Through the Tulips and Into Trouble
The moon was high, the garden was quiet, and DP was… unimpressed.
He padded between rows of perfectly symmetrical vegetables and far-too-whimsical fairy lanterns, muttering under his breath. “Tulips. Always tulips. Why do elves always mess with tulips?”
He crouched near a patch of glittering lavender and sniffed the air. It smelled like rosemary, moonlight, and faint traces of smug.
“Definitely elf.”
A rustle from the bushes confirmed it.
DP grinned.
He circled slowly toward the tree line, posture casual, voice deliberately louder than necessary. “Come on out, sparkle-feet. I promise I only bite when asked nicely.”
No response.
Just a subtle crunch of leaves, followed by a very quiet exhale, the kind that tried to be invisible but sounded beautifully annoyed.
DP leaned against a nearby tree, deliberately stretched, and with the casual swagger of a wolf who knew exactly what he was doing… marked his territory.
There was an audible gasp from the foliage. Then a very loud “Seriously?!”
DP smirked. “Well, I had to make it clear this flower patch is under new management.”
From behind a cluster of enchanted hydrangeas rose a figure, all lean lines and disapproval wrapped in moon-kissed silver. Short hair tousled like he’d just woken up looking perfect (probably had), and eyes like deep rivers with absolutely no time for nonsense.
Onorfin stepped forward, frowning magnificently. “Did you just pee on Kellen’s oak?”
“Marked it,” DP said. “Big difference. Wolf business. Don’t make it weird.”
“You literally made eye contact with me.”
“Oh, now you’re making it weird.” Onorfin opened his mouth to retort, paused, blinked, then sighed with the weariness of someone who realized too late he’d just met his narrative foil.
“Right,” he said, folding his arms. “You must be the werewolf with the emotional damage and a fondness for dramatic entrances.”
DP gave him a slow once-over, grinning like sin. “And you must be the elf who prances through gardens like he's composing a ballad with his feet.”
Onorfin narrowed his eyes. “I don’t prance.”
“You glided. With flair.”
“I tread with dignity.”
“Same thing, sparklebutt.”
Onorfin looked skyward, as if petitioning the stars for strength. “I was studying the lunar-activated tulip bloom.”
“And were you also studying the way your robes match the hydrangeas?” DP added, teeth flashing. “Because damn. 10/10 stealth.”
Onorfin faltered just a little. “It was unintentional.”
“Mmhm. That’s what I tell myself when I wake up naked in a sheep pasture.”
Onorfin’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re welcome,” DP said with a wink. They stood there, a moment suspended, Werewolf and elf, moonlight and flowers, tension and teasing wrapped in the scent of crushed herbs and something just beginning.
“…You’re not chasing me off, are you?” Onorfin finally asked.
DP shook his head, softer now. “Nah. Kellen can deal. But I might sit here a while. You’re… kind of growing on me.”
Onorfin turned, walking back toward the moonflowers, voice barely audible. “So you’re like moss, then?”
“No,” DP called back with a grin. “More like ivy. Annoying, relentless… and eventually I get under your skin.”
And though Onorfin didn’t look back, DP swore he saw the tiniest shake of his shoulders.
Laughter, he realized. Quiet, repressed, and utterly beautiful.
He padded between rows of perfectly symmetrical vegetables and far-too-whimsical fairy lanterns, muttering under his breath. “Tulips. Always tulips. Why do elves always mess with tulips?”
He crouched near a patch of glittering lavender and sniffed the air. It smelled like rosemary, moonlight, and faint traces of smug.
“Definitely elf.”
A rustle from the bushes confirmed it.
DP grinned.
He circled slowly toward the tree line, posture casual, voice deliberately louder than necessary. “Come on out, sparkle-feet. I promise I only bite when asked nicely.”
No response.
Just a subtle crunch of leaves, followed by a very quiet exhale, the kind that tried to be invisible but sounded beautifully annoyed.
DP leaned against a nearby tree, deliberately stretched, and with the casual swagger of a wolf who knew exactly what he was doing… marked his territory.
There was an audible gasp from the foliage. Then a very loud “Seriously?!”
DP smirked. “Well, I had to make it clear this flower patch is under new management.”
From behind a cluster of enchanted hydrangeas rose a figure, all lean lines and disapproval wrapped in moon-kissed silver. Short hair tousled like he’d just woken up looking perfect (probably had), and eyes like deep rivers with absolutely no time for nonsense.
Onorfin stepped forward, frowning magnificently. “Did you just pee on Kellen’s oak?”
“Marked it,” DP said. “Big difference. Wolf business. Don’t make it weird.”
“You literally made eye contact with me.”
“Oh, now you’re making it weird.” Onorfin opened his mouth to retort, paused, blinked, then sighed with the weariness of someone who realized too late he’d just met his narrative foil.
“Right,” he said, folding his arms. “You must be the werewolf with the emotional damage and a fondness for dramatic entrances.”
DP gave him a slow once-over, grinning like sin. “And you must be the elf who prances through gardens like he's composing a ballad with his feet.”
Onorfin narrowed his eyes. “I don’t prance.”
“You glided. With flair.”
“I tread with dignity.”
“Same thing, sparklebutt.”
Onorfin looked skyward, as if petitioning the stars for strength. “I was studying the lunar-activated tulip bloom.”
“And were you also studying the way your robes match the hydrangeas?” DP added, teeth flashing. “Because damn. 10/10 stealth.”
Onorfin faltered just a little. “It was unintentional.”
“Mmhm. That’s what I tell myself when I wake up naked in a sheep pasture.”
Onorfin’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re welcome,” DP said with a wink. They stood there, a moment suspended, Werewolf and elf, moonlight and flowers, tension and teasing wrapped in the scent of crushed herbs and something just beginning.
“…You’re not chasing me off, are you?” Onorfin finally asked.
DP shook his head, softer now. “Nah. Kellen can deal. But I might sit here a while. You’re… kind of growing on me.”
Onorfin turned, walking back toward the moonflowers, voice barely audible. “So you’re like moss, then?”
“No,” DP called back with a grin. “More like ivy. Annoying, relentless… and eventually I get under your skin.”
And though Onorfin didn’t look back, DP swore he saw the tiniest shake of his shoulders.
Laughter, he realized. Quiet, repressed, and utterly beautiful.
