݁❀₊lia⋆𐙚 ˖°

He can’t believe his eyes when he stops on one photo of a mini cake in particular, because it looks to be made exactly just for him. It even seems to be calling out his name, he swears he can hear it whisper into his ear. Oh this is it, he thinks. Quickly placing an order wait maybe make that two, he is relieved to see it will only take a few minutes to wait.

Perking up when it arrives already thoughtfully arranged on a plate by his secretary, Valko immediately shuffles aside the documents on the table while thanking him and asking to not be disturbed for the next fifteen minutes.

When the door closes, he lets out a gleeful chuckle as he rubs his hands together, swiveling a bit on his chair side to side, his eyes sparkling as he appreciates the mini cake.

The smell is divine, his mouth already watering, and he already knows it’s gonna be good. He smiles at the way it’s decorated with bits and pieces of chocolate barks, shavings, and sprinkles. The chaos actually looks playful and fun.

He picks up the fork to dig in, whistling when he sees the inner layers and the gooey center. He took a bite, and his eyes went wide.

“Mmmm!” A moan involuntarily comes out from his lips. He slaps a palm on the table, loud enough for his secretary to hear outside, who pauses in concern as he looks at the door.

Mother. of. all. chocolate. cakes.

Pure bliss sweeps through him, instantly washing away the stresses of the day. Valko lifts a hand to his mouth as he chews, eyes fluttering shut as he moans again, softer this time. He swears he feels sparks run through his veins and stars appear in his vision. His wolf ears and tail appear and swish around happily, a rare slip of control over food.

What sorcery is this? Bite after bite, he practically inhales the mini cake, only slowing down at the last forkful.

He side-eyes the other cake on the table, still safe in its transparent takeout box with a pretty little ribbon. He decides to save it for dinner later.

(It doesn’t survive past the hour.)

“Their cake has healed me. Just one bite and I have achieved inner peace, outer peace, and world peace. As a seasoned chocotist, this cake...”

He types a lengthy and glowing 5-star review for the cafe he ordered from, committing the name and address to memory, pleasantly surprised that it's nearby.

He becomes a loyal customer, ordering two every day (never just one), and every day he experiences the same feeling of joy and contentment. Oddly anchoring him like a sense of home.

Until one day, it doesn’t.

He takes a bite, and… nothing. He tilts his head and scowls as if personally offended, taking another bite… but still nothing. It’s delicious, yes, but the magic is missing. Scratch that, everything feels wrong about it.

Unacceptable.

The secretary is startled when Valko abruptly opens the doors and zooms past. Usually he could hear his boss moaning over the cakes at this time (oh the secrets a secretary has to keep), but today his boss seems disgruntled.

Swiftly reaching the cafe, Valko pauses outside the door when he catches a distinct scent, his heart suddenly hammering wildly in his chest.

It’s the scent of the wind that had played by a stream and rushed through open mountains, of a peaceful evening as the full moon slowly rises, of steaming mugs of hot chocolate near the crackling logs on a fireplace. Such a smell…

The door opens with a soft chime, and he steps into the cozy interior. His gaze sweeps past the few empty tables and seats as he follows the scent towards the counter, ignoring the display case full of colorful cakes and pastries. He is drawn by a soft humming, the sound tugging him to lean over the counter to come even closer.

He was leaning halfway over when the person behind the counter turned around.

You.

Beautiful, he thinks, already lost in adoring you. Warm, and sweet, and just… perfect.

“Oh!” Surprised at his presence, you almost drop your clipboard before collecting yourself and greeting a handsome guy who has a big sunny grin on his face. Quite charming, though you briefly wonder how such a tall and well-built guy was able to move so quietly.

“Um, hello, welcome to my cafe! What can I help you with?” You smile up at him, following the sudden urge to step nearer, stopping only when your hip bumped the counter.

You can help me by being my wife—

Lightly shaking his head to focus, he runs a hand through his hair as he answers. “Hi, I’m Valko, and I—”

Your expression brightened in recognition of your most frequent customer, his unique name being printed on the delivery receipts never failing to make you smile. Not to mention his funny reviews. “Valko?”

Well, damn. His name on your lips is doing numbers to his chest.

You cheerfully thank him for his daily orders, your hand reaching out to lightly touch his arm.

He tries very hard not to melt at the small contact.

Suddenly, he couldn’t bring himself to ask about today’s cake. Instead, he inquires whether he could place a bulk order for a company event.

An event that doesn’t exist… yet. Orrr I could just eat them all in secret, right?

Your face blooms even more, happy to accept. Something about him makes you feel safe to open up, so you excitedly chatter about how he’s just in time, how you could probably work in a bulk order now that you had an assistant who would be able to help you out, especially since she was able to successfully make the batch of cakes this morning.

