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"It’s a compliment," Asher said, trying.. and failing to hide the small smile tugging at his lips after Kaito’s comment. "There’s nothing wrong with my fashion sense," he added. "It’s just that my clothes tend to tear or rip whenever I have to transform suddenly. I’d rather not get moody every time that happens, so plain clothes are just easier to replace." He spoke honestly, not really minding sharing that piece of himself. It wasn’t hard to like Kaito. Although if Asher ever admitted that to another werewolf, they’d think he was out of his mind. The past few days with the mage hadn’t been nearly as unbearable as he’d expected. In fact, Kaito had quietly filled the silence of Asher’s grief with something like warmth, a steady presence that made the seclusion a little less heavy. More than once, Asher had considered asking Kaito for help with the book he’d been studying. He just hadn’t brought himself to actually do it yet. ["Okay, verdict time,"] Kaito said, cutting through his thoughts. ["Too much color for you, or do we risk shocking your system with something that isn’t grayscale?"] Asher blinked, drawn back to reality. Kaito was holding up a shirt, a warm shade of rust-red, soft-looking fabric that practically radiated comfort. "The color’s nice," Asher admitted. "I think it would suit you. And for the record, I’m not afraid of color. It’s just… easier to buy plain shirts when the old ones rip." He shook his head, the corners of his mouth betraying him this time. It was ridiculous how the conversation had turned into a debate about his lackluster wardrobe. ["You don’t always have to be on guard," Kaito said, his tone gentler now. "I mean, I know you probably will be — you’re built that way — but still." A hint of wry amusement crept into his voice. "You can take five minutes off from being the alpha."] The concern in Kaito’s voice sent a strange warmth fluttering low in Asher’s stomach. "Habits," he replied quietly. Kaito wasn’t wrong. If anything magical or dangerous was nearby, his wolf instincts would always stir. Still, he forced himself to relax a little as he looked over the pile of clothes on the table. "So, what are you thinking of getting?" The mess of shirts and jeans was spread out in no real order, and though Asher didn’t consider himself obsessive, he couldn’t help the itch to at least sort them into neat stacks. ["Come on, big guy," Kaito teased. "Help me pick a jacket before you start reorganizing the store by color and size."] A faint blush crept over Asher’s face. The same kind of embarrassed flush that came from being caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. He didn’t answer, just let out a quiet huff of amusement. When Kaito finally gathered the clothes he wanted and started toward the cashier, Asher stopped him. "We’re not in a hurry," he said. "You haven’t even looked at the jackets in the back. I’ll hold these while you check them out." He’d already decided he was going to pay for everything. It wasn’t Kaito’s fault he couldn’t go home to grab more clothes. That was on Asher. He’d been the one to forbid it, and he couldn’t risk sending anyone else there either, not with the possibility of surveillance. While Kaito headed to the back rows, Asher quietly swiped his black card at the register, letting the clerk bag the items. When Kaito returned, Asher pretended nothing had happened. "Did you find one with sequins?" he asked, smirking, the day’s running joke between them.

