A/N: This trope is pretty kooky, so don't take it too seriously
The first time Jem lays eyes on him, he's more stark marble than he is human, standing beside two sister pawns and pushed forward on a chessboard.
Jem's father looks unhappy. He hates the idea of children having to pay for their father's sins, and he voices that discontentment to the cowering Linette Herondale.
She clasps her frail hands together. "Please, my husband needs to stay at his current job. T-to continue raising funds."
Some day, Owen Herondale plans to buy his family back. But even Jem knows the man has dug himself a grave in debt.
Jem's leaning over the banister a floor above the entry hall, still in his pajamas, having just tiptoed out of bed. Watching with his pulse in his ears. This feels important, the same sort of unease that hovers before a bullet cracks. The boy with curly raven hair glances up, sending a spark through Jem when they meet eyes. Blue shimmers across the infinity of the ceiling chandelier.
"Very well. Until then, you all must work off his debt."
Jem shivers without a dressing gown. He hadn't known his father's voice could sound so cold, so empty of emotion.
Another maid ushers the Herondales into the servants' quarters while Jem's gaze chases after the boy like a second shadow, much shier but just as desperate to be near him. His father's head twists over his shoulder. With no choice but to return to bed, Jem fades back into the gloomy hallway.
Even under the sheets, he's jittery. He wonders about the boy's name, wonders if they could be friends? But he doesn't want to force him into anything, just because he's a servant. A sharp sting of pity curls in his chest. He makes a secret promise, to never ever treat him as an inferior, but as an equal.
Jem inhales against his pillow, the lingering scent from earlier trickling onto his taste buds.
That boy is an alpha.
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.
According to his parents, omegas are peaches asking to be plucked, soft on the outside, sweet and ripe on the inside, and that's why Jem's not allowed to wander off on his own. If he does, Will gets lashes, and there's no worse guilt than what comes afterwards.
Overtime, Jem decides it's not so bad being glued to Will. They're kind of friends. Not best friends. Will probably already has one, from his life before the Carstairs Estate.
"Where did you live?" Jem asks one soggy morning. The showers from the night before have turned the dirt into soupy waste, trees still wringing out their limbs. Jem's shoulders are already soaked, but that's just another part of the adventure.
"A little town on the coast called Aderyn. Bet you've never heard of it." The better part of Will's arms are devoured by his overcoat, boots mushing sloppily with each step.
"No…" Jem is almost apologetic. "But what was it like?"
"Hmm. The houses were a lot smaller than yours. A lot more boring. But we were surrounded by huge tracts of fields, where there were picnics and festivals. And every week, all the kids would get together and play this massive game of tag."
"Oh wow," Jem breathes.
"You'd like it a lot."
Will is so handsome when he smiles, Jem has to quickly look at the ground. His face feels bright and hot.
"Also when you present, it's tradition they throw a big party for you."
"Even the omegas?" Jem asks.
Will scoffs, as if to say well duh. "Rural areas aren't as conservative about keeping them away from public viewing. They usually mate as early as they can, and pop out three to four kids during their teen years."
Jem's eyes widen in shock. He doesn't know whether to feel scandalized or intrigued. His parents have always buried him in etiquette and modesty, and a family dinner years back, he still remembers his grandmother calling him a whore because his knees weren't completely squeezed together.
"So odd," Jem says softly.
"It's actually encouraged. More children means more hands to work on the farm, you know?"
"What sort of stuff would you do at those parties?" Jem's stomach is churning with regret. After he presented, he was put under strict house arrest. Even now, with Will at his side, Jem's not allowed to go inbounds of the nearest village.
"Depends," Will puffs, a cloud of fog rising in front of his face. "Everyone gets food and cake and all that rubbish. Kids who present alpha have this ceremony where they sniff the neck of an omega for the first time. It's always someone from their family, but I still think it's wicked."
Jem can't contain his gasp. It slips out like a secret, and of course Will hears it and he grins.
"Omegas have it the other way around."
"You're lying," Jem accuses.
"Am not."
"Are too."
