Nothing works. Being dead wasn’t half as unpleasant as this...in between bullshit, almost literally a reanimated corpse. 

Aaron falls into the room, catching the doorjamb to steady himself, chest heaving and forehead dotted with sweat. The two of them make eye contact--Ciaran deliberately silent for several moments, the other’s throat moving like he wants to speak but physically can’t. 

“What did you do.”

“Ciaran.” Aaron moves toward the bed (or more accurately, nest), wary like he’s never been before. “Ciaran, I had to--”

His fingertips just barely brush Ciaran’s cheek before he recoils from the cold. Ciaran bares his teeth and snarls like an animal, barely resisting the urge to lunge and mar that porcelain skin. 

He can honestly, sincerely say that he hates the witch in this moment. The betrayal of what he did--that he didn’t know Ciaran would rather be in limbo forever than owe his mother anything for being alive--is tempting him to break oaths he made lives and lives ago, oaths he’s never swayed from. 

Aaron, at least, seems humbled by the reaction. 

“You can hate me. You can hate me, but I couldn’t live if you were dead.”

He wants to laugh at that, wants to ask Aaron how he thinks Ciaran managed every single fucking time the witch went and died on him--but he knows, somewhere in there, that it’s different. 

Still, that’s no excuse for what he did. Ciaran wishes he had more dignity here, wishes he had any energy to forsake his life in this house and leave to recover elsewhere--provided he can recover. There’s no energy now even to move from this bed. 

He wants to cry for the first time in years. He wants to burn this place to the ground. He wants to be alive, really alive, again. He wants to be dead again. He wants to feel warmth and sleep next to Aaron like nothing’s changed. He wants, he wants, he wants. Pathetic. 

At the end of it, he stands awkwardly in front of Ciaran, feeling smaller than the other somehow. Ciaran always seems the size of a room.  “Here.”  Aaron thrusts the mismatched, frankly ugly bouquet of flowers in the boy’s direction.  They’re not roses or tulips or anything so pretty.  Just a collection of flowers and herbs, the kind whose properties Ciaran has always seemed so fond of.  Rosemary for warding off the less friendly spirits.  Larkspur, an offering to the fae of his familiar’s homeland.  Mandrake, harvested by the moonlight to amplify its benefits in Ciaran’s next spell.  There’s no shortage of odd, too-fragrant plants wrapped with packing paper and twine.  

For at least something that looks nice, there are a few useless flowers Aaron has sprinkled in.  A couple unnoteworthy roses, a handful of peonies.  Ciaran takes the flowers wordlessly, examines them with a curious expression.  Aaron watches, somewhere between amusement and annoyance, as Ciaran unerringly plucks the useless flowers from the bunch, tosses them right on the floor with a disdainful expression.  

Aaron really should have known better.  But when the dirty work is done, Ciaran actually does give him a smile, and that kind of makes Aaron’s stomach flip and tighten.  Maybe he hasn’t done so terribly.  Ciaran reaches up to place a hand on the back of his neck and draw him down.  A single press of his lips to Aaron’s draws the witch up short, and he can’t be bothered to control the goofy expression that passes his face.  

“Sap,” Ciaran chastises fondly.

A man now, Aaron repeats the gesture annually, usually accompanied by a bottle of wine so old it’s a wonder he’s found it.  The flowers are more varied, more rare as the years go by.  Sometimes given in planters so they may keep giving for years to come.  

He looks cute in his beanie, though. It was like forty dollars because some underfed hippie made it by hand. 

“I wanted to see the kids,” Ciar attempts, propping booted feet up on the dash because he’s a lawless little shit, “and the bunnies.”

“You came to laugh at me,” Aaron isn’t an idiot, he might have fallen for it in his youth but he’s smarter now, “now keep your feet to yourself or you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

Aaron realizes his mistake immediately. Shit, why did he think that would deter him? Shit. 

“Is that a promise?”

“Fine. Keep your feet to yourself or you will be able to walk tomorrow.”

