42 - Please Stay Forever

The house was quiet.

Not silent—quiet in the way of soft blankets and held breaths. The kettle hissed low on the stove, steam curling lazily into the chill of early morning.

From the cracked window came faint birdsong, the kind that made the world feel gentler. Toast browned on the counter. The air smelled of ginger jam and butter—and faintly, soothingly, of lavender and nesting musk.

Mia hadn’t moved from the couch.

She’d come down alone just after dawn, wrapped in a throw blanket, curled sideways like she was trying to vanish into the cushions.

Her cheeks were flushed, her brow pinched in a sleep-sour wince. Her scent was sharp with pain and hormonal shift—citrus tangled with discomfort.

She hadn’t asked for water. Or food. Or Ezra. She just... laid there.

Sebastian moved barefoot through the kitchen, quiet and purposeful. His scent lingered low and constant in the room: warm lavender and the soft spice of omega pheromones, thickened by poor sleep.

His sweatshirt slipped off one shoulder, sleeves shoved to the elbows. Underneath, only boxer-briefs and the half-lidded look of someone who hadn’t slept but hadn’t let that stop him.

He sliced apples into thin fans. Spread toast with strawberry jam. Arranged a pale-pink mug of tea on a small tray. Soft motions. A careful rhythm.

Behind him, the floorboards creaked.

The presence that stepped into his space was familiar now, like gravity.

Alpha musk rolled in behind him—sandalwood, heat, something darker and earthier that curled around Sebastian like a second skin.

Ezra didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Shirtless and warm from sleep, he moved in close and bracketed Sebastian’s smaller frame with his own.

One arm circled his waist. The other slid low, palm spreading over the soft slope of Sebastian’s stomach.

Ezra’s mouth pressed to the curve of his neck, scenting instinctually.

“You always smell this good in the morning?” he asked, voice gravel-thick with sleep.

Sebastian’s hand faltered just slightly over the butter knife. “Soap and breakfast,” he muttered dryly.

Ezra hummed. “Fucking torture.”

He pressed closer. A lazy grind of hips against Sebastian’s backside, all sleep-heavy want and low friction. The contact stirred a burst of Sebastian’s scent—richer, sweeter—and the tray trembled faintly beneath his hands.

“Ez—” he warned, a tremor in his tone.

“Hm?” Ezra’s mouth brushed the tendon in his neck. One hand splayed over Sebastian’s hip, possessive and slow. His own scent surged, dominant and grounding.

Sebastian reached back, palm landing on the muscle of Ezra’s thigh, more protest than push. But he didn’t pull away. Not really. He leaned into the touch, let Ezra breathe heat into his skin, let it flood him warm from the inside out.

And then—

“Daddy! We can’t find our shoes!”

Thunderous footsteps pounded from upstairs.

Ezra groaned, dragging his mouth away with a frustrated breath. Sebastian, breathless, gave a shaky laugh. “You’re the worst.”

Ezra only grinned, already grabbing the last gulp of his coffee before stepping back.

Moments later, the twins came barreling down the stairs in a blur of motion—one missing a sock, the other wearing his backpack upside down.

The scent of their little Alpha bodies filled the space: boisterous, wild, laced faintly with lavender from too much time clinging to Sebastian’s clothes.

Sebastian crouched to meet them, helping Camden wiggle into his shoes while Caleb clung to his neck like a vine.

“Let’s not be chaos monsters today,” Sebastian murmured, voice fond but tired.

Ezra, hovering nearby with a half-eaten apple, gave him a look. “You didn’t have to prep all this.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sebastian replied, smoothing Caleb’s collar. “Figured I’d make myself useful.”

Ezra’s gaze lingered. “You’re always useful.”

Their eyes met—just for a moment—but the look stayed with them. The scent of affection curled warm and slow between them.

The truck rumbled along the narrow road, morning light washing the horizon in gold. Sebastian sat in the passenger seat, the cake box warm on his lap. The truck smelled like Ezra and pine and fresh-baked bread—and beneath it, Sebastian’s scent, calming and ever-present.

"Are you okay?" Ezra asked, noticing the detached look on Sebastian's face.

Sebastian sighed and nodded, "Yeah, just thinking about Mia."

Ezra’s fingers tapped the steering wheel. “She okay?”

Sebastian looked out the window. “She’s in pain. But it’s not just that. I think… I think we should take her in.”

Ezra’s eyes flicked toward him. “The hospital?”

“Just a doctor,” Sebastian said quietly. “This is her first period. She hasn't even started her heat cycle. She’s fourteen, Ez. That’s late. Could be nothing—but…”

“You worry.” Ezra reached over, fingers brushing Sebastian’s knee. Just once. Just enough.

“You’re good at that.”

Sebastian didn’t smile, but some knot inside him loosened. “I just want to be sure.”