Their shoulders bump on accident, because Jem stumbles over a rock. But Will doesn't know that, and he playfully shoves Jem back. Obviously with more force than he intended. Already off balance, Jem topples onto the muddy sludge with a wet slap.
Will's shocked expression must mirror the one Jem's wearing.
"Shite. I'm really sor-"
Jem uses Will's helping hand to yank him down to the ground with him. His landing knocks off Jem's hat, which only serves to make him laugh. The next thing Jem knows, he's being slammed down and rolled over in a tussle of writhing legs and punishing elbows.
"You sneaky bastard," Will growls.
"Pansy," Jem bites back.
"I'm gonna-"
"Push me in the mud?" Jem kicks up a splash with his boot, and some of it splatters on Will's pants.
Everything's a blur as they twist and wrestle, until someone finally gains the upperhand. Will's lean but surprisingly strong body pins him against the ground, and suddenly Jem finds his legs parted around Will's waist.
Will's still breathing hard. A pretty blend of boyishly tousled hair, bright eyes and candy-apple stained cheeks.
"I win," he breathes out, leaning forward to place his sweaty palms down on Jem's wrists.
A shameful rush of heat travels down from Jem's blushing face. Spread legs? Jem can practically hear his grandmother shrieking in mandarin. It's slutty. Obscene. You want your uncles or your grandpa to knot you?
Will licks his lips expectantly, as if he's waiting for a smart retort. Instead Jem closes his eyes. He breathes in the weak scent that's hovering near his face.
But it's not nearly strong enough.
Grimy fingers scrub at his cheek. "Are you alright?" Will asks.
Jem sighs, letting his eyelids flutter open. Very slowly, he admits, "I've never smelled an alpha up close before. Not even my father."
Will gazes down for a silent few seconds.
Jem chews on his lip, the color in his face becoming more and more obvious. "I don't know what came over me, I'm so sorry."
At last Will moves, and it's to tug his scarf loose from his neck. "Don't be," he says, as the last of the threadbare wool drops to his lap. "I'll even help you."
"You'll what?"
"Shh, you can't tell anyone about this, okay?" Will's normally expressive eyes are an enigma, and his tone is off, strangely soothing. "Now be quiet and just…"
It's not even on purpose that Jem shrinks and squeezes his eyes shut. Will is pitching forward all too fast, laying his body flat on top of Jem's, chest to chest, hips joined through layers of cotton. The last thing to fall into place is the juncture of Will's bared neck. It's deliberately pressed against Jem's face, so he can't escape, and even though Jem tells himself he wants to, his next breath is much deeper than usual.
A cross between a sigh and a whimper flutters on the wind.
That smell is so oppressive. It wracks a bone-deep shudder from him. Dangerous. Scary.
Suddenly, Jem feels very weak and very small. Will is an insurmountable threat; he has Jem trapped, helpless, and so he's allowed to do what he wants. Slack melts his muscles, along with the rest of his senses. His thighs fall open, wide and willing.
But impossibly, devastatingly, Will's pulling away. A sob crests over Jem's chest like a dry heave, but when he tries to sit up, to chase the scent, the grip on his wrists holds him prisoner. The physical pain it causes makes his eyes blur.
"Jem," Will sounds so soft, "Listen to me."
A whine from the back of his throat ends up cracking.
"Just calm down, I know it's tough."
When the tears come, they're ice cubes rolling down his scalding cheeks. Another sob, pathetic, pointless.
Will makes a desperate noise above him. "Hang it all-," hands slide up and under Jem's sweater, "-is this what you want?"
Jem keens at the feel of skin on skin, which is more akin to lightning on metal, travelling swiftly and flinging sparks through the rest of his body. He can barely work up the effort to nod. One last attempt at freeing his wrists succeeds, and he doesn't linger on why, he's too busy reaching for more Will.
Driven by sheer instinct and mountains of need, Jem buries his nose in Will's neck, deflating, because he just knows he belongs there. Elbow-deep under Jem's shirt, Will splays his hands out on Jem's shuddering chest and presses his face into the top of Jem's hair, breathing deeply.
