#(third person)

Anyway, boyfriend didn’t do as well as he thought he would in his first couple months. Totally understandable, of course, which I told him. I suggested he ask his boss if he could be put on a couple team assignments or even a duo until he got the hang of it. That was our first real fight. He thought I was doubting his ability to kill. He brought up how I told him it would take over a year to promote and how I said that this job wasn’t for everyone (His first assignment ended with a 0% kill rate, but that’s a different story). He said it felt like I didn’t believe in him and he said that if that was the case then maybe we shouldn’t be thinking about marriage so soon.

It got pretty messy after that. I felt like he was forgetting that I’d worked in the same field and, arguably, had a lot more experience (not to brag, but I averaged a 98% kill rate). Also, four years is NOT too soon to talk about marriage. He said I didn’t understand how he needed to focus on his career right now. I told him I thought he was taking Slasher too lightly just because it wasn’t Cryptid. He accused me of not respecting him and then things spiraled from there.

We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean and I’m embarrassed that it turned into a bit of a fang measuring contest. I ended up sleeping under the bed for a few nights until he coaxed me out to apologize.

It was a rough patch, but we talked it out. We agreed that, going forward, I wouldn’t offer advice unless he asked and he would try not to take so much of his frustration home with him. He took a weekend off and we went on a recreational haunting trip in the Montana woods.

Things did get better after that. I tried not to give him consults every time he came back from a work trip. He started bringing me souvenirs like roses and cursed puzzle boxes his work said he could have. It became easier just to hang out with each other and it felt like we were back to normal.

But then, four months ago, he came home super pissed because his boss put him on a PIP. (A performance improvement plan.) Apparently, boyfriend had not been doing better at work, he had just stopped telling me when he had a bad assignment. I saw the paperwork he got (he left it in the dungeon under the house, I didn’t go through his stuff) and he’s been missing quota by a LOT. As a junior Slasher, he was supposed to be executing at least 6 people a week, but he’d been lucky to be maiming half that.

Obviously, I had to talk to him about that. We rent our house and, even though I could have afforded the rent on my own, I didn’t want to jeopardize the investments I was making in my business (I was in the process of hiring an assistant to handle my scheduling). Plus, we agreed from day one that we would be 50/50 on rent and I would take care of the rest of the bills because I earned more. I felt that if his financial situation was in jeopardy, he needed to talk to me about it.

I tried to approach him a bit differently than last time. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help. I told him about my slasher friend and how maybe she could give him advice if he didn’t want any from me. But he said he needed to figure stuff out on his own and that if he couldn’t get himself off the PIP then he would go back to work for his dad’s janitorial company.

I let it go. I was worried but I didn’t want to fight again just after patching the holes from the last blow out. It really bugged me that he thought I didn’t believe in him so I committed to giving him the benefit of the doubt. I said okay and asked him if he needed me to meal prep for both of us that week. He offered me grocery money, but I said it was fine since I’d had to deal with a lot of humans breaking in lately and I still had some leftover in the dungeon.

Fast forward a month. Boyfriend got off the PIP super fast. He worked his way off of it over Spring Break and started taking on a lot of extra assignments. In just four weeks he went to Miami Beach twice, New York City twice, and to three separate summer camps. I missed him and it was hard not having him around but I remembered how he said he needed to focus on his career and I tried not to nag.

It was hard not to nag though. With him gone, all the housework fell on me. We rent a 19th century manor, and its upkeep really does need two people. Doing all the chores plus running my business started to really drain me. Even when he was home, he forgot to banish the ghosts (my chore is to kill all invading humans, and his chore is to banish their ghosts) and he never took out the trash. I think he cleaned blood off the dungeon walls once, but then I had to basically redo it because he missed a lot of spots.

But still, I didn’t say anything because he was doing really well at work and I didn’t want to ruin that for him. Even when Humans started breaking in every week, I didn’t complain even though it interrupted my work day.

Last month though, I did ask him if we could move somewhere that needed less maintenance. There were just way too many Humans breaking in and I didn’t have the time to deal with them anymore. Even if I don’t do all the theatrics I used to as a Cryptid, killing humans through fear still takes a lot of time. He asked me if I didn’t appreciate the free meat, and I said I would appreciate it more if I wasn’t the only butchering it.

He said he didn’t want to move because he was really close to getting promoted to regional Nightmare and he didn’t want to take time off work to move. I was so surprised that I couldn’t hide how surprised I was. He saw and got offended. He asked if I still didn’t believe in him. I said that I did, but it was a huge jump to go from an 8% kill rate to getting promoted.

He got even more mad at me for bringing up his stats and he said that he had nearly 80% kill rate since being put on the PIP. I asked how many humans a week he was slashing and he told me I was being too nosy and that was proof that I didn’t believe in him.

I asked him if we could at least hire a ghoul then to keep the humans out of my office and he said he didn’t want to waste the money that we should be saving for our new house. I asked him what he wanted me to do then? I had to take phone calls for my consulting business and it was really hard to stalk humans all around the house while trying to sound like a professional to my clients.

He asked me to be patient for one more month. He said if he met quota for one more month, his boss said he’d get promoted. So I said fine and let it go.

Fast forward to now, almost a full month later.

Last Friday, I attended the Eldritch Conference. For those not in the scare field, the Eldritch Conference is the most prestigious event in our industry. It’s invitation only and is a chance to network with all the big players in the field. Mothman, the Jersey Devil, Bloody Mary and Bigfoot all spoke this year and both my former company, Grudge Industries, and my boyfriend’s current company, Forgotten Summer Solutions, were invited.

I was surprised to get an invite as a solo contributor to the field. However, my consulting firm has really been doing well and I did land a seasonal contract with the Yeti Co-op which I guess is how they heard about me. Plus, I’ve been a speaker before so I think the organizers knew I would behave myself.

I was planning on telling my boyfriend that I was going, but he was out of town on a co-ed sleepover assignment. He usually doesn’t have his phone on during his assignments, so I didn’t bother calling him. I just figured it’d be nice if we ran into each other at the conference if he made it back in time.

Which brings me to what actually happened (apologies for the long post).

So everything went great for my part of the day. I got to network with a lot of individual businesses and even got to reconnect with Blood Mary who I knew back in my Cryptid days. I told her I was dating a Slasher from Forgotten Summer Solutions and invited her to come with me to check out their booth. I thought it would be fun to grab dinner with her after since I assumed if my boyfriend was there, he’d be going out with coworkers which he often does. Plus, I admit, I was showing off a little. I don’t often get the chance to brag about my Cryptid days.

She agreed and we went over to see if my boyfriend was there.

I introduced myself to the people manning the booth. My boyfriend wasn’t there, but a few Slashers recognized my name and greeted me. They were definitely in awe of Bloody Mary (she came in full uniform) and invited us to look at their displays. They had portfolios for each Slasher on the desk as a sort of preview of what their services looked like.

While Bloody Mary looked through the portfolios, I chatted with my boyfriend’s coworkers. They said they were thrilled to work with him and that, even though he had a really rough start, it was impressive how quickly he started meeting his goals. Something about how they talked about his work kind of didn’t make sense. They were talking like he was killing a dozen humans a week, but he’d told me that he was at 80% on his assignments which typically only offer about ten humans each.

I asked them about it and they said that he’d been Slashing during After Hours which is a new goal supplement program his company launched a few months ago. Basically, anyone can sign up for After Hours and the company counts human kills done in uniform as part of their quota. I asked them if this was available to them while they were on assignment and they said no, it had to be done when they had down time. I asked them how my boyfriend was part of that when he was traveling all the time and they looked confused. One of them said that my boyfriend is still getting one assignment per week and is then supplementing his kill rate with After Hours.

At that point, I was even more confused. It sounded like my boyfriend had been lying to me then, because he told me that he was getting at least two assignments a week. If he was only getting one, then where was he going when he said he was traveling?

Bloody Mary interrupted before I could say anything and asked how their Slashers did their kills. They said that every Slasher at their company is required to use a standard issue weapon (like a machete or axe) for their kills to count. They said their company doesn’t count accidents as part of their quota (like falling or heart attacks).

Bloody Mary pulled me aside and showed me the portfolio she was holding. She said that she was going to give me a chance to explain without them overhearing and showed me the book. She said that a bunch of kills in it looked Cryptid kills. And she said, specifically, it looked like the kills I made when I was a Cryptid. I took the book from her and flipped through it and she was right, they really did look like Cryptid kills. Worse, I recognized a few of the Humans from the past few weeks. They were actually my kills!

Kill stealing is a major taboo in our industry.

I told her I didn’t know anything about this. She looked really relieved at that and said that even though I wasn’t a Cryptid anymore, it would look really bad for me if I was caught helping a Slasher cheat at their job. It could affect my business which she’d only heard good things about.

I’m embarrassed to say that I tried to defend him. He’s new to our industry so I thought it might be a mistake. He might not be trying to cheat, this could be a misunderstanding.

She said she didn’t think so because a mistake would be one or two of my kills mixed in with his, not the entire book.

I counted up how many photos were in the book and, all told, of the 146 kills, at least 100 were mine. I couldn’t really say it was a mistake at that point and I was just staring at his portfolio like an idiot. Bloody Mary asked me what I was going to do because, mistake or not, this looked really bad and could damage my reputation if it got out.

At that moment, another man walked up to booth and asked us if there was a problem. I knew that if I said anything, I would be jeopardizing my boyfriend’s job, but if I didn’t say something, I was jeopardizing my business.

I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count. I said I didn’t think that they knew he was doing it, but over half of the kills in his portfolio weren’t his and I suggested they remove it from their display before another Cryptid came by and realized it.