Valko listens attentively with soft eyes and a gentle smile, with the peace of a man who has found home. He realized that the magic he felt wasn’t in the chocolate cake, it was in the hands that made them.

The hands of his lovely and precious mate.

Dividers by @sweethearticism and @diviniyae 💕

"What about Twilight?" He smirks, clearly trying to rile you up.

"Val! We are not watching Twilight." You laugh.

"You’re the one always comparing me to Jacob."

For some reason, the TV just isn't responding, so you press down harder on the button. You angle the remote, as if that would somehow improve the connection. Unfortunately, the smooth plastic slides out of your grip. It clatters to the floor, the battery cover popping off.

"Shit. Valko can-"

"Got it!" Valko practically dives towards the remote, grabbing the device.

"Thanks…"

"No problem!" He gives you a fanged smile.

That's weird. He seems almost… Happy? Proud? Excited? That's the word. He seems strangely excited to retrieve the remote for you. You didn't notice it at first, but now that you think about it, it's something he's done since you met.

Just last week, you dropped your pencil while you looked over reports from the Association. Before you even registered that you had dropped it, Valko handed it back to you.

Yesterday, you accidentally knocked your phone off the counter while cooking. Valko was there to pick it up.

This morning, the toothpaste tube slipped out of your hands when you were brushing your teeth. He literally ran from the other room just to help you.

Then it clicked.

"Valko," You sigh, staring him dead in the eyes. "Are you… playing fetch with me?"

"No! I'm-" His voice cracks, coming out a few octaves too high.

"Ahem." He clears his throat, his voice returning to its usual baritone. "No. What do you mean? Tch. Playing fetch. I'm not a stupid dog." He insists.

"Right…" You give him a side eye, but resume the movie search regardless.

You hand him the remote, letting him find what to watch while a plan brews in your mind. There's no way you’re letting this slide without teasing him. It's just too good an opportunity to pass up. Spotting the bag of snacks perched on the table, you reach over and grab it, letting the bag slowly fall from your hand. It lands on the ground with a crackle.

Like a sleeper agent, Valko's eyes lock onto the package. His eyes narrow, like he's stalking prey. The wolf hybrid lunges, snatching it up from the floor. Valko then places it in your lap with a gentleness that belies the urgency with which he grabbed the bag of snacks.

"Valko."

"What?"

You snicker and toss the bag across the room.

"Valko, fetch!"

He bolts up from the couch, scoops up the chips and returns it to your outstretched hands.

"Oh. No, no, you did not!" Valko's face drops as he processes what in the world just happened. Red blooms across his face and his ears twitch in anger as embarrassment sets in.

"Stupid wolf instincts." He mutters. “Stupid human."

an: I am genuinely devastated at the loss of such a wonderful character and am angry at the way infold has handled the situation. so I wrote something lighthearted for those who need it rn

also apologies if anything doesn’t make sense or is grammatically incorrect it’s 2 am rn for me and I am tired… g’night guys I sleep now ‎꜀( ꜆-ࡇ-)꜆ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

“More than people?”

“Depends on the people.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, and relief moved through him all at once, softening his shoulders, loosening the frightened line of his mouth. He'd been nervous all morning. Badly nervous. Valko, who could grin with blood on his teeth and make danger look like a door he'd simply forgotten to knock on, had spent the whole walk here giving you warnings no sane person could have prepared for.

Do not let Mika read your palm. He makes things up and then believes them.

Do not compliment Baba's curtains unless you want curtains.

Do not say you're full.

And, most importantly, if anyone mentions the soup incident, Valko had said, grave as a condemned man, they're lying.

You had asked what the soup incident was.

He had started to walk faster.

Now he stood before the old wooden door with your fingers caught in his, trying to look calm and producing, somehow, the exact expression of a wolf about to be bathed.

“Valko,” you said softly.

“Yes?”

“You're shaking.”

“I'm not shaking.”

“You are.”

“I’m containing myself.”

“From what?”

“Hereditary embarrassment.”

The door flew open.

A girl about his age stood on the other side, dark-eyed and grinning, with flour on her cheek and murder in her posture. She took one look at Valko’s hand around yours, then lifted her gaze to his face with the slow delight of someone finding a knife exactly where she had hoped one would be.

A slow smile cut across her face.

“Oh,” she smirked. “So this is why you changed your shirt twice.”

Valko made a sound. Small, wounded, entirely unlike a wolf.

“I changed once.”

“You changed twice. The first shirt was the blue one. The second was the one that made you look like you were going to court. This...This is the third.”

His ears went red.

The woman held out her hand to you. “Milena. His sister.”

