Page 11 of Dance in the Stones

Damon: You’re awake.

Lamont: Because Ewan is working late and I’m waiting up. What’s going on?

Damon: Nothing. Hypothetical remember.

Lamont: Right. This about your landlord?

Damon: How did you...?

Lamont: Pack link. Your hound’s been broadcasting satisfaction for two days. We’ve all noticed. So who is he?

Damon stared at his phone. He hadn’t realized his emotional state was bleeding through to the pack. That was embarrassing.

Damon: The gargoyle who owns the castle has moved into my spare room.

Lamont: And?

Damon: And nothing. Just weird how right it feels having him here.

Lamont: Have you tested the collar box?

Damon: No.

Lamont: Why not?

Damon: Because what if he’s not? What if this is just my hound being weird and I make it awkward?

Lamont: Or what if he is? And you’re wasting time being scared?

Damon didn’t respond. Lamont’s words were hitting a little bit too close to home. Lamont sent another text.

Lamont: Test the box. Better to know than wonder. Trust me on this.

Damon: Yeah, maybe. Thanks.

Lamont: Anytime. Now go to sleep before I tell the pack you’re being an idiot about a boy.

Damon smiled and set the phone aside. Through the wall, he heard Redford’s breathing even out into sleep, and his hound rumbled contentedly. He’d figure it all out tomorrow.

/~/~/~/~/

Morning came too early and exactly on time. Damon woke to the gray light filtering through his window and the smell of coffee brewing. He blinked, disorientated for a moment because he was the one who usually made coffee, before stumbling out of bed.

Redford stood in the kitchen, humming something under his breath while he scrambled eggs. He’d found Damon’s apron - the ridiculous one with the “Kiss the cook” embroidered on it that Lamont had given him as a joke - and looked completely at home.

“Morning,” Redford said without turning around. “The coffee’s ready.”

“Thanks, but you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Redford glanced over his shoulder, and he was wearing what Damon had called his fond look again, although, again, Damon wasn’t sure. Redford definitely looked more relaxed. “I figured I owed you a few meals since you’ve been feeding me.”

Damon poured himself another cup of the perfect blend of coffee, leaning against the counter, just watching. Redford moved efficiently through the kitchen, plating food, humming that same tune, and an ache developed in Damon’s chest – I want this.

He could imagine it all so clearly, having Redford in his life. Waking up every morning to find Redford cooking breakfast, evenings spent sitting together by the fire, every night knowing Redford was just one room away, or perhaps not that far away at all.

There was so much about Redford to appreciate - the way he laughed at Damon’s jokes. The careful way he handled the castle stones, his humor and surprising kindness, the fact that he would spend three nights freezing in a caravan rather than impose on anyone, but then accept Damon’s invitation with such obvious relief and be the perfect housemate from that moment on. Damon wanted him to stay, collar box or not.

“Are you staring at me?” Redford asked, although he was clearly amused.