The next morning, the Desrosiers household buzzed with the chaotic harmony that only came when every family member had a reason to be excited. Today wasn't just any outing; they were heading to the university Acheron had once dared to dream about.
It had been his goal for years, ever since he'd begun to take his art seriously, but in the wake of the attack, that dream had felt impossibly far away. He'd told himself it might take years before he'd even consider applying again ... if ever. The idea of walking through crowded hallways, of being seen, had once made his chest tighten with panic.
After last night, however, curled up in a corner of the couch with Kai's steady voice and Acacia's sharp, encouraging fire, something inside him had shifted. Their words hadn't erased the fear, but they'd lit a small, defiant spark beneath it.
You don't have to commit. Just go. Just see.
He was at least ready to try.
Unbeknownst to him at the time, his high school art teacher, a quiet but fiercely protective woman, had sent his portfolio to the university's art department when he couldn't bring himself to do it. Moved by the emotional depth and technical brilliance in his pieces, the head of admissions had drafted a personal invitation for Acheron to tour the campus, hoping that seeing the school might ignite the passion she saw on the page.
Acheron had found the letter tucked inside the post and had promptly thrown it in the trash. Somehow, Acacia, ever the meddler with a soft spot, had spotted it during a visit. One text to Kai, and suddenly the entire family had been recruited into turning it into a cheerful "just-a-little-trip." No pressure, no expectations, just a normal day out.
That brought them to now.
Upstairs in his room, Acheron added the final touches to the outfit he'd laid out carefully the night before. Today's ensemble did not attempt to soften or hide who he was.
Draped in a dark, oversized jacket bristling with buckles, asymmetrical straps, and deep pockets, he looked more like a character from a forgotten cityscape than a student headed to a university open day. The garment fell heavy on his narrow shoulders, slouching with deliberate disinterest. Whenever he moved, the zippers caught the morning light, flaring silver for a heartbeat before disappearing back into shadow.
Underneath, a close-fitted white shirt offered contrast; it was the only softness in an otherwise structured silhouette. His trousers were split colours: one leg was pitch black with patches stitched roughly and boldly. The raw slashes are laced up with crimson ribbon, exposing hints of deep red fabric like a half-healed wound. The other leg was snow-white, clean and loose, drawn tight at the ankle with fraying ties.
Worn high-top sneakers, slightly scuffed at the toes, grounded the look. Functional but still comfortable. At the base of his neck, gleaming subtly under the collar of his jacket, sat his Omega collar.
Obsidian black, inlaid with delicate silver filigree. It caught the eye just long enough to be memorable, but not long enough to linger, unless you knew what you were looking at.
It is a protective mechanism. A badge of survival. A locked gate with no key unless willingly given.
It was the only piece of jewellery he currently wore, but it said more than anything else could.
As he stepped out of his room and padded down the hall, he passed his parents' bedroom. Ivy had just cracked the door open and glanced up instinctively. Her eyes flicked over his outfit, pausing at the harsh lines of his pants, the glint of his collar, the defined shape of his eyeliner.
She didn't say anything. Just smiled faintly and nodded once before closing the door gently behind her.
In the kitchen, Camlo was already in the final stages of preparation. He moved with the easy grace of someone long accustomed to bustling mornings, spreading out the travel snacks with practised precision. Ivy had passed the tradition down: no matter where they were going, may it was a beach, a hike or even a university tour, the car had to be stocked with sandwiches, coffee, and something warm for the kids.
Camlo had taken over that duty with joy.
He had stacked neat rows of travel mugs, black coffee for the adults, hot chocolate in cartoon-themed cups for the twins. Plastic containers held neatly wrapped triangle sandwiches filled with cheese, egg, or leftover roast chicken. A small bag of salted nuts. A few packs of crisps. Two extra croissants, wrapped in wax paper, sat off to the side for Acheron and Ivo.
Camlo flashed a soft grin as he spotted Acheron's shadow in the doorway.
"Morning, sweetie," Camlo greeted with a gentle smile or, at least, the best version of a smile he could manage. His morning sickness simmered just under the surface, threatening to revolt with every movement.
"Morning. How did you sleep, Camie?" Acheron asked as he stepped into the kitchen.
