treacherous | druig x reader

16: manifold

"Would you like to share with us what happened?" Your mother asked. You two, plus your father, were seated at the dining room table. You'd been sat there, unable to think of what else to do, since the three of you had returned home from the police station. You wanted to make a beeline for the shower, but it didn't take a genius to know that wasn't going to happen yet.

After giving the rest of your statement — a jumbled, blurred mess of memories and explanations — you had begged to go home, at least for the rest of the day. If they needed any more, you assured the detective, you'd return in the morning. She said there was no need for now, but you shouldn't leave the area quite yet and be prepared for further calls for questioning. You took it as a win and left with your head hanging, finding home was not so much of a home currently.

On top of feeling like a black sheep in a city full of outcasts, your parents started badgering you for answers the moment you entered the apartment building. It was understandable for the most part. They had likely heard the screaming and were very much aware of how long you had spent in the interrogation room. The only piece of the puzzle they were missing was the why.

Why had you spent so long speaking to a detective? A statement hadn't been just a statement. They were wise and clueless. And you knew they had the right to know.

"I wasn't kidnapped or anything like that," you admitted. "It's actually a bit more complicated..."

And then began your second rundown of the situation. You laid it all out for a new audience — an audience on the edge of their seat. They never interrupted you once, even when their expressions hinted at their desperation to ask questions or protest or gasp in disbelief. They kept silent and allowed you to recount most of your story. You had opted to leave on some things but everything else was fair game: the village, the people, the crafts, the food, the language, and the man. The man, the eternal being, you had started to ridiculously fall for. The one you were tied to, by the hands of fate. It was complicated, it was insane, but it was all real, even if you could barely wrap your head around it still. You knew what you saw and you knew what you felt. That was the most damning of it all.

When you finished airing out your, arguably, dirty laundry, your parents appeared to be at a loss for words — not like you could blame them. You had even managed to stun a New York detective, someone who has probably thought they'd seen everything, with your story.

As the heaviness of the silence began to settle, it was clear to everyone that someone had to speak. Your mother cleared her throat and leaned in her seat like she was preparing for war.

"All of this was because of your soulmate?" She asked through tears threatening to spill.

"Well," you sighed, "I'm... I'm not sure what you mean—,"

"He took you away from us." It was a statement, not a question.

"That's what you're focusing on?" you said, your voice a frantic panic. You had spilled all of that and they chose to hyper-fixate on that? They didn't get it. No one was getting it. "That's not what happened. He... We... We were giving the relationship a chance. It wasn't a perfect situation and, sure, at first, I was reluctant, but he's my soulmate. No one understands what that means. How intense it is to be around your other half, how much you're pulled to them whether you want to or not, how compulsive you become." You pulled at your hair as exhaustion hit you in waves. "He didn't exactly take me away, not in the manner you're thinking. Maybe, in some ways, I pulled myself away from everything. I don't know. Nothing is black and white, despite how much everyone tries to make it be."

Your father finally chimed in. "You gotta understand how this sounds to us. We've never heard of anything like this before. Sure, we don't know many soulmates, but I don't think it's meant to be this extreme."