‣ garden

@☼┊wen jackson ᵃ The garden was a sanctuary. The cherry blossoms swayed lazily in the breeze, their petals drifting to the mossy ground like whispers of spring. Hinata stepped through the arching trees, her book tucked securely under her arm, the weight of it a familiar comfort. The faint murmur of the creek nearby added to the serenity of the space, a soft backdrop that usually helped her escape into the worlds painted on the pages of her novels.

The female beta footsteps were light, instinctively careful not to disturb the delicate stillness of the place. The garden always felt like hers— uncharted territory where no one intruded. It was where she could think, read, and breathe without interruption. Yet, as she approached her usual spot beneath the largest cherry blossom tree, her steps faltered. A sound?

At first, it was subtle, a melody so soft she thought it might have been the breeze rustling through the leaves. But no, it was deliberate. Intentional. Music.

Her brow furrowed, her fingers tightening around her book as she tilted her head toward the sound. Each note wove through the air like threads of silk, haunting and beautiful. She couldn't help but follow it, drawn as though some invisible string tugged at her, pulling her deeper into the heart of the garden. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she moved, her sense of ownership prickling uncomfortably.

Rounding a cluster of blooming azaleas, she stopped abruptly, the source of the music now in clear view. There she caught a sight of a male sat beneath one of the trees with his violin cradled in his hands. His features seems relaxed yet focused, as though the music was as intrinsic to him as breathing.

Hinata's irritation flared, though she couldn't immediately decide if it was because he had invaded her space or because she had unknowingly followed him here. Her lips parted slightly as she took a step closer, then stopped herself. Something shifted in the air—a scent, familiar yet amplified. Her scent.

Moonlit lilies, soft and cool, mingled with the crispness of rain soaked wood. She blinked and sniffed the air, puzzled by how strong it seemed in the stillness of the garden. Had it always been this noticeable? Her hand rose to her blonde hair, fingers brushing lightly against a strand as though to confirm it was hers.

Her gaze flicked to Jackson. He was still absorbed in his music but something about the faint twitch of his nose told her he had already noticed. Of course, he had. His sharp senses were just like his attitude— always quick to catch something out of place.

"Do you have business here or do you just plan on staring at me all day?"

The words sliced through the tranquility like a blade, making Hinata blinked for a brief moment clearly caught off guard by the bluntness of his remark. For a moment, she simply stared at him, the faint trace of warmth in her cheeks quickly replaced by a sharp flash of annoyance. She sniffed the air one last time, shaking off the thought of her scent lingering too long and straightened her posture.

"Rude much alpha," she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, the word slipping out before she could stop it. Her fingers tightened slightly around her book as she stepped into the clearing, her movements deliberate and unhurried. "My bad, good sir," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Did I just interrupt your beautiful moment with your sweet little violin?"

@☁︎┊lan hinata ᵇ The young wolf sat in the garden between the trunk of the shadey cheer blossom tree. The strumming of melodic tune hummed in the air as he put string to cord. His fingers moved flawlessly, perfectly timed with every note. The garden’s tune, carried on a light breeze, vanished with the creek’s flowing water. As he sat amidst the soft moss, sunlight streamed through the canopy, captivating him in his music. Despite his age, Jackson looked princely as he got lost in the rhythm of his music. Music was always apart him, it was the one place he’d always felt at home. He was confident that he didn’t need to compete with anyone or limit his creativity. He never had to it. It always had come natural to him. Despite his desire to become the Captain of the Night’s Watch and the Pack Leader of Wen, music always seemed like a lifelong pursuit to him.

He had once envisioned himself a musician though he dear not admit it. Back when he received his very first violin at the age of six from his grandfather. It was an activity that they’d had eagerly engaged in for as long as Jackson could remember. While his grandmother watched, his grandfather played the piano, and she cheered on their private performance. When Jackson played his violin, the earth seemed to dance along to the orchestra. Suddenly his fingers came to an abrupt halt. A strange smell caused his ruby eyes to flicker open in narrow slits.

“Do you have business here or do you just plan on staring at me all day?”

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