For a long time everything is sniffing, touching. They roll around on the ground, this time without struggling, instead clinging on like they're one person. There's lots of prodding of cold, curious fingers, lots of gentle sighs and soft moans. It's a daydream Jem could spend the rest of time in.
So when Will finally untangles himself, incompletion carves open his chest. Jem stares up from the ground as the other boy rises to his feet and does a poor job of dusting off his mud-caked clothes. He reaches to help Jem up. But Jem's dizzy and unbalanced, so Will continues holding his hand even after he's standing. It's still warm from their mingled body heat.
"It's getting dark. We need to head back." Will sounds much too casual, as if he's discussing the fair weather.
They were supposed to use the daylight hours to hike to the forest border. Not that Jem cares anymore.
"Yeah okay."
Will squeezes his hand once, then lets go. He stoops down to pluck the hat from the sludgey ground, shakes it a few times, and plops it on Jem's head as they begin walking.
A lump rises in Jem's throat. What they've done hasn't hit him yet, but it's building behind a leaking dam. Why is Will acting so bloody normal? The need to say something is bile overflowing in his throat.
"I'm sorry."
Will arches a slender eyebrow. "Again? What is it this time?"
Jem swallows. "That was completely inappropriate." At Will's blank expression, Jem irritably wonders if this is on purpose, if Will wants to hear the racy details out loud. "Omegas shouldn't be scented, or felt up, by anyone except their mate."
"Do you have a mate?"
"Well, not right now." Jem licks his lips, "But I will someday." The lump in his throat becomes painful, because for the first time, there's a chance that isn't true. He's tainted isn't he? His parents might have trouble roping in someone suitable, since Jem's not been the chaste, obedient creature he's supposed to.
"No one owns you," Will replies. "That's how it was in Aderyn. You asked about life there, didn't you?"
Jem nods hesitantly.
"Anyone can fool around with whoever they like, and there are no consequences because it's just experimenting. Learning what you're compatible with." Will casts him a sidelong look that's half-fond and half-honest. "Really, you had the calmest reaction to an alpha's scent I've ever seen. I don't regret a second of what we did. Do you?"
Jem is quiet. He thinks on it and he decides.
"No. I liked it a lot."
"Fantastic," Will grins.
Jem would smile back, if the evening chill didn't make him shiver instead. Will immediately unwinds the scarf from his neck and lays it around Jem's shoulders, planting a peck on Jem's cheek as he pulls away.
"Remember," Will adds. "You can't tell anyone."
Jem nods, happy with how everything's unfolded. He takes a sniff of the scarf's familiar scent.
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.
Selena has her neck bowed, her snout mostly disappeared in her water trough, while Jem grips her leather reins. Focusing anywhere but the other side of the barn.
The enthusiasm he started the day with has worn off depressingly fast. Jem never manages to convince his father of anything, especially when it pertains to his freedom. But finally, finally, now that Jem's fourteen, his father has agreed to let him take riding lessons. Jem hasn't been allowed to do any kind of sport since…he feels sick that he can't remember.
At the sound of high-pitched giggling, Jem almost glances over his shoulder.
I'm gonna grab a bridle, Will had said, handing Jem the reins. He'd looked cheerful, like he was honestly pleased to be picked as Jem's instructor. Be right back.
Fifteen minutes later, Jem's still standing by himself. Though he understands perfectly why the stable girl is so distracting. He can smell her sweet, delicate scent from all the way across the barn. From how easily the two of them fell into conversation, Jem's sure they know each other quite well. The servants' quarters give them all night to get acquainted.
Thinking too hard. Will would say so if he could see Jem's face.
But Jem can't help it. During the long hours they're separated, Will might be giving his attention to all sorts of people. There are plenty of pretty faces that work for the Carstairs family, more outgoing, more interesting, than Jem is.
"It was great seeing you Hannah, but I've got a lesson to teach. This evening, alright?" Will's walking backwards with the bridle slung over one shoulder. Jem pretends to be wholly invested in stroking Selena.
Seconds later, a warm chest has lined up with his back. Will stretches over Jem's shoulders to fix the bridle onto Selena's muzzle.
"I'm glad you were careful," Will murmurs against the back of his hair. "Horses can be very dangerous."
