*Trigger warnings* mind control (impulse manipulation) underage teenage drinking, angst, situationship and ex boyfriend drama, SMUT!!!! Corney shit, underage teenage smoking
The sun's barely up when I find Riven.
He's where he always is after a night of drinking and chaos: sprawled out in a half-collapsed chair behind the supply shed, one boot off, a cigarette half-burned between his fingers, and eyes that haven't slept in forty-eight hours but still manage to look like they see everything.
He squints at me without turning his head. "You look like you got hit by a truck made of heartbreak and unresolved jealousy."
"Funny," I mutter. "You always this chipper before coffee?"
"You always this desperate before sunrise?" he shoots back, flicking ash off the end of the cigarette. "Let me guess. Tallis slept over."
I don't answer.
That's answer enough.
Riven sighs. "Alright, what is it? You want me to blow up his favorite boots? Break his face? Put a love spell on her? Wait—" He pauses, grinning like a devil. "Shit. That is what you want, huh?"
I look away, jaw clenched so hard it hurts.
"Dorian."
He says it like a warning.
I swallow. "Just... not a spell. Just—an impulse shift. Subtle. Make her want me more than him. Like she used to. Just enough to remind her."
He stares at me for a beat, then drops his cigarette and crushes it under his boot heel.
"That's shady as shit, man."
"I know."
And I hate myself for it.
"I mean—this is Ardere. If she ever finds out, she'll carve your ribs out with her bare hands and feed them to you like jerky."
"I know."
My voice cracks.
I rub my hands over my face. "I just... I need something. Anything. Just to even the playing field. He's in her head, Riven. He got in. I don't know how to fight that without losing her entirely."
Riven lets out a long exhale, running both hands through his hair.
"Jesus, Dorian. You're really going to make me be the moral compass here? Me? I literally smuggled weapons in a corpse last week."
I look up at him, eyes burning. "Please."
He groans like I'm asking him to donate a kidney.
"Fine. But only to an extent," he says. "A nudge. One-time thing. I'll plant the want—that ache she used to feel when she looked at you—but the rest? That's on you."
He gets in close, deadly serious now. "You make her fall again, or you watch it die. But I'm not puppeteering her into love. Got it?"
"Got it," I breathe.
We plan it like a goddamn hit job.
Nothing obvious. Just a casual morning stroll. Ask her some bullshit question. Nudge her shoulder. Plant the spark—just enough to tilt the scale back where it used to be.
I'm posted up behind the outer fence line, hidden in the bend of a collapsed greenhouse wall. Enough to see without being seen. She's sitting on a low stone wall near the mess tent, ankles crossed, arms resting on her knees like she's been up all night. Her hair's still messy, half-tied back with something that looks like Tallis's bandana. And her expression—
God, that expression.
Like whatever tore her up yesterday didn't stop when the sun went down.
Riven doesn't go in right away. He makes a lazy loop around the camp, picks up an apple from a barrel, bites into it with his usual bored flair. He's good at this. Good at pretending things don't matter.
When he finally drifts toward her, she doesn't even flinch. Just turns her head a little. Her voice doesn't carry, but her posture does—tense, guarded. But not unfriendly.
I see him gesture to something in the distance. Maybe asking about a supply run. I can't hear any of it. I just count his steps.
One step too close.
One motion too easy.
He shifts like he's going to walk past her—and then his fingers lightly graze her upper arm. A slip of contact. A ghost of a touch. Gone in an instant.
Ardere doesn't even react. She just keeps staring into the dirt.
Riven says something else, then walks off. Mission accomplished.
My pulse stutters.
That's it. It's done.
I feel sick.
She doesn't know. And she wouldn't forgive me if she ever did.
I grip the edge of the greenhouse wall so hard my knuckles ache.
I'm about to stand. About to yell for Riven to reverse it, pull it back, do something.
I don't want it like this. I can't want it like this.
And then—
I see Tallis.
He's rounding the far corner with a cup of coffee in one hand, his other arm rolling the sleeve of his shirt back up. His mouth's a little bruised. Neck too.
Ardere glances up at him—just once.
She doesn't smile.
But her gaze lingers too long.
And I see it.
The unmistakable shift in her shoulders. That subtle softening. The history between them written in her goddamn body language.
Then she stands.
And that's when I see the fresh mark just beneath her collarbone—small, dark, and unmistakably shaped like his teeth.
My heart goes still.
I stay crouched in my hiding place, breathing like I've been gut-punched, blood roaring in my ears.
There's nothing to say. Nothing to fix.
They didn't just flirt.
They didn't just talk.
They chose each other.
Riven circles back to me a few minutes later, muttering under his breath as he wipes his hands off like the contact left something behind.
"It's done," he says. "Didn't push too hard. Just enough to tilt the heart."
He pauses. Studies my face. "...You okay?"
I don't answer. I can't.
Because somewhere deep in my chest, something has already started to break.
And I know—
Even with her heart tilted back toward me, I'm not the one she ran to last night.
I saw her again the second she stepped into the mess hall.
Ardere.
Still a little flushed from the heat of sleep, hair thrown into a lazy braid over her shoulder. Lips bitten raw. There were marks down her collarbone—ones she hadn't even bothered to hide. I'd told myself I'd look away. I didn't.
And then she saw me.
Everything in her face changed. Like a curtain dropped. Her eyes locked on mine, and her whole posture shifted—shoulders back, chest rising with a slow inhale, like she'd just remembered she had lungs. Like suddenly I was air.
I braced myself.
I wanted to be angry. I wanted to spit out some sarcastic line about her latest midnight guest, wanted to walk away without so much as a glance. But when she looked at me like that—like she needed me—I felt the foundation crack beneath my ribs.
