Fatal Attraction (3) | Paul Lahote
Pairing: Paul Lahote x Reader
Summary: The battle is ruthless, just as everyone had expected. But bones aren't the only thing that crack.
The moments before war were quiet. Still. It was as if every molecule in the air was paralyzed, creating no movement. You felt suffocated, yet every undead nerve in your body was buzzing with anticipation. The flameproof gloves on your hands let out a small squeak, only audible to a vampire, as you tightened and loosened your fists. The reason for the gloves?
Grip. The skin of a porcelain figure was easier to hold on to with the gloves. Not to mention the heat.
Today would be the first time anyone but the Cullen family or the Volturi saw the power you held. You could feel it sitting in your chest, propelled by the dread and anticipation. It was ready to loose itself. The feral newborns, organized by Riley and Victoria, wouldn't be able to make sense of what they were seeing. They'd be eliminated before they could.
You felt Rosalie beside you, a cold hand meeting your clothed shoulder. Her touch was grounding — cool, elegant, and oddly reassuring. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Her silence was louder than words, laced with quiet solidarity and shared rage. It wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about proving something. To the enemy. To yourselves.
The wolves had begun to form behind the tree line, thick paws silent on the snow-dampened forest floor. You didn’t have to look to know Paul was there. You could feel him — his heat, his presence — burning against your spine even with all that space between you.
Your eyes flicked toward the open field ahead. It felt wrong to call it that. A field. It sounded too peaceful. There would be nothing peaceful about what happened here. You curled your gloved fingers again, listening to the minute sound.
"You good?" Rosalie asked lowly. Her voice was tight with tension, but it had the edge of protectiveness. You and Rosalie had never been soft with each other, but there was respect. And she’d seen what this war meant to you. Now, it wasn't just extending your protection to people that had once been your family. It wasn't just extending your protection to the human woman who'd destroyed your relationship. It was extending your protection to the one fated to be with you.
A wolf, nonetheless. He didn't really need your protection. You knew Paul could handle himself. Him and his pack of dogs were ruthless. It didn't mean the mating bond didn't make you feel like he did — in fact, your skin crawled at the idea of him even being involved. You couldn't help it.
You were sure he felt the same. In fact, you could feel it in the way he watched you. Tracking your every move with dark, brown eyes.
A quiet growl rumbled low from the tree line. Not loud enough for the humans. Not even for the vampires, unless you were listening for it.
You rolled your golden irises, sending a sharp glance his direction, before answering Rose.
"'M alright," you responded, pulling your gloves further up onto your deadly hands. "Just ready to get it over with. It's unfortunate it had to come to this."
Rosalie hummed her agreement, though her expression remained cold and unreadable. Her gaze was already fixed on the shifting silhouettes beyond the trees. “They made their choice,” she said. “Now they’ll see the consequences.”
You didn’t respond. What was there to say? You were tired. Not physically — you hadn’t felt physical exhaustion in a long time — but emotionally. Spiritually. This cycle of blood and vengeance and claiming had worn you thin. The newborns were victims of their own manipulation, but still, they would not leave this field breathing.
You felt Paul’s presence close in again, pressing against the edges of your consciousness like a pulse, a heartbeat not your own. He hadn’t moved, but you could tell he was poised to. Ready to lunge at whatever or whoever dared get near you first.
You sighed, flicking a bit of snow from your glove. “If he growls one more time, I swear—”
“He’s going to combust if you so much as get a scratch,” Rosalie muttered, voice dry.
You scoffed. “We both know I’m the one they should be worried about.”
Your eyes flicked toward her. There was something hard in Rosalie’s face now — something proud. She'd always put herself in front of you, protecting you closely as your best and closest friend, but she knew strength when she saw it. And she knew what it cost you to stand here, for Paul, for the Cullens, for the strange twisted fate you never asked for.
A crack. A blur of movement at the far end of the clearing.
The newborns had arrived.
No more time for dread. No more space for grief.
You turned toward the chaos with a calm that felt entirely foreign. You were done hiding what you were. What you’d become.
Behind you, you heard Paul’s growl deepen into a snarl, the unmistakable sound of his shift beginning.