The other man thanked me for bringing this to his attention and asked how we knew. Bloody Mary said that she knew another Cryptid’s kills and I had to tell them that I was that Cryptid, though I was retired now. He asked me if I knew my boyfriend was doing this, and I told him no.

I told him I really didn’t want to get my boyfriend in trouble and suggested that maybe he didn’t know those kills didn’t belong to him because they happened in our house. I was grasping at straws and Blood Mary even looked sad for me. His coworkers looked skeptical but tentatively agreed. The man – who turned out to my boyfriend’s boss – said that they would investigate this thoroughly and apologized personally for his employee’s misconduct.

I was spiraling at that point so I thanked him and said I wasn’t mad, I was just looking out for both of our reputations. He promised to keep it between us and I agreed.

Then I apologized to Bloody Mary because I didn’t feel like eating dinner anymore. She said she understood and wished me well.

I went home and did a quick perimeter search of the property. Sure enough, there were human summoning stones ALL OVER the yard. Which means my boyfriend was intentionally luring humans to our house to get me to kill them so he could take credit. It wasn’t a mistake at all.

My boyfriend came home later that night in his work clothes. As soon he got inside he started yelling. He said he was suspended without pay and that all his hard work was for nothing.

I said I knew he’d been stealing my kills and he almost ruined my reputation. He said they still counted as his kills because he did all the work of luring the humans to our house.

I told him that wasn’t how it worked and he knew it. He said it was the same as setting a trap and I was taking this too seriously. I told him that, as a Slasher, he has to use a weapon to get his kills, not me. He said I was basically the same thing since I had such a high kill rate. I asked him if he was calling me an object.

(My parents exploited me by selling me as a haunted doll through a lot of my childhood and he knows I’m sensitive to being called an object.)

He backpedaled at that point and asked if I didn’t want to buy a house together. He said he was doing it for us and I should’ve understood and not said anything. I told him that when I was a Cryptid I had my pride and would’ve never done this.

He said I needed to tell his boss that he was the one who made all those kills. I said it wasn’t me who recognized them as Cryptid kills and now his boss knew too. He accused me of thinking I’m better than him because I have telekinetic powers and can move through shadows and can possess people, while he’s basically a human himself. I told him of course not and that I worked hard for those powers unlike him.

He got really mad at that and actually charged at me with his machete raised. I don’t think he was going to actually hit me, but I reacted like he was. It was all instinct. I disarmed him and I swear I heard a crack when I grabbed his wrist. I shoved him into the wall.

 He crumpled to the floor and started crying. He said sorry and sort of curled up around his wrist. He said he didn’t ever feel like he was enough for me and he didn’t even know why I was still with him. He called himself a bunch of names and said I would be better off without him.

I sort of awkwardly stood there for a minute. On one hand I wanted to assure him that he was enough and that I loved him, but, on the other, I wasn’t sure I could forgive him. He nearly ruined my reputation, and he embarrassed me in front of Bloody Mary. Plus, I still didn't know where he’d been going all those times he said he was on a business trip and apparently wasn’t.

So I ended up not saying anything. I went to our room and started packing a bag. He followed me. He was still crying as he begged me not to go. He said he would own up to his kill steals at work and he would make it right. He pleaded for me not to leave him and that he would give up slashing.

I told him I needed space to think. He tried to grab me, but I shadow walked out of the house. I heard him screaming from outside and I hurriedly drove away.

Now I’m at my friend’s house and I told her everything. She agreed I did the right thing walking away from him, but when I asked her what I should do she hesitated. She said that my boyfriend wasn’t right to kill steal but, as a fellow Slasher, she understood what he was going through. She said I wouldn’t understand the pressure to meet quota because I was always surpassing mine when I was in the field. She said that a Cryptid could never understand a Slasher.

She also said that nobody would have found out about his kills if I hadn’t brought them to his boss’ attention. She said the only time kills are on display like that is at the Eldritch Conference and by the next one, he’d have had kills of his own. She thinks that if I’d just confronted him at home, he wouldn’t be on suspension.

So now I’m worried that I overreacted when I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count.

AITA?

----

Thanks for reading! Several amazing supernatural citizens (aka my Patrons) gave great advice to our poor OP over on my Patreon! Please go check them out here (X)

(I will definitely be posting some of them here in the near future!)

My next supernatural AITA is already up to my patrons!

It's called "AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied about his human job?"

The mid-July heat was no joke, even in their tiny town up north. A record-breaking heat wave was sending scores of townsfolk indoors or to the public pools in search of relief. Subsequently, her father had been roped into planning a barbeque by an innocent-looking Mrs. Cross, who’d been eyeing their unused pool for months and had brought cookies to wear her father down. She, of course, was voluntold to prepare the sides and finger foods. Neither her nor her father were happy with the arrangement, but Mrs. Cross could be very persuasive, and her dad was a sucker for freshly baked cookies. 

That is how she found herself in the midst of a packed aisle at the grocery store, looking up and down for hamburger buns. It perplexed her that they’d be out of them already, especially considering that Mrs. Cross had invited seemingly every single person in town to their barbecue. 

“Excuse me,” she spoke, pulling the attention of a clerk away from the cans he was restocking, “I can’t seem to find the hamburger buns.” 

She remembered him from high school, though she couldn’t remember his name. Ben? Eric? Something like that. Ben-Eric lazily glanced at the empty shelf, shrugging. 

“If they’re not on this shelf, we’re out of them.” 

“You can’t possibly be out of hamburger buns in July,” she stammered, exasperated. 

“Clearly,” he said, rolling his eyes, “we are.” 

He turned back to his task, placing more cans on the shelf at a snail's pace. She glared at his back. This is exactly why she couldn’t fathom being with someone her own age. Frank would never be so infuriatingly careless about his job. 

“Fine. Thanks.” She turned the cart around, heading down the aisle away from Ben-Eric. 

When she finally finished purchasing everything on Mrs. Cross’ list, minus hamburger buns, she loaded everything into the back of her father’s car. The time on her watch said she had plenty of time to make a pit-stop on the way home before her father began to worry, which she fully intended to do. It’d been too long without seeing Frank, and she didn’t think she’d get to see him very much until after the barbecue. They’d have to be extra discreet tonight. 

When she pulled up to Frank’s workshop, his car was the only one in the lot. She smiled. Good. She much preferred to speak with him when he wasn’t surrounded by older women. 

“Frank?” She called out, knocking as she entered. She could already feel sweat beading at her temple. It was sweltering, even inside his air-conditioned workshop. She should’ve left the car running to save herself from heat stroke later. Thankfully, she’d worn a skirt – Frank's favorite. 

Clanging echoed, followed by a grunt. She followed the noise, stepping carefully around the various bits of wood and buckets of paint that had been sporadically placed in different corners of the room. 

“Frank, it’s me.” She called again. 

“Yeah, what can I do for you?” 

He appeared almost out of thin air, rounding the corner with a pencil tucked behind his ear and a frustrated pout on his face. This is how he approached most of his clients, though his eyes softened when he realized she was alone. They were so good at playing this game together. 

“Sorry, I thought your dad might be with you,” he said, tugging her against his sweaty t-shirt. “To what do I owe a beautiful woman visiting me on the hottest day of the year?” 

She giggled, swatting at his chest, “You always have beautiful women visiting you.” 

“They don’t matter to me,” he said, shrugging and pulling her in for a kiss. She couldn’t resist the urge to swipe her tongue against his. He squeezed her against him, crouching slightly so that he could lift her into the air. It was second nature for her to wrap her legs around his waist. This was a dance they were all too familiar with. 

He tasted of salt and coffee, a mix that she was growing more and more addicted to. She couldn’t get enough of it, of him. She moaned into his mouth when she grinded against his length, hard and begging to be freed from the confines of his tight jeans. He turned, setting her down on top of a tool bench. The cool metal burned against her heated skin, melting all sense of time or urgency away. Frank groaned as she pulled his waist closer to hers with her legs, yearning for more, more, more of him. 

Suddenly, a vision of Mrs. Cross tutting in her direction entered her brain. The ice cream, the lack of hamburger buns. The afternoon she’d have to spend readying herself for the entire town to have eyes on her and her father. It felt wrong, but she pried her mouth away from his, gasping. 

“I have ice cream in the trunk,” she groaned, almost whining at the ridiculous list that Mrs. Cross had given her. “And I need hamburger buns or Mrs. Cross is going to kill me.” 

“Okay,” Frank blinked through his lustful haze, nodding slowly, “I have some at my house.” 

“You have some at your house,” she repeated, mirroring his head movement. 

“Y’wanna stop by and get them before the party?” 

“Yes,” she breathed, watching his pupils dilate as his hands crawled up her exposed thighs. “I really do have ice cream in the trunk.” 

Frank chuckled, inching his hands higher. He was overwhelmingly big, taking up so much space in her vision that she could hardly see over his shoulder. She gulped, blinking up at him with the doe eyes that he adored. 

“I can be quick,” he said. He was so close to her now that she could feel the ghost of his words on her lips.  

Goosebumps skittered down her spine in the wake of his heated words. She seriously considered telling Mrs. Cross to go to hell and take her melted ice cream with her, but hesitated. As much as this barbecue was annoying her father, it felt nice that he’d be surrounded by so many people again. It’d been a long time since their house was filled with more than just her, her father, and occasionally, Frank. A few hours of socializing would be good for him. 

A thud from the parking lot forced them apart from one another, Frank regretfully putting distance between them. Someone was here, and they were going to be caught if they didn’t pull themselves together, and fast. Frank quickly returned to her, lifting her off the tool bench and setting her down on wobbly legs before busying his hands with a pencil and a piece of plywood. She smoothed her skirt, awkwardly wringing her hands as the stranger made their way through the workshop. 

