Nash leaves the house at noon sharp, his heart thumping as he clutches the container of sandwiches and muffins he definitely overdid it on. The necklace sits heavy in his pocket, and with each passing hour he feels more and more like an idiot about it. He'd probably chicken out if he hadn't already told Aster he was bringing him something.

The laundromat's actually running for once as he passes by, but he barely notices the people or the humming machines. His mind's too full of Aster as he takes the stairs two at a time, the container growing sweaty in his grip.

Nothing but closed doors line the hallway when he reaches the top, though life bleeds through from behind them—snippets of conversation, music floating on the air. His feet suddenly root to the ground as a familiar scent hits him square in the chest. Wolf. His nose flares as he spins toward a door, tension climbing up his shoulders before he forces it back down.

This isn't his territory, he reminds himself. If there's another wolf staying here, they've got every right. Still, as he continues down the hall, he’s mulling over how much of his scent he can get all over Aster’s room—all over Aster—without doing anything weird. Probably not much. He's not even sure Aster's going to let him in.

When Nash knocks, Aster opens the door wearing his sweater and—Nash keeps his eyes locked firmly on Aster's face because he's trying really hard to be good here—what he assumes are boxers underneath. He's definitely not wearing pants, but Nash is absolutely not thinking about that.

“Lunch,” Nash says, holding up the container.

Aster gives a single nod and turns back into his room. He leaves the door open as he goes, so Nash takes that as an invitation. With Aster's back to him, his discipline cracks just a little, and he confirms that yep, those are definitely just boxers—and Aster definitely has a nice ass.

"I made muffins," Nash says, trying to sound casual even as his stomach flips. “Blueberry. I tried one last night, and they’re actually pretty good.”

“Thank you,” Aster says, though it sounds perfunctory at best. “Do you have something else for me?”

"Sandwiches?" Nash offers with a hopeful smile. "And, uh. Yeah. I made you something, but I'm kinda starting to feel like maybe it was a little dumb."

"Promising," Aster says, but there's no edge to his voice as Nash sets the container on the bed and digs into his pocket.

The necklace feels warm from being pressed against his leg, but Nash keeps it trapped in his fist. "Niko helped me put it together properly. He said it should work for the sentiment magic stuff, but..." He swallows. "I'm not sure if it's really your kind of thing."

“Okay.”

Nash forces himself to uncurl his fingers and hold out the necklace. "The tooth is one of my baby teeth, and the beads are antler. I won't be offended if you think the tooth is gross or anything. I wasn't really sure..."

Aster takes the necklace, and Nash holds his breath as he watches Aster's thumb trace the inner curve of the tooth. At least he doesn't look disgusted. "Niko approved this?"

"Yeah, I guess?" Nash shifts his weight. "He helped me make it."

Aster's eyebrows climb as he meets Nash's gaze. "He knew about the tooth?"

“Oh,” Nash says as realisation hits him. "Yeah, we talked about it. He didn't think it was the best idea, but it was what I wanted to do."

"Hm," Aster says, turning the necklace over in his hands one last time before holding it back out to Nash. He turns around, and Nash's heart plummets until Aster lifts his hair away from his neck, pale strands sliding through his fingers.

Nash's pulse quickens as he realises what Aster wants. He steps closer, deliberately letting his fingers brush the collar of the sweater as he fastens the clasp. The wolf in him hopes Aster won't wash this sweater anytime soon—let his scent sink in, mark him as protected.

Aster turns back, fingers trailing over where the necklace sits against his throat before tucking it beneath his sweater.

“I wasn’t sure how you felt about necklaces, since I’ve never seen you wearing one,” Nash says to fill the silence. “I hope it’s okay?”

"Over the chest, around the neck—it's the most powerful point," Aster says, already moving to investigate the container of food. "I wanted to make good use of it."

"Ah," Nash says, his chest tightening. "And this probably isn't...?"

Aster shrugs, not looking up. "Do you think it is? You're the one who made it. You know exactly how much sentiment you put into it."

“That’s kinda hard to quantify, don’t you think?”

"Hm," Aster murmurs, and there's something in his voice that suggests he might actually be considering it—just barely—but his attention's already fixed on the muffins.

