Page 107 of In This Iron Ground
They fell into bed together, Damien laughing as he tried to untangle himself in order to get at least their shoes off.
“No,” Hakan protested, refusing to let go. “I missed your scent in my bed.”
“What are you even talking about? I’m literally here every other day.”
“No, not now.Before.”
“Okay, I see we’ve reached an unintelligible level of drunk. Let me just—”
“Before.Before. When I left that first time and everything smelledwrongand I couldn’t sleep and oh man. I was so stupid. And I came back and you still wouldn’t read with me on the bed. Everything smelt wrong…so stupid. Mmm, see.” Hakan ran his lips across the side of Damien’s throat, scenting there, pressed chest-to-chest with him. “You smell so good. I’m so in love with you.”
The world glitched.You smell so good, it said and then there was a burst of static. Damien blinked his eyes. His head felt strange and white and the static was fizzling away and it was leaving something equally incomprehensible behind.
Damien pressed a hand against Hakan’s chest, putting some force into getting out of his arms this time.
“Okay, buddy. Sure. Let’s get your lovey-dovey ass some water.” His voice sounded strange, like an echo.
“Damien. I’m serious,” Hakan was saying.
Damien managed to get off the bed, taking a step back. He looked at Hakan on the sheets. Every familiar line of him. The broad cut of his shoulders, the pronounced dip under his bottom lip, his dark, uncomprehending eyes. His dark hair was a halo around his head.
It hurt to look at him.
“Mmhmm. I’m gonna get some—”
“Damien. I’m serious.” Hakan propped himself on an elbow.
Damien took another step away. “If you were serious, you’d say that when you were sober. Let’s just—”
“That wasn’t drunk.I’mdrunk, but that was sober.”
“That made sense,” Damien tried to tease. He wasn’t sure what his voice was doing. Or his head, or the air in his lungs.
Hakan groaned, falling back onto the bed and rubbing his face with his hands. “How is it not obvious?” he mumbled into his palms before letting them drop. “Damien, come on. You know. Youhaveto know. You’re…you’repack, you’re—”
“I’m not pack.” It was a flat, toneless statement.
Hakan fell quiet abruptly. He stared at Damien. “Now you’re just being contrary. You can’t justsaythat, Damien, that’s—”
“No, Hakan,youcan’tjust saythat,” Damien said, the beginning of an acidic irritation climbing up his throat. “There’s a ritual to becoming pack and you know that. You can’t just decide I’m pack because it suits you in the moment. I’m not pack. You have no say on the matter, so.” Damien tried to breathe. “I’m going to get some water.”
Damien concentrated on putting one foot after the other. On getting a glass, turning on the tap, filling it with water. He chugged some down, mouth suddenly pasty. He refilled the glass.
Fuck birthdays.
He returned to Hakan’s room, intent on leaving Hakan to sober up and realize what he was talking about.
Damien set the glass down on the bedside table.
“You can’t just say that.” Hakan’s voice was a phantom of itself. Its cold breath brushed against Damien’s skin, seeping into his head. “You can’t just…you can’t just say that. You’re—pack isn’t just about a ritual. It’s about. It’s more. It’smore.”
“Hakan…” Damien started, but Hakan started shaking his head. His eyes were wide and almost scared, his breaths starting to accelerate and shorten. Damien sat on the bed, alarmed.
“Hakan. Hey, okay, calm down, okay? It’s fine. Let’s just drink some water and you can go to sleep.”
“All this time? All these years? And you didn’t know you were pack?”
“Hakan—”