“Back door’s always unlocked for you, sweetheart,” Frank said, pressing a quick peck to her temple. His voice was gravely, a sign that she’d successfully wound him. “Get whatever you need from my place. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” 

“Okay,” she nodded, heart still pounding from both the intimacy with Frank and them almost getting caught together, “Thank you, Frankie.” 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he said, refocusing on the piece of wood in front of him. She glimpsed a blur of blonde-ish gray hair as she hurried toward the nearest exit.   

“Mr. Castle?” A woman’s voice called out as she circled the same corner Frank had appeared from earlier. “I thought there might be someone else here! Anyway, I was wondering if you had any time to work on the floors in my living room this weekend.” 

She didn’t stick around to hear the rest of their conversation, cursing herself for not leaving the car running when she climbed into the boiling hot driver’s seat. The ice cream was certainly a puddle at this point. She’d never related to ice cream so much. 

x 

Frank’s house was around the corner from the one she shared with her father. It didn’t matter how many times she stayed the night with him – being the only person in the house made her nervous. She often felt like she was taking up space that she didn’t deserve, especially here, amongst Frank’s belongings. She wondered if that was something every young woman went through, or if it was just her. She didn't have a mother to ask, which made the ache of not knowing even worse. 

As she made her way to the pantry, a picture hanging on the fridge caught her eye. It was a much younger Frank, sidled up to a woman who had a hand pressed to his chest. His late wife, presumably. Two young kids sat on either side of them. They both looked so much like Frank that she couldn’t stop her eyes from watering. Frank never talked about his family, and she didn’t ask, though her father had mentioned it to her a few times in passing. They had died, and Frank was “different” now, though she didn’t understand what that meant. 

The picture broke her heart. Who was Frank before he moved here and met her? She didn’t know, but she wanted to. She wanted to pry into his life, opening old wounds so that she could understand how he ended up here, alone except for the fleeting moments he had with her. She wondered if Frank would ever want a family with her, or if the pain of it all was too much. She wondered if she’d be a good mom, or if she’d die young and leave her kids without guidance as they navigated adulthood just like her mom did to her. 

She snapped out of the harrowing thoughts, swallowing thickly and backing away from the refrigerator. Hurrying back to the car, she gulped down air as she backed out of the driveway and made her way home. Mrs. Cross’ hamburger buns would have to be a later problem.  

x 

When she finally walked through the kitchen door, her father was amidst a heated conversation on the telephone, hand resting on his hip in a way that told her he was annoyed. She set the bags on the counter, smiling at his exasperated face. He lifted a cigarette to his mouth, rolling his eyes at whoever was on the other line. 

“It’s Cindy,” he mouthed to her, covering the bottom of the phone with his hand. “Help!” 

She hurried over, putting the phone to her ear. Mrs. Cross – Cindy – was rambling about seven-layer dip.  

“Mrs. Cross, it’s me. Sorry to interrupt,” she said, cutting the older woman off, “I wasn’t able to get hamburger buns. Safeway was out. Do you know anyone that could bring some?” 

Her dad put his hands together in a prayer-like manner, thanking her. She stifled a giggle as Mrs. Cross began rambling again. Her dad took a long pull of his cigarette, shaking his head in vexation. When she finally managed to get off the phone, her father was lighting another, staring through a window at the backyard. 

“She was only on layer three of seven when you walked in,” he pointed out, shaking his head again, “I can’t imagine how long she would’ve kept me if you hadn’t shown up when you did, honey.” 

“Well, I got layers four and five just now. I guess we’ll hear about six and seven this afternoon.” 

He laughed, looking over the piles of groceries on the counter. 

“Cindy is doing way too much with this barbecue,” he grumbled, waving his cigarette through the air. “Did you know she hired gardeners to come by this morning? Gardeners! What’s wrong with our garden?” 

“She’s being nice.” She sent him a pointed look before nudging him toward the groceries. “Now, help me put everything away so that I can start on the first layer before she gets here.” 

Later, when the barbecue had finally begun and it felt like every person she’d ever met was crowding her house and backyard, she wilted against the wall in the kitchen. She’d never made so many finger foods in her life. Everyone else seemed to be having a good time, but she couldn’t remember the last time she sat down. Leave it to Mrs. Cross to suggest a relaxing barbecue and then force her to cater for it. 

Frank, newly showered and bare-chested, arrived a few minutes later. Six bags of hamburger buns swung from his fists as she took in the sight in front of her. She’d nearly kissed him right in front of everyone but settled on thanking him quietly and asking him to put them in the kitchen.  

“Where did you get them?” She asked, shutting the door to the kitchen softly, cheeks flush at the sight of Frank’s bare torso.  

It didn’t matter how many times she’d seen him shirtless. The tiny gasp that always left her lips was involuntary. They were alone for a fleeting moment, and all she could think about was jumping his bones. 

“Safeway had a ton,” he said, eyeing her outfit.  

It was blistering hot, even in the late afternoon, so she’d donned a pair of white shorts and a string bikini top. She didn’t intend on swimming, but she knew it would drive Frank crazy to see her in such little clothing.  

“Safeway said they were out when I stopped by! Right before I came to see you!” She moaned, running her hand over her face. “Ben-Eric is such a liar!” 

“Who?” Frank tilted his head, confusion overtaking his tone. 

Before she could recount her story about infuriating store clerks, her dad jostled into the room, followed by the last person she expected to see standing in her kitchen – her ex-boyfriend, Matthew. 

Time halted for a few moments as she tried to understand the picture in front of her. Her father, who was smiling as he glanced proudly between her and Matt, stood with his hands on his hips. Matt had an arrogant smile on his face, though he was twiddling with his cane enough to tell her he was actually very nervous. Frank, left in the dark about the newest stranger in the room, glanced between her horrified face and Matt’s, trying to gauge why the temperature in the room had just risen a few degrees. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Matt said, tipping his head in her direction. 

“Sweetheart?” Frank echoed, the surprise in his voice bouncing off the ceiling and quieting the dull roar in her ears as she continued to stare at Matt’s stupidly handsome face. 

The three men watched her, waiting for an explanation, a response, anything. She gaped back at them, wondering what in the fresh hell Matt was playing at, showing up to her dad’s barbecue and calling her sweetheart. The nerve he had was astonishing. Anger muddled her thoughts. How dare he show up in her house?  

She didn’t say any of this, of course. In fact, the only words that came out of her mouth were, “You’re wearing flip-flops.” 

“It’s a pool party, right?” Matt tilted his head, smiling. His hands continued to fiddle with his cane. 

“You’re in my kitchen, wearing flip-flops.” She muttered robotically, fixing her eyes on the wall behind Matt’s head. 

“I hope it’s okay that I invited him,” her dad said, sending her a look that told her she was acting insane. “He mentioned that he’d be in town, and I thought why not, ya know?”  

He finished his statement off with a swift pat on Matt’s back, sending her another pointed glance. She finally blinked, back in her own body and furious. She inhaled, ready to kick and scream at her father, but Frank cut her off before she could say a word. 

“We haven’t met. I’m Frank, the neighbor,” he said gruffly. 

“Matthew,” Matt said, head still tilted in her direction, “the ex-boyfriend.” 

“The ex-boyfriend,” Frank repeated, eyeing Matt closely. 

She knew exactly what Frank was thinking. Matt was another older man that she’d given herself to. Granted, Matt was only about a decade older than she was. It wasn’t as big of an age gap as her and Frank. Still, she could see the cogs whirring in his head as he fully grasped the situation happening in front of him. 

His nostrils flared once, the only sign that Matt’s presence was affecting him, before he nodded and looked at her father, asking if he needed help with grilling. She watched as he made his way across the kitchen, volunteering to take over for her father outside. He sent her a single, pointed glance before softly closing the door behind him, leaving her and Matthew alone for the first time in months. 

“He seems nice,” Matt said, noticeably calmer now that the kitchen had been vacated by Frank. “A little old for you, don’t you think?” 

“Don’t even, Matthew. What are you doing here? You can’t just show up at my house after disappearing last year.” 

Matt scoffed, leaning against the edge of the counter, inching closer to her heaving chest.  

“I was invited. I thought you wanted me here.” 

Her eyebrows shot up. He must be an idiot. He must think she’s an idiot. 

“You thought I’d want you here after you disappeared last year? No calls, no texts, just a scribbled note with the words ‘I’m sorry’ written on it?” 

“I told you I had a big opportunity, sweetheart-” 

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” 

“Don’t act like you’re innocent in this either, sweetheart.” He bared his teeth, emphasizing the pet name. “You wanted out just as much as I did.” 

She huffed, narrowing her eyes at Matt’s towering figure. 

“Don’t put this on me. You knew what you were doing when you took that job in New York. Our relationship was done as soon as you signed that offer letter.” 

“You gave up before I did.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. She couldn’t figure out if he was perturbed or not by this conversation, which made her even more angry. “I’m going to go converse with Frank, the neighbor. Unless,” he paused, running a thumb across her bare torso, “you don’t want me to, for whatever reason?” 

His touch, which had at one time, set her on fire the way Frank’s does now, barely phased her. She was done with Matt the minute he walked out on her. It’s how she ended up moving back home to live with her father, and how she ended up meeting Frank. It was a good thing, ultimately. 

“Do whatever you want, Matt. I’m not your keeper anymore.” 

She gritted her teeth, stepping away from Matt’s touch and heading toward the back yard where the party seemed to be picking up.  

“You never were,” Matt called after her. 

She rolled her eyes, stepping into the sun for the first time in hours. People milled about, separating themselves into groups and eyeing each other as they whispered about the latest gossip. Small towns were notorious for this, but she tried not to let it phase her. As long as her and Frank kept their relationship secret, she could avoid the gossip mill. 

