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The constant, muffled sound of rain against the cabin roof was like a persistent lullaby, almost hypnotic. The drops hit the wooden windows as if they were trying to come in seeking warmth. The forest outside was covered in a thick fog that crawled between the trees, wrapping itself around the damp trunks and soaked ferns. It was one of those days where the light barely filtered in, everything bathed in muted shades of grey and green. The kind of day that seemed to encourage creatures to stay in bed.
Inside the cabin, warm and dimly lit by the fireplace Mason had reluctantly lit at midnight, and which still burned vibrantly even now, there was a calm silence. Only broken by the whisper of the rain... and the soft groan of a werewolf who didn’t want to let go of his partner.
—Don’t go...—
Mason murmured in a deep, half-asleep voice, tightening his arm around Kieran’s waist, his face buried against the vampire’s back.
Kieran, who had just barely opened his eyes, sighed tiredly, without drama, with that quiet, resigned exasperation reserved only for the ones you love deeply.
His gaze, a soft chocolate dulled by sleep, stared at the ceiling for a moment, then at the window facing the forest: the droplets ran endlessly down the glass. Everything outside seemed to move in slow motion.
He didn’t need to sleep. Technically, of course... He could if he wanted to, and he liked it: it was a way to let his body relax, to let go of tension. But what he liked most was sleeping with Mason. That was different.
—I just wanted to get up and make breakfast, idiot.—
He said in a low voice, with no real intent to insult him. It was just habit... his tone as muted as the morning.
—I don’t... care... if I starve. I prefer this.—
Mason mumbled, more asleep than awake, holding him even tighter.
Kieran closed his eyes, giving in. His body relaxed, curling slightly, his forehead brushing the pillow, Mason’s warm and wild scent filling his senses. Though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, his body was asking for it too: a little more time under the blankets, in his husband’s arms, listening to the patter of rain on the roof.
—Just half an hour more.—
He murmured.
—An hour.—
Mason bargained, barely smiling.
Kieran didn’t reply. He had already fallen asleep again.
An hour and a bit later...
The aroma of coffee, made for Mason, began to fill the cabin, mixed with the smell of toast, eggs, and caramelized onions.
Mason had tried once, burned the pan. And the rag. And almost the curtains. Since then, he was forbidden from getting near the kitchen unsupervised.
Kieran, barefoot, his brown hair still messy and wrapped in a thick robe, moved naturally among the dark wooden furniture. His steps were silent, his movements precise. Though he didn’t need to eat, the act of cooking was almost... meditative. A way of caring, without saying much.
—Done sniffing my back?—
He asked when he felt Mason leaning on his shoulder from behind, hugging him again like not a minute had passed since the bed.
—No, but I have to make sure you don’t disappear.—
Mason replied, kissing his neck, a bit more awake now, though still with messy hair and bright eyes.
Kieran turned his head slightly and shot him a look full of irony, but with no coldness. His lips barely curved into a very, very slight half-smile.
—If you don’t eat, you die. If you strangle me with hugs, I can’t cook. If I don’t cook… what do you eat?—
Mason thought for a second.
—You.—
The double meaning was right there.
He almost blushed.
Kieran turned and poked his chest with his index finger.
—Try it and I’ll bite you for real, mutt.—
But the threat had no venom. Just that old, comfortable familiarity.
Outside, the rain continued...
The forest was alive, but quiet. From the porch of the cabin, one could see how the raindrops made the puddles tremble. Heavy branches shook with each new gust of wind, while the leaves dripped without rest. Everything smelled of damp earth, wet wood, fresh moss.
Inside, the cabin was a refuge from another world: warm, full of blankets, lovingly worn furniture, and half-finished sketches on the small table near the window. Several were of Marcella doing some nonsense; others, of creatures like deer, rabbits... some were from dreams, others from shadows. And one or two portraits of Mason, which he would never see. Kieran wouldn’t allow it.
After breakfast, Kieran washed the dishes with near-military efficiency, while Mason tried to “help.”
—Why do you look like someone died?—
Mason asked, noticing Kieran’s absent expression while drying a knife.
—Because you’re still breathing.—
Smiled. He knew him too well to be offended.
—Are you planning to draw today?—
He asked.
Kieran hesitated. He looked out the window, where the rain showed no sign of ending, then nodded.
—Maybe. Depends on whether you stop sticking to me like Velcro.—
Mason didn’t reply. He just approached, hugged him from behind, and kissed his neck once again.
—Never.—
—You’ve got a thing for my neck, don’t you?…—
Mason just looked at him, feigning an innocent expression.
The afternoon fell without warning.
Kieran sat with a sketchbook in his lap, facing the fireplace. He drew with quick, confident strokes. Beside him, Mason read or pretended to read, an old book. Their bare feet brushed now and then. They didn’t talk, they didn’t need to.
At some point, Mason sat up and, without asking, laid down using Kieran’s lap as a pillow.
—Heavy.—
The vampire whispered, but kept drawing.
His free hand stroked Mason’s hair almost absentmindedly.
—Cold.—
Mason replied, smiling.
The rain kept falling. It wouldn’t stop. And they didn’t care.
At night...
Already in bed, under thick blankets, Mason remained as clingy as ever. Kieran, resigned and comfortable in his own distant way, let himself be held once more. Sometimes their gazes met in the dark. A small smile, a slow kiss, a quiet groan followed by soft laughter.
Outside, the world could keep getting soaked, trembling, fading beneath thunder and swaying branches. But there, in that cabin, between a vampire and a werewolf, there was a home.
An imperfect one.
Full of contradictions, of silly fights, of long silences and clumsy caresses.
But a home, nonetheless.