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It's vaguely drizzly outside, which normally isn't enough to keep myself sequestered away indoors. I don't generally mind the rain or the cold, but today just feels like such a lazy day. In the past, I never indulged in such a mood. Here and now, it's not so bad to just lean into it and give myself the day off. I puttered around all afternoon and now I'm at the kitchen table, coffee gone cold at my side as I lazily flip through photos I've taken recently.

Bittle, however, does not seem on board with the lazy day plan. In fact, he might have sucked up all the energy in the room and that's why I can't find it in myself to do anything. There's something baking in the oven, something cooling on the counter, and Bittle himself is sitting on the couch. Not relaxing, as one might on a sofa, but curled over the coffee table in a way that makes my back ache just to look at him.

The TV hasn't left the home improvement network in days. There are swatches everywhere, scraps of fabric and paint cards litter every available surface of the coffee table. Bittle's laptop is open on top of it all, notepad covered with scribbles resting next to it. I watch as he sends yet another email to Derek about the restaurant, shaking my head in fond exasperation as I stand up and stretch my arms up over my head.

The oven beeps and Bittle's head pops up like a startled prairie dog. He looks momentarily conflicted and I laugh as I head for the kitchen. "I got it, Bits."

I take out the pie and rest it on the cooling rack before turning the oven off and ambling over to the sofa, leaning over the back of it to rest my head on his shoulder. "How's it going?"

It's warmer than I expect it to be when I finally get off of the plane in Atlanta, even in the climate controlled airport. Sun pours in through the glass windows and makes sweat bead at my temples as I make my way towards baggage claim, though I wonder if that could also be blamed on my nerves. Bittle is somewhere at the bottom of this escalator, and in a few minutes I'll see him in person for the first time in over a month, for the first time since we-- since everything. He won't be untouchable through a phone or laptop screen, but here, right in front of me.

It's almost like graduation all over again, my heart up in my throat, but at least this time I know that he'll kiss me back.

And then I think about kissing him, and I move a little faster. The baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses over my eyes seem to be a good enough disguise, since no one tries to stop me. The escalator descends at a glacial pace and none of the travelers in front of me seem to be in any hurry, so I'm stuck in place.

Almost there, I text him quickly. It's amazing how much my texting skills have improved over the past few weeks. I don't have a checked bag so I'll meet you out front.

My small duffel is packed with two changes of clothes and essential toiletries, reminding me of my depressingly short stay. Still, it's a minor miracle that I was able to carve out the time to come at all.

Finally, I'm able to step off of the escalator and make my way towards the warm doors that lead outside, feeling the sunshine as I get closer to the oppressive. None of that matters, though. I'm too distracted with searching for a mop of golden blond hair, pressing up onto my toes like an excited kid.

I have no idea why I put myself through the torture of going on runs with Derek Hale.

Actually, I do, but it's hard to remember the reasons right now. I was relieved when Derek and Barry showed back up from their weird Darrow-related absence, and not only because it eased the worried pinch in Bittle's brow when his friends showed back up . Derek doesn't say much about where he was, but he does say that he and Barry were together, so I suppose that's a good thing. They didn't have to miss each other.

Derek seems to fall back into his routines easily enough, and it isn't long before his triumphant return that he's swinging by to pick me up for runs. I had gotten out of shape (for me) in the time he was gone, and it reminds me why I subject myself to trying to keep up with a werewolf.

He literally has supernatural endurance, running through the woods without so much as a hitch in his breath, and it pulls at my competitive nature. I could never win when it comes to him, and he doesn't rub the fact in my face. He simply pushes me to be better, to try harder, simply by allowing me to run alongside him. He seems to know that it helps me, but doesn't say anything about it. We seem to understand each other in that way.

It's after such a run in the swampy summer heat that I break off from Derek and jog back home. My shirt is tucked into the waistband of my small running shorts, because it's far too hot to cover more skin than absolutely necessary. Every bit of my skin is glistening with sweat and I look over myself in the elevator to check for burns. I smell like the fake chemical coconut of too much sunscreen, but it seems to have done its job. I'm grateful for it, especially after a long morning of watching Derek's sunburns heal themselves before they have a chance to turn his golden skin anything more than slightly pink.

I wouldn't want it for myself but damn, it must be nice to be a werewolf.

There's the ubiquitous scent of baked goods coming from our front door, and I smile to myself as I let myself into the apartment. Bits is distracted at the oven, and I run my fingers through my sweat damp hair as I reach gratefully for the bottle of water he must have set out for me.

He hasn't noticed me yet so I take my time to watch his hips sway to the music. Blood is still pumping through me but at the sight of his ass and thighs it all seems to rush downward. "Hey, Bits."

[continued from here.]

"Mm, I decided that it wouldn't be as much fun if you knew it was coming," I murmur against his belly, swinging a leg over so that I can straddle his lap and work his shirt over his head. My hands go to his chest, calloused thumbs dragging over his deliciously pink nipples before leaning down to follow the path with my tongue. "I'm gonna surprise you with it."

