#exo romance

But I knew what "figure it out" meant for a selkie. I'd done enough research in the early days of our relationship to understand that saltwater wasn't optional for her. It was survival. The longest she'd ever gone without ocean immersion was three days, during a family emergency, and she'd grown physically ill by the end of it.

That night, while Kira slept, I fell down an internet rabbit hole of marine biology forums, pool installation companies, and increasingly specific searches about artificial ocean environments. By dawn, I had seventeen browser tabs open and a notepad filled with terms like "salinity controllers" and "wave generation systems."

Three days of research convinced me it was possible. A week of price quotes convinced me I was insane. Which is why I found myself sitting across from my brother Mike the following Saturday, trying to explain my plan without sounding completely unhinged.

"You want to build a what?" Mike stared at me over his coffee cup.

"A saltwater pool system. With tides."

"With tides," he repeated slowly. "Like, artificial tides. That you're programming."

"The technology exists. There are companies that specialize in—"

"Emma." Mike set down his cup. "Do you know how much something like that costs?"

I did know. I'd spent the past week getting quotes that made my new salary look suddenly very reasonable. "It's an investment."

"In what, exactly?"

I thought about trying to explain Kira's nature to my relentlessly practical brother, about the way she moved through water like it was another element entirely, about the quiet panic in her eyes when she was away from the ocean for too long. Instead, I said, "In our future."

Mike's skeptical expression told me everything I needed to know about his opinion on my investment strategy, but he didn't push further. By the time I left his apartment, I'd already made my decision. That day, I called Thornfield University to accept their offer, and immediately started looking for houses with very specific requirements.

House hunting with those requirements proved... interesting.

"The pool will need to be at least twelve feet deep," I told our realtor, a cheerful woman named Janet who'd stopped looking surprised by our requests. She clearly didn't understand them, but in the name of pleasing the client, she was rolling with them. I was going to leave her a stellar review.

"And we'll need excellent drainage," Kira added. "For overflow situations."

"Overflow?" Janet's pen paused over her notepad.

"Weather events," I said quickly. "Storm runoff. That sort of thing."

We looked at seventeen houses. Kira rejected most of them quietly—a shake of her head, a gentle "the feng shui is off" that I'd learned meant the place felt wrong for reasons she couldn't explain to humans. I rejected others for practical reasons: neighbors too close, pools too small, soil that wouldn't handle the drainage requirements.

The eighteenth house sat on two acres of rolling hills, with a neglected pool that was exactly the right size and an overgrown garden that hid it from neighboring properties. Kira walked the pool's perimeter twice, then looked up at me with something like hope in her eyes.

"This could work," she said.

We put in an offer that afternoon. While we waited for the paperwork to process, I started interviewing contractors, looking for someone who could handle what I was already thinking of as "Project Ocean."

The contractor, a weathered man named Bill who specialized in "custom aquatic installations," didn't bat an eye when I explained we needed a saltwater system with "tidal simulation capabilities."

"Rich folks and their hobbies," he muttered, but his quote was reasonable and his timeline realistic.

The renovation took six weeks. Six weeks of heavy machinery, daily deliveries of sand and specialized equipment, and increasingly curious neighbors who found reasons to walk their dogs past our house every morning.

"That's quite a project you've got going," said Mrs. Chen from next door, watching a truck deliver what was clearly marine-grade filtration equipment.

"My partner's really into swimming," I said, which was technically true.

The salt deliveries started during week three, before the pool was even finished. Industrial sea salt, delivered monthly in quantities that made the UPS driver do a double-take.

"You running a restaurant or something?" he asked, hefting the fourth fifty-pound box.

"We're just very serious about cooking," I replied.

But as I soon discovered, having salt was only the beginning of the challenge. Getting the water chemistry right proved to be far more complex than I'd anticipated.

Pool salt wasn't ocean salt; it lacked the complex mineral profile that Kira needed. I spent hours on the phone with fellow marine biologists, aquarium specialists, and one very patient woman from the Monterey Bay Aquarium who walked me through proper salinity testing without asking too many questions about why I needed ocean-quality water in a backyard pool.

The first batch was wrong. Too much magnesium, not enough trace minerals. Kira dipped her fingers in and immediately pulled back.

"It's close," she said diplomatically.

The second batch was better, but still artificial-tasting. The third batch made her smile, the first real smile I'd seen since we'd started this project.

"This," she said, "feels like home."

I smiled and nodded, but privately I knew there was still one more element missing. The water might feel right, but it was still motionless, artificial. Real ocean water moved with tides and currents, responding to forces larger than itself. That's when I started researching wave machines, not as part of the official plan, but as my own secret project.

While Kira was at work, I researched tidal patterns and current simulation, diving deep into oceanographic data for the specific coastal region where she'd grown up. I spent evenings programming the system, learning about lunar cycles and how they affected tide timing, about the subtle differences between winter and summer patterns. But the more I researched, the more I realized I needed something no oceanographic database could provide—the specific, intimate knowledge of how those tides had felt to a young selkie growing up in their rhythm.

That's when I decided to call her grandmother.

"You want to know about the tides from Kira's childhood?" Moira's voice carried the salt-and-sage accent of the old country. "That's an odd request, dear."

"It's for a surprise," I said. "Something to remind her of home."

There was a long pause. Then, quietly: "She told me about your pool. About what you're doing for her."

"She did?"

"The children always tell their grandmothers everything, eventually." Another pause. "High tide was always at sunset when she was small. She used to dance in the waves while I made dinner. The moon sets the rhythm, but the land shapes the song. You'll want the primary surge to peak just as the sun touches the horizon."

I spent the next two weeks fine-tuning the wave machine's programming, incorporating Moira's memories with the technical specifications. By the time Bill's crew returned for the final installation phase, I had something I hoped would be more than just artificial waves—I had a piece of Kira's childhood, translated into code and machinery.

The pool was finished on a sunny Thursday afternoon. Kira stood at the edge while Bill's crew made final adjustments to the filtration system, her hands clasped behind her back in a way that meant she was trying not to show how nervous she was.

"All set," Bill announced. "Give it a couple hours for the chemicals to settle, then she's all yours."

After the crew left, Kira and I sat on the deck chairs we'd bought for the occasion, watching the surface of our artificial ocean catch the afternoon light.

"You know," she said carefully, "if this doesn't work—if I can't adapt to it—"

"It'll work."

"But if it doesn't, I don't want you to—"

I reached for her hand. "Kira. It'll work."

She squeezed my fingers. "How can you be so sure?"

I thought about the weeks of research, the phone calls to colleagues, the careful calibration of mineral content and pH levels. About the artificial current, meant to make the pool feel more natural for her.

"I just am," I said, squeezing her hand back. "It will be good, you'll see."

Kira's first swim was tentative. She slipped into the water like she was testing a stranger's hospitality, moving carefully through the artificial currents. I watched from the deck, trying not to hold my breath, as she duck-dove beneath the surface.

She emerged near the pool's center, her seal-sleek skin gleaming in the late afternoon sun. For a moment, she floated motionless. Then she began to swim—long, powerful strokes that ate up the pool's length, turns so fluid they looked choreographed.

Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty. I'd never seen her swim so long in one session, not even in the ocean. When she finally pulled herself out, she was breathing hard but smiling.

"It's good," she said, water dripping from her hair. "It's really good, Emma. The mineral content, the temperature—how did you know?"

"Research," I said. "Lots of research."

She kissed me, tasting of salt and satisfaction. "Thank you."

I watched her happiness over the following days, saw how she moved through our artificial ocean with growing confidence and comfort. But I found myself waiting for the perfect moment to reveal the final surprise: the hidden programming that would transform our pool from a mere saltwater swimming facility into something that might truly feel like home.

Two weeks later, I finished the final calibrations on the wave machine. The programming was complex—lunar cycles and seasonal variations, current patterns that mimicked the specific coastal region where Kira had grown up. I'd even factored in the way her grandmother had described the tides of her childhood, the daily rhythm of waves that surged highest just as the sun touched the horizon.

I waited for the right evening. Full moon, clear skies, Kira floating peacefully in the center of the pool as sunset approached. She was on her back, eyes closed, completely relaxed for the first time since we'd moved inland.

The wave machine activated silently, just as the sun began to paint the sky orange and pink. The first gentle surge lifted Kira slightly, a barely perceptible swell that could have been wind-driven.

But Kira's eyes snapped open.

The second wave was stronger, a rolling motion that carried her toward the pool's shallow end in exactly the rhythm of home. Her expression shifted from confusion to wonder to something deeper—recognition so profound it was almost painful to witness.

"Emma," she whispered, treading water as the artificial tide carried her back toward the deep end. "Emma, how—?"

The waves continued their programmed dance, and I watched three years of homesickness wash out of Kira's face. She moved with the artificial currents like she was remembering a song she'd known since childhood, her body responding to rhythms coded into her very DNA.

