bittersweet green apples, rejection, and the mediocre life of a human

Chapter 7

I felt like a PC running without System 32 - that is, confused as fuck. I had a really hard time believing that Mr. Football Star Alpha had understood my "inner beauty" or some bullshit overnight. All my systems wanted to chalk it up to him not being able to live without me, and call the problem solved - but a little voice niggled at me everytime. Maybe, just maybe, he had actually done some deep thinking, and changed, wanting to find the other half of his soul like every other wolf, regardless of my subpar packaging. Maybe, just maybe, we were mated correctly after all and I had just helped him with accepting a part himself he couldn't manage without me. Maybe, just maybe, the love was just as real as I hoped to god it was. I wished like hell I could just lower my guard and relax into his iridescent red eyes that made me feel warm and melty if I looked into them too long.

Unfortunately, I had to tear myself away from those eyes already, mostly because my own eyes wouldn't let me go with someone that well-dressed in just a t-shirt and shorts. Not even the cargo kind of shorts, the mesh ones you wear to the gym. Mentally, I wanted to give myself a sarcastic high-five - he showed up in an actual fucking tuxedo (I mean, who actually has a tuxedo?) and I had greeted him looking like I hadn't moved since my shower this morning. Which was completely true, I'd just sat at my computer and every so often tried to convince myself to go work out or eat something or even just get the mail, and it took me till nearly evening to succeed. I needed to work on healthier coping habits.

Once I finally made it into the elevator after stumbling verbally about needing to change, it occurred to me that our interaction had been public - meaning people had caught it on snapchat and the entire campus was gonna know that some loser had just mouthed off to his apologetic, out-of-his-league werewolf football star mate. I was on a one-way trip to being more of a pariah than the kid who showered monthly. Well, maybe not that bad, but still, everyone would be talking about my personal problems with my mate, and I fucking hated it. I didn't have a tuxedo, or even own anything nearly that nice, but I hoped that being seen in a button-up and nice slacks next to his sharp outfit wouldn't make my fellow students go too crazy on the socials.

My breath hitched in the moment between when the elevator stopped and the doors opened, and despite its tiny duration, the couple seconds it actually took felt like a timeless eternity. I hadn't even thought about the possibility of him not being there when the doors opened - what would I do? If he had changed his mind, left the building and my life altogether, I knew I wouldn't be prepared for what people would say about me. What if he told me to forget it after my speech and had time to dwell on it, or wasn't prepared for the hit to his dignity as an alpha at the hands of some human college student who was a five on a good day, and a solid four on most days? Unfortunately, the suspension of the temporal dimension came undone, and the elevator doors pulled back to reveal Kyle eyeing the elevator bank like an overgrown, excited puppy. I nearly collapsed against the wall with relief, but I just couldn't allow myself to show emotions like that in front of him yet.

I wasn't sure how much his tuxedo cost, but given a chance to really take in how well-tailored the materials were, the entrancing deep black void of the jacket yielding to an incandescently white shirt and a contrasting bow-tie made of the same inky thirteenth hour as the jacket. What was almost as astounding as the materials themselves was how perfectly they fit around his gigantic frame, completely relaxed and wrinkleless. His pants blended seamlessly with the vantablack of his jacket, but my eyes only lingered on one thing: a scarlet Wolfsblossom lapel, fresh and real. I understood, from my late-night obsessive werewolf studies, how rare Wolfsblossoms were and what they signified. He'd clearly put it on while I was changing, and I knew why.

A Wolfsblossom can only be worn when a dominant werewolf has begun the courting process of a mate, and signifies that they will never love another.

Kyle was serious about what he'd said. Kyle was serious about me.

The instant he'd spotted me his face had perked up, and I took a moment to drink his appearance fully. Not just his ravishing attire, or even his obscene musculature, Kyle's iridescent red eyes and dirty blonde mohawk-quiff with those dangerous alpha red highlights were works of art in their own right. His red features not just complimented, but completed the scarlet Wolfsblossom pinned to his lapel in a way that felt natural. His face was irresistibly attractive in this happy, comfortable look, radiating confidence and warmth like a hollywood protagonist. It was hard to compare this Kyle to the one who'd turned me around a few days ago, face contorted with disgust like a cloak across his features, veiling how he really felt, the image branded into my memory like a dirty secret.

Kyle didn't just look better like this, or even just happier. He seemed unchained and emancipated, like a wolf experiencing their first run through the forest. He seemed like the kind of alpha who'd walked straight off the pages of a fantasy, gentle and friendly, but with the confidence and assertive badassery to take on the world lurking beneath the warmth. I just wanted to stagger over and swoon into him and trust him completely, but that ugly scab of a memory festered in my mind until I managed to carry myself through the turnstiles of my dorm properly, out into the cold reality of people, away from warm, questionable inferences about demeanor.

But maybe I let it slide when he walked a little closer to me than he should have, and prayed to the afterglow of my fantastic hopes everything would be ok anyway.