Archive of Our Own

It’d been a day since the Inversion, and, for the second night in a row, David couldn’t sleep. The image of his best friend bleeding out in his arms was seared into the backs of his eyelids. It was haunting him. Taunting him, even, as if the weight of having made the call for the ward to be put back up wasn’t nearly breaking him already. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it. It felt like the universe saying, “Did you make the right choice? Are you sure it was worth the cost? Was it even your choice to make?” David knew he had made the right choice. If the ward wasn’t put back in place, there’d be hundreds of thousands of shades tearing through everyone on the planet, empowered or not. The other two questions? Those ones he didn’t have answers for, and David didn’t like not having answers. To make it all worse, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of a different type of guilt for thinking about Asher so much when other pack members got hurt and over 1,000 people died.

Regardless, what David knew couldn’t change what he felt or what he saw. Every time his eyes closed, he saw Asher, who was usually so bubbly, vivacious, and full of life, sprawled out on the ground, unconscious. He’d been covered in wounds so deep they may as well have gone through him, deep enough that the junction of his clavicle and sternum was clearly visible, and a few ribs were exposed on his sides. (David could’ve gone his entire life not knowing that bone is a sickly sort of purplish grayish whitish color and died a happy man.) David saw Asher, covered in his own blood and guts and gore. It had been pooling on the ground around him and staining his clothes and streaked across his face and matting his usually soft, golden blonde curls to his forehead. When David had found him and pulled him close, desperately trying to find his pulse or feel him breathing, it had gotten all over him, too. Every fucking time he closed his eyes, he saw Asher, with his pretty face flushed white and his whole body stained blood red. (Asher, who wouldn’t have been in that position if he hadn’t followed David into the ward.) 

(One of the healers had later told David that Asher had lost, by their estimate, almost half the blood in his body, and that’s why he had been so pale. There simply wasn’t enough blood left in his body to keep his cheeks their characteristic rosy pink.)

David wished they hadn’t told him that.

(The healer had also said healing magic only left scars when the wounds were too much for the magic to fix entirely, when the wounds were so bad that they should’ve been lethal.)

David really wished they hadn’t told him that.

He tossed and turned in his bed before settling for laying on his back and staring at the ceiling, as if it could give him the answers to ease his guilt and hurt. Finally, the exhaustion of the Inversion and the previous night without rest finally fought off the image of a dying Asher just long enough for him to fall into an uneasy sleep, but even in sleep, he couldn’t escape that sight. He dreamt of holding Asher’s mangled body and Sam’s southern drawl saying the words he feared he would hear the first time around, “I’m sorry, David. There’s nothing I can do. He’s gone.” He dreamt of Asher, covered in blood, still, and lifeless. He dreamt of an Asher that would never wake up.

David jolted awake in a cold sweat, haunted now by the events of the Inversion and the dream. He forced himself to roll over and look at his alarm clock, then groaned at the realization that it was morning again. As he lay in his bed, his mind was racing, thinking about each member of the pack, all the people who were inside the wards, all the people who were inside the wards that didn’t come back out, and, always, Asher. No matter how far or fast his mind raced, it always came back to Asher. 

Finally, David caved. The only thing he wanted in this world was to see his pack, (to see his Asher,) hurting but alive. He grabbed his phone off his nightstand and sent a text in the pack groupchat calling for a meeting at his house that night before he finally managed to drag himself out of bed, still dreary and tired.

Now that David was out of his bed, it hit him. He was still covered in the scent of Asher’s blood. He’d taken 3 scalding hot showers the day before and scrubbed until his skin was red and raw. He looked at the shirt he’d been wearing that night, nestled neatly in with the rest of his folded laundry waiting to be put away. It was still stained a gruesome red. He’d washed that shirt twice and still the stain refused to fade. Even in his fully lucid moments, the memory of holding Asher’s near-dead body was torturing him.

David picked the shirt up out of the laundry basket and headed downstairs. He slipped on his shoes by the backdoor and made his way outside to the fire pit in his backyard. If he couldn’t get rid of the stain, he could damn well get rid of the shirt. He tossed it onto a table near the fire pit, then set about gathering firewood. He found some sort of peace in the monotony of it and in the cold settling into his skin. Part of him knew it was probably a bad idea to be traipsing about his backyard shirtless in January, but if he didn't get rid of that awful fucking shirt, he was going to be sick. As he tossed wood into the fire pit, he finally resigned to let himself think about Asher. David knew why his mind kept coming back to Asher of all people.

David knew he was in love with Asher, but he almost always did his damnedest to ignore it for fear of ruining their friendship if he let it slip. He’d ignored it as he was falling in love with him, so much so he hadn’t even realized he was until there was no going back. Even worse, he hadn’t even realized it himself. It took his dad pointing it out for the name and the feeling to finally click into place. Years later, the memory was still clear as day.

Walking down the stairs from his room, David saw his father sitting at their dining room table, taking care of some paperwork for the security business. Gabe smiled up at his son then, gesturing to the backpack hanging off his shoulder, asked, “Where are you running off to now? Milo’s again?” 

David walked through their dining room and into the kitchen as he said, “Nah, Asher’s this time. Marie said she needed a break from wrangling all of us this weekend, and Frank's away for the weekend.” 

“That so? The lot of you can be a bit much, even for me, and she deserves it,” Gabe said. David felt his father's gaze on his back as he moved through the kitchen, grabbing snacks to bring with him. There was no way his dad didn't notice how nervous he was. Now that he had snatched all the worthy snacks from their pantry, he was pacing and sweating bullets. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and he knew the words he wanted to say but couldn’t force them out. He’d wanted to say them for weeks, but something kept stopping him. After a silence that felt like it lasted forever, Gabe spoke again, “Is there something wrong? Something you needed to tell me?”

David froze in his tracks. He hadn’t expected his dad to call him out so bluntly. This was the third time in one week he'd done this song and dance, though, so maybe he should have. Once the shock wore off, he started to relax limb by limb, like an animatronic powered down mid-movement. He was still not quite making eye contact with his dad when he spoke, but he said, “Yeah, there is actually.” Slowly, he forced himself to actually meet his dad’s gaze, then continued, “I know you don’t care, or at least, you didn’t care when you found out Ash is bi, but I thought you should know this. I’m gay.”

Gabe would later tell David that he had had his suspicions, but didn’t want to pry, so he’d never brought it up himself, but for now, he smiled warmly at his son. He stood up from the table to meet him in the kitchen, wrapped him up in a hug, and said, “Thank you for telling me, David. I love you.” As they separated, Gabe jokingly shoved David with his shoulder and ruffled his hair, asking, “So… Is there anything else? Maybe you’d like to tell me about the crush you have on a certain blond boy in the pack?”

David looked at his father quizzically, mentally running through all the blond boys in the pack, only to realize that there was exactly one. Asher. David practically shuddered as he scrunched up his face in mock disgust and said, “Are you talking about Asher? I do not have a crush on Asher, Dad. He’s my best friend!”

Gabe doubled over, laughing like his son had just told him the funniest joke in the world. By the time he had regained his composure, there were tears in his eyes and David was beet red. Wiping the tears from his eyes but still chuckling through his words, Gabe said, “You do too have a crush on Asher. Hell, I’d even go as far as to say you’re in love with him.”

The second the words left Gabe’s mouth, David started to say, “I am not in love with Asher!” but the sentence died in his throat. Once he had actually processed his dad’s words, everything clicked into place. The warmth he felt in his chest every time Asher’s eyes met his, the petty jealousy that ran through him every time Asher jokingly flirted with their friends, the way he’d do anything just to see the other boy’s dimpled smile, the relief he had felt when Asher came out as bi. All those things were just symptoms of one truth. Of course he was in love with Asher.

David rearranged the wood in the fire pit, smiling at the memory. Of course, he was still in love with Asher.  It came easy, loving Asher. He was bright, and he was warm, and he was so full of love and kindness that he gave so freely it felt criminal to not give some back. The fact that Asher was breathtakingly gorgeous was really just an added bonus. Loving Asher was the one thing David had always been sure of. At the times when he felt like his world was about to cave in and crush him, he let himself find comfort in that constant truth. He loved Asher. 

David rolled his eyes every time Asher said he was his ride or die, but that's exactly what he was. Asher had always been the one at his side, the one who knew him best. It was Asher who somehow always knew exactly when David actually needed space and when he needed to pry. It was Asher who knew how to pry in a way that would actually get him to crack, and that was a skill not even Gabe had had. It had been Asher who he first came out to, and it was him Asher had come out to first as well. It was Asher who stepped up to bear the weight of the world with him with no questions asked. It had been Asher who held him together when his dad died and his world fell apart.

David lit the fire and let another memory envelop him.

David couldn’t tell what it was that had given him the headache, the funeral march blaring in his ears all morning or the lack of sleep. Being the next of kin for someone who died both young and suddenly meant that he’d been thrown in over his head into empty pity and pointless bureaucracy with no real warning or preparation. Between planning his dad’s funeral, getting all the legal and financial documents in order, and the sorrowful looks he was getting from every empowered person in Dahlia, he was holding onto what little was left of his composure with a thin and actively fraying thread. 

Standing at the foot of his father’s fresh grave, David was only partially aware of how long he’d been standing there because of the way people were slowly trickling out of the cemetery. Time didn’t feel right. It felt like it was bending to slow around him and only him. He didn’t actually know how long it had been, and, frankly, he didn’t care, either. The paperwork and the planning was finally over, and all there was left for him to do was feel. He’d been emotionally numb and running on empty for the past week, and now all the grief and stress and hurt and anger was catching up to him and threatening to swallow him whole. 

