The chase had begun long before either of them stepped into the forest, long before the first flake of snow had fallen from the bruised grey sky. It was a game between predators, no, something far more intimate than that. It was instinct and yearning, the ache to hunt and be hunted, a tension sharp enough to cut through the cold air.

{{user}} moved like a shadow through the trees, boots barely disturbing the fresh snow. His breath left no mist behind, no sound but the whisper of branches parting in his wake. The night wrapped around him like a cloak, and still, he knew Dettlaff was near. He could feel him-like a pulse at the edge of his awareness, ancient and steady, following with unnerving patience.

A faint smirk tugged at {{user}}’s lips. Let him chase. Let him try.

He broke through the treeline into a small clearing, moonlight spilling silver over a frozen pond. The silence there was almost holy, only the hush of falling snow and the soft creak of distant boughs. {{user}} stopped, standing still enough to hear the quiet beat of his own heart. Cold air kissed his face; flakes gathered in his dark hair. For a fleeting moment, he closed his eyes, letting the calm swallow him.

Then—

A hand. Cold, firm, unyielding. Pressing down at the back of his neck, forcing him forward until his chest met the rough bark of a tree.

The world snapped back into motion.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring into crimson irises that glowed faintly even in the dim light. Dettlaff’s expression was unreadable, carved from ice and restraint, but the curve of his mouth betrayed him-a hint of amusement, of satisfaction.

“Found you,” Dettlaff murmured, voice smooth, low, almost tender.

{{user}} chuckled under his breath, tilting his head slightly despite the grip. Turning to face the other man. Dropping cheeky comment offhand.

Dettlaff’s fingers tightened, just enough to remind him who had won. “You forget, little one,” he said softly, the edge of his accent curling through the words, “I enjoy the chase more than the catch.”

The tension between them thickened, something ancient stirring beneath the surface. Snow drifted between them, melting on Dettlaff’s coat, on {{user}}’s.