Defining Normal | EMBRY CALL

Unsettled

Lex and Embry fall into an easy rhythm after the day at the diner. No conversations are had about the nature of their relationship, of course, but they spend virtually every free moment together - those moments are particularly fleeting in the mid-term chaos - and that's a-ok in Lex's book. Embry dutifully picks her up for college every morning, always with a sleepy smile that sends her heart into overdrive. She'll miss these trips when she finally purchases her own car, but, for now, seeing Embry every morning is her favourite part of the day. Sometimes she worries that she's a burden to him, noticing the deep shadows under his eyes and perpetually stubbly face, anxious that the detour is depriving him of precious sleep. Lex mentions this one morning, expecting a sigh of agreement, only to be totally caught off guard by his quick shake of the head and reassuring pat on her knee. Embry says something about it being fine, wanting to help her out, but her mind is completely fixated on the fact that he's touching her, his long broad fingers settling to rest across her lower thigh like they were made to be there.

That was the odd thing about Embry. Every action, every gesture felt natural, comfortable, as if they were a well-established pair who knew each other inside and out. She barely knew the man, she'd never trust him fully, and yet he was slowly and surely working his way through her defences in a way that she had never anticipated. Her past told her to run, dip out from his life and be some plain jane somewhere else, but the better-adjusted side (which was making increasing appearances over the last few weeks) said to take a breath and give him a chance. Some days, when the impulses were really bad, Embry was extra cautious with her, moving slowly and sending her sidelong glances that were probably better directed towards a frightened animal. Embry was strange in that way: he could read her like no other, as if he knew what she was thinking, and yet he was compassionate enough to never comment on her strangeness. On her good days, he was always close by, always surprising her with affectionate motions that warmed her from inside. A hand on a forearm, fingers running through hair, warm embraces on the stoop of her home. Small comforts that were quickly becoming habitual, proof that their relationship was progressing to something more familiar than friends.

Embry tries his best to not become too hopeful, thinking hard about Quil's advice to meet her at her level . Lex's level, her needs, were becoming increasingly complicated to gauge, a constant interplay of closer and space that leave his head spinning. He knows she's scared - fuck, that was beyond obvious - and yet he can't figure out why. Kim and Jared had guessed it was something to do with a past partner, but Embry couldn't imagine Lex ever letting someone grow close enough to her to actually have a relationship. He suspects family issues were more likely, and, aside from her occasional odd anecdotes about her father, that topic was wholly off the table. She tended to get a strange, faraway look in her eye whenever she talked about him, especially that day they'd spent hiking in the forest, and Embry was certain he didn't want to revisit that. Instead, he did his best to let her set the pace, attempting to mirror her level of enthusiasm, only really releasing his feelings at night when he'd phase to run out his tensions.

The first time he'd phased to vent some of his imprint angst had caught Seth completely off-guard, who had immediately snapped into protective mode as if it was a real emergency and not another relationship crisis. Seth wasn't expecting to see Embry's softer side, to see the abrupt carousel of images of Lex viewed through a lover's eyes, playing voyeur to a series of intimate observations and pining thoughts. Embry spends plenty of time phased - he's no stranger to the pack mind - and yet he shares little, carefully filtering his thoughts in a bid to protect his privacy. It's not that he's hiding anything, per se, but he's perfectly content with having some secrets, some surprises. He's distantly aware of the fact that he's showing Seth everything , that he's opened Pandora's box and all of his hopes and dreams and desires - oh god, oh fuck - about Lex are escaping. Embry summons every ounce of control he has, conjuring a sequence of entirely boring memories as a distraction from the more revealing images he's unintentionally let loose. He's normally better than this; he doesn't usually struggle to filter his thoughts, and yet they're escaping like the oranges he'd dropped at his mom's store earlier that evening, rolling away faster than he can grasp them.