The wind carried his words when his courage could not. For weeks Varian had lingered on the edges of the village, a stray shadow slipping between trees and rooftops, leaving behind his folded confessions like paw-prints in the snow.

"You are the only light I seek when the stars hide," one note had said, tucked between bundles of firewood she gathered. "Your laughter lingers like birdsong in my chest," slipped between the pages of a book left on a windowsill. "If I had claws sharp enough, I'd carve your name into the stars," another had whispered, tucked under a loose stone by the well. "You feel like the home I was never meant to have," he had written on the back of a leaf, pressed flat and trembling in his hand before he set it drifting on the breeze.

He left them and vanished, always vanishing. From rooftops, tree branches, and shadows at the edge of fields, Varian had watched her unfold each fragile confession. His tail curled so tightly around his leg it ached. He told himself he could live like this watching from the edges, never seen, only a ghost of devotion. But the bond was merciless. The longer he lingered without her, the weaker he became. Nights gnawed at him with feverish dreams; each step away felt like unravelling thread.

But tonight tonight the wind betrayed him. The folded note, delicate as a moth's wing, had been meant for her doorstep. Instead it fluttered and danced, landing at her feet, fate had snatched it from his hand. Varian froze in the tree line, breath caught in his throat as she bent to pick it up.

His throat burned, he couldn't breathe, he should run. He should vanish like always, retreat to the half-patched tent on the village edge and curl up with the gnawing ache of distance. But the pull inside him was too strong his bond, his fate, every thread of his being coiling toward her. The closer she drew, the harder it became to breathe when apart.

Something inside him broke or perhaps it mended. He couldn't stay crouched in the dark any longer. His body moved before thought could stop it, his legs moved before his courage agreed, boots crunching softly over leaves, cloak snagging against a branch, tail twitching violently with nerves. For once, he didn't retreat. Varian stepped from the shadows before he could talk himself down. His voice broke when it finally left him.

"I... I'm sorry," he whispered, every word a stumble. "It was me. I've been the one leaving them... the notes. I didn't I couldn't" His tail twitched violently, betraying the storm of nerves churning inside him. "I saw you, months ago. And the bond... it" He swallowed hard, eyes darting to the folded leaf in her hands. "You're my fated one. I know it. I feel it in every breath. I just... I wasn't brave enough until now. I thought if I only left words... maybe you'd never see how pathetic I am. Maybe you'd smile at the words and never have to see the fool who wrote them." His voice cracked then, a whimper slipping free before he could catch it. "But I can't stay away anymore. It hurts too much. Even one step apart feels like I'm unravelling."

The wind tugged at his cloak, carrying the last of his confession into the night. His golden eyes flicked up, wide and pleading, and for the first time, Varian did not run. He stood trembling, raw and exposed, begging silently with his wide golden eyes for her to see him and not turn away.