When Kal started to speak, when Wolf began to register what he was being told, he may as well have been underwater. It was like the entire world around him grew strange and close, suffocating and heavy, yet like he was floating, untethered - but no, that wasn't quite true, was it? He was tethered. By hands that clung to him so desperately yet so gently. He was tethered by eyes that looked at him with such a deep, unknowable kind of longing that it was almost overwhelming.
But oh, how the words, the news, the confessions, the realisations all threw him far, far out into that drifting deep, that lost, dark place that he'd fought hard for two months to try and escape. It made his throat tighten, his hands tingle, his teeth ache, his head pound, his... everything feel like it wasn't part of him.
Lucifer had lied to them.
It wasn't a shock. It wasn't even surprising. Underneath all of the hurt, the anguish, the unending pain that had torn him apart for weeks and still woke him up with sobs in his chest and pangs in his heart, he'd known it was a possibility that he had lied to them, to him. No, that part was no surprise, truly, it was the rest. It was knowing that maybe, just maybe, they didn't hate him. That they hadn't abandoned him.
But... only one had been fighting. Asking questions. Only one had thought something wasn't right...
Was it Yang? Sweet Yang who made Wolf's eyes shine and his heart flutter and his internal flames burn brighter? Who would share meals with him just to make sure he ate, before Kal had picked up that that was what was needed and gradually coaxed him to eat more and more from a bowl of his own?
Or had it been Aster? Troubled and tormented himself, never quite fitting in but who had stood beside him when others couldn't?
Or Nix, who had taken him under his wing figuratively and literally? Who had shown him what soft care was before anyone else?
Or was it Doyun, with eyes as full of wonder as his own at times, or Iseullie who scared most but who Wolf drew comfort from in his darkest moments?
Or was it Sunny? Brave, unstoppable Yongsun who fought and fought and fought for those he cared about, those he loved? Those he fell for? Was he asking questions? Was he risking it all to go toe to toe with the King himself for Wolf?
His breath caught, as though his lungs had forgotten how to breathe. How to exist for while. His eyes seemed to flicker between flame and ash, unsure whether to hide or burn, whether he felt cold or hot.
Because there was Kal. There was the man who, despite their start, had taken him in without a second thought. Who could've strung him up, torn him apart and used him as an example or simply for revenge for everything the others had put him through. Instead, he'd bought the toothpaste he liked. He'd shared food with him to make sure he ate. He'd added extra blankets to the bottom of the bed so that, even on days where Wolf couldn't be more than what he used to be, he was still comfortable while he slept curled by his feet. He'd told him, each and every time he left, that he would be back.
He'd made him feel like a person, not a burden. Something worthy of choice, of existing, of love and care and a careful hand.
"I-I'm not-..." he started, his voice a squeak. There were so many thoughts in his head, so many emotions that none of them were winning out over any other. He was breathless with it, sucking in a sharp, near-impossible breath. But he was hit with one strong, startling realisation.
Not because he wouldn't be welcomed in, though even that he still wasn't sure on. Not even because he didn't want to be with his family again. But because... going back would mean changing again. It would mean going back to the version of him that did as he was told not always because he wanted to, but because he felt like he had to. So much about Wolf hadn't changed, in some ways - he still liked clinging to people, being guided or doing what would make Kal happy, but the difference here, the difference away from Lucifer... was that this was his choice. In Hell, it was like a constant fight or flight. That one wrong move might get his friends hurt or in trouble.
"I'm not leaving," he squeaked out, furrowing his brow. His hands had curled a little in Kal's shirt, words still a struggle, but he tried to continue on, put his thoughts into some kind of sensible sentences, "I-I... I think maybe I-I'd like to talk to them, whoever it is that was looking, but I'm not leaving."