David stood there, frozen in time, until the sun finally set over what would’ve been a beautiful day if it wasn’t spent at a funeral. He stood there until he thought everyone had left, and when he was finally alone, he fell to his knees, fancy suit and dry-cleaning bill be damned. He didn’t have it in him to be shocked when Asher sat in the grass and dirt next to him. He also didn’t have it in him to resist when Asher wrapped an arm around him and gently guided his head to rest on his shoulder. 

Time snapped back into place as David leaned into Asher. He wrapped his arms around Asher and practically crawled into his lap as he wept. Asher held him in a hug so tight it hurt as he cursed the world. Asher held him as he sobbed a tidal flood of “It’s not fucking fair” and “I miss him.” Asher held him as he broke, and Asher was the only soul left in the world he trusted to see him like that. 

Sometime after David ran out of tears, he fell asleep in Asher’s arms. He only knew that because he woke up the next morning in Asher’s bed, cold and alone. David looked blearily around Asher’s bedroom. Their suits were hung on the closet door, muddy pants, frumpled jackets, and all. There was a note stuck to the face of the unplugged alarm clock on the nightstand, scrawled in Asher’s barely legible handwriting. It read, “Went out to get actual food for breakfast. If you’re reading this, go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up when I get back. <3” 

David smiled in sleepdrunk appreciation at the note and was too exhausted from the week prior to do anything but listen. 

Now sat in front of a roaring fire, David halfheartedly laughed to himself. In another time and another place, his father would've been only a little bit joking as he pointed out that Asher cleans up well, and David would’ve been desperately trying to hide how much he agreed. Gabe would’ve called Asher over and then disappeared, laughing in the background as David stumbled his way through a particularly flustered conversation with a dressed up Asher, who could clearly tell something was up but couldn’t figure out what. 

David was cruelly ripped out of his hypothetical musings when he saw the bloodstained shirt out of the corner of his eye. He snatched it off the table and threw it into the fire. The shirt caught alight easily, and he watched in a gentle rapture as the damned thing slowly turned to ash. There was a sense of closure in it, a reassurance that that day was over. 

After watching the fire for a few more minutes and letting it chase off the chill that had only settled deeper into his body since he stepped outside, David stood to douse the flames. When all that was left of the fire was burnt out embers and ash, he found comfort in the way the smell of smoke clung to his clothes, finally covering the smell of Asher’s blood on his body. He smiled wryly at the bitter irony of it, ash covering Ash. 

David was still reveling in the brief peace he’d found, when it was interrupted by his phone buzzing in his pocket, alerting him to a text. It was Asher, asking what the pack meeting was about. 

Right. The pack meeting. The meeting where David’s meant to discuss important business with the pack. The meeting that he would normally never call just because he wants to see with his own eyes that everyone he loves, everyone he calls family, (the only man he’d ever wanted to call his mate,) is still alive. The pack meeting that he thought would really just be a waste of everyone’s time if that was just to soothe his own anxieties and guilty conscience.

Quickly finding a lie to ignore or cover up his emotions had always been one of David’s strong suits, and now was no exception. He texted Asher back, saying it was to share resources with the pack in case they wanted help processing what they’d all seen that day. He had to have the resources to back up that lie though, so he went inside, threw on a shirt, and brought his laptop outside by the fire pit to gather information. He didn’t want his house to smell like smoke, but he wasn’t quite ready to shower yet. (Not when that might mean the smell of Asher’s blood came back to haunt him.)

David spent hours outside sifting through Empowered Google, grateful on some level for something to do other than think about Asher and the Inversion. He sorted through Department memos and other equally hollow expressions of sympathy from when notable empowered people passed, looking for therapists, counselors, psychologists, and the like. Years-old grief briefly stirred awake in his chest when he found the memo the local branch of the Department put out after his dad died.

When he’d finally compiled a sizable list of people with all different backgrounds and qualifications, David sat back in his yard chair, alone with his thoughts. The sun hadn't quite set, but had long since disappeared behind the line of trees he’d planted along the fence in his backyard. The January cold had thoroughly worked its way through his body once again and sunken down into his bones, leaving his skin covered in goosebumps. He stared up at the sky until he was shivering.

Once he was almost sure he would wake up sniffling tomorrow, David stood up, laptop in hand, and made his way inside to the warmth of his house. As he kicked off his shoes by the door and walked through his house to put his laptop back on his desk, the scent of smoke followed him. It was clinging to him, and it was a welcome replacement to the way the smell of Asher’s blood had been plaguing him just hours before. Setting his laptop down, he decided it was finally time to bite the bullet. 

David walked into his bathroom and turned the water in the shower on as hot as it could get. Turning to look in the mirror while he waited for the water to heat up, he stood in front of the sink, holding the edges of it like a lifeline as he stared at his own reflection. The reflection that was no different today than it was yesterday, or the day before that, or the day before that. The reflection that didn’t pick up any new scars during the Inversion. Some sick part of him refused to let him know peace and conjured up the image of Asher staring back at him through the mirror. Asher, with a chest now made of more scar tissue than skin. Asher, with a scar poking out of his shirt, snaking up over his left collar bone, across his neck, and disappearing behind his right ear. (Asher, with scars from wounds that should have killed him.) 

Eventually, the fog from the hot water running in the shower overtook the mirror, but it did little to quell David's quickly spiraling train of thought. As he stripped his clothes off his body, guilt churned in his stomach. With every piece of clothing he took off, the smell of Asher’s blood underneath the smoke got stronger. It was driving him insane. When he was finally naked, the smell was suffocating him. 

The water was so hot it burnt David’s skin as he stepped into the shower. The pain was grounding, though, finally pulling him fully out of his thoughts. For the first time since that night, his mind was truly and completely quiet as he scrubbed his shampoo into his hair. The tranquility didn’t last long. 

After rinsing the suds from his hair, David set about washing the rest of his body. His body had no lasting marks from the shades. There had been plenty of superficial scrapes and bruises, but the healers had taken care of them that night. That same guilt started to claw its way out of his stomach and up into his throat. (It felt unfair somehow, that he’d made the decision to trap all those people in the ward and came out almost completely unscathed.) Before the emotion had the chance to leave him on his knees dry heaving in his shower again, David forced himself to think of anything else, and, like always, his mind wandered out to Asher.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

David almost spat out the water he was drinking. He stared incredulously at the boy next to him as he said, “What the fuck kind of question is that, Asher?” 

Asher was upside down on David’s couch, with his head hanging off the edge of the seat and his legs thrown over the back of it. It was a very nonchalant position to be asking a very not nonchalant question. Asher spoke with the same tone he’d use to ask about the weather as he said, “I dunno, a good one? Arden’s got that new girlfriend, and it’s got me thinking, is all.”

“Arden’s new girlfriend has got you thinking about if I’ve kissed anyone? Dying to know how that makes sense in your walnut of a brain, Ash,” David said, setting his water down on the coffee table. 

Asher picked his head up and tried to glare at David, but glaring at someone while upside down was evidently not easy, so he dropped his head back down. Once he did, he said, “That’s not what I meant. It’s just, we’re seniors in high school and have never kissed anyone—or, I’ve never kissed anyone, at least.” David hummed and nudged Asher’s head with his leg, prompting him to continue, “All the movies and books and TV shows and whatnot had me under the impression I should’ve either already figured out who I want to marry at this point or fucked around so much I contracted every STD known to man or wolf, y’know? And I’ve never even kissed someone? That’s just not very romcom behavior of me.”

David rolled his eyes as he paused the movie they were watching then said, “I don’t think romantic comedies, or any fiction, really, are great examples of how real life works, but for what it’s worth, no, I haven’t kissed anyone.”

David watched in a curious silence as Asher kicked his legs over his head, barely missing breaking them on the coffee table, and flipped over so he was kneeling beside David. Asher crossed his arms on the couch and rested his head on them for a few moments. His eyebrows drew together in the way they always did when he was debating saying or doing something he knew was stupid. Offhandedly, David wondered when the hell he started to be able to differentiate so cleanly between the subtly different faces Asher made. Asher killed that train of thought when he looked up at David and said, “Kiss me?”

“Huh?”

Asher said again, “Kiss me? Just so we both can say we have? It doesn’t have to mean anything other than that.”  

David sighed. Just last week, he would’ve been able to say no, but his dad just had to go and put the name to what he felt for Asher. Just last week, he wouldn’t have cared if he never got another chance to kiss Asher, but just last week, he didn’t realize how in love he was with Asher. This week was, in fact, not last week, so David said, “Sure. If it gets you out of your own head, then sure.” 

Practically as soon as the words left David’s mouth, Asher was straddling him and pressing their lips together. David instinctively placed his hands on Asher’s hips, and, fuck, it felt so right to hold him like that and to have Asher’s lips on his own. He hadn’t needed any more confirmation that he was gay or that he was in love with Asher, but the stupid fireworks going off behind his eyes gave him both anyway. Hazily, he found himself thinking that a first kiss probably shouldn’t feel this fucking good, and a kiss that didn’t have to mean anything probably shouldn’t be this sweet. Asher’s lips were softer than they had any right to be, and the warmth from his body was as comforting as it was intoxicating. Their lips moved against each other’s in a delicate synchronicity that probably would have caved David’s knees in if they had been standing.

