The dawn in Aldrene broke pale and gold, filtering through the curtains of Kaein's childhood home. The house was unusually quiet—bags already packed, breakfast dishes cleared, and the weight of departure lingering in the air like the faint sweetness of tea leaves after steeping.
The morning sun poured gently through the Aldrene house, gilding the wooden beams with gold. Lior found himself pressed close against Kaein at breakfast, his Lunar pheromones still faintly lingering in the air. Kaein's family had grown used to it—his mother teasing softly, his sister smirking knowingly—but it still made Lior's cheeks warm when he caught the scent clinging to the curtains and walls.
Lior stood at the edge of the living room, suitcase handle in his hand. He didn't want to admit the heaviness in his chest. Kaein's parents had folded themselves into his world so seamlessly that leaving felt like untying threads he had only just begun to cherish.
"Eat more on the flight," Kaein's mother fussed, pressing a wrapped packet of spiced bread into Lior's hands.
"Ma—" Kaein tried to intervene, but she swatted his arm.
"You hush. You never remember to feed yourself. At least he'll make sure you do." She gave Lior a conspiratorial smile, as if she'd handed over not bread but the sacred duty of watching over her son.
Lior bowed his head, touched. "I'll take care of him. Promise."
"Don't spoil him too much," Kaein's mother laughed as she reached to hug Lior goodbye, though her voice was soft, almost maternal. "But… thank you for making my son look alive again."
Lior froze for half a heartbeat, then melted into her embrace. "He takes care of me just as much," he admitted, shy.
Kaein squeezed his hand under the table, reassuring, steady. The pheromone hum between them was quieter now, like a low-burning flame instead of wildfire. But it was there, tethering them.
The father gave them both a firm handshake, then pulled Kaein into an embrace that lingered a second longer than usual. It was the silent blessing of a man who rarely spoke his heart aloud.
At the airport, everything felt sharper. The sterile air, the hum of announcements, the curious stares. Lior was painfully aware of how easily strangers picked up on their bond—his scent anchored in Kaein, Kaein's body leaning unconsciously closer whenever they paused. To onlookers, they were simply lovers, but the pheromones whispered louder truths to anyone attuned.
At the airport, goodbyes stretched and softened, reluctant but inevitable. Finally, when they boarded the plane, the hum of the cabin replaced the warmth of home.
Five hours. Just the two of them.
"You're flushed," Kaein murmured as they sat at the boarding gate, his voice a mix of concern and teasing.
"You're needy," Lior shot back, though his cheeks betrayed him.
Kaein only smiled, lacing their fingers together. The press of his palm against Lior's made the wait easier, the world outside dimming.
Kaein leaned against the window, one hand finding Lior's under the shared blanket. "Feels strange," he admitted softly.
"Like we're leaving something unfinished."
Lior squeezed his hand, his scent unfurling faintly—silver calm with a touch of spice. "No. Just… carrying it with us."
The pheromones worked like a balm, easing the restless tension in Kaein's chest. He tilted closer, closing his eyes. Even in the crowded cabin, with strangers on either side, it felt like a private sanctuary.
By the time they landed in Verdenne, the exhaustion of travel had settled in. Their apartment—once a space of roommates, now a nest for something deeper—felt unfamiliar in its silence. Dust clung faintly to counters, sheets smelled faintly of disuse, and the refrigerator was empty except for a lone packet of soy sauce.
Kaein set down his suitcase, rolling up his sleeves. "We'll need to clean before anything else."
Lior gave him a sidelong look. "Or we order food first before you collapse from hunger."
They ended up doing both—takeout boxes of noodles spread across the kitchen counter while laundry spun in the background and dust cloths waited in a neglected pile. Between bites, they laughed at how domestic it all felt.
Hours passed in a blur of unpacking, folding clothes into drawers, rearranging the apartment as though carving out space not for two roommates, but for a bond stitched tighter by pheromones and quiet intimacy.
When night finally descended, the air in their room was heavy with warmth and familiarity.
Kaein sat on the edge of the bed, hair damp from the shower, watching as Lior tugged at the blanket. The pheromones came first, unbidden—Lior's dominance flowing like a tide, silver and commanding yet tender, wrapping around Kaein's senses until his shoulders loosened and his heartbeat slowed.
"Kaein." Lior's voice was low, almost hesitant. "You're pulling too much from me."
Kaein flushed, throat tight. "I can't help it. You—your scent—it feels like breathing for the first time. Like I've been holding my lungs empty for years."
Lior moved closer, pressing his forehead to Kaein's temple. His pheromones pulsed again, slower now, softer, like waves smoothing out jagged shorelines. "Then breathe. I'll hold it for you."
The intimacy unfolded not in urgency but in quiet reverence. Fingers brushing, breath mingling, bodies drawn together with the ache of need but tempered by something gentler—trust, safety, devotion.
Kaein melted beneath the weight of it, guided rather than consumed, every nerve alight with the way Lior's dominance didn't crush but steadied. And when they finally lay tangled in the hush of the night, Kaein whispered the truth against his chest.
"You're my home now."
And in answer, Lior's pheromones spread once more, warm and steady, sealing the night with wordless promise.
The city lights of Verdenne glittered through the window behind them, a reminder of the life waiting to unfold. And when Kaein leaned against him, too weary to move, Lior pressed his cheek against his hair and thought: This is what home feels like.