01-19-2023, 05:38 AM
Yukon stood motionless as the attention of the other man snapped onto him. For what felt like a long time, his only movement came from within; from the muscle buried in his chest, beating rapidly, swaying him gently back and forth as its power coursed through every one of his veins. Or perhaps it was just the wind, pushing up against him in a seductive embrace, its touch painful as it alighted the nerves of his wetted nose.
The other man seemed to pause as well, rolled his shoulders to ward off the stiffness that came, for free, alongside the mountainous air. Who are you, he asked, and Yukon merely blinked, for he wished he could answer that question for himself.
He'd never had the chance to bounce his ideas off another soul, to tell whether he had the right to change his identity or if he were crazy for it. If he were always meant to be Yukon Veryn, son of Maes Veryn and very much his clone in every way. Down to the color of his coat, the glitter of his eyes — and, most painfully, the way he abandoned his family when they needed him most.
Yukon expelled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding onto. "It hardly matters who I am, does it?" he returned. He was a nobody, a coward with a pretty face and plenty of ambition but nothing to show for it.
But this man, he was different. Whether or not he had anything to back him up meant very little — he acted like he did, and that was all one really needed. So, taking a single step forward, his head lowering, tilting as though weighted down by curiosity, "But you — you look like a man with a plan, regardless if you have any name." A name, a pack, a lover. None of it mattered out here, where the snow would swallow you whole without a second thought to whether you mattered to anyone.
"So, what is it?"
The other man seemed to pause as well, rolled his shoulders to ward off the stiffness that came, for free, alongside the mountainous air. Who are you, he asked, and Yukon merely blinked, for he wished he could answer that question for himself.
He'd never had the chance to bounce his ideas off another soul, to tell whether he had the right to change his identity or if he were crazy for it. If he were always meant to be Yukon Veryn, son of Maes Veryn and very much his clone in every way. Down to the color of his coat, the glitter of his eyes — and, most painfully, the way he abandoned his family when they needed him most.
Yukon expelled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding onto. "It hardly matters who I am, does it?" he returned. He was a nobody, a coward with a pretty face and plenty of ambition but nothing to show for it.
But this man, he was different. Whether or not he had anything to back him up meant very little — he acted like he did, and that was all one really needed. So, taking a single step forward, his head lowering, tilting as though weighted down by curiosity, "But you — you look like a man with a plan, regardless if you have any name." A name, a pack, a lover. None of it mattered out here, where the snow would swallow you whole without a second thought to whether you mattered to anyone.
"So, what is it?"