Rather than play along with Will's teasing, Jem keeps his tone neutral. "I'm not a frightened child."
"No. But you've never been this close to an animal that wasn't a housepet, have you?"
Jem wishes he could answer without proving just how pampered he is. Will's low laughter doesn't help at all.
"Don't be embarrassed. You know I'm always honored to educate you on the ways of the world."
Having finished with the bridle, Will tries for a kiss, but Jem sidesteps and ducks away, frowning at him.
Will smiles back indulgently. "Forgive me, cariad. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"Stop," Jem says. Will raises his eyebrows, so he clarifies, "Treating me like that."
Will's nod seems compulsory. "I'll get a mounting block so you can climb on her. Then we can start."
Something knots in Jem's stomach as he watches Will walk away. He hates that this is how Will sees him. Spoiled, fragile, useless. Hates that his wealth is probably the only quality that sets him apart from the vast array of omegas Will has his pick from.
Irritation is one hell of a motivator.
Selena whinnies when Jem takes a firm grasp of her saddlehorn. He ignores her, concentrates on getting the best momentum behind his knees, then jumps up onto her back, throwing his leg over at the last second. Jem almost loses his balance, especially because Selena is stomping in place, but he clings to her neck, combing through her mane to calm her down.
When Will returns, the obvious shock in his expression is worth every part the risk was. He drops the mounting block at Selena's hooves, although it's completely unnecessary now. Jem loosely takes up the reins, gazing down at him.
"Well? Get on your own horse and let's start."
Will shakes his head, chuckling. "You're a literal gem."
Jem smiles at the silly pun. But he doesn't have long to bask in the warm, pride of approval, because Will has stepped onto the mounting block and dropped onto the saddle, right behind him. He tugs the reins from Jem's hands and kicks the stirrups, guiding Selena out of the barn.
The morning is in low tide, a gray shore of sky washed in sea foam clouds. A strong breeze ruffles Jem's hair, making Will's extra body heat a blessing. He's slid his arms around Jem's waist to hold the reins, and propped his chin on Jem's shoulder, caging him in completely.
"Sometimes I forget how fearless you are." Will pulls him tighter against his chest. "I'm glad you keep me in check."
Jem can feel the hard outline of Will's hips with every bounce of the trot, can almost imagine the shape of something else. He forces his mind off the subject, curling his fingers in Selena's mane.
"Why are you here? Why are we using one horse?"
"You didn't honestly believe your father would let you do something independently, did you? He's a bloody traditionalist."
Jem goes a little limp. And really, he should've expected it by now, but he feels a piece of him chip off and fall away.
"I suppose not."
Will drops his voice to a whisper. "That won't stop me from giving you a full learning experience. We'll also be doing secret lessons at night, if you don't mind."
He squeezes Jem's waist. A match is struck on a burnt out wick, so that Jem is alive and burning again. Whatever his father pretends to know, no matter what he claims is best for Jem, Will is the one who truly cares for him.
Jem turns his head, icy nose bumping Will's. "I'd like that," he says.
They smile at each other, and for the first time, he considers the possibility that Will might be as enamored with him as he is with Will.
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.
At seventeen, they're married in their own right. Only in the dark, only while the rest of the manor sleeps, can the ceremony be repeated. A single candle is their witness. An elongated sigh, damp kisses, the shared air flowing out one pair of lungs, into the other; those are their vows.
Jem lays back and allows the waves of completion and perfection to crash over him each time Will thrusts forward, making the mattress creak and the headboard knock against the wall.
Will has his elbows propped on either side of Jem's head, exertion showing in his heavy breath and the silver sheen from his forehead tracing down to his chest. Their faces are so close, Jem swears he can make out the constellations within the endless blue of Will's eyes.
He's so, so eternally grateful. Would die if he had to go through his heats alone, without Will's solid back underneath his fingertips, the curve of his spine, the taut muscles in his neck, spirals of sticky curls.
Jem doesn't even realize he's murmuring nonsense until Will dips down and smothers his lips. They kiss with their tongues tangled, uneven and frenzied. Like the pace of their lovemaking , it reverts to something slower, meaningful but not completely straightforward.