Ciar removes his feet, tucks them Indian style against him for the rest of the ride. It’s like fifteen minutes farther than Ash and Jace’s old, old place because they decided to get a few acres in bumfuck nowhere for their brood, at like the furthest edge of town. Is it even town anymore? Who knows. But it’s sad that he’s been here enough now that he knows the way without peering at any street signs. 

His phone buzzes in his lap and Ciar immediately swipes it to read the brief message aloud. Come around back.

“I hope they know it’s going to be twenty degrees in a month and they can’t maintain a hutch again until, like, April. Remember the litter that froze when we were kids?”

“Yeah. You cried.”

Aaron splutters as he pulls in front of the old farmhouse, feeling suddenly betrayed and outraged. The fucking audacity. 

“Out of frustration.”

“Oh, sure.”

They’re barely even out of the car and through the gate before they’re accosted by a small child and a very large, very fluffy dog. She watches cautiously, hovers protectively while the little girl does laps around them in apparent excitement. Aaron fights a grimace. How long has it been? Just thirty seconds, maybe?

A hearty laugh draws his attention, to where the parents of this exuberant child approach with another, much less exuberant child. The child displaying no exuberance whatsoever just eyes them like he’s extremely unimpressed with everything they’ve ever done. Aaron has always liked that one better. 

“Thank you so much for coming out,” Jace says like Aaron had a fucking say in the matter, “Willow is so excited.”

Jace is wearing a fucking North Face fleece, and jeans that look entirely intact and even sewn properly. Ten years ago it would have been a patched up leather jacket and some approximation of fabric on his legs, held together by safety pins and duct tape, probably. He hates to admit how all this--fatherhood and domesticity--suits him. 

Not that the old shit didn’t suit him, too, in a way, but--never mind, not going there.

“Willow,” Ash is using that voice Aaron doesn’t like, “why don’t you actually say hello to Uncle Aaron?”

Ciar senses his groan before he’s stupid enough to let it out, pinches his side in warning. There is no lost love between him and Ash, and there never will be anything more than a simmering if manageable dislike--so the little ‘uncle’ stunt he’s been pulling for years is really just a ruse on his part to piss Aaron off. 

Why is he even involved enough with these people? He hates his life. 

“Hi, Uncle Aaron! Hi, Care!”  Oh, how come he gets to just be ‘Care’? 

It’s divine intervention, honestly, that she doesn’t stop in her relentless looping to try and hug him, or worse. Hopefully she’ll really tire herself out and need a nap. 

“Hi, Willow,” Ciar says, very politely, and with a well placed pinch Aaron follows suit. A bit robotic a bit forced, but she won’t notice or care. 

“Alright, let’s walk back to the hutch,” thank you, Ash, “I’m kind of worried about the location? I don’t know if it’s--”

“I’m more concerned with whether you have a place for them in the house,” Aaron interrupts, heated for no reason at all, “they won’t survive the winter in that thing.”

“Yeah, there’s a space for a cage in the pet room.”

Aaron mouths the pet room silently, amazed.

“What about your dog? She won’t attack them? God forbid they get loose.”

“No, she’s trained pretty well. Doesn’t have much of a prey instinct anymore.”

“Daddy said you have bunnies!” she’s grabbing his hand, she’s grabbing his hand, “What are their names? Can I see them?”

“Uh....I don’t have names for the babies yet.”

“Babies? What happened to the other ones?”

Jace coughs inelegantly. Ash fails to suppress a snort. 

“They went to...a farm. To help the farmer.” Please stop. Just stop. 

“Really? With what?”

“Growing things.”

“Is it a girl farmer or a boy farmer?”

“Neither?”

“Neither? That’s so cool! Like Lugia!”

“You better chill with the questions, little girl,” Jace sweeps her up and swings her around, to a scream of joy, “save some for later, okay?”

Aaron could kiss him right now. Fuck him for essentially making him do this, it’s all his fault to begin with blah blah blah, but really. 

Ciar pulls close from behind, slips his hand in to curl around Aaron’s in his coat pocket. So warm. And it all seems easier, now, trivial. He’d put up with a century of nagging, overly affectionate children for this. 

