in the woods.

She stayed still, enjoying the warmth of the water and the way that gentle hands scrubbed through with the shampoo— washing out the bleach and the smell until her hair, now flaxen, was so clean that it squeaked under his care. Dark eyes fluttered shut while he worked, wondering if this was what it was like to be taken care of; for someone to do such a small task, the tiniest deeds that otherwise would have been undesirable. Laila sat up, straightening as she pulled the towel around her hair, twisting it so as to keep it in place before she nodded, finding his gaze and his closeness unbearable. “All done,” she echoed, catching the cable of his sweater and how the bleach from her touch was already beginning to undo the pigment of it, there was the slight outline of a hand: her own. “That’ll be ruined,” Laila said mournfully, tracing the mark with her fingertips, brushing against his chest. “Sorry.”

+

His gaze drops down, to where Laila’s hand trails against his chest. The green sweater is beginning to discolor, from where the bleach stains the crochet. Remzi’s brow creases softly at the sight, he hadn’t even realized when it happened, attention too wrapped up in Laila. Without a second thought, he begins to pull it off over his head, tossing it aside to the tile floor and revealing the white undershirt. “I have others,” he says easily, a slight shrug of his shoulders accompanied by the ghost of a smile against his lips. Whether it’s ruined or not matters little to him, there’s nothing material in this apartment that cannot be replaced. “Next time I’ll make sure to wear something old. Or white.” The words are meant as a joke, to add lightness to the air, but Remzi’s gaze is soft as it lingers on Laila — already making plans, promises of the future, something so simple and yet so weighted for the two of them. 

It was unintentional, the way that her hand reached up to touch at her lower lip where his had just been, to trail down to her chin where his facial hair would be unkind to her skin; before she let out a breath, catching the crooked hitch of his smile. It was a rare expression, not passed as easily as it had that day he had come home with whiskey on his breath and Laila marvelled in it: someone can be the sun, even if they allowed only a moment of radiance at a time. “Alright,” she managed, twisting so that most of her hair was in the basin, before she tapped at the purple bottle that Rafael had convinced her to buy when he had found out what it was she was washing her hair with before. “This one,” she guided, feeling the warmth of the water that splashed against her neck. Idle hands reached for his side, drawing fingers over the textured cable of his sweater. Laila considered that underneath lay skin and bones and muscle, the ribs that caged a beating heart and the scars from old wounds that mapped and ridged along his body. Her eyes closed as she thought of her own, and she murmured under her breath, giving no reason for the exhalation. “Thank you.”

+

Remzi takes the bottle from the counter, diligently following Laila’s instruction. There are better ways to do this, he’s sure, but that matters little right now. Instead, he focuses on her, fingers running through her hair gently as he works in the shampoo. “Any time.” His words are quiet, barely audible over the sound of the running water, and perhaps it would’ve gone unheard entirely without their superior hearing. He’s careful but thorough, until the last bit of bleach has run down the sink before reaching to turn the water off. “Here,” he reaches around to the shelf, pulling off one of the white towels that sit there before laying it over her head, making sure to keep it out of her eyes. It feels oddly intimate, in a way Remzi has never truly experienced before. Something so simple, perhaps more mundane than anything else in their lives, and yet it has a quieter meaning underneath. Something that says I’m here for you. Always. “All done?” The question comes out lightly, but he waits for more than just a surface answer.

The Argos was a family that felt like a birthright to Estelle, her surname was Alanis and she had ties to the history of the pack that were significant— but it meant more that they would want her back, than the fact that she thought they would always hold a place for her. She followed Remzi into the gym, and dark eyes darted around the room, taking in the place that he had built all on his own, an empire for himself in a place she was sure he would have darted away from if given the chance. “We missed all of you,” Estelle answered, and she knew it was cagey— but it was late and she didn’t quite feel like crying, not yet. Her attention turned to Remzi, studying his features. “You look well, has this place kept you busy?” Her head tipped and she paired off a smile, “I trust you’ve stayed out of trouble?”

