A/N: Thank you for reading and commenting, it really means a lot! Let me know what you think!
The narrow, uneven aisles of the thrift store were packed with mismatched chairs, scratched tables, and faded couches.
Claire patted the arm of a chair with a floral print that had seen better days. "Look at this beauty. It's perfect for the living room, don't you think?" she asked, excitement buzzing in her voice.
Robin blinked and stifled a yawn, her hand brushing against the edge of a cracked dresser. The wood felt cold, rough under her fingertips, but it wasn't the texture that made her shoulders tense—it was the thought of carrying everything out. She had never been a fan of this kind of shopping, and the early morning, combined with the thick weight of exhaustion, only made her want to collapse in one of those sagging armchairs. She still leaned in, inspecting the stains on the armrest, the faint outline of something that could have been spilled wine or worse. The floral print wasn't just faded—it was practically a ghost of itself, stretched and worn down by time.
"It's… characterful," Robin muttered, forcing a small grin.
"Characterful?" Claire huffed, rolling her eyes. "It's cheap. And I don't mind a little character. We can throw a blanket over it or something." Claire patted the chair again, the springs inside creaking slightly under her touch. "Look, it's got charm, alright? The kind of charm that'll fit with the new table."
"Charm's one way to put it. Biohazard might be another."
"Still, it'll look fine with a throw on it. We're on a budget, girl. And this place is perfect for that. Look at the price tag on this! We can make it work. Think of the memories we'll create," she wiggled her eyebrows.
Robin eyed the chair again, reluctant but clearly softening. Claire's excitement was infectious, even if the idea of cleaning up after whatever horrors had happened on this chair made Robin cringe.
"Alright, fine," she said, surrendering. "But only because I can already imagine you making us take the 'before and after' pictures of this disaster."
Claire grinned and clapped her hands together. "Atta girl! We'll make it look like a Pinterest dream, you'll see!"
After a few minutes of back-and-forth with the owner—who didn't seem thrilled about their attempts to knock a few dollars off the price—they managed to snag the chair, a small wooden dining table with mismatched chairs, and an old coffee table that had seen better days. Claire insisted that it had "vintage character," while Robin merely sighed and tried to avoid imagining how heavy it all would be once it was time to haul everything out.
The store owner shook his head apologetically when they asked about delivery options. "Sorry, ladies, it's pickup only."
"Of course it is," Robin muttered under her breath, pinching the root of her nose.
Claire, unfazed, gave the man a wide smile. "No worries. We've got this."
The sun was high by the time they had everything crammed into Robin's car, the seats sagging under the weight of the furniture, and the back rattling with every bump. The two of them didn't speak much during the drive—mostly because it was hard to hear over the sound of a chair scraping against the ceiling. Robin's knuckles were white on the wheel, her arms sore.
By the time they reached the house, the temperature had climbed, and Robin was drenched in sweat, her body tired from the strain of maneuvering the furniture. She opened the car door and stretched, feeling her muscles groan in protest.
"Well, that was… something," Claire said, taking a deep breath. "But it'll be worth it when we're sitting on our beautiful new stuff. Right?"
Robin's gaze lingered on the armchair, sitting all crooked in the back seat. It looked so out of place against the stark black interior of the car. "Beautiful. Right," she said flatly.
The two of them set to work unloading, lifting the dining table first. Sweat dripped down Robin's temple as the dining table wobbled dangerously, and she winced as the corner of the table caught on the doorway, scraping against the frame.
"Watch it!" Claire yelped. The table tilted dangerously, threatening to topple over. Robin held her breath, bracing herself for disaster. She pressed her shoulder into the side of the table, pushing it upright, the muscles in her arms burning.
"I swear, Claire, if this thing falls on me, I'm charging you for the chiropractor," she muttered, gritting her teeth.
"Oh, please. You're a paramedic! You can heal yourself," Claire shot back, her face flushed from the effort.
Robin chuckled despite herself, shaking her head. There was no point in arguing. Somehow, they made it work, maneuvering the table and the chairs, then the coffee table, and finally the armchair - Claire's prized find.
They collapsed onto the floor, breathless and sticky with sweat. The armchair sat slightly askew in the corner, silently mocking them.
"Do you think anyone's ever died from second-hand furniture moving?" Claire asked, throwing an arm over her eyes.
"Probably not, but today might be a first," Robin replied, trying to catch her breath. The ceiling above them blurred, and her mind, unwittingly, wandered to the bar, to those intense eyes and the feeling she still couldn't quite shake. The man's gaze and the unexplainable reaction she'd had felt as heavy and awkward as the table they'd just moved. She'd probably never see him again. Her stomach clenched at the thought, but she swallowed it back down; now wasn't the time to unravel, whatever that was.
"So, I hate to do this, but we still need new mattresses, beds, a couch…" Claire said, breaking the silence, making Robin groan. "But, since we so bravely survived this first part, I vote we christen that chair with celebratory takeout. I'm thinking pizza. The rest of the furniture can be tomorrow's problem."