After they had eaten Leon moved quietly through the small apartment, collecting the empty takeout containers and setting them aside yo throw out later. The scent of spicy food still lingered in the air — soy, ginger, something faintly sweet — and it blended with the hum of the television in the background. When he turned, his gaze softened. Asta still sat on the couch, both legs stretched out carefully over a pile of pillows. Even from where Leon stood, he could see the strain of the injury — the way Asta’s hands rested near his knees, tense despite the calm expression he wore. Leon’s chest tightened a little at the sight. He crossed the room and reached for the remote, dimming the lights until the apartment was cast in a soft amber glow. The street lights filtered faintly through the curtains. He moved back to the couch, careful not to jostle Asta’s legs as he settled down beside him. Then he reached out, slow and eased an arm around Asta’s shoulders, drawing him gently against his chest. The contact felt natural. Leon pulled the blanket over them both, his thumb brushing absently along Asta’s arm as he scroll through channels to pick a movie. He found one he though Asta’s might like— one of those light, romantic comedies — Leon let it play without really watching. Instead, he focused on the warmth pressed against him, the steady rhythm of another heartbeat close to his own. Every few minutes, he shifted slightly to make sure Asta was comfortable, adjusting the blanket, smoothing a hand along his back. The soft glow from the TV painted the room in gentle color — laughter from the screen mixing with the quiet sound of their breathing. Leon rested his cheek against Asta’s hair, eyes half-lidded. He felt the tension in his body ease for the first time in months. -------------------------------------------- Sora froze. The words hung in the air like the spiderwebs in the corner, shimmering in the weak light. [You ain’t Fang’s first mate.] His first instinct was disbelief — a quiet, reflexive denial that sparked somewhere in his chest before reason caught up. Of course Fang had a past. Of course someone like him wouldn’t have gone through life untouched. But a mate... hearing it aloud stung. It slid under his skin like a splinter. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt tight. “Oh,” was all he managed, barely a breath of sound. Ray didn’t elaborate, not right away. He just sat there, turning the beer bottle slowly between his hands, watching the golden liquid catch the light. The silence between them stretched, thin and taut. Sora’s gaze drifted back to Fang. He lay so still on the couch, chest rising and falling in that fragile rhythm. The drip line pulsed faintly, feeding clear liquid into his arm. It made Sora’s stomach twist, not out of disgust, but because of how breakable he suddenly looked. For all his strength, for all the wild energy that usually radiated from him, right now he just looked… human. Sora rubbed his palms together. “I didn’t— I mean, he never mentioned—” he stopped himself. What was he even trying to say? That he deserved to know? That he thought their connection meant honesty? He wasn’t sure anymore. Ray sighed. “Didn’t think he would.” His tone wasn’t cruel, just matter-of-fact. “Fang don’t talk about the past much. He’s the kind that keeps it buried. Deep.” Sora leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “What happened to them?” he asked, voice quiet but steady. “His first mate.” Ray’s gaze flicked toward him, measuring, maybe debating whether to answer. “That ain’t for me to tell,” he said at last. “Not my story to give. But…” His jaw worked, like the words still wanted out. “Let’s just say it didn’t end pretty. Fang’s been carrying that weight a long while. You getting hurt — it probably dug all that back up.” The words pressed down on Sora like a lead blanket. He didn’t ask for details. He wasn’t sure he wanted them. He looked at Fang again — the faint line between his brows, the way his hand twitched slightly under the quilt, like his body was still fighting even in rest. Sora felt something stir in his chest: not pity, exactly, but a deep ache that came with knowing someone was carrying more that he let on. He leaned back, trying to breathe past the heaviness. “So… if imprinting’s like a bond that can’t be broken,” he murmured, “then what happens if one of us dies?” Ray’s eyes softened, the amusement from earlier gone. “Then the other one don’t last long after.” Sora went still. A pulse of cold ran through him, and for a moment the hum of the old computer and the flicker of the light above felt too loud. He didn’t say anything — didn’t trust his voice to come out right. Ray must’ve seen the look on his face, because he added, more gently, “Don’t go worryin’ yourself too much. Imprinting’s rare. Complicated. But it’s also the strongest kind of loyalty we got. Means he’ll fight like hell to keep you safe, no matter what.” Sora nodded, staring at his hands again. No matter what. He wondered if Fang would have told him any of this, given the chance. Or if he ever would have known — if Ray hadn’t said anything at all. And somewhere deep inside, beneath the confusion and fear, was a quieter thought Sora didn’t want to face yet: if imprinting was forever, then maybe he wasn’t the only one trapped by it. What had driven Fang yo this stage wasn’t healthy for either of them. As the day went on Sora stayed by Fang’s side without almost any breaks. His body and mind didn’t allowed him to be away from the other for more than absolutely necessary. Like he was protect Fang against an invisible foe only he could block. The day bleed into evening Ray ay some point offered him some food but Sora could barely swallowing more that a few small bites. Was this how Fang had felt when he got hurt? He wondered. Sora had pushed the stool aside at some point, choosing instead to sit on a worn pillow on the floor in front of the couch. His head rested against the cushion as he held Fang’s hand beneath the blanket. Eventually, lulled by the steady rhythm of Fang’s heartbeat, Sora drifted off to sleep.

