Aster's heart is still thundering as he extracts himself from the clutches of the girl. Nash stretches out on the ground, making himself non-threatening, but it doesn't seem to help. Without a word, Aster scoops up Nash's scattered clothes and they head back to his room.

Nash slips into the bathroom, his claws clicking against the tile. The shift ripples through him, fur melting away until he's standing on two legs again. The deep gash that tore through his front leg now spans his forearm, ragged flesh that would need a dozen stitches on anyone else. He leans over the sink and lets warm water wash away the blood, revealing skin that's already knitting itself back together. In a few hours, it'll be nothing but a memory.

Taking a steadying breath, Nash steels himself to leave the bathroom. His clothes are still in Aster's room, and while he's not bothered by Aster seeing him naked, the room's way too small. If Aster stares at him like last time, his body's going to react, and there's nowhere to hide it.

But when Nash emerges, Aster's not looking at all. He's perched on the edge of his bed, fingers threaded through his hair and digging into his scalp as he draws careful, measured breaths. Every instinct in Nash's body screams at him to rush over, to comfort, to protect, to fix whatever's wrong. Instead, he forces himself to focus on gathering his clothes and getting dressed. What Aster needs matters more than what Nash's wolf wants.

Before Nash can figure out his next move, Aster pushes up from the bed with a sigh and disappears into the bathroom. The door clicks shut, followed by the rush of running water. Nash sinks down onto the bed where Aster was sitting, the warmth of his body still lingering in the blanket, and waits.

When Aster emerges, he's stripped down to just his boxers. The sweater lands in a corner with his other dirty clothes as he crosses the room. His damp hair clings to his face in pale waves, water droplets trailing paths down his bare chest. Nash's eyes catch on the necklace still hanging there—his tooth, his gift—and something primal stirs in his gut.

Aster moves like Nash is just another piece of furniture, climbing onto the bed and sliding past him without acknowledgment. He snags a blueberry muffin from the container and settles in, focusing all of his attention on slowly eating it. Each piece breaks away under his fingers before disappearing into his mouth. When a crumb falls onto his stomach, he swipes it up with his thumb, and Nash's gaze follows the motion before he can stop himself.

The stretch of Aster's body has ridden his boxers low, revealing a trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband. But there's something else there—brown ink peeking out above the elastic, another tattoo Nash hasn't seen before.

Aster tugs his boxers back up. “That one’s meant to be a secret.”

Heat floods Nash's neck as he winces. "Sorry," he says. "And while I'm at it, I'm sorry for doing the same thing when we first met. I was there for work, I was a stranger, and someone my size needs to doubly watch themselves to not come off as creepy. There's no excuse for looking at you like that."

"You think?" Aster asks around a mouthful of muffin. The words should bite, but they come out genuinely curious. His finger taps one of the runic circles on his stomach. "Look at this."

Nash follows Aster’s finger to the runes. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to be seeing other than supple skin and the imperfect lines of the design. They don’t really look like the lines of a typical tattoo. They look more like henna, though they can’t be; that would have faded by now.

Nash really likes the one that rings Aster’s nipple, drawing his eye like it’s the centre of a target. He finds himself reaching out, drawn to that little nub. He wants to find out what it feels like pinched between his fingers.

"That's enough." Aster's voice cuts through Nash's haze like a bucket of ice water. His hand catches Nash's, pressing it firmly into the bedspread.

Nash’s eyes go wide, another apology on his lips, but the look Aster gives him is more pitying than annoyed.

The pressure of Aster's hand remains on his, squeezing gently. "I thought that would be enough for you to get it. You must have a really guilty conscience if you still think you're to blame."

Nash's mind spins as he tries to piece it together. "You...?"

“Do you know what a look-away spell is?”

Nash nods dumbly. He doesn’t say that the only reason he knows is because he’s seen it in TV shows. “You’re doing something that’s like… the opposite of that?”

“No,” Aster says. “It’s exactly that, just targeted. You still notice my body. What you don’t notice is me, the person attached to it. Think of it as forced objectification.”

“Oh,” Nash says carefully, because that doesn’t exactly absolve him. The leering was still all him. “How did you know it would even work on me that first time?”

“It works on most people, just in different ways,” Aster says. "If you're attracted to me, it works how you'd expect—it distracts people, makes them flustered because they got caught staring. If you're not attracted to me?" His lips quirk. "That works even better. Nothing throws a straight guy off balance like having an existential crisis about why he just got caught staring at another man.”

“Should I be worried about when else you might have been messing with my head?”

“Besides just now? Not since I fucked up my hand. I did a little something else before that to keep you from stopping me, but I think you probably figured that out.”

"Yeah, that was... pretty obvious." Nash swallows hard, hyper aware of Aster's warm hand still on his. "But nothing after? Not even in the bathroom, when I was washing your hand?"

“No, though it’s interesting you would say that when, by all appearances, you were the perfect gentleman in the bathroom afterwards.” Aster pats Nash's hand before pulling away. "Anyway, I won't do it again. My morals might be loose with strangers, but I don't play those games with friends."

“Like that girl? Are you… friends?”

“Layna? No.”

“She likes you.”

"I'm aware." Aster's voice goes dry. "I'm not surprised she went for that werewolf, but he was wrong about her liking fear. She likes guys who feel dangerous, but she doesn't want to feel scared. She wants to tame the beast. She wants a protector." He tilts his head. "She'd probably like you, if the other guy hasn't put her off werewolves. Assuming you even swing that way."

"I swing every way, but..." Nash's mouth twists. "I'll pass, thanks."