Riven's power hit her hard. I could see it. I could feel it. That little brush of his fingers from earlier had locked in like a vice. Her gaze trailed down my body with a hunger that hadn't been there yesterday. Her cheeks colored, jaw flexed, lips parted. She looked like she was trying to swallow her own craving.
It made me sick.
It made me high.
She crossed the room like she didn't even realize people were watching. That she was still wearing fresh evidence of him on her skin. Her tray clattered onto the table beside me, untouched. She didn't sit. She didn't speak. Just hovered, staring like she was trying to solve me with her eyes alone.
"Hey," she said finally, breathier than it should've been.
I didn't respond. I kept cutting my food into pieces I wasn't going to eat. My hand was shaking.
She sat down across from me, knees brushing mine under the table. And goddamn if my pulse didn't skyrocket from that alone.
"You look…" she hesitated, like she'd forgotten what she meant to say. "You look like you didn't sleep."
I finally looked at her. I shouldn't have.
Because that ache was real. Whatever Riven's powers were doing, something in her was responding like a live wire. Like she was drawn to me on a chemical level. And maybe that should've made me feel good. Vengeful, even. But instead, it twisted in my gut like a knife.
Because it wasn't real. It wasn't real. It was Riven's fingers on her arm. It was a goddamn impulse.
But I didn't move. I didn't push her away.
I let her stare at me like I was her next sin.
And I let myself need it. Just for a second.
Because hating her was easier than wanting her.
She kept her eyes on me like she didn't trust herself to blink.
Then, quietly, she said, "We never finished stargazing."
I didn't answer. My jaw clenched around something bitter and hot in my throat.
"Back at the observatory," she added, her voice softening like she was trying to slide under my guard. "Tallis and his people showed up and ruined it. You said you were gonna teach me how to find Cassiopeia without using my phone."
I set down my fork. Her voice felt like static in my chest.
"I remember," I muttered.
"I've been thinking about it," she said, brushing her fingers over the rim of her cup like it meant nothing. But her leg pressed closer to mine beneath the table. She was buzzing. "Tonight, while everyone's at the show… I was thinking maybe we could go find a spot in the woods. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere open."
I looked at her. Really looked.
Her pupils were blown. Her fingers twitchy. Her whole body leaned toward mine like it wasn't hers anymore.
This wasn't normal. She wasn't like this. Not unless—
Riven.
He hadn't even tried to hide it. That "accidental" brush, the way his fingers slid down her arm like he was brushing off a leaf. He knew exactly what he was doing.
But part of her—part of her—was still in there. Trying to reach me the only way she knew how. Through something we hadn't finished. Something that had been ours for a moment.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I said slowly, carefully, like she was a grenade with the pin halfway out.
Her smile faltered. She looked hurt.
But only for a moment.
Then she reached out and touched my hand—lightly, just a brush—but it was like a current ran through both of us. I saw the breath stutter in her chest.
"I know you're mad," she whispered. "I know I messed things up. But I still want to be around you, Dorian. You calm me."
The words were like nails under my skin. They weren't hers. Not all the way. But they were close. Close enough to feel real if I let them.
I pulled my hand back.
"Meet me by the back fence tonight," she said anyway, like she knew I would.
Then she stood, picked up her tray, and walked off.
I watched her go, feeling like I'd just agreed to a crime I hadn't committed yet.
Because maybe I would go.
And maybe I'd pretend it was just for closure.
But if she looked at me like that again under a sky full of stars?
I didn't know if I'd be able to stop myself.
—
"Subtle," I said, crossing my arms. "Real surgical with the manipulation back there."
He didn't look at me. Just took a slow drag and let the smoke curl around his grin.
"You're welcome."
"Don't," I snapped. "Don't act like that was for me. I saw what you did. You touched her. You kicked it in."
"Yeah," Riven exhaled, flicking ash into the dirt. "That's how it works, Dorian."
"She's not a toy."
That made him finally look at me. The grin faded, replaced by something cooler, sharper. "I never said she was."
"Then why are you screwing around in her head?"
He leaned back against the fence post, his expression unreadable now. "You're mad because she touched your hand."
I didn't say anything.
"You're mad because she wanted to touch your hand," he corrected. "And she meant it. I didn't make her do that."
"She's not in control—"
"Bullshit." Riven's voice cut through the air, quiet but seething. "You still don't get how this works? I can't make people want what they don't already want, Dorian. I can nudge. Turn the dial up. That's it. But that… that look she gave you?" He pointed the cigarette in my direction like it was a blade. "That was already in her. I just turned off the part of her that's too scared to let it show."
My stomach flipped.
"You're lying."
"I wish I was." Riven flicked the cigarette away and shoved his hands in his coat pockets. "I've touched people who didn't have anything inside them to work with. You know what happens? Nothing. I brush past them, they blink, and they walk away."
"But Ardere—"
"Looked at you like she was drowning and you were the last breath of air she trusted."
I turned away. My throat felt raw.
"She wants you, Dorian," Riven said, softer now. "Even when she's angry. Even when she's hurting. And I think… I think she's been holding it down so long, she doesn't even know how deep it goes."
I stared at the trees beyond the fence.
"She still did what she did with Tallis," I said.
"Yeah," Riven agreed. "And she still wants you. That's not exactly a clean equation, I know. But emotions don't give a damn about clean."
I stayed quiet. The silence between us stretched like a held breath.
"You gonna go tonight?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
I didn't respond. Just turned and walked away.
But I knew.
Of course I was going.
I didn't make it ten steps back toward the cabins before I heard him.
"Morning, sunshine."
Tallis stepped out from under the awning of the bathhouse like he'd been waiting for me. Hair slicked back, coat open just enough to show off fresh scratches on his collarbone—like he couldn't resist the walking advertisement.
"Hope there's no hard feelings about last night's little show," he said, voice dripping with fake charm. "Just having a bit of fun. Performance art, really."