“Unfortunately,” Valko added.

“Fortunately. Without me, you'd still think soap is optional in winter.”

“It isn't optional.”

“Because of me.”

You took Milena's hand. Her grip was warm, firm, and full of judgement she hadn't yet decided to use.

Behind her, the house breathed out heat. Bread, onions, some in old wood, something sweet cooling on a counter. There were voices everywhere, layered and crossing. One person laughing while another complained, a child humming under a table, chairs scraping, a kettle whistling like a bird losing patience.

Milena stepped aside. “Come in before Baba starts saying we were raised by wolves.”

Valko muttered, “We were.”

She looked at him. “And still, some of us learned manners.”

You crossed the threshold. The house was smaller than the noise made it seem, or maybe the noise had simply learned to fill every corner. Framed photographs climbed the walls in crooked rows. Herbs hung drying above the kitchen window. Nothing matched, and yet everything looked touched, mended, argued over... kept.

Valko leaned close as he helped you out of your coat.

“Last chance,” he whispered. “We can run.”

You looked past him to where an old woman stood near the stove, hands folded over her apron, watching you with bright, wolfish eyes.

“Too late,” you whispered back. “I think she heard you.”

“I hear everything,” the old woman said.

Valko went still.

Milena smiled into her shoulder.

The old woman crossed the kitchen with the slow authority of someone who had ruled this house before any of them had teeth. She was small, broad in the shoulders, silver-haired, with flour on her wrist and no softness wasted in her face. The softness, you realised, was elsewhere. In the bread covered by a towel, in the chair pulled out before you reached it, in the way Valko lowered his head without being asked when she came close.

“Baba,” he said, and for the first time that day, his voice lost its jokes.

She, of course, ignored him.

Instead, she took your face between both hands.

Her palms smelled of rosemary, yeast, and soap. Her thumbs rested beneath your cheekbones, and for one strange second the whole house seemed to lean closer. The cousins, the kettle, the old boards, even Valko, holding his breath beside you.

“So,” Baba Vesna said. “You are the reason he forgets to eat.”

“I eat,” Valko protested.

Teta Marika appeared by the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “You came here last week, opened the pantry, stared at a sack of potatoes for six minutes, then said, ‘I wonder what she’s doing.’”

“That was taken out of context.”

“What was the context?” you asked, because love had made you brave and terrible.

Valko looked betrayed. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

A boy leaning backwards on his chair nearly lost balance from laughing, another cousin caught the chair by its back without looking up from peeling an apple.

Baba Vesna patted your cheek once and released you. “Sit, dušo. Eat something before my family embarrass me properly.”

Valko gave a strangled laugh. “Before?”

No one listened to him.

You were placed at the long wooden table as if the decision had been made before you arrived. A bowl appeared, then bread, then butter, then a small plate of pickled vegetables. Teta Marika, Valko's aunt, kissed the air beside your cheeks and took the small gift you had brought. Mika announced that he already knew your favourite colour from Valko’s face. Luka told him that was the stupidest sentence ever spoken in the kitchen, which Mika accepted as praise. The little one beneath the table emerged, solemn and bread-dusted, and introduced himself as Niko.

“Are you going to marry him?” Niko asked.

Valko walked directly into the side of a chair.

The whole kitchen paused. You pressed your lips together.

Milena leaned against the doorway, radiant with cruelty. “Careful, Niko. Val only has two knees.”

“Niko,” Teta Marika turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “We ask guests if they want juice first.”

Niko nodded, absorbing this etiquette with grave importance. “Do you want juice before you marry him?”

Valko covered his face with both hands. You bit down on your smile so hard it almost hurt. This wasn't what you had expected.

Some foolish, frightened part of you had imagined a den in the old sense. Teeth, watchful eyes, a family arranged around blood and law, waiting to decide whether your bones could be allowed near theirs. Valko had never spoken of them casually. Whenever he said home, something tender and embarrassed moved through him, as though the word itself had fingers and knew exactly where to touch.

Now you sat beneath a crooked lamp while his grandmother tore bread with her hands and put the first piece on your plate.

“Eat,” Baba Vesna said.

You obeyed.

The bread was warm enough to steam between your fingers. The crust cracked softly, butter melted into it in golden lines. Across the table, Valko watched you take the first bite as if your mouth held judgment from heaven.

You chewed. Swallowed.

“It’s delicious.”

Baba Vesna clicked her tongue. “Of course it is wonderful. I made it.”

Mika leaned towards you. “He talked about you after the market yesterday.”

Valko’s hand hit the table. “No.”

“Yes, you did” Luka said sticking his tongue out.

“No.”

“You said, and I quote, 'she chooses fruit with such care'.”