Asher swiped his tongue against David’s lips, and every semblance of gentleness that their kiss had just had was shattered. In an instant, it became needy and desperate, and suddenly the only thing David could feel was Asher. Asher’s lips on his, Asher’s pierced tongue behind his teeth, Asher’s scent in his nose, Asher’s legs pressed against his own, Asher’s hands on his shoulder and in his hair. Every one of his senses was full of him, but David still wanted more. He nipped at Asher’s bottom lip, and when he caught it between his teeth, Asher fucking whimpered into his mouth. Fuck, that was a sound he would be thinking about at night. 

When Asher pulled back, David had to fight back the urge to put a hand on the nape of his neck and pull him back in. His dopey, endearing, stupidly pretty, lopsided grin was on full display while his lips were kissed red, and his face was flushed. His mismatched eyes were glazed over, and his pupils were dilated. David stared at him, silently trying to memorize the look on his best friend’s face and commit every detail to memory because, good god, that was a good look on him.

Asher stayed straddling David for longer than was honestly entirely necessary, then shook his head as if to clear it and swung one of his legs back over David’s. He curled into David’s side like he always did when they were watching something together, as if he hadn’t just kissed the living daylights out of him, and said, “Thanks.” He sounded far too content with himself for David’s well-being.

David’s heart was pounding in his chest, and his breathing was labored, but he managed to say, “You’re welcome?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out like a question, and he definitely hadn’t meant to sound as wrecked as he did, but Asher either hadn’t noticed or did him a favor and didn’t mention it. Instead, Asher just pressed in closer to his side and hit play on their movie.

That memory was a painfully bittersweet one, but it was a dull, familiar ache compared to the fresh wound of the Inversion. (A dull, familiar ache compared to the searing pain of holding a dying Asher in his arms.) 

David had brought the kiss up to Asher later to try and figure out if there was anything other than curiosity fueling it, but couldn’t get a clear answer out of him. “I don’t regret it if you don’t regret it,” is what Asher had said, and that was the thing. He didn’t regret it. What he did regret was not pulling Asher back in by the neck and kissing him until neither of them could breathe. (He regretted not spilling his guts right then and there.)

There were more than a few moments like that between them, where if David was just a little bit better at expressing his emotions or if Asher had pried just a little bit harder, David’s resolve would’ve folded like a house of cards in a hurricane. (There were more than a few moments where he wanted to tell Asher how his core lit on fire and he got those stupid fucking butterflies in his stomach every time their eyes met.) When they were taking a few courses at D.A.M.N and when they were living together after David sold his dad’s house, it felt like the words were always on the tip of his tongue. Stranger still was how it almost felt like Asher had the same problem. It was like they were dancing around each other, but neither dared to make the first move. 

David pulled himself out of thoughts, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower. Anxiety pooled in his stomach. He inhaled as deeply as his lungs would let him, and. 

It was still there. Still. Fucking. There. Underneath the sandalwood and orange of his body wash, there was still the sickening scent of iron and Asher coating his skin. There were patches of skin that he’d scrubbed so hard he’d given himself friction burns bad enough to bleed, but it was still fucking there. It was still fucking there, and David had half a mind to try and crawl out of his skin like a crab molting its shell too soon.

David liked to think he was not usually a particularly neurotic man, but he genuinely felt like he was about to lose his mind or break down completely. He hadn’t felt this overwhelmed since the weeks after his dad’s death. People from outside the pack were calling it nepotism that he was made Alpha, swearing up and down that someone that young couldn’t possibly be a good Alpha, as if they had any clue as to how his pack worked, and people from inside the pack were giving him shit for making Asher of all people his Beta, as if they had any say in who he made his second, and he was still struggling to come to grips with it all. He’d almost broken then, but Asher had figured it out and somehow held him together.

Desperately trying to cling onto his last semblance of sanity, David quickly toweled himself off and borderline sprinted into his bedroom. Surely, surely, the smell would be gone once he put nice, clean clothes on. It had to be gone then, right? If the scent was stuck to his skin, the clothes would smother it out, right? That’d got to be how it works, right? 

Wrong. 

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Now fully clothed, David could still fucking smell it. He sat at the foot of his bed and fully collapsed in on himself. (God, he was coming apart at the seams, wasn’t he?) He pulled his knees into his chest. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to comfort himself with a bear hug. He felt tears prick at his eyes, and a lump formed in his throat. He dug his nails into his shoulders and felt sick to his stomach. The world started spinning, he swore he heard screaming, he felt himself start to shake, he closed his eyes, all he saw was shades, corpses, death, blood, Asher’s blood on his hands, it was his fucking fault, he couldn't fucking breathe, he felt like he was dying, felt like he deserv—Ow? His shoulders hurt? Why did his shoulders hurt?

When David pulled his hands off of his shoulders, his head was still reeling, but he was pretty sure he saw claws where his nails were meant to be. He’d gotten himself so worked up he had accidentally started shifting. (He really was falling apart, huh?) Distantly, he started to feel blood trickle down both of his arms and tears start to slip down his cheeks. It felt so far away. It felt like it was happening to someone else’s body. Even further away, he heard someone calling his name from the other side of his bedroom door. 

“David?”

Asher? 

“David, are you okay?”

Asher. 

The world stopped spinning, and David watched as his claws shrank back down into nails.

“I can smell your blood. I’m coming in, David.” Asher swung the door open as he spoke. David curled in on himself further, holding himself again and hiding his face by resting his head on his arms. He was trying to hide the full and gruesome truth of what Asher had just walked in on, but, deep down, he knew Asher knew him too well for that to work. (Asher had seen him like this before.) 

Gently, Asher placed his hands on David’s cheeks and guided his head up so he could press their foreheads together. David kept his eyes squeezed shut. Asher’s voice was soothing and so goddamn gentle as he said, “Breathe for me, Davey. Big deep breaths.” This time, when David inhaled, all he smelled was Asher. Not his blood, just him. Just Asher. 

Asher brushed his thumbs under David’s eyes, wiping away his tears. Slowly, David opened his eyes and was greeted with Asher’s. He had always thought Asher had very pretty eyes. The left one was such a dark brown it was practically black. The right was half emerald green and half a light blue that was, quite conveniently, one of David’s favorite colors. (It was one of his favorite colors because that was the eye Asher had covered with a colored contact lens while they were growing up so other kids would stop giving him shit about his multicolored eyes.) 

Asher held David’s face and kept their foreheads pressed together, stroking reassuring arcs against David’s cheeks with his thumbs. Asher waited patiently as David slowly managed to even out his breathing and come back into his body. 

Asher pulled his head back and looked at David with a softness in his eyes that he couldn’t help but think he didn’t deserve. Asher tilted his head to one side, and David tilted his to the other with Asher’s hands still on his cheeks. Asher smiled the pretty, crooked, genuine smile that showed off his chipped front tooth and dimples and crinkled up the skin around his eyes. (David had thought about kissing that smile off his face more times than he’d like to admit.) He couldn’t help but smile back. Asher pressed their foreheads together again. “You’re okay,” Asher said, “You’re okay, and I’m okay, and everyone in the pack is okay, and the world hurts real fucking bad right now, but it won’t forever.” 

Asher’s gaze shifted to the scratches on David’s shoulders, and he frowned as he dropped his hands and moved his head to get a better look at them. “They don’t seem too deep, but they are still bleeding,” he said. David only grumbled dismissively in response, which got a slight laugh out of Asher. He took a look at the other shoulder while he said, “I’m gonna go get your first aid kit to put bandages on them. You stay right here.” When Asher was done speaking, he brushed David’s still damp hair out of his face and kissed his forehead. 

Hm. That was new. All the remaining tension in David’s body left as soon as Asher did it, though. Asher froze as if he just surprised himself with what he’d done and his eyes went wide, likely looking for David to be angry or otherwise upset about it. All he saw was David more at ease than he’d been in days, or weeks, even. David watched as Asher relaxed in turn, smiled at him, and left the room. David was fond of Asher’s smile, particularly his chipped front tooth, and he was equally fond of the memory of how that tooth chipped. He laid back onto his bed and let it consume him.

David laid in the shade of his family’s orange tree, watching in nervous amusement as Asher climbed up into its old, twisting branches. David called to him, “Be careful up there. If you fall and break something, I’m dragging your ass straight to Marie.”

“You’re just jealous that you’re too big to get between the branches now,” Asher teased back. David was maybe more than a tad bit jealous that he couldn’t squeeze his way back into his favorite childhood perch while Asher still could, but he was also just genuinely worried. Although he was shorter and skinnier than David, Asher was by no means a small man. At 6’4” and 200 something pounds, Asher was a very attractive, well-built man, but he was not a small one. 

Rolling his eyes, David said, “Actually, I take it back. Do me a favor and fall and break your face.” Asher stuck his tongue out at David, and the silver ball of his tongue piercing glinted in the sun. He settled onto his stomach on his old favorite branch, holding it between his arms and letting his legs dangle down below him. The branch Asher was laid out on was bowing under his weight, David noticed. “Really though, Marie’s taking Milo out to dinner to celebrate our graduation, so if you get hurt you’re kinda fucked,” he said. 

Asher was swinging his legs contentedly when he said, “I’ve been climbing this tree for forever, David. The only way I’m falling is if the branch breaks.” David swore he heard the branch creaking under the sound of Asher’s voice.

Before David could even start to say, “I think it’s going to,” the branch cracked in the middle, right behind Asher. Asher’s fidgety wiggling stilled at the sound and his eyes went wide. Before he could move back to the sturdier part of the branch near the trunk of the tree, the branch snapped completely. It went tumbling to the ground, taking Asher with it. He fell face first to the ground, and David winced as he watched one of the thicker offshoots of the branch connect solidly with his mouth. The fall looked like it should have broken something or put tree branch where organs were meant to be. 