You saw them approaching, red eyes thirsty for chaos. There were newborns of all kinds — young girls, young boys, grown men and women. All confused about what they were and what they'd experienced. You could feel it, your empathic ways burning the inside of your body. As confused as they were, they were also as rageful as they'd been taught to be.
You watched as Leah Clearwater eviscerated a small girl who'd eagerly reached for her throat, a deafening snarl ripping from her own. First kill. It had officially begun.
The air was filled with snarls and bone-crunching collisions, snow spraying like white fire with each movement. You didn't hesitate. You launched yourself into the fray, a blur of precise, lethal momentum.
You dodged a broad-shouldered newborn who aimed too high, twisting beneath him and gripping his arms — your flameproof gloves sparing your skin from the fire — and ripped them clean from their sockets in one smooth, brutal motion. He collapsed to the ground, howling, only to be silenced by a wolf — Embry, maybe — who tore into his throat with a snarl.
The field was chaos incarnate. Jacob barreled into two enemies at once, sending limbs flying. Rosalie fought beside Emmett, the pair of them a tornado of sheer force and fury. Jasper was methodical, cruelly elegant, dispatching his targets with a grace that looked almost choreographed.
The power building in your chest finally cracked free like a dam breaking, spilling outward in a wave of blistering energy. A newborn lunged toward you and froze midair, his body seizing like he'd hit an invisible wall. His scream was choked, trapped in his throat as his rage turned to blind terror. Your ability turned his aggression against him, amplified it until his mind couldn’t hold. His body burst into flames, melting his jacket, permeating the air with the smell of burning leather.
He hit the snow hard, twitching and trembling, before you snapped his neck with a twist of your boot. Your golden eyes were emotionless, cold.
Another came at you — faster, savvier, but sloppy — and you ducked, grabbed her by the wrist, and let the gloves channel your hold. She struggled, screeched, her panic blooming in your veins. You shoved it back at her tenfold. Her eyes widened, mouth open in a silent scream. She dropped.
You didn’t hesitate. You ended it.
It was going well, newborns getting crushed left and right by older and far more experienced vampires. Their sloppiness, their bloodlust, their hunger was turned against them, causing their instincts to become their own fate.
Although you were focused into sharp precision, you tried to keep a watchful eye on Paul.
The moment you'd been bombarded with four newborns working in a team, though, your watchfulness slipped. A grunt left your lips as you swiftly leapt into the air, mounting the shoulders of one and tearing his head off. Next, you used your momentum to fling his limp body into another, knocking her off balance.
She hissed, lunging for you, but you were faster — ducking beneath her outstretched arms and planting a kick straight into her ribcage, sending her crashing into a nearby boulder with a sickening crack. Her body shattered on impact.
The third one barely had time to blink before your hand was around his throat, your power flaring like wildfire. You didn’t even need to tear him apart — you flooded him with enough dread to paralyze him completely. He groaned in panic as his limbs went up in flames. That moment of hesitation was all you needed. A clean twist. Gone.
The fourth was smarter, staying just outside your range, eyes darting between you and her fallen comrades. She didn’t attack — she ran. You braced for the chase, your lip pulling back into a snarl, but then you heard it.
Agony tore across the battlefield — not human, not vampire. A sound only a wolf could make.
You turned, instincts screaming louder than reason.
Two newborns had him pinned — one latched onto his flank, the other clawing at his shoulder, trying to rip him open. His massive form bucked beneath them, snarling, struggling, blood darkening his fur. But he wasn’t getting free fast enough.
You moved before you could think, a blur of black and vengeance.
“Embry!” you barked, voice slicing through the chaos like a blade. He caught your eyes, understood instantly, and broke from his own fight to follow you.
Together, you hit the newborns with every ounce of fury you had left.
Embry tackled the one on Paul’s back, ripping his throat open with a savage snap. You landed on the other, barehanded now — gloves long forgotten — your fingers digging into his jaw. He screamed, more in confusion than pain, as you flooded his senses with fear and regret so potent he collapsed under the weight of it.
One more twist. One more break. He was done.
You didn’t wait to watch him crumble.
You fell to your knees beside Paul as he shifted back, bloodied and gasping, naked and trembling against the snow. His breaths were ragged, pain carved into every inch of him.
“Hey — hey, Paul. Look at me.” Your voice was lower now, frantic, but controlled. You gripped his jaw gently, trying to ignore the crimson staining your hands. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re gonna be fine.”