+

“And we missed you as well,” he replies easily, though Remzi gets the sense that he is not being given the full story. Still, he does not pry, it’s Estelle’s life and he has no right to ask it of her. Not with his own caginess towards answering anything of his life before Corinth. “It has, well enough.” He nods his head, reaching out a hand to rest against one of the many pieces of equipment. Not only does it give him something to focus on, the realities of owning a business having set in long ago, but also a place for him to work through his frustrations without turning it against skin. “I’ve been fine, thank you very much.” Remzi is not the one that should be worried about, when it comes to making trouble. Not anymore. “The pack has grown, in your time away. More younger wolves. They are more worthy of your energy, if you choose to fret.”

His words were her own, but they were a comfort to hear: a life line that desperate hands were so glad to grip at— if they were both drowning, she was glad that he would not let her sink alone. The cool porcelain of the sink pressed to her spine, felt through the thin material of a shirt washed and worn to the point that it was nearly tissue thin: the shoulders were lighter with the ghosting of bleach from times before. It was distracting, like ice water to shock her awake, to sharpen her focus when his hand reached for her, forcing ink coloured eyes to find his molten ones. This moment was treading water, the lurch between swimming or sinking, and it was Remzi who leaned in: dragging them both underwater. Oxygen was an afterthought, and she leaned up on her toes, removing distance between them as she returned the kiss. Her eyes burned from the bleach, but his touch was gentle enough to draw her in cautiously. One hand brushed against the cabled knit of his sweater, tracing up his chest. It would leave marks, a trail of colour leeched away from the fabric: it would ruin it, but also be a reminder that this had happened, and she had been there. “Hang on,” she murmured as she pulled back, lips curving as she thought back to the woods. “This has to be rinsed.”

+

His arm snakes around her waist, pulling Laila in close even as the fumes of bleach burns sharply against his nose. It doesn’t matter, not in the face of everything else. Not when he has her. When they pull away, Remzi is reluctant to release her from his grasp, a thumb stroking softly against her jawline. A part of him waits for it to break, for this to fall apart in his hands like most things do; he doesn’t know how to hold onto good things, to keep them from slipping away. But it doesn’t come. At least, not immediately. Not like he feared. There’s no swift rejection, no retreat and denial, the assertion that he’s read things wrong between them here. And so he smiles. Laila can be a woman of few words, to get what’s on her mind out of her mouth something akin to prying teeth, but Remzi feels that’s something perhaps the two of them share in common; and what he’s got, this— this he can live with. His hand drops away as he takes a step back, only to then use the momentum to reach around behind her. “Here,” he says, hand turning against the handle on the sink, a steady stream of water splashing against the porcelain. “Let me help you.”

Laila looked up again from her hands, but this time, his own gaze was waiting for her in the mirror like a steel trap and she tucked in a breath, biting into her cheek. The action hollowed them out even more, carving her into something sharp, more blade than woman: it felt like a useless act and metaphor, he had seen her turn molten under his touch. This was an important conversation, and it felt remarkably like something that adults did— they talked things out and discussed boundaries, they ensured that they guarded what was important to them. Still, the truth was a wound that was reluctant to bleed and Laila opened the stitches with a few words of honesty. “I don’t know.” Her brows tugged in slightly. “I just—“ she reached for his hand, lowering the brush to his side before she turned, hips almost flush to his. “I don’t want you to think it was a mistake.” She nearly stumbled, replacing it with I, reflecting her fears baldly as her dark eyes found the curve of his lower lip, fixating upon it for a moment as she drew blankly at words to fill the space between them. There were several that hummed on the tip of her tongue, but none that she had the courage to utter aloud, instead she swallowed them into her belly where they would buzz like irate bees.

+

Remzi’s hand falls easily with her guidance, the brush set aside in the sink as Laila twists to face him. He watches her with carefully baited breath, a part of him feeling stuck in place, waiting for something that will make or break then. Perhaps it is a form of cowardice, to wait for her thoughts before revealing his own, but whatever is to come, he does not want her to be unhappy. There’s a fear in her eyes that Remzi hasn’t seen before, something that’s about as uncertain as he feels, like neither are certain how to steer this forward. Slowly, his hand reaches up to cup Laila’s chin, tilting her gaze up until it meets his own. It’s a moment of bravery or maybe just madness, something he might pay for in a moment, but he doesn’t want to think he’s wrong in what he’s reading here. It’s far from the most romantic or even salacious environment, the smell of bleach still heavy in the air as they linger in front of the bathroom sink, but Remzi leans in to kiss her anyways, lips pressing together firm but not insistent. “It was not a mistake,” he echoes, his voice quiet in the small space between them.