David stood and ran over to Asher, who had groaned as he rolled off the branch and was now laughing like he hadn’t just actually fallen out of a fucking tree. David knelt at Asher’s side as he frantically looked over his body and asked, “Are you okay?”

Still laughing, Asher said, “Yeah, perfectly fine. The tree, though? Not so much.” David was still scanning him for wounds when Asher lifted his shirt up to his chest and said, “Look, no impalements.” He put it back down and went on, “And nothing feels broken, so I am completely and totally fine.” 

As Asher was speaking, David thought he saw something wrong with one of Asher’s teeth. Even if there wasn’t, there was absolutely blood on his lips. David looked him dead in the eye and said, “Smile.” Asher’s eyes went wide and he shook his head, clamping a hand over his mouth. Yeah, something was definitely wrong. 

David moved so that he was kneeling over Asher, trapping Asher’s legs between his own, and grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the ground next to his head. David’s face was inches away from Asher’s when he said, more forcefully, “ Smile.” This time, Asher gave him a small, closed mouth grin. Asher gave David his "I’m currently starting shit because I think it’ll be funny" smile, because Asher was a little snot and liked to cause problems on purpose. 

Two could play that game, though. David smirked as he let go of Asher’s wrists and slipped his hands up under Asher’s shirt. By the time realization started to dawn on Asher’s face, it was already too late. David put his hands on Asher’s ribs and tickled him mercilessly. Asher’s laugh was one of David’s favorite sounds. It always had been. 

As David looked down at Asher, he noted two things. One: Asher was really just unnecessarily pretty. Two: The right middle tooth of Asher’s top row of teeth was now missing its outside corner. 

Still tickling the boy trapped underneath him and reveling in his laughter, David said, “A chipped tooth doesn’t count as perfectly fine, you fucking disaster!” When he finally decided to let Asher breathe and stopped tickling him, David put one hand back by Asher’s head and cupped his chin with the other. “Let me see how bad you just fucked up your smile,” David said, gently pulling down on Asher’s chin. 

Asher, somewhat shockingly, gave absolutely no resistance and silently opened his mouth to let David inspect the newly chipped tooth. David felt something stir in his gut at how easily Asher had given in but quickly distracted himself by chiding him, saying, “You’re lucky it’s just a chip. If that fall was any harder, you’d probably be missing a tooth or two right now.” 

When David’s gaze met Asher’s again, he almost choked on air. Asher was trapped underneath David with his mouth open, face flushed, pupils blown wide, and David’s hand on his chin. That image was going to be stored in David’s brain forever. It was going right between the sound of his whimper and the look on his face after he’d kissed him, tucked away to be called upon at unholy hours as fuel for equally unholy activities. David watched Asher’s eyes flick down to his lips before coming back up to meet his eyes. 

Before he could do something impulsive that he might regret, David moved to wrap Asher up in his arms and nestled his face into the other boy’s neck. After a second, Asher wrapped one arm around his waist and started carding the other hand through his hair. David would never admit it, but at that moment, he absolutely got why dogs liked to be pet so much. Using the hand wrapped around his waist, Asher pulled him down so that he was solidly laying on top of him. David couldn’t see how that was comfortable, but Asher seemed content with himself. 

Breaking the soft silence they had settled into, Asher asked, “Aren’t you gonna say I told you so?”

Against the skin of Asher’s neck, David said, “No. I’m just glad you didn’t get more seriously hurt.”

“Awww, see, that’s what I mean when I say you’re a big softie under all the tough and grumpy,” Asher said, slightly squishing David as he spoke.

David halfheartedly hit Asher in the shoulder as he said, “Shut up,” without even a hint of anger in his voice. Asher just laughed in response, no doubt fully aware of David’s smile pressed against his neck. 

David hadn’t noticed Asher come back in with the first aid kit, but he very much noticed Asher clambering onto his bed and straddling him. David glared at him as he asked, “What the hell, Ash?”

“What? You seemed content, and I didn’t wanna bother you. I need to get to both of your shoulders anyway. It’s called efficiency, my dear Alpha.” Asher had trapped David underneath him, reversing their positions from the memory he had just been happily recalling. He was smiling down at him, and David recognized that smile. It was his "I just started shit because I thought it would be funny and it's going exactly how I hoped it would" smile. David raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to do something more, but all he did was raise an eyebrow back. 

They stared at each other for a moment, before Asher ended their impromptu staring contest by leaning over to futz about in the first aid kit. As he went about rolling David’s sleeves up and cleaning and covering the wounds David had scratched into his shoulders, Asher said, “I really should learn some healing magic from Marie or Sam, huh?” David hummed grimly in response, having had the same thought himself. (If Sam hadn’t been at the E and E games, Asher would’ve died because David hadn’t bothered to learn any. Asher would’ve died, and it would’ve been entirely his fault.)

Not wanting to give that thought the chance to spiral, David asked, “Why did you get here so early? You’re almost always the last one through the door for pack meetings, and this time you were, what, an hour early?” 

Asher side-eyed David for a second, likely debating calling out the sudden change of subject, before he answered, “I felt like something was off, so I used the key you gave me and let myself in.” David watched as Asher clenched and unclenched his jaw before quietly continuing, “And, I didn’t…” His eyes dropped and his hands stilled before he finished the thought, “I didn’t really feel like being alone anymore. My mind was going to some pretty dark places.” 

The silence between them after that wasn’t one of their usual, comfortable ones. It was heavy with raw emotion and things, for better or worse, left unsaid. Asher busied himself once again with taking care of David’s wounds, and David couldn’t help but notice how he didn’t recognize the expression on Asher’s face. He looked sad and angry and scared and hurt and somehow guilty in a way that David didn’t quite understand and couldn’t bear to look at, so he shifted his gaze to one of the many scars Asher now had from that night. 

The visible part of the scar was exactly as David remembered (and imagined) it. The healer had said it would fade over time like all scars do, but for now it was red and angry against the last stubborn remnants of Asher’s mostly faded summer tan. David traced the path of the scar with his eyes, following it from the hem of his neckline, across his neck, and curving up to end behind his right ear. He was wearing a hoodie, almost definitely trying to cover it up for the pack meeting, or maybe even just for his own sake. David glared at the scar, wishing that that would make it disappear.  

Right as Asher rolled the sleeves of David’s shirt back down, the sound of the doorbell rang throughout the house. Asher clumsily rolled off of David as he said, “I’ll go get that.” David was about to protest about it being his house and how he should greet the pack, but Asher started towards the bedroom door before he could. On his way, he looked over his shoulder at David, saying, “You need to change your shirt, big guy. There’s blood on it and you clawed holes into the sleeves.” 

As David sat up in his bed, Asher hovered by the door for a moment with concern on his face, then asked, “Do you want me to take the lead for this pack meeting? I wouldn’t mind, and you look like you need a break.” There was a joke in there about the pot calling the kettle black, a lecture about giving the advice he needed to hear but wouldn’t take; now that David was actually looking at him with a clear head, he saw that there was a sluggish weight to the way Asher was moving. There were dark, heavy bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept since the Inversion.

David shook his head and answered, “No. I’m alright, really.” Asher made a face like he didn’t quite believe him but didn’t press the issue. David watched as Asher left the room, closing the door behind himself. He looked down at his shoulders, and, sure enough, he had clawed right through the thin fabric of his shirt. Once he had changed it, David stood in front of his bedroom door. He took a deep breath to center himself, and all he smelled on his skin was Asher’s cheap cologne. David pulled open his door and went out to greet the pack.

----------------------------------------

The pack meeting went fairly smoothly, given the circumstances. The weight of the Inversion was obvious in the pack’s demeanor, but so was the relief of seeing everyone else in it alive. David had given the pack the list of resources he’d compiled and explained in his own sort of clunky but still heartfelt and well-meant way that he was there for them, too. He hoped that he’d gotten across that he was there not just as their Alpha, but as a friend, as family.

Once David had sent the last of them off with his usual “Drive safe and text me when you get home” the only one left in his house was Asher. He watched from the doorway of his kitchen as Asher washed the glasses from the pack member’s drinks. 

It was something Asher always did. David had mentioned exactly once that he didn’t like the sensations that came with washing dishes while they were living together, and that was that. For the rest of the time they lived together, Asher always did the dishes. David had never asked him to, but every time he went to do them himself, Asher was already doing or had already done them. Now that he had bought his own house and moved out, Asher still did all the dishes after every pack meeting and solstice party and would even shoo David out of his own kitchen if he tried to help. 

It was that sort of quiet, devoted caring that made David fall for him in the first place, all those years ago. There was no one else David had ever wanted to call his mate and, at this rate, there never would be. As he stood there watching Asher, David felt his core light up and his threads strum at just the thought of calling Asher his mate and at the careful domesticity of it all. Yeah, there was no getting over that feeling. (There was no getting over him.)

On some level, David didn’t really mind his hopeless pining. It was an old, safe feeling. It hurt in a sickly sweet, saccharine sort of way, but it was safer than the most likely alternative. David couldn’t stand the thought of Asher pulling back from him if he confessed, couldn’t stand the thought of losing his best friend, and especially not over something as convoluted as his own emotions. Arguably worse was the possibility that he would confess and Asher, in keeping with his promise to do anything he could for David after his dad passed, would go along with it just for his sake. He couldn’t stand the thought of a life without Asher in it because Asher wanted to be there, so he contented himself with calling Asher his Beta and his best friend and biting his tongue before the word ‘mate’ could slip out, even if it sometimes meant breaking his own heart in the process.

