The Ultimatum

Chapter 3

I pull up to my apartment complex and he is there, leaning against the building. One of the men from Vincent's room, the brunette. So help me God, I am going to kill him for ruining my chances at a hot bath and going to bed before midnight. I grab the jello cup and spoon I took from Vincent's room in retribution and yank the keys out, flinging the door open. I shove these into my pockets because the chance of me needing both hands available to punch him is a nonzero number. He looks up at my approach, twiddling an unlit cigarette between two fingers. He must have been waiting for me, due to his utter lack of surprise at me being here. "What the hell do you want?" I growl at him. Unlike the intended effect, this doesn't wipe the smug smile from his face. On the contrary, it causes it to sprout into a full-fledged ear-to-ear grin. I scowl at him. "Are you deaf?" I ask, signing as I talk. His eyes widen. I'm running on fumes and don't have time to waste on whatever it is he's here for thanks to him and his friends' shenanigans. He finally breaks the silence between us -

"You sign?"
"Really? That's what you choose to say? If you just came here to mock me, I'm going to bed, like I was supposed to half an hour ago." I fume, giving him a pointed look so he knows I blame him for that fact. I brush past him and start walking away, drained from the stress of a long day at the hospital. "And smoking isn't fucking cool, by the way. Do you know how many people I treat with terminal problems that didn't even smoke but knew some asshole that did? It's selfish." I'm exhausted and practically dead on my feet, and him showing up here isn't helping that. And as pissed as I'd been at him for making my day worse, the fight just seemed to drain out of me as I walked towards the long flight of stairs I had to take to reach my apartment. All I want now is to take a hot shower and to go to bed.

"Wait up!" He calls, jogging to catch up with me. I roll my eyes and ignore his request. As he begins to catch up with me anyway, he extends the cigarette like an olive branch between us. I look at it in disgust as I glance over at him trotting along beside me. He rolled his eyes at this. "I don't smoke, see, that's why it's not lit."
"Okay, Augustus Waters. We've all seen The Fault In Our Stars. You're not special." By this point, he was starting to look slightly exasperated. I gave myself a moment to revel in the satisfaction of this as we hike up another flight of stairs. It doesn't take long before he interrupts the silence once again.
"And we all cried our eyes out when we read the book, but that's not my point. I use them because they make me less conspicuous. I've never smoked a day in my life." He says as we exit the stairwell. I have to admit, he went up a few points in my book for having read the book.
"Well, I hate to tell you, but they don't make you any less of a creepy stalker for showing up at my home." I retort as I get to my door and start searching my pockets for the keys I shoved into them before, having to dig down past the jello to find them. He holds a hand to his heart and pretends to look offended as he leans against my door jamb.

"And here I thought we had somewhat of a repertoire going." I finally find my keys and insert them in the lock, finally hearing the telltale sound of the door unlocking.
"Not enough of one to invite you into my apartment." I shoot back as I wrestle my key out of the lock and fling the door of my small apartment open. I step inside and, undeterred by my previous statement, he follows me in before I can swing the door closed. "Once again, are you deaf?" I ask, turning around. But when I see him, he stands transfixed, staring at my apartment.
"You live like this?" He asks. I shift uncomfortably. My apartment is meagerly decorated, to say the least. I have a fridge and cabinets that were here when I got here that are about as empty of food now as they were then. I use the extra space for clothes storage since I don't have the luxury of a closet. Besides that, there's a mattress on the floor and a small bathroom. For once the smirk and the sarcasm have melted away, leaving him looking surprisingly vulnerable. Instead of feeling accomplished at finally wiping the smirk from his face, I feel humiliated. I rub my arms, suddenly self-conscious. "Why did you say you came here again?" I ask, desperate for him to leave. When his eyes focus on me again, they are still so unguarded that it unnerves me.

"I didn't. I'm here," he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets, "because my Gamma, Vincent, noticed you're a werewolf. I'm sure others have, but he brought it to my attention. He says that you're here on an internship. Some of my advisors thought you might be a threat. Vincent insisted you weren't, so I thought I'd try and meet you, only they had a hair-brained plan to smuggle him away because he's never had to sit still that long. Sorry about that, by the way."
"So.. you're the Alpha of this place." It's barely even a question by now. He smiles, half-apologetic, half of his trademark smirk. My gut clenches, uncomfortable with the memories this brings to mind, of another meeting, another man who holds a claim to that title.
"And what did you decide?" I ask, hating how vulnerable I feel and the slight tremor I think I can hear in my voice as I ask him this. I'm hoping he didn't notice, but the way he's looking at me right now, I can't tell.

"I decided," he says, his gaze sweeping back over my apartment before returning to me, "that I'd like you to join my pack, and I'd like to hear your story if you'd tell it to me."
"I don't know if I can." He's silent for a moment, contemplating.
"That's okay. You're still welcome, there's a room in my pack house with your name on it, if you want it. Don't hesitate to claim it." As he finishes speaking, he walks back out of the door and turns back to me. He holds a hand up in farewell, and with a sigh, closes my door back. I walk to my door, turning his offer over, when I realize he didn't leave any sort of number to reach him at. I open the door and stick my head out, the words I'm about to ask him on the tip of my tongue, only to realize he is already gone.