The message had been read.
No response.
Noël stared at the screen for the fifth time, as if something might magically appear. But Leo hadn't typed anything. Not a word. Just the harsh stamp of "Seen."
His chest tightened, then sank slowly—like a balloon losing air.
He didn't know how long he had been turning the phone over in his hand before sleep finally caught up with him. Even then, it wasn't restful. It was filled with half-dreams and flashes of emotion. Still, he woke up abruptly in the early hours of the morning, heart thudding.
What time is it?
He scrambled for his phone. 5:03 AM. His body had risen like clockwork. Years of orphanage routine had carved the habit into him.
But something was different this time.
The bed.
He sat on its edge, dazed for a moment. It was too soft. Too warm. The comfort wasn't just physical—it felt undeserved. He hadn't slept like this in months. Maybe longer.
No yelling. No loud footsteps. No cold floors. Just… stillness.
He pulled himself out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a hot shower. The water helped clear the weight pressing against his chest. By the time he reached the kitchen, the silence was almost calming.
He didn't overthink breakfast. No tension this time. No grand meal. Just something easy, something familiar.
English breakfast.
He cracked the eggs into the pan. The sound of sizzling filled the kitchen.
Then, a flash—Leo, groggy and shirtless, sitting cross-legged on their dorm floor, whining for "runny yolks, not dry ones."
Noël paused. The pan hissed beneath his hand.
He reached for his phone again, almost automatically. Still no response. Not even a reaction.
Maybe I deserve this silence, he thought.
He swallowed the disappointment and finished plating the food, setting the table quietly. Then he sat down and scrolled absently, staring at the screen more than actually reading it.
---
Meanwhile, upstairs, Avery was returning from his morning workout. A towel slung over his shoulder, headphones still around his neck, he moved with quiet steps through the hallway. As he descended the stairs, he paused for a second.
There, in the dining room, was Noël—still in pajamas, phone in hand, brow furrowed in sadness.
He looked like someone waiting for a message that wouldn't come.
Avery didn't say anything. Just watched him for a second longer before heading up to shower.
---
Fifteen minutes later, Avery came back downstairs in clean sweats and a loose t-shirt. He wasn't hungry—he told himself—but something pulled him back toward the kitchen.
Maybe it was curiosity.
Maybe it was the smell.
Maybe it was just… routine forming.
He entered the dining room and found Noël still sitting there, his breakfast untouched, eyes stuck on his phone like it held bad news.
Avery cleared his throat.
Noël jumped in his seat, startled. "Oh! Good morning!" He scrambled to his feet, flustered. "I—it's ready. I'll bring the rest of the plates."
Avery nodded once, watching him more carefully this time. The food smelled great—English breakfast, apparently. Not what he expected.
Western again? he wondered. Does he know anything else?
Still, he wasn't complaining. It had been a while since he'd had something like this—simple, filling. He sat down as Noël brought over the last dish.
Noël took the seat next to him but barely touched his plate.
He just sat there, fork in hand, picking at the sausage.
Avery glanced sideways. That sad face again.
He didn't know why, but it bothered him.
"You didn't sleep well?" he asked, not looking directly at Noël.
Noël blinked and looked up. "Huh? Oh—no, I mean, yeah. I slept really well."
Avery raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like it."
Noël blinked, then let out a weak laugh. "Right. I guess I just woke up early."
He clearly didn't want to talk about it. Avery recognized the dodge.
Before the silence thickened again, Noël changed the subject. "Um—about your laundry… Is there anything special I should know? Like how you separate your whites or whatever?"
Avery took another bite, chewed slowly. "Ask my secretary. She has a list."
"Got it," Noël nodded quickly. "Also… I guess you're working from home today? So… should I plan lunch too?"
Avery leaned back slightly in his chair. "Obviously."
Noël smiled faintly. "Alright. I'll come up with something."
But even as he said it, his eyes drifted back toward his phone.
---------
The message had been read.
No response.
Noël stared at the screen for the fifth time, as if something might magically appear. But Leo hadn't typed anything. Not a word. Just the harsh stamp of "Seen."
His chest tightened, then sank slowly like a balloon losing air.
He didn't know how long he had been turning the phone over in his hand before sleep finally caught up with him. Even then, it wasn't restful. It was filled with half-dreams and flashes of emotion. Still, he woke up abruptly in the early hours of the morning, heart thudding.
What time is it?
He scrambled for his phone. 5:03 AM. His body had risen like clockwork. Years of orphanage routine had carved the habit into him.
But something was different this time.
The bed.
He sat on its edge, dazed for a moment. It was too soft. Too warm. The comfort wasn't just physical it felt undeserved. He hadn't slept like this in months. Maybe longer.
No yelling. No loud footsteps. No cold floors. Just… stillness.
He pulled himself out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a hot shower. The water helped clear the weight pressing against his chest. By the time he reached the kitchen, the silence was almost calming.
He didn't overthink breakfast. No tension this time. No grand meal. Just something easy, something familiar.
English breakfast.
He cracked the eggs into the pan. The sound of sizzling filled the kitchen.
Then, a flash—Leo, groggy and shirtless, sitting cross-legged on their dorm floor, whining for "runny yolks, not dry ones."
Noël paused. The pan hissed beneath his hand.
He reached for his phone again, almost automatically. Still no response. Not even a reaction.
Maybe I deserve this silence, he thought.
He swallowed the disappointment and finished plating the food, setting the table quietly. Then he sat down and scrolled absently, staring at the screen more than actually reading it.
---
Meanwhile, upstairs, Avery was returning from his morning workout. A towel slung over his shoulder, headphones still around his neck, he moved with quiet steps through the hallway. As he descended the stairs, he paused for a second.