Scowling, he ducks away from the table and the people surrounding it. Ciar doesn’t seem to notice, thoroughly entranced by a heavy crimson pendant that they are definitely not getting, don’t even think about it--

“What.”

“Hey, bud!” he’s on speakerphone, a dog woofing excitedly nearby, “Are you free today? I have a thing.”

“Are you dying? I’m busy.”

“Busy?” Jace scoffs like it’s impossible, already annoying him, “Where are you? It sounds loud.”

Aaron scrubs a hand down his face in partial defeat. The Navarros only register half of what you say and bulldoze over that half, uncaring and oblivious. He’s already forfeited this conversation, not that he had much of a choice. 

“Street fair in Fall River. Not my idea.”

Jace makes that uncanny sound with his mouth that's like cracking a whip. He’s been doing it for years, presumably mocking some influence he thinks Ciar has over any decisions Aaron makes, which is---completely unfounded, okay. Fuck off. 

“Can you be here in like two hours? Willow got two baby bunnies for her birthday.”

He never fucking elaborates on any of the shit he says, just waits for the other person to reply confusedly and then explain it shittily like it’s an obvious afterthought. That’s exactly what happens. 

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Duhhhh, you’re the rabbit expert! You gotta show us what to do! Ash is shit with herbivores.”

“Then why is he married to one? I’m sure someone at PetSmart can help you.”

“Aaron,” he was about to hang up, but Jace’s voice is suddenly dark and close, “life debt, remember?”

Of course. His eyes find Ciar, crouched low to the street to pet a dingy, stray cat that looks in absolute bliss. He’s whole, still dark from the summer and eyes bright--but Aaron will never unsee him being cold and still, colorless and empty. Almost a decade ago, now, yet the memory is ripe. The air feels twenty degrees chiller. 

“You fridge is an eco-system,” Ash declares, slamming it shut with a wrinkled nose, “come on, dude. You’re gonna need black magic shit for that.”

“I’m sure Aaron will be happy to help.”

Jace is crouched by his ‘coffee table’, collecting little bits and pieces of things that have gathered under there over the past few years. So far he’s found 4.73 in small change, a receipt for someplace called Condom Kingdom that he doesn’t even remember going to, and quite a few withered cigarette butts. 

He’s the first to admit this place is lowkey disgusting. He’s had more animal corpses in here than he’s willing to think about, he hasn’t dusted in approximately a year and a half, and the only decent source of natural lighting is in the freaking bathroom. 

It’s weird because he actually likes cleaning when he’s got music on and/or it’s for another person. He hardly ever lets Ash do his own dishes anymore, for example--it’s like all of Jace’s filth just convenes here instead.

But they’ve already tossed like seven trash bags worth of shit and vowed to drive like seven more to Goodwill tomorrow, so that’s good progress. The biggest difficulty is going to be in deciding what salvageable furniture gets mingled into their now officially shared space. 

There was already a slight quibble over whether or not to bring his twin bed--Jace suggested it might come in handy when they’re fighting and someone is banishes from the bedroom,  to which Ash argued that the couch works just as well and there’s not really room for it, anyway. It reached an impasse to be decided on a later date. 

Hm. That futon is slightly too nice to just throw out, but not really nice enough to donate. Here’s to hoping someone sees it out on the curb and thinks it’s a steal. That’s how he found it himself, if he’s remembering correctly. And it’s only been puked on once. 

“Can we talk about something, though?”

Jace blinks, rolling back on his haunches to look at Ash. A million different nightmare scenarios are going through his head, you can’t just lead with that. Are you dumping him because of his squalor or not?

“Yeah?”

Ash gets down on his level and scoots toward him, hands going to his shoulders and face firm. Oh, god.

“Can we keep the zombie thing down to like...once a week? I know you were using this place as your zombie cave, but--”

Right, a very expensive zombie cave. Fourteen hundred a month, just about, most of which he’s going to start seeing again. Because he’s not being dumped. 

“Twice a week and I promise to clean the shower.”