The table went quiet for half a breath, your hand stilled around the bread. Valko looked at Luka as if betrayal had entered the room wearing his cousin’s face.

“That was private.”

“You said it in the kitchen.”

“That makes it private.”

Milena sat across from you and rested her chin in her hand. “He also said you have kind hands.”

Valko’s mouth opened, nothing came out. Your heart did something foolish inside your chest.

The teasing had worked him bright and flustered, but beneath it, something softer trembled. He was embarrassed, yes. Horribly, so. Beautifully, so. Yet the thing underneath was more dangerous than shame. This was exposure. A curtain pulled open in a room he had spent so long keeping dim.

He had spoken of you here.

At this table. In this warm, loud house. To these people who teased him because they knew what he looked like with no armour on. He had brought you home long before he ever brought your body through the door.

Baba Vesna filled your bowl with soup.

“He was always like this,” she said.

“Baba, please.”

“He was a strange child,” she said.

Valko groaned. “Please.”

“A sweet child,” Teta Marika corrected.

“A dramatic child,” Luka said.

“A biting child,” Milena added.

Valko pointed at her. “You bit first.”

“You looked biteable.”

“You see what I mean?” Valko turned to you with helpless outrage. “This is what I survived.”

There was love in it, the kind that had been cooked too long and reduced into something strong enough to stain. They spoke to him as if they had known every version of him and chosen, again and again, to keep putting food in front of whichever one came home.

You looked at him while he argued with Mika about whether a stolen spoon counted as a childhood trauma.

He caught you looking. For a moment, the noise thinned.

There he was.

Valko with his hair refusing every law of decency. Valko trying so hard to survive his own family and failing beautifully. His eyes met yours with a nervous brightness that made you want to reach across the table and be cruel to every fear that had ever found him.

Then Niko pointed his spoon at you.

“Are you keeping him?”

The kitchen stopped.

Valko made a tiny sound into his bowl.

Milena closed her eyes as if praying for patience and finding none. “Niko.”

“What? Mika said maybe she is keeping him.”

His gaze dropped to the table, to the bread by his hand, to the small old cuts in the wood. The blush still clung to him, but it had changed into something quieter now. Hope, perhaps. Or terror wearing hope’s coat.

You could have laughed. Everyone would have let you. It would have been easy to throw the question back into the room like a toy and watch them tear it apart.

Instead, beneath the table, you found Valko’s hand.

His fingers closed around yours at once.

“I’d like to,” you said.

The house held itself still for half a breath.

Then Baba Vesna nodded, once, as if some old contract had been signed in soup and honey.

“Good,” she said. “He is difficult, but warm.”

Valko bowed his head.

His shoulders shook.

At first you thought he was upset. Then you realised he was laughing, quietly, helplessly, with one hand over his mouth and the other holding yours under the table like he meant to keep it there until winter.

Mika groaned. “Ah, look at him. Finished. Completely finished.”

Milena reached for the pickles. “Good. He needed finishing.”

Teta Marika smiled into her tea. “Eat more, zlato. You will need strength.”

“For Valko?” you asked.

“For all of us.”

Dinner became less a meal than a storm with chairs.

Bowls moved, hands reached, stories climbed over one another and died unfinished because someone remembered a better accusation. Luka asked you practical questions in a calm voice: where you liked to walk, whether Valko had shown you the old river path, whether he still pretended not to like sweet things. Mika tried to read your palm and declared that you were fated to own a troublesome dog.

“That's just Valko,” Milena said.

“I am not a dog.”

“True,” Luka said. “Dogs listen.”

Valko began quietly placing the best pieces of food on your plate.

A soft carrot, the inside of the bread, a dumpling he pretended to move away from himself and somehow abandoned beside your spoon. He was not subtle. He had never been subtle. He was a wolf trying to hide a whole deer behind a napkin.

You noticed on the fourth offering.

His family noticed on the first.

Baba Vesna said nothing until Valko tried to give you the last honey cake. Then she leaned back in her chair and looked at him over her tea.

“Ah,” she said.

Valko froze.

It was one syllable. It landed like a bell.

“What?” he said.

“No, no.” She waved him off. “Continue. Starve for romance. Very noble.”

Mika threw his head back.

You picked up the honey cake before Valko could die at the table and broke it in two, placing half on his plate. “There,” you said. “No starving.”

He looked at the cake.

Then he looked at you.

His expression opened in a way that made the room, somehow, feel too small for your heart. It opened with that unguarded, bewildered softness he sometimes gave you when kindness arrived before he had prepared himself to receive it.

Milena saw it.

Her teasing quieted.

For a moment, she only watched him with something old and protective in her face.

