10 - Almost Domestic

The morning began with cereal on the floor and Camden loudly declaring that socks were “optional.”

Caleb disagreed—equally loudly—his little voice cracking in offense, already running hot with dominance despite barely clearing the breakfast table.

Ezra, an Alpha to his core and already halfway into his boots, barked from the hallway with a slice of half-toasted bread clenched between his teeth. “Get in the car in thirty seconds or we’re homeschooling.”

The weight of his command pressed against the walls like a thunderclap, and even the twins, both budding Alphas themselves, paused.

Mia rolled her eyes but moved fast anyway. Her hair was brushed and sleek, her scent muted with a slick of citrus-dampening balm behind her ears—her way of keeping the schoolboys off her back.

“He’s bluffing,” she muttered, shouldering her bag and ducking under the sway of Ezra’s scent—sandalwood and cracked pepper, sharp with morning irritation.

At the stove, Sebastian stood barefoot in pajama pants and a hoodie that had lost its shape, curling faintly at the wrists.

His lavender scent cut through the room, gentle but grounding—an anchor in the morning chaos. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The whole house shifted around him like weather around a mountain, tension breaking on his skin and falling away.

He flipped pancakes with one hand and used the other to check the counter for lunchboxes, eyes narrowed in practiced calm. Pheromones pulsed around him like a low hum—subtle, warm, and impossible to ignore.

Ezra’s scent surged as he herded the kids out the door, frustration in his stride. The kids filed into the truck like sleepy ducklings.

Sebastian slipped into the passenger seat without thinking. It wasn’t planned. It just… was now. Ezra didn’t question it. Didn’t even glance over. But his scent mellowed a shade as soon as Sebastian shut the door.

At the school, Sebastian walked the twins in while Ezra took Mia toward the admin office.

Camden high-fived his new teacher with a puff of citrusy confidence. Caleb asked if he could bring frogs to class. The teacher said no. Caleb’s bottom lip quivered.

In the hallway, Sebastian stood by the main office counter, fingers tightening around the clipboard.

The registration form stared back at him—dry, impersonal. Ezra’s name was already filled in under Primary Guardian. Sebastian recognized his own handwriting there—neat, careful. Too careful.

Next line: Secondary Guardian (if applicable).

He stared. The pen hovered.

He could leave it blank. Let the system default to Ezra. Let everything stay the way it was.

But the thought of an emergency—the school calling a number that went nowhere, or worse, calling someone who didn’t know them—it made his stomach curl. He exhaled slowly, lavender rising like mist around him.

This wasn’t his house. Not really. Not officially.

But he was the one who’d scrubbed urine out of Camden’s sheets at three in the morning. He was the one who’d cradled Caleb after he found his frog—tiny, stiff, buried in the back of a sock drawer—and sobbed so hard his little Alpha scent had turned acidic with grief.

He knew the exact way Mia liked her toast. Knew when to leave her be, when to stand close but not touch. Knew her scent shifts when she was overwhelmed—knew them better than she did.

His pen dented the paper.

Sebastian Brown. His number. His email. A contact. A placeholder. A silent prayer.

He signed his name and felt something hollow open inside him. Like he’d just handed over another piece of his heart and wasn’t sure if he’d get it back.

The drive home was quiet. Ezra’s arm hung out the open window, the truck rumbled beneath them. Wind funneled inside, stirring Sebastian’s scent, brushing the hem of his hoodie.

He didn’t look at Ezra.

Not until he caught the edge of Ezra’s scent shifting—sandalwood darkening, turning into something complicated. Protective. Sharp. And yet… pulled tight with restraint.

At home, Ezra was out of the truck before the engine cut, boots hitting the ground like thunder.

“Back wall’s buckling,” he muttered, grabbing the ladder and toolkit. “Gotta fix the roof before the rain.”

Sebastian lingered at the porch, arms folded, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. His scent pushed faintly outward—concern blooming in warm lavender, brushed with clove.

“You’re going up alone?”

Ezra didn’t answer. Just disappeared around the barn.

Inside, the house was a battlefield in retreat—abandoned socks, a leaking juice box. Sebastian cleaned without complaint. Pheromones lingered like smoke. The house still felt like the kids. Like family.

He made sandwiches and sat by the window, sunlight slicing across the table like gold-laced bars.

Ezra was shirtless now.

Up on the roof, hammering nails like he was punishing something invisible. Sweat glinted on his back. Muscles flexed beneath skin. His scent drifted down in waves—heady, molten, soaked with effort and something unreadable. Sebastian’s breath caught.

He didn’t mean to stare. But he couldn’t not.

He looked away only when it started to ache.

Then he got a bottle of water, cold from the fridge, and stepped outside.

Ezra was halfway down the ladder, knuckles bleeding, red blooming against dust-covered skin.

“You’re bleeding,” Sebastian said quietly, scent tightening into focus.

Ezra glanced. Shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

Sebastian held the water out. Ezra took it, their fingers brushing—skin meeting skin, scent hitting scent.

And then—a pull. Hot. Electric. Pheromones flared between them like striking flint.

Sebastian turned, his throat tight, and went for the first-aid kit without a word.

When he came back, Ezra didn’t move. Just watched him. Let him take his hand and clean the cut.

Their scents tangled—spice and lavender, heat and calm. It wrapped around them in a pocket of charged air. The barn loomed quiet. Even the wind seemed to pause.

“I listed myself as secondary guardian today,” Sebastian said softly, focused on the gauze.

Ezra’s jaw clenched. His scent flattened, defensive.

“Why?”

“In case they need someone. If you’re not around.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Sebastian murmured, brushing antiseptic gently over the wound. “But I wanted to.”

Ezra pulled his hand back too fast. His scent spiked—burned, sharp, conflicted.

“It’s not your place.”

Sebastian looked up. And this time, he didn’t hide the flash in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to—” His words died in the open air. He couldn’t say it. Not here. Not when Ezra’s scent kept building like a wall between them.

Ezra crossed his arms over his chest. “Just don’t start thinking this is your life.”

Sebastian smiled tightly. The kind of smile that looked polite but felt like bleeding inside.

“I won’t,” he said. Even though it already was. Every sock. Every laugh. Every whispered nightmare. Every time one of the twins crawled into bed with him instead of Ezra.

He didn’t look back as Ezra walked off.

The first-aid kit sat warm in his hands.

The sun hung lower now, painting the porch in soft light. Birds rustled in the trees. Sebastian stayed there, caught in the stillness, lavender thick around him like longing.

He almost said it then. That he wanted this life. That he loved the children. That he wanted Ezra to stop pretending scent didn’t matter, that touch didn’t matter, that they didn’t matter.

But instead, he said nothing.

And let the ache bloom in silence.