Once upon a time, when he was but a young child -- human, if he remembers correctly -- a traveler had told him he would, one day, find someone he wished to protect above all else -- even his own life. He had spoken of a red string, one that undeniably tied one to their fate, their soulmate. Some strings split and found their homes among multiple people, some frayed and mended themselves together until one was self reliant, but there was always a string. Myles hadn’t believed him at the time, chalking it up to the sentimentality of an old codger.
That is... Until he stumbled into Mohr, a freshly turned werewolf at the young age of eight, with little memory of who he was or where he had come from. He had ignored the words of the old traveler but when he first set eyes on Cyrus...
He knew, then and there, that everything leading up to that point had been for him. Cyrus. At such a young age, Myles didn’t know the urge that called to him to follow the halfling around town. He didn’t know the powers that pressed him forward to crowd around the young boy, ignoring the blatant dislike that he held for the werewolf. Persistence and patience were never something Myles had been good at, but day after day, week after week, he would sit beneath trees and scamper across bridges just to be near Cyrus.
But even a youngling’s patience wanes and before long, Myles could no longer ignore the call of the wolves just beyond the outskirts of Mohr. Time and time again, he would wander away, leaving Cyrus with a brief reprieve from his ever suffocating presence, only to return when the ache for the half-dragon overcame the call of the pack. Days turned to weeks turned to months and years, until it finally clicked into place for Cyrus.
Myles was all too agreeable the first time Cyrus’ lips were offered up to him in uncertain greeting -- it was crossing a line that neither had truly considered, but Myles never was too keen on keeping boundaries, and so he devoured the greeting, swallowed it whole and, in doing so, swallowed Cyrus’ heart.
“ No. You’re just going to go back into your office until you fall asleep again. “
Myles shifts and readjusts Cyrus on his shoulder, large hands running across the other man’s back in a soothing motion -- much like rubbing the back of a baby. His breath releases in a quick succession of barking laughter, though his shoulders remained still so as not to jar his dearest mate.
A smile quirked at the corners of his lips before one of his hands moved further down Cyrus’ back until it rested quite firmly on his rear.
“ Come oooon, bro, let’s go hooooome. “
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