(Greyson)
The silence in my parents' room was a living thing. It pressed against my skin, heavy and cold. I stood at the window, but I didn't see the moonlit gardens. I saw him.
First, the good memories came, sweet and piercing. The solid comfort of his arms around me when I was shaking. The low, wondering way he'd described my eyes—not just green, but a landscape. The kisses that were both wildfire and tenderness, making me feel wanted, and precious, and ruined all at once.
Then, the bad ones crashed in, sharp and sour. His voice, cold and mocking: You don't do love either. The heat of shame that followed—shame for wanting the very things he made me feel. The word dumb hanging in the air, and the terrifying thought that maybe he was right.
I felt that shame now, a hollow ache beneath my fury. It was a secret I could never tell. Not to my laughing friends, not to my powerful mother. I was alone with it.
The door opened. I turned.
Mother and Father stood there, their cheeks flushed from the night wind, their hands still linked. They froze, seeing me.
Before Mother's question could form, I spoke. My voice sounded strange to my own ears—too flat, too final.
"The engagement is over."
Mother stepped forward, her smile vanishing. "Tilly? Sweetheart, what's happened?"
I couldn't explain the storm inside me. I could only state the result. "Because Father, in his infinite wisdom, engaged me to a madman. So I've ended it."
I turned to leave, the need to escape suddenly desperate.
"Tilly Ann, wait!" Mother reached for me, her eyes wide with confusion and concern.
"Aurora." Father's voice was quiet, but it filled the room. His gaze on me was heavy, knowing. He saw the tremble I was fighting. "Not tonight. The storm is still in her eyes. Let her go. We will talk when the sky is clear."
His understanding was worse than anger. It left me no shield. I fled.
The fury carried me to my door. I shoved it open, and the world stopped.
He was there. Standing Chase. Soaked through, rainwater dripping from his dark hair, running down the stark planes of his face and onto the floor. He was breathing hard, as if he'd fought his way through a hurricane to get here.
I slammed the door, my back against it, my heart a wild drum. "Get out. You have two seconds to throw yourself off my balcony before I call my father and a dozen dragons to burn you where you stand."
He didn't speak. For a full minute, there was only the sound of rain on the window and our ragged breaths hanging in the space between us.
"Chase!" I finally yelled, the name tearing from my throat. "Go screw yourself and get out of my room!"
He just… looked at me. And in his eyes, there was no mockery, no games. There was a raw, helpless yearning so deep it stole the air from my lungs. He looked at me like a dying man looks at water.
"Is it really over?" he asked, his voice scraped raw.
"Yes." I pushed away from the door, marching toward it to throw it open, to scream the palace down. "Go. Last warning."
He didn't flinch. He didn't move. He was a statue of rain and despair. "What the hell am I going to do, Winchester?" The words were a low, agonized confession. "I can't stop thinking about you."
My hand froze on the latch.
"I can't stop," he repeated, his hands lifting then falling helplessly. "I'm supposed to be free. I'm halfway to happy, to getting my fucking life back. I'm supposed to…" He trailed off, running a trembling hand over his face. "I can't get you out of my head. It has to be a crime, wanting you this much. Fuck."
I could only stare, stunned.
I moved to shut the door, to lock him out, lock this all out. His hand shot out, not grabbing me, but pressing against the wood, holding it open.
"Leave it open," he breathed, his eyes pleading. "You close that door… and I swear, I'll carry you to that bed. I'll fuck you—no, I'll make love to you, or whatever the right word is. I don't know anymore. I just know I will."
"Chase." It was a whisper, a surrender.
I let go of the door and took a step toward him. He reached for me then, his wet hands closing around my arms. And I saw it—the sheen of tears mixing with the rain on his face.
"It's wrong," he choked out, his voice breaking. "It's so wrong. And everyone was right. It's my fault. It's always my fault. He got hurt because of me." A sob racked his frame, shocking and deep. "And now… now I want you. And I'm not allowed to want you."
"Chase…" I was adrift, watching the mighty Alpha heir shatter before me.
"I screwed up, Tilly," he wept, his forehead nearly touching mine. "I screwed everything up."
My anger dissolved, replaced by a fierce, aching tenderness. "It's okay. You're okay," I whispered, reaching for him.
He stumbled back as if burned. "I don't want to be Chase Dubois anymore," he gasped, trying to steady his breathing. "I don't want to be him. It's so hard. I'm bad at it. I'm so bad at it."
"You're bad at being Chase?" I asked softly.
He nodded, a slow, broken movement. "I'm a disaster. I can't… I can't stop. I would rather be a disaster with you, Winchester."
He turned then, walking shakily toward the open door. When he was beside me, he paused, looking down with eyes so sincere it was a new kind of pain. "What did you do to me? What am I supposed to do now?"
He was leaving. And the thought was a sudden, terrifying emptiness.
"Don't go," I heard myself say.
He stopped, his whole body going still.
"Stay with me."
For a long moment, we just looked at each other across the threshold of the door and everything else. The yearning in his eyes swelled, dark and irresistible.
He moved.
In two strides he was on me, his foot kicking the door shut with a final, echoing thud. He cradled my face in his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheeks, his tear-streaked gaze holding mine captive.
"Forgive me, Tilly Ann Winchester," he whispered, the words a vow and a plea. "I can't stop."
Then his mouth was on mine.
It wasn't like before. It was everything—all the anger, the confusion, the longing, the sweet, desperate pain. It was rain and tears and a kiss that felt like both a beginning and an end. He kissed me as if he were memorizing me, as if he were pouring every broken, forbidden piece of himself into me. And I kissed him back, holding onto the storm, forgiving the shipwreck, lost in the devastating dark of his need.