Nothing about their feelings needs to be explicitly said. Jem knows exactly how much Will loves him in the tilt of his hips when he pushes inside, chasing the angle of Jem's most sensitive bundle of nerves. Building toward a peak where Jem's knows he won't be able to hold back a scream, unless Will muffles it with his mouth.
That moment is never reached.
The bedroom door swings open. A maid gasps. Her armful of towels flutter to the ground.
Will stops all movement to sit up, throwing a sheet over Jem's exposed body. Jem turns his cheek on the pillow, but is otherwise frozen, swallowed by a swift string of incomprehension. No, no, this can't be real, we locked that door, we always do.
After a mouse-like squeak, the maid darts down the hallway. Dragging behind her is the only sense of contentment and stability Jem's ever had in his life, slow as dripping wax being replaced by dread.
Will drags the candlestick across the nightstand and blows out the flame.
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.
The point of staying a secret had been to keep Will's family safe.
Otherwise, I'd make you mine forever. Jem couldn't count the number of times Will had promised, ghosting his molars over the tender skin above Jem's collarbone, vacant and aching for a mating mark.
Without Will's ties to his family, they would've run away, all the questions of a stable livelihood be damned. But Will couldn't do that to Ella and Cecily. And Jem couldn't leave Will's side, despite talk of an arranged mate and visiting suitors.
So they'd stayed, prolonged their suffering, and waited until they were found out. Jem knows now he should've taken his chances by himself, if only to save the Herondales from this fate.
Thomas is supposed to be guarding Jem's door. But it's really Jem he has to guard against, because Jem's doing everything in his power to wriggle past him.
"Please Master James. No harm will befall them, I can promise you that."
"You're lying," Jem snaps. "Don't give me that rubbish."
"Your father is a very fair man," Thomas replies stiffly.
"You don't know him like I do."
And to that, Thomas has no response.
"Doesn't Linette hem and repair your clothes? Isn't Will supposed to be your friend? Don't you care for Ella?"
The last part elicits a sharp inhale. Jem continues in a surprisingly steady voice.
"Just give me a chance to help them. I can convince my father, I can beg with everything I have. But only if you'll allow me the chance."
Thomas swallows, and Jem can see the turmoil roiling around in his dark eyes.
A few minutes later, Jem is flying off the last step of the stone staircase. He's running across the wet pavement of the courtyard while rain batters down with an almost divine vengeance. There's a carriage by the road, a few figures under umbrellas, as well as an escort of guards. Jem forces his bare feet to move faster, feeling his flesh open and bleed with every step.
He's the last thing anyone's expecting when he barrels past his parents and into Will. The guards recoil in surprise. Jem doesn't think about why Will's alone, where the rest of his family is, or where the carriage is going. He just grabs Will's arm and tries to haul them apart from everyone else. Even though Will's hands are bound behind his back, his legs are still loose, they could do this.
"Come on," Jem pleads, heavy streams of waters dribbling from his fringe, down his cheeks and shimmering on his eyelashes. He's soaked and shivering, his heartbeat pounding in his ribcage. He tugs Will's arm harder. "We have to get out of here, why aren't you moving?"
Will's expression is a black slate. He is the silence that answers a desperate call at the entrance of a tunnel.
"Please," Jem says, tearing the fabric of his collar so he can offer himself up. "Just bite me, they can't separate us then, they won't."
Will stares. Jem steps as close as he can, tilting his head to the side for better access.
Will leans down, but it's not to mark him. His nose bumps against Jem's hair, and he takes in a deep drag, like Jem is some sort of drug he'll never taste again. Jem's father shouts out orders and the guards are back, pulling Will away from him. Jem tries to hold on, but he's rebuffed by another body.
"Believe me James," his father squeezes his shoulder, "This is for your own good."
"No it's not," Jem says through gritted teeth. "Stop making that decision for me. I'm not a puppet and I refuse to keep living under your rule."
It's the first time Jem's ever stood up to his father, and the slightest bit of regret crosses his ever-composed face.