"Pretty well... probably not so great for your poor brother." Camlo let out a soft laugh, rubbing his temple. "I had night sweats again. Looks like these pregnancy symptoms are kicking in early."
Acheron smirked knowingly. "How many times did he shower?"
"He tried to be discreet, but I counted at least four. Might've been more." Camlo began packing sandwiches into individual lunchboxes, each one stitched neatly with a family member's name, another tradition Ivy had started when they were kids. Even now, with everyone grown, the embroidered names remained, and two more were added for Camlo and Lena.
Acheron's was in pale blue thread, understated and soft, much like the boy who bore it.
"I told him he didn't have to cling to me all night, but of course, he refused. Held onto me like a koala. A sweaty koala."
Acheron chuckled, grabbing the stack of packed boxes and helping transfer them to the cars waiting in the driveway. "He can be surprisingly stubborn when he thinks he's being helpful."
"I married a gentle tyrant," Camlo agreed, pressing a hand to his queasy stomach. "And now he's going to drive me to the hospital every time I sneeze."
As they stepped outside, the quiet morning was suddenly broken by wild laughter and stomping feet.
Ivo emerged from the front door, struggling under the weight of an over-packed nappy bag and a toddler. He held Alen securely in one arm while Nia clung to his legs like a determined little gremlin. Her golden curls bounced as she giggled wildly, refusing to let go. Ivo sighed, attempting to hobble his way forward without stepping on her fingers.
"Help," he groaned dramatically. "She's evolved. Her grip strength is unnatural."
"She's training to be a world-class wrestler," Acheron said, deadpan.
Nia caught sight of him and immediately changed course, releasing Ivo and sprinting at full toddler speed straight for her next target.
"Uh-oh," Acheron muttered.
He crouched just in time, scooping her up into his arms before she could tackle his knees. With a mischievous grin, he dug his fingers into her sides, tickling her relentlessly. Nia squealed and kicked, her laugh bright and infectious, echoing through the crisp morning air.
When she finally surrendered, red-faced and gasping, Acheron hoisted her up onto his hip. She nestled in comfortably, heavy and warm, her giggles fading into occasional snorts of aftershock.
"Excited?" Ivo asked, lifting the nappy bag into the trunk. His tone was light, but his eyes, which are gentle and searching, landed softly on Acheron.
Acheron hesitated, his fingers flexing slightly against Nia's side. "Nervous," he admitted.
"That's allowed," Ivo replied with a nod. "Though personally, I'm hoping you meet some brooding art major who falls hopelessly in love with you and writes tragic poetry by Monday."
"Gross," Acheron deadpanned, rolling his eyes as Nia nodded in fierce agreement.
Oaklen arrived with the rest of the family, chuckling at the tail end of their conversation. "Maybe wait until the tour's over before assigning dramatic lovers."
"Or don't," Ivy added, playfully nudging Oaklen. "We could use more poetry around the house."
The final car arrangements were made quickly. With so many people attending the university visit, they needed two vehicles. Oaklen took the wheel in the lead car, joined by Ivy, Kai, Camlo, and Lena. Lena had tried every tactic to convince her kids to ride with her, including snacks, toys, and even promises of singing games, but it was no use.
Wherever Uncle Ivo and Uncle Achie went, the twins wanted to follow.
So the second car belonged to Acacia, who volunteered to drive, with Ivo, Acheron, Nia, and Alen loaded into the back. The drive was just over two and a half hours, and although tiring, it quickly evolved into something fun and light-hearted. Ivo queued a chaotic playlist of throwback hits, Nia sang every third word off-key, Alen fell asleep holding his sister's shoe, and Acacia somehow managed to threaten bodily harm while laughing at the same time.
For a family who had weathered storms, these moments were rare, ordinary, sweet, and tinged with the quiet hope that maybe... things were starting to mend.
They arrived at Velmira University of the Arts, a place Acheron had dreamed of visiting for years, though he'd never quite imagined it like this. The campus sprawled across gentle hills, its architecture a striking fusion of past and present. Grand historical buildings with ivy-laced stone façades stood proudly beside sleek glass-and-steel studios that glittered beneath the soft morning sun. Sculptures dotted the landscaped gardens, some abstract and modern, others whimsical and surreal, nestled among vibrant bushes and beds of seasonal flowers bursting with colour.