    Toni listened to Remzi’s story and had to admit there were quite a few parallels to their stories and to how they ended up here. Toni had also come for the magic that was in the air in this town, but it had also been a bit of a random stop for the genasi. He offered Remzi a smile, finding it quite nice to be able to talk to him again. They had always vibed well, that was why they had sex in the first place, even if there was nothing more between them. “You’re part of the pack? That’s good. I heard it’s a good one, from what I know of packs at least. And it sounds like you’ve really made a life for yourself here.”

    “Do you think Laila isn’t hot? Is that it?” If that was the case, Rafael would have to seriously question Remzi’s taste. While he saw Laila almost like a younger sister, Rafael wasn’t blind. She was a beautiful woman. He arched his brows, hands resting on his hips as he eyed Remzi as if he was absolutely stupid. “Are you serious? I’m in a committed relationship. I get more sex than any normal man would be capable of having. I will not betray anyone with Laila, nor do I need to. I’m just trying to solve a problem here, as both of you seemingly need to get laid. But you’re too stuck up to do anything about it.”

@remzikurtoglu​

     “Do you have a moment?” Elif was trying not to vibrate with sheer excitement. She knew that Remzi most likely would not care, or not approve. But now that they were trying to rekindle their twinship, she wanted to tell him more than most people. Maybe it was also because she didn’t have many people in this town — so who else could she tell? And that was how she now found herself at the gym, in front of her brother, hiding her ring with her other hand. “I have to tell you something important.”

Things don’t have to change. It was what she had thought she wanted and asked for— but his words seemed to strike a chord of disappointment in her. Laila swallowed drily, looking at the reflected versions of themselves. Remzi’s tired eyes, her own that stared back in the colour of flint. He worked carefully, in a way that she hadn’t of— using gentle hands and strokes that seemed unfamiliar for their rough nature: she was reminded of the way that his mouth and teeth had left redness on her bare skin, how he had mapped and marked the planes of her body. The thought made her tuck in a breath, sharper than a knife edge as she cut away from his gaze to look back down at her hands. His reassurances brought her back to a focus, like a needlepoint and Laila pressed her lips together, piecing together a thought that felt like a volleyed grenade into the conversation. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

+

It feels like they’re teetering on an edge here, and Remzi isn’t sure what awaits on the other side. Something dangerous, maybe. Something that will only bring trouble for them down the road. But at the same time, he wonders how long ignoring it can truly work, or if it will only lead to another night like what happened between them in the forest eventually. It wasn’t a mistake. The words reverberate around in his brain, as Remzi’s hands continue to paint the bleach against her hair. Still, he won’t push her, afraid of pressing too hard and making a mess of this entirely. Whatever happens between them going forward, he decides to let Laila set the tone of it. His words are carefully measured and leveled, as he looks at Laila through the reflection of the mirror. “What do you want it to be?”

Both hands gripped at the sides of the porcelain sink, steadying herself as Remzi sifted behind her, starting to work away at the hair that she couldn’t reach. It struck her then that this trapped them together, and despite how the smell of bleach seemed to seep into everything, the closeness of him made her bite into her cheek, avoiding his gaze in the mirror in front of her. Even the animals seemed to realize that this was something they were better off avoiding and had taken off to the next room, leaving the two of them alone in their silence, until— Remzi broke it. Laila let out a breath, and dark eyes sought out his in the glass. “We should,” she murmured, wondering if her thoughts mirrored his own, if he held the same fears. “I don’t want things to change between us.” Her brows tugged in as she tried to piece together what she wanted to say. “You’ve become important to me, but this place, the pack, it matters more than you could know. I don’t want to lose any of it.” Laila glanced down at her hands, at knuckles gone white from their grip. “It’s been too long since I’ve had a home.”

