twelve//

“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.”

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, I don't wanna scare him away y’know? it took us so long to even start dating,” you sigh into your phone. It’s quiet as the person on the other line responds, he can’t quite make out what they’re saying, whatever it is makes you let out a breathy chuckle.

“I mean we already said ‘I love you’ and I do but I don't know this feels like it's more than love,” you chew on your bottom lip, heartpounding as the word sits on the tip of your tongue. You hesitate, playing with the strings of his hoodie you were wearing, smiling as you pictured your lover sleeping soundly in the bedroom. 

“is it insane to say I feel like he’s my soulmate?” you smile, practically kicking your feet as you speak the words. Xavier feels his head spin, his mouth dries up as his heart beats harder against his chest.

Soulmate.

Xavier regains his bearings too late, a flash of light already making your head turn to where he was. His cheeks are flushed, ears red and hands shaking slightly as he tries to compose himself, puppy eyes ready to go in case you were mad at him for eavesdropping.

“Xavier? Is that you? Hold on, I think I left the kitchen light on,” you mumble, kicking the blanket off your legs before coming face to face with your glowing boyfriend, golden specks fluttering around him and encompassing the two of you. 

His plan on fawning goes out the window when he sees you, dressed in his hoodie and your hair slightly messy from your actions with him before the phone call.

“My star please hang up,” Xavier breathes out, trying to steady his hands as he reaches out for your waist.

“I’ll call you later, bye,” you rush out, barely ending the call as Xavier’s lips meet yours. you can’t stop the smile on your lips as he deeps the kiss, pulling you closer to his body. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Do you mean it?” his voice is strained, grip tightening around you as you stare up at him in confusion. “What you said on the phone, were you talking about me?” the golden orbs around you flicker, their intensity lowering as you stare at your lover in silence. 

it takes you a moment for everything to click in your mind, eavesdropping little-

“If it's not me then who? I promise I can be better, I’ll do anything-” he rambles, his grip on you tightening possessively. You cut him off with your lips on his, ignoring the way your teeth clash initially, smiling when he whines softly into the kiss. You relish in the way he holds you closer to him. When you pull away his eyes are dark and pupils wide, you giggle at the way his eyes flutter open. 

“I was talking about you, you're the only one for me” you smile up at him, the lights in your apartment flicker, the love of your life glows brighter before you. Xavier pulls you closer to him, face buried in the crook of your neck, stomach flipping as the smell of his laundry detergent mixes with your perfume.

“Say it,” he breathes against your neck, “I wanna hear you say it.”

“You're my soulmate, Xavier," you whisper out, like it's a secret only meant to be heard between the two of you and the four walls of his apartment. “I only want you.”

His grip tightens around you for a second, his warm breath fans over your neck before he presses wet kisses to the skin, humming when he feels your knees buckle as he bites down softly.

“My star,” he mumbles between kisses, “you’re my everything,” he makes his way up your neck, "mine in every lifetime,” a kiss to your jaw. His lips hover over yours for a second, you can feel his breath fanning over you, eyes half lidded, you look at him through your lashes. “I’ll find you no matter what, it'll always be you, my soulmate.”

Xavier's words make your heart stutter and mind melt, closing the distance between you as your lips move passionately against his, hands grasping at the hair at the nape of his neck, smiling when he moans as you tug softly. 

“I love you, starboy,” you mumble between messy kisses, "you're only mine, right?”

Xavier whimpers at your words, the sound of a lightbulb shattering makes you pull away. His calloused hand is quick to find your cheek, gently redirecting you back to him. “I’m all yours,” he breathes out, voice hoarse, “and you’re all mine starlight.”

“Don’t think you're off the hook for eavesdropping," you say against his lips, biting at his bottom lip softly before pulling away. Xavier immediately flashes you a small pout with wide eyes and angled brows. You force yourself to look away, feeling your resolve leave your body much too quickly. “Dont look at me like that,” you mumble. 

“Can’t I look at my soulmate?” his voice is soft as ever, you can't stop your head from turning to look at him, wide sapphire eyes staring back at you.

You were a goner, and Xavier knew it, but he wasn’t much better.

ZAYNE !

“Jus’ one more drink!” you slur out, stumbling against your boyfriend and he leads you out of the bar, shaking his head at your feeble attempts to break free of his grasp.

“Darling, one more drink and you’ll throw up in my car like last time,” his voice is gentle, slowly leading you to his car as you wave goodbye to your friends reluctantly.

There’s a small pout on your lips as he buckled you in, kissing your temple before closing the door and sliding in the driver's seat. He'd already queue’d your playlist, a small smile on his lips as you sang your little heart out.

