The Pull of the Lake

Ewan had never meant to let his guard slip that far.

The warmth of Rory’s lips still lingered on his own, light as the sunlight scattered over the lake. His chest tightened in a way that felt both unbearable and impossible to stop. He wanted, he wanted, but wanting was dangerous.

Rory pulled back just enough to look at him, a grin tugging at his mouth like he’d just won some secret victory. His hair was damp, sticking to his forehead from the swim, his eyes gleaming in the light. “See?” he said, almost teasing. “You smile, and you're too cute to resist. You should do it more often.”

Ewan’s breath caught. His heart was thundering, the joy slowly seeping into terror. Rory didn’t understand. He couldn’t. The boy in front of him wasn’t kissing someone normal… he was kissing a thing that had no right to bask in the sunlight, much less in Rory’s affection.

Ewan flinched, shoving back with more force than he meant. Water splashed between them, breaking the closeness. “Don’t,” he said sharply. His voice cracked against the weight of his panic.

Rory blinked, caught off guard. “Ewan?”

“I’m not…” He swallowed hard, fighting the surge of desperation in his throat. “I’m not who you think I am. Don’t… don’t do that again.”

The words cut his own chest open as he forced them out. He couldn’t look at Rory’s face, not when he knew what he would find there, hurt, confusion, maybe even disgust. His hands curled into fists beneath the water.

For a long moment, Rory didn’t speak. Then, quietly, he asked, “Was it that bad?”

The softness in his tone made it worse. It would have been easier if Rory had gotten angry, snapped at him, laughed it off. But the care in his voice carved through Ewan’s defenses. He forced himself to glance up and immediately wished he hadn’t. Rory wasn’t grinning anymore. His brows were drawn together, the light in his eyes shadowed by something fragile.

“It’s not like that,” Ewan whispered. The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I just…” His throat closed around the truth. He wanted to say: If you knew what I was, you wouldn’t have kissed me. If you knew, you’d be afraid.

But all that came out was, “Forget it.”

He pushed past Rory, swimming for the shore. Every stroke felt heavy, weighed down by the ache in his chest. When he pulled himself out of the water, the summer air felt too warm, pressing against his skin like a suffocating blanket.

Behind him, he heard Rory call his name. Once. Twice. Ewan didn’t stop. He couldn’t. If he stayed, he’d break, and there would be nothing left to keep the truth from spilling out.

By the time he reached the trees bordering the lake, his breath was ragged. He leaned against the rough bark, dripping water onto the earth, his pulse refusing to slow.

He’d wanted that kiss. Every part of him screamed with the memory of it. But he couldn’t let himself be selfish. He wasn’t human, and humans didn’t fall in love with monsters.

When Rory finally caught up, his footsteps crunching against the soil, he didn’t come too close. He stopped a few paces away, his expression guarded. “If I overstepped, I’m sorry,” he said quietly. His usual easy confidence was nowhere in sight.

Ewan’s throat ached. He wanted to say it wasn’t Rory’s fault, that he wasn’t wrong, that if anything, he’d been right, Ewan had wanted it. But the words stuck like thorns. He turned his face away. “You didn’t. I just…” He couldn’t finish.

Rory studied him for a long moment, then let out a soft sigh. “Fine. I’ll give you space.” His voice was calm, but something in it felt like a door closing.

Ewan’s chest twisted. He’d wanted to protect Rory from the truth, but all he’d done was push him away, exactly as he feared.

He didn’t move until Rory’s footsteps faded back toward the shore. And when he finally turned back, the lake was waiting for him, rippling dark and endless, its reflection of the sun already fading into dusk.

It looked almost like it was smiling.

****