Before David could fall further down his pining rabbit hole, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He opened it to a text from Milo that read, “Sneaks and I are home safe. Try to get some sleep, big guy. You look awful.” The message was punctuated with a smiley face, as if it hadn't ended with a lighthearted insult. 

David watched as the little typing bubble popped up and disappeared, then popped up again, then disappeared again for a good few seconds, before it finally disappeared completely. “Is something wrong? You were typing for a while there,” he sent back.

“Call me?” was all Milo replied. 

Fuck, that was worrying. Was he sick? He’d absorbed so much magic that he probably should be. Were he and his mate in danger somehow? Was something wrong? Were they hurt? Asher still hadn’t noticed David hovering by the entrance to the kitchen, so he quietly stepped back and slipped out the front door to call Milo, not even bothering to put on shoes.

Milo picked up on the first ring and as soon as he did, David was saying, “Are you alright? Are you and your mate safe?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re both alright, all things considered. Sorry, I should’ve phrased that better,” Milo said. David exhaled in relief and slumped against the side of his house. 

David could hear him pacing through the phone. Even if he and his mate were fine, something was still clearly bothering him. “Then why did you want me to call you?” he asked. It was blunt, but he wasn’t really in the mood for pleasantries and dancing around the point.

Milo sighed, and David could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration through the phone. Struggling to find the words, Milo said, “I… I know I probably should either not be saying this, or at least saying it in person, but you know Ash is in love with you, right? Has been since we were in high school? And—listen, I don’t mean to meddle, but I know you’ve got it bad for him, too.” 

Milo paused to take a breath, and David started to speak, to deny what he was saying, but Milo cut him off, “Don’t even try to deny it. You practically get hearts in your eyes when you look at him and you think no one’s watching, and you looked like you were about to pass out when that healer was talking to you about his scars. Now, don’t get me wrong—it was funny as shit when we were younger to watch you two be oblivious pining fools—hell, Ash looked like he should’ve had steam coming out his ears when that girl asked you to prom in high school, and you didn’t even notice—and then when you two moved in together, I swore you were so close to figuring your shit out yourselves, and then you just… You just didn’t?”  

The words were falling out of Milo’s mouth at that point, and David was too stunned to even try to interrupt him. “And you moved out, and I think both of you tried to move on, but it didn’t work—you don’t just get over being in love with someone that much for that long—then we were back to square one. Sneaks and I had fun for a while, locking you two in rooms and dropping hints and shit, trying to get one of you to confess and taking bets on who would fold first, but…” Milo trailed off. After a moment and another heavy sigh, he said, “But that night put a lot of things in perspective. I just—I know it’s not my place, and I don’t wanna push boundaries, but I think you should talk to him, David.” 

David was completely at a loss for words. He hadn’t realized he had been that obvious, nor had he expected Milo to be so incredibly brusque. “I… I’ll think about it,” was all he could force out of his mouth. 

Apparently, Milo wasn’t done reading David his riot act yet. He continued, softer this time, “I know you, David. Not as well as Ash, but I do. I know you’ve probably gotten up in your own head about the power dynamic between you and him, especially after I told you Christian’d been giving him shit when you weren’t around for being made Beta, but it’s only a big deal if you make it one. You deserve to be happy. You both do.” 

David slid his back down the wall until he was sitting on the cold concrete of his porch with his knees tucked up against his chest. He leaned his head back against the brick of his house as he said, “I guess so. I… Yeah, okay, I’ll talk to him.” Needing some time to fully process what Milo has said, David said, “I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.” He paused, debating whether he should say the next part, before continuing, “And, thank you, Milo. I needed to hear that.” 

“Any time, big guy.” With a smile in his voice, Milo added, “I know he’s still there. Go get your mans.” David rolled his eyes affectionately as he hung up. 

For the first time in months, the words were right there again. They were right on the tip of his tongue, daring David to lend them his voice. Begging him, even. Truth be told, he’d cursed himself for not having said anything sooner as he held Asher’s broken and bloodied body in his arms. When the ward fell, and he and Asher both made it out alive, he swore to himself he’d say something soon, but every time he thought about calling Asher to, he couldn’t make himself do it. 

David ran a hand through his hair and felt his heartbeat start to race. Just last night, he’d thought about calling Asher and asking him to come over. He hadn’t even wanted to confess his feelings that time; he just wanted to rest his head on Asher’s chest and find solace in the steady thump of his heartbeat, to have that reassurance that they were both alive. David stood up and headed back inside. Even if he couldn’t find the words or the nerve to explain how he felt just yet, he could at least ask Asher to stay the night. 

Asher had left the kitchen to curl up onto David’s couch in the living room with his phone. When David entered the room, Asher stood up to greet him and put his phone in his pocket. With a soft smile on his face, he said, “Where’d you go? I was looking all over for you so I could say goodbye before I left.”

“Stay?” The way David said it, the word sounded less like an invitation or a request and more like a plea. He dropped his eyes away from Asher’s before continuing more softly, “Please? I…” David looked back at Asher and tried to fight back the tears that were starting to well in his eyes as he said, “I had this nightmare, and I think you’ve probably been having the same one, except in mine, you don’t—” He raised a hand to stubbornly wipe away the tears that had started to fall before finishing, “In mine, you don’t wake up.” He hadn’t meant to explain that much, and he absolutely hadn’t meant to start crying again, but he felt like Asher deserved to know. Hell, he was never any good at keeping things from Asher, anyway.

There was another one of those looks on Asher’s face, one of the ones David didn’t recognize. Asher crossed the room and hugged him, burying his face into David’s chest. His voice was muffled by the fabric of David’s shirt as he said, “Of course I’ll stay.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He nuzzled his face against David’s sternum, and David lifted a hand to play with Asher’s curls. 

The two of them stayed there in silence, together, for far too long and nowhere near long enough. Still speaking into David’s chest, Asher said, “Do you mind if I take a shower? I haven’t taken one since that night, because, uh...” He let out a heavy breath between his words. “Because of the scars, but I think I can still smell my own blood on me if I try hard enough.”  

David answered, “Go ahead. My space is your space, Ash. You know that.” Despite his better judgment, he pressed a soft kiss onto Asher’s temple. He thought maybe he should stop listening to his judgment as often as he did, because Asher fucking melted into his arms. It was nice, holding him this close just because he could. He pressed another gentle kiss to Asher’s skin before saying, “I had the same problem. That’s what I was losing it about when you came in, and I couldn’t get the blood out of my shirt, so I just burned the damn thing.”

Asher ripped himself away from David’s chest and held him at arm’s length. He had pure horror on his face and in his voice as he said, “You fucking what? ”

“I burned it.” 

That was decidedly not a good look on Asher, David thought. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to scream or cry as he said, “That was one of your favorites, David. Gabe gave it to you, didn’t he?”

David chuckled dryly, then said, “Yeah, well, when he did, it wasn’t covered in your blood.” 

“David.” Asher said his name like it explained everything on his mind. It didn’t. He stared at David with the furrow he always got in his brow when he didn’t know what to say, then inhaled deeply like he was about to sigh, but his face twisted into a grimace and he almost gagged instead. “Definitely still smell like my blood now that my cologne is wearing off. I’m gonna go shower,” he said, shaking his head, then headed off towards the bathroom.

David followed Asher up the steps, then made his way to his bedroom to find clean clothes to give to Asher. Tucked away somewhere in his drawers were a few shirts and pairs of pants that he only kept around because Asher liked to steal them. Even though they weren’t living together anymore, David kept them around for moments like this. He also kept them for the memory of Asher wearing them. Every time he did, it was either so adorable it left David’s heart fluttering in his chest or so unbearably hot that he had to go take a freezing cold shower to get his blood out of his hips and back into his brain before he bent Asher over the nearest piece of furniture and claimed him right there. Either way, the soft intimacy of seeing his clothes on Asher’s body always made his core ache.

It took some digging, but David found them eventually. Buried in the back corner of his bottom drawer was all of Asher’s favorite contraband. He pulled out his old Diablo 2 shirt. It hadn’t fit him right since their senior year of high school, and it stopped fitting him at all shortly after that. Asher had worn it threadbare when they lived together, but it was still his favorite of David’s shirts to steal. Reaching back in, David grabbed the pair of gray sweatpants that Asher swore were softer than all the others, even though they definitely weren’t. 

As he neared the bathroom, David smiled at the sound of Asher singing a Fall Out Boy song to himself. Asher had always been the kind of person to sing in the shower, and he had a surprisingly good voice. David wasn’t a fan of the band, but he’d listened to Asher’s playlists and singing in the shower enough to recognize the song. He knocked on the door, interrupting Asher’s rendition of "The Last of the Real Ones", and called through the door, “I brought you some clean clothes.” 

“Oh, sweet, thank you! You can come in and set ‘em down somewhere. The lights are off,” Asher called back. David felt that same guilt that had been tearing him to shreds for days stir in his stomach again when heard that the lights were off. He opened the door and went to hang the clothes over the towel bar. Now mostly talking to himself, Asher said, “Y’know, I don’t really know why I said that the lights are off. It’s not like there’s not a shower curtain or anything. Even if there wasn’t, you’ve seen my dick already anyway.”