I stopped in my tracks. Met his eyes.
"No hard feelings," I said, and smiled. "Why would there be?"
He blinked, like that wasn't the answer he'd been expecting.
"Oh. Well. That's very… mature of you."
"Mmhmm."
I started walking again. He fell into step beside me.
"That's good to hear," Tallis continued, voice casual, but there was that flicker in his tone—bait being laid out like breadcrumbs. "Because you know, I wouldn't want things to be weird between us. Especially with how close you and Ardere clearly are."
I didn't say anything.
"Though," he went on, "I do have to ask—what are you two, exactly? Lovers? Exes? Or is this one of those slow-burn, long-game heartbreaks I keep hearing about?"
My jaw clenched. I tried not to let it show.
He waited.
I tried to think of what to say. What we were. What we are.
We were never lovers. Not officially.
Never kissed. Not really.
We'd danced around each other like shadows around a fire, always close enough to feel the heat, never close enough to touch without burning.
Friends? Maybe. Sometimes. When the world wasn't falling apart.
Acquaintances with too much history?
Or was I just the idiot who left everything behind—who ran away from a life that could've made sense—just because he saw her once in the school hallway with her hood half-off and thought God, that girl's gonna ruin me.
Tallis tilted his head, pretending to look thoughtful.
"You don't know, do you?"
I met his gaze again. My voice came out lower than I intended.
"No. I don't."
He smiled like he'd won something. "That's rough, man."
I stopped walking. "You're trying really hard to make this a competition."
Tallis shrugged. "Just trying to understand the rules."
"There aren't any."
"That explains a lot." He laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes.
I clenched my jaw. Said nothing.
"She ever tell you about me?"
No.
That silence was loud.
Tallis stopped walking. I did too.
"I'll take that as a no," he said, stepping in just a little closer, lowering his voice. "See, it's funny. She tells people I was just some guy she outgrew. But before she left? She didn't outgrow me. She devoured me."
I stiffened.
"You want to know what we were?" he asked, sounding way too casual for the words coming out of his mouth. "We were chaos. Couldn't keep our hands off each other—backstage, in the rehearsal rooms, under the trees. We'd fight like wolves and then—" He made a gesture I refused to look at. "—make up like we'd die if we didn't."
My stomach turned.
"She had this thing she used to do when she was pissed at me," he said, smiling faintly at the memory. "Would pull my power out of my chest like a thread. Real slow. Let it buzz under my skin for hours until I begged her to finish. God, the things that girl could do when she wanted you to feel it."
I shut my eyes. A thousand stars burst in the back of my skull, memory and heat colliding in one long, aching migraine.
"And that mouth?" he continued. "She could talk you into sin and salvation all in the same breath. I once let her burn my name into my shoulder just to keep her from leaving that night."
He rolled back his collar—sure enough, a faint scar shaped like an A, sharp and angry against his skin.
I opened my eyes. Looked at it.
It took everything in me not to hit him.
"You're lying," I said quietly.
He grinned. "Sure. Maybe. But you'll think about it, won't you?"
He stepped back, finally, just enough to give me air again.
"No rules between you two," he said, voice like a sigh. "That's the problem. You've got no anchor. No claim. That's why she's going to slip right through your fingers."
He let that hang in the air.
"Anyway," Tallis added, "see you tonight at the fire tonight. You and I should do this more often."
He walked off then, slow and easy like he'd just dropped off a package and had all day to wait for the explosion.
I stood there, stone-still, heart racing.
No rules.
No anchor.
No idea how much of that was true.
But I knew one thing:
He wanted me rattled before the fire tonight.
And god dammit—he might've just gotten what he wanted.
I was about two seconds from disappearing into the woods to sulk or throw myself into some half-assed task just so I didn't have to think. Or worse—complain to Riven and get hit with some sarcastic version of "tough shit." The last thing I expected was to hear her voice behind me.
"Hey," Ardere said, her tone quieter than usual. Like she wasn't sure if she should even be talking to me.
I turned, probably slower than I should've, given how my chest was still full of everything Tallis just shoved into my head. She was holding something behind her back—her smile lopsided, uncertain.
"What?" I asked. My voice came out too rough, like it had been ground down by the past twenty minutes of mental torture.
She stepped forward and held out a small carved figurine. It was a wolf—crudely whittled, but clearly made with patience. "Found it in the little lost-and-found box outside the mess hall. Someone probably carved it during arts and crafts or something, but I thought of you."
I stared at it like it might explode.
"Why?" I asked before I could stop myself. I didn't mean for it to come out as harsh as it did. But after everything Tallis just told me—every goddamn detail—I wasn't sure what to believe anymore. What I was supposed to be to her.
Ardere shifted, thumb brushing over the ear of the wolf before placing it gently into my hand. "Because... I don't know. You like wolves. You always talk about how they mate for life and all that poetic shit."
I swallowed hard.
She added, "And you looked like you could use something good today."
I almost laughed. I almost cried. I almost asked her if what Tallis said was true. All of it. The nights they spent curled around each other, the way he used to put her to sleep with his voice and his hands. I wanted to scream at her for making me feel this way when I knew I wasn't supposed to.
But instead, I looked down at the wolf in my hand.
Small. Clumsy. Real.
And so was she.
Whatever Tallis had been to her—whatever he still was—he wasn't the one she was seeking out in this moment. I was.
The part of her brain that liked me was still winning.
Even after everything.
So, I pocketed the wolf. And when I looked up again, I met her eyes with something just a little softer than before.
"Thanks," I said. "Really."
She smiled. That quiet one. The one I knew wasn't meant for Tallis or anyone else.