"I called your grandmother," I said. "Asked her about the tides from when you were little. High tide at sunset, primary surge as the sun touches the horizon."

Kira's eyes filled with tears that might have been saltwater, might have been emotion. "You programmed our pool to match my birthplace?"

"I programmed our pool to feel like home."

She swam to the pool's edge, pulled herself out, and kissed me with desperate gratitude. "Do you have any idea what this means to me?"

I thought about the months of research, the conversations with marine biologists, the careful attention to details that seemed impossibly specific. About the love that had driven me to recreate an ocean in our backyard, to build a home that honored both our natures.

"I'm starting to," I said.

The months that followed brought their own rhythm. Learning the maintenance schedules, adjusting for seasonal changes, troubleshooting the occasional technical glitch. Our artificial ocean became as much a part of our daily routine as morning coffee or evening news, and somehow more essential than both. I knew the sound of the filtration system cycling, the schedule of salt deliveries, the precise mineral balance to make Kira's eyes light up when she first touched the water each morning.

I learned to love the rhythm of it— the daily testing, the seasonal adjustments, the way the wave machine's cycles became the heartbeat of our home. I grew less self-conscious about explaining the particular requirements of our pool, or our "very serious" swimming hobby.

Kira swam every morning and evening, sometimes alone, sometimes with me paddling alongside her. She didn't laugh at my very human swimming style, though I sometimes caught her lips twisting in amusement.

On full moon nights, she slept floating in the pool's center. In warm weather I'd sleep on one of the lounge chairs on the patio, listening to the sound of artificial waves. In colder weather I'd retreat to our bedroom and watch over her through the large floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Any regrets?" She asked me one night, as we sat on the deck watching the sunset trigger the evening tide cycle.

I thought about the job that had started this whole adventure, about the research opportunities and the career I'd built studying the very creatures my partner belonged to. About the artificial ocean we'd created together, and the way it had become more real to us than any natural body of water.

"Only one," I said.

Her expression grew concerned. "What?"

"I should have installed a hot tub too."

Kira laughed, the sound carrying across our backyard sea like the call of something wild and free. "Soon," she promised.

"Soon," I agreed, and watched the waves carry her home.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Yo, Chen, move your ass!”

“I’m almost there!” This so-called Chen hisses into his phone, tugging me behind him by my arm. He glares back at me when I stumble over a recycling bin. “Shut it.” His grip turns painful when I slow down my pace. He stomps hurriedly down shaded alleyways and dimly lit streets. I'd scoff at his audacity if I wasn’t so busy trying to form a plan to escape and not fall flat on my face in the process.

“Yo bitch.” He throws another nasty look over his shoulder, “keep up, will ya?”

My eyes narrow as I purposely stomp on the back of his foot. “Oops,” I chirp when he yelps, hiding my smirk while he curses and hobbles on one leg. “Guess that’s too close, eh?”

He bares his teeth at me. The smirk quickly falls off my lips when the ground is suddenly approaching my face at an alarming rate.

I brace my hands against the pavement at the last second, but my right arm buckles under my weight, sliding my frantic hands across the rugged surface, scraping against the sidewalk with a painful burn. I groan at the fire hot pain shooting up my forearm.

“Oops,” he mocks, his leather boots stepping into view. He bends down in front of me with a tilt of his head. “Guess that was too soon, huh?” His victory smirk on his curled lips would have been sexy if I didn’t have the urge to punch him in his pretty face.

I keep my eyes on him, slowly bringing myself back to my feet. It takes everything in me to ignore the pulsing pain in my knees and the warm liquid running down my elbow as he stands back to his full height. His unimpressive 5’8 stature seems intimidating while I’m poorly hiding my injured arm behind my back. It doesn't help that he has a tattoo of a snake on his bicep, the green ink peeking out from under the sleeve of his black t-shirt. He’s not tall, but he is buff, and that is enough for me to keep my mouth shut... for now.

He runs his eyes over my quiet defensive stance, his smirk turning even more cruel before he yanks me forward by my injured arm. “If we’re late, that’s your ass.”

I roll my eyes to distract myself from the tears threatening to fall, biting my tongue. My hands and arm throb painfully in sync. That hurt like a bitch and he’s two seconds away from being smacked like one.

After walking a few more empty blocks, the rev of an engine reaches my ears—and it’s not from a car. My heart plummets when the realization sets in and the beaming headlights of shiny black vehicles come into view. Two motorcycles stop a few feet away from us in a deserted parking lot. The riders are wearing black helmets with matching clothes, blending in with the night. Their faces are shaded under the dim light of the moon when they take their helmets off.

Dusk is on the rise, concealing the moon behind thick clouds as the world waits for the sun to peek over the horizon. The darkest hour of the night… Looking around at the buff asshole and two newcomers, I can only hope that I’ll make it to see the sunrise. I swallow my nerves while Chen impatiently drags me over to the others.

The guy on the left is the first one to notice us. He shakes his hair, the brunette strands catching light before he switches off the headlights. He’s tall with beautifully toned skin, whistling when we step off of the sidewalk. “Damn hyung, took you long enough.”

Chen shrugs. “Catching the prize was a bit of a struggle.” He rattles my arm for emphasis, his smirk visible under a flickering streetlight.

“Oh?” The brunette’s eyes trail over me, focusing on my pulsing arm before shifting back to the prick next to me. “Looks a bit like damaged goods, hyung.”

“That wouldn’t be the case if it had acted accordingly.” He shrugs, nonchalantly looking me over.

My eyes and mouth twitch. It is really taking everything in me not to say something.

“Hopefully hyung doesn’t mind,” The other tall guy speaks up, eyeing me warily while I stare at his unnaturally orange hair.

“Byun won’t do shit,” Chen waves him off, pulling me closer to a parked bike three parking spaces away. “He hasn’t before and he won’t start now.”

The orange-top guy starts to reply until a loudly revved engine fills the air, announcing the arrival of more motorcycles entering the deserted parking lot. I glare at the biker driving in front, from his laid back posture alone he must be the leader.

“Baekhyun!” Chen yells into the still night with a cocky grin, laughing gleefully. “So happy for you to finally join us. I feared we’d start without you.”

The leader calmly parks his bike a couple of feet away, pulling off his helmet while the other five bikers join him. I bite my cheek to hold back my gasp when his face is revealed. What I expected was some forty-year-old gang member with a huge tattoo, crooked beard, and salt/pepper hair. Not a twenty-something-year-old with one of the most attractive faces I’ve ever seen in my life.

His light brown hair ruffles in the wind, the salty scent of the sea rolling in. He shakes his bangs out of his eyes, looking at the man next to me with a blank expression on his face. Baekhyun’s eyes slowly follow Chen’s arm down to my own in his tight grasp. His eyes linger on my injured arm, the clench of his jaw and flare of his nostrils has my eyes shooting down to look at it myself.

The sight of blood steadily dripping from my ripped sleeve has me wincing. I bite my lip hard to hold back a pain-filled whimper.

Baekhyun cuts his eyes back to Chen with a murderous glare, “Jongdae.” He hisses venomously.

Chen stiffens, his grip loosening on my arm, “Byun?” He’s caught off guard, the confusion rings loudly in his uncertain voice.

“What the fuck is this?” Baekhyun looks at my arm then at him again, his voice growing louder by the minute. “Why the hell is she bleeding?”

“She wasn’t…” Willing to come? Willing to follow a stranger? Willing to get pulled out of a store for nothing? “Very compliant.”

“And you brought her here anyway?” Baekhyun gives him an incredulous look, his eyes narrowed at the latter’s silence. “What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do.”

I shift on my feet, highly uncomfortable just witnessing this exchange. The other bikers watching them quietly doesn’t calm my nerves in the slightest. I know one thing for certain—the tension can be cut with a knife, and I’m not about to be in the middle of this hell much longer.

“I was walking with her down the street, and she fell.” Chen chooses to say.

I crack my neck when I whip it around to face him. “Really?” I snap. “You purposely yanked me forward and let go, yet dare say I fucking fell?!”

Chen scowls at me. “Well if you weren’t being such a bi‒” He pales when I sense a dark aura behind me.

I turn around to a furious Baekhyun. His brown eyes blaze brightly in anger amongst the pitch darkness of the night, the wind tousling his hair across his forehead. The urge to take a step back is high until I remember who is right behind me. Baekhyun takes one look at me then turns his fire-filled gaze to the fearful man behind me. “I’ll deal with you later.”

I look down at the sudden hand gently grabbing my uninjured arm, meeting Baekhyun’s eyes before he takes a step back. And for some reason; I follow. He keeps his eyes steady on mine before turning to address the others. “I’m calling it off.” His gaze meets every individual one of theirs. “Any objections?”

No one even so much as moves.

Baekhyun firmly nods, peering down at me with a raised brow. “Come with me?” Even while he asks, I’m already being led over to his bike. He grabs his helmet and pauses, turning to me, the dim street lights reflecting the mysterious glint in his brown eyes. “Have you ridden a motorcycle before?”