They’re not even smoking because Ciar can’t stand even the days old smell of it, just sitting tight in Jace’s car, overlooking the beach. He hasn’t bothered to clean it in over a week, all littered with crumpled soda cans and empty chip bags, cigarette butts and ticket stumps. 

“Can’t believe you haven’t ditched him by now.”

Jace tries to play it off hand, but the crack in his voice is obvious and Aaron has been waiting for this conversation. There’s a very loud, long silence between them. 

“I don’t understand your problem with him,” Aaron says, finally, “he’s got none with you--”

“He’s a fucking queer, alright?”

Aaron’s laugh is forced and ugly. Jace burns to the tips of his ears and stares ahead at the black horizon. He knows how he sounds, knows nobody could make sense of it but him in his own bitter little mind. Whatever. 

“And what are we?”

Jace kicks his foot up by the steering wheel with a scowl, hears something jostle that probably isn’t good, probably something that’s gonna bite him in the ass at the shop tomorrow. Again, whatever.

“We don’t flaunt it, okay? We don’t walk around like it’s not a damn crime--it’s gonna get your ass killed, hanging around with him.”

He needs a smoke so badly right now he’s about to shake out of his seat. It might seem like he enjoys confrontation sometimes because he’s so good at it, so primed for it whenever and wherever because of how he was born, but he wishes he didn’t have to be like this. Especially when it’s his boy. 

“You’re jealous, asshole.”

Aaron’s wearing that smug little smirk he gets, like he has Jace figured out so easily, just like that. Trying to hide it behind a curled fist, but Jace fucking sees it and it’s not appreciated.

“I am not--jesus. I don’t even like your ugly mug.”

“Oh, sure.” And that’s the sound of Aaron pushing his door open, making Jace’s blood curdle. “You know what? I could use some exercise.”

It’s two miles to the house, and it’s pitch freaking dark out. Is that really how it is, huh? Jace kicks his own door and stumbles out after him. It’s gonna be all on him if Aaron gets hit by another car, or abducted by aliens, or--

“Get your ass back in the car!! Please!”

He’s cheerfully ignored. Fuck. It’s not like he can wrestle him back in, the fucking gigantor. So now he has to follow him at snail speed and waste gas? Exactly like a lovelorn idiot, exactly like what he’s being accused of. 

He’s sprawled across the hood of the burnt orange car, older than he is and looking like it just rolled out of the showroom. Fixed her up himself, he says, working in his dad’s auto shop, learning the meaning of hard work or something. His white shirt is rolled up to his armpits, just a sliver of tan skin between it and a pair of faded jeans stained with oil. She’s charmed. 

He’s not a good boy. Not the boy who calls at the same time every night just to hear your voice, not the boy who says hello to your parents before he takes you to the movies. He’s the boy with the engine purring at the end of the driveway, the boy who keeps rubbers in his wallet and his backseat clean just in case. 

“Sounds kind of ominous,” she says, honestly, “I really thought ‘Pretty Jimmy’ was the name on your birth certificate.”

He laughs, eyes crinkled, teeth flashing. She falls in love with him pretty quickly after that. 

Pretty Jimmy falls into the family business, lucrative but dangerous. The wedding is more opulent than either of them would have liked, because his parents insisted--on the black suits shadowing the doors, too, and the three hundred guests with a public record. 

Then two boys, one after another. Pretty Jimmy is strange with them, not relaxed and affectionate like he used to be. He holds them carefully, but like they’re objects and not children. He spends time with them, but in the tailored suits he wears for ‘family’. The first boy doesn’t seem interested in being fussed over, the second boy craves it. They grow up the same way. 

Pretty Jimmy becomes Giacamo. He trades in his flashy muscle cars for sleek tinted ones, his jeans and t-shirts for those tailored suits. He makes her an accomplice to all the things her mother warned her about. He makes her almost regret her sons, Adalberto who is like Giacamo and Caseareo who is like Pretty Jimmy.