Several buildings wore massive, student-painted murals like badges of honour, each one unique — a riot of styles, subjects, and mediums. Some depicted mythical beasts tangled in galaxies of stars, while others showed quiet portraits or sweeping landscapes. The whole campus pulsed with creativity.
The twins, walking hand-in-hand between their parents, stopped dead in their tracks.
Nia's jaw dropped. "Wooooow," she breathed.
Even Alen, usually the quieter one, let out a hushed, "Pretty," as his eyes traced a sculpture of a crescent moon cradling a violin.
Acheron, standing just a few feet ahead, tried and failed to suppress a matching look of awe. His gaze flicked from one detail to the next, fingers twitching against his pant leg, his body practically vibrating with the urge to paint. His artist's eye was already breaking down the composition of light and colour, imagining brushstrokes and palette choices.
From across the path, a tall figure approached, his pace relaxed, hands tucked into the pockets of faded blue jeans. A pale hoodie hung loosely from his shoulders, and a cap sat atop his curls with the word GUIDE printed in bold white letters across the front.
"Is this the Acheron Desrosiers party?" the man asked with an easy smile. His voice was warm and conversational, the kind that didn't mind being around flustered parents or chaotic toddlers.
"You found us," Oaklen chuckled, lifting a hand in greeting.
It was clear from the way the man's eyes briefly skimmed their eclectic group, ranging from giggling toddlers to quiet teens and sharply dressed adults, that he hadn't quite expected such a family turnout. Most campus tours, especially during break, weren't this... full.
"Well, good afternoon! I'm Liam, and I'll be your guide today." He handed out colourful pamphlets with a practised flourish. "Inside, you'll find a map, points of interest on campus, and even a few local spots to eat that don't require sacrificing your soul to student debt."
Camlo chuckled under his breath and immediately began flipping through the pamphlet while also fishing out a compact camera from a small cross-body bag. He'd made it his personal mission to document the day.
"Would you mind showing us to the admissions office?" Oaklen asked, one hand resting gently on Ivy's back.
"Of course," Liam nodded, gesturing toward a path lined with trimmed hedges and blooming coral azaleas. He gave detailed directions, pointing out landmarks and giving tips on where to avoid the worst of the lunch rush.
Oaklen and Ivy exchanged a quiet glance, a spark of shared intent in their eyes, before setting off in the direction of the admissions building. After seeing the light return to their youngest son's eyes, even if just in flickers, they didn't need more convincing. If there were a way to help rebuild his future, they would.
Acacia and Lena barely made it a few feet before being tugged away by small, insistent hands.
"Mommy, mommy, there's a dragon!" Nia shrieked, pointing toward a sculpture garden with fantastical beasts carved from shimmering stone and iridescent metals.
"I have to ride it," Alen announced, utterly serious.
"You can look at it," Lena said gently, crouching down to meet his eyes. "But we don't touch, remember?"
He gave a small nod, though Lena could tell she'd be repeating herself another twenty times today, maybe more.
With the family splintering off in their various directions, that left Acheron, Ivo, Acacia, and Camlo with Liam.
"Alright," Liam clapped his hands lightly. "Let's get this show on the road."
He led them east, where the heart of the Arts Department unfolded like a series of open-air galleries. Students' work adorned every surface from the oversized window displays in the glass studios to the murals painted on stairwells. The Eastern block didn't just house Painting and Sculpture but also Digital Art, Film, Theatre, and Music departments.
"This whole side of campus is all us creatives," Liam said proudly. "And yes, before you ask, we're all a little weird, and we like it that way."
He paused outside a building with an angular, geometric exterior painted in shifting tones of navy, grey, and gold.
"This is our arts cafeteria," he said. "Technically, every department has its own, but your student card gets you access to all of them. Still…" he leaned closer, his grin conspiratorial, "ours is the best. I mean, come on, fresh croissants, good coffee, and you get to eavesdrop on people arguing about brushstrokes politics."
He threw Acheron a wink.
Acheron gave a tight-lipped smile in return. It wasn't quite shyness, more like cautious amusement.
As the tour continued, Camlo quietly snapped a few candid shots of Acheron standing with Liam, listening intently to his explanation of the student studio spaces. From behind a nearby sculpture, however, another camera clicked quietly and deliberately. A long-lens lens pulled into focus, capturing Acheron's every movement from a distance.
