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it had been a long time since he'd lived in the republic. years of distance had his memory faded at the edges, childhood cracking into fragmented pieces of his mother's face and the ashes that stained her teeth and turned her skin grey. she had been beautiful, in an alien, terrible way. too thin to be anything more then skin and bones playing at human. yet she was beautiful.
yet she was dead.
an official statement was never released about the fire. only that it had happened at all. no names had been recorded of the people who had been trapped inside. their corpses unrecognisable and mangled amongst the smoky remains of the mansion. his mother's name wasn't written down.
he was ashamed to say even he was starting to forget the taste of it on his tongue.
perhaps it had been fate or his rotten luck. perhaps it was always meant to be.
or perhaps the governor simply hated him.
when he had met them, they had seemed like such a bright young visionary, with all these grand plans and hopes for the future. they had it all laid out, each part of the process thought through from where the houses would go, to how big the clinic would need to be, where to build in relation to the other nearby towns.
it was only ruined by the Wolf they unwittingly allowed inside their perfect, gingerbread house. it was hard to say if they had been tricked, or were simply dumber then he thought.
how could they not see it? the way His eyes always found the exits– ready to ditch them all if it meant preserving His life. how could they not have seen the way His hands would fiddle with matches when lighting the candles when it was His turn to inaugurate the Lumenwake?
why had they let Him stay? why, when he had told them what He had done? when others had voiced complaints, too?
the governor had seemed on top of the world. they never bothered, never faltered. strong in the face of adversity. never backing down.
never getting too close. never letting things slip.
maybe they had burned a few bridges in their time, too. maybe a wolf had not snuck into the cottage. maybe he was the lamb, willingly walking to his own slaughter. maybe he was the odd one out.
maybe there was no cottage in the woods at all.
the governor was beloved. seen as a holy figure amongst their people. often, the townspeople never asked after their past. not until one day, over breakfast– the governor had insisted the kitchen be outfitted with long tables that could fit everyone, and that they all ate together at regular times, even when their people insisted they should have the best cut and a private dining area– they had suddenly froze, fork slipping from their grasp.
“its my birthday,” the governor had mumbled, quiet, like a secret they had never intended to share– had never wanted to share.
the town pounced on it, cheering and singing a myriad of different birthday songs from their mother lands, ending in a big argument over which was the best for their governor that quickly flipped to them asking where the governor was from when they realised they didnt know.
they had only sat still, unable to talk despite their lips moving to form words, blue eyes reflecting the lightning flashing in the window, a storm raging outside.
the whole building had gone quiet, jaws snapping shut.
except His.
“come now,” He had tutted, standing drenched in the now open doorway. the room shivered in unison as cold wind blew in from outside. “its your birthday, and you haven't even told us how old you are.”
the governors face twisted again, but with something different. something he couldn't place.
“its my 20th,” the admission was a whisper, little more then a breath of air against the hand they were hiding behind, crown slipping from their messy blonde hair.
He laughed, smirk curling over his lips. he wanted to punch it right off His smug, stupid, monstrous, face–
“20? and here I had thought you only 16 with that amount of baby fat,” He joked.
the governor did not laugh. blue eyes grey with bitter and sour disappointment.
“Nauru nuorentaa, rakkaus kaunistaa,” the words spilled from them before they could think, and the room somehow got quieter, even the storm outside seemed to gentle if only to hear that gorgeous language pouring from their governor's lips like sweet honey.
He paused, and he wanted him dead again all over, because how could he look at them like that? they might be a wolf like Him, but they were still so pure–
“Oh,” He sighed. “Oh. Sydänkäpy.” the word He said was–
that was the same language.
it was the same language the governor had just spoken in. and it was the same language he had spoken first, long before he knew any english.
oh. the governor was-
“Sydänkäpy,” He repeated again. “I didn't know.”
“you never know anything,” the governor sniffed, petty in a way he had never seen them before. “Rakkaus on sitä, että pitää sanansa ja tulee ajallaan syömään. Where have you been?”
and He laughed, joyful, and His face was suddenly so much more youthful then he remembered.
how old was He again?
the governor was only 20. only 20. what was he meant to do?
20.
they were 20. practically still a child. still so little. he was nearing 27. and He was...
he didn't know. he didn't know. what if He was also only 20? how could he hate someone who now looked so small as He uttered His native tongue like it was His first time, eyes so wide and full of love as He stared at the governor.
they were wolves, the two of them. wolves could love. wolves could love, and-
he couldn't wrap his head around it as He leaned in and kissed-
he was in his room, sun rising above the horizon.
he didnt know how he got back to his room. and he didnt know how he knew that His birthday was just next week.
His 21st.
he fled town that night. fled the wolves den he now saw really was just an innocent cottage.
a happy little cottage, with two beautifully young people at the helm, sweetly in love.
he fled, and returned to the wolves den far far away. because in truth, the wolf he bad been so scared of was never some 21 year old. never a man so young He could barely drink.
never a boy that had burned down His house, all those years ago. never a boy so young he could hardly live alone.
never a boy he remembered looking up at him, blue eyes wide with excitement as his mother introduced Him as the young lord of the house, the freshly named senator too little for such political weight.
he was the wolf, in truth. and the den was waiting back home.
back in the republic. back in the wolves den.