43 - Sunday Blues

The house was warm with weekend noise—the low hum of cartoons, the patter of socked feet over hardwood floors, the clink of mugs in the kitchen.

Ezra stood at the sink, elbow-deep in suds, eyes flicking out the window toward the field, still damp from last night’s rain.

Behind him, the twins raced through the living room chasing Mr. Biscuits, the dog’s tail a happy blur as he dodged and weaved between their legs.

Mia sat curled up on the couch, one leg tucked under her, her eyes half on the television and half on the chaos. Every now and then, Mr. Biscuits would leap into her lap for safety.

She looked better than she had Friday—less pale, her cheeks flushed with the faint return of energy. She even laughed when Camden shrieked about being “attacked” by the dog.

But beneath it all, something was off.

The air felt… crowded. Saturated.

Ezra noticed it in the back of his throat first. A sweetness, thick and floral, curling through the kitchen and dragging his thoughts inward. Lavender. Sharp, heady, unrestrained. It clung to the edges of his breath. Clung to his skin.

“Camden, not the pillows!” Sebastian’s voice came from the hallway, firm but not raised. “Keep them on the couch, sweetheart.”

“Okay, Daddy!” the boy chirped, already reaching to put the cushion back.

Sebastian stepped into the living room, hair still damp from a shower, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He crouched to collect a few scattered crayons, the soft hem of his sweatshirt lifting as he moved.

Ezra’s gaze caught the line of his waist, the delicate dip above his hips. A waft of lavender hit stronger there—warm and unbalanced.

His scent had spiked.

And not just spiked. It was seeping—into the air, the floorboards, into Ezra, and the Alpha part of him stirred with restless awareness. The scent curled behind his teeth. It laced the dishwater.

Too strong.

Too uncontrolled.

Sebastian wasn’t in heat, but he was giving off the kind of pheromonal flare that said something was very, very wrong.

Ezra turned from the sink, watching him silently as he brushed Caleb’s shoulder—a grounding touch, but distant. His voice remained calm with the boys. Warm. But it didn’t touch Ezra.

Every time Ezra tried to get close—offering coffee, brushing his back in passing, making small jokes—Seb stepped away. One-word answers. No eye contact. Like Ezra was something foul stuck to the bottom of his boot.

Ezra leaned against the counter, the ache in his chest rising.

“Seb,” he said softly.

Sebastian didn’t look up.

“I said, you want me to take over packing their bags?”

“No,” came the clipped response. Barely a murmur. “I’ve got it.”

The scent sharpened—lavender spiked with something tart and bitter underneath.

Ezra's nostrils flared despite himself.

His Alpha instincts flickered in the background, confused and half-aroused, trying to interpret the chemical storm seeping through the home like smoke.

Even Mia looked up now. Her brows furrowed slightly. She didn’t say anything, just curled deeper into Mr. Biscuits, breathing quietly through her mouth like she could feel it too.

By noon, the tension had sunk into the floorboards. Lunch was sandwiches. Seb cleaned up. Ezra tried to brush fingers along his waist again as they passed in the hall.

Seb flinched.

Flinched.

Ezra stood still after, jaw clenched. That wasn’t just cold. That was pain. And Seb was hurting.

Later, Seb returned to the kitchen, holding the boys’ water bottles in one hand.

His lavender scent dragged behind him like an invisible shadow, sticking to the corners, bleeding into the curtains, the couch cushions.

Ezra could taste it when he licked his teeth.

Seb’s shoulders slumped slightly as he passed, still not looking at him.

The kettle clicked off. Sebastian poured tea. The steam curled up into the thick scent around them. Ezra couldn’t breathe without taking him in.

“Hey,” Ezra murmured, stepping in close. “Can we talk?”

Seb stared at the steam. “Later.”

It was the soft exhaustion in his voice that made Ezra freeze. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even rejection. It was just—frayed. Like something was unraveling inside him.

Ezra reached for him anyway, slow and instinctive, fingers brushing the dip of his waist again. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Seb didn’t flinch this time. But he didn’t lean in either.

“I just… I need a minute,” he said.

Ezra backed off, throat dry. “Okay.”

But the scent didn’t ease. If anything, it thickened.

By midafternoon, Ezra’s jaw ached from clenching it. The lavender had become almost dizzying—flooding the house, pressing into the corners of every room. It sank into fabric. Into the walls. Into Ezra’s bloodstream.

His own scent—sandalwood and spice—was pushing back, responding on instinct.

Alpha meets Omega.

It wasn’t deliberate. It wasn’t sexual. It was biological. Ezra’s body kept trying to anchor Sebastian, to calm him, even as Seb refused to be near him.

