#our sons...

it’s not abnormal for chandler to have the day shift off --- as the eldest and thereby the most experienced bartender, his skills are usually reserved to be scheduled during the night, when the patronage at the pub is exponentially busier than any afternoon or midmorning. what is abnormal, then, is the fact that chandler is choosing to spend his day in a place that is not his apartment. but the weather is holding up today, a bit cold ( though that was never a problem for chandler, thanks to his wolfy internal body temperature ) and chandler feels good, better than he has in a while. perhaps he’ll finish developing one of his plot ideas today, or maybe complete the book of poems he’s been dying to get through ever since buying it. nevertheless, today feels important. 

he’s not quite sure how important the day is until he decides to step foot into a little bookstore on the same street as the pub. chandler rarely explores the human parts of his world but he’s feeling particularly adventurous today, boosted by his confidence, and if he does manage to finish that book -- he figures it ought to be beneficial to begin a new one soon. it’s a minor surprise, as he pushes open the door, to find that the shop doubles as a cafe, a tiny smile pulling onto his lips because chandler is a fan of a good latte or cappuccino every now and then. the line is long, almost out the door but he supposes that he doesn’t mind waiting a bit, fingers moving to pull his phone from his pocket to occupy the time.

miraculously it’s not until he reaches the counter again that chandler’s light eyes look up, met now by a pair of emerald ones that, well, nearly send chandler to the ground. a bubbling rushes into his chest unlike anything he’s ever felt before, almost like a constriction of his heart while it’s also in the middle of bursting. everything in his body is buzzing, and his mind is occupied solely on the being in front of him -- the stranger with the pretty eyes and, as chandler dares to look on, pretty hair and pretty body and pretty everything, damn him. it’s everything chandler can do not to throw up at the flood of emotions, and he feels a bit blinded by the intensity. but it’s... fine, for some reason. everything feels light. new. different, now, that he’s had this sensation. the world is dull in the places that this boy is absent, and light where he’s present. and it’s then that chandler knows what’s come over him: he’s imprinted.