Acheron hadn't moved from the bench. He sat bathed in soft light filtering through the leaves above, posture relaxed but alert. He felt more at ease than he had in a long time. His conversation with Liam had left him with a strange fluttering in his chest. Enjoyment of the brief taste of normalcy. It was for that reason, perhaps, that he didn't immediately pull away when the unfamiliar Alpha approached.
The man was in his mid-twenties, with sharp cheekbones and styled, windswept hair. His clothing was simple but curated: a charcoal tee, layered necklaces, loose-cut trousers, and a camera strap slung across his chest like a sash. Stylish but with an arrogance that clung to him like expensive cologne. His grin was easy and wide, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Hey," the Alpha said smoothly, "sorry to interrupt, but you're… breathtaking. I had to try my luck and come say hi."
Acheron blinked. Compliments weren't new, though they always felt abstract, like they were meant for someone else. In the past, he'd always had someone beside him. Caden's quiet protectiveness. Hadeon's suffocating possessiveness. They had been shields, flawed ones, maybe, but shields nonetheless. Now he was alone, and for the first time, he realised how little he trusted his own instincts.
Still, he swallowed the knot in his throat and tried to steady his voice.
"Uh… thank you," he said softly, his tone clipped and dry. The sound cracked slightly at the end.
The Alpha chuckled, clearly amused. "Name's Alistair. I'm in the photography department, third year."
Acheron didn't want to give his full name, but ignoring him completely felt too direct. "Eron," he offered after a brief pause. His family's nickname. It was a compromise.
"Art department," he added shortly, keeping his words brief and tone flat.
Alistair took the cue as encouragement and lowered himself onto the bench opposite Acheron, exactly where Liam had sat just minutes ago. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking over Acheron's face with a level of intensity that made his skin prickle.
"You've got to be crazy photogenic," Alistair said. "Seriously. You're like... a sculpture."
Acheron gave a polite shrug. "Wouldn't really know. I don't get photographed much."
"Well, you should. The lighting right now? It's perfect on your skin. Makes you glow." His gaze lingered far too long.
Acheron shifted uncomfortably and glanced toward where his family had gathered, but a tall hedge blocked the view. His fingers tightened in the fabric of his pants. Justbreathe. Remember to Count. Dr. Pace's voice echoed in his mind.
"I know this is sudden," Alistair said, voice lowering slightly, "but I'd love for you to be my model. Your features are so rare...delicate, but striking. I'd love to study and capture that contrast."
Acheron's discomfort deepened. "I'm not sure I'm the right person for that," he said carefully.
"Don't say that." Alistair leaned forward. "Let me show you."
Without waiting for permission, he raised the camera and snapped a rapid series of close-ups. One of Acheron's face, the next zeroing in on the subtle shimmer of his custom Omega collar.
"Wait..." Acheron started, but it was too late.
"Here, look," Alistair said, flipping the display around. He shifted closer, clearly enjoying the discomfort sparking in Acheron's eyes. "See? You're stunning."
Acheron flinched. "Please don't take more photos."
"Let me send you these, at least. What's your number?" Alistair asked, phone already out and screen unlocked, thrusting it forward like an expectation rather than a request.
"I… I'd rather not," Acheron said, voice barely above a whisper. His hands fidgeted with the stitching at his thigh, scraping his nails along the fabric.
Alistair arched a brow. "Come on, I'm not a creep. I know I'm bold, but I mean it—I just want to get to know you."
Acheron hesitated. His hand drifted toward his own phone, trying to formulate a firmer refusal—
"He already said no."
Camlo's voice cut across the space, firm and sharp as a knife.
Alistair turned, mask slipping for just a second as annoyance flickered in his eyes. But then he gave a soft, mocking chuckle.
"Alright, alright. Message received." He stood up, brushing imaginary lint from his trousers. "Nice meeting you, Eron," he said with a pointed smile over his shoulder. "Think about my offer."
Just like that, he sauntered away...too casually, like he hadn't just crossed a boundary.
Camlo remained where he stood for a moment, arms crossed, gaze hard until Alistair was out of sight. Then he stepped closer to Acheron, his expression softening.
"You okay, kiddo?"
Acheron let out a shaky breath. "Yeah," he lied. "I'm fine."
"Eron, you did well."
Camlo settled beside Acheron on the bench, gently taking his trembling hands into his own. His grip was firm but comforting, grounding Acheron in the present moment.
"Next time, don't back away after you say no," he said gently, but seriously. "If they keep pushing, start shouting 'No' or 'Back off!' as loud as you can. Make people look. You deserve to be heard. Think you can do that?"
Acheron hesitated before nodding slowly. "Mmm… I'll try."
His voice was quiet, his eyes fixed on the ground. Shame flickered briefly across his face, though he had no reason to feel any.
A deep sigh escaped him as he leaned in, resting his head on Camlo's shoulder. He didn't cry, but his body spoke in whispers of exhaustion.
"Were you scared, hun?"
"Not at first..."
The answer was soft, almost a breath.