"Deal," Robin murmured, turning her head to share a tired smile.
Paul woke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the gaps in the blinds, casting fractured beams across his bedroom. The air was cool, carrying the familiar scent of pine and damp earth. He sat up, a dull ache in his chest that hadn't been there before. Motherfucking imprinting.
Memories of the night before crowded his mind, vivid and sharp as a fresh wound. The way he'd felt drawn to that girl in the bar— It was impossible. Stupid, even. Imprinting was supposed to be this rare, miraculous thing. Sam and Emily, Jared and Kim, sure, they made sense. But him? Paul scoffed, running a hand over his face. He was no one's fate. And she… he shook his head, not even willing to finish the thought.
The pull he felt gnawed at him, like an itch buried too deep to scratch. No matter how hard he tried to reason through it, there was no logic that could tear it apart. And that terrified him. Paul prided himself on being tough, indifferent even. But this? This made him vulnerable, and he hated it.
He pushed himself off the bed, muscles tensing as he stretched. No point in lingering. It was time for patrol, anyway.
Jared was waiting at the edge of the forest, his silhouette barely visible through the morning mist.
"About time," he muttered as Paul approached, shifting his weight and crossing his arms.
Paul didn't respond, just started stripping off his cutoffs, the cool air brushing against his skin as he prepared to phase. He folded the cutoffs neatly, then tightened the bundle with his belt around his right leg. The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. He could feel Jared's gaze burning into his back.
"Are you even going to talk about it?" Jared's voice finally cut through.
"There's nothing to talk about," Paul growled, more to himself than to Jared. His control was slipping, and he could feel the tension in his limbs, ready to snap. "It's not happening."
Jared let out a humorless laugh. "Right. Sure. That's why you almost tore through the bar door last night and stormed out like a madman."
Paul clenched his jaw, taking a steadying breath before he phased. The shift offered momentary relief, a physical jolt that snapped him into focus. The forest sounds seemed sharper, more intense: every rustle of leaves, every birdcall scraped against his nerves, each one pulling him back to that moment in the bar, as though her eyes were staring at him through the trees.
The patrol passed in tense silence, Paul distracted enough that he nearly missed a rustling behind them. Jared's glare told him he'd noticed the lapse, but no words followed. Paul's ears twitched, catching the subtle sounds that usually would have commanded all his attention: a deer bounding through the underbrush, the distant crunch of leaves. But now, it was all background noise.
All he could see were that girl's eyes, the way they met his last night, a fleeting connection that lingered in the worst way. He forced himself to push it down, burying it as deep as he could. He'd reject it, whatever it took. It was ridiculous, and unwanted and—.
"You're zoning out again," Jared's voice broke through. The words barely reached him—Paul's body was already too tense, and his chest tight. "Sam's going to have your head if you don't snap out of it."
"Then let him," Paul snapped, pushing past Jared as the morning sun spilled over the horizon, bathing the forest in a golden glow that did nothing to warm the cold knot in his chest.
Jared exhaled sharply, but didn't say anything else. They completed their circuit in silence, the forest returning to its typical quiet as the day pressed on. Paul's fur bristled when he caught the distant, mingled scents of Embry and Seth coming for their shift. A reminder that he wasn't alone in this, no matter how much he wanted to be. He didn't wait for them to phase, and quickly phased back, soon followed by Jared.
As they put on their clothes, Jared broke the silence once more. "I get it, you know. Hell, I've been through it. It's not easy. But this isn't just going to disappear because you want it to."
Paul ran a hand through his hair, the lingering heat of the transformation making his skin feel too tight. "But, you were ecstatic about it. You wanted it. I never asked for this, Cameron," he looked away, focusing on the dew still clinging to the leaves like it held answers.
Jared's expression softened. "But ignoring it isn't going to make it easier. It'll just eat at you until there's nothing left. And, bottom line, it's a beautiful thing, finding your imprint. There's nothing to be scared of."
Paul's eyes narrowed. The urge to lash out flared, but it fizzled out when he met Jared's gaze. Without a word, he turned away, stepping into the woods, the underbrush crackling beneath his feet. He needed space—air that didn't taste like frustration, or confusion, or her.
As he walked deeper into the forest, Paul felt a strange, gnawing exhaustion creep into his bones. The whisper of the girl's face, the fleeting moment in the bar, kept replaying itself, an endless loop he couldn't cut off. She didn't even know. Didn't know that her life had already been woven into his in a way neither of them had control over. That she could be the one thing capable of grounding him, or completely breaking him. That all of that would probably ruin her life.
The thought made his heart pound, but this time it wasn't with anger or panic—it was a heavier feeling, one that clenched and wouldn't let go. He closed his eyes and let the forest sounds wrap around him, trying to find solace in their familiarity, but it didn't work.
Nothing felt familiar anymore.