MY CHOICE .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
summary: paul ran from the pull the moment your eyes met, terrified of needing someone that much. but when you disappeared, every instinct screamed to find you. now, standing face to face in the quiet dark, he has to tell you the truth… and hope you choose him, too.
pairing: paul lahote x fem!reader
warnings/notes: ANGST! paul rejecting the imprint, overthinking, hurt feelings, rejection, with happy ending.
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forks was quiet that day. a blanket of fog hung low over the pines, softening the edges of everything it touched. the kind of morning that wrapped itself around you, cool and damp, and made the whole world feel smaller, closer.
you weren’t used to la push yet, not entirely.
you’d only arrived a week ago, a shy visitor from portland sent to spend time with your cousin for the summer. your parents had said it would be good for you, fresh air, family time, a chance to “slow down” and “breathe.”
so far, it had mostly been quiet mornings with tea, long walks by the beach, and awkward hellos from people who seemed to already know your name.
leah had been sweet in her own gruff way. protective, almost, like she knew the quietness in you and didn’t mind filling the silence when you couldn’t find the words. she’d promised things would get better once you met more people. you weren’t so sure.
you definitely hadn’t expected the bonfire.
your cousin had dragged you along. “just a few friends,” leah had said. “low-key. chill.”
she hadn’t mentioned that her “friends” were all ridiculously tall, broad, and built like they belonged in a professional wrestling ring. she hadn’t mentioned that they all looked at you like you were a question they didn’t quite know how to ask. there was tension beneath their smiles, something just under the surface. watchful. careful.
you tried to stay close to leah, quietly sipping the soda she’d handed you, nodding politely when people said hi. embry. jared. quil. they were kind, but there was something strange in the way their eyes lingered on you. not unkind. just… knowing.
you felt it before you even turned your head. a strange pull low in your chest, like your heart recognized something before your brain could catch up. the air around you shifted, heavier, sharper.
you looked up, drawn toward the feeling before you understood it and that’s when you saw him.
he was standing just past the treeline, half shadowed by the trees. his eyes were already on you. dark and intense, burning into you. paul lahote. tall, solid, tense. there was something wild and unsteady in the way he looked at you, making you freeze in confusion.
you didn’t know what to do. you weren’t used to being seen like that. not just looked at, but seen.
his chest rose and fell like he was holding back a hundred words all at once. his eyes, wild and something else, something deeper, flicked over your face like he couldn’t believe you were real.
then his expression cracked.
you saw it in a flicker. his jaw tightened, shoulders coiled like a spring. his gaze faltered, just for a second, and then came back colder, angrier. like he’d built a wall in that single heartbeat.
and just like that, he turned and walked away.
no, stormed away. back into the woods, muscles rigid, hands curled into fists. like just being near you was too much.
you blinked after him, stunned. confused. he hadn’t said a word.
the fire behind you snapped and hissed, but the energy around the group had shifted. subtle, but noticeable. the easy chatter had gone quiet. eyes flicked toward you and quickly away, and you felt the weight of something unspoken settle over the circle.
her face was carefully blank, jaw tight. but when she saw the confusion on your face, she stepped closer and wrapped an arm around your shoulder.
“don’t worry about him,” she said too quickly. “paul’s… complicated.”
you frowned. “did i do something?”
“no. no, it’s not you. he’s just—look, don’t take it personally, okay? you didn’t do anything.”
but her eyes told a different story. she looked unsettled. like something had just happened, something important, and no one was going to explain it to you.
when you glanced around, the others weren’t hiding it as well. like something had just gone wrong and everyone was waiting to see how it would end. jared looked away, he couldn’t meet your eyes. embry gave you a tight, pitying smile. even emily, who you’d just met, reached out and gently touched your arm like she felt bad for you.
your stomach twisted. “what’s going on?”
