He didn’t make himself known at first.

Just leaned one shoulder against the old utility pole where the woods pressed tight against the gravel walk—still, angled like he belonged to the dark that pooled between the trees. Black coat open, hood down. A streak of mist curved past his jawline, softening nothing.

When she stepped out, his head tilted just enough to catch her in peripheral. Eyes already locked, already reading. His voice followed like a second heartbeat. “Didn’t think I’d catch you out this late.”

He pushed off the post and stepped into the outer circle of the café’s sick yellow porch light. Boots silent. Posture loose, but watchful.

“Was just running a loop. Town perimeter.” His gaze dipped, then returned—unapologetic. “Saw you were heading out. Thought you might want company.”

Lucian didn’t hover. Didn’t wait. He took up step beside her like he’d always been walking that path, like silence itself made room for him.

I glance up, startled for a moment out of my head, my own little world where I seemed to live too often these days. I smile gently, “Lucian,” I say, “Running the perimeter?” I ask giving him a suspicious look, “and how long ago did you finish 'running' the perimeter and then spend standing outside waiting to ask to walk me home?” I chide him.

His breath left on a quiet scoff. Not quite a laugh. Not denial either.

“You make it sound like I’m lurking,” he said. A beat. “I wasn’t.”

His hands stayed in his coat pockets, shoulders relaxed. But the set of his jaw told a different story—something bracing. Familiar tension worn like armor.

“Fifteen minutes,” he admitted. “Maybe twenty.”

Lucian looked sideways at her, the flicker of a smirk breaking loose but never making it to his eyes.

“Didn’t want to interrupt if you were… in it. You get that look when you read. Like the whole world disappears and you’d set it on fire if it made a sound.”

He exhaled through his nose. Stepped slightly ahead to push aside a low-hanging branch before she could reach it.

“I didn’t come here for you. But I didn’t leave when I saw you. That’s the truth.”

The words landed with less weight than they carried. He said them like he didn’t expect her to believe them. Like maybe he wasn’t sure he believed them himself.

Then, quietly—so quiet it barely cleared the threshold of air between them:

“But I’m glad you didn’t drive.”

I swallow my feelings, complicated doesn't begin to describe it, despite the way my heart flutters, something no doubt he can hear because of who... because of what he is.

“Walk me home?” I ask, asking the question for him because it's better than standing being awkward and I'm not sure he has the guts to do it himself.

We walk in silence for a mile and a half until the woods surround us on all sides. The sky has continued to darken and the wind has picked up slightly.

He didn’t answer with words. Just started walking beside her, pace aligned without ceremony. That was his answer. It always had been.

And for a long while, nothing passed between them but breath and dirt and the muted thud of boots on damp ground. The trail narrowed, branches knitting overhead like fingers locking shut. The last of the county lights disappeared behind them. The trees thickened. Shadows took on posture.

Lucian stayed close, but not close enough to touch. He didn’t offer his arm. Didn’t brush against her. Just matched her step for step, silence stretched between them like thread kept taut on purpose.

Then— A buzz in his coat pocket. Short. Then long.

Lucian stopped walking mid-step. Stood still. Jaw tense.

He pulled the phone out and checked it. One glance. That was all it took. His eyes darkened, and the calm that usually floated just beneath his skin—held by iron discipline—shifted. Tightened.

“…Pack business,” he said, almost to himself. Then louder, to her, but without looking. “They wouldn’t call if it wasn’t bad.”

His fingers curled around the phone, knuckles pale. Another beat. A pause where an apology could’ve lived. He didn’t give it.

Instead, he peeled the sweater off in a practiced motion—head ducked, collar caught on his wrist, fabric still warm from body heat. No theatrics. No hesitation. Just action.

He held it out to her, arm extended, eyes searching hers with something like guilt written in the margins of something firmer.

“Wear this,” Lucian said. “Nothing will touch you while it’s on. That’s not bravado. That’s biology.”

The wind blew harder now. Not howling. Just insistent. And the scent of him—pine bark, ozone, a low thrum of thunder that didn’t need sound—seeped from the sweater like territory marked by absence.

He stepped backward once. Twice.

“I’ll find you later.”

Then turned, shifting slightly as he moved—nothing overt, just a ripple in his posture—and vanished between the trees, like the forest knew him too well to resist.

I sigh and shake my head, and there he goes... I watch until he's out of sight then shiver and pull the sweater on and continue walking. It's warm, it smells distinctly like Lucian. I resist the urge to rub it over my cheek. Wearing it... like I belong to him? No, it's for practical reasons only... I tell myself. Hmph, I snort, “he probably made up that back business just to give me the sweater, now he has an excuse to come by later and collect it,” I muse to myself, wondering if it's the truth but knowing he's not capable of that level of subtlety.