Young and Foolish

Chapter 20: Hardly Perfect is Perfect Enough

Jason's POV:

I hardly understood when my wolf spoke to me. 

The shifters here at Beaufort's had issues with their animal counterparts, usually manifesting as uncontrollably strong animalistic tendencies or an inability to shift properly. I had come here because my wolf was a strong Alpha, and wasn't in tune with my human side. 

This manifested in fragments of thoughts in my head that weren't my own, almost like a split personality. When I was younger, it was hard for me to filter out which thoughts I should listen to and to make sense of the clippings of whatever it was I heard, but the time I spent at the Institute helped me loads. 

I had gotten much better at keeping a sane mind. For years now, it was rare for me to catch any half garbled nonsense. 

I thought I was gaining progress, that my wolf wouldn't be able to pilot my human body or drive me insane. But when I heard that word clear in my head, I could only feel defeat. 

"Mate," he said, and it almost made me angry. Why now? And whom? 

I sat down on my bed. I thought a measly crush on Theodore would keep my head spinning for a while, but that was nothing compared to how erratic my thoughts were now. 

And if I knew merely thinking about him would summon him in the flesh, I wouldn't have been so surprised to see his face inches away from my own. 

He lightly grabbed me, and I could feel my mind settle near immediately. 

Oh, how obvious. My wolf spoke of worshipping him, tainting him, loving him. The only person I ever showed any romantic interest in couldn't be anyone but my mate. 

And how good it felt that he was finally brave enough to approach me. I didn't know what changed on his side, but this was nice. 

"There once was a man that lived by the sea," his voice was almost wistful as he spoke, before his eyes widened suddenly and he shook the thought out his head. 

I wasn't worthy of him. But the fact that he, too, was here at Beaufort's mildly put me at ease. Neither of us were perfect, but I'd like if we could be perfect for each other. 

I asked for him to continue, and he did just that. I had never had someone treat my wounds so tenderly. And I couldn't remember the last time someone had told me a story. 

He touched me as if I was made of glass. Fragile and precious. 

Could he hear my heart pounding? It thundered in my ears. 

I could relate to the man in his story. I'd build Theodore a lighthouse for a mere moment of his attention. 

He finished my bruised knuckles, but I still wanted him near. I needed his hands on me for a moment longer. My lip faintly hurt, so I tilted my head closer to him, hoping that it was hurt enough for him to patch it up, too. 

His hands trembled as he softly held my chin. The warmth of his hand was so nice. His light touch tickled my heart. 

He was staring so intently at my lips. I had to remind myself this wasn't an invitation to kiss him. 

"The fishermen all closed in," he trailed off, finishing up with my wounds. His eyes slowly travelled up my face until they met my own. 

They were dark green. They had little flecks of a lighter green near his pupils. Like the forest, with sunlight streaming in through the branches and highlighting the underbrush. His eyes were beautiful. I'd never see green again without thinking of how gorgeous he looked to me in this moment. 

And then some idiot in the room beside ours bumped into their wall. The sudden loud noise made Theodore flinch back. And there was only coldness where his soft breaths had just mingled with my own. 

He tidied up his first aid kit, sitting on his heels in front of my opened legs. 

What a view. The embodiment of temptation. I looked at him through hooded eyes for a split moment before letting my torso fall back on my bed. 

"And then what?" I asked. He hadn't finished his story, and I didn't want it to end the way he left it. 

"He couldn't bear to see his true love perish so mercilessly. He flung himself from the top of his tower to the sea below. The moment he hit the water, the light in his tower extinguished. He was the only one that knew how to work it and, with his death, it became obsolete. From then on, storms frequented the seas near his shore, and not once has the lighthouse ever saved a fishing boat." He carefully placed the first aid kit in a bathroom cupboard. 

"What kind of ending is that?" I spat. I had no reason to be angry, but I couldn't keep the scowl off my face. I didn't even know why I was upset. 

He flinched at my outburst and I wanted to punch myself. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. There was no reason for him to be. 

He grabbed his pyjamas from his closet and locked himself in the bathroom. I listened to the sound of water running in the shower. 

By the time he had come out, I had stripped out of my clothes and threw the sheet over me. I faced the wall so I didn't have to see him freshened and sleepy. Soft and calm. 

He must've thought I had already fallen asleep, because he attempted to be as quiet as possible as he climbed up the ladder to the top bunk. 

"Tell me a better story next time," I quietly called out. He was silent for a moment. 

I was nearly asleep when I heard a soft "Sure."