It’s barely ten in the morning, and Ash is more than ready to go home.  He’d gotten to the Kinnaman’s house at five in the morning with his crew to try and get the yard underway before the blazing heat got out of control again, but fucking Nancy always has fifteen impossible things she wants to add to the landscape.  Like, okay, this is literally what Ash does for a living.  He’s supposed to tell PTA Nancy that putting a waterfall in the most uneven part of her lawn is totally doable.  Ash should be fucking psyched about it, because at least he’s got work.  But the thing about Nancy is that she doesn’t seem to understand that the more complex her lawn plan gets, the more expensive it is.  And the more time it’s going to take.

In short, this lady doesn’t understand why it’s taking more than two weeks.

And also that plan to get out before it got blistering hot?  Fucking failed.  And, like, the really cute jogger didn’t even have the decency to run by today?  It’s a bad day.  And Ash’s bad mood is nearing legendary levels when he has to slam on his brakes as the three cars in front of him come to sudden, screeching halts.  He cringes at the sound of equipment, kind of old but still expensive, slamming around the bed of his truck at the graceless stop.  

“Oh, what the fuck?” Ash demands, clenching his teeth as he cranes his neck to get a look at what’s going on as the cars in front of him speed off again.  

And, because it’s just one of those days, it turns out that two dogs are trying to cross the fucking highway.  Well, at least hanging out with dogs might help the bad mood.  Ash pulls off the road, kind of annoyed at the cars speeding by him.  Come on, assholes, these dogs are obviously lost.  Whatever.  More one on one time with dogs for Ash.  

As soon as Ash is off the road and out of the car, one of the dogs bounds right up.  It’s kind of flattering, actually.  For a second, Ash squats so he can give the dog some face to face scratches while he checks out the collar situation.  One eye is kept on the other dog as it slowly inches away from the stranger.  Probably smarter than the other dog.  Exasperated, Ash swears under his breath.  

“Buddy?  Come on, doggy.”  Bad attempt, honestly, and the dog kind of side eyes Ash.  For the next five or so minutes, they go on like that; Ash slowly inching closer to the skittish dog while his fingers are curled around the collar of the other.  All he wants to do is take a shower, a really cold one, sit in front of his air conditioning for an hour, and then go to sleep.  Is that too much to ask?  It’s not that he doesn’t want to help the dog, it’s just that he really, really wants to sleep.  

And now he has to decide between following the stubborn dog while dragging the other one, trying to coax the other into the bed of his truck before trying to chase after the other one, or sticking with the one he’s got.  He’s leaning towards the first option, but he’s kind of nervous about leaving his car right there on the side of the road.  It’s got a lot of equipment in it, okay?  Like, thousands of dollars worth.  If someone decides they need a new lawnmower, his business is fucked.  He’s just barely out of the red as it is.  

But, okay, the dogs are more important.  He’s going to have to leave the truck and hope for the best.  

“You need some help?”  

Ash doesn’t recognize the voice at first.  They’ve only exchanged a few words here and there.  Mostly ‘good morning’ or some comment about the weather.  But, regardless of who it is, Ash is fucking grateful.  He looks over his shoulder to thank the newcomer and then breaks into a grin.  

“Jace, right?” Ash asks.  He’s very sure he got the name right, but he doesn’t want to seem too eager in front of the beautiful boy and his very short shorts.  “Ash,” adds, unnecessary.  “Yeah, could definitely use some help.  Kinda worried they’re gonna get hit by a car.”

“They yours?” Jace asks, dropping to his haunches (like, really nice haunches) to scratch behind the friendly dog’s ears.  It’s some sort of pit bull mix, and it immediately goes for Jace’s face.  For a split second, Ash thinks it’s trying to bite.  But no, it’s just very, very intent on licking Jace from jaw to forehead.  Hashtag relatable.

“Huh?  Nah,” Ash says, tugging on the pit bull’s collar to settle him down.  “I think there’s a number on the collar.  I’m just tryin’ to get the other one before it runs off.”  And because this is just the most ridiculous moment of Ash’s life, the dog goes and and bolts as soon as he says it.  Before he can even swear again, Jace is bounding after it.  Which...okay.  Determined not to overthink this weird fucking turn of events, Ash leans down, picks up the mutt currently straining to run after Jace and the other dog.  A quick glance at the collar tells him her name is Risa.  When Risa is settled comfortably, Ash runs after Jace.  