I look at the bike then back at him, narrowing my eyes. “Are you planning to kill me with it?”

The corner of his lips twitch up, “that’s a no then. May I?”

Eyeing the helmet in his hands, I nod, quickly muttering, “if I die, I’m suing you,” when he starts to place it on my head.

Baekhyun chuckles. “Don’t worry.” He adjusts the helmet with a teasing little grin, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “You’re in good hands.”

“Uh huh—oof!” I yelp when he suddenly lifts me up and sets me on the back of his vehicle—that seems one hundred times more intimidating now that I’m sitting on it. “I swear, Byun, if I fall‒”

“You won’t.” Baekhyun affirms. He throws his leg over the motorcycle and climbs onto it with grace, throwing one last look back at me before starting the engine. It purrs in a way I’ve never heard before. The low, crispy sound vibrates through my entire body when his deep voice reaches my ears. “Hold on tight.”

When he revs the engine, I wrap my arms tightly around his waist. The fear of death is greater than the pulsing of my bleeding arm. We speed out into the street, the others becoming mere specks of shadowy figures in the distance as we go further down the dirt road.

My eyes stay partially closed until I remember that I’m wearing a helmet, and if anyone has to do that its Baekhyun. Which is fucking scary considering the fact that he is the one driving! Steering this two-wheeled vehicle that tilts side to side depending on the gravitational pull of the earth and the wind.

I flinch when we roll over a bump in the road, gripping the front of Baekhyun’s shirt. I can’t tell if it’s the motorcycle or his chuckles causing the vibrations in his chest when I rest my head on his back. The sun is slowly rising, pale light peeking over the horizon. It bounces off of the calm ocean water in the distance. It’s fascinating, how the ocean and the cloudy sky meet, like a snowglobe full of cascading sparkles.

The blur of buildings comes into focus when we slow down, Baekhyun resting his feet on the ground when we reach a red light. Recognizing the slightly run-down buildings, my heart rate picks up. “Baekhyun? Where are we going?” I ask warily. Instead of replying, he pats my clenched fist in a pacifying manner and takes off once the light switches to green.

Gulping down my nerves, I make sure to take note of every street we go down in case I have to hightail my ass out of wherever we are headed. The sight of small brick houses and wide front porches brings a wave of nostalgia over me—and not in a good way. All I can do is hold onto him and hope I stay in one piece until we reach our destination. The weight of my knife concealed in my left boot gives me little reassurance.

We start to slow down on a street that welcomes us with the largest maple tree that I’ve ever seen, followed by small but surprisingly well-kept homes. It’s pretty for the infamous neighborhood that we are in, and the house we stop in front of in particular is the nicest one.

Baekhyun drives up the driveway and parks, getting off the motorcycle with grace before helping me down as well. I flinch when I try to straighten my injured arm. It hurts worse than it did earlier, burning every time my denim jacket sways in the wind and brushes against it. I keep my arm bent at the elbow while clutching it to my chest.

Baekhyun notices but doesn’t say anything. He walks up to the house while I linger behind, taking in the flower-filled yard. Pretty pink roses and beautifully bloomed dandelions take up most of the land. Growing steadily alongside the driveway and sidewalk, their healthy petals awaiting the sunlight.

“Hey.”

Turning back to Baekhyun, he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe of the open door. The sun shines down on his caramel-colored coat, black graphic tee shirt, and leather pants. The more I look at him, the more confused I get. How on earth is he in a bike gang? He has no visible tattoos, no piercings. The only things “gangsta” about him are his sharp brown eyes, confident stance, and authoritative aura.

Baekhyun clears his throat, jolting me from my thoughts. He raises a brow with a tilt of his head, the corner of his lips twitching. “Come in.” He disappears into the house before I can give any sort of reply.

Pulling my phone out of my bra, I snap a picture of the street sign and send it to my friend so they know my whereabouts—just in case. I tuck it back under my shirt and take one last look at the quiet neighborhood before entering the house.

The only way I can describe the interior is warm. With light brown walls and darker carpeted floors. The living room alone is full of worn-in couches with pretty throw blankets. When I start to take off my shoes, Baekhyun pops up, shaking his head, “there’s more dirt on this floor than out in the yard.”

He walks off into another part of the house with his heeled boots and loud footsteps. I spot a bright orange crumpled leaf and a patch of dried grass in the center of the room. Heeding his advice, I take a wary glance at the unlocked door before going to look for him. Walking to the other side of the living room, I’m met with a doorway to the kitchen on my left and a hallway to my right. Finding no sign of Baekhyun in the tidy room, I venture down the hall.

“In here,” he calls out just as I pass the first door on the left.

Backtracking a few steps, I look inside the bathroom while he rummages in the cabinet under the sink. My eyes move back to him when he swears.

“I know I left it somewhere,” he mumbles just as his eyes caught sight of something. With a tug, he pulls back to close the doors, standing up with a familiar red box in his hands. “Have a seat,” he beckons me over, gesturing to the closed toilet lid with his chin.

I settle myself on the cold surface, the white porcelain chilling my skin through my jeans. Watching him carefully while he sets the first-aid kit beside the sink and takes out antibacterial wipes. When he reaches for my arm I flinch back.

Baekhyun gives me a look. “May I?”

Sighing deeply and gritting my teeth, I nod with a roll of my eyes, slowly taking off my ripped jacket and dropping it in the bathtub. I look away when he draws nearer with the wipe, clenching my hand into a fist. The sting brings tears to my eyes.

After what feels like hours, Baekhyun gets to work on the gauze, gently wrapping it around my arm and taping it together. I take a few deep breaths as he moves over to the sink, focusing on the sound of running water instead of the irritated skin of my scratched palms.

“You won’t need stitches,” Baekhyun murmurs thoughtfully, his voice breaking the silence, echoing across the tiled walls of the room. He dries his hands on an indigo blue towel hanging from a high bathroom rack attached to the wall. “...Are you okay?”

The hint of concern in his voice is surprising, it prompts my eyes shift over to him. “Yea—Fuck!” I hiss loudly, quickly bending my elbow back to its position. The tender wound throbs painfully in sync with my racing heartbeat.

His brows raise. He crosses his arms, leaning his hip against the counter and giving me another knowing look. I only glare back at him.

Baekhyun sighs tiredly. “I’ll get you an Advil.” He shakes his head, making his way out of the room and venturing further down the hallway. I clutch my arm to my chest, sending a quick text to my friend to come pick me up. Thankfully she’s right around the block, passing through the neighborhood on her way back home from work.

A smile curls on my lips when she sends a picture of the great maple tree at the nearest red light. The bandages crinkle when I stand up, grabbing my jacket and tentatively closing the first-aid kit before heading back towards the front of the house. Heavy footsteps have my head whipping back around to find Baekhyun in the hallway with a box of Advil in his hands. “Hey,” he cracks an awkward smile, his hair slightly disheveled.

I narrow my eyes at him.

The smile slowly falls off his face. He clears his throat, gesturing to the box in his hand. “I got you the Advil.”

“I see.” I don’t take my eyes off of him for a minute, shifting my weight so I can retrieve my knife if the need arises. His body language is off and his intentions are not clear. I make sure to keep distance between us; I’ve been in this situation a million times before. Whatever he is trying to achieve with this small talk, I am not up for sticking around to find out.

“Do you, uh‒” he runs a hand through his hair. “Do you need a ride?”

“No, I called a friend,” I smile tightly.

“Oh.” His hand falls down to his side. He shoves it into his pocket and outstretches the box in his hand towards me. “Here, half the box is left. You probably need them more than‒” his eyes catch mine and he clears his throat again, “me.”

I look him up and down and carefully take the box from his hand, avoiding making any contact. My lips twitch in a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Thanks.”

Baekhyun nods, shoving both hands in his pockets, the velvet green underside of his coat showing when he parts his lips again. “About what happened earli‒”

The rev of a sports car engine cuts him off. “Hop in, bitch!” my best friend yells, breaking the tranquil atmosphere of this shady neighborhood in the early hours of the morning. “We’re going home!”

I glance at the open door then shoot him a forced, polite smile. “Thanks um… Baekhyun, was it? But there’s my ride. I got to go.”

Baekhyun nods while I make sure I have everything, tucking the box of medicine under my good arm. “See you around,” he speaks up when I’m halfway through the door.

Darting my eyes back to him with my hand on the screen door, I smile my fakest smile, letting it slam shut behind me. “Bye!” With a roll of my eyes, I match down the driveway to my friend’s car and hop in with a passive-aggressive smile.

“What the hell happened to your arm?” she raises a perfectly arched brow.

“A situation you never want to be in while shopping for hairspray, Alison. Now drive.”

