The way he phrases it makes my soul want to simultaneously crawl into his lap and drop kisses all over his face, and run screaming into the night so he can never find me again. It's a dissonance of free will/bonding desire, and I don't really know how to feel about it.
This whole fated to be with each other thing is a little… much. Until Lyre had broken it down, I'd been under the assumption humans can't have fated mates. Everyone says so, therefore it must be true—only… it's not.
Shifting my weight so my left buttcheek doesn't go numb, I answer, "She's staying with me."
The words come without conscious thought or consideration of consequences. Not angry, not defensive—just a simple statement of fact. Like saying the sky is blue or water is wet.