There's a pause before the next song blares through his car's speakers, you hum along before turning the volume down, suddenly turning to your lover and staring at him intently. Zayne glances at you a couple times, raising a brow as he bites back a smile at your attempt to look serious (your body sways back and forth and a small smile plays on your lips.)

“I have something like serious business I have to say to you,” you fumble out, watching as Zayne juggles glancing at you and the empty road ahead.

“Okay, go on my love,” he says, voice as steady as ever. It makes your knees weaker than they were already, your heart thumps loudly against your chest as you muster up the remaining liquid courage in your veins.

“Nevermind,” you chicken out, leaning into the plush passenger seat and staring at your  boyfriend with half lidded eyes. 

“What is it? You can tell me,” he pushes slightly, hazel eyes looking at you softly, it makes your stomach flutter. 

“What if you don't feel the same?” you pout, eyes glossing over and bottom lip wobbling the tiniest bit. 

The words have Zayne's grip on the steering wheel tightening, the brakes squealing as he comes to an abrupt halt on the side of the road, parking the car and turning his hazards on before looking at you with concerned eyes.

“Do you think I don't love you?” His words are frantic and desperate, your drunken mind misinterprets his tone, pouting as your shoulders deflate.

“No I know you love me it's just-” you mumble, already shifting your body to face the window. Zayne doesn’t let you, his usual composure falling to pieces as he reaches across the center console to have you face him, hazel eyes searching yours, pupils blown wide. 

“You can tell me anything, darling,” he breathes out, “will you please tell me?”

The softness in his voice makes your inebriated resolve fall apart, your eyes stare at his lips for a moment before refocusing on your confession at hand. 

“I feel like you're my soulmate” you mumble, eyes slowly focusing from his eyes back down to his pink lips. 

Zayne feels his heart skip a beat, hat creeping up his cheeks as he catches the way you stare at him with pure want. 

“Darling, I know you are my soulmate,” he confesses, memorizing the way your eyes widen and sparkle, the smallest gasp leaving your lips. 

“Zayne-” your words are cut off by him pressing his lips to yours, ignoring the bitter taste of alcohol on your lips as his tongue swipes your bottom lip. A small whine leaves your lips as he pulls away, he has the slightest smirk on his lips when you pull him back by the collar of his button up. Your mouths move together in sync, you can taste the mint left behind from the gum he was chewing while he waited for you. Zayne lets his hands cup your cheeks, only pulling away when he feels your hand snaking to his thigh. 

“Let's get home first, okay?” He offers, placing a gentle kiss to your nose when you reluctantly agree.

You're asleep by the time he parks the car in the garage, carrying you to bed and helping you out of your clothes, pressing soft kisses to your face as he does your skincare for you. He tries to ignore the blush on his cheeks as you compliment him between giggles. 

“Do I tell you how hot you are? I need to tell you more,” you mumble, Zayne struggles to keep his composure, finishing the final step before finally carrying you to bed. 

“Do I tell you how gorgeous you are? How stunning and brilliant you are?” He hums, turning the compliments on you, he smiles as you turn away in embarrassment. He gently repositions you so that you're facing him, “I need to tell my soulmate I love them more, don't I?” He pauses for a second, letting you try to push away from him, only to come back immediately. He presses a feathery kiss to the top of your head. “I love you.”

“You mean it?” you mumble against his chest, hands intertwined with his.

Zayne feels his heart clench at your vulnerable words, “I would never lie to you about this. You're the only one for me, we are meant to be together in this life and the next.” His serious tone is a contrast to the gentle look in his eyes.

You can’t stop the giggles leaving your mouth, nuzzling your warm face into his neck and placing a flurry of kisses on his neck.

“I love you,” you sigh out, eyelids heavy as the alcohol takes its toll on your body.

“I love you more,” Zayne whispers, a small smile on his lips as your breathing evens out. He smooths your hair down, arms holding you a little tighter, “my soulmate.”

RAFAYEL !

The thought occurred to you during a fleeting moment as he walked hand in hand with you from the beach, laughter being carried by the ocean breeze.

Your fond eyes took in his every feature, every mole and noise he made, your chest growing warm. My Rafayel. My boyfriend. My soulmate.

You falter slightly as the last word weighs heavy in your mind. There isn’t much of an opportunity for you to linger on the word, Rafayel is quick to sweep you off your feet and carry you into the house bridal style, smiling sweetly down at you before kissing your cheek.

“What does my darling lover wish to eat tonight?” His voice is airy and playful as he plops the two of you on the couch, brushing your hair behind your ear. He relishes in the way you squirm, the way you avert your gaze out of bashfulness.