She watched a group of older women take turns glancing towards Frank and her father, who were so busy debating the proper way to grill a hamburger that they probably wouldn’t notice if the women stripped down and went skinny dipping right next to them. She stifled a laugh, relaxing into a chair somewhat isolated from the party, but still amongst the revelry.  

She’d chosen this seat specifically. It had a perfect view of Frank’s bare torso as he stood by the grill, sipping a beer. She suddenly felt a sort of kinship with the group of ogling women. Frank was droolworthy.  And she got to remind him of that every single night. 

A figure entered her periphery, forcing her attention away from Frank’s toned abs. She nearly rolled her eyes and groaned, readying herself to stomp of Matt’s foot, when she realized it was Ben-Eric from the Safeway down the road. 

“Ben-Eric!” She startled, cringing at her inability to filter her thoughts. 

“Who?” He said, sitting down in the closest seat to her. 

“I’m so sorry,” she laughed, “I couldn’t remember your name, and that’s what I called you earlier when you lied to me about the hamburger buns.” 

He laughed along with her, sipping his beer. 

“To be fair, I didn’t know we had more in a different aisle. They sell out so quickly in July.” 

“Sure, Ben-Eric,” she said sarcastically, laughing again at his perplexed expression. 

“You’re half right. It is Benjamin, but I guess you can call me Ben-Eric if that’s what you want,” he said, tilting his head in a way that reminded her how handsome he was. “Most of my friends call me Dex.” 

“Okay, Dex,” she said, grinning again. “Tell me. How much do you know about seven-layer dip?” 

They spent the afternoon people-watching and catching up, though the longer she sat there, the more she wanted to see Frank. It felt like she always wanted to see Frank these days. He’d disappeared earlier after the grill had been cleaned, and she hadn’t seen him since. When the party finally wound down, she realized, thankfully, that Matt was long gone. Ben-Eric left, thanking her dad personally for the party, and then it was just the two of them, standing amongst empty beer cans and deflated balloons. 

“That was exhausting,” her father said, immediately exiting the kitchen in favor of falling asleep to his crossword. She huffed and began clearing the mess. So much for ‘we’re in this together’.  

Not long after she’d begun, a sudden throat being cleared startled her. She turned, seeing Frank for the first time in hours. 

“Frank!” She put a hand to her chest, heart pounding. “I thought you went home!” 

“I did, but I came back because I knew he wouldn’t help you clean up.” He shrugged. 

There was something off about his demeanor. She immediately noticed the way he hesitated to enter the room fully, instead choosing to lean against the doorway. Was it because her dad was snoring in the other room, or for a different reason? 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, shaking her head. 

He shrugged again, refusing to meet her gaze. 

“Frank,” she murmured, “What’s wrong?” 

He finally looked up, staring at her with a hard, unreadable expression that left her even more confused. 

“You didn’t tell me about Matthew,” he finally said, immediately cringing. “Fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying. I sound like a whiny bitch when I say it like that.” 

Her hands, which held a near-empty trash bag, hung limp in front of her. She didn’t realize how much he’d been affected by Matt’s sudden appearance. She’d forgotten about it already. 

“Matthew doesn’t mean anything to me.” She said simply, shrugging. 

“Anymore,” he rasped, looking anywhere but in her direction before finally lowering his head, ashamed. “And that fucking asshole outside. I wanted to fucking strangle him when he made you laugh.” 

She dropped the trash bag, approaching him slowly. He watched her carefully, refusing to let himself touch her. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. 

“Are you jealous, Frankie?” She said, genuinely amused. “Is that why you left?” 

Frank’s nostrils flared. A spark of anger lit his eyes, amusing her even more. 

“You drive me crazy, sweetheart,” he grunted, still refusing to put his hands on her. “Everything about you drives me insane.” 

She pushed her chest against him, looking up at his scowling face. 

“I don’t care about any of them, Frank,” she said, running her hands up his broad torso. “I only care about you. I thought you knew that.” 

He grunted again, this time, angling his head so that their lips were millimeters apart. 

“I do know that,” he murmured through gritted teeth. “Something about you makes me forget how fucking ridiculous being a jealous asshole is.” 

She was thrilled to hear this. She’d been waiting for him to mark his territory from the moment Matt walked in the kitchen earlier. Her father being three feet away hadn’t crossed her mind for a moment, though she was sure Frank would’ve knocked Matt on his ass for touching her if her father was anywhere else in the house. 

“Show me,” she murmured, placing her palms on Frank’s cheeks. “Show me how jealous it makes you.” 

His expression hardened, jaw ticking. He remained incredibly still as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips grazed his ever so slightly as she lifted her mouth, begging for him to touch her. 

“You’re mine,” he grumbled, and finally, finally, he touched her.  

His hands tightened around her waist as his lips crashed against hers, pulling her into a salacious kiss worthy of the front-page news. His tongue collided with hers, forcing its way deep into her mouth. She sighed into him, relishing the warmth of his body against hers. 

This felt more right than anything she’d ever felt in her life. Frank, standing in her kitchen, reminding her who she was to him. It may have started as a casual hook-up, but now they were in so deep with one another that it felt like drowning while simultaneously breathing air for the first time. 

“I’m yours, too,” he murmured inbetween kisses, cradling her head between his palms. “Always.” 

“Always,” she repeated, pulling him in for another kiss, unable to remember or care that her father was down the hall and could walk in at any moment.  

She wasn’t even sure he was asleep, but nothing about this night had felt right until now, and she wasn’t going to ruin it just yet. She grasped Frank’s waistline, tugging at his pants. She wanted to be thoroughly wrecked by him, right here, right now. 

Frank, on the other hand, was a much more responsible person than she could ever be. He groaned as he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers for a moment before disconnecting entirely. 

“Frank,” she started, blindly reaching for him. “I need you.” 

“Not here,” he murmured, “Not when he’s down the hall.” 

Conflict warred with desire in his eyes. Even after all this time, Frank couldn’t bring himself to hurt his best friend more than he already had. Every day that they continued their affair, he was damaging his relationship with her father, but he couldn’t stay away from her. She was everything to him, and after losing everything once, he couldn’t help but hold on tightly. 

“Can I come over after I finish up here?” She asked, cheeks still flush with need. 

“Always, baby,” he said, bending down to pick up another piece of trash left by partygoers. He pushed it into the forgotten half-empty trash bag. “You don’t have to ask.” 

She nodded, focusing on the mess around her again. Frank didn’t leave like she thought he would. He stayed and continued to help her clean, which made it even harder for her to stay focused. Finally, when the mess had been contained to a reasonable level, she and Frank walked slowly back to his house. She decided now was a good time as any to bring up the picture on his fridge. 

“Frank, can I ask you something?” She said, casually swinging their intertwined hands. 

“Anything.” 

“What was your wife’s name?”  

She said it barely above a whisper, but Frank heard it loud and clear. His head snapped to hers, confusion and caution clear on his face. His eyes softened at her expression, weary, but curious. 

“I mean-,” she said, immediately hating herself for asking, “You don’t have to tell me. I saw them – your family – on your fridge earlier when I stopped by and I’m curious about them, but you don’t have to tell me anything. I just mean-.” 

“Maria,” he said, interrupting the anxious rant she had begun without realizing it. “Maria was her name. And Lisa and Frank Jr. are my kids.” 

She eyed him nervously, waiting for anger or admonishment for prying into his personal life, but there was none. Frank squeezed her hand, pulling it up to his lips for a soft kiss. 

“Car accident. Almost twenty years ago now.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I miss ‘em every day.” 

“Oh, Frank,” she said, tears welling in her eyes, “That’s awful. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he said, pulling her against his side as they continued the short walk. “I should’ve told you about it sooner.” 

“Thank you for telling me,” she whispered, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek before continuing to the home where they had shared so many intimate moments together.  

Standing inside Frank’s house reminded her that it had only been a handful of hours since she’d been here last. The day had melted into a blur of cooking, partying, and Frank, all packed into a 24-hour period. If she was honest with herself, she was exhausted, but she finally had Frank to herself, and she wasn’t going to squander that opportunity. 

As soon as he locked the door, she was on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and jumping into his arms. Her legs wound their way around his body as he lifted her in the air, pulling her fully against his torso. The feeling of his muscles alone was enough to make her moan. He was the hottest thing she’d ever seen, and he was all hers. 

“You knew exactly what you were doing when you showed up without a shirt today,” she said between kisses, hoping Frank could navigate the stairs while she was wrapped around him like a koala. 

“You’re one to talk, sweetheart” he grumbled, taking each step carefully until they made it to the top of the staircase. “Look at this bikini.”  

His bed, which he now considered to be their bed, was still unmade from their intimacy that morning. When he lowered himself, setting her down on her back, she nuzzled into the blankets. They smelled like him. 

“I love this bikini,” he said, eyeing the curve of her breasts beneath the fabric. She’d worn it just for him.  

His hand slowly pushed down into the mattress, feeling its way underneath her until it found the strings tied in a knot against her spine. A swift tug had the strings falling apart, giving way to him. He lowered his head – first to her cheek, nuzzling against her smooth skin, then to her neck, where he peppered kisses all the way down to the top of her shoulder, where he found the other knot holding her bikini together. She quivered with need as his teeth scraped against her racing pulse. He slowly nipped at the material, pulling the end of the knot with his teeth until it too gave way, exposing her breasts in the dim light of his bedroom. 

He huffed in disbelief as he looked over her exposed chest, jaw ticking.  

“He didn’t stand a chance,” he mumbled, eyes crawling up her body until it landed on her flushed cheeks. “Not a fucking chance.” 

“Who didn’t?” She asked, innocently batting her eyes. 