There was a lull—those quiet few seconds where it felt like the whole forest held its breath around us. The birds, the rustle of grass, the hum of the group somewhere beyond the tree line. Then I remembered something Tallis had said in passing earlier, all nonchalant like he wasn't trying to twist the knife: "See you at the fire tonight."
I cleared my throat. "What's the fire tonight? Tallis mentioned it earlier."
Ardere tilted her head back, looking toward the sky like she was tracing the sun's arc toward evening. "It's... tradition," she said. "Every couple weeks, The Grove hosts a kind of release ritual. We light the fire, and people throw in what they're ready to let go of. Memories, regrets, letters they never sent—stuff like that."
"Hippie bonfire," I said, but my voice was quiet. There was something sacred in the way she said it that I didn't want to mock.
She glanced sideways at me, her expression unreadable. "It's more than that. There's something powerful about setting something on fire and letting the smoke carry it away. Sometimes people dance. Sometimes they just watch. It depends on what you need."
I imagined her in the firelight—hair catching gold, shadows hiding the parts of her no one got to see. The idea of her letting something go... it made me wonder what she still held onto.
"Are you going to burn something?"
"Thinking about it. I'll let you know after tonight."
*****
I was already out in the field, hands buried in my jacket pockets, waiting. The grass swayed around my boots like it was trying to lull the air itself to sleep, and the last of the daylight was bleeding out over the horizon in slow, burning streaks.
I told myself I wasn't looking for her yet. That I was just… noticing the way the sky bruised into violet. That the stars were already starting to come out one by one, like they'd been holding their breath all day for a reason to show themselves.
Then I heard footsteps. Light. Uneven. A pause. Then a few more.
I turned, and there she was.
Ardere stepped into the field like someone crossing into another world. A little too slow. A little too self-conscious. Her eyes scanned the grass like she was pretending not to look directly at me, and the moment she caught my stare, her chin lifted—defensive, automatic. But there was no fight in it. Not tonight.
She was wearing that threadbare sweater again, the one with the sleeves too long for her hands. She shoved them up her forearms and didn't say anything at first.
"You're late," I said, voice low. "I was about to start naming stars without you."
She tilted her head and smirked. "Would've gotten them all wrong."
"Possibly," I said. "You drunk?"
The corners of her mouth twitched, like she wanted to deny it. But instead, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and let out a quiet breath.
"A little," she said. "Not much."
"Why?" I asked, watching her closer now.
That got her. Just a beat too long before she answered. She looked down at her boots, kicked at something invisible in the grass, and when she spoke, her voice was honest in a way that hit me somewhere unprepared.
"Because I was nervous."
That pulled the air out of my lungs.
I blinked. "About what?"
She finally looked up. Not a glance—she really looked at me, like it cost her something.
"This," she said. "Stargazing. You. Me. Doing something that's not survival or running or pretending we don't care about anything. I don't do this kind of thing, Dorian."
Her voice didn't crack, but it was close. She sounded like someone admitting to a crime that shouldn't be one.
I swallowed. My throat was dry. "I mean, technically, lying in grass and looking at the sky is a very low-pressure activity."
She didn't laugh, but a small smile twitched the corner of her mouth before fading again. She crossed her arms and stared up at the first star blinking into view.
"I used to drink before every Grove ritual," she said. "Just enough to make everything feel far away. That's what this is. Just a little… distance."
I wanted to say You don't need distance with me. But I didn't. Because I wasn't sure that was true. Or fair. We were still learning what we were to each other. Where the danger ended and the wanting began.
Instead, I stepped closer. Not enough to crowd her, just enough that our shoulders almost touched. "Well, if it helps, I've been standing here trying to remember every constellation in case I somehow disappoint you with my astronomy skills."
"You already disappointed me," she said, smirking sideways. "There's no wolf constellation."
"Not yet," I said, pulling the carved figure from my jacket pocket and holding it up between us. "But I think he deserves one."
Her face softened. She reached out, brushed her fingers over the wolf's wooden snout like it was something sacred. And for a second, I felt the warmth of her touch ghost across my hand, even though she hadn't touched me.
"That was a good find," she said quietly. "Still don't know why I picked it up. Just… thought of you."
That did something dangerous to my chest.
"Glad you did," I said.
We stood in silence for a minute, watching the stars come out like we were waiting for them to tell us something. Her hair moved with the breeze, brushing her cheek, and she didn't seem to notice.
She still smelled faintly like smoke and something sweet. Not perfume. Something softer. Maybe the herbs they burned in the Grove. Or maybe something just hers.
"You sure you're okay?" I asked, finally.
She turned her head toward me. "I don't know. But I want to try. That's what this is, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah. This is us trying."
She looked away again, this time toward the fire pit in the distance where orange light was starting to flicker. The others would be gathering soon. But for now, it was just us. In the field. Between stars.
"I didn't think I'd want to try again," she murmured. "After the Grove, after Tallis. After everything. But then you showed up. And you made it harder to stay numb."
My breath caught. I could feel her words settling in my ribs like embers.
"You made it harder for me too," I said. "Harder to pretend I didn't want something real."
She glanced at me, almost shy, and that's when I knew the alcohol wasn't the only thing making her honest. It might've opened the door—but she'd walked through on her own.
"You ready to look at some stars?" I asked, trying to give us both a little room to breathe.
She nodded. "Only if you don't talk through the whole thing."
"No promises."
The farther we moved away from the Grove, the darker it got. The treeline thickened like a curtain being slowly pulled between us and the firelit commune behind. Shadows stretched longer, wrapping around us with the hush of leaves and the occasional distant hum of someone tuning a guitar or shouting at someone to pass the flask.
Ardere stumbled slightly on a root, and without even thinking, I reached out and caught her by the elbow.
She blinked, a soft laugh catching in her throat. "Okay. Maybe... I had a little more to drink than I thought."
"Really?" I said, steadying her. "Hadn't noticed."