His eyes flickered open, glassy and strained.
“You came,” he whispered hoarsely, barely audible.
“You idiot,” you snapped, voice cracking despite yourself. “Of course I came.”
Embry hovered nearby, eyes wide, panic barely masked. “We need Carlisle. Now.”
You nodded. “Go. I’ll keep him awake.”
Embry darted off, but you didn’t tear your gaze away from Paul.
You leaned in, pressing your cold forehead to his burning one. “You’re not dying here,” you whispered fiercely. “You don’t get to scare me like this and then check out. You hear me?”
His bloodied lips curled faintly, a ghost of his usual arrogance. “Still bossy.”
You snort halfheartedly, rolling your eyes. "Yeah. I am."
The thunder of footsteps barely registered as you kept your hands firm against Paul’s bleeding side, your mind a frenzy of panic and desperation. You could hear Embry muttering to Paul, encouraging him to keep his eyes open, but your focus stayed locked on the open gash across his ribs, where angry red muscle met shredded skin. It wasn’t just pain you felt—it was the sickening, molten fear crawling up your spine through the mating bond.
“Move aside,” Carlisle’s voice rang out, calm but urgent.
You shifted immediately, though your hands hovered like you couldn’t bear to let go. Carlisle dropped to his knees beside Paul, his medical bag already in hand. You hadn’t even seen him arrive, but that was Carlisle — quiet, fast, terrifyingly competent.
“I need you to stay calm,” he said without looking at you. “You’re not helping him if you panic.”
You exhaled, sharp and shaky, but nodded. You forced your hands into fists at your sides to keep from reaching for Paul again.
“He lost a lot of blood,” you said, voice low and tight. “Two of them. They blindsided him.”
“I know.” Carlisle’s hands were already working, examining the wounds with surgical precision. “Embry, hold him still.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a curved needle and suture thread.
Paul groaned when the needle bit into his skin, and your knees nearly buckled. You hated this. You hated having a mate. You felt everything they felt, you had an overwhelming urge to protect.
Your fists clenched tighter, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to stay still, to let Carlisle work. But every sound Paul made felt like it was happening to you. The bond flared and sparked in your chest like a live wire, his pain weaving itself into your very marrow.
You swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “It shouldn’t have happened. I should’ve—”
“No,” Carlisle said gently but firmly, finishing the final stitch. “Don’t do that. You saved him. Focus on that.”
You looked down at him, your golden eyes locking with his bloodshot brown ones. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Didn’t mean to,” he muttered, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. “But it’s kinda hot when you go all feral for me.”
You huffed, a weak glare directed at him. “Shut up and stay alive.”
Somehow — somehow — he managed a chuckle, weak and breathless. “Figured… you cared.”
Your throat tightened. “Yeah. Well. I fucking hate it.”
Carlisle's voice cut in, brisk but less urgent now. “Bleeding’s slowing. I’ve stitched him up. He’ll heal — wolves always do. But don’t let him shift for at least twenty-four hours. If he does, he’ll tear the stitches open and we’ll be back to square one.”
Hours later, when the battlefield cleared and the worst was over, you sat at Paul's bedside with the permission of Sam.
He slept, sometimes a small groan slipped from his lips. You felt his warmth, pouring from his unnaturally hot body and seeping into your bones. Your golden eyes analyzed him, looking for any cause for concern.
When you looked at Paul, with the absence of his mouthiness and snide attitude, you felt almost better about the whole imprinting-mating arrangement.
Even bloodied and bandaged, bruises blooming dark along his ribs and arms, Paul looked like something carved from heat and fury — raw, rough, and undeniably alive. His copper-toned skin was slick with sweat, stretched taut over sinew and muscle. Strands of his black hair clung damply to his forehead, disheveled from both battle and fevered tossing in unconsciousness.
There was something about the quiet that made it easier to look at him without the usual firestorm of emotions. No yelling. No bickering. No storming off in opposite directions only to find your way back to each other again. Just silence — and him, lying there in the aftermath.
His chest was rising and falling in shallow, steady breaths. His jaw, normally tight with arrogance or smirking mischief, was slack with sleep. Even the scar just beginning to form beneath the fresh stitches couldn’t mar how peaceful he looked.
