The scent hit me before I even reached the door.
It was thick in the hallway—ripe, open, pulsing like a heartbeat. It curled through the vents, sank into the walls, and clawed at every fraying thread of my control.
Nine.
I closed my eyes, inhaling.
Gods.
It was intoxicating.
The scent of omega, full-bloomed and raw and aching. Soft like warmed honey. Sharp like glass just under silk. And beneath it all—threaded deep—was something darker, something that clung to the corners like dried tears.
Loneliness.
Nyx whimpered in my chest. He missed us.
I didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
Because I could feel it. The pull. The ache. The question that hung in the air like smoke:
Why did you leave me?
The door slid open without resistance. No lock. No guard.
Just the two of us.
The room was dim.
Cool.
Quiet.
Nine sat near the wall, knees tucked up, arms folded around them like they were the only protection he had left. His white hair spilled around his shoulders, unbrushed. His bare feet curled inward slightly, like he'd tried to make himself smaller and hadn't remembered how.
And his eyes—
They met mine the second I stepped in.
Not blank.
Not wide.
Just… watching.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
But his scent shifted.
Not enough to be noticed by anyone else.
But I felt it like a blade.
A flicker of warmth.
Then a twist of hesitation.
And underneath it, that same bitter thread of bruised longing.
Like he wasn't sure if I was really here—or just another hallucination conjured by his desperation.
I closed the door behind me slowly and stepped inside.
His head didn't lift, but his scent deepened—just slightly. That delicate shift from wary pain to hopeful ache.
He thought I'd abandoned him.
And worse?
He understood it.
I knelt slowly at the center of the room, not too close. Gave him space, even though everything in me screamed to pull him into my arms.
Nyx was restless now—growling softly in the back of my mind. He smells like he's hurting. Make it stop. Go to him.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
No answer.
I didn't expect one.
His knees were still pulled to his chest, head bowed forward against them like a curtain closing.
But I could still feel him.
The bond between us buzzed, soft and uncertain. Like it didn't know what it was allowed to be anymore.
I sat back on my heels and placed my hands in my lap.
"I didn't want to go," I said.
Still nothing.
But his breath stuttered once.
"I didn't know it would take that long. I thought I'd be back in a day. Two, maybe."
He shifted, barely, like a whisper of movement under thick water.
I lowered my voice further.
"I wanted to come to you first when I returned. But they pulled me into debrief before I could breathe. I tried to hold it together. But the only thing I could think about was—"
His eyes met mine again.
And I stopped talking.
Because I didn't need to finish the sentence.
He already knew.
And it hurt him anyway.
Because even if I hadn't meant to leave him, I had.
And that absence had carved holes in the fragile place where trust was still trying to grow.
His lips parted.
Just a little.
Then closed again.
But his scent…
It bloomed like a storm.
Pain.
Need.
Fear.
And the smallest flicker of hope.
He shifted again, slowly lowering his legs from his chest and letting them fall to the side. He sat cross-legged now, still quiet, still guarded.
But he was watching me.
With that look.
The same one he gave me before I left.
Don't go.
Nyx's voice was almost a whimper now. Touch him. Let him know we're still his. Let him know we never left.
I swallowed the knot in my throat and slowly, carefully, reached forward.
No sudden moves.
Just a hand outstretched, palm up.
He hesitated.
Then, like a leaf caught in a slow breeze, his fingers brushed mine.
Soft.
Barely there.
But real.
And I almost choked on the intensity of it.
His hand trembled.
I turned mine over and held it steady.
Let him decide.
Let him come to me.
He did.
Crawled forward—one inch, then another—until his head was just barely resting against my thigh. Not laying down. Not asking for anything.
Just close.
Just not alone.
I ran my fingers through his hair, gentle and slow.
His breath caught once.
And his scent curled tighter around us like a blanket stitched from need.