“You know who,” he grunted, jealousy laced in his tone for the second time tonight. “Do you know how badly I wanted to knock Matthew on his ass today for calling you sweetheart? For touching you after I left the kitchen?” 

“I didn’t know you saw that,” she breathed, heat pulsing in her core. Frank rarely got this way with her, but when he did, she was so turned on by it that it hurt. 

“I fucking saw everything,” he grumbled with a hardened expression, “He doesn’t get to touch what’s mine. Ever.”  

“I know, Frankie,” she murmured, running her fingers along the sculpt of his shoulders. 

“Your dad told me he’s a catholic lawyer,” he gritted, “and that the only reason you came home last year was because he broke your heart.”  

“That’s true,” she swallowed. 

Frank lowered his body even more, barely hovering over her. Her hips met his, grinding up against his hardened length through their clothes. Frank leaned forward, lips ghosting over her ear. 

“His loss,” he murmured.  

The wake of his breath sent goosebumps skittering down her spine. She moaned, grinding against him again. Frank’s eyes were so dark that she could barely make out the brown irises that she adored. 

“What about the other one?” She asked, unable to stop taunting him. “The one that sat by me outside and made me laugh.” 

His gaze, which had been slowly raking down her exposed chest, snapped up to meet hers again. His nostrils flared as he processed her question. She blinked hazily at him, waiting for his restraint to meet its limit. His jaw ticked before he finally let out a long, slow breath. 

“Watch it,” he warned in a low voice, though she could see the delight hidden in his eyes. 

“Or what?” She taunted again. 

And finally, after what felt like years and years of waiting, Frank’s restraint finally snapped. He slammed his mouth against hers, immediately swiping his tongue through her mouth. He was relentless with his kisses, giving her barely enough time to breathe between nipping at her jaw and grinding against her. 

She barely realized when her pants were off, only shuddering when his fingers teased her soaked entrance. She let out a soft moan, widening her legs. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was distraught with love for the man she shared this secret with. 

“I want on top,” she said, swiftly nudging him on his back as she hovered atop his impressive length. 

At some point in time, Frank had also lost his pants, though she couldn’t pinpoint when that happened. Everything about Frank was overwhelming to her senses. She could get lost in him. She wanted to get lost in him. She wanted to show him how much he meant to her, how much the other men in her life didn’t affect the feelings she held for him. 

Frank squeezed her hips tightly, eyes still dark with desire. When she finally sank onto him, she held her breath, tears pricking at the back of her eyes in both pain and pleasure. Frank, ever the gentleman, would always slowly ease into her, allowing her time to adjust, but she didn’t want that. Tonight, she wanted to remind him how much of her belonged to him. 

She moved her hips slightly, moaning at how deep he was in this position. He had barely moved, breathing slowly with his eyes half lidded. She placed her hands on his chest and began rocking against him, eliciting a groan from his perfect, plump lips. His moans of pleasure spurred her to rock against him harder and faster. Her hips were held in a bruising hold by his large hands, guiding her against him. 

“Ask me to do anything, and I’ll do it,” he grunted, bucking into her and breathing hard as she continued grinding. “Name anything and I’ll get it for you. Anything, baby.” 

She giggled, delighted at his ability to make her feel like the only woman in the world. He took advantage of her distraction, flipping them over so that he could rut into her even harder. Frank rose to his full height, pulling her to the edge of the bed and lifting her hips to meet his in an even deeper position than before. 

She felt like she was on ecstasy, pleasure overriding every part of her body. Frank slammed into her at a relentless rate, grunting every time she squeezed around his thick length.  

“You fit so fucking perfectly underneath me, baby.” 

Slapping sounds echoed through the room, mixed with praise from Frank’s filthy mouth. 

“Did he ever make you feel this good, baby?” 

She arched her back, moaning. 

“Did he worship you the way you deserve?” 

Fire wreaked havoc on her entire body. She was on the brink of exploding. 

“He could beg for forgiveness for the rest of his life and never deserve you, sweetheart. Fuckin’ altar boy.” 

“Fuck,” she whined, nearly squealing as heat overcame every sense, every thought, every breath. Her orgasm crashed through her, pulsing every nerve in her body. She couldn’t remember where she ended, and Frank began. Every part of her was Frank’s, and every part of Frank was hers.  

“That’s it, baby,” Frank cooed, slowing his hips so that he could properly watch her come undone beneath him. “There you go, pretty girl. You’re doing so good.” 

Heart racing, she arched further off the bed, begging for more. Frank met her chest with wet lips, kissing up the valley between her breasts. She mewled when his lips wrapped around her nipple, flicking his tongue over the nub. Tears of pleasure flowed freely down her cheeks, driving Frank into a state of wild delirium. 

He pounded into her, drawing out another orgasm, and another. He left trails of wet kisses along every part of her body, marking his territory with sweet nips at her sensitive areas. 

“Mine,” he murmured after each kiss, reminding himself that she was here, splayed beneath him because she would choose him in every lifetime. 

“Yours,” she breathed, trembling. 

When Frank finished, after she found her pleasure one more time, she laid in a heavy heap, barely grunting when he cleaned her off with a warm towel. The exhaustion of the day had finally caught up to her. Frank lifted the blankets over her wilted figure, kissing her temple before crawling into bed next to her. 

She was barely conscious enough to feel Frank’s arm wrap around her waist and tuck her against his chest, but she breathed easier knowing he was holding her. 

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Always.” 

Sweet, unconscious bliss followed her into the deepest sleep she’d ever been in, though she’d swear later on that she heard Frank tell her he loved her. Somehow, even in sleep, her body knew what she meant to him. She loved him too, more than anything. It would be a few more months before she admitted that to anyone besides him, though. 

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* * *

The last time Dennis checked his phone was about 3 hours ago, right before he put a 60 year old man’s knee back in place. He had been booked and busy since then, running around without a second to stop. But he hadn’t stopped thinking about his date later that night. 

He had met her about 6 months ago on one of his few days off. He decided to treat himself to some coffee that didn’t taste like the hogwash from the ER staff room. He rubbed his face as he reached for the door to the coffee shop, still not fully awake. At the same time that he went to grab the handle, another person went for it too, accidentally grabbing his hand. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she pulled back immediately, her face flushing as she made eye contact. 

“It’s no worries, I got it.” Dennis smiled, fully opening the door to let her in first. 

“Thanks,” she gave back an embarrassed smile before scurrying inside in front of him. 

When Dennis got in line, he looked up at the menu, deciding if he should try something different or do his usual. He was really debating on getting one of the shop’s weekly specials though. He usually didn’t stray from his usual order, but it was his day off, he should treat himself. 

“Hi, can I get an orange creamsicle cappuccino?” he asked, pulling his wallet out from his pocket. 

“For sure!” The barista smiled. “By the way, your drink has been paid for.” Dennis halted his motions.

“Huh?”, he tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. 

“The girl before you paid.” The barista pointed towards the girl who he opened the door for. 

“Oh, uh thanks.” He shoved his wallet back down into his pocket. The barista wished him a good day as he moved out of line and towards the girl. If she felt like she was in the wrong, she’s wrong about that. He was incredibly tired and didn’t see her at the door. If anything he should’ve paid for her drink for his clumsiness. 

“Thank you,” he said as he got next to her, “you didn’t have to do that.” 

“It’s an apology for my awkwardness.” she let out a snort, “and you looked like you needed a pick me up.” 

“I need my fill of coffee, even on a day off.” He sighed, looking at the pick up counter. 

“It’s my day off too! Where do you work?” She asked, turning to him. 

“PTMC,” he said. Turns out she worked at the same hospital in the Pediatrics department. After they both had drank half of their coffee, they decided to sit down at a table to continue talking. Maybe it was their common workplace or the fact she was so funny, but Dennis was enjoying every minute of it. The conversation flowed easily, and he didn’t feel like he had a front on or hide anything about himself. She was genuine and pretty. Really pretty. They ended up talking for over an hour. Talking about family, the transition to Pittsburg, the weird sound the south elevator makes. When they eventually had to go their separate ways, Dennis gathered up the courage to ask for her phone number. Because he had to see her again to pay her back for the coffee. 

Since then, they have spent every sliver of time off together. So tonight they had planned to get dinner at their favorite Italian place. They planned to go right after their shift ended, not risking going home and getting comfortable. 

By the time Dennis’ shift was ending, he could almost smell the lasagna he was going to order later that night. He just had handoff and then his dreams would be a reality. 

Walking to the nurse’s hub, he saw that she was already waiting for him. “Hey,” he smiled, slowing to a stop in front of her. “I just have one more thing and then I’ll be good to go. 

“Alrighty, I’ll be here.” She beamed, setting her bag on the counter. Trinity squinted at Dennis as he walked away. 

“Who is that?” she bumped her shoulder against Victoria’s, nodding towards the unfamiliar face. Victoria followed her line of sight before shrugging her shoulders. 

“Probably a friend?” she suggested with a tilt of head.

“As if Huckleberry has friends besides us.” Trinity scoffed, making Victoria roll her eyes. 

“Just ask him.” Trinity rolls her eyes to Victoria in return before walking over to Dennis. He just finished handoff and was ready to leave, but Trinity blocked him like a linebacker before he could make it back to the hub. 

“Who’s the chick?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at Dennis. He looked back at his girl with a smile. 

“My girlfriend.” He said shortly with a nod, then swiftly moving away from Trinity before the cork blew off and he was hit with it. He was tired of hiding it from everyone. It wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose, he just wanted to make sure the relationship was serious before he told anyone. Everyone wanted to poked their noses in other people’s business, so he just wanted to be private for a while, which just meant that he was quiet about the whole ordeal. But he was so happy. He got to be himself and found someone who loved that. Someone who supported him and who he supported back. They understood each other to a degree that was kinda unexplainable to him. But they fit together so well together that there was no way he would go back to what life was like before her. 

