Opposites Attract ━━ Paul Lahote

// 𝕍. //

"Fuck, is he alright-"

     "Does he look alright?" Comes a solid voice. Authoritative in the chaos.

             "If he's dead, are we co-conspirators? Because I'm way too good looking for jail" the first male worries, a hint of panic despite his jovial tone. There's a whoosh, an arm through the air, and then the voice is yelping like a smacked puppy.

There's a new voice.

"Embry, would you shut the fuck up? Your verbal diarrhoea is no help."

      "Yeah? Well your ugly face isn't helping the situation either, Ateara, you wouldn't be so calm if your ass was literally on the line!"

Oliver takes a moment to recenter. Feels like he's just woken up from an afternoon nap, the type where twenty minutes of shut eye turns to six hours, and waking up feels like a coma; the downstairs sofa could be another country for how frazzled ones brain feels.

So, to say he's confused is an understatement.

Confused and, strangely, wet?

A female voice rings to his right, agitated.

       "What the hell was he playing at?" 

Olivia reckons he's the 'he' she's talking about. He groans, a positive sign that he's not in fact dead. A fact that becomes more glaringly obvious as the comfortable numbness that he'd been floating in unawares starts to subside, bitter cold gnawing his limbs slowly. He hadn't even realised he couldn't feel them to start with. Fingertips then elbows, toes up to his thighs and then yes, that's chilly. Oliver is damn cold. Fricking freeze your left bollocks off and maybe loose a toe or two in the process, cold.

He should open his eyes. Address a few things his brain is starting to flare up as, objectively, not quite right. Namely the cold and wet but also maybe the passing out situation he seems to be in the middle of? But Oliver is nothing if not a procrastinator (read: lazy), and frankly he's just too tired (read: cold) to be dealing with higher brain functions like why's and how's, and instead settles for glaring indifference as he gives into darkness once more.

"He's passed out again."

Several pairs of eyes flicker to Paul. But he's not looking at them, stood a few feet away. He's been listening intently to the boys fluttering chest.

He doesn't want to think about why.

However, he's got molten eyes fixed on the boy. Frowning he shakes salty droplets from his eyes, wind whipping his drenched body like a sharpe knife.

     "Paul." It's Sam. His Alpha voice cuts passed the ringing in his ears. He's not sure if it's the wind or not.

Paul stands a little straighter, awaits an order. He doesn't want to think right now, because thinking is dangerous. Thinking, also, is not something he's notoriously known for and he's not about to start now when his brain seems to be in a battle with his heart for how fast it can possibly move. He feels breathless.

He ignores the sudden tilt of his entire world (because that's what's just happened, right?) and glances to Sam.

Taking orders, following direction? Mindless. It's what he needs right now and he hadn't even realised. But Sam had. That's why he's leader.

"We'll take him to Emily's"

-

"And he ran? Just like that? Into the ocean." Emily shivers sympathetically, eyes turning briefly to the harsh Washington weather.

Embry and Quil nod eagerly, mouths occupied with mid afternoon snacks. Emily really does make the best banana bread.

"We were cliff jumping, -don't get that face Em, it's like a walk in the park to us wolves, or maybe a run in the park? If the park was dog friendly that is-" Quill tosses a roll at Embry earning a scathing "Hey!"

"What our poor cognitively impaired Embers is trying to say is that it was fucking crazy! Like holy shit did we stumble into the set of Bay Watch meets mission impossible crazy-"

"Language." Sam calls.

His usual weight of the world frown sitting on his face. Emily squeezes her Alpha in comfort. Sams shoulders fall, if only a little. Imprint perks. Quill tugs at Claire's bracelet decorating his right wrist and ignores the brief heaviness in his chest.

He revises meekly, "Fricking crazy. So Paul jumps right? Geronimo. Hasta la vista. First one because it's Paul we're talking about, Mr Macho Macho and all that. And at this point we thought it was just us-"

Leah snorts from her perch on the floor, eyes on the Call boy, "Well done scouting out the wood dumb ass. Imagine it'd been a blood sucker instead."

Embry's middle finger is lost to the female wolf, she'd hardly been listening to the conversation. As usual. Here but not quite. Ghost in a shell.

They'd Penned it, the Emily Effect. Commonly know as heartbreak.

Quill forgoes more food in favour of informing their Alpha's imprint of the crazy kid, his heroic if idiotic (and completely unnecessary) attempt at saving Paul's life, and the following near drowning. He's halfway to the good bit, Paul lugging the boys half dead weight out of the surf like Hasselhoff himself when-

"What's Polly's Nephew doing at pack house?" Jacob fills the door, greased up hands, jean cut offs, and the afternoons drizzle dusting his hair. He sniffs the air once more- Embry is halfway to a wet dog joke- when he says, "God he smells like cherry brownies I swear."

"Huh?" Embry half questions, joke forgotten, "Nephew?" And a further, "Polly's Nephew?"

It takes a moment before-

"You've got to be shitting me?" They all jump, eyes snapping to the corner.

Leah's mouth gapes, wide eyed and then grinning. They look to her, the pack, but she doesn't care, not even Emily's gaze has the female wolf shrinking back. This might be the best thing ever, she thinks. The corners of her mouth lift and then she's laughing. Large lungfuls, straight from the belly, "no fucking way dude!"

"Leah! Language-"

"Oh screw you Sam, get a fucking swear jar. Then maybe you'll have enough money to get that permanent stick you seem to have up your ass removed."

Sam growls, but Leah's shit eating smile remains.

"Can someone tell me what's going on?" Jacob asks, eyes flickering between his pack mates. Seth's missing, probably working a shift at the local super alert, and his sister is sat on her own, cheeks red from laughter. She wipes a tear from her eye.

Leah looks incredulous, "I can't be the only one who's realised?" And then she's shaking her head, bubbles of laughter falling from her lips. "Polly's Nephew! Of all people. She's gonna eat Paul for breakfast..."

And then it clicks. Metaphorical lightbulbs aluminate the pack house.

"The boy-" Sam's eyes widen.

"Polly's Nephew-"

"No way, Paul's imprinted-"

"Oh Seth's going to love this," Leah turns to Jacob,"it seems our resident bad boy, self proclaimed lady killer and all round headache and pain in the ass, Paul Lahote has imprinted on Polly's Newphew!"

There's a beat, then- "but... Paul doesn't even like boys...?" Poor Jacob says confused.

And then Leah's laughing over the sound of shouts and confusion once more.