"If you've ever loved me, don't take Will away. Don't hurt his family. And even though I hate every bloody thing that comes out of your mouth, I swear I'll mate whoever you choose."
"I do love you James. I wish you could understand that, and hopefully you will someday."
His father turns away, and Jem is left alone to drown.
His mother holds her umbrella over his head, as if that could do any good when there's already water choking his lungs. Will is shoved into the carriage, and the coachman takes off with a lash of a whip and a thunder of hooves. At the same time, the weight of the waterlogged world comes crashing down on him.
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.
Fours years after the Carstairs went bankrupt, three years since his mother fell ill, one year since his father put a pistol in his mouth.
Jem sets off with a light jacket, a book tucked under his arm, and his scarf stuffed in his leather bag, the strap swinging on his shoulder. The sturdy roots of spring have taken hold, commanding a barrage of bloated, muggy weather. It's a lengthy walk out of his neighborhood, not to mention dangerous. The streets are flooded with litter, towering flats webbed with cracks and diseased by mold. The stench, like living corpses, could pervade even the thickest of steel.
Jem is glad to enter the shopping district, blending in the crowds without much trouble. He may be neck-deep in poverty, but he finds ways to keep clean. A few blocks down, there's a bathhouse where omegas wash for free, with the light sales tax of an audience. Even though it's vile, he can't imagine living with grime like another layer of skin. Maybe he is a wealthy brat at heart.
Store windows flicker by his peripherals, flaunting everything from woven baskets, to sashes for girls, and wooden swords for boys. The quaint town of Aderyn hadn't even been on the map until the swift rise to fame of one its citizens. Now, it makes up a small city. With a festival just days away, the lampposts have been decorated in streamers, blue banners hang from windowsills, and celebrities are visiting from all over the country to take part in the highly publicized celebration.
Like most of the citizens, Jem is only interested in one.
He spots a cluster of people at the edge of the park, and dutifully heads in their direction. It's impossible to squeeze past the back row, because every single member of the audience is a devoted fan. So Jem settles onto his tiptoes, craning his neck over the shoulder of an ogre-sized woman. It's only a glimpse, but it's enough to make his heart shudder in his chest.
Maybe it shouldn't be so painful, though it doesn't hurt any more than the years of separation did. He has filled out beautifully. The ideal proportions of a grown man: tall, healthy, and tan. His white cotton shirt sets off the inkiness of his curls, and coats his skin in a soft, warm glow. Jem could be dreaming.
But he knows his Will.
They're so close, yet incurably far apart. The throngs of noisy people ensure the speech is barely audible, but from what he picks up, Will is as enticing as ever, probably even more so. His voice carries a wealth of passion and the same accented lilt that Jem's always found gorgeous. A resounding cheer swells over his final words.
Jem doesn't know why, but the crowd begins narrowing, as if there are invisible walls closing in on either side. Jem goes along with the formation, somehow ending up in the middle of the line. As soon as bodies begin flowing forward, he has a hunch where he'll end up.
It's a long while later, after the couple in front of him has finished embracing their idol, that Jem steps forward for his first, unobscured view. Will is perched on the edge of the stage, his legs swinging freely, hands casually propped behind him. Guards flank his sides.
It feels like an eternity has passed since he's last met those blue eyes. Something quiet and powerful reverberates through his being.
He expects some sort of reaction, but Will offers none. Only the polite smile he's maintained for his other fans.
"Hello." Jem's aware of how intensely he's staring.
Will is too, but more in a curiously confused way. It's not so different than the expressions worn by his guards. As if Jem's as much a stranger to Will as he is to them.
A panicked jolt travels down his fingertips. Inclined to do anything but just stand there, Jem holds out the book he's been carrying. Will takes it without batting an eyelash and flips it open to the front cover
"My first novel?" Will asks.
Jem immediately feels a rush of embarrassment, and he tucks a few strands of hair behind his ear. "I'm a long time fan."
"Clearly. That was before I got into politics." Will uncaps his fountain pen and the nib hovers centimeters above the paper. "Who should I make this out to?"