“nothing,” your cousin said, far too fast.
but then sam stood up. his expression was tight, unreadable, but there was urgency in the way he moved. he didn’t say a word to anyone, just nodded slightly to emily and took off into the trees after paul.
you watched him go, heart thudding against your chest.
whatever just happened, it wasn’t nothing.
and somehow… it had everything to do with you.
paul barely made it into the woods before he felt his lungs cave in.
the moment he stepped out of that circle of firelight and fog, the pressure in his chest exploded. his bones ached with the shift he was holding back, the wolf just beneath his skin clawing to get closer to her. his body trembled as he fought it, the wild heat of the imprint screaming to take over. to run back, to be near her, to touch her.
but he couldn’t. he wouldn’t.
he stumbled deeper into the trees, fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. he could still feel her eyes on him, wide and soft, completely unaware of what she’d just become. what he’d just become.
the world had snapped the second he saw her.
one second, he was just paul lahote. ticking time bomb, loyal pack wolf, constantly on edge. and then she looked up. and it was like something ancient, permanent and inescapable had rooted itself in his chest.
her face. her scent. the way her breath caught when their eyes met. he’d memorized it all in an instant, burned it into his skin. the imprint settled into his bones like a second soul, like a promise etched in blood.
he wanted her. needed her. not in some distant, romantic way. now. urgently. his instincts screamed at him to go back, to find her in that crowd, to stand beside her, to make sure she was warm, safe, happy. it was like his purpose had reformed around her, and it was choking him.
paul growled low in his throat, slamming his fist into the trunk of a cedar tree hard enough to send bark splintering to the ground. he braced his forearm against it, panting, his vision blurry.
you don’t get to have this, he told himself. not you. not someone like you.
he couldn’t imprint. not now. not when he could barely hold himself together on the best of days. not when the people around him flinched when his temper flared. she didn’t know what he was, what he could be. she didn’t know about the blood and the fire and the way he broke things just by breathing too hard.
she didn’t deserve to be chained to that.
“you gonna keep punching trees, or can we talk?”
paul didn’t turn around. he didn’t need to. sam’s voice was quiet, firm. that calm authority that always grounded the rest of them. but paul wasn’t looking to be calmed.
“she’s leah’s cousin,” paul muttered, forehead pressed to the tree bark. “what the hell am i supposed to do with that?”
sam stepped closer, crossing his arms over his chest. “it’s not about what you’re supposed to do. it’s about what already happened.”
paul turned then, face twisted in a snarl. “you don’t get it. i can’t do this. i’m not… i’m not like you, sam. i don’t get to have some neat little fairytale ending with the girl who smiles at me like i’m her whole world.”
“she doesn’t know what happened, paul. she just saw you look at her like she was something awful. and then you walked away.”
“i had to walk away!” paul snapped. “do you have any idea what would’ve happened if i stayed? i could feel it, sam. the shift was right there under my skin. one wrong look from her and i would’ve—” he broke off, shaking his head, breathing hard.
sam’s expression didn’t change. “you wouldn’t have hurt her.”
“i might have scared her,” paul muttered. “i scare everyone eventually.”
silence stretched between them.
sam stepped forward, his voice low but sharper now. “that girl is standing around the fire right now looking hurt and confused. and leah, leah, is trying to smooth it over. do you know how rare that is?”
paul winced. “she doesn’t know.”
“no,” sam said, “but she knows something’s off. and soon she’ll put it together. everyone else already has.”
paul dragged a hand through his hair. his entire body was trembling with restraint, every muscle tight with the effort of staying put. the pull toward you was unbearable. he could feel the distance like a wound. his wolf was snarling just under the surface, demanding to close the space between them.
he didn’t want to imprint.
he didn’t want to be vulnerable.
but most of all… he didn’t want to need someone like this.
“i can’t do this,” he muttered, looking away. “i don’t want to feel like this.”
“like what?” sam’s voice softened, stepping closer. “connected to someone? grounded?”
“weak,” paul bit out. “i’ve spent my whole damn life trying not to need anyone. now one look and i’m—god—” he scrubbed a hand over his face, trembling. “she’s in my head, sam. i can’t stop thinking about her. even now, all i want to do is turn around, walk back, and—”
the confession hung heavy in the silence, raw and aching. it left him exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. his shoulders trembled, hands clenched at his sides, like admitting it out loud had peeled something open inside him.
sam took a slow step forward, his voice steady now, grounded with the kind of weight that came from living through it all.
“you think pushing her away will protect her?” sam asked. “you think rejecting this makes you strong?”
paul’s throat bobbed, a flicker of guilt twisting in his gut.
sam’s voice dropped lower, gentler. “do you know how many of us wish we could find our imprint? how many nights jared spent wondering if it would ever happen? or quil, watching claire grow and hoping that one day she’ll understand what she means to him?”
paul swallowed hard. his heartbeat was thunder in his ears.
sam stepped in front of him now, not forcing confrontation, just offering it.
