30 - Cracks Beneath

The waiting room was unusually quiet that morning, weighted with the sort of silence that made scents linger.

Sebastian’s lavender pheromones were soft in the air—subtle, calming. Familiar. The kind of scent meant to make small children feel safe.

He glanced at the clipboard in his lap, then up at the child nestled between two oversized plush bears on the sofa.

Milo was seven—sharp-eyed, quieter than most his age, with the scent of fear curled tight around him. Bitter and faintly sour. Sebastian inhaled through his nose once, gently, cataloging it.

Sebastian smiled softly. “Want to tell me about what happened at school?”

Milo shrugged.

Sebastian shifted, stretching his legs under the coffee table, keeping his posture open. His scent remained light but purposeful—Omega calm, steady. “You know, I have twins at home. Caleb and Camden. They're six.”

Milo looked up, nose twitching slightly. “Really?”

“Really. And they argue over the dumbest things. Like who gets the blue bowl or who saw the moon first.”

The boy’s lip twitched. A small curl of amusement crept into the air—faint citrus.

“But sometimes one of them gets really mad. Once, Camden said he hated everyone and ran into the bathroom and slammed the door. You know what I did?”

“What?”

“I sat outside the door and told him I’d be there whenever he wanted to come out. Then I reminded him that even when he says he hates me, I still love him.”

Milo stared at him for a long moment. Then said, very quietly, “My dad just yells.”

Sebastian’s scent shifted slightly, a subtle pull of empathy and warmth curling toward the boy like a blanket. “Sometimes grownups yell when they don’t know what to do with big feelings. But that doesn’t mean your feelings are wrong.”

Milo’s eyes were glossy now, but he nodded. He looked down, then back up, nose crinkling faintly.

“You smell like someone else. Like… like you’re covered in your mate.”

Sebastian blinked, then let out a quiet, surprised laugh. “Yeah. That tends to happen when you live together.”

“Is he big?” Milo asked, more curious now.

Sebastian’s smile softened. “He’s… very big.”

Miles across town, Ezra stood just outside a renovation site, the heavy roar of drills echoing behind him.

The rain hadn’t come yet, but the air was thick with pressure—charged, metallic. Ezra’s scent was sharper than usual, the deep spice of Alpha pheromones riding the edge of anger.

“I said I don’t believe you,” he hissed into his phone, pacing, hand buried in his hair. “Don’t call me again. You don’t get to do this now. Stay the hell away.”

A pause. More venom. “No, you’re not welcome here. You don’t get to look for me. Not anymore.”

He hung up, breathing hard, the tang of aggression bleeding off him like heat from concrete.

His jaw clenched so tightly the muscle fluttered. One of his workers glanced over, caught a whiff of the Alpha fury in the air, and wisely said nothing.

By evening, Ezra was quiet. Too quiet. His pheromones had dulled into something unreadable—low-burning, caged.

Sebastian noticed the tension the moment Ezra stepped into their bedroom. The air shifted, the bond between them tugging uncomfortably tight. Ezra didn’t speak. He just locked the door and pressed Sebastian back against it, hard.

His scent was overwhelming—hot spice and cedar, barely restrained.

The kiss came fast, devouring—no teasing, no buildup. Just raw need and desperation laced with Alpha pheromones so thick Sebastian swayed against the door.

He gasped, back arching into the touch, his own scent blooming high with arousal. “Ez—”

Ezra lifted him like he weighed nothing, carried him to the bed, never breaking contact. His mouth trailed down Sebastian’s throat, over the skin he’d already memorized.

When he pushed into him, it was with more force than usual—deeper, harder, chasing something with each thrust like he needed to bury himself deeper just to breathe.

Sebastian moaned, body pliant beneath him, his scent shifting fast—lavender twisted with heat, with slick, with need.

“Ezra—” he whispered, fingers gripping the sheets. “Ezra, what’s wrong?”

Ezra didn’t answer. He bit at Sebastian’s shoulder, just shy of the bond-spot, grinding down hard enough to blur the line between comfort and punishment.

The scent of their bond was thick in the room—raw and needy and unresolved.

Afterward, they lay tangled in silence. Ezra’s scent was all over Sebastian—inside him, on his neck, soaked into his skin.

Sebastian stroked Ezra’s back lightly, fingertips gentle. “Talk to me.”

Ezra turned his head, eyes unreadable. “It’s nothing.”

“Ez—”

“I said it’s nothing, Seb.”

The flatness in his tone made Sebastian ache. He didn’t push, just curled closer, wrapping himself around Ezra like muscle memory.

But the lavender of his scent had thinned with worry.

Weeks passed. Long, quiet ones. The scent of their home was still layered with domestic comfort—cinnamon from breakfast, the faded lavender of Sebastian, sandalwood from Ezra. But it all felt slightly… off.

There were good days. Laughter. Dinners. Shared chores. But under it all, something brittle remained.

Then came the rain.

It started just after midnight—an unexpected Wesmere storm that swallowed the world in damp silence.

Rain lashed the windows. Sebastian stood barefoot in the kitchen, cradling a mug he hadn’t sipped in ten minutes.

His scent barely hung in the air, muted by unrest.

Behind him, a floorboard creaked. He didn’t turn.

Ezra didn’t speak either. He just came to stand behind him, and that was enough. His scent was thick and dominant tonight, curling with something heavy—guilt, maybe. Or need.

His hands found Sebastian’s waist, grazing the sensitive skin beneath the hem of the shirt Sebastian had stolen from his drawer.

Sebastian shivered.

Ezra pulled him close, wrapping around him until Sebastian could barely think.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Ezra’s voice was low.

“Couldn’t breathe,” Sebastian whispered. “Air’s too heavy tonight.”

Ezra kissed the crook of his neck. Soft. Lingering.

Sebastian turned, set the mug down, and faced him. He didn’t speak—just curled his fingers into the waistband of Ezra’s sweatpants like he needed something to hold onto.

Ezra leaned down, kissed him again—slower now, but just as desperate.

They moved to the bedroom like it was inevitable.

Ezra didn’t undress him. He peeled him open. Every touch dragged new scent to the surface—lavender blooming fast, edged with the salt of arousal.

When Ezra finally took him, it was rough. No pretense. No restraint. He held Sebastian down, gripped him tight, left bruises where his fingers landed.

Sebastian let him. Wanted it. His own body open and begging for every drag of heat, every drop of Ezra’s scent branding him from the inside out.

And still—he knew something was wrong.

When it was over, when Ezra collapsed beside him and the rain kept falling, Sebastian whispered:

“You’re mine, right?”

Ezra didn’t answer at first. His scent didn’t change. He stared at the ceiling, jaw flexing.

Then, after too long: “What?”

Sebastian didn’t repeat it. He just watched him.

“You paused.”

“I was just… surprised.”

“No, you were lying.” The words weren’t sharp. Just tired. The hurt bled through Sebastian’s scent—thin, bitter lavender.

Ezra sat up slowly, sheets clinging to his sweat-slick back. “Seb—”

“You’re somewhere else lately,” Sebastian said, curling the blanket around himself. “You don’t touch me like you mean it anymore. You don’t talk.”

Ezra didn’t look at him.

Sebastian swallowed. “Do you regret us?”

Ezra finally turned. His scent trembled with conflict—but under it, truth.

“No.”

Just that.

Sebastian stared at him, searching for more.

None came.

He rolled away, curled toward the edge of the bed, lavender bleeding soft and hurt into the sheets.

Ezra didn’t follow.

Outside, the rain didn’t stop.

And they didn’t touch again for the rest of the night.