Camlo pulled him tighter, wrapping both arms around him now. His hand moved in slow circles against Acheron's back, trying to soothe the tremors neither of them could fully stop. Camlo forced down the flare of anger rising in his chest. He could deal with the entitled Alpha later. Right now, Eron needed safety, not vengeance.
Footsteps crunched softly over the path nearby.
Kai approached the scene, pausing when he saw the two of them. Camlo raised a single finger to his lips and gave a small shake of his head. The silent message was clear: Not now. Kai respected that; he could always ask later. The fact that Camlo hadn't called for him meant the situation had been contained, for now.
Without a word, Kai placed two frozen cups of ice cream on the nearby table. Camlo had texted him earlier from the bench, saying he had a craving. While picking his flavour, he'd instinctively bought Acheron's favourite too, knowing that with his sweet tooth, he always had a craving.
As if summoned by some inner radar, Acheron lifted his head the moment he smelled the treat. He reached for the ice cream like a starved hellhound and tore into it with rare enthusiasm, the cold bite and sugary taste already improving his mood.
Camlo couldn't help but chuckle. "That's more like it."
The family had decided to gather at the Arts Department cafeteria for lunch. Acheron had timidly suggested a nearby restaurant he liked, hoping for a quiet atmosphere and familiar comfort food, but he was swiftly and unanimously outvoted nine to one. For reasons that remained suspect, everyone insisted they had to try the food he'd be eating for the next three years. He had a sneaking suspicion it was more about spying on the student experience than the actual food.
With the university on break, the kitchen wasn't offering the full menu, but they still managed to grab a variety of available dishes. These were all placed at the centre of one of the long, rustic wooden tables. An impromptu family feast formed, each person reaching over and across like a wild orchestra of chopsticks, forks, and communal curiosity.
Because the cafeteria didn't offer toddler booster seats, Alen sat on Oaklen's lap, while Nia climbed onto Acacia's. This set the stage for chaos.
At one point, Nia boldly reached out and stole a dumpling right from her father's chopsticks mid-air.
"Hey!" Acacia protested with a laugh. "You goblin!"
Pleased with herself, Nia beamed, chewing victoriously. Alen, ever the copycat, tried the same move with his grandfather. Oaklen caught on immediately and started playfully pulling his food just out of reach each time Alen reached for it.
The boy's little brow furrowed. His lip wobbled.
"Alright, alright," Oaklen surrendered with a theatrical sigh, finally offering the bite to his grandson. "I can't say no to that face."
Laughter erupted around the table.
After clearing the plates and wiping away the worst of the mess, Nia and Alen brought out two crumpled sheets of paper from their tiny backpacks. They had drawn with the crayons gifted by the smiling receptionist earlier.
"Look, look!" Nia insisted, waving hers high. Her drawing was bright and cheerful, two stick figures surrounded by colourful swirls. "This is me and Uncle Achie painting together on an adventure!"
Acheron gave her an exaggerated gasp of admiration. "Masterpiece. Gallery-worthy."
She giggled and puffed up proudly.
Alen's drawing was... different. A single, swirling mass of black, thick and heavy on the paper, as if he'd gone over it again and again. He clutched it tightly and refused to let anyone hold it.
"What is it, baby?" Lena asked gently.
"Shadow monster," he mumbled through his pacifier. Then he pulled it to his chest and said no more. The room went a little quiet, the contrast lingering in the air like a faint chill.
Acheron cleared his throat. "Bathroom."
He stood and spotted the Male Omega sign across the room. Camlo instinctively rose as well, but Acheron held up a hand.
"I'll be fine. Really." His voice was quiet but sure.
Camlo hesitated, then nodded, slowly taking his seat again. He watched until Acheron was out of sight.
Once he was confident Eron was far enough away, Camlo turned back to the family and quietly recounted what had happened earlier with the photographer. He didn't dramatise or downplay it, he just told them the truth.
Ivy's face darkened. "He handled it better than I thought he would."
"A few months ago," Oaklen added, "maybe even just a few weeks ago… that could've triggered a full breakdown."
"He's making progress," Camlo agreed softly.
"I still hate letting him walk around alone," Ivo said, his voice tight with worry. "Today didn't go badly, but what about next time? What if no one's there? Maybe I should transfer here. Their media program's not bad."
"No," Oaklen said firmly. "We can't go back to that. Caging him didn't help before, and it won't help now."
"But leaving him alone feels worse," Ivo argued. "I know he needs space, but what if we lose him again?"
"We'll figure something out. There's still time before the semester starts," Oaklen sighed, looking suddenly tired.
"I'm sorry," Ivo murmured, his hands twisting in his lap. His voice cracked. "Maybe I should've done more back then. Maybe if I'd noticed something sooner…"
"No one blames you," Oaklen said quickly.
"Maybe you should."
The table fell dead silent.
The noise of the cafeteria carried on around them; clinking cutlery, distant chatter, laughter from other tables, but it no longer reached them. The silence at their own table felt deep, still, and heavy.
The sun had already begun its slow descent when the Desrosiers family finally stepped out of the Arts Department cafeteria. Full bellies and warm laughter clung to their group like a second skin, the kind that only came from shared meals and inside jokes.