“you got the one thing that anchors us. that makes the chaos in our heads quiet. and yeah, it’s scary. because suddenly, someone matters more than everything else. more than the anger. more than the wolf. more than the pain.” he paused. “but don’t lie to yourself and call that weakness.”
paul looked away. his hands clenched tighter. “i don’t know if i can do this, sam. i don’t know how to be what she deserves.”
sam’s face shifted. no judgment, no impatience. just understanding.
“then learn,” he said simply. “let her teach you.”
paul’s eyes finally met his. the storm in them hadn’t passed, but it had quieted a little. just a little.
as sam made his way back to the bonfire, paul didn’t move. not yet. but something inside him stirred. less rage now, more ache.
because for the first time in his life… he didn’t want to be alone. even after storming off and swearing he wouldn’t go back, his heart was already turning toward you again. already aching with the need to see your face, to hear you laugh, to make you smile just once, to know you were okay.
the imprint wasn’t just instinct. it wasn’t just biology.
it was devotion. immediate. overwhelming. terrifying.
and as much as paul fought it… he didn’t know how much longer he could stay away.
the bonfire cracked and snapped behind you, but the warmth didn’t reach you. not really.
you sat a little apart from the others, shoulders drawn in, arms wrapped around your knees even though it wasn’t cold. the air still smelled like smoke and cedar and sea spray, but it felt heavier now, like something had settled in the atmosphere after he left. tense. off.
you tried not to look around, but it was impossible not to feel the weight of eyes on you.
they didn’t stare, not outright. no one was cruel about it. it was more like… glances. lingering ones. conversations that dipped into murmurs when you passed. a softness in their voices when they spoke to you, like you were made of glass they didn’t want to tap too hard.
you’d already asked leah twice what was going on. once in a hushed voice while everyone else was distracted, and again more directly when you caught her alone grabbing another soda from the cooler.
“nothing,” she’d said the first time, her tone too quick. too practiced.
the second time, her eyes had flicked away like she couldn’t bear to hold yours. “just… don’t worry about paul. he’s weird sometimes. it’s nothing personal.”
you’d seen the way he looked at you. like the ground had opened up under him. like he’d recognized something in you that shook him.
and then… nothing. no, not nothing. recoil. disgust.
one second you were locked in some unspoken thing, tethered to a look that made your chest tight, and the next, he was gone, disappearing into the trees like you were the last person on earth he wanted to be near.
it had cracked something in you.
you glanced toward the fire where emily sat beside sam, her hand tucked into his like it was always meant to be there. she caught your eye and gave you a gentle smile. too gentle. she’d looked at you like that after paul left too.
you walked up to her a few minutes later, when the laughter had started to pick back up, too loud and too forced to feel real.
“emily,” you said quietly, “can i ask you something?”
she looked up at you, blinking. her smile didn’t fade, but it shifted into something more cautious.
“do you know what happened? with paul. did i do something to him?”
emily’s face softened. too much. like she pitied you.
“no, honey. you didn’t do anything.” she reached out, brushed a bit of windblown hair behind your ear. “he’s just… dealing with something right now. it’s complicated.”
you blinked at her. “but it had to do with me, right?”
her hand dropped. she looked over your shoulder, maybe at leah, maybe at sam. maybe hoping someone else would step in.
you nodded slowly, the burn rising in your throat before you could stop it. “okay.”
you turned before she could say anything else. you didn’t want another soft look or quiet murmur. you didn’t want to be handled like something fragile.
you just wanted to not be the girl everyone was watching.
the forest path behind the beach was dark and a little uneven, but you didn’t care. you stepped away from the firelight and let the shadows swallow you. the fog clung to your skin, cooling the flush in your cheeks as you walked farther from the noise, from the stares, from the answers no one would give you.
you didn’t know what you were walking towards to, only what you were trying to get away from.
and still… in the back of your mind, you felt it.
the strange ache in your chest that had started the moment his eyes met yours.
you didn’t understand it. but it was there.
and no matter how far you walked, it didn’t let go.
paul hadn’t made it past the edge of the tree line before he turned around.
he was still shaking, jaw tight and shoulders hunched with tension, but sam’s words echoed louder than the wind through the branches.
it had sunk in. not all the way. not enough to make the fear vanish, but enough to make the guilt twist sharper.
he needed to go back. needed to see her again, even if he still didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about it.
but when he stepped out of the trees, the bonfire was different.
he looked once, then again, scanning faces too quickly. everyone else was still there, leah standing stiff near the cooler, emily laughing softly beside sam, embry tossing something into the fire, but you were gone.
his heart dropped into his stomach.