You swallowed hard. Your hand hovered over his for a second before you gave in, intertwining your fingers with his. His hand, even while unconscious, shifted slightly — the smallest movement, like his body recognized yours even now.
You hated how your chest ached when you looked at him. How the imprint made every inch of you ache to pull him close and protect him from everything — even the things he was built to fight. You hated how natural it felt to care. How it was no longer about choice, but instinct. Like breathing.
You hated how easily your eyes traced every scar and fresh wound, how your chest clenched tighter each time you counted one. Even still, in all the aftermath — bloodied, battered, breathing — Paul Lahote had never looked more real. More yours.
"You're holding my hand. Didn't even have to force ya." His raspy voice rang out, laced with amusement.
Didn’t snap at him. Didn’t deny it.
Your eyes stayed shut, trying to smother the sudden flare of emotion in your chest — part mortification, part bone-deep relief.
“You were unconscious,” you muttered, your voice lower than usual, hoarse. “Didn’t think you’d wake up to be annoying about it.”
Paul gave a breathy chuckle — more of a wheeze, really — but the sound was warm, familiar. “Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t,” he said, voice cracking slightly.
You opened your eyes and turned your head to find him watching you. Barely, but it was there — the steady weight of his gaze, soft beneath the sharp edges of exhaustion and pain.
He didn’t speak for a moment. Just looked at you — not with the usual bite or smirk, but with something quieter. Something almost hesitant.
Then, in that same rasping voice, he said, “You’re cold.”
You blinked, brows pulling together slightly. “Uh, yeah. Vampire.”
He huffed — a weak laugh that turned into a wince. “Exactly. Cold. You should… maybe get in here.”
He didn’t look at you, suddenly preoccupied with the ceiling. “I’m burning up,” he said, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “Thought maybe your freakish ice-block skin could help break the fever.”
It was such a Paul thing to say — dramatic, stubborn, and absolutely terrible at asking for what he actually wanted.
You didn’t move right away. Your hand was still in his, and his grip hadn’t loosened. If anything, it had grown more certain, more intentional.
“You want me to get in bed with you,” you said flatly.
“I want to not melt into the mattress, yeah,” he muttered, eyes flicking toward you without turning his head. “But if that helps you sleep at night, sure. Let’s pretend it’s just a temperature regulation thing.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight him on it. Didn’t tease, didn’t call him out — not this time.
Carefully, you shifted, slipping out of the chair and easing onto the bed beside him. The moment your body touched his, he sighed — not dramatically, not playfully, just… relief. Quiet, tired relief.
Your palm rested gently against his chest, over the slow thud of his heart. His hand moved, settling around your waist with surprising softness.
Neither of you spoke for a long moment.
Then, just as your eyes began to close, you heard him murmur, barely above a whisper: “You smell like rain.”
You smiled against his shoulder, settling in.
“Try not to drool on me, wolf.”
“Can’t make promises when I’m feverish,” he mumbled, boldly pulling you closer to him.
For a while, the room was filled with nothing but the rhythmic sound of Paul’s breathing and the low hum of the fan overhead. His body radiated heat like a furnace, but your touch didn’t flinch. If anything, the contrast between his feverish warmth and your chilled skin made you more aware of every place your bodies touched — shoulder to chest, thigh to thigh, his arm curled loosely around your waist.
You told yourself it was only temporary. Just until he fell asleep. Just until his fever broke. Just until you could talk yourself out of the weight in your chest that came from being this close to someone who wasn’t supposed to matter this much.
But then his fingers moved, slowly — not with the intention of pulling you closer, but more like he needed to remind himself you were real. That you were there. His hand splayed across the small of your back, fingertips brushing the hem of your shirt.
“I didn’t think you’d say yes,” he said, voice soft, eyes still closed.
“Mm.” He turned his head slightly toward you. “To staying. After everything.”
You exhaled, the sound quieter than a sigh. “You’re not exactly easy to leave.”
A half-smile ghosted across his lips. “Flattered.”
“Don’t be,” you muttered — but your voice was gentler than your words.
There was silence again, but this time it wasn’t empty. It held weight — the kind that filled the room like fog, quiet and creeping and full of things left unsaid.