He’s not gonna fuck over the only guy nice enough to help him by making him run alone, at least.  Even though Ash is definitely not keeping up.  He’s going to blame the extra sixty pounds of dog he’s carrying, but in reality Jace could easily outrun him any day of the week.  Hell, if Jace was holding the dog, he’d probably still be faster.  It’s embarrassing, but the view from ten yards back isn’t terrible, so Ash is resigned to his fate.  Also Ash is gross.

In front of him, Jace gives an exuberant laugh.  And, okay, Ash isn’t totally crazy to be charmed by someone who enjoys this sort of thing, is he?  Because it’s really charming, and now that he’s got company, Ash is enjoying it too.  

Abruptly, the running stops.  It’s only reasonable to assume that the dog, too much mutt to identify a single part of its parentage, is similarly charmed by the peal of laughter.  Ash skids to a stop, just barely avoiding running straight into Jace, slouching a little as he catches his breath in between fits of wheezy laughter.

“Rascal!” Jace announces as he looks at the collar, and Ash is actually a little ticked that he doesn’t even sound out of breath after running half a mile.  Which, okay, he obviously runs a lot.  But they’ve been kind of sprinting half a mile.  He should be out of breath.  Asshole.  

Tentatively, Ash puts Risa down for now, throwing a glance back over his shoulder and towards his truck.  He sits down when he’s satisfied that there’s no one currently trying to rob him blind, and laughs when Rascal ends up in his lap.  Like, is being this dog’s friend dependent on whether you’re willing to run after him?  Whatever, Ash’ll take it.  

“Hey, buddy,” he says, grinning when Jace plops down in the grass next to him.  “You got a phone?” Ash asks, looking at the number etched into the collar.

Jace looks at him incredulously for a few seconds, gestures to his shorts.  And, true.  There’s no room for phones.  A noble sacrifice that Jace has made for the greater good.  If the greater good is just Ash in general.  “Alright, looks like we’re hiking back to my car, then.”

“That’s where you’re going to serial kill me, I bet,” Jace says, picking Rascal up off of Ash’s lap and waiting for Ash to get up and grab Risa before walking.

“Fuck, how’d you figure it out?  Was it the like --- fifty pairs of shears in the back of my car?”

“Oh, come on.  If you’re going to be a yard tool themed serial killer, you at least better get creative with a lawn mower.”  Ash snorts, laughing way too hard.  

It’s an uneventful trip back to Ash’s truck, just a little small talk and the occasional stop to get a better grip on the dogs.  And by some miracle, Ash’s phone hasn’t turned into a puddle in the sun, so he uses it to call the owners.  Honestly, Ash is annoyed right off the bat with them.  If he had two very cute dogs and they were missing, he’d have noticed, first of all.  And he’d be rushing out the house to meet whoever the fuck had taken the time to keep them from dying.  But whatever.  Maybe Ash is a crazy person.

But Jace might be the same kind of crazy, because when Ash relays the information to him, he gives a roll of his eyes so impressive that Ash has to cover the phone’s receiver so they don’t hear him laugh again.  Finally, he gets the address out of them and agrees to bring the dogs back.  

“Alright, so,” Ash begins, hanging up the phone, “they only live about ten minutes away from here.  So I figure I’ll just drive them back.  But if you need a ride somewhere, I can take you.  Unless you’ve got...more running to do?”  Why is Ash sounding like such an idiot?  That’s the real question.  He sounds like he’s never heard of exercise in his life.  

He used to work out, before his job involved working out for hours at a time, essentially.  Now he gets to stay in shape and get a decent tan going without having to go out of his way.  It’s one of the benefits of what he does.  But Jace is fitter and browner regardless.  Ash isn’t jealous so much as...into it.  Which, Jesus fuck, Ash.  Get it together.  You can’t have a crush on a guy you see like twice a week as he jogs by.