Part 1✓ | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 |

While the elders had stayed silent, the parents argued back and forth on how they could rectify the situation, without bothering to listen to the children whose lives they were purposefully trying to ruin for the simple fact that Baekhyun was a gifted male omega with the ability to bear pups. They didn't care that they were trying to break not one, but two bonds. Bonds from the same family. 

It confused Soohee, because she remembered very clearly that Chanyeol had said the whole union between Baekhyun and himself was because they trusted Chanyeol and it was a great way for her father to get a foot into the counsel and influence decisions and laws however he saw fit.  Chanyeol was going to be the next elder and possibly the next head alpha if he could pass the tests that would challenge his strength, his logic, and his wit. And while she worried about her brother being hurt, she believed the man he was with would never hurt him since they were destined mates. And if her father still wanted that in, if he would just listen to Chanyeol, he would know that they were destined mates. 

Soohee had never told her parents or anyone else what happened that night after her party, nor the weekend and the two days after that she was in heat. They were mates, she knew that and still had trouble processing it, but it was a fact she was more than ready to admit. Yet they hadn't mated during her heat, both agreeing that they wanted to wait. Even if they used protection, there wasn't a guarantee it would work or if they would constantly remember the amount of times they would have to have sex. So Chanyeol did his best to pleasure her and help her through her heat and she was so thankful for it. But they still haven't told anyone. Or rather, they were trying, but no one was actually listening to them. 

“Well since your son has been defiled, we will find a new mate for Chanyeol. A better and loyal omega!” Mr. Park grunted out. 

“What?” Chanyeol asked in shock. 

“Excuse me? My son is very much loyal!”

“Lies. He's been defiled by that Chinese vagrant!” Mr. Park growled. “You and your family are so immoral, Mr. Byun, that I'm surprised you're all even allowed to continue to live in this pack. And if your son acts like this, I can't even begin to imagine how your daughter must be, whoring about and asking for any male to fuck her.”

“That’s enough! You are so vile and disgusting, speaking of a child like that!” Mr. Byun shouted. 

“Child?! Child?! She's of age now isn't She? But has that ever stopped her? You don't think we don't hear rumors?”

“What? Soohee, what is talking about?” Mr. Byun asked, furious by all the words being thrown around. 

“I don't know.” Soohee said. “I don't know of rumors. Dad, it's a lie.” She said. 

“Adults don't lie.” Mr. Park snapped at her and she shrunk back. Lies from an adult. She had no idea where he would ever get such information about her. She had never done anything to try and get guys. She had only ever wanted Chanyeol. And even her closest friends knew that. 

“If she says there are none, then there aren't.” Mr. Byun growled. “My daughter is perfect! Maybe it’s your son that is the issue!” He fired back. Another round of shouting began and Soohee had heard enough. She slipped out of her chair and did her best to sneak out of the meeting hall. She thought she was very successful and made it outside with a sigh. 

“For the love of god. Adults are crazy. I don't want to be an adult.” She whined softly. 

“Tell me about it.” 

Soohee jumped and looked over at her brother as he came to sit next to her. “Oppa.” She said gently. “Are you okay? Dad and Mr. Park are blowing everything out of proportion.” She said. 

“I know.” Baekhyun sighed softly and closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead gently. “Like, why are they like this? The elders always preach about destined mates and not interfering and here they are staying quiet while our parents fight to ruin our lives.” 

Soohee stared at him and sighed softly. She reached over and rubbed his back gently and smiled softly. “It'll be okay.” She said softly. “You have your mate. You should go and run off with him. They can't stop you.”

“And leave you?” Baekhyun asked softly. “Disappoint our family? I couldn't.” He said as he looked at her. 

“So you'd rather risk your bond with your mate?” Soohee asked and cocked her head. “Oppa, you're not a disappointment. And I'll be fine.”

“Because you have your mate now.” Baekhyun said and smiled weakly at her. 

“I….what?”

“Don't play dumb.” Baekhyun laughed softly. “I knew the moment I introduced you to Chanyeol that you two were mates.” He said.

“How?”

“Blue eyes are the sign that an alpha has found their mate and imprinted on them. I saw them that day. I knew and I made him promise me he would never try anything with you until you were old enough.” He said. “I had no idea that this stupid union would be done either.” He said and ran a hand through his hair some before groaning. “I don't know what to do Soohee.”

Soohee frowned as she stared at her brother and was gonna answer when another person joined them. 

“Let's go and start our own pack.” Their heads whipped around quickly and stared at Chanyeol in shock. “what?”

“What do you mean what? How can we start our own pack?” Soohee asked, confused. “That's a big task.”

“Yeah and where would we go?” Baekhyun asked and Chanyeol just shrugged. 

“Does it matter? We’ll just go somewhere. The four of us establish our own pack. We'll gather packless shifters and shifters wanting a new pack and just start over fresh.” He said. 

“Do you...do you think we can do it?” Baekhyun asked. 

“Well with Yixing as another alpha, I'm sure we can manage and grow slowly. It might be hard at first. But won't it be worth it?” Chanyeol asked. “They obviously don't care about our wants and needs. Our destinies. So we need to take our lives into our own hands.” He said. His eyes moved from Baekhyun to Soohee and he smiled. He took her hand and held it gently in his, squeezing it gently. 

“Chanyeol.” Soohee whispered softly and smiled.

“It'll be worth it.” Baekhyun agreed and smiled softly at them. “Come on. Let's go.” He said and stood. Soohee looked back at her brother and nodded. She stood, pulling at Chanyeol’s hand and making him stand. “I'll meet you two at Yixing’s. Don't take too long, okay?” He said. 

They nodded and with quick goodbyes, they parted ways, with Soohee going with Chanyeol because she just needed to be with him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Soohee asked as she walked towards Chanyeol’s jeep.

“No. But we have to do what we have to do.” Chanyeol said as he unlocked the doors and climbed into the driver's seat. Soohee sighed and got into the jeep, closing the door before turning to face him. 

“Chanyeol, I'm being serious. I'm still a kid. I'm fresh out of high school, just turned 18 and you want to move to some unknown place and start a pack there. It sounds crazy.” She said, “Are you sure this is something you really want?” Her question was directed towards their current decision but there was an undertone of uncertainty about their relationship. Was she really what he wanted?

Chanyeol sighed softly as he slipped the key into the ignition before turning to face her. “Soohee.” He said gently. He scooted over to her and reached out, his fingers stroking her cheeks gently. “I want to be with you, and only you. And if that means we have to go into the future blind, then I will do it. I love you.” He told her and leaned in, pressing their foreheads together gently. “I've loved you for so long and I've waited for so long. Now I have you, I don't ever want to let you go. Please. Stay with me.”

Soohee stared up into his eyes and felt her heart race at how beautiful and gorgeous they were. And probably because of his words, but mostly due to his eyes. “Of course I'll stay with you.” She said gently. “Why wouldn't I when I have been pinning after Mr. Handsome for so long.” She said with a giggle. Chanyeol smiled softly and leaned forward and kissed her softly. It was soft and quick, but she loved it all the same. 

“Then let's go. And we'll start a new life together and be happy together.” Chanyeol said gently with a smile. Soohee nodded and smiled softly as they pulled back and Chanyeol started the jeep. 

“Everything will be okay, right?” she asked. 

“Of course. Trust me.” 

~*~

“Dad, no! Stop it! Let me go!” Soohee shouted as she struggled in the grips of a few of the male wolves her father had dragged with him. She wasn't sure how they knew their plans or how to find them, but they did. It was probably just their keen sense of smell. That was the only possible reason she could think of, of how they found them this far out of the city. 

“I would expect this kind of thing from Baekhyun, but you? Why Soohee? Why are you going to associate yourselves with these rebels?” Mr. Byun asked as he motioned to her brother. His mate and Chanyeol, all of whom were being detained as well. Though it was taking more people to hold Chanyeol back as he was being scolded so loudly by his father. She could hear every nasty word he was calling her and her brother and she just couldn't take anymore. “Soohee! Answer me!” 

“He's my mate!” the words fell from her lips before she could even stop to fully process her train of thought. The announcement seemed to draw the attention of everyone as they all went silent. 

“Excuse me?” Mr. Park asked, eyes wide. 

“Chanyeol is my mate.” She said softly and jerked herself from the slacking grips of the men. “He is mine, and Baekhyun has found his and the rest of you are acting like spoiled little children!”

“Soohee!” 

“No dad! It's true. You all are supposed to be adults, filled with wisdom that's supposed to help guide your children as they become adults and start their own family. And here you both are, two families that don't give a shit about their own children and are just obsessed with whatever power they can have!” She sneered, disgusted. 

“Byun, put a stop to her before I do.” Mr. Park warned, but was greeted with a very angry growled and rough shove as Chanyeol tore himself from the four men holding him back. Their strength together was nowhere near a match for Chanyeol’s strength when he really used it, like he had in this case. 