“where is she?” he asked immediately, storming toward the group like a stormcloud with legs.
leah’s head snapped up. she narrowed her eyes. “why do you care?”
“leah.” his voice cracked with urgency. “where did she go?”
leah hesitated just a moment too long.
“she left,” she said finally. “took off maybe ten minutes ago.”
paul’s blood turned ice cold.
“you let her go alone?” he snapped, already moving.
“she wanted to be alone,” leah hissed, stepping in front of him. “she was upset, paul. you embarrassed her in front of everyone and stormed off like she was radioactive. i tried to help, but what the hell was i supposed to say?”
paul’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
the forest swallowed him in seconds.
he didn’t shift. not yet. his skin was buzzing, his bones burning beneath the surface, but he kept to two legs, pushing through the underbrush, scanning everything. the fog was denser in the trees, curling between trunks like smoke. it made it harder to see, harder to breathe.
her scent was faint, carried on the breeze and tangled with cedar and moss, but it was there.
his boots pounded against the damp forest floor, heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. his breath came in sharp bursts.
he didn’t even know what he was going to say when he found her.
only that he had to find her.
because the bond was driving him mad, clawing at his insides, begging for her presence. being away from her was like trying to breathe underwater, like holding his hand too close to a fire and trying not to flinch.
every second she was gone was a second too long.
paul hadn’t realized how unbearable the distance would feel until she was no longer in sight. until the fire crackled behind him and her presence wasn’t there to pull at his bones. he hadn’t realized the ache of it. how loud the absence could be.
he’d pushed you away, terrified of needing someone the way he already needed you. terrified of what it meant to be known. what it meant to love someone when everything inside him still felt like a broken fuse, sparking and dangerous. he wasn’t gentle. he didn’t know how to be gentle.
but the thought of you out here now, alone, wandering these woods with questions no one would answer, hurt because he had flinched and fled like a coward. god, it made something primal claw up his throat. it made the wolf in him rise, furious and shaking and desperate to find you.
his muscles burned as he ran, breath sharp in his chest. fog pressed against his skin like damp hands, tree branches slashing at his arms and legs, but he didn’t feel any of it. not really. his whole body was a compass now, every sense honed, every instinct screaming find her, fix this, don’t let her think she was unwanted.
“come on, come on,” he muttered, half a growl, his voice rough with panic. “where are you, where are you—”
a thread of her scent. warm, familiar, aching like a bruise he couldn’t stop pressing on. it drifted from the north, just beyond the ridge. fresh. close.
he broke into a full sprint.
nothing else mattered. not the sting in his lungs or the way the forest blurred at the edges of his vision. not the memory of what sam had said or the fear still snarling in his ribs. he didn’t care if he was still a mess. he didn’t care if he had no idea how to love someone without breaking everything he touched.
he just needed you to be okay.
snd more than that, he needed to fix it. the look on your face before he ran. that soft, confused hurt that had cut deeper than any of the pain his body had ever known. the way your mouth had parted like you were going to say something, and he hadn’t even waited to hear it.
he couldn’t bear it. not now. not again.
the path had long since disappeared behind you, swallowed by the trees and fog. you weren’t sure how far you’d walked. the sounds of the bonfire were long gone, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves underfoot, the distant creak of branches, and the quiet hush of the ocean just barely audible through the woods.
you weren’t scared. not exactly.
but the silence pressed against your thoughts, and it was getting harder to keep them in check.
you wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, fingers digging into your sleeves like you could hold yourself together if you just clung hard enough. you stared at the ground as you walked, your steps slow and meandering, like you didn’t know whether you were trying to go somewhere or just get away from where you’d been.
the look he gave you kept flashing behind your eyes. that… flinch. the way he looked at you like you were something he hadn’t meant to see, hadn’t wanted to feel. like something cracked open inside him, and he hated it.
and no one would explain it.
not leah. not emily. not a single one of them.
