He moves closer. Not touching, but close enough that I can smell cedar-smoke cutting through the greenhouse's green-earth scent and my own distressed pheromones. The familiar smell makes my chest ache with longing I don't want to feel yet.
"The incident triggered everything I've been afraid of," he says. "The violence. The possessiveness. Control masquerading as protection." He swallows hard. "You looked at me afterward like I was dangerous, and I thought… I thought I'd finally proven you right."
"I was shocked, Calder. I wasn’t afraid." I move closer. "Your reaction isn't who you are. It isn’t the Calder I've come to know these past months. You saw what you expected to see: your fear projected onto me."
"Sarah left because she had to," he continues, words tumbling out now like confession. "Because the people who claimed to love her, who said they wanted her happy, were slowly suffocating every dream she had. They called it protection. They believed they were doing right." His hands clench intofists. "I can't do that to you. But I don't know how to want you this desperately without that fear eating me alive from the inside." He’s breathing heavily now.
"You're right to be afraid." I’m not going to sugarcoat it for him. I won’t have this conversation again in a month’s time. Three months. A year. "Wanting someone as much as we want each other is terrifying, especially when you've seen love weaponized as control, when you've watched people use pack bonds as chains instead of choices.."
I step closer, close enough now that if either of us reached out we'd be touching.
"But Calder, you're not your family. You've proven that every single time you pulled back when instinct said push forward. Every time you asked permission instead of assuming consent. Every time you questioned whether your protective instincts were serving me or controlling me."
"I grabbed that alpha," he argues. "I wanted to hurt him."
"But you didn’t."
"This time. What about next time? What about the time after that?"
"You think you're the only one afraid here?" The question comes out sharper than intended, cutting through his spiral. "I'm terrified too, Calder. Of wanting this much. Of building something that might collapse the moment real pressure hits." I force myself to maintain eye contact. "But I'm choosing it anyway. Choosing to trust. Choosing you."
I close the final distance between us, looking up into his storm-grey eyes that are filled with more emotion than I've ever seenhim show.
"So here's the real question you need to answer: Are you choosing me? Us? This pack we're building? Or are you choosing fear?"
He doesn't answer immediately. Just stares at me like I'm holding his entire world in my hands, like my next words could build or destroy everything.
Then he moves.
One step eliminates the distance between us. His hands come up to cup my face, rough calluses gentle against my skin, tilting my head up so I have no choice but to meet his gaze directly.
"You," he says, voice rough with emotion. "I choose you. All of you, the brilliant parts and the stubborn parts and the parts that terrify me because wanting them makes me vulnerable. Even when I'm terrified of failing you, of becoming what I swore I'd never be, I choose you."
"Promise me something." My hands find his wrists, holding on like he's the only solid thing in a spinning world. "If you overstep—even a little, even once—I'll tell you, and you'll listen. Not just that one time. Not only when it's convenient. Always."
"Always," he repeats like a vow. "That's the promise I'm making. That's the difference between my family's love and ours. That's what makes this work instead of toxic. Can I kiss you?"
Even now, after pouring his heart out and making promises and choosing me over his fear, he's asking permission. Not taking. Not assuming his emotion gives him rights to my body.
"Yes."
He kisses me like I'm precious and essential and the answer to questions he didn't know how to ask. Desperate but tender, apologetic, everything he couldn't articulate in words channeled into the press of his mouth against mine.
I kiss back just as hard, just as desperate. Holding on like he might disappear again if I let go, like this moment needs to be seared into both our memories so we never forget what choosing each other costs and gives.
When we break for breath, foreheads pressed together in his signature gesture, I can feel his chest heaving against mine.
"I missed you," he whispers into the scant space between us.
"I was right here. You left."
"I know. I'm so sorry."
“Where did you go? I looked for you everywhere?”
He hangs his head. I have an apartment. Off campus.”
I frown. “But… you never said.”