She elbowed me, but didn't pull away. In fact, when I let go of her arm, she took two more steps before slipping again—this time right into my side.
"I'm fine," she murmured, but didn't make any effort to move away from where her hand had landed on my chest. "The stars better be worth this hike."
I didn't respond right away. Mostly because I was trying not to react to how warm she felt, how easily her body molded against mine like we'd done this a thousand times before. I shifted my arm around her lower back—not tight, not possessive, just enough to steady her—and started walking with her at a slower pace.
"You know," I said eventually, "I'm starting to think you planned this."
She tilted her head to look up at me, her hair brushing my jaw. "Planned what?"
"This whole drunk damsel, forced proximity thing." I glanced down at her. "Very strategic."
"Oh no," she said dryly. "You've caught me. My entire plan was to embarrass myself in the woods so I could cling to you like a fainting Victorian lady."
"Worked, didn't it?"
Ardere laughed again—really laughed. Not the practiced kind she gave Tallis, not the tight one I'd heard in passing when she was trying to seem fine in front of the others. This one was real, unguarded, and it sparked something warm and stupid in my chest.
"I like this side of you," she said after a beat, quieter now. "You're... less broody when we're away from everyone else."
"Don't get used to it."
"Oh, I won't." She smirked. "You'll be back to sulking under your hood in no time."
She leaned a little more of her weight against me. I adjusted instinctively, guiding her through a patch of uneven ground while she looked up at the sky—only to groan when she realized we still weren't far enough.
"Too much light," she murmured. "Let's go a bit further."
"You sure?"
"Yes." Then, softer, "I don't want to half-do this. Not with you."
That stopped me for a second. Just long enough that she noticed.
She blinked up at me, and for once her face wasn't hard to read. There was vulnerability there, still hazy at the edges from the alcohol and maybe Riven's leftover influence—but I could tell she meant it.
"Okay," I said, my voice coming out a little lower than I meant it to. "Let's find your stars."
We kept walking, a little slower now. She held on to me without comment, and I let her. Not because she needed it—but because I think, for once, we both wanted it.
The clearing we found wasn't anything grand—just a patch of grass where the canopy finally opened up enough to give us a clean view of the sky. But when Ardere looked up and gasped softly, I knew it didn't have to be grand.
"Oh," she whispered. "There they are."
I followed her gaze. The stars had started to bloom overhead, delicate and distant, like someone had tossed glitter across black velvet. Out here, with the firelight long behind us and no lanterns bleeding into the dark, they actually felt real. Cold and alive.
We stood in silence for a minute. Then she released a breath like she'd been holding it all day.
"This is what I wanted," she said. "Not the fire, not the drinking. Just this."
"You've got good taste."
"Obviously."
She turned her head to smirk at me—but didn't pull away from my side. Her cheek was inches from my shoulder, and now that we weren't walking, I became acutely aware of how close we were standing. Her hair smelled like woodsmoke and some faint hint of lavender soap. Her fingers brushed mine once, twice—testing, maybe—and then just barely curled around them.
I didn't let go.
We sat down in the grass, not quite touching, but not far either. She flopped back first, arms stretched wide like she was trying to embrace the whole sky.
"I used to do this all the time when I was little," she said quietly. "Lay out on the roof of our building and pretend I could name all the stars."
"You couldn't?"
"Hell no." She laughed under her breath. "I only knew like, Orion and the Big Dipper. But I used to lie and say I could see things no one else could. Like secret constellations made just for me."
I looked over at her. Her face was lit faintly by the starlight—serene and open in a way I rarely saw it. A little pink still clung to her cheeks from the alcohol, but it didn't dull her eyes. If anything, it stripped away the usual armor she wore.
"You still do that?" I asked.
Her smile faded slightly. "Not in a long time."
"Why not?"
She was quiet for a moment. Then she turned her head toward me, resting it against the grass.
"Because it stopped feeling like something innocent," she murmured. "Like the stars were just... watching. And I hated the idea that they could see everything. What I've done. What I've become."
My throat tightened.
"They've seen worse," I said softly. "They've watched entire planets die. Stars collapse into themselves. Whatever you've done… it's not even a blip to them."
something inside me stirred. A restlessness. Not from discomfort—but from everything I hadn't said, hadn't let go of. The ache in my chest needed somewhere to go.
I turned my head slightly, just enough that my voice wouldn't startle her.
"Hey," I said, my voice low. "Do you think we can go back to the fire?"
Ardere stirred, lifting her head and blinking at me. "Why?" she asked, eyes soft with confusion. "We just got here."
I hesitated. For a second, I thought about brushing it off, playing it cool.
But that wasn't what this night was about.
"I want to release something," I said. "To the gods."
Her expression flickered—curious, skeptical, but also something deeper. Something that said she understood, maybe more than I thought she would.
"To the gods?" she echoed, her lips tugging into a half-smile. "Since when are you a believer?"
"I'm not," I said honestly. "But... I don't think this is about belief. I think it's about needing to let something go. And hoping something—someone—might be listening."
She didn't make fun of me. She didn't laugh. She just looked at me like I was holding something fragile, and she didn't want to be the one to drop it.
Ardere pushed herself upright and held out her hand.
"Well, then let's go give the gods something to chew on."
I took her hand.
The walk back was slower this time. The ground was uneven, and she still leaned into me when the incline got steep or the dirt turned slick beneath our feet. But there was no awkwardness in it anymore. No self-consciousness. Just warmth. Quiet, shared warmth.
When the fire came back into view, still glowing low like an ember refusing to die, it felt different than before. Not just a party. Not just noise. It felt like a place of old things. Primitive things. Maybe even sacred ones.
There weren't many people left around it now. Most had stumbled off toward tents or vanished into the woods for their own reasons. But the fire was still alive. Cracking softly. Throwing shadows like dancing ghosts onto the surrounding trees.
