Author's Notes: I didn't really intend to write this. I wanted to just finish Chapter 13 of Aspect, but after I did, the first line of this fic popped into my head, and so here I sit at my kitchen table at 2:07am, work only nine hours away. This is really, really short. Just basically a random emotional fragment of Sophia/Luke's relationship. For recommendations of other great werewolf tales, check out my journal: www.livejournal.com/users/evening_shadow/ Feedback always welcome.
"Dawning Light"
He fell in love with her because of a plate of fries. He'd been unusually alone and drifted into the diner, dropping into an isolated corner booth. He didn't bother to call over for a waitress, just stared out the smudged window, the red plastic menu lying on the table. The feeling he was experiencing wasn't an unfamiliar one, but it was still one that had no name. It was an aching restlessness that couldn't be solved by a run in wolf form, but it felt too big for his human skin. Even the air was different, heavy with the kind of humidity that was laced with foreboding, giving warning of the storm to come.
His puzzled analysis was disrupted by the clatter of cheap ceramic being slid before him. Steam darted upwards from the freshly made fries, which were dripping with mozzarella cheese, just the way he liked it. Capable hands placed a small of bowl of honey-mustard next to it. He looked up, staring into her face. Her hair fell over her cheek and she pushed it back with resigned impatience. Her wrinkled apron was stained with unidentifiable sauces and her skin glowed slightly from perspiration. Glasses hid her eyes, making it hard for him to read the expression he knew was lurking in their brown depths.
After placing the food on the table, she paused by the table, her body sinking into stillness for a few moments. She seemed to be waiting. All he could do was gaze at her. Making a little huffing sound, she shook her head. Pivoting on her heel, she moved gracefully to the counter and he watched her go, before looking back at his food. He hadn't even realized he was hungry. She had known, though. She always did.
As he ate, the grease from the fries coating his skin, he tried to remember some time when she hadn't been there. The town was small, the Pack even smaller. From his earliest memories, she was present, lingering on the fringes, but still there. They had no bond between them, besides the heritage they shared, and she did her best to deny that, thanks to her father's teachings. They could not be called friends, usually barely civil to each other. And yet...every so often, she would extend kindness to him, as she had today. Or, maybe, perhaps he'd find her walking alone in the woods, drawn to a world she feared, and he'd walk with her, his presence lending her strength, for of course, nothing would harm her while he was there.
They never spoke in those moments outside reality. It was enough to simply be together. He suddenly caught himself staring at the counter again, waiting anxiously for another glimpse of her and all at once, it clicked. He finally knew the name of the feeling that had plagued him for so many years. Anticipation. He was waiting for her, waiting for _them_. Waiting until they were both ready to accept what lay between them.
She pushed past the swinging doors that led from the kitchen and glanced around, checking on her other customers. Then she started for him, and he watched her avidly, drinking in her appearance with new eyes. Her sensible shoes made quiet clicking sounds on the checkered tiles. Avoiding his eyes, she reached for his plate, but he intercepted her hand, locking his fingers around her wrist. Startled, her eyes flew to his and he held her gaze as he slid his fingers down her soft skin to fold her hand in his. He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back in a chaste, old-fashioned gesture. At least, that's what it was supposed to be. Heat arched between them and her fingers convulsively tightened on his, but she did not look away. He could feel her tremble, but she did not give way, holding the eye contact and then, ever so briefly, her eyes flashed golden.
Smiling to himself, he released her hand, letting his fingers trail away. Her mouth opened and then closed, as she swallowed. Still holding her gaze, he stood in one fluid movement. She didn't step back and their bodies brushed, swaying towards each other. She started to reach for him, wanting to see if his hair was as silkily as it looked, when someone suddenly called her name. She stepped back, he looked up, and then she was scurrying to safety, his plate in hand, while he was glaring daggers at the elderly gentleman who had the gall to want a refill.
still, it was enough for now, a near-recognition of what would be. He pulled out some cash and produced a pen as well. He scrawled just one word on a napkin, before dropping the money next to it. Heading out the door, he went for the woods, ready now to run, with just his anticipation for company. She watched him leave and then disappear into the shadowed woods, before she crossed over to his table. There was a faint wolf howl in the distance as she read the promise he'd left for her: later.