Then she stood. “Come help me with plates.”

Valko blinked. “Me?”

“Her.” Milena pointed at you.

Valko frowned. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That's not a reason.”

“It has worked on you for years.”

You rose before he could protest again. Milena took two plates from the table and handed you none of them, which told you at once that this had nothing to do with helping.

She led you down a narrow hallway lined with photographs.

Behind you, Valko’s voice rose. “Do not interrogate her.”

The hallway smelled faintly of beeswax and dried herbs. The noise of the kitchen softened behind you, still there, still golden, but now wrapped in walls. Milena stopped by a window overlooking the yard and leaned her hip against the sill.

For the first time all evening, she let the smile leave her face.

“He likes you,” she said.

You smiled gently. “I got that impression.”

“No.” Her eyes flicked towards the kitchen. “He likes people easily. He likes old men who tell bad stories, stray cats that scratch him, children who throw rocks at windows because they want attention. Valko is built stupid that way.”

A laugh escaped you.

Milena folded her arms.

“He brings things home,” she continued. “Broken things, angry things. Things he thinks no one else will be gentle with.” Her gaze moved towards the kitchen, where Valko’s voice lifted in protest. “He does not bring people home.”

Your throat tightened.

From the kitchen, Valko shouted, “It wasn't soup. It was stew.”

Mika shouted back, “Stew cannot make a grown man cry.”

“I was overwhelmed by flavour.”

Milena closed her eyes for one second. “Bože, give me strength.”

You laughed softly.

She looked at you again, sharper now.

“He was nervous all week,” she said. “Changed his shirt three times. Asked me if the house smelled too much like onions. Asked Luka if his laugh was strange. Asked Baba if she could please not tell the story about the goat.”

“The goat?”

“Later.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “Maybe never.”

You glanced back towards the kitchen.

He had asked if his laugh was strange.

Something in you ached with such tenderness that it almost felt like anger.

You looked down.

“He didn’t need to worry,”

“He is clumsy with precious things,” she said. “Because he thinks his hands are only good for breaking them, even when he is careful. Especially then.”

“So be kind,” she said. “Or be cruel quickly. He will survive either, but I prefer to know which one I’m dealing with.”

There it was.

The knife under the table. The love with its teeth intact. You didn't resent her for it, you thought, strangely, that you liked her more for it.

“I’m not here to hurt him,”

“Most people aren’t, at first.”

“Milena.”

Milena’s gaze narrowed.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with him,” you admitted.

“With any of this,” you continued. “He makes everything feel…” You searched for the word and hated every pretty one that came. Fated. Wild. Tender. All too polished for the mess he made of your heart. “He makes everything feel like I’ve been walking past a door my whole life, and he is the idiot who opened it with his shoulder.”

Milena stared at you.

Then she laughed once, sharp and startled.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re gone too.”

You looked down, caught.

She seemed satisfied. “Good.”

“Is that approval?”

“That is me deciding not to be difficult.”

“You were being difficult?”

“Dušo,” she said, and now her smile had teeth in it, “I was being polite.”

When you returned to the kitchen, Valko was waiting near the doorway as if he had tried to remain seated and failed.

His eyes moved from you to Milena. “What did you say to her?”

Milena walked past him. “That you were adopted.”

“I’m not.”

“Emotionally, you're a wet dog we found in the rain.”

He watched her go, wounded on principle, then turned to you with genuine concern. “What did she actually say?”

You reached up and brushed flour from his sleeve. “That you’re warm.”

“That was Baba.”

“Family consensus.”

His mouth twitched. “You are enjoying this.”

“I am.”

“You were supposed to be intimidated.”

“By Mika?”

“By the bloodline. The history. The general atmosphere of teeth.”

“Mika told me my palm says I’ll own a dog.”

Valko sighed.

You reached up and plucked the dish towel from his shoulder. “You have flour on your sleeve.”

He looked down, surprised, as if his own body had been making decisions without him. Then he looked back at you, and the kitchen noise faded once more, though this time it was only the two of you making the world small.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

The question was casual enough for anyone else to miss the tremor underneath. You heard it. The naked, waiting part. You thought of his hand shaking outside the door. Baba Vesna taking your face between her palms, of bread steaming in your fingers, of honey cake divided in two, of Milena saying he doesn't bring people home.

“I’m all right,” you said. “Are you?”

Valko smiled too quickly. “I’m alive.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

His smile softened.

For once, he did not joke immediately. It cost him something. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed at his side, reaching for mischief and finding courage instead.

“I wanted them to like you,” he said. “I wanted you to like them.”

“I do”

“I wanted…” He stopped, then laughed under his breath. “I don’t know. Something stupid.”