Ardere let go of my hand, watching me carefully.
"Well?" she said. "What do you want to give them?"
When we reach the clearing, most of the group is dancing or laughing or already tossing things into the fire. Bits of paper, petals, thread. Memories or confessions or prayers, burned up into smoke and ash.
I slip away to the edge, pull a crumpled bit of paper from my back pocket. I'd been holding onto it, unsure. But now…
I glance at Ardere, who's smiling faintly, swaying a little where she stands, hair catching the firelight like it's gilded. And I know.
I crouch, brace the paper against my knee, and scrawl across it in the messy, slanted print only I can read:
I want her too—
Not just the version that laughs or stares at stars or touches my hand without thinking.
I want the version she hides.
The scared one. The angry one. The one that left this place, and the one who came back.
I want the girl who calls herself broken and still carries a lighter in her boot.
I want the one who sees herself in the stars and doesn't know how to stay.
I want her anyway.
I fold it in half, press my thumb to the crease. The edges are damp from my hand, smudged a little.
I'm just about to toss the folded paper into the fire when the clearing shifts.
The air goes colder, though the fire hasn't changed. Or maybe it's just the presence behind us.
Tallis.
His voice slides in like smoke. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."
I stiffen as Ardere turns, her shoulders lifting with familiarity instead of caution. He's carrying something wrapped loosely in waxed linen, like a small bundle of herbs or maybe wildflowers. But I already know it's neither of those things.
"I brought you something," he says, holding it out to her like a goddamn offering. "Thought you might want to finish the night off right."
Ardere unwraps it slowly. There's a shift in her eyes the second she sees what's inside—recognition, and something deeper. Hunger maybe. A whisper of a grin tugs at the corner of her lips.
A carefully bundled cluster of pale-green stems, dried and cured just right. The Grove's own narcotic. Light, hallucinogenic. Her favorite, apparently. That's what he said.
My stomach turns.
"She's already drunk," I say, sharper than I mean to. "She doesn't need this on top of it."
Tallis doesn't even look at me. He's focused on her, like I'm just background noise. "She can decide for herself. Can't you, Vesper?"
He says her name like it still belongs to him.
Ardere's fingers hover over the stems. Her expression's hard to read. Not because she's hiding something—because something in her is slipping. Melting. I can see it.
"She always said it helped her think," Tallis adds casually, stepping just a little closer. "Helped her feel things clear. Not all blurry and loud like everything else."
I grit my teeth. "That's not—"
"I know what she needs," Tallis cuts me off, finally looking at me. His tone is low, dangerous. Like I'm the one crossing a line. "You've known her what, a couple weeks? I was here for years."
He says it like a challenge, and I see Ardere flinch—not visibly, not enough for anyone else to notice. But I see it.
She takes it.
No hesitation this time.
Not even a glance at me as she pulls a stem from the bundle and twirls it between her fingers like she used to. Like it's muscle memory. Like it's home.
She lets Tallis light it for her.
The flare of the flame catches her face, golden and soft. She closes her eyes on the inhale, and I swear I can feel her slipping.
Tallis chuckles low under his breath. "Just like old times, huh?"
Something inside me snaps.
Not loudly. Not violently.
Just a quiet, final kind of click.
I step back.
She opens her eyes then, the haze already creeping in. They land on me, and there's a flicker of guilt there. Or maybe that's just what I want to see.
"Dorian—"
"I'm done," I say, voice flat. Not angry. Not wounded.
Just done.
"I'll see you in the morning."
Tallis raises a brow like he's won something, and I don't give him the damn satisfaction of a second glance. I just turn and walk.
The cold hits me harder once I'm away from the firelight. The folded piece of paper is still in my hand. I grip it harder, like maybe if I crush it hard enough, the words will force themselves into her memory.
But I know better than anyone: you can't make someone choose to stay.
Not when they're still addicted to what broke them.
And not when the thing they're reaching for isn't you.
—
I lay there, staring at the ceiling like it's going to give me answers.
It doesn't.
The cabin creaks with the wind outside, wood shifting like bones settling under skin. The Grove hums far away, a buzz of laughter and shouting and music dulled by distance and closed walls.
I breathe through it. Let myself feel pissed. Let myself feel small. Let myself feel like I knew this was going to happen and still let myself hope for something different.
Then—
A knock.
I groan, already sitting up. "Riven, if you're too drunk to find your own damn cabin when it's five feet away, I swear to god—"
The door opens before I can finish.
It's not Riven.
It's her.
Ardere. Standing there, backlit by moonlight, cheeks still flushed from the fire and the high and the cold night air.
And in her hand—
My paper.
Unfolded. Read.
She doesn't say anything at first. Just closes the door behind her and stares at me like I've knocked the breath out of her by just being.
"I didn't throw it in," I say, because I have to say something.
"I know," she replies, voice low. Wrecked. "You dropped it and I was going to throw it in for you—but then i saw it."
I watch her fingers tighten around the edges. She's trying to hold it gently. But she's shaking just a little. And maybe it's the cold—or maybe it's what the words meant.
I almost ask if she's still high.
But I don't want to know. Not right now.
Instead, I say, "You weren't supposed to read that."
"I wasn't supposed to do a lot of things tonight."
That hits. Sharp and right between the ribs.
She takes a small step forward. And then another. Then stops, right in front of me.
"I wanted to go back," she says, barely above a whisper. "But I didn't know how."
Her eyes search mine, not asking for forgiveness.
Just for something.
"I was scared," she says. "That I was going to ruin it if I let myself want something that wasn't destruction."
I look down at the paper in her hands. At the ink blotted a little from where her fingers held it too tight.
"I want her too—"
That's how it started.