“You won't touch her.” Chanyeol growled out as he moved to Soohee and pulled her close to him, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist to protect her. “And she's right. Ever since it was announced what my future status would be, all you or anyone else has ever cared about was that. You held me so high up on a pedestal, out of the reach for anyone you deemed unworthy. You never stopped to ask what I wanted or if I've found my mate. Well, dad, I have. And it's not Baekhyun. It was never Baekhyun and it would be selfish and wrong of me to try and keep him from his own mate.”

“Chanyeol.” Mr. Park floundered for words to speak, but he couldn't even form a decent, coherent sentence. 

“We know who we love, who we are meant to be with, and what we're doing is the only way we can be with them. So either you accept this reality or step aside and let us leave.” Everyone was silent for a long while, staring at the two before looking at the two fathers. 

“Soohee...there was an agreement…”

“And it can still be upheld. Just not with Baekhyun, but me instead. You can still have whatever it is you want. And the rest of us can be happy. The last thing I've ever wanted to do is leave you and mom but I can't live without him. I don't want to feel our bond break. It'll kill me.” she said softly. 

“Don't be so dramatic, it won't kill you if…” Mr. Park started but paused. “You haven't marked her, have you?”

Chanyeol stared at his father intently before moving his hand and lifting her shirt slightly to show the mark he had left on her side. “Three weeks ago, when she went into heat,” he said proudly. “She is mine. Forever.” he announced and pulled her closer as he leaned down slightly to nuzzle her head. 

“Dad please.” Baekhyun whispered. “Just let us be happy.”

Mr. Byun looked between his two children and sighed heavily. “We can't fight it now. A bond has been made, I assume for both of them. The elders wouldn’t take too kindly if we destroyed them for selfish reasons.” he sighed. “And it would hurt me to hurt my children, I should have realized that from the beginning.” he said and walked over to Baekhyun as he was finally released. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Baekhyun said and smiled. “There is no denying, he is the one.” he said and looked over at Yixing. Mr. Byun sighed, nodded and looked over, waving his hand in signal for Yixing to be released. The silent alpha moved to Baekhyun and hugged him tightly, nuzzling against his neck. 

“I suppose I have two unions to prepare for now.” Mr. Byun smiled. “Let's get you all home before your mothers have a fit.”

“Oh...yeah.” Mr. Park cleared his throat. “Chanyeol, I'll need you to-”

“Yeah dad. Don't worry. I'll call her down.” Chanyeol laughed. It was funny to see such a composed man cower in fear at the mention of his angry wife. 

~*~

Soohee smiled as she flopped back on her bed, a laugh leaving her as Chanyeol stumbled out of his pants, hopping around to try and kick off the offending garments before finally flinging it across her room. It hit her closed door and he winced before climbing into her bed. “Are you new to taking off pants?” she asked teasingly. 

“Oh shut up.” Chanyeol chuckled as he laid down next to her and stared at her face. “It's not my fault you have me tripping over my feet.” he teased and chuckled as she blushed. “You're so cute. You know that?” he asked as he reached out and stroked her head and cheek lightly. 

“I can't help but to know it. You tell me all the time.” she said gently as she leaned into the touch. Sighing softly, she leaned in and kissed him, her lips brushing teasingly over his lips every time he dipped in to try and deepen the kiss. A soft giggle left her, followed by Chanyeol’s own growl as he nipped at her bottom lip as Soohee pulled completely back. 

“You are such a tease.” Chanyeol groaned and pouted as he stared at her smiling face. “Soohee.” he whined out and Soohee giggled at it. She reached up and poked his nose lightly. 

“What?” she asked with a smirk. 

“I want a kiss.”

“You just had a kiss.”

“I want another.” he said as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. 

“Don't be greedy.” she teased and Chanyeol huffed. “Oh, aren't you so cute?” she said and pinched his cheek lightly. 

Out of everyone in this building, the last person you wanted to face in the heat of the moment was Oh Sehun. Quickening your pace, you didn’t dare check to see whether he remained in the spot or not, reaching out for the handle to your office and yanking it open.

Before you could spin around and lock the door behind you, it opened again, this time the new arrival clicking it shut with a switch of the lock. You spun towards the corner of your room. “Out.”

“You know I’m not going to do that, Y/N,” Sehun told you, his footsteps slow but steady. “What happened?”

You scoffed, tilting your head in hopes the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks would run back into the ducts and away from humiliating you further. God, you were having the worst luck of your life today.

“Talk to me,” he commanded gently, and you blinked, never imagining that Sehun could speak to you with such reverence. Sehun was your natural rival within these walls, the only other person in this department who matched your skills and tenacity. Whilst you weren’t like most office enemies who slung dirt and tried to upscale the other, you didn’t have a fond relationship with the man either. He was terse with most people in the department, though his smirks were the only sign of his desire to irk you personally. You allowed him to rub you the wrong way often, but you were never one to create a scene, and he knew that. In response to his smirks, you were known to roll your eyes dramatically, a weird sense of camaraderie when you stopped to think about it.

You frankly didn’t want to put any weight into that gentle tone of his right now.

“Y/N, I need to know who did this to you,” he continued, and you paused to frown. Why did Sehun sound so worked up?

Turning slowly, you were surprised by how close the man was to you. His eyes examined you from head to toe as you numbly looked at him, his breath expelling from him momentarily. Then he squared his jaw again, looking as if he would break a molar if he wasn’t careful.

It confused you immensely.

“Who made you cry?”

“I didn’t cry,” you shot back, folding your arms across your chest as armour. You weren’t going into battle with Sehun, but rather, you didn’t want him to look too deeply at your vulnerable state.

Sehun clamped his eyes shut. “I’m going to only ask one more time, Y/N.”

“Why? What will you do if I don’t answer?” you asked, somewhat teasingly. He didn’t take the bait, though his eyes sprung open then, his dark gaze full of certain promises you didn’t want to dig too deep into the meaning of.

Why was Sehun looking like he would fight for your honour in a duel? Your jaw dropped ajar when that realisation hit.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, turning your focus to your desk, and shakily walked towards it. Sehun stepped in your way, and you came up short, your wide gaze being ensnared by his.

“You’re not. No one in this office would ever bring you to your knees. You’re formidable and make people jump into action before you’ve finished giving out orders.”

“You make me sound so badass,” you murmured and stilled entirely when his warm hand suddenly cupped your cheek.

He smiled genuinely. “You are. So, for you to be crying—”

“I’m not crying!” you cut in, pulling your head back a little when his thumb swept under your eye. He held up the moisture he’d captured on the tip of it, and you blanched, diving to your desk for a tissue. Damn him, you were crying.

“Please tell me,” he breathed, his hand reaching out for you again.

Although it was entirely unfamiliar to be touched like this by Sehun, you welcomed the comfort. Emboldened by your acceptance, the tall man stepped closer, his thumb gently rubbing circular patterns on the side of your jaw.

“The head of sales claimed I made an error on the report submitted for the new client we signed up. Considering none of my work is around numbers, but the legal proceedings, I fought back on the topic.”

“And?”

“And both our boss and Luke Devons are patriarchal pieces of shit,” you responded with a forced smile. Sighing, you attempted to divert your gaze from his, but Sehun tilted your chin back to face him. “They insinuated that I was being too emotional about the accusation because I’m female. Which is bullshit because if Kyungsoo went in there and said the same thing as I did, they wouldn’t be dismissing him and thinking the error was because he’s male and in touch with his emotions. I didn’t give them a shred of room to think poorly of me. I stuck to the facts, but it felt like I was being tag teamed. The error isn’t even mine, to begin with.”

Sehun stared at you for an immeasurable moment, jaw working. And then he nodded once. “Let’s go.”

“What? No, Sehun, it’s done. I don’t want to go back into that hell hole of an office today. I just want to gather myself up, accept the blame is on my shoulders and move on. There’s no point fighting this.”

He didn’t respond, his hand slipping down your arm to grab yours. And then he spun, tugging you towards the door. “Sehun!”

“We’re going to HR.”

“Why?!” you hissed exasperatedly, and he threw the door open, storming down the hallway. Well, if you had wanted to avoid the office gossip before, there was no way you would now. Everyone looked up from their desks as Sehun pulled you along behind him, striding confidently into battle.

At some point along the journey, you stopped resisting. At some point, you no longer looked wildly towards the other staff you passed. Instead, you looked up at the strong side-profile of the man ready to battle the flames in your wake. And after a squeeze to his hand, you let it go, marching along beside him.

“Anya, do you have those files I sent over earlier?” Sehun asked as soon as you both stepped into the HR department, your curious glance at Anya being met back with a frown as she nodded blindly at Sehun.

“I’ve been reviewing them. What of it?”

Sehun looked at you when he started talking. “I noticed when I was going over the documents we submitted for the O’Neal project that there was an error from sales. So, I went to sort the problem when I overheard Karen broach this topic with Luke. He said they could dismiss it as their fault and avoid the wrath of the head boss. I didn’t know how Luke planned to do that, but I figured it would be smart business to get a testimony from Karen along with my own to give to HR.”