“Nah, I’ll ride with you.  If that’s cool?  Might as well get them all the way home.”  Cute.  And Ash can almost definitely find some sort of excuse to ask for his number during that time.  So double win.  

She clasps her hands under the little rise of Rose’s tummy, already three months along which is just crazy. They’re trying to cherish these probably last few weeks of normalcy before hormone hell launches and the fucking werewolf baby really starts wreaking havoc. Their lives are weird. 

“Where’d you learn that?”

Leo is sleepy now, so it takes a minute to even process that something was said. “What?”

Rose squirms a little. “That.”

“Oh. Uh...porn?”

Rose laughs a little, the cutest sound in the world. Everything she does, especially post shattering orgasm, is the cutest thing in the world. 

Well, actually, Leo thinks she could do without some of it. Like how she still wanders the house sometimes at night, not even awake, in her underwear, at like two freaking am. That was terrifying and unsafe before she was pregnant, and now it’s just the most stressful thing ever. But regardless, Leo has it pretty bad and she’s resigned to it now. 

“Really? Not from all those people in high school?”

Oh, that’s mean. Totally unnecessary. Well, whatever, it might be time to set that glaring lie straight, anyway. Why she let it go on this long, she has no clue--but to be fair, she thought her and Rose were way past ever being a thing and when she was proved (pleasantly) wrong, it just seemed like a weird time. 

Leo pulls an appropriately sheepish face, ducks her head. Oh, god.

“You know, there really wasn’t anyone else in high school. Maybe, like, two people? I don’t know. Not at the same time.”

Rose makes a curious sound, suddenly turns over to face her, eyes narrowed. God, though, she is so beautiful, really got that pregnancy glow going on, and her skin looks really nice against the white sheet--

“Are you kidding me?”

Leo is three inches taller than Rose. She turns into a large, predatory cat on occasion and she can deadlift three times her body weight. But Rose is scary sometimes.

“I was...way more into you than I said I was?” is she burying herself further? “I didn’t know what to do with it? Hey, I love you, it’s all--”

Rose scrunches her face and twists Leo’s nipple brutally, making her yelp and pull back protectively. Jokes on Rose, though, because that’s gonna feel good in like ten seconds. Or fifteen. 

“This is why we’re not married.”

Leo wants to protest that, but Rose dips down and takes her breast in her mouth, laves gently where she was just so mean. And Leo is fucking psychic when it comes to sex, again. Sleep and/or a fight can wait. She moans gratefully. 

“I slept with Ash, though.”

“Why are you staring at me?”

Rowan only did two semesters of nursing before she switched, so excuse her if her first aid is a little rusty. Plus, this guy is just not human at all, which makes things a tad more difficult. It’s not fun to be scrutinized when you’re trying to fucking concentrate, dude. 

She meets his gaze kinda pissily, daring him to look away. His face is clean of dried blood (not his, he’d said), but it’s still kind of drawn and pale from the wound concentrated in his side. While it didn’t look that bad to her, the iron in the weapon was apparently sapping his strength. 

“I don’t understand you,” he says, which is such a laugh, “what’s your motivation?”

She pauses in her work, stumped. The hell? Way to be suspicious of the person who might very well have saved your life. 

“You were dying. I have a responsibility to help anyone who looks like they’re dying.” 

“Why?”

“Because I do. Because I’m alive. You don’t...help people when they need help?”

Now he looks away, and is that an eyeroll? Really? Look, that’s been ingrained in her since before she can remember. Her mother taught her the seriousness of what she was born with, the duty she has to this earth and these woods in particular. Their legacy was monstrous for a long time, but she’s not a monster. 

“Not if I don’t get something in return.”

Oh, okay, so he’s a real asshole. Got it. Broken of her reverie, Rowan goes back to gingerly stitching his slowly healing wound, determined to get this over with and boot him back to fairy world or...wherever. He can be as shitty and ungrateful as he wants far, far away from her. 

“I promise I don’t want anything from you.”

He sighs raggedly, because of course he must still be in a lot of pain even if he’s mostly hiding it well. She kind of wants to pry and ask who picked a fight with him, this tall, beautiful monster. Probably better not to.