Ethereal | Twilight |

013

Sora and Paul remained by the lake, curled beneath the twisted shadow of an old tree, trusting it to shield them from whatever nightmares prowled beyond the water's edge. For once, Sora didn't feel the usual irritation that clung to moments like this—survival-dependent silence, vulnerability at rest, and the infuriating presence of another body near his own. Strangely, Paul's reckless snoring didn't bother him. In fact, it settled in his chest like warmth. Sora inched closer until their shared heat seemed to rise off their skin like steam from a bonfire, their bodies pressed together in a quiet, unspoken truce.

When morning bled in, it felt like the first morning in a long time. Not one spent staggering after a full night of running, but one where they had slept—really slept—and cleansed themselves in cold water until the weight of dried blood and exhaustion lifted from their skin. Sora, knowing it was his turn to hunt, eased Paul off his chest with care, the breath against his skin departing in soft whisps. He rose, shifted quickly, and vanished into the woods, determined to find prey large enough to feed them both.

By the time he returned, dragging the carcass by a leg in wolf form, Paul was awake. He'd already rinsed himself in the lake, his face and hair clean, his expression unguarded in the golden light. The sun glazed his russet skin, still damp from the water, giving it a deeper sheen that hadn't been there before. Even Sora's own complexion had darkened, his body stripped of tan lines—feral, exposed, and bare in a way that made clothing feel like a forgotten luxury.

Sora tore the animal in half with swift brutality, devouring his share before leaving the rest beside Paul for whenever he felt like eating. He shifted back not long after, the air thick with the scent of raw meat and wet soil. Paul lay stretched out by the lake, one arm folded behind his head, basking in the sunlight like he belonged there.

Sora stepped over a patch of flattened grass, brushing dirt from his leg. "You want to see if we can find our way back?" he asked, his voice steady. "We rested enough last night."

Paul let out a strange mix of a hum, a groan, and a whine, dragging his fingers through the shimmering water with a mournful sigh. "Probably the last time I'll ever get a wash this nice," he said, almost reverently, as if the lake itself were something sacred, something worth grieving. His hands moved through it like it was his own hair—something he had started to notice growing faster than usual. It was the gene, he figured. The wolf in them sped things up, made their fur look wild and overgrown when they shifted. Paul hated how fluffy it got, even more so because Sora didn't seem to care. Every night, Paul begged him to shift just so he could bury himself in it, insisting that Sora's fur was better than any makeshift bed the earth had to offer. Sora didn't agree. The hard ground wasn't that bad—Paul was just being dramatic, like always.

With a breathy sigh, Paul pulled his hands from the water. The veins in his forearms stretched beneath his skin, slick and golden under the sun's attention. His skin, caramel and smooth, caught the light like it was made to be seen. He turned his head toward Sora, who stood about nine feet away near the bloodied remains of the prey. The sunlight cut across Paul's face in sharp angles, forcing him to squint until his brows knit together in frustration. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, fingers spread as he tried to see past the glare.

Sora didn't move. He stood still, expression unreadable, the same way he always looked before he decided to say something—or walk away instead. He waited. Paul could tell, even from a distance, that he was deciding whether or not to speak. But the moment dragged on.

Sora had already made up his mind. He'd rather spend the day walking at a slow, steady pace than burn themselves out again by sprinting through unfamiliar woods, only to end up right back where they started. Morning light was kind. If they didn't catch a scent of home by midday, they could return, sleep off the disappointment, and run again when darkness fell. Either way, he wasn't planning on wasting another full day.