Author's Note: This is shamefully short, but I've been away recently and you've all been very patient with me so I am incredibly sorry for the wait and also very sorry for the lack of quality for the last couple of chapters - i swear it'll get exciting soon.

Racing Like a Pro by The National

"Paul," Plum began lightly. "What do you say to hiking this weekend?"

Paul watched the girl carefully as they walked under the afternoon's wet sky. Her shoulders were hunched and with a tight knot in his stomach the boy exhaled, knowing what was coming.

"You'd like me to see your wolf, wouldn't you?"

She blinked and looked away from his gaze, searching the canopy of pines instead of his sharp eyes. It seemed she was rather nervous, as though her two worlds and her two selves collided.

"If you'd like." She murmured. "We don't have to."

"No I think we should," He gave a rather silent but resigned sigh. "I- It's about time."

She beamed at him, and for a moment he felt the worry and the anxiety drain. He couldn't help but notice how her hair clung to her forehead and how straight her teeth were. While at the same time she was noticing that his hair had grown longer and that just faintly she could feel his body radiating next to her. She felt so aware of him, and him of her, yet the sad truth was that all they could do was notice the other for their feelings laid unheard and unnoticed. The rain pounded, the wind brushed over their skin. His hand twitched while her hand was not held.

"I told your mother I would help cook tonight." Plum mentioned offhandedly. "She was quite glad, although I don't think she will be once I burn the chicken or set something on fire. All the same, I'm glad I can help."

"Why is that?" Paul questioned, slightly intrigued.

The girl tilted her head to the side. "I haven't had much of a chance to talk to your mother, and I'd like to."

Paul angrily felt himself go a shade of red. The girl he adored and his mother, his mother who knew what the girl was to him, talking. Spending time together. He had to bite back is dismay and protest, yet still thought of the situation as something else to worry over. What if his mother was careless, what if she let something slip?

"That's – well, great Plum." He managed awkwardly.

She nodded happily, oblivious. "Yes, she seems very lovely. Nurturing and caring, although a little fierce."

Paul let out a wild laugh. "Nurturing? Caring? Plum, my mother is nuts."

She skipped forward as the house came into view. He heard her laugh into the air, it was airy and disbelieving yet he still undoubtedly loved it, jogging forwards to catch up to the girl whose hair whipped out behind her as her figure grew smaller and smaller into the afternoon sun.

In a sense, Plum realized as she watched Paul's mother busy herself around the kitchen, Paul wasn't lying. His mother was a little weird, a woman whose hair was held up by chopsticks and a woman who used her weeknights for clipping coupons out of the newspaper. She loved her cat and son and went jogging in the evenings and on Saturday mornings went for coffee with "the girls" – a group not even Paul knew who was in. She was kind but stern with her son who cowered under one of her piercing gazes, something that did not surprise but all the same amused the girl.

"It's strange," Plum began as she sliced onions. "Paul is almost terrified when he makes you mad."

Paul scowled halfheartedly from the corner, but said nothing, too busy watching the girl with comfort. Her hair, frizzy from the rain, was tucked behind her ear, Paul enjoying the view of her soft curved face from his place at the bench.

"He should be afraid, although I don't see why you'd believe it to be strange. I can be quite intimidating when I want to be." Paul's mother chortled.

Plum shook her head slightly with a smile on her face. "No, I just mean it's strange to see a six foot tall boy cowering under someone almost half his height."

The room laughed, and Plum could not help but feel warm even though it was cold and wet and soggy outside.

"So." Paul's mother said into the dying laughter. "Are you two dating yet?"

Everything happened very fast. Paul made a sound and the laughter grew very flat before very silent, as though it fell from the air, as though gravity shifted. The girl's eyes grew wide and her hand slipped out of shock, her knife, loose in her petit hand, sliced across the girl's index finger and she let out a small cry of surprise, rather than pain. It only took an instant, but the boy felt it to be an instant too long, for Paul to be by her side.

"Plum, Plum." He moaned as he inspected her finger. "Are you okay?"

His hand hot on hers, she blinked, wishing her heart would slow down, although at the same time wishing it to burst.

She nodded, meeting his intense stare, dazed. "I'm absolutely fine. Honestly."

He exhaled, looking much too relieved. His head fell and rested on her shoulder. "I thought you were hurt."

"It's just a cut." She said meekly looking at her finger. A drop of blood oozed out of the cut, that was merely all – nothing to worry about, surely?

He raised his head, inches from her own, a sheepish grin on his face. "You need to be a little careful, okay? I'll get you a band aid."

"Oh you don't have to –" She started, but before she could finish the boy had disappeared and the girl was left hopelessly and awkwardly alone with the boy's mother, who was looking at Plum knowingly.

His mother moved back to her previous task of slicing carrots, the sound overwhelming the silence.

"To answer your previous question," Plum began quietly, facing away from the woman. "No. Although that does not mean I wish for it to not be true."

Plum watched the light outside the window dimming, and she looked at a sun that in mere moments would be gone. The artificial kitchen light casted shadows against the wall, the rain fogged the windows and made sounds against the roof.

"I'm glad it's you." Paul's mother said quietly, as though to herself rather than Plum.

The girl did not know what the woman meant; yet she did not question it. It was a private moment meant only for the woman and the girl did not interrupt as she knew too well what it was like to be wrapped up in her own mind.