“Really?” you whispered, and Sehun tersely nodded. You turned to Anya. “I’d like to lay a complaint on Luke Devons then.”

Once you had finished giving over the information to HR, and Anya ensured you they had more than enough grounds to submit an inquiry around business ethics, you stepped out of the office feeling like the weight was gone from your shoulders. Glancing at Sehun, you smiled brightly.

“You’re a scary bastard, you know that? I don’t ever want to cross paths with you.”

“I do,” he replied earnestly, pulling you towards the stairwell doors. When you were both enclosed on the landing, Sehun stepped closer, reaching for your cheek again. Your skin tingled, and you wondered what you could do each day just to get this man to caress you like this.

“You do?” you questioned, remembering his words moments ago.

Sehun nodded. “I want to cross you in all the right ways, Y/N.”

“Huh.”

“No one should diminish your character like that,” he told you, shaking his head, anger flaring his nostrils. “If I didn’t give a shit about my career, I’d find Luke and—”

“You’re very protective,” you cut in with a giggle, biting your bottom lip. “No one messes with your people, huh?”

“You’re mine?” he asked innocently, attempting to keep the smirk from his lips. He failed, and you rolled your eyes instinctively when you saw his lips curl up. Sehun stepped even closer, his chest rising and falling against yours. “I’d like that.”

“Would you?”

He nodded. “I’ve wanted you for a very long time. But I admire you far too much to make you the talk of the office gossip mill.”

“We did see what happened when May started sleeping with Trent,” you agreed loosely, your hands running up his torso and stopping to link behind his neck. “I have to say it’s probably a bit too late for us now. I mean, you did drag me out holding my hand.”

“Did I? A shame I didn’t throw you over my shoulder instead. That would have really got them going,” he replied, his lips almost on top of yours. “I like you a lot, Y/N. Every time you roll your eyes at me, it feels like foreplay.”

“That’s an interesting take.” Your mouth spoke against his, Sehun groaning. He could have captured your lips by now, taken them hostage in a hot embrace. Flicking your eyes to his, you realised he was waiting for you to make the first move, respecting you enough to seek permission.

Pressing your mouth into his firmly, you gasped when he kissed you greedily, his arms winding around your waist and securing you against him. The kiss deepened as your mind ran off with you, imagining Sehun in many new lights and positions. You almost laughed at the sudden change in demeanour. An hour ago, you were in tears and distraught that Sehun had caught you at your weakest. Now, he held you, lifted you up so your strength was acknowledged and rewarded by his kisses. You went from feeling unlucky to surprised by how quickly karma would play out.

Pulling away, you smoothed down his dress shirt you had wrinkled by fisting it and then smiled. “I don’t care what the gossip mill has to say about us.”

“There’s an us now?” he teased, brushing your hair away from your face. “All I had to do was give in to my caveman need to protect you to get you to admit you want me? Damn. I should have figured a way to figuratively beat my chest and roar in—”

“I’m no damsel in distress, Oh Sehun,” you reproached, and he pecked your swollen lips before grinning at you.

“No. You’re one hell of a formidable woman.”

“Who can fight her own battles,” you continued, and Sehun narrowed his gaze reluctantly. You smiled as you reached to link your hands again. “Who was thankful to have you at her side when she needed you.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” he said, puffing his chest, and you laughed whilst shaking your head.

Stepping towards the door, you opened it, tugging Sehun back out with you, uncaring when you crossed paths with other co-workers, their eyes dropping to your linked hands.

If Oh Sehun could be there at your worst, you had no problem with announcing that he’d be at your side for everything else.

_________________

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

As beautiful as the faded stone was in the dimming sunlight, it wasn't only for decoration. There was no promise he had ever been sentient, but you still lit the small tealights - more for the aesthetic, and lifted your hand to the broad expanse of cold stone, unwarmed by the setting sun. You kneeled between two, muscular forearms, the gargoyle perched on thick knuckles, and rested your forehead where the dip of his strong chest fell.

Not that you had a pinch of magic coursing through you, but this ritual was standard practice - nothing more elaborate than a few words whispered. If it failed, you could try harder and seek someone with experience in waking gargoyles.

You hoped he would wake.

Though when you uttered the last word with half in a foreign language, a tongue you weren't familiar with, the candles surrounding you extinguished. Maybe the wind, but you couldn't smother the rush of warmth rising through you.

The sun set slower, like a taunt.

Waiting for the last glimmer of sunshine to fade brought with it a chill, and one you couldn't yet ease without abandoning the creature of stone. To wake him, if he woke at all, and then have him wake from years unconscious and alone would be too cruel, so you tucked your knees against your chest and hunched back against the wall beside him.

The ache in your chest seemed binding as the sky darkened and your breaths began to cloud before you. It wasn't so late you were tired, so you left him with a lingering stare back.

Within the rite, it required the gargoyle to bathe in sunlight. He had only been free of the garage for one afternoon and you had all of tomorrow before repeating the ritual. Simpler than that, even, your pronunciation may have been off.

If he didn't wake tonight, you would try again.

No sound had come yet from the open door in your absence, yet you rushed in making a hot drink. With a blanket and thicker socks, you returned to the cushion beside him, though your presence earned no response; no flitting of those delicately carved wings nor a twitch to the thin tail curled to his back thigh. You resigned yourself to finishing only this drink before locking the door for the night.

It was an hour from sunset with your mug now cold and emptied that you sat up. If he became no more than a decoration to your new home, the gargoyle was still captivating, with curves of precision following the bend to his posture. Mug aside, you leaned closer and touched him for the first time properly bar the ritual, to trace the deep grooves dirtied with years of abandonment along his ridged wings.

Sharp claws pressed to your wrist. Dust clouded your failing sight but through it, you discerned a tremble to the stone, those wings tucked tighter against the large frame now angled towards you.

"You're awake," you whispered. His hand tightened - almost a paw, with a smooth touch of pads along his palm, his fingertips pinching. Slowly so the wholly dark stare could follow, you lifted your other hand to his, carefully easing him off. "You're okay. You've been sleeping for some time. Do you have a name?"

Unmoving, he stared back at you. Only the slight curling of his fingers against yours betrayed him, assuring you he hadn't fallen into a sleep again.

Really, you hadn't anticipated this working. There hadn't been guidance for how to greet newly woken gargoyles, and you couldn't leave now to research, not with his head tilting down in scrutiny.

Even bowed low, he was larger than you.

You introduced yourself quietly and held your breath at the pull of his thick lips when you rose closer. Whatever you whispered worked, be it an assurance of no harm or a promise to be careful, and you brushed your hand against the soft skin of his cheek. It was so soft, you wondered if it nearly felt furred.

His face mimicked that of a canine, with a jaw jutting forward like a smaller snout, his teeth evidently sharper. His nose scrunched back and was far from human, so unlike those eyes widening and focusing on yours when your thumb ran the length of his angular jaw.

When you lifted your hand back to trace the curve of his ears, a deep rumble rose from his chest. The gargoyle trembled and fell into your touch, but you faltered when he spoke in a rough breath, "Galan."

"Galan?"

"My name," he said. "You woke me."

"How do you feel?" Now tracing the two stubs of horns at his temples, his hand curled against yours. "You're supposed to stay in sunlight for a day until you've woken properly. After that, you could stay here on the balcony, or the garage-"

Lengthened claws pricked your palm again. "No."

His immediate aversion to going back twisted your stomach and you nodded. "Or, you could leave. I'll be here. You don't need to decide now."

The angling of his body back captivated you. Galan's strong frame trembled, muscles along his bare chest tensing, but you couldn't help watching as his breath left when finding the clear sky overhead.

"Here."

"You want to stay outside?"

"Tonight," he said, equally as tentative, and his hand squeezed yours. In an echo of you, he looked to the sliding, balcony door. "Go indoors. I will be here."

After waiting since moving in days before for this very moment, the rejection stung, but you left him. It was he who had just woken after however long in the garage, and not your place to demand his energy.

He would be there come tomorrow evening, and when you woke to a bright day, Galan rested in the same position. Crouched onto knuckles again, though his head no longer turned down but up, like his last thought had been to watch the sunrise.

Keeping his awakening to yourself burned the tip of your tongue. Not in doubt of your determination but in disbelief, your friends had never expected anything to come of the ritual should you have gone through with it like you wanted to - like you had, and now you had a new friend at home.

You would tell them soon. Soon, or whenever Galan was comfortable around you, first.

Some small part of you expected to find your balcony empty even before sunset, but he remained there, frozen, long into the evening. Time from returning home passed slowly until you settled in wait on your bed, the door opened just an inch.

The soft gasp and groan from his waking tugged you to stand, but you hesitated. From this angle, through the glass, he was still leaning down, the strain of his consciousness running back through the shaking of his head to the sway of his tail where the tip coiled and unfurled like a clenching fist.