The sensation that punches Jem in the gut is swift and excruciating. Adjusting his eyes to the dark and realizing there's nothing else, that he's been completely, utterly alone the whole time.
At last, Jem remembers how to smile. It's just a twitch of muscles, a little extra effort that doesn't demand any sincerity.
"Jamie is fine."
The song of a gliding nib rasps for about half a second. Then, Will snaps the book shut and hands it back to Jem. There should be something else to say, some sort of goodbye. But Will's already broken eye contact and devolved into cheery greetings with the next group in line.
So Jem wanders away, dropping the book in his bag without bothering to read Will's note. He gazes over the raw size of the park and the ripening sun overhead, growing bittersweet with the course of the day.
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.
His flat in the slums is freezing. Where the walls don't have gaps or holes, they're as thin as cardboard, and the blanket wrapped around his shoulders could be made of paper. His violin is laid across the ground, but he can't muster the concentration to practice.
As always, his thoughts are drawn toward, chewed up, and swallowed by Will. Seeing him again has only made the habit worse.
Jem shouldn't be disappointed. By treating him like nothing, Will had actually shown a grand gesture of mercy, when his influence could easily have sicced a mob. If it weren't for Jem's family, Will would never have been sent to a labor camp. If it weren't for Jem, Will's family would still be alive.
A certain folk song has been on the rise in popularity recently, and would earn him a load more in tips if he learned how to play it. He's reaching for his bow when his hand jerks on its own, sliding the book out of his bag. He's consumed by a need for finality.
This is it. Will's last words to him. Jem hadn't had the chance-or the courage-to say his own, so this is what he's unintentionally agreed to. And he already knows, whatever it is, it won't be enough.
With a fortifying inhale, Jem opens the front cover. Scans the single line written there.
Next, he's getting up, grabbing his jacket again, as well as his scarf and mittens to guard against the night's eerie chills. There wasn't any message written in. Only an address.
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.
Jem raps on the heavy, ornate door with the back of his hand, anxiety threatening to boil him alive.
It swings open, and there is the idol himself, in human form, wearing a bottle green bathrobe over slacks. His hair is slightly mussed, a single curl falling elegantly over his forehead. The sight is potent, intoxicating.
Jem didn't think-wasn't sure it was really going to be Will's house. It seemed too good to be true. Like some sort of trap, and yet, he was completely willing to fall for it, if there was even the slightest chance that…
Will roves his gaze over Jem's body, blazing a path of anticipation in his wake.
"You came."
Jem tilts his head and smiles. "Of course I did."
"Well, get inside already."
Jem can't have imagined the shortness in his tone. But he does as he's told, and once Will shuts the door, the warm breast of heat fully envelops him. Jem hadn't even realized he'd been shivering. He's wordlessly lead to a drawing room where sleek, velvet couches surround a hearth pulsating with flames. Jem stands rooted to the spot, observing Will sink into an armchair.
"You have seen a chair in your lifetime, haven't you?" Will gets more comfortable. "Ingenious invention, really."
"Sorry." Jem perches on top of the plushy cushions, feeling grimy all over and wanting to sit on the floor.
Will slides his hands over the armrests, heaving a sigh. "I don't have any use for pretenses. So just spit it out."
Jem blinks. "Pardon?"
"What is it that you want from me?"
Want is a funny word. Jem does want, he wants all the time. But not in the way Will is saying it. Like it's dirty. Like a bribe.
"Jesus Christ, I really had to hold your hand through everything, didn't I?" Will's voice has a bitter sting. "You need money, clearly. You want food, clothes as well?"
Jem feels a flare of defensiveness. "I didn't come because of all that."
"Of course you didn't. But since you're here anyway, why not ask?"
"You make it seem like helping me disgusts you. Yet you're the one who invited me in the first place."
Will shakes his head. "The world's come full circle, can't you see? You started at the top, and now we've switched places...Call it a dutiful sense of pity."
Jem has something sharp and hurtful tugging at the edge of his tongue. But he sheathes it, and decides the naked truth is what's best.
"I've missed you, William. It's been a constant ache over the years that I just couldn't get rid of. And now you're-" Jem gestures in front of him. "Here. I can't believe it."