You stared at the rise and fall of his chest for a long time. Watched the way his lashes rested against his cheeks. Traced, in your mind, the lines of his face — normally sharp with attitude, now softened by exhaustion.
“Can I ask you something?” you said, barely above a whisper.
His eyes opened, a little unfocused. “You just did.”
You rolled your eyes, and he smiled again, smaller this time. Tired, but genuine.
You tried again. “When you imprinted on me… did you hate it?”
His brow furrowed, and for a moment he was quiet.
“No,” he said finally. “I didn’t hate it.”
You didn’t speak — just waited, because you could feel there was more.
“I think I hated how much I felt everything. How fast it hit. How much it scared the hell out of me. You walked into my life and every instinct I had went to war with itself.” His voice dropped again, quieter now. “But no. I never hated you.”
You swallowed hard. “I didn’t hate you either.”
A soft laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Okay — I hated parts of you.”
His hand moved again, up your spine now, gentle and tentative. “Still staying?”
He hummed low in his throat, pressing his cheek against your temple.
“Then I’ll try not to push my luck.”
You didn’t tell him he already had.
Instead, you let your eyes fall closed, the heat of him warming the cold edges of your body, your mind. Your hand found his beneath the blankets and stayed there.
"Name?" He asked, breaking the silence. "It's my turn to ask you something."
You blinked your eyes open at the sudden shift, but the warmth of his voice kept you from moving too much. You were comfortable, more than you expected to be in his presence, and now curiosity piqued.
“What’s the question?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.
His eyes studied you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His hand moved to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. It was so much quieter now — no noise from the battle outside, no tension from before. Just him and you, the quiet weight of everything between you, settling in like it had always belonged there.
“Why?” he asked, the word simple, but there was more to it. “Why stay? Why not walk away like I expected you to?”
Your chest tightened at the question, unsure how to answer. How could you explain that the choice wasn’t as simple as leaving or staying? That something in you just… stayed, no matter how hard you tried to pull away?
“Because...” You took a breath, feeling the weight of the silence hanging between you. “Because I’m here. With you. And for once, it doesn’t feel like I have to fight it. None of it matters — the age old enemies bullshit, the Cullens.. None of it.”
He studied you for a moment, his dark eyes searching, trying to find the answer hidden beneath your words. Then he exhaled, a slow breath, like he’d been holding something in for longer than you could see.
You could feel it in the air, that moment — the subtle shift between tension and something more. Something soft, undeniable. Something you hadn’t expected to feel, not in a thousand years of trying to fight it.
He leaned in slowly, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. There was no rush, no need to say more. The space between you was filled with everything that had been unsaid, everything that had been building since the first time you met.
And then, with the quietest of movements, his lips pressed to yours.
It was soft. Tentative, at first, like both of you were testing the waters. But it deepened, the hesitance melting away as your body instinctively leaned into him. His hand found the curve of your back, pulling you closer, as though the distance between you could no longer exist.
The world outside — the battle, the old grudges, the mess you’d both carried for so long — faded into nothing. It was just the two of you now, in this quiet room, the warmth of his touch and the softness of his kiss pulling you deeper into something more than just the physical. It was comfort. It was home.
And for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to fight it anymore.
He pulled away, nuzzling his nose against the crook of yours. His mannerisms even reminded you of a wolf, nuzzling its snout into its mate.
You giggled quietly, your hand coming up to press against his cheek. The smell of him didn't even bother you anymore — in fact, it naturally faded into something you enjoyed with the help of the mate bond.
He paused at the sound of your soft giggle, his lips curling into a small smile against your skin. There was something about the sound of it — a break from all the tension, the heaviness that had lingered for so long — that made his heart ease just a little more.
His eyes softened, tracing the lines of your face as your hand lingered against his cheek, the warmth of your touch grounding him in a way nothing else could. The connection between you, the bond that had been created so fiercely and unexpectedly, was undeniable now, as natural as breathing.
"You know," you said, amusement lacing your voice and bringing back the soft banter. "For a big, slobbery wolf.. You're not a bad kisser."
Paul's eyes flickered with amusement at the jab, and a low, rumbling chuckle escaped him. His hand found the small of your back, pulling you in just a little closer.
"Slobbery?" He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the hint of a smile. "You're lucky you're cute. Otherwise, I'd have to take that personally."