Galan greeted you with a lowering of his head, but you lingered in the doorway until he turned as though to invite you out. Tonight, you didn't sit beside him, but rested by your shoulder to the wall.

Not admiring the deep rise and fall of his shoulders became a difficult task, so instead you stared out to the trees with him.

"How do you feel?"

He spoke hoarsely with a quiver to his voice. "Tired. Thank you."

With a returned, small smile, his revealing the larger curl to his lips, you asked, "how long have you been asleep?"

"Too long."

The night was somehow not as quiet as him, but the silence between you wasn't yet uncomfortable. He continued to shift his balance, and each gentle flutter of his wings let off a slip of old, ingrained dust.

"Galan?" The ear closest to you twitched in such an instinctual reaction, you smiled. "Would you like a bath? I could clean your wings."

When his head twisted back, a wing extending, you were torn between laughing or marveling; formerly at the frown twisting his scrunching face, and the latter for the beauty of his stretched wing, with how it rose into talons at the top of each.

Then, he looked to you. With only a soft nod, he began to rise and crept closer with his frame remaining lowered. Galan paused at the threshold, his arms crossed tight to his chest.

"We usually… usually stay outdoors."

"I can bring up a bucket and sponge, if you'd rather," you offered, only half-serious, and his lips twitched. "I'm asking you indoors. It's okay."

The bathtub wasn't small, but as Galan removed what little clothing he wore from its tie at his hips, somehow pliant though once stone, fitting him in it was harder. He sat angled, one wing curled to his side, the other extended beyond you.

He stiffened at the water filling around him until it began warming with bubbles, and you wetted the flannel. It felt right to begin with his face, but his hand rose to yours before you could, drawn against his cheek with a sharp breath.

"You are so soft," he whispered. "Be careful."

"I won't hurt you, I-"

Galan's almost inaudible laugh rumbled through him. "Careful I do not hurt you. Here," he said, and guided your fingertips to the small horns.

Too breathless even as he returned to hunching over his chest, clinging to the edge of the tub, it was his temple nudging up to your hand drawing you back to present.

"I'll be careful."

With every wringing of the flannel, the water dirtied until you filled the tub several times until it ran clear. Galan's eyelids had fluttered shut not long after you traced the deep lines of his face, reveling in the natural shade of his body emerging. His lips were a shade darker but you forced yourself not to linger.

Rather than risk overstepping - though he assured you with a gentle smile that he didn't mind when you hesitated at his breastbone, you instead sat back on your heels. "Could you turn?" Water nearly overflowed in his haste, until wings spread, translucent beneath the pale bathroom light. "Are they sensitive?"

"Quite. The talons-"

"Galan," you sighed, and his guilty smile fell at your first, gentle touch to the thin membrane. "Did I hurt you?

With a choked hum of denial, you rested your free hand to his bare back. Though as carefully as you could, his muscles still twitched with each run of the flannel, locking tight when you cleaned the hooked talons.

When you began to aimlessly trace them, you retreated to your lounge and left him to finish washing in private. Now, more than anytime before, you wanted to tell your friends - to tell anyone, but that urge hadn't overcome your desire to ease his transition back to living as much as you could, nor would it.

Gratitude rose from a wide smile as Galan emerged, still dripping a little. He could rise to his full height in the living room without tucking back his wings.

Curled to his shoulders, water droplets fell from his hair, and in an effort to convince yourself to look up from the towel at his waist, you asked, "want me to dry your hair?"

No amount of reassurance lured him back indoors, even with the hairdryer on the lowest setting. In his recoiling, his hand had risen not only to defend himself, but to coax you closer to him, and it fell to the heat in your chest how he stood tight to you; your protector.

Instead, you accompanied him outdoors, where Galan sat against your legs and you on a chair. His hair slipped like silk through your fingertips in plaiting it.

"Tell me of yourself," he said after you finished the first, thin plait. Hardly your finest work, but it saved him from the chill in the damp hair this late. "Who am I protecting?"

Whatever little you had to tell him - of the mundanity of your working life, of snatching your dream home and waking him, he listened with delicate twitches of his ears, sometimes brushing to your knuckles.

Leaving him tonight, you were content. Galan rested nearer the balcony, head angled up, but he turned with a smile and a nod when you locked the door.

Since the rite, each passing day had been only sunny and warm. By midday after a warm morning, the sky darkened and only with luck on your side did you snag a rain sheet on your way home from a shop on the way, one large enough to drape over his hunched form. Tucking it to his horns was the most you could do for him then, but come sunset, you were tucking yourself beneath the sheet, too. Galan woke with a soft sigh, far gentler than usual, and his arms swept forward to pull you close before he'd so much as opened his eyes. Your lips parted on a rushing breath with him so close, still rich with the scent of your fruity bath bubbles.

"You will grow ill outside."

"So will you!"

Galan's cheek rubbed against yours before you were both moving, with his free arm now beneath your knees. "I will not. You covered me?"

"From the rain. I didn't want you cold." In the fleeting moment before he lowered you, his arms had tightened. You tucked the sheet against the door. "Were you?"

His throated tightened. "Sorry?"

"Cold," you said. Water glistened in the stray hairs fallen from plaits around his horns. He turned into your hand as you reached to rub the rain from his cheek. "Galan?"

"No. No, I… we don't feel. Not like that."

Your hand fell. "Oh."

"Thank you. I," he paused, and in a sudden and sweeping step closer, curled you into his arms. His head rested to yours and after a deep breath, you embraced him, too. "Thank you."

That little touch played in your thoughts each following night you lured Galan indoors. On nights resting beneath a clearer sky, his wing would curl to you and tuck you close, but it came so naturally that you were often already leaning into him.

Still, he hadn't said anything of his plans; plans to remain or plans to go, and you weren't comfortable bringing them up. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay, and he hadn't made any moves to leave - yet.

Even having a work friend over late one evening, they were gone before sunset so not to overwhelm him, with Galan still startled by your presence so soon after waking, and to maintain this new and precious haven.

That same night, Galan followed you back inside - always coming indoors only at your invitation, before his face scrunched and his tail twitched.

"Smells strong," he'd said, and you struggled not to laugh when he lifted your near emptied wine glass.

Though he had no need for food nor drink, he could still indulge, and you grinned. "Try it." The dark wine painted his lips pink, but it was soon spat back into your glass. "It's an acquired taste."

He handed it to you with an eagerness to be rid of it as you left it by the sink. "Why drink something so… so-"

"Strong? It's for fun, usually. It makes people happy. It makes me want to dance, sometimes," you said, and his wings ruffled slightly. You faltered on your way to sitting down and instead offered him your hand. "Would you like to dance?"

"With you?"

"You won't hurt me, Galan. I might stand on your feet, though."

"How would we dance?"

"However we want to.”

In taking your hand, Galan tucked you close with such grace, you were entirely as ease. Claws traced down your scalp in tucking you beneath his chin, your arms risen to fall around his broad shoulders.

Your dance never amounted to more than a gentle sway until you leaned back. "Spin me out?"

Delicate touches freed you to lure you back again in a blanketed embrace between his wings and his chest. Talons tucked to your shoulders, Galan's body pulled nearer, and with your heart beginning to race, you tiptoed.

"Please," you whispered. "Kiss me."

Stone had never been so warm and soft, his lips fainter than his stuttered breaths. For only a fleeting second, he was there, until he tore away, the balcony door closing at his back.

He left you cold and aching.

With the balcony his safe space, you busied yourself - tried to, though you couldn't stop clinging to the fading warmth of his body pressed so close. Without him here, you fretted over how much of an overstep it was, to use this new relationship, being his only real friend, to feel for him like that.

He had been the one to lean down, but it couldn't undo the ache in your chest.

The balcony was bare when you peeked out to apologise. Nothing replaced him but empty space, no cloud of dust left to signal a recent disappearance.

You slept, but barely. When morning came, you crossed your fingers to your chest.

No stone creature waited for you. The space remained deserted and your composure cracked.

Galan had nowhere else to go - that you knew of. Unless he travelled in the short while you left to bed at night, he could have lost himself.

There wasn't anything you could do but wait. Wait late into the evenings with a blanket gone so long untouched since his wings would cradle you, it felt wrong. Wait from waking until sunset, hoping impossibly that somehow, he would return.

Seven days and seven nights gone, he hadn't.

On the rare occasion you had friends over later than usual - why wouldn't you, now? - one stepped into your bedroom, and your smile faltered when they presumed your ritual hadn't worked to wake him. Neither agreeing nor disagreeing, you only refilled their glass and yours with a white wine instead of red.

The first rainfall from his vanishing came a week and a half from the night you couldn't stop replaying. The rain sheet tucked by the door flapped in the wind as though beckoning you out and wherever he was, you hoped he was safe, but you couldn't rest with the sheet outdoors and tormenting you.