“Whatever my handsome fishie desires” you reply back, wiggling out of his arms and standing, “I’m gonna go shower.” 

Soulmate. The word rattles around in your head, a million thoughts racing in your mind as the water hits your skin. You stare at the ornate tile long enough for the design to be seared into your eyes.

A knock at the door makes you jump, soap effectively getting in your eye. “fuck,” you mumble softly, quickly rinsing the suds off your body, “what is it?” You call out, lowering the water pressure to hear better.

“You okay cutie? It’s been a while,” Rafayel's concern makes your stomach twist.

“I’ll be out in a minute!”

Rafayel notices your subtle change in attitude, watching the way you stare at him more intently, the way you hold back your affections for him. He frowns when he catches you stopping your arm from wrapping around his waist as he stands in the kitchen with you.

He doesn’t say anything, not yet.

That was two days ago, and now Rafayel feels like he’s going to die soon if he doesn’t feel the warmth of your skin on his. He’d gotten out of bed before you this morning, telling you he wouldn’t be back until early evening under the guise of buying new paints at the market. He tried his best to hide his frown when he saw how relieved you looked to be alone for the day.

You let out a sigh of relief when the front door clicked shut, giving it two minutes before dialing your best friend's number.

“I’m in a crisis and I need your help,” you rushed out as soon as she answered. You were too jittery to stay still, kicking off the blanket and pacing around the room.

“You know Rafayel? the handsome artist that I’m dating and am head over heels for?” you ramble, walking out of the room and into the hallway, staring at the art pieces for a second before continuing your panicked walk.

“Yeah so what do I do if I think he’s my soulmate?” the words leave your mouth conveniently as the front door opens, your wide eyes meet the shocked dual chrome ones of your boyfriend.

“- forgot my wallet,” the words die on his tongue as he processes the words he wasn't meant to hear. Neither of you move, staring at each other like fish out of water. 

“Cutie please tell me you’re talking about me or this is going to get really awkward really fast,” he breaks the silence first, watching as you quickly hang up the phone.

“Did you hear that?” part of you hopes he didn’t, the other part of you wonders what he’ll say.

“Hear the love of my life call me their soulmate? Yeah I heard that part,” he says, closing the front door behind him, he takes two tentative steps towards you, gauging your reaction. Your face flushes at his words.

You take a step towards him, helping close the distance. Rafayel doesn’t hesitate to take a mile when you give him an inch, arm looping around your waist and pulling you against him.

“You were talking about me, right?” His voice is a lower octave and it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

“maybe,” you breathe out, eyes frantically searching his own, “do you feel the same?”

Rafayel feels his skin ignite as your hands brush over the skin of his cheek, his eyes flutter shut as he leans into your touch. “How could I not feel the same when you’re so perfect for me? of course I think you’re my soulmate. You're my muse and inspiration, the reason I live.” He punctuates each point with a kiss to your hand, then your wrist.

“My beautiful soulmate,” he smiles, watching as you break into a grin. He presses a kiss to your neck, breathy giggles between kisses up your neck and jaw before finally capturing your lips in his. “Is that why you’ve been distant? you were scared I didn’t feel the same?”

Rafayel feels you tense at his words, relaxing when he places another kiss on your cheek. “You noticed that?” You cringe, nose scrunching as he pulls away from you.

“I live to love you and you think I wouldn’t notice when you pulled away?” you laugh at the incredulous look on his face, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he carries you to the couch. He feels you mumble a ‘sorry’ against his skin, kissing him softly before looking up.

“Don't you have to go buy some paint?” you ask, running your fingers through his purple strands before focusing on his eyes again.

“Oh that was a lie,” he says plainly, “was gonna buy you that diamond bracelet you wanted because I thought you were mad at me.” Your jaw drops, he continues. “But now we can go pick something out together, to celebrate our soulmate-ism!” he grins.

Rafayel doesn’t let you protest, shutting you up with a kiss on the lips every time you try and argue. You give in eventually, with the two of you coming back with matching bracelets whose price tag made your vision blur (Rafayel didn’t bat an eye as he handed over his card).

SYLUS !

It was your fault for thinking Mephisto would actually keep a secret from his creator. You were too distracted by the prospect of finally catching up with friends as you hurriedly kissed Sylus goodbye while he was half asleep, hopping on your bike and heading towards Linkon. you hadn’t noticed the mechanical crow following you in plain sight, the flutter of his wings masked by your friends voices as you hugged them all.

The three of you sat at a table outside, making small talk before ordering and setting menus aside. You caught up on the usual, work, hobbies, gossip, the shows you all watched.