A shout pierces the air—female, frightened—and Nash's head snaps up. Without thinking, he's already moving toward the hall.

He recognizes her instantly—the same girl Aster stopped to talk to when Nash brought him back after the teleportation incident. She's got her arms wrapped around herself, backed against the wall. Though she's trying to look brave, her shoulders curve inward under the looming presence of the man in front of her.

Nash doesn’t have to get within sniffing distance to know he’s looking at the wolf he smelled earlier. Even if the guy's massive size wasn't enough of a giveaway, the way he's posturing is pure wolf—making himself even taller despite already towering over the girl. Typical dominance bullshit.

As Nash strides down the hall, the wolf's head snaps toward him, eyes going sharp and narrow. Nash takes in the scene: the girl can't be more than Aster's age, while this wolf's got to be pushing forty.

“What’s going on?” Nash demands.

The look the wolf levels at him is hard and aggressive. “None of your business.”

The girl's eyes dart between them, clearly unsure if Nash is any better than her current problem. Then her gaze catches on Aster as he drifts down the hallway toward them, and relief floods her face. "He's a creep."

"Am I?" The wolf doesn't move his feet, but his body sways toward her, the threat clear in every line of his posture. "Go ahead and tell them what I did, then."

The girl's shoulders climb higher as she pulls her arms tighter around herself.

A smug smile splits the wolf's face as he turns back to Nash. "She invited me back to her room. What'd she expect? But I'm a gentleman. When she said stop, I stopped, but she's still mad. Not my fault."

Nash takes another look at the girl—at her wide, wet eyes, her dishevelled hair, the angry red mark blooming on her arm. Nash can guess what happened. She probably did invite this guy back to her room, but she had her own plan for the evening, her own boundaries in mind. Only, this guy didn’t bother asking first. 

"How long before she said stop did she start smelling of fear?" Nash's voice comes out low, dangerous.

“Why invite a wolf into your bedroom if you’re not into that?” the wolf counters.

By now Aster's reached them, and the girl inches around to press herself against his side. Aster's lips press into a thin line, arms locked across his chest. A hot surge of jealousy hits Nash's gut, making him feel like the world's biggest asshole. He channels it into the clench of his jaw, pretending his anger is solely for the wolf in front of him.

Nash steps into the other wolf's space, close enough to feel his breath. "You're twice her size and twice her age. What, you figured you'd just guess what she wanted? Just plough ahead until she worked up the nerve to stop you?"

The wolf's face splits into that same smug grin. "She did, so what's the problem?"

"I don't like you." Aster's voice cuts through the tension, somehow managing to sound both bored and deadly despite standing there in just a sweater and boxers. His eyes lock onto the wolf. "Leave."

The wolf tries for a scoff, but it comes out weak. Aster might not look like much to most wolves, but their instincts know better. When the wolf tries to step around Nash toward him, Nash's throat vibrates with an inhuman growl.

The other wolf growls back, attention snapping to Nash. His hands go to his shirt, yanking it off, and Nash matches him move for move.

Nash has to deal with his shoes, but there's no rush. There's etiquette to this, even now. No race to strip, no race to shift. Behind him, Aster lets out a deep sigh. As Nash's bones begin to shift and crack, he catches the thunder of Aster's heartbeat. For all his cool facade, he's scared.

Nash isn't. They might be evenly matched for size, but this wolf is nothing but a creep fighting for his ego. Nash has something real to protect. Aster's at his back, afraid. Losing isn't an option.

The other wolf strikes first, their bodies crashing together in a tangle of teeth and snarls. Pain blazes through Nash's front leg as teeth tear flesh, the copper-salt smell of blood hitting his nose, but he twists away without missing a beat. Each collision drives the other wolf further back, away from Aster. When the wolf rears up to bear down on him, Nash sees his chance. He knocks the wolf's legs out and lunges for his throat, teeth pressing just firmly enough to make his point. The other wolf yelps once before going still, submitting as Nash's nose brushes his throat.

It's over. Nash has won. He releases the wolf, leaving him unharmed.

The wolf shifts back, all his previous swagger gone. He disappears into a nearby room, emerging minutes later fully dressed with a bag over his shoulder. He leaves without another word.