He looked towards the kitchen, where his family had resumed their noise without mercy. Mika was accusing Luka of stealing the larger piece of cake. Baba Vesna had taken down a tin from the highest shelf, probably containing either biscuits or secrets.

“Valko, stop hiding her. I have photographs.”

Horror returned to his face with magnificent speed.

“No.”

“Yes,”

“No photographs.”

“Naked baby photos,” Mika added.

Valko went pale. “You do not have those.”

Teta Marika’s voice drifted after him, serene and deadly. “We have everything.”

He grabbed your hand. “We’re leaving.”

You let him pull you three steps before Baba Vesna appeared in the doorway holding a small album to her chest.

“Sit,” she said.

Valko sat.

It was remarkable how quickly a wolf could become a grandson.

For the next hour, they showed you the evidence of his life.

Valko missing two front teeth and glaring at the camera as though betrayed by dentistry. Valko asleep under the table with one hand buried in a dog’s fur. Valko at thirteen, all elbows and outrage, holding a fish half his size while crying because he had to put it back.

There was Valko covered in mud, Valko wearing a paper crown, Valko with Milena’s arm hooked around his neck while he pretended to hate her and leaned into her anyway. Valko standing beside Baba Vesna in the garden, holding a basket of tomatoes like he had been entrusted with the fate of nations.

Each photograph was another small door.

You had known him in pieces: the grin, the hunger, the awkward tenderness, the jokes he threw like branches over deep water. Here was the rest of him. Here was the child who had survived becoming himself because these hands had fed him, scolded him, dragged him upright, and remembered his softness when he tried to outgrow it.

At some point, while everyone argued over whether the goat incident happened before or after the soup incident, Valko bent close to you.

“You don’t have to keep looking,” he murmured.

You turned a page.

A tiny Valko stared up from the album, holding a wooden spoon like a sword.

“Yes,” you said. “I do.”

He stared at you.

Then, very briefly, he rested his forehead against your shoulder.

It lasted only a second. A shy, exhausted surrender. No one commented on it, though you knew every person in the room saw. That seemed to be another house rule. They would mock the wound, yes, but they protected the pulse.

Later, when the cups were cleared and the album returned to its shelf of holy embarrassments, you stepped outside for air.

The yard was cold, dark and soft around the edges. Herbs grew beneath the window, yhe old trees leaned towards the house as if listening. Behind you, the kitchen glowed gold, laughter pressing against the glass.

Valko followed after a moment, closing the door carefully behind him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You looked at him. “For what?”'

“The interrogation. The photographs. Mika. The marriage question. The soup litigation.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Milena.”

“I like Milena.”

“That means she behaved.”

“She said she was being polite.”

He winced. “Then she liked you.”

You leaned back against the porch railing, and he stood in front of you with his hands in his pockets, rocking once on his heels like he wanted to come closer and had forgotten the law of his own body.

Through the window, you could see Baba Vesna pretending to wipe the table while watching you both with shameless interest. You lifted a hand and waved.

She waved back.

Valko turned, saw her, and groaned. “For the love of...Baba.”

“She loves you.”

“That's her usual excuse for crimes.”

“It’s a good one.”

He looked back at you, and the teasing left him slowly, piece by piece. Out here, with the house at his back, he seemed caught between the wild thing and the loved thing. The wolf and the boy in the paper crown. The man who had brought you to the threshold with shaking hands and still tried to joke like fear could be made harmless if he gave it a funny name.

“Did you mean it?” he asked.

“Which part?”

“When Niko asked if you were keeping me.”

The question came lightly, too lightly. A feather laid over a blade.

You reached for him.

This time, Valko did not hesitate. He came into your space at once, as if pulled by a string tied somewhere behind his ribs. His hands settled at your waist, careful at first, then warmer when you didn't move away.

“I meant it,”

His eyes searched yours.

“For tonight?”

“For longer than that.”

He didn't kiss you immediately. Somehow, that made it worse. He stood there and let the answer enter him, slowly, like someone opening the door to a room he had been told was empty and finding it lit.

Inside, Mika yelled, “Are they kissing?”

Valko dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

“Leave them. He is finally being normal.”

You laughed.

He looked at you then, and the last of his embarrassment broke open into something bright, something almost boyish

“Welcome home,” he said, very softly.

You touched his cheek.

Behind him, the old house breathed and creaked and held its golden noise. Inside, his family waited with tea, teeth, stories, and a place at the table already made yours.

“Welcome home, Valko.”

“valkie, where are you going?” you whispered, your hands clutching his bicep in an attempt to make him stay.

he turned to you, his head cocking to the left.

his warm palm came up to cup your cheek, and you immediately nuzzled it, leaning against his touch.

