Chapter 9 Ben
Ben
It started out casual.
That’s what I told myself, anyway.
Felix is charming, a little reckless, full of too much energy and too many smiles… and about twenty years younger than me. Twenty.
I should've known better. Should’ve said no. Should’ve reminded him this was temporary, fun, nothing serious.
And I did. At first.
But then he started spending the night. First by accident. Then by habit. And now? Now half his damn life is scattered through my apartment… clothes draped over chairs, half-used chapstick in my bathroom drawer, his favorite mug on the dish rack next to mine like it belongs there.
We’ve never talked about what this is. Just… want. Heat. A thing we fell into too easily and never climbed out of.
And somehow, that’s worse.
Heat turns cold. Then what? What will keep Felix here? So far, I keep waking up with him tangled around me like he’s always been there, like he’ll never leave.
And it’s driving me crazy.
Because I’m not built for this. For someone in my space. In my bed. In my life. Not anymore.
But I’m also not built to give him up.
This morning, I wake to fur against my arm.
At first, I think I’ve fallen asleep on one of the café’s wool blankets. But then I breathe in, cinnamon and pine and him, and realize it’s Felix…
Felix, who is half-sprawled across my chest like a lazy cat. Felix, who is mostly human.
Mostly.
His forearms are furred. A light brown. Soft. Warm. Two wolfish ears instead of his human ears… and one ear twitches as he breathes.
He’s still asleep.
He’s still out cold, curled into me like I’m a body pillow he claimed in his sleep and refuses to give back.
And now, finally—finally—it clicks.
He’s a shifter. A werewolf. Whatever you want to call it. And suddenly, a lot of things make sense.
The way his scent never quite leaves my space. The little sounds he makes when he’s half-asleep… and when I fuck him. How he runs hot even when it’s freezing. The way he’s always brushing up against me, like it’s instinct, not flirting.
It explains the fur I keep finding on my sheets. The wolfish whine I heard that night I almost said I didn’t want this anymore.
It explains him.
And I hate how much sense it makes.
I’ve heard of shifters before, everyone has. Wolves, mostly. Packs out in the woods, bonded mates, magic nonsense that sounds like bad romance novels and worse cautionary tales. I never paid much attention. Didn’t think it had anything to do with me.
They don’t usually mix with humans, not really. They keep to their own. Quiet, territorial, secretive. You hear stories: fighting rings, wild instincts, fated this and alpha that… but it always felt like background noise. Something other people dealt with.
Not something that crawled into my bed, made himself at home in my space, and somehow—without a single damn conversation—started feeling like he belonged.
My first instinct is to move. To quietly get up, put myself back together, pretend I didn't see. Classic Ben playbook: deny, distract, detach.
But I don’t.
I stay.
Because something about this… his weight on me, his warmth, the faint wolfish scent of him curled into the café's dark corners; it feels weirdly right. Like I’ve finally stopped bracing for something.
I rest my hand gently against the small of his back. His breathing shifts. He makes a soft noise and blinks up at me, still fogged by sleep.
Then he goes still.
His eyes dart to where his arms are still furred, then back to mine.
I expect panic. Or embarrassment. But what I get is fear. Real fear.
“I can explain,” he says hoarsely, pushing himself upright, rubbing at his face like he can hide what I’ve already seen.
Even as the hair starts to recede, replaced by skin, and the ears disappear.
“I was going to tell you. I didn’t mean to shift, it just—fuck, it just happens, sometimes, when I sleep. But I swear I’m not dangerous. I’m—”
“Felix.”
He freezes.
“It’s alright.”
He stares at me, blinking fast. “It’s… what?”
I shrug, trying to sound casual. “It makes sense. That’s all.”
He groans. “Oh my god. Please let me die.”
“You’re not dying.”
“Not yet.”
I sit up slowly, keeping my tone even. “You’re a shifter. Okay. So what does that mean, exactly? Are you going to eat me?”
He chokes, fully scandalized. “What?! No! Gross!”
I raise an eyebrow. “Then we’re good.”
“Ben.” His voice softens. “There’s more.”
Of course there is.
He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish now. “You’re my mate.”
The room goes very, very still.
My heart stutters in my chest, but I keep my face neutral. Just waiting.
Felix presses on, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t get the whole thing out, he’ll never say it.
“I didn’t want to say anything. You’re human and it felt unfair.
I didn’t want to push you into something you didn’t choose.
But I knew the second I met you. I felt it.
And it’s okay if you don’t—if it’s not the same.
I get it. I really do. You don’t have to—”
“Felix.”
He stops again. His whole body tenses, like he’s bracing for a hit.
I look at him, really look at him. His wild curls, his flushed cheeks, the nervous way he’s rubbing at the back of his neck like he wants to shrink into the mattress and disappear.
“Let’s find out what that means,” I say.
He blinks. “Wait… seriously?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You’re… not running?”
“Not yet.”
His smile breaks over his face like sunrise, bright, sudden, blinding. All that hope he was trying to hide rushes out at once, wild and boyish and so much. It hits me right in the chest before I can defend myself.
I reach out, tugging him gently back into my lap. He comes easily, like he always does, like his body knows exactly where it fits.
We kiss again. This one’s slower, sleep-heavy, the kind of kiss that tastes like morning and maybe. The urgency is gone, burned out and softened by whatever this is becoming.
His mouth is warm. Familiar. Like something I dreamed a hundred times and forgot until now.
And when he murmurs, mine, against my throat, I don’t correct him.
I just kiss him harder.