it wasn’t even about paul anymore. not entirely. it was the silence. the pity. like you were the last one to get the joke and they’d already moved on to laughing about something else.
your chest felt too tight, like there wasn’t enough room inside you for the confusion and the humiliation all tangled up together. you sniffed, blinking hard, and kicked at a loose rock on the trail, watching it tumble into the fog-damp underbrush.
you hadn’t meant to cry. it felt stupid. you didn’t even know him. paul lahote, with the sharp jaw and the wildfire stare, but the second he looked at you, something happened. something strange and deep and real that reached into your ribs and curled around your heart like a second pulse.
and he’d run from it like it disgusted him.
but the weight came with you anyway, curling in your stomach, dragging down your limbs. it felt like you were walking underwater, like your body didn’t quite believe your legs could carry all this sadness without giving out.
maybe you were being too sensitive. maybe there was something you didn’t understand.
but none of that changed the ache in your chest or the way your throat tightened as you wiped a hand across the corner of your eye, quietly, angrily.
you didn’t even know him but you’d never felt more unwanted.
and it hurt in a place you hadn’t known existed until now.
you didn’t hear him at first, not over the crunch of your own footsteps or the tight rhythm of your breath. the air around you had gone thick and quiet, the kind of silence that made your skin prickle. even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
a flash of movement through the trees. heavy, fast, too fast to be human.
you stopped walking. your heart stuttered.
another rustle, louder this time, like something big was cutting a path through the underbrush behind you, not bothering to move quietly.
and when it stoped, panic bloomed for a second, sharp and cold in your gut.
silence again. you turned, pulse kicking up as your eyes scanned the trees.
he stumbled into view just beyond the tree line, his chest heaving like he’d run the whole forest to get to you. his shirt clung to his frame with sweat, and his hair was a tousled mess, streaked with salt and wind. leaves stuck to his shoulders. there was a scratch blooming red along one forearm, dirt smudged along the side of his neck like he hadn’t even noticed crashing through brush to get here.
wrecked. raw. desperate. they didn’t just look at you; they clung to you. like he couldn’t decide whether to fall apart or throw himself at your feet. desperation carved into every line of his expression.
“hey,” he breathed, voice low and raw.
you didn’t move. didn’t breathe. you couldn’t. your feet felt rooted, arms still wrapped around yourself like armor.
he stepped forward once, carefully, like you were a deer he might spook.
“i- i didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice lower now, steadier but still rough around the edges, like it had been scraped raw by whatever storm he’d been running through to get to you.
you swallowed, eyes narrowing slightly. “what are you doing here?”
paul exhaled, chest still heaving. “i had to find you,” he said, like the words had been sitting in his throat the whole time. “i couldn’t—i never should’ve walked away like that.”
you stared at him, that burning ache still lodged somewhere behind your ribs. “why?” you asked quietly. “you suddenly realize i’m not some kind of curse?”
his face twisted, like the words physically hurt him. “no, god, no. it was never that.”
you crossed your arms tightly, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “sure felt like it.”
paul flinched and stepped forward slowly, cautiously, his hands half-lifted like he was approaching something fragile. “i know,” he said. “i know how it looked. i just… it hit me too fast. too hard. i didn’t know how to process it—”
you blinked, trying to steady the pulse thudding in your ears. “process what?”
he hesitated, glancing away, like he was searching for words that wouldn’t scare you more than the silence already had.
“you felt it, didn’t you?” paul asked, his voice barely more than a breath, hoarse and unsure, like he was afraid to say it too loud in case the words shattered something between you.
you looked at him, heart still pounding in your chest, but you couldn’t say anything right away. you didn’t know what to say. because yes, something had happened. something had shifted. but the moment had been so brief, so strange. shadowed by that look of fury on his face, and then the way he’d vanished without a word. it left too many jagged edges for you to know what the truth was.
“…i don’t know what i felt,” you admitted, your voice quiet, careful.
but paul didn’t look disappointed.
instead, he nodded like he understood that answer better than any other. “but something changed,” he said gently, taking a small step forward, like he didn’t want to spook you. “when i looked at you. it wasn’t just you. it hit me too.”
you swallowed thickly, a strange heat blooming in your chest. “paul…” you said, hesitant, wary, “what is this? what’s going on? everyone at the bonfire was acting like they knew something. like they felt sorry for me. i don’t understand why.”
he let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair, muscles tense under his shirt like he was barely holding himself together. “you’re not crazy for feeling what you felt,” he said softly. “and you’re not wrong for being confused. i should’ve told you earlier, the moment it happened, but i panicked— i barely understand it myself.”
you said nothing, just watched him. waiting.
