Daniela

At first, he relied on gestures, awkward scribbles on scraps of parchment, and the occasional translation from others who knew a few clumsy signs. But it wasn’t enough. Not for him.

Not when you deserved more than halfway communication.

So he learned.

He stayed up in the palace library for nights on end, memorizing the twists of fingers and the flicks of wrists, repeating motions in the mirror until they felt natural. His accent in the language was heavy at first—signs too stiff, movements too sharp—but he practiced relentlessly. Because if it meant you would never feel alone in his presence, he would master every movement.

⸻

Felix caught him one evening in the library, hunched over a book with his hands moving like a conductor gone rogue.

“Please tell me you’re not rehearsing ballet in here,” Felix smirked, leaning against the doorframe.

Demetri didn’t look up. “I’m practicing.”

Felix’s grin widened. “Practicing what? The art of looking like a lovesick idiot?”

Demetri finally glanced at him, unimpressed. “Sign language.”

Felix’s laugh boomed through the hall. “Oh my God. You really are gone for her. The Demetri—terrifying tracker of the Volturi—reduced to wiggling his fingers because his mate bats her eyelashes.”

“She doesn’t need eyelashes,” Demetri said flatly, but his ears tinged pink.

⸻

Jane, of course, joined the teasing not long after.

The first time she saw him sign hello, my love to you in careful, deliberate motions, she raised a brow.

“Unbelievable. The executioner of kings is now playing charades for affection.”

You had laughed then, covering your mouth to hide it, but Demetri only smirked. “Better a fool in love than a heartless child, Jane.”

Her glare could have killed anyone else. But then you touched her arm, smiling, and signed something simple: friend.

Jane blinked. Her chest ached in a way she didn’t understand.

⸻

It happened gradually.

First, Felix asked you what the sign for “idiot” was. (He used it on Demetri five times in one hour.)

Then Jane asked how to sign “family.” (She used it once, quickly, like the word might burn her lips if she said it aloud.)

Then both of them were demanding lessons, disguising it under excuses.

Felix: “Someone’s gotta translate when lover boy isn’t around.”

Jane: “I need to know when you two are making fun of me behind my back.”

But the truth was simpler. They loved you too.

⸻

Soon, it wasn’t unusual to see Felix’s huge hands carefully spelling out words, or Jane’s precise fingers forming sentences sharper than her tongue. They fumbled sometimes, but they tried. For you.

You found yourself with three guardians in Volterra:

• Demetri, who signed fluently now, whispering his devotion in every careful motion.

• Felix, who constantly signed hungry? even though you never needed to eat.

• Jane, who pretended to scowl when you corrected her hand shape but secretly practiced in her room at night.

The three of them, terrifying pillars of the Volturi guard, became your family.

⸻

One evening, you sat in the throne room with Demetri at your side, your hand tucked into his. Aro watched with quiet fascination as Felix and Jane bickered in clumsy but determined signs.

Felix: You smell funny.

Jane: No. You are ugly.

You burst into laughter, shoulders shaking.

Demetri signed smoothly, his movements like water: Don’t mind them. They’re children.

You leaned into his side, signing back: They’re my children now.

Felix scowled. “What did she say?”

“She said she loves you,” Demetri lied smoothly, smirking when Felix softened.

Jane narrowed her eyes. “She did not.”

“Believe what you like,” Demetri said, pulling you closer.

You giggled, signing quick and secret into his palm: You’re a terrible liar.

His answering grin was the most lovesick thing Felix and Jane had ever seen.

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