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𓆝 𓆟 𓆞
The air beneath the trees was cool and still, rich with the scent of damp earth. The stream, ever flowing, whispered against the rocks, its quiet murmur the only voice his solitude. Alucard knelt at the water’s edge, hands moving with practiced ease—catch, strike, release. A clean kill, swift and precise. A necessity, not a cruelty.
A month had passed. A month. It stretched endlessly behind him, each day an echo of the last. An eternity since Trevor, Sypha, and Mable were gone, leaving him with a castle too empty and silence too loud.
Then, the snap of a twig.
Before thought could catch up to instinct, he moved. In a breath, the intruder was beneath him, pinned to the earth, the weight of his presence holding them there. His hair spilled over his shoulders, catching in the breeze, framing the sharp glint of his fangs as he bared them in warning—until recognition struck like a blade between ribs.
“I don't appreciate being stalked,” he said lowly.
A groan came from Mable beneath him. "I wasn't 'stalking', I was walking!" she griped, wincing.
She had spotted him in the distance, an unmistakeable flash of gold and white in black breeches, just before he disappeared behind a tree line. Her legs had simply carried her forward. Pinned beneath him and the cold, unyielding ground, she had the spectacularly unhelpful thought that it might have been wiser to simply call out.
"I come all this way and this is the thanks I get!" she cried out. "You offend me, sir. I am outraged, outraged, I say!" she continued, wriggling in his grasp. But she couldn't hold character for long, already giving way to a bout giggling that grew into a hearty, boisterous laugh.
Alucard's mind went utterly blank, swept clean by the sheer improbability of what he was witnessing. The gold in his eyes seemed to flash, his pupils dilating for a fraction of a second. His grip on her wrists tightened.
"You nearly gave me a reason to file down my fangs," he warned, though the words held a quiet gravity that the fondness in his eyes completely undermined.
Her laughter tapered off, leaving her words breathless and laced with amusement. "Well then, I suppose I must thank you for your restraint, good sir," she managed, a wide grin still on her face.
A quiet huff of laughter escaped him and he loosened his grip. Shifting back onto his knees, he extended a hand down to help her up. As she grasped it, he hauled her to her feet with an easy strength.
The forest canopy shushed and shifted in the wind. Alucard watched as the dappled light wandered over her. The cascade of shimmering gold made her skin glow like warm bronze; it grazed the high planes of her cheekbones, shone in the dark depths of her eyes, and scattered through her hair like stars in a midnight sky.
Loneliness had become his constant companion, but in this moment, it eased its grip.
"I didn't expect to see you again so soon." He found himself smiling. "You're a rare sight, Mable," he murmured.
"As are you, Adrian," she replied in turn, flourishing with an exaggerated curtsy, though it was said very much in earnest.
Sunlight traced over ivory skin and settled in the straw-spun threads of his hair. He was all sharp, elegant lines, save for the gentle arch of his brow over bright, flaxen eyes—pulled from the ether of her memory and made flesh before her.
It was as if a knot in her core came undone. The release was so sudden that the composure she had clung to for weeks dissolved along with it. Her heart gave a painful lurch against her ribs, a sudden heat flooded her eyes, and the world began to blur.
Her hands moved before her mind could protest, seeking an anchor. Her fingers found his, cool and steady, and she gripped them tight. It wasn't enough. Her touch traveled, searching and mapping up his wrists, his forearms, to the solid breadth of his shoulders. She closed the last inch of space between them, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in the cool crook of his shoulder. And for the first time in weeks, she felt she was home.
Alucard went still. His hands hovered uncertainly at his sides, as if any move he made might shatter the illusion and make her disappear. But her embrace was warm—a startling, living heat—and unmistakably real. A delicate shudder against his chest, a sharp, silent catch of breath near his ear. Tightness constricted his throat as he brought a tentative hand up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers threading gently through her locs.
A strange warmth unfurled behind his ribs, and tension he hadn't noticed eased from his shoulders in a long, quiet sigh. He splayed the other hand across the curve of her shoulder blades, drawing her nearer.
"Mable," came his voice, a timber of gentle concern. "What troubles you?"
