Quills and Daggers

he nods and retreats to his office—the kind of lair only a chairman could have—as you grab your pre-prepared stack of papers and smooth down your pencil skirt. before you follow your boss, you call over your shoulder to your stricken colleague: “hold that thought, david. Sorry!”

──────

the biggest room at eoncore tech is no less ostentatious than the first time. 

valko sits on his sleek wooden desk, wearing a troubled yet expectant look. as soon as the door closes, you fold your arms in front of him. 

“don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles.

“like what?” you ask dryly. as you toss your stack of papers onto his desk, they scatter to reveal the contents: some spare handouts from six months ago, a few sheets that house all your doodles, and literally, some blank sheets of printer paper. 

not a report to be found.

you work in the design department, for god’s sake. 

“he was all over you, right in front of me! i mean, what kinda guy does that?” valko huffs.

“my team works on the opposite side of this floor, koko. it’s not his fault you have super-hearing.”

he scoffs and folds his arms over his chest. “whose fault is it that he kept bothering my girlfriend?”

“a secret relationship doesn’t work if one party has no interest in keeping it a secret.” 

he’s exasperated, like the distance is killing him. “why don't you just become my assistant? that way, you could move into this office with me. it’s roomy in here.” 

“that’s a great idea!” you gasp. “or, i could become chairwoman, and you could be my assistant.”

his eyes light up, glittering gold. “that works, too. i can ask around and see what it’d take to get you the jo—”

“i was kidding.”

within a millisecond, his tan ears match the shade of his hair. “uh, yeah. i knew that.”

a long sigh escapes you as you shake your head and smile at him. “look, you’re not entirely wrong. it is annoying being hit on while i’m just trying to do my job, and it is nice having you to come rescue me. it’s just a little too obvious sometimes, and that makes me nervous. how about we come up with some kind of signal you can use to pull me away when you need to?”

he doesn’t even blink. “when someone gets too close to you, i pull the fire alarm.”

“no.”

“when someone gets too close to you, i distract them with a question.”

“better. let’s roll with that one for now.” finally, you uncross your arms and clear your throat. “am i excused, sir?”

slowly, he looks you up and down, eyes zeroing in on your exposed neck. “keep calling me that, and you won’t be.” 

it was such an easy label when you first agreed to it.

no strings or expectations.

except the strings had tangled themselves deeply around your heart. 

and now, you were entirely and helplessly all in, but you had absolutely no idea where he stood.

the fear of the morning always hit you hardest at this hour. 

you always dreaded the day that you would wake up to a cold empty space on his side of bed, that one day he would sneak out and never come back.

as though sensing you staring, valko stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and a lazy smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"bug," he murmured, his voice rough from sleep. he reached out, his large hand gently cupping your hip, pulling you closer. "go back to sleep."

"valko," you whispered, your throat tight. you could not hold it back anymore. "if... if you ever decide this has run its course. if you wake up one day and realize you don't want this anymore..."

his thumb paused its movement against your hip, the remnants of sleepiness gone from his golden eyes.

"just don't sneak out," you whispered, closing your eyes because you could not bear to look at his face. you took a shaky breath, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. "don't just tiptoe out in the morning and leave me to figure it out on my own. if you don't feel it… if you're not where i am.... give me a warning. please anything but leaving me here, completely in love with you, by myself."

when he didn’t respond, you braced yourself, waiting for his words of rejection, for him to finally reveal that you would never have a place in his heart the way he occupied yours.

but instead you felt his hand slide from your hip up to your cheek, willing you to open your eyes, his thumb brushing over your skin with a reverence that made your breath hitch.

he searched your face, seeing the raw truth in your eyes.

"you’re in love with me?" valko repeated quietly. you could hear the wonder in his voice, as though he couldn't believe what you had said, and then a bittersweet, self-deprecating smile touched his lips. "you think i am the one with one foot out the door?"

he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours, his grip tightening around you as if you might disappear if he let go.

"i’ve been terrified of the morning sun every single time i'm here," he whispered against your skin, his heart hammering against your own. "i thought i was the only one losing my mind trying to play by the rules. i'm not tiptoeing anywhere, bug. i'm already completely stuck."