“Okay let’s cut to the chase, this Sylus guy,” your friend waggles her brows at you, you scoff, pushing her gently and hoping they think the flush on your cheeks is due to the sun and not because of the mention of your lover.

“No we’re really good,” you smile, biting your bottom lip, “I really, really love him and he’s the sweetest ever, i don’t know i think-” you cut yourself off, heart pounding as you stare at your friends expectant faces.

“Are you serious?”

“Oh my god!”

“I think he’s the one, I feel like he’s my soulmate,” you breathe out, laughing when your friends squeal in excitement.

Mephisto isn’t perfect, his feathers puff up at your confession and the poor bird can’t stop the squawk of excitement that leaves him. You whip your head around at the sound, jaw dropping when you see him perched on a branch of the tree besides you. Your narrowed eyes are enough to keep the crow grounded in place.

Two hours later you part ways with your friends, double checking they were out of sight before snatching Mephisto out of the tree he was in, a concerned ‘caw’ leaving his beak when you manhandle him.

“You can not tell Sylus what I said here today, okay?” your breathing is panicked as you look around, “the last thing I want is to scare him off because im in too deep too quickly or he doesn’t feel the same or-” your grip on the bird loosens, he doesn’t move, instead he nuzzles his head to your hand.

“I don't wanna mess this up, promise me you won’t tell him, promise me Mephie?” the bird lets out a soft ‘caw.’ You smile at him, placing a kiss to the top of his head before releasing him. “Okay, let’s go home then.”

Mephisto arrives at the base before you do, seeing as you stopped quickly at the grocery store, having misplaced your faith in the corvid; truly believing he would stay true to his caw and keep a secret from his father maker. You walk in the front door, with a smile on your face, skipping to the kitchen and setting down the snacks you’d bought.

“Did you have a good time, sweetie?” Sylus’ deep voice makes you turn with a smile, your eyes sparkling as you nod quickly. Sylus doesn’t waste time, pushing himself off the wall he was leaning on and snaking his arms around your waist. “Did you happen to talk about me?” There’s a lilt to his voice, you hum softly.

“Maybe, maybe not,” you scrunch your nose, kissing his lips before attempting to break free of his grasp, "I need to put the ice cream in the fridge before it melts!” you protest, barely putting an effort to leave his arms.

“I’m sure as soulmates we’ll have plenty more ice cream in our lives, no?” Your movements still as the words process in your mind, eyes going wide and stomach dropping.

“That fucking bird!” you gasp out, panic rising in your chest, “I’m sorry I just- we can take a step back if you want-” you ramble, not noticing Sylus’ brows furrowing at your words as you attempt to backtrack on the words you very obviously meant.

“Did you not mean it?” His deep voice is steady, his grip on you hasn’t faltered, still holding you close to him. Your eyes meet his, trying to clue yourself in on his emotions.

“I did- I do, but I don't wanna scare you off,” you admit. Your heart is racing, the sound of it beating loudly in your ears masks Sylus' heart beating just as loudly. You avert your gaze from his, focusing on the frayed edges of his old t-shirt.

“You couldn’t scare me off even if you tried, kitten,” he mumbles, a soft smile replacing his teasing smirk. He leans down, stopping inches from your lips before whispering, “for the record I told mephisto you were my soulmate the day I met you.”

His words make your eyes dart from his shirt to his eyes. Sylus forces himself to mask his amusement at your surprised look. You open your mouth to reply, but he doesn’t give you a chance to get a word out as he crashes his lips to yours, allowing you to lead the kiss. Your head spins as your lips move against his, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, leaning into him until the two of you are stumbling backwards.

Your lips only disconnect when you gasp for air, Sylus’ back pressed against the wall as he watches you fondly. “If I had known I was gonna get this reaction I would’ve told you I thought you were my soulmate sooner,” he teases, you squint your eyes at him, pouting slightly.

“Don't make fun of me, I was scared!” you press your forehead against his chest, eyes closing as you listen to his racing heart.

Sylus moves his hand to fix your hair, coming to rest on your cheek before snaking to your chin and gently lifting it so you face him.

“You don’t need to be scared to tell me anything, okay? our souls are made up of each other,” his gaze softens, your knees buckle.

“I love you,” you breathe out, pressing your lips to his once more.

“What about the ice cream?” he mumbles against your lips.

“Fuck the ice cream.”

Sylus doesn’t stop the rumble of laughter in his chest as he sweeps you off your feet and carries you to the bedroom.

CALEB !

“I wanna try this” you tilt your screen to Caleb, he watches the video for a moment before turning to look at you. 

“You don’t like that kind of food,” he says casually, turning back to the tv as you furrow your brows at him. 