David didn’t dignify that last statement with a response. When they lived together, it wasn’t uncommon for Asher to join him in the shower because he was too impatient to wait for David to be done or because he had woken up late and simply didn’t have the time to. He had seen every inch of Asher’s body, and Asher had seen every inch of his. That was just what their relationship was like. It always had been. All it served to do was make the wanton dreams David had about him that much more vivid. David derailed that train of thought quickly, opting to instead ask, “Do you need anything else, Ash?” 

Asher hummed, as if genuinely considering it despite his proclivity to shut David down when he tried to do nice things for him, then said, “Nah, I’m good. Frankly, I would’ve been good just sleeping in my clothes at this point.”

“You are not wearing jeans in my bed, you menace,” David snarked. Asher just laughed at him. 

David wondered where in their lives the assumption that they would share a bed became so commonplace. Was it when they were little kids sharing a sleeping bag on pack camping trips? Maybe it was in middle school, when Asher was sneaking over to his house at least three times a week to escape whatever argument his mom and stepdad were having and finally feeling safe enough to fall asleep in David’s bed. Maybe it was in high school, when Asher stopped going to his own house completely during his mom's second divorce and just lived out of David’s room. Maybe it was while they lived together, and Asher routinely found his way into David’s bed, drunk, demanding to be cuddled, or both. Whenever it happened, David didn’t mind at all

Under the stream of water, David heard Asher’s stomach grumble. The realization suddenly dawned on David that Asher probably hadn’t eaten; ignoring his body when he was stressed had always been a bad habit of his. Even when he wasn’t stressed, Asher would regularly get so absorbed in doing something that he just forgot to eat. Before David could even think about preaching to Asher about the importance of taking good care of himself, especially at a time like this, he felt his own hunger gnawing at his stomach and realized he hadn’t eaten anything that day, either. As he slipped out the door, David added, “I’m gonna order some pizza and wings from that place you like. I know you probably haven’t eaten much today.” 

David shut the door before Asher could start to tell him that he didn’t need to do that. He knew he didn’t have to get food for Asher, let alone his favorite food. He knew that Asher was fully capable of taking care of himself, but Asher also knew that David was fully capable of doing his own dishes. Walking back to his bedroom, David called Max’s Rustic Pizza and ordered what they always did when they had gotten a little too drunk or stayed up way too late together at their old apartment. 

After changing into his own comfortable clothes, David laid back on his bed and thought about what Milo had said. His hapless pining had apparently been mutual practically since it began, and he simply hadn’t noticed. David knew he wasn’t the best at reading people, but he liked to think he was very good at reading Asher. Surely, he would’ve noticed? Maybe Milo was wrong. Maybe Asher was angry about that girl asking him to prom because he had wanted to ask her to go himself.

A memory hit David like a freight train. 

The moon had risen hours ago over the lakefront cabins the pack was staying in, but only the pups were sleeping. Everyone else had congregated in the main cabin that David, his dad, and Asher’s family were staying in. They were having a pack party of sorts. It wasn’t even for a holiday, although they were solidly in the midst of all the summer drinking holidays. The party was just a way for them to enjoy everyone else’s presence.

It was the first summer that the majority of the second generation of the pack could legally drink, so alcohol was flowing quite freely. David sat comfortably in the corner of the couch with a bad, a lukewarm spiked seltzer in his hand, watching as his friends drunkenly tried to play Mario Kart in mirror mode. Asher was next to him, with every inch of his side pressed up against every inch of David’s. It felt right.

“I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in the world to get me to like mirror mode,” Asher said, before turning to face David and continuing, “Come do a shot with me? I wanna put that theory to the test.” Asher had been full out giggling a few moments before, and a blush had taken over his face about three shots ago. To put it simply, he was fucking wasted. 

Already five shots in and drunk enough to kill a man if Asher asked him too, but sober enough to still look out for his best friend, David said, “Fine, Ash, but this is your last one.” David was also still sober enough to pointedly ignore how his heart ached to call him his boyfriend instead of best friend and how his core tried to pull the word mate out of his mouth where Asher’s name was meant to be. He chugged the rest of his seltzer.

Asher jumped up a little too giddily, passed his controller off to Milo, and pulled David by the wrist through the living room and into the kitchen. There was enough alcohol on the counters to kill a small army, courtesy of all the freshly 21-year-olds. Asher reached down into the sea of bottles and pulled out two. David raised an eyebrow at the Everclear as Asher passed him his favorite strawberry vodka. “I don’t know how you drink that. It tastes like perfume,” David said.

“Oh, it tastes like shit and it burns like hell, but it does what I need it to do, baby.” Something almost snapped in David at the ease in which Asher called him ‘baby’. Something else in him desperately wanted to hear it again. David’s hand was shaking as he poured his shot, and it wasn’t the alcohol’s fault.

Asher raised his shot glass to clink with David’s. With his trademark crooked grin, Asher said, “Cheers,” and knocked his shot back like water. David did, too. The vodka tasted like bad mouthwash, and it burned going down. Asher was giggling again as he nudged David back in the direction of the living room. David led the way out with Asher following closely behind him. 

Once they were back in the living room, David tucked himself back into his corner of the couch. This time, Milo was sitting next to him where Asher had been. Asher was normally a very strong proponent of what he called "floor time", going on and on about how he had all his best ideas when lying on the floor, so David let out a stunned gasp when Asher sat directly on his lap instead. He was usually more than content to sit on the floor, leaning against David’s legs like a dog cuddling up to its owner. Asher leaned back against the arm of the couch and snuggled into him, and David felt a blush rise to his face.

Across the room, David’s father raised an eyebrow at him. He mouthed, “You good?” When David gave him a thumbs up, Gabe smiled and mouthed back, “Liar." David lightheartedly glared in return, because in all honesty, he was. Fuck, if he was sober, he wouldn’t have even blinked twice at Asher sitting on his lap. There were far worse things that Asher had done. 

Once, Asher had come up and wrapped his arms around David’s waist while he was making breakfast for them after Asher had stayed the night. He’d pressed a kiss to the junction of David’s shoulder and neck, then rested his head between David’s shoulder blades. “We’re like a couple in a shitty romcom,” Asher had said, laughing to himself and smiling against David’s spine. David didn’t have the heart to push him away, and he only pulled away himself when he heard Gabe coming. 

Another time, David had carried Asher back into his apartment after a night out drinking. The whole way in, Asher was drunkenly rambling, saying some shit about, “Y’know, I like it when you’re our driver. No one else carries me in like you do. And you always stay the night to help me with my stupid ass hangovers and cuddle me to sleep? It’s so sweet. You’re so sweet. You’d be such a good mate, Davey.” When David put him in his bed, Asher pulled him down and kissed him like he was dying. David slept on the couch that night, and Asher didn’t remember why the next morning. 

Gabe broke David out of his thoughts when he came up and pressed a glass of water into David’s hand. “Make sure he drinks some, too,” he said, nodding towards Asher. He walked back over to his conversation with Marie before he had the chance to hear Asher start complaining about water being a boring person drink.

Asher eventually stopped his grumbling, took a sip, and turned to tuck his face into the crook of David’s neck. The softness of it made David heartbeat race. Asher spoke quietly against the sensitive skin there, “You’re so fucking pretty, Davey.” 

David’s grip tightened on the glass in his hand. He clenched his jaw and felt his cheeks redden once again. Across the room, Gabe gave him another "Are you okay?" look. David shifted his eyes from his dad’s towards Asher’s direction and then back again. His dad just laughed at him. He nudged Asher’s head with his own to get his attention and asked, “Weren’t you gonna keep playing Mario Kart?”

Asher completely ignored the question. “No, really. It’s not fucking fair. How am I supposed to be the comedic relief friend if I can’t think at all when you’re around? You, and your stupidly pretty gray eyes, and your long eyelashes, and your soft, flowy hair, and your stupid muscles that you can pick me up with way too easily which is really fucking hot, and,” Asher cut himself off, “God, you’re fucking gorgeous, David.” 

The blush on David’s face spread to his ears. His grip tightened further around the glass, and he was sure if he checked, he’d see his knuckles turning white. The glass was starting to flex in his hand, but it was the only thing left tethering him to reality and stopping him from kissing Asher senseless right there on the couch in front of everyone.

Asher moved to look David in the eye as he said, “You are a beautiful, beautiful man, David.” He punctuated the thought by pressing a soft kiss to David’s cheek.

The glass in David’s hands shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. More than a few embedded themselves in his hand. He froze for a moment, staring at his hand where the glass once was and processing what happened. He heard his dad absolutely losing it on the other side of the room. David glared at him, then winced as he shook the glass out of his palm. Marie was already next to him, gesturing for him to give her the wounded hand and going on her spiel about how bad the pack was at taking care of themselves. 

When Marie had finished her healing and magicked the glass off of the floor and out of his pant leg, David announced to no one in particular, “I’m taking Asher up to bed.” It was just as much for his own good as it was for Asher’s. He scooped up Asher and stood with ease, despite the other man’s protests. 

As David carried Asher bridal style up the steps and away from the party, Asher was looking at him with nothing but want in his eyes. A drunk Asher wasn’t usually any more of a flirt than a sober one, or any hornier, for that matter, but apparently he was tonight. When David set him down on his bed, Asher looked up at him with his eyes dilated and a blush on his face. There was something sultry in his voice as he said, “I wanna do very bad things with you, David.” 

A flustered, strangled noise slipped out of David’s mouth before he said, “Say that sober and then we’ll talk.” David left the room faster than he normally would and almost slammed the door behind him. He leaned back against it, breathing deeply and trying to think about anything other than what Asher had just said.

Maybe there ought to be an award for being the most oblivious man on the planet, and maybe that award ought to go to David. 