“it's late, bunny. i have to go,” he explained, his smile easy, but his golden eyes betraying hesitation.

you frowned slightly, looking down at the floor, only to lift your eyes seconds later and meet his again.

“yeah, but… you just came,” you insisted, your voice turning frail, almost desperate. “stay? a little while, please.”

his thumb caressed the soft curve of your cheekbone.

he couldn't stay; he knew it.

but he couldn't leave you alone, either, not when you were looking at him with those pleading eyes, clinging to him as if you needed his existence to keep breathing.

“honeybun, i wish i could, but…” he trailed off, his resolve growing weaker.

“please…” you mumbled, your arms now coiling around his torso. you nuzzled his strong chest, trying to commit his scent and warmth to memory.

if he was going to leave so soon, you wanted to take as much of him with you as you could.

he leaned down, his chin now resting atop your head.

his hands hesitated before resting on your lower back, pulling you closer to him, making your bodies almost melt together.

you whined softly and shut your eyes so tightly that you couldn't perceive the light or shadows anymore.

you didn't want to think of anything else that wasn't this moment.

you wanted to recognize him by his scent; his manly, musky perfume, so that when you were lost, you could find your way back to him with all of your senses.

you didn't notice you were trembling until he lifted your head, his expression soft but concerned.

he leaned closer, his warm lips catching a tear as it rolled down your cheek. valko lingered, the tip of his nose warm against your skin, his mouth pressed gently to your tear-streaked face.

how could anyone try to keep him away from you?

“valkie,” you sniffled, your hands travelling up his chest until they rested on his shoulders. “will you come back…?”

he sighed.

his lips left your skin as he pulled back, but he remained close, pressing your foreheads together.

“i won't need to come back,” he mumbled, his arms wrapping around your waist in a way that left little to no room for you to move. “because i won't leave, little bunny.”

your breath hitched.

you searched his gaze for any hint of deceit, or perhaps pity; a pity that would make him tell sweet lies as long as you stopped crying.

but those golden pools held nothing but resolve and tenderness; a mate promising his beloved he wouldn't dare leave as long as he lived.

he couldn't do it, he wouldn't survive if he left. his heart wouldn't make it if he didn't have yours beating close to it.

“you— really? you promise?” you whispered, your fingers gently caressing the smooth undershave at his nape, perhaps to ground yourself, perhaps to comfort him as well.

he kneeled right there in front of you, his chin tilting up so he could meet your gaze.

he took your hands in his and kissed each and every one of your knuckles. he then turned your hands over and nuzzled your warm palms, closing his eyes in pure bliss.

“i promise,” he assured, looking up through his thick eyelashes.

you cupped his cheeks and caressed his warm skin with the tips of your fingers, your eyes still glistening with unshed tears.

you traced the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows, his jawline, trying to memorize their shape, their texture, their softness and sharpness all at once.

it was almost as if you were scared of him disappearing.

scared of him going, scared of him leaving, and scared your mind wouldn't be able to recall anything you could hold on to.

he followed your hands with his eyes until he captured your fingers, pressing soft, wet kisses to them.

then, he stood up, towering over you in a way that never once felt threatening.

he picked you up in his arms with painful gentleness, treating you like the most delicate and fragile treasure, and held you against his chest, his body curling inward just to keep you surrounded by him.

his limbs, his scent, his breathing, and his clothes all brushed against your skin.

your fingers clung to him for dear life.

his long legs carried both of you to your bedroom, where he finally placed you down.

but you refused to let him go.

you stubbornly kept your limbs wrapped around his body, so he had no choice but to lie on top of you as carefully as he could, then gently roll the two of you over so that you'd be resting on his chest.

he lowered his hands until they reached the small of your back, and he pressed a lingering, soft kiss to your forehead the moment your pretty eyes looked up at him.

“i'm here, my bunny,” he whispered, his low voice rumbling in his chest. “i'm not going anywhere.”

no, he wasn't.

you wouldn't let him.

you shook your head softly and nuzzled his neck, sniffing his scent the way he taught you to; soft little sniffs to recognize where his scent was the strongest, then three long, slow inhales to take it in and commit it to memory.

the mix of pine, sandalwood, and the natural scent of his skin made you feel drowsy; the fear of him leaving replaced by his grounding promise.

you kissed the warm spot that brought you comfort, and let your consciousness drift away.

valko remained quiet, but he watched attentively as your eyelashes stopped fluttering, and your chest rose and fell calmly against his.

he nuzzled the top of your head and pulled a blanket over the two of you, almost as if to keep you both beneath a protective barrier the rest of the world couldn't break.

he knew not to make promises he could break, but… you were fighting so hard to cling to him, to remember him.

and if your heart, body, and soul were already memorizing every inch of his skin, he wouldn't truly be gone from your world.

ever.

he closed his eyes and buried his face deeper in your hair.

maybe fate would ask impossible things of him one day, maybe the world would try to pull him away.

but, if it ever did, he would spend every lifetime finding his way back to the little bunny who knew his scent by heart.~

“you hungry? I can order us some dinner,” you stay quiet at his words, your face buried in his chest as you let out quiet sobs.