“How would you know? I’ve never even tried it,” you huff, tapping the post and checking where the store was located. 

“Pips, trust me you won't like it, you're gonna complain about the texture of it,” the cocky smile on his face made you frown, shaking your head. 

“Look! They have a place here in Skyhaven, let's go try it!” 

One bite was all it took, your face falling after the first bite, entire body freezing. 

“Does it taste good?” Caleb smiles, taking a sip from the broth of the ramen he got, your favorite kind. 

“Mhm, yummy” you cringe, forcing yourself to chew and swallow harshly. You’d be damned if Caleb was right for the nth time about you. 

“Can I try it? You can have some of mine too,” he smiles, you immediately nod at the opportunity. Caleb switches your plates quickly, shaking his head as he watches you hum happily at the first spoonful of noodles. You know what he’s doing, thankful as he spares your pride while he finishes off your food. 

It happens again when you show him a t- shirt online you wanna order, “it's a limited time drop! I need to get this,” you muse, staring at the ‘add to cart’ button. 

“Baby you don't even like any of those color ways, you're never gonna wear it,” he reasons, pulling you into his lap and kissing the pout on your lips. 

“Yes I will,” you bite back. 

“Using it as a sleeping shirt doesn't count.”

You order the shirt anyway, wearing out on a date out of spite. It turns into a sleeping shirt after that. 

It’s not one way though, with you picking up any supplies or necessities for his house in Skyhaven, he catches you putting them away. 

“I knew I was forgetting to do something, I’m sorry baby,” he sighs, placing a kiss on your cheek, his colonel uniform still on as he melts into your touch. 

“It’s okay, I knew you’d forget,” you tease, “I also got you new socks, throw away those ripped ones you have.” Caleb lights up at your words, a flurry of wet kisses landing on your face before you can push him away. 

Life felt easy with Caleb, the two of you moving in sync around the house, knowing exactly what the other needed without having to say a word. 

You hand him the seasonings he needs as he looks around your kitchen, you rearrange it before he comes over the next time, mirroring the kitchen in skyhaven, he doesnt struggle to find the salt anymore.

Caleb gives you half of his closet and drawers, filling it with clothes you'd left behind previously, organizing it and folding your clothing in the way he knows you like. He buys the detergent and softener you like, throwing his away after you complained that it smelled weird. 

It’s not in any grand gestures he does, not in the grand bouquet of flowers he brings you when he’s been gone on a mission for weeks. It’s not when he’s pressing you against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head and making you writhe and come undone beneath him. 

No, the realization comes to you in bits and pieces. 

It comes to you when he hands you a dandelion as the two of you stroll through the city, “make a wish,” he grins, watching as you close your eyes and blow. He does the same with his, “I wished for us to always be together.” You roll your eyes at him, corny, “they say if you say your wish out loud it never comes true,” you laugh as his face falls, frantically searching for another dandelion. 

It’s when he helps you brush your teeth after a night out, wiping your makeup off gently and acting as your jester when you're upset. It’s when you're whispering sweet nothings to each other in bed, hushed giggles as if you're scared of getting caught up past your bedtime. It's when he comes to you with wet lashes, baring his heart to you and confessing his insecurities, leaning into your touch as you kiss away his worries, your words wrapping around his heart in a comforting embrace. 

Maybe you've always known, but could never place a word to it. As you sit under the stars, head on his chest as you listen to his heartbeat and the rumble of his deep voice as he rattles off constellations to you. 

“Do you believe in soulmates, Caleb?” You cut him off, he doesn't mind. You hear his heartbeat increase, both of you still stare at the stars above you. 

“I do, do you pips?” His voice wavers slightly, gaze focusing on you, he watches as your lips twitch into a smile. You take a deep breath before sitting up and moving next to him. 

“I think I didn't at first, I always thought it was silly,” you laugh, eyes catching a moving star, you turn to Caleb and continue. “But I don't think there’s any other way to describe what you are to me,” you shrug, “I love you too much for it to not bleed into our destiny.”

Caleb feels the world around him stop, his mouth falls open slightly at your words. You smile at him sweetly, like you didn’t just put poets to shame. 

“You’re the reason I believe in soulmates” he finally says, “from the moment we met I knew I was destined to be yours, and you mine.”

Your face flushes at his words, a small squeak leaves you when he pulls you onto his lap, staring at you for a second before pressing his lips to yours. Caleb’s grip on you is tight, fingers digging into the plush of your waist. 

“I love you so much,” he mumbles between kisses. You hum in return, gasping when his grip tightens. 

“I love you, Caleb.” You smile against his lips, laughing when he bursts into a fit of bashful giggles.