I don't even remember how it ended. Just that it was true.
Still is.
I swallow hard. "Are you still high?"
"No," she answers, breath fogging between us. "I only took one hit. Then I told Tallis to go to hell."
That earns her a small exhale from me. Not quite a laugh, but close.
"Why'd you come here?"
She looks at the paper again. Then folds it, slower this time. She doesn't pocket it. Doesn't give it back.
"I needed to know if you meant it."
"Did it read like a lie?"
Her voice falters. "No."
I nod slowly. "Then I meant it."
When I glance over, Ardere's already looking at me.
Something flickers behind her eyes—regret, maybe. Or longing. Or maybe it's just the reflection of the candle I forgot to blow out, its tiny flame dancing in the silence between us.
She leans in. Not fast. Not certain. Just a slow tilt of her body toward mine, like her gravity's finally pulling her this way and she's stopped fighting it.
I meet her halfway.
Almost.
We stop—barely an inch between us. Our breaths mingle in the cold air, hers shivering against my lips. My heart thuds against my ribs like it's trying to break out.
Neither of us moves.
She blinks slowly. "Dorian…"
My name on her lips sounds like a question.
Like a warning.
Like a promise.
I nod, barely. "Yeah."
We still don't kiss.
Our foreheads brush. The air thickens. Her hand lifts like she's going to touch my jaw, then stalls, fingers hovering like she's afraid even that will shatter this fragile thing forming between us.
I should say something. Stop it. Or pull her closer.
But I just breathe.
So does she.
Then—
Something in her snaps.
She exhales sharply and grabs my shirt with both hands, like she's done being afraid of breaking things.
I don't even have time to process it before her mouth is on mine.
And god—it's not gentle. Not careful. It's weeks of silence and glances and not-touching all colliding in one impossible second.
She kisses me like she needs it to breathe.
And I kiss her back like I've been waiting to.
My hand finds the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and her body follows, knees bumping mine as she climbs into my space like she can't stand to be separate anymore.
There's nothing hesitant about it now.
Her hands are in my hair now, gripping like she doesn't trust this to be real unless she's holding onto something. I don't blame her. My own hands are roaming—her back, her hips, the dip of her waist—like I'm trying to memorize the shape of her, anchor myself in her before this can vanish.
The kiss deepens. Slows. Then speeds up again like we're both afraid of where this is going, but even more afraid of it stopping.
She shifts into my lap and I let her, fingers tightening on her sides as I drag her closer.
Closer.
I can feel her heartbeat pounding against my chest. Fast. Wild. Matching mine.
Her lips break from mine only to trail to my jaw, then my neck, and I tilt my head to let her. My breath hitches—sharp and shaky—and I feel her smile against my skin like she knows exactly what she's doing to me.
"Ardere," I breathe, the sound more ragged than I mean for it to be.
She pulls back, just enough to look at me. Her hair's a mess, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing me, and she looks—
God.
She looks like sin wrapped in starlight.
"You don't want me to stop," she says quietly.
It's not a question. But I answer anyway.
"No."
She kisses me again, slower this time, but deeper. More certain. Like we've crossed something we can't uncross. Her hands slide under my shirt, fingertips skating over bare skin, and it sends a shiver all the way down my spine.
My hands go to her thighs, thumbs brushing up under the hem of her shorts. Her skin is warm. Smooth. Familiar and brand new all at once. She makes this sound—something between a gasp and a sigh—and it undoes me.
I lie back, pulling her down with me, and she comes willingly, her body pressed along mine. We're tangled now—mouths and hands and legs—and it's messy and desperate and so, so real. Her hands push my shirt up, and I lift my arms to let her take it off. She hesitates for a beat when her eyes meet bare skin, like she's trying to take it all in at once. And then she leans in and presses her mouth to my collarbone. Soft. Reverent. Her breath warm against me.
I close my eyes and let it happen, let her happen.
She slides her hands up my chest, over my shoulders, down my arms like she's memorizing every inch of me. And I do the same—fingertips brushing the hem of her shirt, looking at her for permission. She gives it in the soft nod of her head, the way she lifts her arms, the trust in her eyes.
I peel the fabric away slowly. Her skin glows faintly in the moonlight sneaking through the cabin window, and it hits me just how unreal she looks like this. Like something pulled straight out of a dream I've never let myself have.
She leans down again, kissing me like it's the only language she has left, and I understand every word of it. My hands explore—her ribs, the curve of her spine, the arch of her back. She shivers, not from cold but from how close we are, how there's no space between us now.
Her hips press against mine, and I gasp into her mouth, the sound catching in my throat. I grip her tighter without meaning to. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to make my breath catch again.
She starts to tremble, and I slow down, my hands stilling. "We can stop," I whisper against her neck. "Say the word, and we stop."
But she shakes her head. "Don't," she says, voice barely there. "Please… don't stop."
I found her gaze, pupils blown and Irises dark, all while dragging her hips up against me. I nipped at her bottom lip, earning a gasp that allowed me much needed entry into her mouth. My hands slid quickly up her ribs and without missing a beat, unclasping her bra with ease and tossing it aside.
"Don't tell me you're a boob guy," Ardere scoffed, but there was no real bite behind it.
I smirk, flipping us over so that she's now on the bottom. "I try not to play favorites."
She's about to roll her eyes at me or curse me out, but a single brush of my fingers over her shorts is all it takes to cut her off.
Whatever she was about to threaten me with is gone.
I start from her collar bone, down the scar on her sternum. It looks like it's from something surgical, but I don't dare ask. Not now. She's starting to squirm, not from discomfort but from anticipation. I'm careful not to touch the fresh scar on her ribs as my hands glide down her and hook themselves on her shorts. I don't even bother to undo the button and zipper, just yank hard enough that they break and slide them off of her feet.