+

“Okay,” he says carefully. If Remzi is disappointed, he makes sure to not show it on his face, instead focusing on the strip of hair in his hand. The smell of bleach is strong, particularly those with enhanced senses, but it makes it easier to keep his mind more detached from the conversation. “Then things don’t have to change.” Because he doesn’t want to ruin things between the two of them, doesn’t want to chase Laila away. It would be a lie to say that stronger feelings haven’t begun to root themselves inside of Remzi, but he can quite excel at ignoring such things when necessary. And in the end, he would prefer to keep things how they were between them, than to lose her entirely. “This is your home, Laila. For as long as you want it to be.” He’s said as much before, but Remzi wants her to know that nothing about that has been altered. Though he’s never had a roommate before, he’s come to grow used to her presence around the place, finds it downright comforting at times. And the idea of going back to being alone, even with the animals still around, now seems only lonely. 

Milos tugged his arm closer to him, rubbing at a wrist that would likely carry a bruise, if not the strain of a cracked bone from the werewolf’s vice-like grip. Later, he’d go to his garden and use the herbs there to mend what had been done, seeking out healing from their roots and leaves. The kobalos dipped his chin in a nod when Remzi finally realized who he was, though it struck him that he likely would have done better giving an introduction when he had waltzed into the gym. “Boyfriend, soon-to-be fiancé, partner, whatever suits you.” He offered a wicked grin, “Eventually you can call me brother. That’ll be nice.” Milos looked around the gym once more, before shrugging. “She doesn’t know I’m here. I thought I’d surprise you.”

+

“Fiancé?” It’s the word that catches his attention, sharp eyes narrowing in on the man in front of him with scrutiny. He knows she spoke of her partner being in the city, but marriage is another matter entirely. “Is Elif aware you intend to propose?” Remzi is of the firm opinion that that kind of commitment shouldn’t be sprung on someone without warning, particularly when the person in question is his sister. It’s a protective instinct that’s never quite abated, the desire to look out for her, and make sure she’s treated as well as she should be. He doesn’t know this Milos, only the vague information he’s been given beforehand through his sister, but the impression the man sets is already an unfavorable one on the werewolf. It’s an ungracious thought, but he cannot help but be a bit judgmental, particularly where Elif is concerned. 

    “Let’s just say I will think about it.” The truth was, Toni actually didn’t mind the idea of going to the gym more often. It helped with his anxieties, and he desperately needed to keep those in check. No one in town could know about them, especially not the other genasi or anyone who’d want to take advantage of him. “There’s a lot of magic in this place. It’s hard not to fall for that pull. And I’ve lived here a few months, actually. But I wasn’t hanging around places that werewolves frequent all that much.” It wasn’t surprising to him that they hadn’t met before – he hadn’t exactly been looking to go out and meet people until most recently. “What about you? I’m sure there’s other places you could open a gym.”

She lifted her hand, waving in the window before he swung the door open, pulling her inside with the warmth of an embrace. It’s easy to fall into it, to curve into his arms— Remzi was Argos, he was family. Estelle clutched at him for a moment, before she pulled back, studying a tiredness under his eyes, painted dark and unmoving (some things didn’t change, she supposed, but now it seemed as though it matched her own features) before wearing a smile of her own. “Hana and I are back in the city, we—“ How much was she able to say without choking on the words? The werewolf navigated the words with a hitch, swallowing down what she didn’t dare say until he asked. “We needed to come home again.”

+

“You are welcomed back any time.” It’s not really an offer Remzi can make, but he would dare someone to contradict him anyhow. Estelle had been much a staple of the pack as anyone, when he had first joined. Though he shied away from forming any personal ties for the longest time, she and Hana had always been kind enough to extend the invitation out to him anyways, and he hasn’t forgotten that. Time spent away means little, in the face of her family. “Come in, come inside,” he steps back, gesturing for her to follow him. It’s late, but it’s not as if Remzi gets much sleep, anyways. “What brought you back?” He asks, eyeing her curiously from the side. There’s a difference to her now, a sort of sadness in the way she carries herself that Remzi isn’t sure what to make of.