“everything fucking sucks val,” you manage out, stepping back and angrily wiping your tears, “i finally had something i was so excited for and they just-” your voice cracks on the last word, valko wants to kill whoever made you this upset.

you bury your face in your hands, body shaking as you try and calm yourself down. valko doesn’t hesitate to sweep you up into his arms, biceps flexing as he cradles you. instinctively, your arms wraps around his neck, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you sniffle.

valko doesn’t say anything as he carries you to the bathroom, shifting you to carry you in one arm as he turns the water on for you.

“w-what are you doing?” you ask quietly, wiggling slightly as a sign for him to put you down. he complies immediately, gingerly lowering you until your feet are firm on the ground.

“didn’t you tell me there wasn’t anything a warm shower couldn’t fix after i couldn’t get my research right?” there’s the slightest teasing lilt to his voice, you want to roll your eyes at him.

“well yeah but-” you try and protest, valko raises his eyebrows, your rebuttal dies on your lips.

“and you’re using the expensive body wash i got you, no buts” he smiles, stifling his laughter when you grumble at his words. he waits for a moment before turning to step out of the bathroom, immediately halting when he feels your hand on his wrist. “what is dollface?”

you stare into his amber eyes for a second, stomach flipping at the concern swimming in them. “do you think… can you stay with me?” valko can’t stop his ears and tail from popping out, tail wagging incessantly at your words.

“i will always stay with you, no matter what.” the conviction and firmness in his voice make your eyes water once more, and his steadfast façade shatters immediately. his arms are around you before you can process anything, pulling you into his chest and squeezing you. “don’t cry baby, I’m right here, I’ll always be right here,” the waver in his voice makes you smile slightly.

god he’s so helpless. you love him.

valko wastes no time in helping you undress, he taps your arms gently, a signal for you to lift them up as he takes your shirt off. you blush as his breath catches in his throat when he sees you.

“you act like you don’t see me naked everyday,” you huff, goosebumps rising on your skin as his fingertips ghost over your skin before unhooking your bra.

he places a feathery kiss to your shoulder, slowly slipping the strap down your arm and sniffing at your neck. he hums as he kisses your jaw. “does a sunset get less breathtaking because you’ve seen it the day before?” you can’t stop the smile that breaks onto your face, cheeks heating up.

“stupid wolf,” you smile, holding onto his broad shoulders as he helps you out of your bottoms. he nips at your thighs, giggling as he sinks his sharp canines gently into your skin, not enough to even leave a mark.

“your stupid wolf.”

you roll your eyes, “yes, my stupid wolf.”

valko helps you into the shower, rinsing your hair and helping you shampoo, gently washing your body as you ramble to him of what’s bothering you. he listens attentively, nodding along to your words and pouting when your voice wavers again. whether out of anger or sadness, maybe a mix of both, fresh tears spill out of your eyes.

“maybe it’s stupid for me to be so upset about it, but i was really excited,” you murmur, letting the hot water hit your skin and sighing sadly.

“nothing you feel is ever stupid, it’s okay to feel how you do, it’s normal.” his voice is even as ever, squeezing the last bit of conditioner out of your hair before reaching over you and shampooing his own hair quickly. you stare at him with a small smile and gleaming eyes.

you giggle as he rinses his hair quickly, shaking his head rapidly to get as much water off him as possible.

you’re both quiet as he helps you out of the shower, drying you with a fluffy towel before wrapping you in it, carrying you to your shared bed and setting you down. he hums softly as he opens your closet and drawers, grabbing your favorite pajamas and handing them to you.

“gonna place the order for food and I’ll be back, okay?” you nod in response, smiling when he blows a kiss your way with an over exaggerated ‘MWAH!’ before leaving you to your own devices.

the silence of your bedroom is consuming, but the hollowness that once filled your heart is filled.

you don’t feel sad as valko walks in minutes later with a horrible wolf pun. you smile as he drowns you in cuddles and kisses, his tail wagging wildly at the sound of your giggles. your heart is warm and your mind at ease as he pulls you closer to him, sweet nothings leaving his lips as he comforts you.

“when you have a bad day, i hope you can find comfort in the fact ill still be here for you, waiting for you to come home to me.”

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