Christian (bxb) (Part three for Arlo)

Just a dream

(Christian)

I squealed as I landed in my room at college. Jacob's teleportation skills were top-notch—I had to give it to him. I looked around, feeling that rush of freedom.

I never expected to get this opportunity—to be away from them. It felt like my first taste of independence. No more Mason, no more Jaxon, and most importantly, no more Greyson breathing down my neck twenty-four-seven.

Here, I could finally be myself. I loved drawing, and it was something no one knew about—not even Pops and Dad. I kept it to myself, afraid they'd think I was weird.

I chuckled, covering my eyes as I thought about the triplets. They were probably freaking out right now, knowing I wouldn't be returning to the pack anytime soon.

Good riddance, too. I hated how controlling they were, especially Greyson. He didn't get me, even though he thought he did.

It wasn't just about not having my wolf yet—it was about needing space. I couldn't stand how they crowded me. I didn't care about the bond because I couldn't feel it, and I didn't know what was missing.

Now, it was my time to breathe. To figure things out for myself. No expectations. No judgments. Just me.

I walked over to my suitcase and pulled out my sketchbook, running my fingers over the cover. It was worn, edges soft from years of being carried around. I hadn't realized how much I missed drawing until now. Between fighting with the triplets, dealing with my parents' constant worry, and trying to live up to their image of who I should be, I'd neglected it.

Sitting on the bed, I opened the sketchbook. The first page greeted me with half-finished sketches—doodles that meant something deeper to me. Each one held a story I hadn't dared to share before.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the silence of the room settle over me. This was freedom. No pressure to be anyone else, no burden to carry. Just me.

I gripped my pencil tightly, a sense of determination rising within me. Maybe this was the start of something new. I didn't know where it would lead, but I was ready to find out. For once, it wasn't about what they wanted for me—it was about what I wanted for myself. And right now, I want to draw.

**I lay on the bed, my pencil still gripped tightly in my hand, but my eyes began to feel heavy. The silence of the room wrapped around me, soothing my restless thoughts. The rain had started to pour outside, the soft patter against the window almost hypnotic. It wasn't long before I drifted off, lulled by the sound of the storm.

In the haze of sleep, I felt a warmth. A comforting presence. At first, I thought it was just the blankets, but as I shifted in bed, I realized someone was there beside me. I looked up, only to find Greyson standing at the edge of the bed, his intense eyes soft, no longer filled with that controlling frustration.

"Christian," he whispered, his voice so gentle, it sent a shiver down my spine. "You're safe here."

Before I could respond, Mason's familiar laugh filled the room, his warm hand brushing through my hair. "You don't have to worry," he said, his voice low and comforting, like the calm before a storm. "We've got you."

Jaxon appeared then, his presence always a bit like a grounding force. His fingers caressed my cheek, a tenderness in his touch that made my heart ache. "Everything's going to be alright," he whispered, his lips brushing my forehead.

I felt myself melt into their embrace. The storm outside seemed miles away, nothing but a distant memory as they whispered sweet nothings into my ear. The weight of their arms around me, the gentle pressure of their kisses, made me feel... safe. Loved.

I never realized how much I craved that warmth, how much I needed their closeness, their promises of protection. Greyson's lips found mine first, soft and reassuring, a kiss that spoke of things unsaid. I felt his breath, steady and calming. "You don't have to run anymore, Christian. We'll protect you. We'll always be here."

Mason's lips followed a brief, gentle kiss before he pulled away, his forehead resting against mine. "You're ours. And we'll never let you go."

Jaxon was next, his kiss full of promise, his hand brushing my cheek tenderly. "We'll be your storm," he murmured. "And we'll make sure you never have to face it alone."

Their voices blended together, like a lullaby, wrapping me in warmth and affection. I could feel myself sinking deeper into their embrace, the storm outside growing fainter, the weight of everything that had once felt so overwhelming slowly slipping away.

But then, something shifted. The room began to blur, the sound of their whispers growing faint. Suddenly, I felt cold. I jolted awake, my body stiff, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to calm down. The rain still poured outside, the only sound now the steady beat against the glass.

What... what was that? My heart thudded in my chest as I looked around the room, searching for something, anything that would explain the warmth I'd felt, the way they had been so close. I wiped my face, my fingers trembling.

It felt so real. Too real. What the hell was happening? One minute, I hated them, and now I was dreaming about them like a weirdo? What the hell is wrong with me?

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to shake the remnants of the dream. But the sensation remained, that feeling of being held, of being safe, of being wanted... I wanted to believe it was real, but I couldn't.

I sat up, my legs tangled in the blankets, as I tried to steady my breathing. Was that... was that a dream?

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog from my mind. But as I stared at the sketchbook resting on the bed beside me, my hand still clutching the pencil, I couldn't help but wonder:

Why did it feel like I wanted it to be real?