Trinity watched Dennis walk away, her mouth slightly agape. Then, she let out a snort sound, making Victoria stare at her with wide eyes. After a moment, she started to cackle, her laugh getting soon louder and she doubled over. Victoria threw a pen at her in an attempt to snap her out of whatever was happening. Trinity just ignored the pen hitting her, picking it up and walking back over to the curly haired girl, still having a giggle fit. 

“What did he say?” Victoria leaned over the top of the counter, itching to get as close to Trinity to hear the news.

“His girlfriend?” Trinity laughed out, shaking her head as she spoke. 

“And you don’t believe him?” The younger girl leaned back with an eyebrow raised. 

“No!” letting out an exasperated laugh as she let her hands fall. “He is just lying to get out of Thai night.”

“Whatevery floats your boat.” Victoria sighed. “Whatever, let’s just get going, I’m so hungry.”

“I am right.” Trinity pointed a finger at the other before moving to leave together. 

* * *

The next morning, Dennis’ supposed lie had spread across the ED. There was even a bet set up by Ahmed. 

“You don’t really think he has a girlfriend do you?” Trinity looked up to Perlah from the computer. 

“It could explain why he’s been more smiley lately.” Perlah pointed out. 

“Or it could be because he doesn’t have to deal with you two after hours” Princes motioned to the two pittlings. 

“Hey! He likes us.” Victoria defended, crossing her arms over herself. 

“Yesterday he was just complaining about how you guys don’t take his restaurant suggestions.” Robby interjected, squinting his eyes. 

“He has bad taste.” Trinity shook her head. “One time he took us to this grody BBQ place in the middle of nowhere.”

“Didn’t you say it was the best BBQ you’ve ever had.” Robby tilted his head. 

“Yes…” Trinity hesitated, “but the atmosphere was not it, he doesn’t get a choice anymore.” Robby just shook his head with a sigh. As the conversation continued, Dennis walked in through the triage door, in step with the same girl that was waiting for him the night before. 

“Is that her?” Princess asks, nodding over to the entrance. All heads at the station turn. 

“Could you guys be any more obvious?” Robby laughed, lightly knocking his knuckles against the counter. He shook his head at the antics of his staff before moving to start his day, but still kept an eye towards the lot. 

* * *

“Oh god,” Dennis saw the all beady eyes staring at them as they walked. 

“You think they’re talking about us?” She asked from next to him with a small smile. Dennis just dropped his head with a huff. “Word travels fast.” she laughed. 

“It does,” Dennis looked up to meet her eyes, his head still handing low. 

“Let’s give them something to really talk about then,” Before Dennis could ask what she meant, she had raised to her tippy toes and snaked her hand to lay on his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. She started to pull back but Dennis quickly leaned down and kissed her again, his hand on her cheek to halt her from pulling away. It wasn’t anything crazy since they were at work, but it was more than enough to get the gossip going. Smiling, they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. 

Trinity’s jaw dropped, eyes following Dennis as he walked to the lockers. 

The morning's light filters through the lattice shutters of the lady's chambers like thin, silver blades, slicing across the pale stone floor in sharp, geometric patterns. Dust motes dance lazily in the beams, catching on the faint scent of beeswax polish and dried lavender that clings to every surface of the southern keep.

She stands motionless before the tall mirror framed in carved rosewood, its edges worn smooth by generations of women who once stood in the same spot, facing their inevitable futures.

Two maids, older women who dressed her since she was small, circle her with the quiet efficiency of long habit. Their fingers are deft as they pin strands of her hair into an elaborate crown of braids, weaving in tiny pearls that gleam like fallen stars and pale moonflowers whose petals release a faint, cool fragrance with every touch.

The jasmine oil they smoothed over her still lingers, warm and heady, meant to soothe racing nerves and steady trembling hands. It does neither. Beneath the silk under her robe and the layers yet to come, her pulse drums a steady, defiant rhythm against her ribs. She breathes slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth, the way her mother taught her during the long months of the wasting fever that took her, when every breath seemed a negotiation with fate.

She is twenty-one. Today she became a wife to a stranger.

The knowledge sits in her chest like stone smoothed by a river, heavy and unyielding, but no longer jagged enough to cut. Whispers have followed the betrothal for months now, slipping through corridors and kitchens, like drafts under doors. Servants speak in lowered voices when they believe the family cannot hear, but sound carries in old stone halls, especially when fear sharpens it.

In the kitchens last winter, while steam rose from copper pots and the clatter of knives provided cover, the Lady had paused just outside the doorway to listen.

"They say he is not entirely human" one girl hissed, her voice cracking on the final world as though naming the thing might summon it "Some say he's some sort of ugly monster that has horns like blackened iron and wings that blood the moon when he spreads them. They say that when he was a boy and the castle shook, it was him, angry"

Another voice, older drier, belonging to Cook Mara who had served three generations said.

"He rules the northern marches because no one else would take the throne after his father was burned, he has been king since he was fifteen, he is the last of his family. The old King went mad at the end, fire in his veins, they say he turned to ash. They say he executed three lords in a single night for treason, didn't even raise a blade. Just looked at them with those terrifying eyes and their hearts stopped. No blood on the floor, just silence"

A younger laundry maid, folding linens with quick, nervous jerks that made the cloth snap like small whips spoke next.

"My cousin's husband serves in his guard. He swears the old king never smiles. Never laughs. That some crimson mist follows him when he rides anywhere. That anything he touches withers. Flowers blacken at the edges. men fall clutching their throats, hope itself shrivel and dies. They call him the King of Ash and Mist for a reason"

The lady stood frozen in the shadowed alcove, hands pressed to the cold stone walls and listened to every word. She did not flinch, she did not cry. Instead, she filed each rumor away the way a general collects maps of enemy terrain, carefully, methodically, marking weak points and possible truths hidden among the exaggeration.

Fear is useful only when it sharpens the mind, she'd murmur, otherwise it is merely noise.

Her father had explained the alliance three seasons ago in his solar, sunlight slanting across the heavy oak table between them. His voice had been careful, measured, the way one speaks to a soldier before sending them to the front line.

"The northern kingdom bleeds from border skirmishes that never quite end. Their king needs legitimacy in the eyes of the southern courts, heirs to secure the line, southern grains to feed his mountain folk through another hard winter, southern steel to arm them against the eastern raiders who grow bolder every year. We need protection, real protection, not promises on parchment. He chose you, and this marriage buys peace for two lands. It is not a choice. It is a necessity"

She had met his gaze across the table, the same steady eyes she sees constantly in the mirror, reflected back at her now.

"I understand" she said simply.

He didn't ask if she wanted it, no one did. No one needed to. She is the older daughter. It is her duty, woven into her blood the same way the family crest is embroidered in every banner.

Now, the maids step back, brushing stray threads from the heavy ivory silk gown. The fabric is rich, almost liquid, embroidered along the bodice and trailing hem with silver thread that mimics dragon scales, delicate and overlapping, catching the light in subtle shifts of color from pearl to smoke. A translucent veil of moon spun silk is draped over her head and pinned with a emerald the size of a quail's egg, her mother's last gift before the wasting fever stole her breath and left only echoes in the hall. She touches the stone once, lightly, as though it might still hold some warmth from the women who wore it.

She meets her own eyes in the mirror. They were steady, framed by her lashes that had been dusted with charcoal. She does not look like a girl about to be sacrificed. She looks like someone who has already accepted the blade and chosen how to carry it.

The doors burst open without a knock. Her younger sister rushes in, skirts hiked, cheeks flushed from running up the tower stairs. At sixteen she still moves like a deer startled by its own shadow, graceful one moment, all elbows and panic the next.

"You're beautiful" she whispers, eyes wide as she takes in the gown, the veil, the quiet armor of composure. Then she immediately ruins the compliment by blurting "But you don't have to do this. We could hide you. There's the old hunting lodge in the western woods; no one goes there anymore. I could bring food; we could wait until winter when the passes close..."

She turns fully, places both hands on her little sisters shoulders, and feels the frantic tremor beneath the wool she is wearing. 

"No" she says.

"But the stories..."

"Are stories" she says, her voice is quiet steel, tempered but unyielding. "And even if every word is true, even if he is half monster like they claim, even if the mist really does kill on command, running would break the treaty. The eastern raiders would sense weakness and pour across the border. Thousands would die so that one girl could be free for a season, maybe two before they hunted us down. I will not carry that weight on my conscience. Not for the rest of my life"

Her sisters' eyes fill, bright and shining. A tear escapes and she holds her face and brushes it away with a thumb, gentle as a mother.

"Besides" she adds, softer now "I promised Mother I would keep our house strong as well. She made me swear it on her last good day, when she could still speak. I won't break that promise".

Her sister nods, swallowing hard against the sob building in her throat. Then she throws her arms around her waist and buries her face in the silk, muffling a small, broken sound. She held her tightly for a long moment, breathing in the familiar scent of chamomile soap, before gently easing her back.

"Be brave for me today" she murmurs "Smile at the feast. Dance with our family. Let everybody see that our house stands tall"

She sniffs, straightens her shoulders with visible effort, and manages a watery smile.

"I will"

The bell begins to toll, deep, resonant, rolling across the valley like distant thunder. The sound vibrates through the stone under her feet.

She walks the long corridor to the great hall, accompanied by her father and two brothers. Her father's hand rests lightly on her elbow, a steady anchor. Her brothers, tall, serious, already in mail beneath their ceremonial tunics, flank them like silent sentinels. The air grows thicker with every step, incense curling from bronze braziers, candles guttering in iron holders, the faint metallic tang of nervous sweat beneath the layers of perfume and oiled leather.

