The dining room was silent. The kind of silence that made even the clink of a fork against porcelain sound too loud.
Noël stood beside the table, hands neatly clasped in front of him, waiting. Avery had already started eating. Slow, deliberate bites yet he hadn't said a word.
No reactions. No comments. Just... chewing.
Noël's thoughts raced faster than his heartbeat.
Is it bad? Maybe the seasoning's too strong. Or too subtle? Did I overcook the chicken? What if this ruins everything?
Still, Avery ate.
Noël remained still, unsure if he should stay or leave. The longer the silence stretched, the more tightly he gripped the back of the empty chair next to him.
Then Avery finally spoke.
"Are you just going to stand there staring at me eat all night?"
Noël flinched slightly, blinking in surprise. "Ah—sorry. I just… I thought you were going to say if it was okay or not."
Avery raised a brow. "I didn't die after the first bite, did I?"
Noël wasn't sure if that was a compliment or sarcasm, but he took it as a green light.
He hesitated for only a second before making a plate for himself. Then, quietly, he walked around the table and sat down.
Across from Avery.
Avery paused mid-chew, eyeing the boy over the rim of his glass.
No one had ever done that before.
The staff never sat with him. Even his nanny, who had raised him from a toddler, never once ate at the same table. She just served and slipped away like a shadow. His meals had always been solitary, like the food itself was a companion. He hadn't realized how much he'd grown used to it.
And now here was Noël.
Young. Small. Silent. Sitting down across from him like it was nothing.
Avery didn't say anything. He just watched as Noël took his first bite.
Noël wasn't sure what to expect, but the moment the flavors hit his tongue, his eyes widened ever so slightly.
I actually did it.
It was buttery, rich, with the right touch of spice. The texture was perfect. It might've been one of the best dishes he'd ever made and he had made a lot of food in his short life. But this felt different.
He wasn't making it for kids at the orphanage. Not for his Beta friend back at uni. Not even for himself.
He made it for someone who might change his life.
He didn't realize he was smiling until he glanced up and caught Avery staring at him.
Noël's smile faded quickly, like he'd been caught doing something wrong.
Avery looked away just as quickly, chewing with a distracted look.
Weird kid.
But in the corner of his mind somewhere quiet and guarded, Avery admitted the truth to himself:
The food is good. Really good.
He wasn't used to dishes like this. Fancy sauces and French-sounding names were reserved for company dinners, business events, or high-profile gatherings. Normally, he preferred the comfort of stews and roasted meats the way his nanny made them.
Still, something about this meal made him want to take another bite. And another.
He glanced back up briefly, and Noël was still eating, quieter now, more focused.
And for the first time in a long while, Avery didn't feel like he was eating alone.
------
Avery finished eating before Noël. He set down his utensils with a soft clink and pushed his chair back, rising without a word. Noël looked up, unsure if he should say something but Avery had already turned and left the room.
Upstairs, Avery loosened the buttons of his shirt as he entered his room. He kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, hand pressing lightly against his stomach.
Too much.
There was a slight discomfort. A fullness he didn't expect. It took him a moment to realize why it felt so strange.
I usually shower first.
That was his routine. Come home. Strip off the day. Cleanse. Then maybe eat if he wasn't too tired. But tonight, somehow, he had walked straight into the dining room. Straight to the food.
He frowned, confused at himself.
How did I even end up sitting down before washing up?
The answer was fuzzy, like a whisper in the back of his mind he didn't want to name. Something about the scent. The warmth. The boy standing there, looking like he had everything to prove.
I let my guard down for food? Or was it something else?
He didn't know. So instead, he stood up and headed to the bathroom without giving it more thought.
---
Meanwhile, Noël finished his last few bites with less pressure now that Avery had gone. He was still unsure if that silence meant the food was acceptable or just not offensive enough to comment on.
After clearing his plate, he quietly moved around the kitchen, packing the leftovers and slipping the cookies into a container. He loaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters, and turned off the lights before heading upstairs.
The moment he entered his room, the fatigue hit. But it wasn't just physical it was the mental kind that came after holding in too much all day.
He collapsed onto the bed and pulled out his broken phone. The screen had a crack across the corner, but now that he had Wi-Fi again, it finally lit up with notifications.
So many missed messages.
He scrolled absently, letting the world rush back in through his screen. News, random updates, silly memes. Then his eyes caught one notification at the top.
Leo: "I miss you, idiot. I really do. And not just in a roommate way. More than that. I thought you knew."
Noël sat up a little straighter.
What...?
He blinked at the message, reading it twice, then three times.
Was this… a confession?
His chest tightened. Not in panic but in that sharp, uncertain way when something familiar suddenly changes shape.
He hadn't told Leo he was leaving. He hadn't told anyone. Just packed his things during class hours and slipped away like a secret. No goodbye, no note. He couldn't face it. The questions. The sympathy. The judgment.
The truth was, Noël had learned to leave quietly. It started in the orphanage.
---
Noël was abandoned outside a small-town orphanage on Christmas morning, wrapped in a blanket with a handwritten note:
"His name is Noël. Born December 25. Male, Omega."
Weeks later, the orphanage staff heard of a young Omega woman found dead under mysterious circumstances. Though no one ever confirmed it, the caretakers suspected she was Noël's mother.
Noël grew up without a family name or adoption papers. He stayed behind as he watched child after child leave-each new departure quietly breaking his heart. Fragile and shy, he was often overlooked by potential parents, many of whom didn't want the responsibility of a "weaker Omega".
He was nine when the first family dropped him off again. Eleven when he stopped asking questions. Thirteen when he stopped believing people would stay.
There were kind caretakers, sure. But they rotated. Volunteers came and went. People promised to write. No one ever did.
He was used to people disappearing. It was easier to beat them to it.
That's why Leo's messages stung.
-------
Opening the chat, Noël scrolled back through the unread trail of emotions:
Leo (4 months ago):
"Where the hell are you? You're not answering."
Leo:
"Did you drop out or something? Are you okay?"
Leo:
"If you needed to go, you could've told me. I would've… I don't know. Helped? Covered for you?"
Leo:
"You're such a brat, Noël. But I keep looking at your empty bed and wondering if you're alive."
Then silence.
Then… today's message.
Noël stared at the screen for a long while. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to say.
"Sorry I disappeared"?
Too weak.
"I didn't want anyone to know"?
Too vague.
"I miss you too"?
Too dangerous.
He finally typed something simple, unsure if it was enough.
Noël:
"Hey. I got your messages. I'm sorry I left like that. I'm okay. I hope you are too."
He stared at the message, debating whether to send it. Then, after a long exhale, he hit send.
And placed the phone face down.