portal and I’d won the fight for his body.”

“Oh.” It had never even occurred to you that there might have been such an event. No matter what he does next, you’re grateful this demon is the one who won too.

“It’d been so long since I’d been up on the Surface,” Dale says wistfully. “I didn’t have a plan beyond getting here. I suppose, at first, I had considered taking what I could and leaving to make my own life. Except…” Your breath, your future hangs on that “except.” “I enjoy it here. Northridge, I mean, not just being out of the Depths. It’s somewhat impossible to know how much is experience and how much is borrowed memory, but I care for Grandfather and Grandmother. And for you. What is here in Northridge is more than I’d hoped for. A safe den, a loyal clan, a bountiful territory, an exemplary mate. Why would I go searching for better when it seemed I’d already found all I could want?”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Dale seems so sincere but that only brings your mind back to what prompted this conversation. “Then why are you trying to stop the wedding?”

“Because I thought you didn’t know!” he protests. “I told myself that since I’d never out-right lied to you, that was good enough.” He sighs. “But I realized if my only reason for not telling you who you were even marrying was because you might make a choice I didn’t want, that it was rather despicable.”

You can’t help, but ask the obvious. “Then why didn’t you simply tell me instead of calling the wedding off?”

“Because I’m selfish too,” Dale says, “and I couldn’t bear for you to know the truth and look at me like—.” He breaks off, shaking his head.

He’s returned to not meeting your eyes. Tension has crawled back up his spine to settle in his shoulders. His arms are crossed and he still seems one wrong word away from running. As if Dale’s still waiting for you to reject him. Perhaps you need to make up for all the times you didn’t speak up before. It seems like a fair concession if the hope blooming in your chest is proven true.

You stand up from your chair, crossing the remaining distance between you and Dale. You place gentle hands on his forearms and they loosen under your touch. Carefully you push those crossed arms down until they hang by his sides where you can entwine your fingers with his. You take advantage of the height he has on you to look up into his eyes, not even surprised to find more than just two. “Well, I do know.” Those glowing blue eyes stare back down at you with the same hope reflected in them. “And I still want to marry you. If you do.”

Dale’s answer is immediate and earnest, “I do. I want that. I want the life we spoke of building more than anything else I’ve ever thought to want.”

You nod, a smile breaking out across your face. “Good. Go-” He cuts you off with a kiss, which starts out light but grows in pressure when you kiss him back. He tries to lift a hand to your face, but instead the back of your own hand still held in his touches your cheek instead. You pull back to see the pout he makes as he stares at his hand, obviously unsure of whether to let yours go or to keep holding on.

The sound of a door opening above you followed by disgruntled voices pops the bubble of privacy you’d been enclosed in. You sigh. “While we still need to have a full conversation, I think it can wait for tonight at the least, yes?” Dale nods eagerly. “Then I must return to getting ready.”

“And I must assure Grandfather my ‘bout of childish insanity’ is indeed over. I’ve never seen him so furious.” At the look of surprise on your face, Dale smiles. “Regardless of what he thought before, Grandfather certainly thinks well of you now. He repeatedly told me that this would be the worst decision I ever made if I went through with it. He’s refused to even tell Grandmother, more out of fear for me than for her.”

High on emotion and relief, you giggle, too pleased that Grandfather spoke so strongly in your favor. “Did he?”

“Yes,” Dales says as he leads you to the study door. “And it's not as though I could provide a solid defense when I knew he was right.” He pulls you into a solid embrace before letting you go with a final kiss pressed to your forehead.

You pull the door open without looking away from him, not able to resist asking for one last reassurance, “Your word that you will be there at the other end of the aisle?”

Dale smiles. “Yes, sana, I give you my word that I will let nothing stand in the way of our wedding, not even myself.”

[Part Thirty-One]