ꨄ︎ an: thank you so much for 1,200 follows! 💜

and i'm sorry again for the slow updates. i'm still not feeling great, the writer's block has been coming and going, and my heart is definitely not enjoying papergames' silent treatment. 🥲

sorry for rambling, but i highly recommend listening to the song first before reading and i can't think of a good nickname he'd give us, so i chose bug because... ya know, computer bugs🥲 ugh, i also kind of don't like how i wrote this. idk... writer's block sucks.

but i'm very, very grateful for all of you. hopefully my next fic will finally be an update to one of my current wips or series. love you guys!

-🍏💜🐺🐟

ꨄ︎ taglist: @seraphineash, @loreleis-world, @tinuvieloflemuria, @thehyperfixationgirly, @ellavelysworld

likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! hope you guys enjoyed reading!

ᯓ★ bf!valko who has a ridiculously attractive laugh. you thought it would probably be a little silly, but you were wrong. the first time you heard him really laugh out of true amusement, your entire face got red. not to mention the fact that his fangs and dimples show when he's laughing. also has those smile lines that everyone finds hot.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who never lets you carry anything, ever. whenever you two go out shopping for fun or for groceries, he will hold all the bags with both hands, bulging veins nearly popping out of his biceps as he holds onto 5 bags with each hand. but you still have the audacity to tease him.

"why don't you wanna hold my hand? are you angry at me?" you feign offense, pouting as you eye his obviously full hands.

he freezes, turning to the side to glance at you over his shoulder. "you serious?"

you nod, your frown only deepening as you stare up at him.

he shifts the bags in his left hand and barely manages to hold out his pinky finger to you. "c'mon," he points forward with a gesture of his head.

you chuckle, grabbing onto his pinky finger and walking alongside him.

"happy?" he asks with a scoff, but is unable to hide his grin. once you hum in agreement, his eyes return to the path ahead, his smile widening.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who, just like wolves who pick their partners for life and stick by their decision, saved himself for you. never dated, never kissed, never hooked up, never even flirted. he knew that the one meant for him was out there, and that he'd know it was them the moment he'd meet them. and when you ran into each other the first time? yeah, he knew you were the one. his nose and intuition never failed him afterall.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who acts very suave and confident, which he kinda is, but not all the time. it's kind of a cover-up that became half true somewhere along the way (fake it till you make it). sure he's much cooler now than in his teenage years, but he's still the virgin tech nerd who annotated biology textbooks for fun while having national geographic wildlife documentaries playing in the background.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who's a very outdoorsy man. always suggests going on walks, runs, or hikes with you. but he never takes the same path or trail twice. always insists on seeing new things. however, he knows that most people aren't big fans of hiking and stuff, so he never forces you, and is always encouraging when you do decide to. (also super grateful that you try out his hobbies for him)

"how much longer until we get back..." you whine, your arms dangling in front of you as they rest against valko's shoulders.

he readjusts you, tightening his grip on your legs as you melt further against him, threatening to fall off his back. "hey— you don't get to complain when you're being carried." he huffs.

"fine." you roll your eyes. "but you're the one who suggested carrying me around in the first place."

"what was I supposed to do? let my girlfriend limp the whole way back? how gentlemanly." he chuckles.

feeling his chest vibrate underneath you, and the warmth emanating from him, you can't help but laugh as well. "alright, alright I get it." you press a quick peck to his cheek. "thanks."

ᯓ★ bf!valko who loves lying in bed with you, face smushed between your thighs. unconsciously gnaws and bites at the flesh of your inner thighs like it's a chew toy.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who sleeps with nothing but a pair of boxers on. with his naturally high body temperature, he's probably more comfortable sleeping nearly naked. never really thought much about it, but when you pointed it out the first time you slept together, he kinda got flustered. thankfully though, you reassured him you didn't mind as long as he was comfortable which he was grateful for (more eye candy for you).

ᯓ★ bf!valko who's a mouth breather sometimes, sorry. (canines expel heat and absorb fresh air from their mouths). he tries to stop it, and it's fine most of the time, but sometimes he can't help his instinctive nature and catches himself doing it unwillingly. gets a little embarrassed when you tease him for it. also snores.