Dark humor dances in Will's eyes. "You're as sweet as a confection. That hasn't changed."
Jem forces his breathing to remain steady. "You've never felt any inclination toward seeing me again?"
Will sighs, his gaze breaking away, preferring the sight of furnished walls and oil paintings to Jem himself. "You were my first fling. It was good while it lasted, though I never expected it to last forever. If I were more shrewd about the consequences, I would've known you weren't worth it." Will finishes with a blithe, hollow smile. "I miss my family. I regret you."
After an earth-shattering moment, Jem nods. Understanding.
"You're mated now, I take it."
"It's been almost a decade." Will's careful tone alludes to the rest of what he's thinking.
You didn't really believe I'd be waiting, did you?
Jem needs to stop. This isn't the time to be selfishly involved in his feelings, no, it's a chance to make things right.
"I know I can't take it back," Jem begins, "And nothing will ever make up their loss. But believe me, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry about your family." It becomes hard to swallow. Jem hates himself and his own sensitivity. "I did everything I could to stop my father—but he shut me up in my room, deprived me of food, water. I just wasn't enough. Believe me when I say I would've traded my life for theirs in an instant, if I could."
Will is silent, digesting Jem's words. At least he doesn't look so repulsed anymore.
"I truly didn't come here for charity." Jem gets to his feet. "I've said all I need to say. It was a blessing to see you again, William."
Jem feels some sick satisfaction with their ending. He can go on like this. There won't be any more nail-biting wait or a purpose at the end of the tunnel, but he's sewn the stitches where it counts. Though he's beginning to believe he was born to fall apart.
Jem's just taken his first few steps from the couch when Will speaks.
"You're an omega, and it's nighttime. Don't be thick. Walking home right now would be a magnet for rape."
Jem pauses "It doesn't seem I have much choice in the matter, does it?"
When there's no response, Jem continues on his way, entering the hall leading to the foyer. But before he can open the front door, he hears a second set of footsteps behind him. Jem turns around, wide-eyed.
Will is standing there like he has every right to be. Of course. Will never second guesses anything. He cups Jem's cheek with a tenderness that could kill, and Jem leans into his hand, closing his eyes, remembering his skin, his smooth fingers and warm palm.
"Be careful, love."
Jem smiles, pulling away from his hand with reluctance. "You too. It's some world out there."
Will extracts a wad of bills from his robe and pushes it into Jem's palm. Jem stares down, slow to process.
"Oh Will. I don't want your money."
"Take it anyway." Will unhooks a wool coat from the rack. "And wear this, it's bloody freezing out there."
Jem's overly sentimental, so he lets Will help him into the sleeves. They do up the buttons together, finishing too quickly when time's already slipping through their fingers. Despite the looming sense of dread, Jem feels snug and unreasonably happy.
"Thank you."
"Be careful," Will repeats. He undoes the locks and props the door open, still running his gaze up and down Jem.
And then, it's back into the frigid embrace of darkness and solitude. He finds the strength to bear it. Will's coat is wrapped around his body and his scent is in Jem's nose, stunningly pure, unmated, and even that much of his presence has an uplifting, overwhelming effect.
Jem's breathing stutters. His walk slows as he realizes that effect is very physical. He spends so little time with alphas, it seems his body can't help reacting. It seems like he's suddenly too hot in the night air, and he might, possibly, be going into heat...
This hasn't happened in years. For good reason. There's no chance the crooks in his neighborhood will leave him alone, and an icy fear spreads over him like a plague.
His only saving grace is the fact that he hasn't heard the front door close yet. Will could be standing there, watching him, making sure Jem is safe just like he always has. Jem's scent must've surely reached him by now.
But returning carries a train car of resounding repercussions. Would it be asking too much?
Stone, even the most beautiful of carved statues, weathers overtime, cracks, fades, crumbles into pieces under large amounts of force. Which must mean Will is made of something unalloyed. The test of time has made him stronger than ever before. He's flourishing with life, and hopefully forgiveness.
It's a chance, a small one, but if he is waiting there, all Jem has to do is turn around and run back into his arms.