Long moments passed, filled only by the sound of the stream and her fractured breathing. She gave no answer, a fine tremor beginning to shake her frame. He held her, waiting, his hands on her back firming in a steady gesture of support.
That small act was the final undoing. Her chest began to hitch with the sobs she refused to fully release, while tears began tracing paths of fire and ice down her cold cheeks.
Don't do this. Don't fall apart. The old lessons screamed at her, a frantic chorus born from a hard-learned truth: her feelings were a burden to be contained. And that she was, and always would be, too much.
Gather yourself. Now.
She clung to him, anchoring herself to the world outside the storm in her chest.
Focus. Breathe.
Nearby, the stream continued its soothing song.
Light and shadow played on leaves as they flitted and fluttered to the forest floor.
Adrian's hair, soft and feather-light, brushed against her knuckles.
He smelled of honest labor—of sharp steel, turned earth, and wood left to dry under the sun.
Left to weather alone. And he was concerned for her. Dear one.
Finally, a long, shuddering breath escaped her, and her iron-like grip slowly eased.
"I'm sorry," she laughed weakly. She released him from her embrace and began frantically wiping her tears like swatting away so many flies, steering her gaze away from his. "I'm alright," she assured him, taking one final, steadying breath.
"It's... been a long journey and I think I'm rather tired." She caught a fresh tear with her sleeve before it could round her cheek. "It's good to see you, Adrian. I've missed you."
He blinked, head tilting. "Missed me?" he repeated softly.
She nodded in reply, hesitant to meet his eyes with her own.
Her fight for composure—the raw, honest force of her emotion—struck a chord deep within Adrian. He caught her wrists gently, his thumbs brushing over the delicate skin.
"There is no need to apologize," he murmured softly. He paused, the words catching in his own throat, lending a raw edge to their usual smoothness. "I have missed you, too." The admission was a simple one, yet it carried the crushing weight of a thousand silent hours. "More than words can say."
He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, a silent message she returned in kind. A slow smile curved his mouth, and a moment later, she found herself mirroring the expression, a fondness passing between them that was as tangible as the light filtering through the trees.
The tender moment hung in the air, until Mable's expression shifted, her nose twitching slightly as she sniffed. Her focus narrowed, and she lifted his hands toward her face, inhaling deeply.
"Have you...been fishing?" she asked as she gently let go his hands.
Adrian blinked, then lifted his own hand to his nose. "Ah," he breathed, a hint of color touching his cheeks. "Yes. I have." The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, a glint of mischief entering his eyes. "I was procuring lunch when I was...abruptly interrupted."
She crossed her arms with a theatrical huff. "Well, I certainly hope you've caught enough for two. I am weak from hunger and I demand compensation for my troubles."
At that, a sound she hadn't expected rumbled deep in his chest—a low, genuine chuckle. It was a quiet sound, but rich and surprisingly free. Her feigned annoyance melted away instantly, her own expression softening as she watched him. It was a rare and precious thing, his laughter, and to know she was the cause of it felt like a private victory, a gift she would treasure from this moment forward.
His laughter subsided, but the smile remained, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "I suppose I'd better go and catch another then," he mused, his gaze warm on her. "Would you care to join me?"
Her own smile widened. "I believe I would," she chimed, giving an imaginary tug to the hem of a gown. "Thank you, kind sir."
They had only managed a few steps toward the stream when Mable wrinkled her nose and furrowed her brow. "I've just realized. You touched my hair with your fishy fingers," she said, voice laced with exhaustion. "I'll have to wash it now."
"Perhaps while you're at it, you might wash the rest of yourself as well?"
A genuine scoff escaped her this time. She broke away from his side and gave him a hearty shove. He stumbled back a single step, catching his balance with a supernatural grace that only made her scowl more theatrical. A flush of heat rose to her face. He wasn't wrong, of course—weeks on the road had left their mark.
It was an uncanny echo of a remark Trevor had made after a disastrous encounter with some night-creatures and their goats. Nasty business, that was.
Another laugh escaped Adrian, this one freer than the first.
Two sharp-tongued peas in a pod, she thought, but found she couldn't suppress a grin. She didn't mind the teasing at all. In fact, it felt wonderfully, blessedly normal.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