ᯓ★ bf!valko whose fangs sometimes poke your lips or get stuck in the flesh while you two make out. it's gotten to the point where you're used to it and don't mind, but he still kinda freaks out everytime.

you're resting atop his lap, your lips moving against his like you needed him to breathe. and he returned that energy tenfold. his excitement caused him to be a little careless however.

you feel a sharp sting on the corner of your bottom lip and wince away from him. your tongue darts out to feel the spot he accidentally poked. there's no blood, but you can feel a little dent.

he eyes you with wide and worried eyes. "fuck, I'm sorry—" he lets out a quiet whine. "are you okay?"

you nod, chuckling at his pout.

his pout turns into a frown as he furrows his eyebrows at you. "I'm worried about you and you're laughing at me?"

that makes your chuckle turn into a full laugh. you lean into him, cupping his face tenderly before peppering kisses all over his face. "can you blame me? you look cute angry."

"... I'm not cute. I'm a grown man." he huffs, trying his best to stay annoyed, but once your lips press against a particularly sensitive spot near his jaw, he melts against you.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who loves seeing you try out new clothes, or pampering yourself. he just likes showing you off, and he loves it even more when you show off for him. probably loves praising you too. "you look so hot." "can't believe that's all mine." "that's the top you weren't sure about? it was made for you." and so on and so forth.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who steals food off your plate, especially stuff like dumplings or fries. will quickly grab the food and eat it in front of you while smirking. oh, and don't hold your sandwich up near him and look away for even a second, because he will lean in and take a bite of it. also the type to take huge bites whenever you offer him small bites of your food.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who puts his hand over your head when you're about to smack your head on something. doesn't even do it to be chivalrous or anything, it's automatic. also does it when it's raining.

── SUGGESTIVE

ᯓ★ bf!valko who would not care about you having body hair. he knows it's the natural state of your body, and likes it for that reason. would be devastated if you shaved your bush.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who's a munch. he likes it because it's one of the places where your scent is the strongest. likes giving more than receiving.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who wants you before you shower. when he texts you he's coming home, he always makes sure to add "don't wash". he loves your natural scent and musk, and doesn't want it to be erased by the artificial scent of body shampoo and soap. that's not to say he's unhygienic or anything, he likes both but has a very clear preference.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who you find yourself laughing with during intimacy. whether it's you mocking him for a strangled noise he let out, or him chuckling at your pleading face, the two of you always find a way to smile through it.

a/n: come back home dada please

“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.”

You look up, expecting to be met with your 6’2 hunk of a boyfriend. Maybe in loungewear, with his glasses resting low on his nose, a book in hand. 

Instead, an older woman looked at you with fear, disgust, and confusion all at once.

“Can I help you?” she asks condescendingly.

You stutter, still shocked. 

“If you’re just going to stand there, then get off my property. I won’t hesitate to call the police.” she huffs.

Her property? What the hell was she talking about? 

“Go on then.” she shoos you away, closing the heavy wooden door right in your face.

You remain standing there, baffled, before slowly turning around and looking at the cars in the driveway. Three sleek Mercedes’. And Valko’s jeep was nowhere in sight.

Your hands start trembling as you slowly make your way back to your own car. Shutting the door behind you once you sit in the driver’s seat, you pull out your phone again.

You decide to call his aunt. Surely she’d know where he was. 

You sigh in relief once she picks up, and immediately ask her about Valko’s whereabouts, without even bothering to greet her properly.

She’s quiet on the other side of the line before speaking. “... Who?”

Your mouth falls agape ever so slightly, and your eyebrows knit together in a frown. “Valko. Do you know where he is? I’ve been trying to reach him all morning.”

She’s quiet again, but this time breaks her silence with a chuckle. “Sweetheart, did you hit your head? Who’s Valko?”

The hand holding your phone up to your ear falls in your lap, as tears start to well in your bottom eyelids.

Although you’re not on speaker, you can still faintly hear the sound of her voice. 

“Y/N? Are you still there?” she questions, before laughing again. “I swear if this is another one of your pranks―”

You hang up before she can finish her sentence. 

You stare down at your phone, and click on your camera roll.

There are no photos of him. There are no videos of him. Your album of him is gone. 

Valko is gone.

Lost on what to do, you break down. The tears instantly stream down your face, hot and heavy. Your heartbroken sobs echo through your car. You fold in on yourself, leaning forward until your forehead rests against the steering wheel. The cries that rip out of your throat only get louder as you close your eyes, blinking the tears away.