“there’s something you don’t know about me,” he said, voice low. “about the people you saw at that bonfire. leah. sam. all of us. we’re not exactly… normal.”
he rubbed at the back of his neck, clearly struggling to find the right words. “it’s gonna sound insane, but i need you to trust me. i swear i’m telling you the truth.”
you nodded slowly. “okay.”
“we’re shape-shifters,” he said finally. “we change, shift, into wolves. it’s in our blood. part of who we are. it starts when we hit a certain point in our lives, usually when there’s danger nearby.”
your breath caught in your throat. you stared at him, not laughing, not scoffing, just listening, because for some reason, deep down, part of you already believed it.
paul glanced away for a moment, then back at you. “and when we shift, sometimes… something happens. it’s rare, but it’s real. it’s called imprinting. and it’s not something we control. it’s like, our entire soul just… chooses. automatically. completely.”
your mouth went dry. “you’re saying that… what happened at the bonfire was…?”
his eyes met yours again, and this time they were stripped bare of all the fire, all the anger, all the hardness. what was left was terrifying in its honesty.
“it was you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “the second i saw you. it wasn’t just a pull. it was like the whole damn world stopped fighting me. for the first time, i wasn’t angry. i wasn’t lost. everything just… locked into place. like i’d spent my whole life off balance, and one look at you and gravity finally made sense.”
you said nothing for a long moment. you didn’t know what to say. it was too much, and yet something inside you knew it was real.
“and i left because i panicked,” he said, guilt coating every word. “i felt something i’ve never felt before, something huge. and i knew that if i stayed, if i let myself near you, i wouldn’t be able to walk away. and i didn’t want to mess this up. i didn’t want to… ruin you. so i did what I always do when i’m scared.”
he looked at the ground, jaw clenched, and then met your eyes again.
you stood there, blinking, chest heavy with emotion and confusion and something that felt suspiciously like hope curling at the edges of your ribs.
“why come back?” you asked, voice barely audible.
“because i couldn’t stay away,” paul took another step forward, slow and careful, his voice trembling but firm. “because the second i walked away, i knew i couldn’t live with not trying. not fighting for a chance to get to know you. to be with you.”
your lips parted slightly, but no words came. his voice, low, broken in places, wrapped around your ribs, tugged tight.
his eyes searched for yours in the most intimate way. “but i need you to know.” he continued, gentler now, his voice growing steadier, “i came back, not because i had no choice. i came back because i chose this. i chose you.”
your heart clenched. the wind stirred your hair. everything else was silent.
he exhaled, shoulders heavy with the weight of it all. “this is mine to carry, but it’s yours to accept or not. you don’t owe me anything. i just needed you to hear it, from me.”
you watched the way his throat worked when he swallowed hard, the faint tremor in his hands as he slowly lifted one of them, offering. not reaching. just… waiting.
“i don’t know how to do this perfectly.” he admited. “i don’t even know how to be what you need. but if you let me, if you want me to, i’ll try. i’ll explain everything. i’ll answer whatever you want. just… please, choose me too.”
silence stretched between you for a beat. then two.
your chest rose and fell, the ache still sitting there, but quieter now. the fear hadn’t vanished, but it had softened. because for the first time that night, someone wasn’t treating you like a secret, or a mistake, or a consequence. he was just standing there. open, terrified, trying.
and you had felt it. the pull. the shift. the universe changing its shape the moment your eyes met his.
you took a breath, stepped forward, and slowly, finally, put your hand in his.
paul’s shoulders sagged with quiet relief, and something in his eyes lit up. his fingers closed around yours gently, like he didn’t quite believe you were real yet.
“i don’t know what i’m doing either,” you whispered. “but… i don’t want to walk away from it. i choose this too.”
a flicker of a smile tugged at his mouth. tired, but real. “we will figure it out. together.”
and under the hush of trees and starlight, with your hand in his and the weight of something new settling softly between you, you realized:
whatever this was, whatever it would become, it was already changing you both.