The final straw came quietly.

“Where are your school shoes?” Seb asked the twins, crouched in the foyer.

“Uh… we left them in the truck on Friday,” Caleb said.

Seb didn’t snap. He didn’t sigh.

He just stood up, touched their heads, and walked outside.

Ezra looked up from where he was tightening a loose screw on the dining chair. Something prickled down his spine.

Less than a minute passed before Seb returned.

The air changed immediately.

The moment he stepped inside, his scent hit hard. Like a wave. Like a punch in the ribs. Ezra stood up straight, suddenly alert.

Seb didn’t say anything. Just walked straight across the room with something clenched in one fist.

“Ezra,” he said quietly.

Ezra blinked. “What—”

“Come here.”

The command in his voice struck harder than a shout. Mia looked up from her book, eyes wide.

Ezra followed him down the hall, slow and unsure. The moment they stepped into Ezra’s bedroom, Seb shut the door.

No slam.

Just a soft, final click.

He turned, and his scent slammed into Ezra’s chest—lavender, but furious. Stinging. Ezra’s Alpha recoiled and surged forward at once, trying to interpret it.

Sebastian opened his hand.

A used condom.

Knotted.

Damp.

Ezra went still.

Seb’s voice was a whisper. “I found this in the truck.”

Ezra’s pulse roared in his ears. “Seb, I—”

“There’s more.” Seb walked to the bed, yanked a pair of Ezra’s jeans from the laundry basket, reached into the pocket, and pulled out a red foil packet. Torn.

“We don’t use condoms,” Seb said, voice breaking. “So go ahead. Lie to me.”

Ezra’s voice cracked. “I swear, I haven’t slept with anyone else.”

Seb’s scent lashed out again—like thorns. His eyes were glassy, his breathing erratic.

“You think I can’t smell it?” he whispered. “Your scent was all over the truck. But hers was too. And now this?”

Ezra’s head snapped up. “Clara? You think I—?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” Seb shouted suddenly, voice splitting open. “You act like I’m nothing but a placeholder—something soft to warm your bed while you pretend to be straight and noble and loyal! But you’re lying, Ezra.”

“I’m not,” Ezra said, stepping forward, voice strained. “I don’t know where that came from. It wasn’t me.”

Seb laughed—harsh and disbelieving. “I sucked your dick this morning, then you left this in your truck for me to find? What kind of Alpha does that?”

Ezra opened his mouth, but the scent of Sebastian’s pain hit again, this time saturated with humiliation and fury.

“I should’ve known,” Seb whispered. “You’re ashamed of me. Of us. You always were.”

Ezra reached for him, chest heaving. “Don’t say that—Seb, don’t—”

Seb backed away, the packet falling to the floor. “You don’t have to say anything else. You already did.”

He turned around and began to walk away.

“Don’t walk away from me,” Ezra growled low—his voice dropping into that deep, unyielding Alpha register he never used lightly. It wasn’t just a command; it was his command, vibrating with possession and something older, primal.

Sebastian froze, the first flicker of hesitation breaking through his trembling. His breath hitched, and for a heartbeat, everything inside him fell quiet—because Ezra wasn’t just any Alpha.

He was his Alpha.

Slowly, reluctantly, Sebastian turned.

Ezra’s eyes locked onto Seb’s—raw, fierce, impossible to refuse.

Without breaking eye contact, Ezra closed the distance in a few measured steps, hands reaching out to grip Sebastian’s waist firmly but carefully. His touch was steady, grounding—claiming without words.

“Don’t ever walk away from me again,” Ezra repeated, voice low and thick with something like need and warning.

Sebastian’s eyes glossed over, shimmering dangerously close to tears.

His bottom lip trembled. Ezra softened, the hard edge in his voice melting into something gentle and desperate.

“Baby…” he whispered, the single word carrying all the weight of everything he felt but could never say.

Sebastian’s breath hitched again, a broken sound tearing free.

“I hate you,” the Omega muttered, barely audible, as tears spilled down his cheeks, hot and fast.

Ezra pulled him closer, cradling Sebastian’s head against his chest, arms tightening protectively.

“No, you don’t,” Ezra murmured, voice rough but sure.

And in that moment, all the fury, fear, and heartbreak between them twisted into something fragile—and infinitely real.

Outside, Mia’s voice came through softly:

“Twins… come on. Let’s go outside. Mr. Biscuits wants to run.”

No footsteps. No noise. Just the creak of the back door as it opened.

Inside, the silence between them was deafening. Ezra stared at Sebastian like he might fall apart if he looked away. And Sebastian…

Sebastian looked like he already had.