The next thing you know, you’re in bed again. The sheets cling to your body due to the sweat rolling down your back. It’s humid, and sticky, and you feel as though you’re suffocating. 

You immediately sit up and tear the covers off of you to catch your breath. 

That’s when you realize… Valko. Where is he?

Your gaze drops down to your right. 

There he is. Lying down with an arm propped behind his head, the other resting on his chest.

You nearly pounce on him, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders and shaking him awake. 

“Valko! Come on, wake up, please―” you mutter, your voice raspy and broken as you start tearing up again.

But he doesn’t budge. You pray it’s just him being his usual heavy sleeper self, and continue trying to wake him up. 

Eventually, he starts to stir, eyelashes fluttering open.

You stop your motion and stare down at him with wide eyes, and tear streaks adorning your cheeks.

Once his vision focuses and he takes in your appearance, he immediately sits up.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asks, large hands already moving to cup your face.

But the second you feel his warm touch again, the dam breaks and you sob even more. Your hands move to rest against his own, as you lean into his palms. “I―” you start but choke on your words. 

His golden eyes dart back and forth between yours. “Hey, it’s okay, take your time. Use your words.”

You sniffle repeatedly, catching your breath. He continues wiping your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, remaining silent.

Once you feel more calm, you speak up. “You were gone… you left–you left me.”

Now it’s his turn to frown, but he still says nothing.

“You left. Like you never even existed.” your breath hitches. “I tried calling you but I couldn’t find your contact on my phone—and there was an old rude lady living at your house, and I called auntie to ask about you and she was acting like she didn’t even know you.” you ramble, your words occasionally getting cut off with your sobs and voice cracks.

He lets out the breath he was holding before pulling you in. You immediately bury your face into his chest.

“I’m here, baby.” He whispered against your ear. “You hear my heartbeat? Smell me?” he presses kisses to your head. “I’m right here. Not goin’ anywhere.”

Pressing your ear to the spot right over his heart, you listen to it beat against his ribcage, focusing on the familiar and comforting rhythm. Your crying eventually ceases, and you’re left hiccuping and letting out deep breaths. 

His hands continue caressing up and down your back until he feels you’ve really calmed down.

You’re the first to pull away, and you wipe your tears while staring down at your lap. 

He notices how distant you look and cups your jaw with one hand to make you look up at him. 

“Feelin’ better?” he asks, eyes unusually soft. 

You slowly look up to meet his eyes and shrug.

“It was just a bad dream, ‘kay? I’m not leaving you.” He leans down, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Ever.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean up so your foreheads touch, and you breathe him in. You immediately bask in his warm, inviting scent that you swore could wake you up from a coma. “... Promise?”

“I promise.” he whispers against your skin, letting his words sink in.

You look up at him through your wet lashes. He stares down at you in silence, his eyes half-lidded, before slowly and carefully leaning down. You try to meet him halfway and lean into him as well, closing your eyes. 

But instead of pressing his lips against your own, he swipes his tongue against the corner of your left eye, licking your tears away. 

Your eyes snap back open and you stare at him in shock. “Valko.” you reprimand, yet your voice is soft and still exhausted.

He pulls back, and looks as though he’s deep in thought. “Salty.” he finally comments, the corners of his lips tilting into a smirk.

You continue to stare at him with parted lips. “... You’re gross.” you scoff.

But he’s quick to lean in and lick the tears from your other eye. You yelp, moving away and trying to push him off, giggling in the process.

His hands move to grab your waist, pushing you back against the mattress as he climbs on top of you.

You shield your face from him, arms coming up to hide it.

His fingers slip under your shirt to tickle your skin, making your defenses drop. He takes the opportunity to lean in again and lick an annoyingly long stripe up the side of your face, tracing the tear tracks on it. 

Your laughter echoes through the bedroom as your legs start kicking up in all directions. “Valko, enough!”

He continues for a good two minutes before finally stopping. You’re caged between his biceps, staring up at him, while you try to catch your breath. He’s slightly winded too, and some of his hair has fallen on his forehead. 

“... I love you.” he mutters.

Your heart squeezes painfully, and you cup his face with both hands, caressing his jawline. “I love you too.” you respond.

He leans down, lips finally pressing against your own. 

Reminding you that he was real, present, and that nothing would ever change that.