“Let go, you maniac,” Ocean said, but Kaos didn’trespond, just clung tighter. I could feel him in the bond, relieved, but also buzzing with a tension that wasn’t fading. “Uh, Finch? A little help?”
Finch helped Ocean to the couch, and I slid in next to Kaos, running my hand over the short hair on his head. His eyes were closed now, but he was still clutching tight to Ocean, like he might vanish at any moment.
“It’s okay, Jaehwan,” Ocean murmured, rubbing his back and starting up a purr.
I looked at Finch, who settled behind me.
“It’s his family name,” Ocean explained. “Kinda means brilliant?”
Finch chuckled.
“He’s brilliant but not so focused.”
“What about you guys?”
“Haejoon,” Ocean supplied. “It’s why I picked Ocean for my pack name.”
I glanced at Finch.
“So do you have a name that means bird or something?” I asked. He rolled his eyes.
“We call him that because he used to be tiny. And super cautious.” Ocean said with a grin.
“What’s your real name?” I asked.
“Saehwan,” he replied.
“So you changed your names when you became pack?”
“Yeah. Well, Finch added his as a middle name. Me and Kaos changed ours.”
Ocean grinned. “And probably for the best, because Kaos’ birth name was—KeeEnnn’” he started.
Kaos’s head snapped up, and his hand flew to cover Ocean’s mouth. “Don’t tell her that,” he snapped. “You’re ruining this reunion moment.”
Ocean pried his mouth free. “Ruining it, huh?” he asked,laughter in his voice. “You’re right, it was pretty perfect until that point. Just how I imagined meeting you again.”
Kaos huffed, eyebrows furrowing.
“Wait, what was his name, though?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kaos said. “The people who called me that didn’t deserve to give me a name.”
I studied him. “I don’t need to know it, then,” I said, and he relaxed, putting his head on Ocean’s shoulder.
“Wow, way to make me feel bad,” Ocean said, and Kaos patted his hand and closed his eyes again.
ONE HUNDRED ONE
FINCH
I stared at the grey sky, watching rain collect on the windowpane, each drop making its own unpredictable path down the glass.
“Come on, pumpkin,” Laurel said. She was crouched by the sectional, a tin of wet cat food in her hand as she tried to coax Muppet out of his hiding spot. “Yes, come on, sweetheart.” She tapped the metal spoon against the tin and made atsk-tsk-tsksound.
Slowly, the skinny black cat edged out from under the couch, eyes wide and ears twitching. He cautiously approached Laurel, who scooped some of the wet food into the cat bowl.
“There,” she said, scratching him behind the ears as he started eating. He was still flattened against the ground, and his ears twitched my way when I shifted on the couch.
