Back To The Pack

The morning sun crept in through the blinds.

Stanley sat on the edge of Joshua’s bed, already dressed in yesterday’s clothes. His fingers nervously toyed with the hem of his shirt, heart heavy but… different.

Not broken.

Not numb.

Grounded.

Last night hadn’t magically fixed everything. But for once, Stanley felt like he could breathe without guilt choking him.

Joshua stirred behind him, then sat up, rubbing his eyes. “You’re leaving?”

Stanley turned slightly, offering a faint smile. “I have to go back home.”

Joshua blinked. “why?”

Stanley looked at the person he had a stand with. He took a deep breathe in and out.

"My parents need me, but I hate them and what they stand for. They're evil and want me to become what I don't want..." Stanley looked at Joshua. Joshua sat there with something like pity laced with in his eyes. "I just have to obey them and act like a fool."

" Sad for you, though." Joshua said. " I'm an orphan, so I can't really relate."

Stanley have a light smile, trying to fix his dress.

"You're still going back to them?" Joshua questioned.

Stanley nodded. “Not because I forgive them. And not because I want to fit in. I just… need to face what I walked away from. On my own terms.”

Joshua looked at him for a long moment. “Will you be safe?”

Stanley paused. “Honestly? I don’t know. But if I keep running, I’ll never stop running.”

Joshua swung his legs off the bed and reached for Stanley’s hand. “Then don’t go alone.”

Stanley gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I need to. But thank you. For everything.”

Their eyes held for a beat—silent promises hanging in the air.

Then Stanley stood.

And left.

The streets were busier now, but Stanley’s walk back home was quiet. Internally, his mind wrestled with doubts. Was he doing the right thing? Would they use this against him?

Probably.

But this time, he wasn’t walking in as the scared, ashamed son.

He was walking in as himself.

*****

His apartment door was unlocked.

He knew they were still inside.

Ezra and Lyra sat in his living room, just like before—back straight, expressions unreadable. But there was something different in their eyes now. Not anger. Not hatred.

Something else. Maybe… calculation.

Stanley stepped in and closed the door behind him.

“I’ll go,” he said simply. “Back to the pack.”

Lyra’s lips curled into something like a smile. “Glad to see sense returned to you.”

But Stanley raised a hand. “On my terms. Not as your puppet. Not to inherit anything. I go back because I need closure. I go back as me. And if anyone in that pack lays a hand on me for who I am, I will walk again—and this time, I won’t come back.”

Ezra didn’t move. “Do you think your little rebellion gives you leverage?”

“No,” Stanley said. “It gave me clarity. I’m not trying to win a fight. I just want to walk through the place I once called home without hiding who I am. That’s all.”

There was a long silence.

Finally, Ezra stood.

“We leave in the morning,” he said.

Stanley didn’t reply. He just walked into his room and shut the door.

Stanley lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

His chest rose and fell with every breath—but it wasn’t anxiety this time.

It was resolve.

He didn’t know what awaited him at the pack. He didn’t know how they’d treat him, or what whispers would rise the moment he returned. But he did know one thing.

He wouldn’t bend anymore. Not for tradition. Not for fear. Not even for blood.

He would walk into that territory as the real Stanley Thorne—flawed, different, and unashamed.

And if the wolves couldn’t handle that?

Then he’d show them exactly why he was never meant to follow.

He was meant to lead—differently.

The suitcase lay half-packed on the bed, clothes folded with the kind of neatness that only comes when your mind is somewhere else.

Stanley stood in front of it, arms crossed, watching the zipper as if it might close itself and make the decision for him.

He hadn’t slept much.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes—his mother’s slap, his father’s glare, the wolves who once looked at him with respect, and the ones who would tear that down the second they saw who he’d become.

The city was supposed to be his escape. But now it was just a layover between who he used to be… and who he was becoming.

A knock tapped on the apartment door.

Soft. Familiar.

He opened it to find Joshua, holding two paper bags and a small smile.

“I figured you didn’t eat,” he said, lifting the bags. “And if you’re leaving tomorrow, you’re not doing it hungry.”

Stanley stepped aside, heart warming despite everything. “How did you know?”

“Magic gay sixth sense,” Joshua teased, walking in.

They sat on the floor instead of the table, their backs against the couch, city lights streaming in from the open windows.

The food was warm, comforting—nothing fancy, just familiar. Joshua handed Stanley a drink and said nothing for a while. Just let him eat. Let him think.

It was Stanley who broke the silence.

“I’m scared.”

Joshua didn’t blink. “Of them?”

“No. Of losing myself again,” Stanley said quietly. “Of going back and letting them twist me into that person I used to pretend to be. The perfect son. The fake Alpha. The empty smile.”

Joshua looked at him for a long moment. “Then don’t.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Joshua replied. “But it’s possible. You proved it the moment you walked out of that apartment and slammed the door on them.”

Stanley sighed. “I didn’t win anything.”

“No,” Joshua said. “But you didn’t lose yourself, either. And that means everything.”

Stanley leaned his head back against the couch. The silence between them was soft, healing. Outside, the city buzzed—cars honking, laughter drifting from a nearby bar. Life was happening, full and fast.

But inside this apartment, time slowed.

“I think I’ll miss this,” Stanley admitted. “The quiet. The normalcy. You.”

Joshua smiled gently. “Then come back. When you're done, come home. You’ll always have me here waiting.”

Stanley looked at him. “You mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

They sat like that for a while, side by side. Not touching. Not needing to. The connection had already woven itself deep.

Eventually, Joshua nudged him. “You’ll be fine, you know.”

Stanley looked down at his hands. “I’m not so sure.”

Joshua turned to him. “Stanley, you can survive two people who tried to crush you into something you’re not. You walked away. That’s not weakness. That’s fire.”

Stanley smiled faintly. “It doesn’t feel like fire. It just feels like… surviving.”

Joshua touched his hand. “Sometimes surviving is the fire.”

Later that night, Stanley stood alone at the window.

The city lights blinked like distant stars, each one a reminder of the life he had here—the freedom, the fear, the healing.

Tomorrow, he’d return to the world that nearly broke him.

But tonight?

He let himself feel the weight of it all.

He let the fear exist.

He let the grief breathe.

And then… he let it go.

The reflection in the glass looked different now.

Not the scared runaway.

Not the perfect son.

Just Stanley.

Flawed. Free. Whole.