~*~
Chase turns sixteen on a Sunday, a quiet day marked with a big breakfast he glares at his dad for and a small present from the police department because they like Chase and always have.
He spends a few hours with Ben and Brielle at the arcade before he retreats to the woods, to the quiet house that feels like home.
There’s a slow ache in his chest, because birthdays are always hard. He misses his mom more on his birthday than he does any day of the year, and even knowing the pain is coming, he’s never quite braced for it.
Tyler is there with Lucas, waiting for him, and he draws Chase onto the new sectional, tucking Chase into the corner, pressed between Lucas’s solid weight and Tyler’s warm heat. Chase lets out a shaky breath and Tyler doesn’t mention the tear that falls slowly as he turns on the TV.
He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s dropping Chase off at home and then, it’s only to say, “We’re going to celebrate tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Chase says, as much for the promise as for this quiet day of mourning. Tyler nods at him and Chase trips inside under the werewolf’s watchful gaze, then crawls into bed and lets the horrible birthday end.
~*~
Tyler finishes the house on a Tuesday, while Chase is on the porch, practicing his krav maga. He nails the last piece of baseboard down in Chase’s room and straightens.
It takes him a moment to realize.
“Chase!” he shouts. He can hear Chase cursing as he flails and falls over before he’s scrambling inside, shouting Tyler’s name.
Tyler turns as he crashes into the room—a small room, painted a deep blue with red accents, with a small comfortable couch and overabundance of bookshelves, a little desk for him to do his homework—but no bed.
John would lose his shit if Tyler tried to give Chase a bed in his house. (John was still ridiculous sometimes.)
“Dude, you’re freaking me out,” Chase says.
Tyler grins at him, wide and manic. “It’s done,” he says. And looking around, he realizes—he did this. Him, Chase, and Lucas. They built a place that’s comfortable and warm and safe, a place that he’s pleased to call home, that isn’t muddled with the scents of anyone who isn’t Pack.
Their little house in the woods, the one that was falling down, that Chelsea had laughed and told him couldn’t be salvaged—it’s the cozy little home they built together.
~*~
The third thing happens on a Wednesday in May, a few days after Tyler grinned at him wide and bright and so damn honest it hurt something in his chest.
And maybe that’s why.
But on that Wednesday in May, alone in his dark bedroom, Chase wakes up, flush and hot and aching, his chest splattered with come and gasping Tyler’s name.
Oh, he thinks. Oh, no.
Chapter 8
After a week of silence, Tyler shows up at Chase’s house.
The cruiser isn’t there, but he can hear a heartbeat, rabbit fast and familiar. He knocks quietly and waits, listening to Chase grumble and complain until he opens the door.
They stare at each other for a long moment, then Tyler says, “Well, you don’t look sick.”
“You weren’t supposed to come looking for me,” Chase says miserably, stepping aside.
Tyler follows him in and Chase curls up on the couch, glaring at his feet while Tyler perches on the arm of the chair.
“What were you doing?” Tyler asks.
“Homework,” Chase lies.
Tyler gives him a doubtful look. “For the whole week? You’ve never had that much homework before.”
“Maybe I just needed some space,” Chase snaps.
Tyler jerks back, stung. They’re silent for a long time, then he nods. “Ok. You know where we are, when you’re done with your space.”
He stands up and heads for the door.
“Tyler,” Chase says, and the older man pauses, holding still as Chase fidgets. “It’s not you. Ok? I just—I need space.”
Tyler shrugs and pushes the door open. “I’m used to my packmates needing space from me.”
~*~
He’s fucking everything up and he knows it.
His dad hasn’t asked yet, but this is the first time since the summer neither of them talks about that Chase has spent any real time away from the Reids, so the questions are coming—he knows they are, even if he hasn’t been asked anything yet.
He has no idea what he’s going to say.
Oh, hey, yeah, no—I need to stay away from them because the older man you’re afraid is going to molest me? I had a sex dream about him and I’m pretty sure he’ll know, cause he’s a werewolf. Surprise!
His dad would make The Summer We Don’t Talk About look like a nice, relaxing vacation.
But it isn’t just that—Chase misses Tyler. He misses Lucas.
And Tyler blames himself, because that’s what Tyler does. He takes on things that aren’t his fault and internalizes them, makes them his mistakes.
Chase is fucking everything up. He has to stop.
~*~
“Whatever he did, you know you don’t have to go back there.”
“He didn’t do anything, Dad. He wouldn’t. You know he wouldn’t.”
John pauses. “Did you do something?”
Chase shrugs and shakes his head, a yes-no answer that tells him nothing and probably more than Chase wants him to know. “I didn’t do anything to him,” he says finally, evasively.
John stares at him. “Son, running away from whatever is bothering you doesn’t make it go away. Usually it just creates different problems. I know you care about Lucas and Tyler, and I’m not even going to pretend I like it—but I know it’s good for you. That they are good for you. Maybe you need to stop hiding and figure this out.”
“Can’t I figure it out while I hide?” Chase asks plaintively, and John laughs.
~*~
Tyler is sitting on the porch when he stumbles through the woods, sipping his coffee and waiting. His expression—it makes Chase want to run, because he did that. He made Tyler look that small and vulnerable, that scared.
“I’m sorry,” Chase says. Tyler stares at him, and he’s beautiful. He’s beautiful and patient, and he’s waiting for Chase to explain this,