"Dawning Light"
He fell in love with her because of a plate of fries. He'd been unusually alone and drifted into the diner, dropping into an isolated corner booth. He didn't bother to call over for a waitress, just stared out the smudged window, the red plastic menu lying on the table. The feeling he was experiencing wasn't an unfamiliar one, but it was still one that had no name. It was an aching restlessness that couldn't be solved by a run in wolf form, but it felt too big for his human skin. Even the air was different, heavy with the kind of humidity that was laced with foreboding, giving warning of the storm to come.
His puzzled analysis was disrupted by the clatter of cheap ceramic being slid before him. Steam darted upwards from the freshly made fries, which were dripping with mozzarella cheese, just the way he liked it. Capable hands placed a small of bowl of honey-mustard next to it. He looked up, staring into her face. Her hair fell over her cheek and she pushed it back with resigned impatience. Her wrinkled apron was stained with unidentifiable sauces and her skin glowed slightly from perspiration. Glasses hid her eyes, making it hard for him to read the expression he knew was lurking in their brown depths.
After placing the food on the table, she paused by the table, her body sinking into stillness for a few moments. She seemed to be waiting. All he could do was gaze at her. Making a little huffing sound, she shook her head. Pivoting on her heel, she moved gracefully to the counter and he watched her go, before looking back at his food. He hadn't even realized he was hungry. She had known, though. She always did.
As he ate, the grease from the fries coating his skin, he tried to remember some time when she hadn't been there. The town was small, the Pack even smaller. From his earliest memories, she was present, lingering on the fringes, but still there. They had no bond between them, besides the heritage they shared, and she did her best to deny that, thanks to her father's teachings. They could not be called friends, usually barely civil to each other. And yet...every so often, she would extend kindness to him, as she had today. Or, maybe, perhaps he'd find her walking alone in the woods, drawn to a world she feared, and he'd walk with her, his presence lending her strength, for of course, nothing would harm her while he was there.
They never spoke in those moments outside reality. It was enough to simply be together. He suddenly caught himself staring at the counter again, waiting anxiously for another glimpse of her and all at once, it clicked. He finally knew the name of the feeling that had plagued him for so many years. Anticipation. He was waiting for her, waiting for _them_. Waiting until they were both ready to accept what lay between them.
She pushed past the swinging doors that led from the kitchen and glanced around, checking on her other customers. Then she started for him, and he watched her avidly, drinking in her appearance with new eyes. Her sensible shoes made quiet clicking sounds on the checkered tiles. Avoiding his eyes, she reached for his plate, but he intercepted her hand, locking his fingers around her wrist. Startled, her eyes flew to his and he held her gaze as he slid his fingers down her soft skin to fold her hand in his. He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back in a chaste, old-fashioned gesture. At least, that's what it was supposed to be. Heat arched between them and her fingers convulsively tightened on his, but she did not look away. He could feel her tremble, but she did not give way, holding the eye contact and then, ever so briefly, her eyes flashed golden.
Smiling to himself, he released her hand, letting his fingers trail away. Her mouth opened and then closed, as she swallowed. Still holding her gaze, he stood in one fluid movement. She didn't step back and their bodies brushed, swaying towards each other. She started to reach for him, wanting to see if his hair was as silkily as it looked, when someone suddenly called her name. She stepped back, he looked up, and then she was scurrying to safety, his plate in hand, while he was glaring daggers at the elderly gentleman who had the gall to want a refill.
still, it was enough for now, a near-recognition of what would be. He pulled out some cash and produced a pen as well. He scrawled just one word on a napkin, before dropping the money next to it. Heading out the door, he went for the woods, ready now to run, with just his anticipation for company. She watched him leave and then disappear into the shadowed woods, before she crossed over to his table. There was a faint wolf howl in the distance as she read the promise he'd left for her: later.