Page 90 of Echoes From the Void

What started as our small group has expanded into something larger, something warmer. Through various bonds, I feel the contentment radiating from everyone. Matteo’s mother chats with Leo’s sisters, their combined shadows creating unconscious patterns in the air. Leo’s youngest sister keeps accidentally manifesting shadow-notes when she laughs, while Dorian’s uncle attempts to charm Andy with frost patterns that suspiciously resemble hearts.

Before Finn, I might have felt the hollow ache of having no blood family to bring. But looking around this room, feeling thevarious bonds humming with life and love, I realize I’ve had family all along. Different kinds of connections, but no less real.

My attention keeps drifting to Dorian though. He stands apart from the chaos, observing everything with that careful distance he maintains. But I catch how his frost patterns dance unconsciously with the music, how his temporal distortions ripple whenever Leo’s sisters hit a particularly high note in their impromptu karaoke.

As if sensing my scrutiny, his eyes meet mine across the room. That slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—the real one, not his practiced academic expression. His frost patterns reach unconsciously toward my shadows, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as his version of affection.

Standing, I sway slightly as the bourbon hits. Through our growing bond, I feel his immediate concern, though he tries to mask it with scholarly detachment. My wolves stir beneath my skin, responding to the mixture of alcohol and building anticipation.

“Enjoying the spectacle?” I ask, leaning against the wall beside him. My shadows automatically reach for his frost, an interaction that’s become increasingly natural lately.

“It’s... different,” he admits, his gaze returning to the crowd though his frost patterns continue to dance with my shadows. “Than what I’m accustomed to.”

I bump his shoulder playfully. “Come on, even you have to admit Leo’s sisters doing karaoke is better than another stuffy Guardian event.”

“The acoustics are questionable at best,” he says dryly, but there’s fondness hiding beneath his academic tone. His temporal distortions ripple slightly, betraying how affected he is by the casual contact. “Though I suppose their enthusiasm makes up for the technical deficiencies.”

“Dance with me,” I say suddenly, surprising us both. Through our bond, I feel his immediate tension—not rejection, but that careful control he always maintains.

His eyes widen slightly, frost patterns swirling faster. “Frankie...”

“Just one dance,” I press, feeling bold from the bourbon and the way his essence keeps reaching for mine despite his protests. “Before you catalog any more of our questionable life choices for posterity.”

“I do not catalog—” he starts, then stops at my knowing look. His frost spreads in delicate patterns that betray his fluster. “The documentation is purely for academic purposes.”

“Of course it is, little owl.” The nickname slips out naturally now, earned through countless hours of shared study and quiet understanding. Through our bond, I feel how it affects him, though he tries to hide it.

Something shifts in his expression—a softening around his usually rigid control. His temporal distortions settle into a gentler pattern as he sets down his drink with precise movements. “One dance,” he concedes. “Though I maintain this is highly irregular use of an academic facility.”

“Add it to your notes,” I tease, taking his offered hand. His frost immediately twines with my shadows, an unconscious reaction he can’t quite control anymore.

The music shifts to something slower as we move to the makeshift dance floor. Dorian’s hands find my waist with careful propriety, but I step closer, eliminating the formal distance he tries to maintain. After a moment’s tension, he relaxes, letting me settle against him as our essences mingle.

“You know,” I say softly as we sway together, “I never thought I’d have this.”

“The questionable pleasure of dancing in an abandoned cafeteria?” His attempt at deflection doesn’t hide the wayhis temporal distortions flutter around us, responding to his emotions.

“Any of it.” I look around at our gathered family, feeling the various bonds humming with life and love. “The pack, the connections, moments like this. You.”

His breath catches slightly at that last word. Through our growing bond, I feel his careful walls wavering, frost patterns dancing more freely with my shadows.

“Frankie,” he starts, then stops as I lean my head against his shoulder. His frost patterns dance around us, creating delicate swirls that mirror our movement. The temporal distortions that usually guard him settle into something softer, more natural.

“I see you,” I murmur against his collar, letting my shadows twine more deliberately with his frost. “Even when you try to hide behind your books and temporal shifts. I’ve always seen you.”

His arms tighten around me properly now, academic distance forgotten. When he speaks, his voice carries rare vulnerability. “Perhaps that’s what terrifies me most.”

I lift my head to meet his gaze. “Let me see all of you,” I whisper, my shadows reaching deeper for his essence. “Let me in.”

The words hang between us, weighted with possibility. Dorian’s frost patterns swirl with uncharacteristic emotion as his eyes search mine. Through our strengthening bond, I feel his struggle between control and desire.

“The library,” he says suddenly, his voice rough. His temporal distortions ripple around us. “It’s... safer there. Away from prying eyes.”

A laugh bubbles up. “Dorian Gray, are you suggesting we sneak away from the party?”

“I am suggesting,” he says with careful dignity, though his frost betrays his anticipation, “that some conversations require more private venues. For academic purposes.”

“Academic purposes,” I echo, warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with bourbon. Through our bond, I feel his careful control slipping further. “Of course.”

---