The doorbell rang, and David rolled off his bed to go greet the delivery man downstairs. Once David had signed for the delivery, tipped the driver, and closed the door, Asher called from upstairs by the bathroom, “Is he gone?”

“Yeah, he’s gone. What is your problem with that guy anyway?” David asked as he set the food down on the coffee table.

Asher walked down the stairs, still fighting the Diablo 2 shirt over his damp skin as he complained, “He knows too much! I swear that place only has that one delivery guy and I can’t have someone else knowing how bad my pizza and wing problem is.” He pouted at David as he continued, “It’s already bad enough that you know.” 

David sat on the couch and scrolled through Netflix until he found Star Trek. He looked at Asher while he nodded towards the television. Asher looked at him in disbelief. “You got me pizza and wings and we’re gonna watch Star Trek?” He vaulted over the back of the couch to sit practically on top of David as he finished dramatically, “You spoil me, David.” 

They watched episode after episode of the show as they ate, and Asher was too busy scarfing down food to talk over the show as often as he usually did. David always halfheartedly gave him shit about it, but he missed it something awful at the moment. Asher was tucked into his side, and David’s focus kept drifting from the screen down to Asher’s chest. David’s shirt was too big on him and was falling off one of his shoulders. Normally, the sight would’ve sparked a significantly different flavor of thought than what was currently running through David’s mind. Now, the bagginess of the shirt gave him a clearer view of the scars on Asher’s chest. One of them tore straight through the Jigglypuff tattoo that Asher had gotten on his ribs as a joke shortly after he’d turned 18. Another narrowly missed the matching tattoo he had with his sister. There were so many of them, so many scars that had been gruesome wounds.

Putting the ward back up was objectively the right choice; David knew that, found solace in it, but that didn’t make it an easy one. That didn’t mean he didn’t blame himself for everything that happened inside the ward after it went up. The guilt in David’s stomach shifted into something clearer. He was terrified at the thought of losing Asher and just as angry at himself for not having protected him. Out of everything that happened that night, those scars are what David carried the most bl—

“I don’t blame you, y’know.”

“What?”

Asher didn’t even turn away from the television as he said, “For the scars, I mean. I don’t blame you. They’re not your fault. I’m the one that let my guard down and got clawed to shit by a shade for it.” 

David was speechless, trying to rationalize Asher’s words and shocked as to how Asher seemed to know exactly what he had been thinking. David reached out for Asher’s aura. It was still all shifter, no telepath. It wasn't even lit up like it would’ve been if he was using telepathy magic, not that he knew any to use. David asked, “How? How did you know that’s what I was thinking?” Tears were once again welling up in David’s eyes. His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke, and it broke as he asked, “And how do you not blame me?”

Wiping the crumbs of the last slice of pizza away from his mouth and still not looking at David, Asher said, “You were staring, and I know you well enough to know you’re probably still blaming yourself for me going into the ward, which means you’re probably also blaming yourself for the scars.” Asher paused the episode of Star Trek and finally turned to look David in the eye, then proceeded, “And I don’t blame you for them because they’re not your fault. Yeah, I went into the ward because you did, but don’t act like you wouldn’t’ve done the same thing for me. I did it because you’re you; I told you that then. You’re my best friend. I love you, Davey. I have my whole life. It’s not your fault that I love you the way I do.” 

David turned his face away from Asher, and, god fucking damn it, he was crying again. All the emotions that David had been holding back, only letting slip out in small doses, were breaking free. It was obvious in his voice as he said, “If you only went into the ward because I did, that makes everything that happened after my fault! ” 

Asher grabbed David’s chin and pulled his face back to look him in the eye. Asher’s voice was soft but resolute as he said, “No, it doesn’t. You didn’t know what would happen when you made the call for the ward to be put up or when you went into it. You didn’t even ask me to follow you. I did that on my own. You made your choice and I made mine.” 

Using his free hand, Asher brushed David’s hair back behind his ear. David watched his face intently as Asher moved his hands to cup David’s face and wipe away his tears with his thumbs for the second time that day. Asher’s voice was gentler than it was before as he said, “Even knowing everything that happened, I’d do it again. Shit, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if that’s what it took to know that you’re safe. There’s nothing you can say or do to change that.” 

Those words were exactly what David needed to hear. They broke him back together. They slotted into all the right places and forced the guilt he had been carrying down into a more manageable kind of grief. He collapsed against Asher, hugging him and burying his face in his neck. David muttered a soft, “Thank you,” into his neck. Asher only hummed in response and moved a hand up to run through David’s hair.

Asher held him close in a comfortable silence. It felt right. It felt safe. When David’s mind conjured up memories of the Inversion, the steady rise and fall of Asher’s chest was there to ground him. When he closed his eyes and saw Asher bleeding out in his arms, the constant beat of Asher’s heart reminded him that they were both alive. They were alive, and they were together, and that was all that mattered.

After a while, David’s eyelids started to feel heavy. For the first time since the Inversion, he was about to fall into a restful sleep. David looked up at Asher and said, “Can we go to bed? All this ‘having emotions’ shit is making me tired.” 

Asher ran his hand through David’s hair one last time while he said, “Of course we can, big guy.” 

David stood up, reluctantly pulling himself out of Asher’s arms. He rubbed his eyes and lazily tried to fix his hair as Asher pulled himself up from the couch behind him. Once Asher was on his feet, he nudged David towards the stairs and let out a yawn. As they walked up the stairs and towards David’s room, Asher was prattling on about how his couch was too cozy, saying something about "prime nap conditions". David didn’t bother trying to fight back the soft smile on his face. Even if he had, he was too tired and too in love with Asher to have won that battle. 

When they reached David’s room, he stripped off his shirt and socks and threw them somewhere in the general vicinity of his hamper, too exhausted to care if they actually went in or not. He unceremoniously flopped onto his bed and looked over at Asher, waiting for him to do the same. Asher’s hands were shaking as they hovered around the hem of the shirt David had given him, repeatedly curling and uncurling around it. 

Asher climbed into the bed and kicked his socks off, shirt still on. David propped himself up on his elbows and frowned at him. He knew Asher couldn’t sleep with a shirt on. He never could, not even when they were little kids. He ran warm and only got warmer when he was asleep. When they lived together, the first thing Asher did when he got home for the day was take his shirt off. It was like he was allergic to being fully clothed. David tilted his head at Asher, and Asher tilted his back. David looked down at the shirt still covering Asher’s body and then back at his face.

“Oh. I, uh—I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable. The scars are… a lot. There’s a lot of ‘em, and they’re pretty ugly, and I haven’t slept since the Inversion, anyway, so I’m tired enough to fall asleep with a shirt on.” Asher said as he laid back. He was looking anywhere other than at David as he spoke. 

David rolled over to Asher and pushed his legs apart with his knee. He was vaguely aware of his heart thudding in his chest, but he was so focused on Asher that he couldn’t care. He knelt between Asher’s legs and gently pulled him up until he was sitting. David reached down and gradually started tugging the shirt up, inch by inch. Asher was trembling, his breathing was shaky, and he had a wild, defensive look in his eyes. David managed to ease the shirt up to the bottom of Asher’s rib rage, right below where the bulk of the scars started. 

Every muscle in Asher’s body was taught, like he was looking for any chance to flee. David gave him plenty, but he took none. Still, he looked every bit like a cornered animal, and, in a sense, that was exactly what he was. David was sure that if Asher shifted right then and there, his hackles would be raised and he’d be snarling, growling, and gnashing his teeth, trying to scare off a threat that wasn’t actually there. He’d be trying to scare off David.

David moved slowly and deliberately, like he was coaxing a scared stray out of an alley and into the open. He was giving Asher ample time to tell him to fuck off, time to scramble out of bed with him and back to the safety of the couch or his own apartment if that was what he wanted. When the hem of the shirt reached the base of his sternum, Asher hesitated as he raised his arms, finally allowing David to pull the shirt up over his head. The whole time, Asher was watching David’s face closely, as if he was expecting some sort of grimace or outcry of disgust when the scars were revealed in their entirety. Instead, once the shirt was off and discarded haphazardly somewhere on the floor, David pulled Asher into a hug and dropped his head to nuzzle at the uppermost scar where it curved up the side of Asher’s neck.

As soon as David’s face made contact with the scar, the tension flooded out of Asher’s body. He let out a heavy breath as he leaned his head over to rest on David’s. David felt a tear drop onto his cheek but said nothing of it. Asher wrapped his arms around David, pulling him in closer as quiet sobs started to rack his body. David kept silent, just holding Asher close and tracing nonsense patterns into his back. He’d never been very good with words, he knew that much, but he also knew that oftentimes all Asher needed was a steady presence to comfort him. 

David pressed a kiss to the scar. Sure, he hated it. He hated it for how it got there and for how it made Asher feel, but he loved Asher, and Asher now came with the scars. 

After Asher’s breathing steadied out, David lightly nudged him to lay back against the pillows. When he did, David rested his head on Asher’s chest, on Asher’s scars, as he said, “You could never make me uncomfortable, Ash. Not by just being yourself.” There was a tenderness in his voice that he hadn’t meant to let slip in, but he wasn’t upset that it had. Barely a whisper, David added, “Not that it matters, but you’re still fucking gorgeous.” 

David heard Asher’s heartbeat start to quicken in his chest, but he didn’t push David off. Even in the dark of his room, David could see the blush that had taken over Asher’s face. It was cute. Asher reached over to pull one of the blankets that was frumpled on the other side of the bed over David’s shoulders as he said, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” David echoed. He scooted himself and the blanket down, nestling himself more comfortably between Asher’s legs and staring up at him from where his head now rested on Asher’s stomach. David had always thought Asher was beautiful. Pretty? Handsome? Fucking ethereal? It didn’t matter; no words would ever do it justice. 

