Snow drifted steadily outside the apartment window, soft flakes clinging to the glass before melting into rivulets. The city below moved more slowly under its white blanket, but inside, warmth lingered—lamps glowing low, the smell of cinnamon tea curling through the air, and the small sound of paws scurrying over the carpet.
"Witty," Lior sighed, catching the white kitten pawing at a silver ornament dangling from the Christmas tree. "Not again."
The bauble fell with a soft thud, rolling across the floor until it bumped against Kaein's foot. He bent down, picked it up, and shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him.
"He's determined," Kaein said, crouching to place the ornament back. "Relentless little thing."
"Persistent and spoiled," Lior muttered, scooping the cat into his arms. Witty wriggled for a moment before giving up and curling against his chest with a tiny purr.
Kaein walked over, reaching out to adjust the scarf still looped loosely around Lior's neck. "Says the one who carries him like royalty."
Lior's lips quirked into a grin. "Jealous?"
"Of a kitten?" Kaein raised a brow, though his smile gave him away. "Maybe."
---
The past few weeks had passed quietly—work, home, days that blurred together into something steady and comfortable. Lectures and flights, late dinners, mornings started with warm mugs and soft scents. For all the intensity of what they'd learned about permanent marking, life itself had settled into a rhythm.
This weekend, though, belonged to them.
They'd spent the morning wandering through snow-covered streets, shopping for groceries and small gifts, their breaths misting in the cold. Kaein held the bags while Lior insisted on carrying their cocoa, the steam curling against his gloves. The city had been alive with chatter, laughter, and decorations strung across shopfronts, but it was the small gestures that had stayed with them.
"Your hands are freezing," Lior had murmured, tugging one of Kaein's hands into his coat pocket, where their palms met and stayed pressed together as they walked.
"Professor hands aren't built for winter," Kaein teased.
"And pilot hands are?"
"Mine are," Lior had said simply, brushing their joined fingers against his thigh. His gardenia scent had unfurled softly in the air, chasing away the bite of the cold. Kaein hadn't let go until they reached home.
---
That night, the apartment glowed in quiet warmth. Witty batted again at the tinsel, then curled up on the back of the couch, a silent observer. Kaein sat cross-legged on the floor with one of the hospital journals open across his lap, pages filled with the careful handwriting of a researcher long gone.
Lior leaned against the cushions behind him, arms looped around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder. The steady weight of him was grounding, his scent lingering faintly at Kaein's nape.
"These notes," Kaein murmured, fingers tracing the page, "talk about the Lunar cycles. The rut. It's… not like what we know about Alphas."
Lior hummed in response, brushing a kiss just below his ear. "Twice a year. Only with the full moon. That's when it counts."
"And permanent marking?" Kaein asked quietly.
Lior's arms tightened around him. "It would have to be during one of those cycles. The Lunar bond… it runs deeper. That's why it can't be rushed, why it only happens then."
Kaein stilled, his fingertip hovering over the paper. "So rare… and once it's done, there's no undoing it."
Lior kissed his temple softly. "Exactly. Which is why we wait. Until it's not fear that drives us, but certainty."
Kaein leaned back into him with a faint sigh. "Your rut is Lunar. Mine is monthly. And yet we don't clash. I feel it every time you're close—like we fit."
"You are mine," Lior whispered, brushing a hand across his chest. "And I am yours. That's compatibility, Kaein. Not everyone finds it."
Kaein smiled faintly, tilting his head back until their lips brushed in a slow kiss. "Then maybe… permanence won't be so frightening when it comes."
"Nothing frightening about being yours," Lior murmured, deepening the kiss, his pheromones curling warm and sure through the air.
---
Later, the journals lay closed on the table, their tea long finished. They sat wrapped together on the couch under a blanket, Witty sprawled between them in his usual place.
"I used to think permanent marking meant chains," Lior said quietly, threading his fingers through Kaein's. "But with you, it feels like… home."
Kaein's throat tightened. He leaned his head against Lior's shoulder, breathing in the gardenia that was slowly becoming the scent of safety itself. "You say things that make it impossible not to believe you."
"Good," Lior whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair. "I don't want you to doubt me."
The apartment was filled with their scents—wisteria and gardenia, layered into the very fabric of the space. Not permanent yet, but undeniable.
When Kaein finally whispered, "Merry Christmas," against Lior's lips, it was more than a greeting. It was a promise—of a future, of belonging, of permanence waiting on the horizon.
Together, entwined.
Always.