There, in the dining room, was Noël. Still in pajamas, phone in hand, brow furrowed in sadness.
He looked like someone waiting for a message that wouldn't come.
Avery didn't say anything. Just watched him for a second longer before heading up to shower.
---
20 minutes later, Avery came back downstairs in clean sweats and a loose t-shirt. He wasn't hungry, at least that what he told himself. But something pulled him back toward the kitchen.
Maybe it was curiosity.
Maybe it was the smell.
Maybe it was just… routine forming.
He entered the dining room and found Noël still sitting there, his breakfast untouched, eyes stuck on his phone like it held bad news.
Avery cleared his throat.
Noël jumped in his seat, startled. "Oh! Good morning!" He scrambled to his feet, flustered. "I—it's ready. I'll bring the rest of the plates."
Avery nodded once, watching him more carefully this time. The food smelled great—English breakfast, apparently. Not what he expected.
Western again? he wondered. Does he know anything else?
Still, he wasn't complaining. It had been a while since he'd had something like this—simple, filling. He sat down as Noël brought over the last dish.
Noël took the seat next to him but barely touched his plate.
He just sat there, fork in hand, picking at the sausage.
Avery glanced sideways. That sad face again.
He didn't know why, but it bothered him.
"You didn't sleep well?" he asked, not looking directly at Noël.
Noël blinked and looked up. "Huh? Oh—no, I mean, yeah. I slept really well."
Avery raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like it."
Noël blinked, then let out a weak laugh. "Right. I guess I just woke up early."
He clearly didn't want to talk about it. Avery recognized the dodge.
Before the silence thickened again, Noël changed the subject. "Um—about your laundry… Is there anything special I should know? Like how you separate your whites or whatever?"
Avery took another bite, chewed slowly. "Ask my secretary. She has a list."
"Got it," Noël nodded quickly. "Also… I guess you're working from home today? So… should I plan lunch too?"
Avery leaned back slightly in his chair. "Obviously."
Noël smiled faintly. "Alright. I'll come up with something."
But even as he said it, his eyes drifted back toward his phone.
---------
Avery didn't like it.
He couldn't explain it. Not fully but seeing Noël quiet, withdrawn, and lost in thought irritated him. Not in the loud, snappy kind of way. No. It was a slow simmer beneath the surface.
Something about that look on Noël's face, the way his attention was fixed on something else—someone else—made something primal twist in his chest.
Was this just the possessiveness of an Alpha?
Was that what this was?
He frowned.
Noël wasn't his. This wasn't a bond. And he wasn't the type to get jealous over a boy with fluffy hair and a tendency to flinch when spoken to. In fact, he hated dealing with people in general. Too much noise. Too many feelings.
So why did it annoy him that Noël wasn't smiling this morning?
Avery closed his laptop halfway and leaned back in the chair on the balcony, staring out at the early morning light pouring over the garden. He took a slow breath and picked up his phone just as it buzzed.
His secretary.
"Yeah?" he answered, eyes still scanning the courtyard.
She was confirming meetings for the day, as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary until she casually added:
"Oh, and the Mrs Agnes confirmed she's dropping by today."
Avery blinked. Damn. He had forgotten.
His grip tightened around the phone.
He hadn't told her.
The old woman who had raised him—fed him, disciplined him, read him stories when his parents couldn't even remember which grade he was in—was about to walk in thinking she still had a job.
And he was about to let her go.
It wasn't out of ungratefulness. If anything, it was the opposite.
She was old now. Slower. Her knees cracked when she walked. But she still tried to do everything herself. He wanted her to rest. Travel. Live.
But he also knew she'd resist. Fiercely.
Their bond was complicated. She wasn't his mother, but sometimes it felt like she was the only one who ever cared enough to act like it. Still, between them was a wall of formality that had never quite fallen—even after all these years.
He hung up the call and stared at the screen for a moment.
How the hell do you fire the only person who ever loved you properly?
-------
Meanwhile, Noël was buried in laundry—literally.
Avery's closet was an abyss, and the washing machine had its own personality. He knelt on the floor, separating whites from colors, when his phone vibrated on the nearby counter.
He picked it up quickly.
Leo.
His breath hitched.
He opened the message.
"Sorry for not replying earlier. I didn't really know what to say to your message at first… I thought you were brushing off what I said, and yeah—it hurt. But I realized I never really gave you a reason to believe me. I miss you, Noël. Can we meet up?"
There it was. Straightforward. Classic Leo.
Persistent as ever. Always the type to push when others pulled away.
Noël stared at the screen, a quiet wave of relief washing over him. Leo had answered. He wasn't angry. Or not too angry, at least. He even admitted fault. That was new.
And he still wanted to see him.
Of course he does, Noël thought, smiling faintly. He always chases what walks away.
He typed carefully, erasing his words three times before sending:
"I found a job. I'm not sure if I can leave the house yet…"
A few seconds passed.
Three dots popped up. Then disappeared. Then again.
Then finally:
"What kind of job doesn't give you a break? Not even an hour? Where are you, Noël?"
Noël bit his lip. He hadn't thought about how strange it all sounded. He hadn't told Leo anything about what happened, or where he went. Just disappeared. Now here he was, reappearing out of nowhere with a vague explanation and no real address.
He sat back on his heels and sighed. He wanted to explain. But how do you tell someone you're working for an emotionally unreadable Alpha in a mansion with silent halls and deeper secrets than he was allowed to touch?
And that the job… didn't feel like a job at all?
Before he could type a reply, he heard footsteps echoing through the hallway.
Avery was coming back.