It rained harder on top of the garage. Full of your old boxes and miscellaneous nothings somehow too important to throw away, you winced on hitting something hard a step in and hit the light.

You almost buckled.

Just home from work, you knew he wouldn't wake, not yet, but you ached to hug him close. Galan bowed low in the dark corner but curled into himself, wings risen like a shield.

It could only have been a shield against you.

However long he'd been there, you couldn't snatch this from him. That he had resorted to the garage he loathed sickened you, and rather than lay the sheet nearby, you tucked it away so not to disturb him.

Though in bed before sunset, you weren't asleep.

Distant flapping and a soft rap on your door roused you to turn, but the shadow huddled beneath your rain sheet beckoned you to let him in.

He came inside without needing your welcome, the thin fluff to his arms soaked. The sheet fell with a small puddle formed at the door, freeing the silhouette of wings you missed.

"I'm sorry, Galan," you whispered. When his head tilted, you distanced yourself a step, tucking your hands against your chest to stop yourself reaching for him. "It wasn't fair of me to expect so much of you just from waking. You've hardly been living and to force myself on you, I…"

"I'm your protector."

If he declared himself to be, had he been here the whole time? Your breath caught. "So you'll stay?"

Galan's thin wings bound to his slumped frame. "Who will you protect you from me, if I stay?" His curved ears twitched at your shuffle nearer. "I've never… I've never been with another, not a human."

"You do want me?"

"That was never in question," he muttered, only to stutter on a gasp. Those familiar wings tucked you close and you whimpered at the fluttering kisses against your face. "More than anything, I want you. Is that what you thought?"

"You left after I coerced you into a kiss."

"Coerced? No." When the warmth of his lips brushed to yours, he lifted you to your tiptoes and whispered, "if I were to hurt you-"

"Is that why you left me? Galan," you said, tiptoeing to reach for his turned face. He shuddered at your touch but didn't refuse it, the warmth of his wings now ghosting along your back. "I'm human, but I'm not so breakable. You'd be surprised."

His hands brushed against your waist. "I want you."

"We don't have to rush anything."

"I need you."

Gentle kisses warmed against your cheek, still an avoidance of kissing you how you dreamed. Though with his wings embracing you, Galan followed with your every step, until whining quietly as you settled on the bed before him.

The fabric knotted at his waist almost fell apart from the simplest of tugs, and Galan with it. His sharp teeth bit into his lip and his palms cradled your head.

"I can see you need me," you whispered, and gently lifted your hand to stroke along the thick length of his cock. Ridged and thick, it twitched against your palm and you coaxed a breathless moan from him, stroking the pad of your thumb to its throbbing head. "Is this where you need me?"

His claws pressed enough to your scalp they stung, and he whimpered. "Be careful."

Giant wings unfurled with your lips parting at his tip. Galan's whines became soft groans and he eased your mouth wider, guiding himself against your tongue with a stronger hold. The musk of him had your thighs clenching, gently stroking what you couldn't take.

He held you there, unmoving for a breath, long enough that you squeezed his thigh. Every flick of your tongue weakened his stance, until only the expanse of wings held him upright.

"Please. Please," he rasped, a slight buck to his hips forcing himself deeper to your throat. When your breath caught, his cock twitched, and he cried with your hand rolling his heavy sac. Galan's touch tightened against your temples before he angled himself away, laying you down in the same move. "Enough. Enough of me."

"Enough of- Galan-"

The gargoyle pressed his lips to your navel and tugged at your clothing, an impatient nip to your stomach stinging. He hesitated until you softened, though drawn to the weight of his cock against his stomach, still slick with you.

Not his intention, as you discovered when his hot breaths flushed against your bare heat. With hardly any time to ready yourself, Galan's thick tongue slid up through your folds. You collapsed back against the bed and far harsher than him, tangled your fingers through his hair.

"Good?"

Such a soft laugh sent a tingle deep through you when you lifted your hips for more, curling at your toes when his tongue flicked your flushed bud of nerves.

"Is that good?" Those dark eyes blinked up, only for you to groan and clench around his shoulders. "So ready for me," he gasped, not a second before the length of his tongue eased into your tight slit, an exploration for himself as he groaned.

Somehow crooking, your stomach fluttered at the drag against your body, before you gasped. "Galan, I'm close. I'm so close."

One last hum, the tip curling, and he whispered, "let me see how pretty you are," before sucking against your clit.

The heat overcoming you came hard. Galan stroked along your tense thighs but never sought a breath apart from your heat as you came, sharper gasps torn when he slipped his tongue back into your fluttering channel, chasing the remnants of your orgasm.

Warm kisses peppered from the dip of your navel and to your chest in your high. Galan held your limp legs to his shoulders until the slight stretch burned and you tasted yourself on his lips.

"Need your little body around me," he gasped into your throat. Galan's head dragged against your sensitive clit and again as you bucked. "Gently, I promise."

"I trust you."

"I'll take care of you," he said, lips to the shell of your ear, and the thick head of his cock filled you. Galan's promise of tenderness fell from your thoughts at the near immediate hastening of his pace, his hips rolling deeper until you dizzied. "Oh. Oh. That's it. Feels so good around me. You feel so good, so hot."

His rumbling and the sensation of him rutting in slow, sharp anglings of his hips burned in your stomach. The barely gone orgasm stole your breath and then Galan was filling you again. Faster, deliberately, and deeper.

Shadows cast with his wings spreading wider. Beneath him now, you could only whimper and clutch tight at the sheets. Galan teased you - though hardly intentional, by something so simple as taking your hips in his large hands with a roaming touch, exaggerating the arch of your body when lifting you further off of the bed.

"Kiss me. Kiss me," you whispered, and it was then he paused, his tongue jutted through his lips. The sharper teeth never fazed you and you coaxed him closer with your legs clenching against him, until he stuttered a breath and parted his lips for you. "I need you to touch my clit, please. Make me come again. For you."

"For me," he echoed, a soft rumble vibrating down to your bodies tucked tight together. "Here?"

It wasn't his hand that flicked your bud - both still stroking along your rear, claws tight to your soft skin and flexing with every faster thrust, but the tip to his prehensile tail.

With another stroke from the thicker tip and his lips soft to your flushed nipple, that heat rushed up through you once more. Your breath left you gasping and whimpering into his hair, against his horns, trembling beneath him when you felt his cock stiffening.

"I want to feel you in me," you breathed, and he came with a weak growl.

His hips angled as deep as they could when hot ropes pulsed through you, until he collapsed, wings fallen limp around you. The ache in your legs helped you loosen them to his waist, only to hold him close as he moaned.

Laying over you as he was, you traced the ease to his pale face. Gentle breaths flushed to your breast, his lips risen in a soft smile at your falling touches. Down to the skin between his wings and following the dip of his spine, until tracing the base of his tail, and his hips bucked into you with a softer whine.

With your thighs still slick and your bodies still flush, you felt him throbbing inside you, unhindered by your breathlessness. Galan murmured incoherently before kissing along the column of your throat and slipping his arms beneath you. He laid you carefully beneath him, now propped back against the pillows.

"Need you again," he whispered. His smooth hand framed your cheek and stroked under your blurred eyes. "Want you. Please."

"We've all night," you said quietly. You hugged him close, content to rest for a breath, but he returned a grin.

Once you were there, he went in and sat down as you fiddled with the buttons to set up the proper settings. Minseok waited patiently. After clicking the final button, you sat back to hook your arm around him. "Okay, smile!" The two of you did various poses for each take and each time you held in your laughter at Minseok’s natural cuteness. “You say you don’t like this but you pose even better than I do.” You teased, pressing more buttons before the countdown finishes for the next shot. Minseok rolls his eyes. “Then, I won’t pose anymore.” You scoffed. He was definitely going to pose last minute, his sulkiness never lasted more than a few minutes. Just then, a thought came to you.

Waiting for the seconds to pass by, you pretended to be putting on a peace sign while Minseok sat with his arms folded across his chest and a blank expression on his face. When only 3 seconds were remaining, you grabbed Minseok by the collar and kissed him forcefully.

The sudden attack had him widening his eyes and making a muffled sound in surprise. A split second later the final click sounded through the small room and you let him go, a huge shit eating grin on your face. "Wha- you're so!" Minseok’s face was pink and he blinked rapidly. "Surprise!" You teased as he fanned his face and disapprovingly shook his head. "You're seriously crazy."

Still laughing, you ignored him and reached out for the photos. "Look at your face!" Minseok, still fanning his heated face with one hand, reached out for the photo. "Ah, seriously." He whined once he saw it. In the last photo, his eyes were wide open in shock but his lips were in a pout as if trying to reach out to kiss you better. You howled with laughter. "Your eyes! And your lips are even pouted despite the surprise. Oh my god." Minseok unintentionally pouted again, only this time, it was a pout of embarrassment. You smirked.

He really just kept opening more opportunities for you.