Cameron's Dark Days

Havermouth, One Year Before

Cameron fumbled the tie. The knot was bad, too small, too tight, the tails of the tie crooked. He ripped at the tie impatiently and began again, tugging and twisting at it, growing more and more frustrated as the knot remained imperfect. He was beginning to sweat in the fluster and knew that his cheeks would be getting patchy and his eyes red.

“F-k it!” He cried out, tears overflowing, throwing his head back and dragging in ragged breaths.

“Cam,” Heath said softly from the door.

Cameron opened his eyes, prepared to snarl at his mate, his eyes hardening and his lip curling back from his teeth as he rolled his head in Heath’s direction.

Heath was perfectly put together, not a crease out of line, not a fleck of lint on his charcoal grey pinstripe suit. The suite was perfect too, Cameron thought irritably, not as severe or cliched as black, the charcoal grey was nonetheless sombre and respectful. Even the cuff links that Heath wore were f-king perfect.

And, unl