When the blanket slipped away, revealing Yukie’s bare upper body, Julius froze for a heartbeat. He was certain he’d tucked him in with clothes on. His eyes flicked down the length of the bed — rumpled fabric pooled near the foot, and the faint curve of a tail peeked out between the sheets. So… Yukie had changed forms again. When he looked back up, Yukie was smiling sleepily, hair a tangled halo that caught the morning light. It was a glorious mess — half wild, half innocent — and somehow made him even harder to look away from. Julius’s lips curved in a small smile as he reached out, brushing a few strands aside. His fingers sank into the silken tangle, the warmth of Yukie’s skin bleeding through until his pulse began to quicken. “I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured, voice low and edged with heat. “It actually gave me time to make a surprise for you… though now—” His gaze drifted downward, “—I’m not sure I want to move just yet.” His eyes traced every inch of Yukie, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the subtle shift of muscles beneath soft skin, the shimmer of faint scales catching the light lower down. When his hand followed the path of his gaze, his fingertips brushed across the line of Yukie’s hip, the smooth scales cool beneath his touch. He lingered there, stroking lightly, savoring the contrast of textures, Yukie skin was soft and the scale slick. Julius’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t get to really see you last time...” Julius tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Then he leaned in, close enough for his breath to warm the other’s skin. His thumb traced small, lazy circles along Yukie’s side, memorizing the shape of him as his lips touch Yukie’s. -------------- Yumro froze for a moment, his breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. The teasing words Haruhi had thrown at him earlier still lingered in his ears, but now they felt distant—drowned out by the sight before him. The sharp click of the bathroom lock releasing had already set his pulse racing, but nothing had prepared him for this. His gaze traveled slowly, unwilling to rush what felt like a once-in-a-lifetime view. The glossy red heels, the curve of Haruhi’s thighs framed by lace and ribbons, the fabric that hugged him just right. It was almost like watching a scene from a dream too vivid to be real. For a long moment, Yumro couldn’t speak. His gaze dragged up over the sheer black stockings clinging to those long, toned legs, the teasing flashes of soft skin above the lace, the deep, shimmering red of that outfit that made his pulse hammer in his throat. The wolf inside him growled possessivly and primal, that was his mate. His golden eyes gleamed faintly, that telltale glint that came whenever the wolf pushed close to the surface. He swallowed, his throat dry as he tried to remember how to form words. “You…” His voice came out low, rougher than he intended. He forced a breath, the edge of a smile tugging at his lips. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” His voice came out low and rough, a husky edge betraying just how hard he was fighting to stay composed. Yumro leaned back slightly, trying to look casual, though his knuckles had gone white where his fingers gripped the edge of the bed. He had seen Haruhi confident, mischievous, even infuriatingly smug. But this uncertain blush, that small hesitation behind the question.[“Too much?”] It pulled at him in a way that the teasing never could. Yumro’s wolf bristled at the thought of anyone else ever seeing this, seeing him like this. Haruhi was his.. his to protect, to admire, and worship when it came to it. “No,” Yumro said finally, his voice firm now. His eyes met Haruhi’s, the spark in them softened by something jis words. “It’s not too much. You’re … stunning.” He moved toward Haruhi without even realizing it at first, guided more by instinct than thought. Yumro’s jaw tightened as he fought for control. He could feel the wolf pressing against the edges of his mind, restless and territorial. The sight of Haruhi pushed his instinct to its limit. No one else would ever understand the pull of that bond Yumro felt. Like how it felt like gravity itself was centered on the person in front of him. He inhaled slowly, grounding himself on the scent of Haruhi’s skin, on the faint, quick rhythm of his heartbeat. He reached up, fingertips brushing Haruhi buttom lip. His erection was standing up proud again. Hard and throbbing. Like he hadn’t just been inside this lovely creature a few minutes ago “Only I can get to see you like this,” he growled under his breath as he pressed hus mouth to Haruhi’s neck and sucked on it hard. Giving him a beautiful hicky to match. Yumro’s arms surrounded Haruhi like a trap and pulled the other's body up against his own naked form. "So gorgeous" he murmured against Haruhi's neck and nibbled the spot he'd just made.