Hundreds of eyes follow her as she enters the hall, southern nobles in the bright velvets and embroidered doublets, northern emissaries in stark black and silver trimmed wolf fur, priests of the Old Flame holding braziers that trail thin threads of blue smoke scented with myrrh and cedar. Murmurs move and crash like waves against the shore.

At the far end of the hall, the groom waits beneath an arch twined with white roses and blackthorn, their thorns catching the torchlight in tiny silver gleams.

Her breath catches involuntary as she sees him. He is not old. He is not monstrous. He is young. He is twenty-one at best, she thinks, perhaps a season or two older than she, and for one stunned heartbeat, she forgets every rumor she has ever heard.

He is tall, lean, young, but already carrying the breadth of shoulders honed by training or battle or both. Hair the color of frost intertwined with silver starlight falls straight to his collarbone, unadorned save for an obsidian circlet that rests against it like a shadow. His face is sharp angled beauty, a nose that might have been carved from marble, a mouth that looks as though it has forgotten how to curve into anything softer than a line. His eyes are the most startling thing, deep crimson irises that made his black pupils look like banked coals about to flare if the wind shifts.

He does not smile. He does not move. He simply watches her approach with an intensity that makes the air feel thinner, as though he is measuring every breath she takes, every subtle shift in her posture.

She keeps walking.

As they near the altar, her father’s grip on her elbow tightens, just enough to slow their pace for a few heartbeats. He leans in, voice pitched so low only she can hear it over the tolling bells and rustle of silk.

“We had no choice, my girl,” he says, rough with the weight of truth. “The south bleeds, the east presses, and this alliance is the only shield we have left. But hear me now, I love you dearly. More than land, more than crowns, more than any treaty. Whatever waits for you beyond this arch, whatever he is, whatever this life becomes, you are never alone. We will be there. Always. If you need us, you call for us and we come. No distance, no border, no king will change that.”

She feels the words settle into her bones like warm iron, solid, unyielding. She turns her head just enough to meet his eyes. They are wet, but steady. The same eyes she sees in the mirror every day.

“I know,” she whispers back. “I love you too.”

He squeezes her elbow once, firm, final, then straightens. They resume walking.

The rest of the aisle seems endless. Each step echoes off the vaulted ceiling. She can feel the weight of every whispered rumor pressing against her ribs like a physical force, yet she lifts her chin higher and meets those crimson eyes without flinching. Let them see. Let them all see that she walks to this fate on her own volition.

When she reaches him, the high priest steps forward, robes whispering against stone, and begins the ancient words that will bind their territories through two lives.

She does not even yet know his name is Sylus Qin, King of Ash and Mist.

She only knows that the most beautiful man she has ever seen is about to become her husband and that the stories were wrong at least about two things. He was not old or an ugly monster at all.

Chapter 2: The road North

They speak their vows in unison. Her voice is clear, carrying easily through the hushed hall. His is low, rough from disuse, each word measured as though pulled from deep water. Afterward there is a feast she barely tastes. King Sylus sits beside her at the high table, spine straight, expression unreadable. He eats little, picks at the venison glazed with mountain berries, sips once from a goblet of spiced tea, cinnamon and clove, while southern lords lean across the table to offer toasts and probing questions. He answers most with single words or nods, his gaze flicking to each speaker like a blade testing an edge.

The ceremony is brief, austere, northern in its deliberate restraint. No laughter rings through the halls, no children throw flower petals giggling handfuls, no musicians play jaunty reels to lighten the solemnity.

There is only the solemn exchange of vows and rings forged from the same vein of the star-metal that runs beneath both lands, cool, faintly luminous bands etched with interlocking dragon and vine motifs.

When King Sylus slides the band onto her finger, his touch is warmer than she expects, deliberate, almost careful as though he fears the heat beneath his skin might sear her. His fingers linger for the briefest second longer than necessary then withdraw.

When a broken baron from the Riverlands rises to toast the "dragon's taming" slurring words with too much merriment, King Sylus's gaze settles on the man. The laughter dies in the baron's throat mid-syllable as he sits abruptly, face paling, and does not speak again. The hall grows quieter after that, conversations dropping to murmurs, silverware clinking more carefully.

When the moon rides high and silver over the battlements, King Sylus rises without fanfare. He offers his arm, no flourish, no ceremony. She takes it. His sleeve is cool silk over muscle that feels like coiled wire, warm beneath the chill fabric. They leave the hall together, his honor guard falling behind them like shadows, black cloaks swallowing the torchlight. No cheering crowds line the path to the stables. No rice or petals are thrown. The southern court watches in hushed curiosity, the northern emissaries bow once, sharply, and turn away.

They reach the courtyard where the horses stand waiting, their breath pluming in the crisp night air. She swallows hard, bracing herself to mount and ride away into the dark without a single backward glance, assuming her family would be kept far from this cold departure.

But before she can reach for the reins, King Sylus stops. He gives a brief, imperceptible nod to his men. Without a word,they quietly step back, melting into the shadows near the gates to give her space. King Sylus follows them, leaving her standing alone in the center of the courtyard. She blinks in surprise, turning to see her father siblings stepping out from the stone archway, their faces soft with an unexpected chance to say goodbye. It is the first surprise of many, a quiet grace note she never anticipated.

Her father steps forward first, his weathered hands trembling slightly as he takes hers, his voice a thick whisper as he tells her to hold fast to her southern warmth, no matter how deep the northern snows. Her brothers and sisterbcrowd in close behind him, abandoning their usual loud banter for quiet, fierce embraces that leave the scent of home lingering on her velvet traveling cloak. There are no grand speeches, just tight grips and heavy hearts, a final anchor to the world she is leaving behind. When she finally steps away, blinking back tears, she feels lighter, fortified for whatever lies ahead.

Turning back to the horses, she finds King Sylus waiting . He steps forward to offer her a hand up, his grip steady and unhurried as she settles into the saddle, allowing her a long moment to gather her reins and her composure

They ride out under stars sharp as knife points. His honor guard is composed of twenty, maybe more hidden in the shadows, they wear black cloaks whose faces she never quite sees beneath, they speak only to their mounts or to one another in low northern dialect. Sylus rides beside her on a tall black stallion whose breath steams in cooling air. He speaks to her only when necessary, voice pitched just for her ears.

The first night is spent in a sheltered hollow hours from her father's keep. Sylus's men pitch two tents, one large for her, one smaller for him as his request and light a single fire. He does not join the soldiers at the flames. Instead, he stands at the edge of the camp, back to the light, staring north as though already seeing the mountains that wait.

She watches and listens to them. Among the twenty or so riders, two stand out immediately, twins, identical in built and features, with dark hair cropped short and matching scars slashing across their left cheeks from some long-ago shared fight. Luke is the steadier one, his voice lower and measured, Kieran is quicker with a grin, his laugh easier to coax. Both move around Sylus with a familiarity that surprises her. There is no deference born of fear, only what looks like deep, unshakable trust. She notices how they never crowd him, yet they orbit to him naturally, seeking his words, his nods, his quiet presence.

She watches for one more moment, a young soldier stumbles while stacking firewood. Kieran catches him, but it is Sylus who steps forward, steadies the boy with a hand on his shoulder, and stays quietly.

"Easy. The night is long enough without broken bones"

The boy nods flushed but grateful. Luke and Kieran exchange a quick look something fond, almost proud, before returning to their tasks. Even without a smile from their king, the twins are relaxed, shoulders loose, voices easy.

She files it away. They are not afraid of him. They trust him.

She approaches him once the others have settled. The air is crisp, scented with pine and distant snow.

"You are not cold?" she asks.

He glances at her "I do not feel it the same way"

She nods, accepting the answer. She does not press. Instead, she sits on a fallen log near the fire, wraps her cloak tighter, and watches the flames. After a long silence, he moves, silent as mist and drapes his thick wolf-fur cloak over her shoulders. It is heavy, warm from his body, smelling faintly of cedar smoke and something sharper, like iron heated and cooled.

"Thank you" she murmurs.

He inclines his head once and returns to his vigil at the camp's site.

She sleeps fitfully that first night, the unfamiliar sounds of the road and the weight of change pressing against her ribs.  She hears him pacing outside hers until the first gray light, boots soft on pine needles, as though standing guard against something only he can sense. When she wakes before dawn, Sylus is already up, saddling horses, checking straps, speaking in low tones to his most trusted two, his captains, Luke and Kieran. He does not look tired. He never seems to. She watches from the tent as Sylus kneels to tighten a loose girth on Kieran's mount. The young soldier starts to protest/

"I can do it, my king" but Sylus silences him with a single raised hand, finishes the task, then stands and claps Kieran once on the shoulder. No words. Kieran straightens, eyes bright with something like gratitude, and murmurs.

"Thank you, sire"

She keeps watching them and sees His brother Luke approaches next with a report on the night watch. Sylus listens, then points north.

"Double the scouts at the ridge tomorrow. No risks"

Luke nods sharply "Understood. We'll keep her safe too" Sylus's gaze flicks briefly toward her tent, almost imperceptibly if you are not looking intently, before returning to Luke.

"All of us" he says quietly.

Luke's mouth quirks in a half-smile and Kieran overhearing, gives a quick thumbs-up from across the camp. The twins move as one, no complaints, no hesitation, full trust, full ease even in the quiet dawn.

The second day the land begins to change. Rolling southern hills give way to sharper ridges, pines darken from green to near black, the sky turns the color of old steel. Sylus rides beside her, never too close, never too far. He speaks only when necessary.

"Are you cold?"

"No"

"Tell me if you are"

She appreciates the economy of it, even if she likes conversation, she appreciates that there are no wasted words, no false solicitude.

