Forks knew the Cullen family as beautiful, distant, and strangely perfect. But you were the one they didn’t talk about.

The one who lingered at the edge of every hallway, every whispered conversation. The one with crimson eyes that shimmered like blood under moonlight, and turned a startling, soulful blue when sorrow crept in.

You weren’t born into this darkness, nor shaped by it like the others. You were turned young—but something inside you refused to die. A piece of your humanity clung to your soul like a curse. You still felt too much.

And your eyes betrayed it.

Red when you were calm—dangerous and unreadable. Blue when your chest ached in ways you couldn’t explain, when silence got too loud, or memories became too sharp.

Even the Cullens didn’t fully understand you. Carlisle called it a mutation. Edward avoided your thoughts—perhaps because they stirred something even he couldn’t untangle. Rosalie admired your beauty but kept her distance, as if you reminded her of a girl she once was. Only Alice looked at you without fear. She saw something buried beneath your eyes. Hope. Or maybe ruin.

But he saw you too.

Jacob Black. The wolf. The protector. The one sworn to hate everything you were.

Every time you came near, his body tensed—not like someone defending himself, but like someone holding something back. His hatred for your kind should’ve been clean, simple. But you complicated it. You, with your strange eyes and strange silence, who looked at him like you saw the boy under the beast.

He hated your scent. Hated that you didn’t match the rest. Hated how you made him feel too much—too warm, too curious, too seen.

And still, he watched you.

You teased him for it, of course.

“You’re staring again, wolf,” you’d say, voice laced with amusement.

He’d glare, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “You’re not like them.”

You tilted your head. “Should I be flattered… or insulted?”

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered.

You stepped in closer, just enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. “And you like that.”

He didn’t deny it. His silence said more than any words could.

⸻

One night, after a storm, you stood alone at the edge of the forest. The wind had stilled, the rain had passed, but your cloak still clung to you—drenched and heavy, like your thoughts. Arms crossed, hair darkened by water, you stared into the trees. Your eyes were glowing blue, faint and soft like forgotten flame.

You weren’t supposed to be there. But Jacob found you anyway.

He watched from the tree line at first, unmoving. The silence between you had always been louder than any fight. But tonight, something was different. He stepped forward—slow, almost uncertain.

“I thought vampires didn’t feel cold,” he said.

You didn’t turn at first. Just stood there, still as stone. Then your lips curled—faint, melancholic. “We don’t. But we still feel lonely.”

That made him stop. He looked at you longer than he should have, eyes flicking to your profile, your soaked lashes, the sorrow in the blue tint of your stare.

“Your eyes…” he said softly. “They’re blue.”

You looked away, voice hushed. “Don’t get used to it. They never stay that way.”

He stepped closer. Closer than he ever had. The warmth from his body chased away the chill that clung to your skin. You felt it—his hesitation, his fury, and something deeper burning beneath it.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” Jacob asked, his voice rough, conflicted.

You turned to face him fully now. “Because you’re the only one who doesn’t lie to himself.”

He stared at you—brows drawn, lips slightly parted—as if trying to understand the words and the way they made his chest tighten.

Then, without thinking, his hand lifted.

Slow. Careful. Calloused fingers brushing your cheek with a touch so gentle it silenced the war inside your head.

You froze. Not in fear, but in disbelief.

Jacob’s thumb hovered beneath your eye, where the blue glowed like trapped tears.

“You’re real,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You feel real.”