The photographer adjusted his angle, then slowly lowered his camera. His expression was unreadable, but behind the quiet movement of the shutter, intentions not entirely pure stirred.
Unseen, a shadow had started to take notice.
"Oh, are you also part of the arts? Do you happen to write poetry?" Ivo asked, his tone far too casual to be innocent, shooting a sly glance toward Acheron with the practised skill of an older brother with an agenda.
Liam rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "I specialised in graphite illustrations, actually. Tried poetry once, but let's just say my metaphors were a crime against literature."
Acheron kept his head down, pretending to study the details on the pamphlet, but his red-tipped ears betrayed him. Ivo looked incredibly pleased with himself.
They soon approached a cluster of tall studio buildings, their wide windows gleaming under the midday sun. From inside, shapes moved. Students are busy with projects, arms waving through the air with brushes, or hunched over canvases like it were a life-or-death situation.
"These are the shared studios," Liam explained. "During finals, they're open to rent. First and second years get grouped, three per studio. But once you hit your senior year, you can apply to rent one of the single studios closer to the professor's wing."
He gestured down a path that led to more secluded structures built of older brick, partly shrouded in trees.
"It's usually the sculptors and oil painters who fight to the death over those." He grinned. "Graphite artists like me? We just need a decent table, some good light, and a pencil sharpener."
That made Acheron chuckle an unguarded sound, small but genuine. "If I didn't love the texture and richness of oil paints so much, I think I'd be a graphite artist too. Purely for the convenience of stuffing anything you would need into one backpack."
Liam and Ivo both laughed, and for a moment, the mood turned light and easy.
As the tour moved on, they crossed into a large open courtyard at the heart of the art block. A towering ancient tree rose at the centre, its thick branches stretching wide, casting mottled shade over a scattering of wooden benches and stone tables. The breeze rustled the leaves, and sunlight filtered through in soft golden beams.
Camlo had already claimed a bench beneath the tree, his swollen ankles propped on a folded jacket. Kai sat beside him, massaging his wrist absent-mindedly while handing over a cold water bottle. Camlo murmured something that made Kai smile softly.
Nearby, Ivo paced slowly, phone pressed to his ear. His voice had dropped low, almost uncharacteristically gentle. It didn't take a genius to guess who was on the other end, the mysterious Omega he'd been pursuing since high school. To this day, no one knows if they were officially together. Ivo liked to keep his cards close to his chest.
Meanwhile, Eron and Liam broke away from the group and settled at one of the smaller stone tables nestled near the hedge wall. It was just far enough to give them privacy, but close enough that the familiar sounds of family still drifted over on the breeze.
Despite only knowing each other for an hour or so, their conversation flowed easily.
"So, oil paints, huh?" Liam said, casually sipping from his water bottle.
"Yeah," Acheron replied, face softening with enthusiasm. "I've found a couple of brands I really like. One of them just released a new line of rare pigment stuff like Mummy Brown, but cruelty-free, of course. You get these beautiful, earthy undertones. And there's this green I can never pronounce, but it's perfect for shadow work."
His whole face lit up as he spoke, and Liam leaned in, genuinely interested.
"That's what I love about painters," Liam said. "You guys always talk about colour like it's emotion. Graphite has its own language, but it's all tone and pressure. Yours is… louder, in a good way."
Acheron nodded. "It's why I love it. You can whisper or scream with the same brush, depending on how you mix your paint."
Liam looked at him for a moment longer than was necessary, then quickly turned his attention to the courtyard. "Well said."
The day was warm, the campus quiet, and the conversation easy… but something subtle and unseen had begun to shift.
A soft breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the occasional chirp of birds overhead. The golden afternoon light bathed the university garden in warmth. From a shaded corner beneath a creeping ivy arch, a tall young man stood with a sleek, professional-grade camera slung in his hands. His fingers danced with familiarity over the dials and buttons as he zoomed in, the lens capturing Acheron mid-laughter beneath the shade of the great tree.
"Wow," he murmured to himself, flipping through the shots on his digital screen. "He's actually stunning."
The photographer's eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed the Alpha guide wandering off, heading toward the nearby bathrooms. The area was momentarily quiet—a perfect opportunity.