You grinned, the playful edge to your voice never fading. "I mean, you are a big, slobbery wolf," you teased, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge. "Doesn't exactly scream 'smooth operator,' you know?"
His expression shifted to mock offense, but there was a warmth in his eyes that made it clear he was only pretending. He leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against yours, the kiss lingering just enough to remind you of how natural this felt now. How comfortable.
"I'll have you know," he muttered against your lips, "I could teach you a thing or two about being smooth."
You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide the smile that tugged at your lips. "I think you're doing just fine," you said softly, your voice playful but genuine.
You studied him for a moment, the seriousness of his tone stirring something in your chest. But then he gave you that half-smirk again, the one that made everything feel light again.
"Maybe I'll show you just how smooth I can be, if you’re lucky," he added, voice thick with promise.
A laugh escaped you, and you settled back into him, the rhythm of your heartbeat aligning with his as if you were always meant to fit this way.
"Then you'll have to try harder," you teased, "because I’m not easily impressed."
Paul chuckled low in his throat, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that surprised even him. "Challenge accepted."
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a challenge at all. It felt easy. Natural.
Like everything was falling into place.
The next morning, when you went back home to the Cullens, they instantly smelled the wolf on you.
The moment you walked through the door of the Cullen house, the familiar scent of the air seemed to shift just slightly. A subtle change in the atmosphere, something that was immediately noticeable to anyone who was paying attention.
Alice, of course, was the first to notice. Her sharp eyes locked onto you as you stepped inside, and her lips curled into a knowing grin. "Well, well," she teased, a playful edge to her voice. "Did someone have a very interesting night?"
You froze for just a second, the heat creeping into your cheeks. You didn’t even have to look down to know that the scent of Paul still clung to you, mixed in with your own. The imprint bond was still fresh, stronger than ever, and it left an undeniable trace.
"Please don’t start," you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, but you could feel your face flush deeper.
Jasper raised an eyebrow, giving you a knowing look as he stood up from the couch, his eyes never leaving yours. "It’s not exactly subtle, you know."
You sighed, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. "I didn’t plan for it to be," you shot back, though the way your heart raced said otherwise.
"Mm-hmm." Alice waggled her eyebrows in an exaggerated manner. "And what exactly happened last night, huh? You just happened to get cozy with a hot, muscular wolf who’s been on your mind for weeks?"
You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t stop your smile from widening. "It wasn’t like that," you protested weakly, though deep down, you knew Alice had nailed it.
Emmett, lounging on the arm of the couch, let out a low whistle. "You know," he started with a smirk, "I thought you’d be the one to hold out longer. But hey, who am I to judge? The wolf's got his claws in you now."
"Not funny," you muttered, though the light teasing didn’t bother you as much as it would have before.
"You stayed the night?" Edward asked, his tone more neutral than Alice’s, but there was an amused glint in his eyes as he watched you.
You winced slightly, but your response was straightforward. "Yeah, I stayed. He was… sick. I had to make sure he didn’t burn the house down with his fever."
"Right, sure." Alice’s grin widened. "And you just happened to stay because of his fever, huh?"
You groaned and rubbed your temples. "Alice, please."
But her smile only grew. "It’s okay," she said, her voice mockingly soft. "You don’t need to be shy. We all know what’s going on." She gave you an exaggerated wink. "Just remember to tell me all the juicy details later."
"Not happening," you muttered, though there was no hiding the amusement in your tone now.
"You might want to watch your back, though," Emmett added, his voice playful. "That dog's probably gonna be even more clingy now that you’ve shared a bed with him."
"Emmett," you protested, though you couldn’t deny that the idea made your heart skip a beat. "It wasn't like that!"
"Keep telling yourself that," Alice teased, crossing her arms over her chest. "We’re all just so happy for you."
You shot her a look but couldn’t suppress the smile that played on your lips. "Thanks," you said, a little sarcastically, but the warmth in your voice betrayed you.
And as the teasing continued, it felt strangely comforting. Despite the teasing, despite everything that had changed, it was easy to relax in their presence — to know they weren’t judging you, but just enjoying the newfound dynamic.
They might have been a little over the top with their teasing, but it didn’t matter. You were here, with them, and with Paul. And for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to hide it. You felt okay.
The ache of loneliness subsided. You felt loved.