She watches him with his men again as they stop midday to water horses. One soldier's mount throws a shoe, Sylus dismounts without hesitation, kneels in the snow, and examines the hoof himself while the man holds the reins. He speaks low to the soldier, words she cannot hear, then rises, fetches a spare shoe from his own saddlebag, and hammers it on with steady, practices strokes. The soldier watches him with open admiration. When it's done, Sylus claps him in the arm and says something short that makes the man laugh, a rare, surprised sound. Sylus does not smile, but the tension in his shoulders seems to ease for a moment.

When he looks toward her and meets her gaze, she realizes she has been staring. She looks away, cheeks warming despite the cold.

He is not what they said. Not entirely she thinks.

That night they camp beside a frozen stream. The guards build a larger fire. Sylus sits apart again, sharpening a dagger with slow, methodical strokes. She brings him a cup of spiced tea, cinnamon and clove, the same blend he drank at the feast. She holds it out without a word.

He pauses, blade still. Takes the cup. Their fingers brush, his cool, hers warm from the fire.

"You remembered" he says.

"I pay attention" she answers.

She sees the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, but something close enough. He drinks, then sets the cup beside him and resumes sharpening. She lingers nearby, not too close and watches the stars emerge. Across the fire, Luke and Kieran are sharing a quiet conversation. She catches a fragment, something about childhood pranks involving stolen apples and before she can stop herself, she leans forward.

"You two grew up together, obviously" she says, smiling. "Any stories I should know before I trust you to guard my back?"

Kieran grins instantly. "Oh, plenty. Luke once convinced our mother that the barn cat had learned to speak. He meowed outside her window for three nights straight until she nearly had the priest in to exorcise the place"

Luke rolls his eyes but there's fondness in it "And you, Kiera, fell into the millpond trying to catch a frog you swore was cursed. Had to fish you out with a rope"

She laughs, bright, surprised. "My brothers once tried to impress girls by juggling flaming torches at a festival. One set his sleeve on fire. I had to douse him with ale"

Kieran laughs outright. "Did it work? The impressing part?"

"Not even a little" she says "But the ale was excellent.

Luke grins "Reminds me of the time Kieran bet he could outdrink the entire garrison on solstice night. He did, then spent the next two days swearing he'd never touch mead again"

Sylus, right then, makes a quiet huff, gone as quickly as it came. She catches it. She glances at him; his head still bent over the dagger.

Kieran notices her looking. "He notices and listens more than he lets on" he says in a stage whisper "Always had. Don't let the silence fool you"

She smiles softly "I'm starting to see that"

Sylus does not acknowledge the conversation, but when she finishes speaking, they fall quiet and he lets out a single "Hm" thoughtful, almost approving, as though turning their words in his mind. After the night is settled and everyone left to their posts, she rises to return to her tent, Sylus stands and walks her to the flap, holding it open until she is inside.

The third day after that brings snow, light at first, then thicker, swirling in gusts that sting her cheeks. Sylus rides closer now, shielding her from the worst of the wind with his own body and cloak. When her mare begins to struggle in deeper drifts, he dismounts without a word, lifts her from the saddle, and sets her on his taller, steadier stallion. He mounts behind her, arms bracketing hers on the reins, and guides them forward.

She feels the heat of him through layers of wool and fur, fever warm, almost startling against the cold. His breath brushes her ear when he speaks.

"Lean back if you tire"

"I'm all right" she says, but she does lean, just a little. He tenses before easing. His chest is solid at her back, a quiet wall against the wind.

The ravine narrows ahead, walls of ice crusted rock rising from both sides. The snow muffles sound, turning the world soft and strange. Then, a low growl cuts through the hush, followed by another and another.

Wolves.

They emerge from the drifts like ghosts, lean, starved, eyes glowing yellow in the gray light. A pack of eight, led by a massive alpha with a notched ear. The horses sidestep, snorting, the men draw steel.

Sylus's voice cuts through the tension, calm, low, carrying without shouting or panic.

"Form up. Protect the center."

Luke and Kieran are already moving, sword out, positioning themselves on either side of their mount. The rest of the guard closes ranks. The alpha lunges first, straight to Sylus's stallion. Sylus meets it midair, one smooth motion as he dismounts, drawing his own blade and drives it down in a single, precise arc. The wolf yelps once and falls, blood streaming on snow. The pack hesitates, then attacks as one.

Sylus moves in a blur, landing between the wolvers and the line of his riders. He does not roar or shift, he simply fights, fast, controlled, lethal. One wolf leaps for Kieran, Sylus intercepts, catching it by the scruff and slamming it to the ground with bone cracking force. Another goes for Luke, Sylus spins, blade flashing, and opens its throat before it can close the distance. A third tries for her horse, Sylus steps in front, arm outstretched, and the beast crashes into him, only to be thrown aside with a twist of his body, landing broken in the snow. The twins fight beside him, Luke steady and methodical, Kieran quick and fierce, but Sylus is the shield. Every move he makes shields them as much as himself. When the alpha's mate charges again, Sylus meets her head on, driving his sword through her chest and pulling it free in one fluid motion. The remaining wolves break, vanishing into the white.

Silence falls, broken only by the horses heavy breathing and the soft platter of boots on snow.

Sylus straightens, wipes his blade clean on a fallen wolf's pelt and sheathes it. He turns first to Luke and Kieran, checks them with a quick glance, sees no wounds, nods one, then he looks at her.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, voice still calm.

She shakes her head, heart pounding. "No. Thank you"

He gives a single nod, then turns to the men. "Clear the path. We move, now"

Luke claps Kieran on the shoulder, Kieran exhales a shaky laugh "Never gets old watching him do that" Kieran mutters. Luke just grins.

She watches Sylus remount behind her, his arms steady again around her, as though the fight was nothing more than a minor interruption. She feels the faint tremor in his hands now, though adrenaline, perhaps, or something deeper. She does not comment, but she leans back a little more against him, and this time he does not tense.

Behind them, she hears Luke murmur to Kieran "Still the same. Always the first in the fight. The last out."

Kieran's quiet reply "Always"

As they ride off again, the ravine widening into open snowfields, she lets her mind turn over what she just saw. He had placed himself between her and the pack without hesitation, between all of them. Not out of duty, not for show. Just… instinct. The way he moved, the way he shielded without a word, the way Luke and Kieran trusted him completely in the chaos,  it stirs something in her. Not fear. Not awe, exactly. Curiosity. Intrigue.

Who is this man who fights like a storm but guards like a wall? Who is he when no one is watching, when there is no enemy, no threat? She wants to know.

She glances sideways at his profile, sharp jaw, eyes fixed on the northern horizon and feels the steady heat of him at her back. For the first time since the wedding, she wonders not what he is, but who.

The road stretches ahead, snow falling softer now. They ride on, the wind at their backs, the future waiting.

On the third morning they crest the last ridge and the Ashen Kingdom spreads below them. Jagged black peaks clawing at a sky the color of bruised steel, valleys thick with dark pine and silver birch, a river like molten metal cutting through stone toward distant mist shrouded fjords. At its heart rises the citadel of Obsidian Reach, towers of volcanic glass that drink the light rather than reflect it, so the entire structure seems to swallow the sun and give back only faint, sullen gleams.

Sylus slows the horse. She feels him sigh against her hair, once, almost inaudible.

"Home" he says.

She turns her head just enough to see his profile, sharp, unreadable, but the tension in his jaw seems to have eased a fraction. She reaches out, rests her hand briefly over his where it holds the reins.

"Thank you" she whispers "For the journey. For everything...so far"

He doesn't answer in words, but his fingers tighten once, gentle, brief, around hers, before he urges the stallion forward.

They descend toward the citadel together, the wind at their backs, the road north no longer separating them.

Chapter 3&4

Masterlist

A/N- Sylus in wolf fur was in this fic was massively inspired by a work of art by @damn-i-exist . I couldn't stop picturing it and had to write it somewhere but adding longer hair, so if you neee to picture it, go see! ➡️ Sylus art

“you should have just quit when i left,” sae said, his tone treating each word like a curse.

at that, rin seemed slightly taken aback. their sister was listening now, arms wrapped tight around the plush dove they’d gotten her for her 5th birthday some years ago.

in a sleepy voice, she called out, “eye..?” and both sae and rin turned their heads to find her bottom lip trembling beneath her round, shiny eyes. “why are you fighting knee?”

the nicknames were insufferable, something she’d picked up as a toddler and refused to let go. rin, or knee, chewed guiltily on his bottom lip as sae, eye, smoothed tension lines out of his forehead.

“go back to sleep,” sae said, his voice momentously softer than if had been a few seconds ago.

the sight of her brows pinching together had both brothers on motion. rin, the closer of the two, picked her up with some effort so she could hug him as sae awkwardly patted her back to calm her sniffles. if would really suck if mom and dad came home to find their youngest crying, especially since she had no filter and would tell them about the fight when they promised to be better.

as she clung to rin, the two met eyes and blinked.

we’re fucked if they come home to her crying.

my thoughts exactly. apologize.

what? i’m not apologizing.

rin widened his eyes and nudged his head toward their sister for emphasis. none of the words were spoken, but after years of being unable to speak to one another properly, they’d mastered the art of silent communication.

sighing, sae patted her once more before clearing his throat to grab her attention. “i’m sorry, rin.”

“apology accepted,” rin replied with a forced grin that barely reached his cheeks, let alone his eyes. “we can be friends again.”

hardly sniffling anymore, she glanced back at the two with a pronounced pout. “no more fighting?”

“no more fighting,”

that was all their sister needed to straighten up in rin’s hold and smile. “ice cream?!”

the boys physically deflated at the sudden burst of energy. “sure.”