By the time they arrived at the school courtyard, the bake sale was in full swing. Tables covered in gingham. Paper cups of coffee. Parents in casual blazers comparing gluten-free muffins. The scent of sugar clung thick in the air, and the whole space buzzed with a kind of competitive cheer.

Sebastian stepped out first, carefully balancing the chocolate-raspberry cake. The twins tumbled out behind him, cheeks flushed, already sticky from toast. Their Alpha scents pinged off the sugar in the air, bright and uncontained.

“Hold my shirt, please,” Sebastian said, and Caleb immediately clung to his side. Camden wrapped both arms around Sebastian’s leg and giggled, burying his nose in the crook of Sebastian’s hip.

“You sure you’ve got them?” Ezra asked, already eyeing the scene.

Sebastian gave him a crooked smirk. “I’ve got everything, Ez.”

That earned him a long, slow look.

Ezra touched his shoulder—quick and grounding before slipping back into the truck with a final glance. Then he was gone, leaving Sebastian to the morning chaos.

The moment the truck turned the corner, Sebastian exhaled and squared his shoulders. Adjusted his sweatshirt. Lifted his chin.

He knew this part too well.

The nods from other parents. The smiles with no teeth. The ones who avoided eye contact entirely. But most didn’t look twice anymore.

To them, he was just Mia’s Omega dad. The one with the soft curls, the pastel hoodies, the gentle scent and the easy calm. The one who didn’t quite fit in—but stayed anyway.

He set the cake on the table and kissed both twins on the forehead. “Don’t sneeze on anything.”

“I washed twice,” Camden declared, raising clean hands.

“Like three times,” Caleb added solemnly.

Sebastian’s laugh was soft.

He turned just in time to see a small group of girls approaching—Mia’s friends, concern etched across their faces.

“Mr. Brown?” Elise asked, shy.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Mia hasn’t answered our messages… Is she okay?”

Sebastian turned to them fully. “She’s alright. Just a little under the weather. She’ll be back Monday, I promise.”

“Not mad at us?” another whispered.

“Not even close,” he assured. “She loves you all. She just needs rest.”

They relaxed, smiles returning. One girl lingered, slipping a tiny bracelet wrapped in plastic onto the table. “In case she needs cheering up.”

Sebastian’s throat tightened. “She’ll love that.”

The rest of the morning passed in a sticky haze of sugar and sun. The twins managed to coat their cheeks in chocolate. Sebastian was too tired to care.

He was wiping Caleb’s mouth with a napkin when someone behind him cleared her throat.

“Sebastian.”

He turned.

Rachel Atwell.

She stood crisp and closed off, eyes flicking over the twins, then down to his untied shoelace like it personally offended her.

Her nostrils flared slightly, no doubt catching the scent of Omega on him.

“Rachel,” Sebastian said smoothly. “Good to see you.”

She gave a tight nod. No smile. And then walked away.

No reason. No words.

Sebastian didn’t react—outwardly. But something knotted under his ribs.

“Is she mad?” Camden whispered.

“No, love,” Sebastian said gently, crouching beside him. “Some people are just… different kinds of warm.”

The bunting overhead swayed in the breeze as the crowd gathered near the end of the bake sale. A flustered teacher with frosting on her cardigan stood in front of the prize table, clutching a slip of paper.

“And the winner of our mystery pet prize is… the chocolate raspberry cake!”

The twins screamed in unison.

Sebastian blinked. “We… what?”

A large crate was rolled forward, and inside it, wide-eyed and bewildered, sat a German shepherd puppy with a red bow tangled around one ear.

The twins rushed forward.

“We won! We won!”

Caleb pressed his face to the crate. “His name is Mr. Biscuits!”

Sebastian stared. “Why Mr. Biscuits?”

“Because he looks like a biscuit,” Caleb said proudly.

There was no logic. Just joy.

Sebastian looked around at the crowd, the clapping parents, the beaming teacher. But when he turned back to the twins, radiant with pride, he only crouched beside them.

“Alright,” he murmured. “He’s your responsibility.”

They nodded solemnly. And then flung their arms around him.

Sebastian nearly dropped the leash.

That evening, the house was golden with firelight and full of warmth. Ezra grilled cheese. Sebastian made soup. The puppy—already snoozing—curled up near the fireplace with one paw twitching in a dream.

Mia ate on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a hot pack on her stomach and tea clutched in both hands. Her eyes were glassy. But she ate.

Later, when the house had settled and the twins were snoring upstairs, Sebastian slipped into the living room and sat beside her. He rubbed soft circles into her back. Her head lolled against his shoulder. Her citrus scent had mellowed—still sharp at the edges, but slowly evening out.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what, baby?”

“For staying.”

Sebastian kissed the top of her head.

Her voice slurred with sleep, fragile and small. “Please stay forever.”

He didn’t answer. Not right away.

But he didn’t move.

And that was enough.