“Hm.” Aster is quiet for a long time, slowly nibbling away at his muffin. Nash took them out of the silicone muffin cups before he packed them up, so they’re a little difficult to eat without leaving crumbs everywhere.

Nash is just reaching out to grab one for himself when Aster asks, “How do you feel about threesomes?”

Nash's hand freezes mid-air as heat shoots straight to his groin. His brain short-circuits: yes crashes headlong into a visceral no. He forces himself to breathe, to sound normal when he answers. "I think I'd get too jealous." He grabs the muffin, grateful for something to do with his hands. "Sorry."

Aster shrugs. “It wasn’t an offer.”

“Oh, so you just think it’s funny to embarrass me, then,” Nash grumbles. “Thanks.”

“Also not my goal. I just wanted to know what you’d say.”

“Right. So what were you hoping I’d say?”

Another shrug. "I just wanted to know. It doesn't really matter anyway."

“Okay,” Nash says, though he’s no less confused. Now that he’s stopped feeling so flustered, though, the interaction doesn’t really feel malicious. Just odd, as many interactions with Aster are.

Aster finishes his muffin and starts poking through the sandwiches. "I'm glad you fought that wolf. We would've had to deal with the situation somehow, and your method was about as clean as we could hope for."

“Happy to help. I just wish I hadn’t scared you in the process.”

Aster settles back down with a triangular chicken salad sandwich in hand. “You didn’t.”

“I know fear, Aster. I could hear your heart racing.”

"I may not be very open with the truth, but I'm not much of a liar, either. I'm not scared of werewolves. Not you or him."

“Were you worried I’d get hurt?”

"You work two security jobs." Aster takes a bite of his sandwich. "I assumed you could handle yourself. And if you couldn't, I'd have saved your sorry ass myself."

“Then what were you afraid of?”

"Hm, what am I afraid of?" Aster tilts his head, pretending to consider. "Werewolves perving on my emotional state with their super senses. That's pretty scary."

Nash winces. “They’re just normal senses to me, but okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll stop asking. It’s just, if it has something to do with me…”

“It has absolutely nothing to do with you.”

That's hard to believe, but Nash doesn't sense any lie in Aster's words. He nods.

Aster drifts to the small, barred window with another sandwich, glaring out at nothing as he eats. His fingers find the necklace, playing with the leather cord, spinning the beads, tracing the sharp point of the tooth. Fire ignites in Nash's chest. Every muscle strains against the urge to press against Aster's back, to breathe him in deep, to make sure any wolf who comes near will know exactly who Aster belongs to.

The intensity of that possessive thought drives Nash to his feet. "I should go."

Aster glances over, backlit by sunlight that turns his hair to pale gold. "Okay."

Nash's hands clench at his sides. The room feels tiny— one step and he could touch Aster. "Maybe I could bring you lunch again some time?"

“There are some things I need to get sorted, but I’ll let you know.”

Nash's lips curve despite himself. "Mysterious as always." He turns toward the door, reaching for the handle.

"By the way." Aster's voice stops him halfway through the motion. When Nash looks back, Aster's fingers drift to the necklace, tapping the tooth where it hangs against his chest. "Tell Niko 'fuck you' for letting you give me this. He should know better."

“Should I be worried about what you’re going to do with it?”

"I'm a magic user. Of course you should be." Aster waves him off, turning back to the window. "I'll see you online later."

"Yeah," Nash says, letting his eyes trace one last time over Aster's shoulders, down the curve of his spine, to where his boxers hug his ass. He forces himself to think about the other wolf to make himself leave—he needs to make sure that creep isn't still lurking around. He needs to keep Aster safe.

#

Life has become much more complicated. Aster missed the off ramp on this friendship, and now it’s suddenly something more. Though maybe it wasn't so sudden. Maybe it started that night when gentle hands washed blood from his torn palm, or even before that—an inevitability he couldn't escape. Werewolves believe in fate like that. Aster never has, but... maybe.

He's left with two choices: tear Nash out of his life like excising a tumour, quick and brutal and complete, or let himself be something to someone. Let someone be something to him, for the first time in his life.

The choice was made when he accepted the necklace. All that's left is living with it.

Nash made him way too many fucking sandwiches. Of course he did—this is courtship, after all. But they're filled with things like chicken and egg, and Aster doesn’t have a fridge. He could just eat as many as he can manage before they start to smell funny, but for once in his miserable life, he’s going to do the right thing. Container in hand, he heads down the hall.

Layna doesn't answer his knock right away, though he hears movement inside. After a moment, a hesitant "Yeah?" filters through the wood.

“It’s me,” Aster says.

She opens the door immediately. He’s never gone out of his way to talk to her before.

Her eyes are still red from crying as they sweep over his bare chest, and Aster belatedly realises he probably should've put on actual clothes for this. Whatever. She should know by now not to read anything into it.

Her gaze catches on the necklace. "Does that belong to that wolf you were with?"

“No. He gave it to me, so it belongs to me.”

"Oh." Layna shifts her weight, then the words tumble out: "You know, you could have just told me you have a boyfriend. That you're gay."

Aster turns that over in his head. She's not wrong. It's not like he was hiding it on purpose—the thought of telling her just never crossed his mind. "One time I told someone that and they didn't listen. Guess I was still too pissed off about it to try again."

Layna winces. “Yeah, I kinda get that, I guess. But, hey, tell your boyfriend thanks for me, okay? I didn’t think anyone would stand up for me since what that guy said was kinda true. I should have known what would happen.”

“He was hoping not to get a no to things he knew you wouldn’t say yes to. That’s not consent.” Aster lifts the container. “Want some sandwiches? Nash made way too many.”

“Nash? That’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Yes,” Aster says. “That’s my boyfriend’s name.”