Asher grabbed his phone out of the pocket of the sweatpants David lent him and reached down to run the other hand through David’s hair. He’d been doing that a lot since the Inversion, not that David minded. Even during the Inversion, he’d done it. After that earth elemental carried David into the underground, he managed to stand and stumble his way over to Asher. David had collapsed into his side, and reaching up to lazily play with his hair was the only acknowledgment Asher gave him. It was the only acknowledgment he could give him; Asher had clearly been still hazy from rushed, half-done healing magic. 

Still looking up at Asher, happy to let him make a mess of his hair, David found himself replaying the conversation he had had with Milo. Maybe he had been that obvious, and maybe he wasn’t all that upset about it. He was in love with Asher. He always had been, and he probably always would be. 

David fought off the sleep trying to pull his eyelids shut, so he could keep quietly taking in the soft, contented look on Asher’s face. The dull, blue glow of his phone lit up his face just enough for David to clearly make out his features, and he looked so at ease. There in David’s bed, he was safe, and they were together, and everything felt right, like it would all be okay. David felt his core thrum, begging him to come out and say it, begging to finally be able to call Asher his mate, but David didn’t dare interrupt the peace they’d made with each other.

Smiling softly, David let himself run through memories of Asher and all the emotions that came with them. David recalled the camping trips that they shared tents for as little kids and the unburdened, idyllic childhood joy they’d shared when they figured out how to zip their sleeping bags together so that a little Davey could cuddle up to Asher and steal the warmth that radiated off him. The carefree weekends they spent staying up way too late, eating trash food, playing video games, and watching bad movies; sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with the rest of the second generation of the pack, but always together. The times Asher pushed him into the lake at the cabins up north, and his playful vengeance when he picked Asher up and jumped back in, drenching them both. The raw, candid talks they would have about their pasts, presents, and futures, shivering in the bitter cold or sweating in the sweltering heat of a California summer as they sat on the rickety old fire escape of Asher’s first apartment. The seething, jealous rage that tore through him when Asher would come back to their shared apartment, alone but covered in hickies and smelling like someone else, and the shame at his own pettiness that swallowed up the rage just as quickly as it arrived, because really all David wanted was to see Asher happy, and the gut wrenching sadness at the prospect of Asher’s happiness being found in somebody else. The shenanigans that Asher got up to while they lived together that David secretly found hilarious but had to pretend to hate because that was part of the fun. Their first kiss, the time Asher fell out of the tree, the night of that party. It all gradually came together. Slowly, all the memories and feelings congealed into one thought in its full weight, meaning, and intention.

“I love you.”

The thumb Asher had been using to scroll mindlessly through his phone froze. Asher used the hand that had been carding through David’s hair to brush it out of his face as he set his phone down. Asher looked down at David with another look on his face that David couldn’t quite place. His eyes were soft and his mouth curled up into a barely there smile.  

“I love you, too."

David lifted his head off of Asher’s stomach, propping himself up on his arms as he looked up at Asher in shock. He had heard the words clear as day, in Asher’s voice, in his head. 

As David registered the words, he started to feel all the feelings he held for Asher reflected back at him in full. He was feeling how Asher felt about him, and it was the same deeply held, desperately but quietly longing sort of love. It was the same long standing desire to call him his mate, held back by the same fear of ruining a friendship too dear to bear a life without. Memories started to flood into his head from Asher’s perspective. Memories of late nights stargazing together in the back of Gabe’s old pickup truck, but Asher spent the time looking at something he thought was far more beautiful than any constellation; Asher spent those nights stealing glances at David. Asher’s unadulterated glee on the few occasions he managed to goad David into infodumping about cooking or the latest Destiny game, relishing the fact that David was comfortable enough around him to actually ramble about the things he cared about. The way Asher fled their shared apartment to go run until his lungs burnt and he tasted blood to stave off the hurt on the mornings that David came home from a night out with bite marks on his neck and shoulders and scratches down his back. How Asher felt safer in David's arms than anywhere else in the world.

“Did I just…” David trailed off, confused, as he pulled himself up to be face to face with Asher. 

Asher finished for him, “Think that thought so hard you telepathied it into my head?” Asher smiled up at David. It was another smile that he didn’t recognize, but it was his favorite one yet. Asher put a comforting hand on the back of David’s neck as he continued, “Yeah. Yeah, you did, big guy.”

David didn’t know how he felt about that. Of all the ways he’d imagined confessing to Asher over the years, never once did it include being so completely in love with him that the thought forced its way, unprompted, into Asher’s head. He’d imagined writing a letter and leaving it on Asher’s doormat, he’d thought about dropping hints until Asher confessed first, he’d almost sent a few drunk texts, and he’d actually left an even drunker voicemail that he stole Asher’s phone to delete before he’d listened to it, but he’d never wanted it to be like this. 

“Bridge with me?” Asher asked.

He considered it, but David shook his head before saying, “I don’t think you want to do that, not right now. There’s a lot going on in my head.” 

Asher brushed a piece of hair that had fallen in front of David’s face back behind his ear as he said, “That’s why I want to be in your head. It’ll be easier for me to understand how you’re feeling if I can actually feel it, but if you’d rather not, that’s okay. You can just… talk to me, Davey. Tell me what’s going on in that big ol’ brain of yours.” 

Resting his full weight on Asher and burying his face in his neck, David sighed and reconsidered. Slowly, David reached out with his threads for Asher’s. He didn’t actually make contact, didn’t actually bridge them, but got them close enough for Asher to notice. Asher reached out with his own threads to bridge them, and it didn’t take long for their magic to find an equilibrium. It never did. Their magic knew each other’s well. To David, Asher’s magic felt like coming home.

They laid like that in silence for a while, as David settled himself into Asher’s arms and found an odd comfort in the feeling of Asher poking around in his head. Absentmindedly, David started running his fingers along the scars now decorating Asher’s body. They were soft in the way a friction burn was, and they were slightly raised against the rest of Asher’s skin. 

Once Asher had cataloged all the thoughts racing through David’s head, he latched onto one and said, “Y’know, I don’t mind that that’s how you told me. Actually, that’s a lie. I’m a little grumpy because we could’ve been doing this for years, but that’s not the point, and it’s not really a ‘how’ as much as it is a ‘when’. I know you love me, and you know I love you, and that’s what matters.”

“Yeah, but you’re a sap. I know you would’ve liked some kind of grand romantic gesture, and you deserved one, too,” David replied. Knowing better than to try and lie by omission to Asher while they were bridged, he continued, “And, I wanted to be able to plan it. I wanted… control, I guess? I could’ve gotten you flowers and taken you on an actual date and actually said the words out loud instead of accidentally forcing them into your head and scaring myself half to death.” 

Asher half laughed at him, "I get that. You’re a planner.” He paused. “We don’t have to act on any of this right now, so you can have time to process and all that.” David’s stomach dropped. He was absolutely not doing the “confessing to having been in love with Asher since high school” thing twice, even if the first time didn’t exactly feel right. David felt Asher’s relief and heard the smile in his voice when he continued, “Or we can. We can, and we can still do all of that sappy romance shit, too.”

David jokingly groaned. He’d never admit it out loud, and if Asher told anyone he’d deny it, but he wasn’t as against all that mushy romantic bullshit as he made it seem. Sure, he thought it was silly to do all the time, but every now and again, it could be cute.

They fell into another silence, this time with David poking around in Asher’s head. The relief of finally having David know the full extent of his feelings was so complete in Asher’s mind that it drowned out almost all of David’s lingering doubts. Still, the way Asher felt about him, the way Asher was so totally and utterly in love with him felt strange. Right, but strange. It felt like the person Asher was in love with couldn’t possibly be him.

“That’s exactly how you feel about me, too, Davey,” Asher said. He was right, and when David reached for it, he found the same disbelief in Asher.

David frowned against the skin of Asher’s neck as he said, “I love you. I love the you that I know, and the you that you know, and the you that the rest of the pack knows, because they’re all you, and I love you.” 

Asher laughed at him again. “Throwing stones in a glass house,” he said.

After a pause, David picked his head up to look at Asher. He hesitated, but through their bridge, he said, “Can I call you my mate? ”

“God, please, yes.”

“You’re my mate.” A smile broke onto David’s face as he said, “You’re my mate, and I love you.” 

If the light that flickered in David’s core before at the thought of calling Asher his mate was the weak flame at the end of a candle wick, what he was feeling at actually saying it was putting every star that had ever been to shame. Asher pulled David down into a soft, sleepy kiss. Asher’s lips were soft, and his hand lazily playing with David’s hair was sending shivers down his spine. Most importantly, Asher was finally, fucking finally, his. His mate, his boyfriend, his everything, his.

David pulled back, and Asher was looking up at him with pure adoration on his face. He was fucking beautiful, David thought.

The adrenaline from having accidentally confessed was wearing off and the exhaustion of the previous sleepless nights were taking their toll on David, and when he rolled onto his back next to Asher, next to his mate, he almost immediately started drifting off. Asher was in the same state when he rolled over to curl into David’s side. With sleep heavy in his voice, Asher said, “When I fell out of the orange tree and chipped my tooth and you were on top of me, I wanted you to kiss me.” 

David laughed, squished Asher closer, and kissed the top of his head. 

“I should’ve.”