Ardere whimpers, the sudden movement causing her more pain than I wanted too, but I'm quick to soothe it by pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her core.
Her underwear isn't even off yet and she already has her hands tangled in my hair, pulling so hard I groan.
I forgot, she likes pain.
But something's still clawing at the back of my mind. A thought I don't want to have but can't stop from rising.
Maybe it's because she came in holding that piece of paper.
Maybe it's because I'm terrified this is just another moment she'll run from in the morning.
Maybe I just need to know.
I swallow hard. "What was it about him?" I ask. "Tallis. Back then… and now."
Her body stills under mine—not pulling away, not tightening either. Just still, like she's trying to decide if this is a question she wants to answer or pretend she never heard.
"I don't know," she says. "I was a kid. And he was… kind to me. Dangerous, but kind. I thought that meant something."
Her fingers trail along my collarbone, and I can feel the weight behind them now. Less fire. More ache.
"I thought he saw me," she adds. "Saw something in me worth... saving. Or ruining."
I don't know which one hurts worse—her saying it, or the fact that I understand.
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. "But now?" she whispers. "Now I think I loved the idea of him more than I ever loved him. I held onto it for so long, I didn't notice when it started to rot."
I nod, but she catches my face in her hands, holding me still.
"I'm not here because of Tallis," she says. "I'm here because of you."
And just like that, the tightness in my chest shatters.
My hands don't go straight for her underwear. I start at her calves, pressing into the tight muscles with my thumbs, working slow circles until I feel the tension begin to give. She lets out a breath—quiet, almost soundless—but I catch it.
God, she's so wound up. Every part of her feels like a wire pulled too tight.
"Dorian—" she starts but is cut off by a moan. "What are you doing?"
"Relaxing you," I say right as my fingers hit the pressure point that's behind the knee, and she lets out an instant moan. "You're tense."
She doesn't say anything after that. Just let's me work my way up to my hips, letting me know when I hit a spot she likes by moaning.
I give her a moment to breathe as I take off my pants and boxers. And although she's trying really hard to hide it, i can tell she's watching me through her half closed eyes.
"Fuck me. Right here. Right now."
Well, alright then.
I don't hesitate, I'm pretty sure her underwear rips off as i grab her hips and yank her down the bed to where I am.
She likes pain. Needs it.
I climb over top of her, pinning both her wrists with one of my hands above her head and slamming myself into her.
She cries out in what i think is pain, but lifts her hips up to match mine, wrapping her legs around my waist.
I can feel the tension in my body, the heat coiling in my core and I know she's feeling it too, the way her breathing is coming in short, ragged gasps.
"Don't stop."
My hand was gripping her wrist hard enough that I was sure it would leave marks. But she was begging me to keep going and I couldn't not.
"Fuck," I breathed out. "You're unbelievable."
Her lips were on mine again, plunging her tongue into my mouth.
"Still good?" I murmured, my lips still clinging to hers.
"Still so fucking good."
I tightened my grip on her wrist and picked up the speed of my thrust. The bed was creaking loud enough for anyone within twenty feet to hear and I'm pretty sure Riven was laughing his ass off right now. Ardere's eyes were in the back of her head. I glanced down for a moment to see the hickey Tallis had given her yesterday night. A low growl formed in the base of my throat and I leaned down, keeping her hands pinned above her head while I propped myself up on my other elbow and sucked on her neck right beside Tallis's mark on her.
Something in the shift, or maybe the sucking dragged something sharp and bright out of her. Ardere's back arched, and the truest thing I've heard to an actual whimper spilled out of her.
"I've got you," I murmured, adjusting the angle even deeper that she arched her back with a cry.
"There—fuck—right there—please."
I pressed my forehead to hers, letting my mouth brush against her ear.
"That's it, cum for me baby."
Her breath caught, but then another thrust sent her orgasm crushing through her. I let go of her wrist, expecting that she would grab the bed or my arm for stability. But instead her hand reached for my chest, clawing its way down hard enough to draw blood.
Something about that sensation mixed with her body squeezing me as she came pushed me over the edge. I let out a guttural moan, Ardere's name falling from lips like i secret as i breathed against her neck, taking in her sent.
–
She's quiet now. Her breathing has evened out, but every now and then, her lashes flutter like her body doesn't quite believe it's safe to rest.
I've still got one hand on her thigh, my other arm cradled behind her shoulders, keeping her close to my chest. Her skin is warm against mine, flushed from everything we just shared—but already starting to cool under the night air that sneaks through the cabin's cracked window.
She doesn't move, just lets herself sink into me like she belongs there. Like this is the first time in weeks—maybe years—that she hasn't had to hold herself up.
I tilt my head, burying my nose into her hair. It smells like firewood and a trace of whatever she put in it days ago. Something soft. Faint. Almost gone. Like her.
Like she's spent so long trying to disappear that even her scent doesn't want to linger.
She shifts, just barely, pressing closer in her sleep. Her mouth parts like she's about to say something, but nothing comes out. Maybe there's a dream waiting for her, or maybe it's just all the things she couldn't say earlier—too dangerous, too raw, too much like truth.
I watch her anyway. Like looking might keep her here a little longer.
Her hand is resting over my ribs, fingers curled slightly against my skin. Possessive, almost. Or maybe afraid. Like she's not sure I'll still be here when she wakes up. Like she's not sure she'll still be here.
I don't know how long I lie there, holding her like that.
But I know I don't want to let go.
Because there's something about seeing her like this—unguarded, quiet, real—that undoes me. Strips away everything I thought I had figured out about her.
I want her to be okay.
More than that, I want to be someone she believes won't hurt her just by staying.
I press a kiss to the top of her head. Whisper, "You're safe," even if I'm not sure it's true.
She doesn't answer.
But her fingers relax against my ribs.