My lips close around his nipple and give it a good suck before dragging my teeth over it on my way down, wriggling backwards until I can get my mouth on his toned stomach. Dipping my tongue into his navel, I unbutton his shorts and hook my fingers into the waistband of them and his underwear. As I'm dragging them down, I kiss each new bit of skin that's revealed, purposing skipping over his cock to press kisses to his inner thigh instead. "I think right now I want to blow you while I work you open on my fingers."

I lift my head to grin smugly at him as I slide my hands up his thighs to spread them open. "How's that sound? Suitable alternative?"

Sometimes it's really hard to believe that I'm approaching a whole year here in Darrow. I still don't really feel like I've settled in all that well, but I felt like that at home a lot of the time too. I miss hockey in the way that I assume someone might miss a limb that was viciously ripped away from their body, to be dramatic. But hockey was like that for me. It was a part of me, in my blood and in my bones, and sometimes I'm surprised to find that I've lived through losing it.

I might not have if it weren't for Bittle. He's the only thing that's kept me sane and sober throughout the whole ordeal. He's sort of my everything now, taking up the empty space that hockey left behind. He is what I'm passionate about now, what keeps me going through the tough days.

And he's the reason that I put all of this together. I wanted Christmas to be really special, and I know how stressed out he is lately. I want him to relax, and that why I rented out a room at Kagura for the week between Christmas and New Year's. It put a pretty sizable dent in my meager savings account, but it'll be worth it. I'm getting more and more used to not having an endless income. I'm better at budgeting and looking for deals, and I even get sort of excited about clipping coupons. So while the first few months were very hard, it's getting easier and I'm happy that my first sizable purchase will be something for me and Bittle to enjoy together.

I packed a bag for him and arranged for someone to take care of Elvis and the dogs, and talked to Derek and Blue to make sure they wouldn't be needing Bittle for the week. I brought everything up here, including our skates, and texted Bittle to ask him to meet me up here for some Christmas Eve cocoa in hopes of surprising him.

But the biggest surprise in store, it seems, was for me.

After checking in and dropping our luggage off in the room, I decided to take a quick stroll around the lodge while waiting for Bits to join me. There's a cafe up ahead, and I head for it in hopes of a good cup of coffee when suddenly I'm stopped in my tracks. It's like an invisible wall has gone up all around me, and anxiety wells up in my throat. I've never experienced anything like this, and it's terrifying. I don't know what to do.

"Ooh look, a new victim," someone says, and I look up to see two girls leaving the cafe. "And he's a cute one!"

"What's going on?" I ask, feeling my fingers start to tremble where they're pressed against my sides.

"The mistletoe got you, babe," one of the girls says, looking delighted. "But I'd be happy to free you."

She winks and puckers her shiny lips at me, and I feel panic clawing at my insides as I shake my head, not wanting them to come any closer.

"Um, no thanks," I breathe out. "I'll just--- stay here."

I try really hard not to mope all the way home, but it's sort of a lost cause. I have a box full of handmade cards and little gifts from all the kids, and I kept a stiff upper lip until they were all gone, but now I'm sort of crumbling. I knew it was coming since the day I took the job, but I never realized how hard it would be.

The last day of camp is a total bummer.

When I get back home, I'm staring at my own apartment door for a moment before I remember that the dogs are at Bits' place. More importantly, Bits is at Bits' place. I spent so long dealing with things on my own, but I don't have to do that anymore. I don't have to hide what I'm feeling, not from him.

So I turn around on knock on his door, and wow, even my knock sounds miserable.

I'm not really all that great at coming up with gifts. I always acknowledged my friends' birthdays in some way or another, whether it be treating them to a meal and a few gift cards. I knew it might have come off as impersonal, but it's all I was really capable of.

This is different, though. I don't really have the money for gift cards or a fancy expensive meal. But more than that, this is Bittle. He deserves something better. Something thoughtful. Especially if we're dating. Are we dating? I think we are, but we haven't really talked about it. Mostly my fault, I know. We should probably do that. Talk about it, that is.

An idea comes to me while I watch Bittle dance around my kitchen. Admittedly I do spend a while distracted by the frankly obscene little shorts that he's wearing coupled with the way he moves his hips, but eventually I become capable of thought. It's a small idea, maybe a dumb one, but it's the best one I've got.

Luckily, the weather is good and I have time to get everything set up. I told Bittle to meet me at a nearby restaurant, and once I'm done I go to meet him with a simple bouquet of flowers. It's a nice touch, I think. And pretty obvious. Friends don't give friends flowers, I'm pretty sure.

I'm wearing nice jeans and a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, hair pushed back, and I swallow nervously. I really want this to go well. Bittle deserves that.

Once I spot him approach, I lift a hand in greeting and hold out the flowers once he's close enough. "Happy birthday, mon chou."

"You have reached the voicemail box of Jack Zimmermann. Leave a message at the tone. When you are finished, you may hang up or press one for more options."