Acheron stretched as he exited the building, a soft yawn escaping before he could suppress it. His body ached, not from exertion, but from the sheer amount of feeling the day had wrung from him. He didn't say much, but his hand briefly brushed Camlo's on the way out. It was quiet gratitude, subtle but real.
He lingered behind for a moment, staring at the building's mural-painted walls, as if memorising it for later. Then he turned, calling softly after the others, and followed them out.
The long drive home was steeped in a comfortable quiet. The late afternoon sun bled orange across the sky, casting soft shadows through the car windows.
In the second car, Acheron slept lightly, his head resting against the cool glass, his breath leaving faint fog prints on the pane. Nia lay sprawled across his lap, one small hand tangled in the hem of his shirt, the other clutched around a crayon she'd refused to let go of. Her mouth hung open, a soft snore escaping every now and then, and a shallow puddle of drool had formed on Eron's pants, but he didn't stir.
Alen was curled beside her, head resting comfortably on Ivo's thigh, his pacifier still tucked between his lips, his arms hugging the worn crocheted blanket. At least he had the decency not to drool.
Ivo, however, was wide awake. He looked over at Acheron, then down at Alen curled up beside him. He wondered if the weight pressing on his chest would ever fully lift. If watching his brother smile today meant he was healing, or simply getting better at hiding the hurt. His head rested back against the seat, but his mind was too loud. Thoughts churned: about Acheron, about the incident, about what he should've said or done differently. The temptation to transfer universities pressed in on him again. He stared at the ceiling, brows drawn tight in quiet frustration.
In the car ahead, the atmosphere was markedly more cheerful.
Oaklen and Ivy sat in the front, talking animatedly with Kai and Camlo in the back seats. Camlo cradled his travel mug of lukewarm chamomile tea while his free hand rested over his small bump, already forming. Ivy, beaming, was in full storytelling mode.
"We tried to potty train Kai at two," she said, laughing, "and somehow ended up with more pee on the walls and in his socks than in the actual potty!"
"Don't forget when he slipped and knocked the whole training seat over," Oaklen added, chuckling. "Screamed like we'd tried to kill him."
Even Camlo laughed, albeit tiredly. "That sounds about right."
Lena smiled, but her nerves showed. "We've been putting it off. But recently, Nia told us she wants to be a big girl and not wear diapers anymore."
"That's a good sign," Ivy encouraged warmly. "Let her take the lead, but maybe put a tarp over the furniture for a week."
Everyone laughed.
Then Ivy's phone buzzed. Her cheerful ringtone rang out: a classical piano piece with a distinct chime she had set specially for the lawyer—Sauveterre.
She answered with quick efficiency, only to find it was a message. She opened it.
Her smile faded.
Sauveterre
Meeting set for tomorrow at 14:00. It would be best if Acheron could join.
She stared at the screen a moment too long. Oaklen glanced at her.
"Ivy?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned her phone to show him the message. The warmth in the car dimmed slightly, as if someone had drawn a curtain over the sun.
"Do we tell him tonight?" Camlo asked quietly.
"I think we have to," Ivy murmured. "Even if it's just to prepare him."
In the quiet that followed, the road stretched on.
In the car behind them, Acheron shifted slightly in his sleep, completely unaware that tomorrow would be a day that might change everything again.
Eamon placed a couple of folders neatly on the towering stack beside his desk, the paper edges slightly frayed from overuse. His fingers drifted to the tie around his neck. It had begun to feel like a noose hours ago, but now it was unbearable. With a sharp tug, he loosened the knot—then gave up entirely and yanked it off. He exhaled, almost as if the simple act had given him some kind of freedom.
Despite the years of wearing formal attire without complaint, he still despised the feeling. The polished exterior might impress clients and colleagues, but once the door to his office shut behind him, the suffocation returned.
His gaze caught on his own reflection in the darkened office window. His jaw is locked tight, brows drawn together, and a pulse visibly beating at the side of his neck. He looked tired. Frustrated. Too wound up to rest, too sharp to unravel.
The screen of his phone lit up on the corner of his desk. He picked it up again, his thumb hovering briefly before pressing the screen.
There it was...the photo he hadn't been able to stop looking at.
Acheron sat beneath the sprawling shade of a tree, head tilted back in laughter. There was light in his eyes. Real, unguarded joy. The sun caught in the messy strands of his hair, and something about the angle made his features seem almost dreamlike.
Across from him, another Alpha sat, leaning in slightly, laughing too. The man's face wasn't fully visible, shadowed and just out of focus, but even from the grainy capture, Eamon could tell: he was attractive and confident.
Eamon's stomach twisted with something he didn't quite want to name. He didn't look away from the screen, not at first. But when the strange mix of emotion in his chest became too much, he locked the phone and set it aside with more force than necessary.
He dropped into his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him. The soft clink of the file drawer opening followed, and he pulled out a case folder, one of many, forcing his focus back to work.
But even as he scanned the first line of legal text, Acheron's laughing smile lingered like static in the back of his mind.