8 - Fault Lines

It had been two weeks since Sebastian moved in, and the house had started to feel less like a forgotten relic and more like a place where life was beginning again.

The children had adjusted quickly, their laughter echoing through the home that once stood silent.

Toys littered the hallways, mismatched socks piled up near the staircase, and someone was always leaving the back door open, letting in the scent of grass, soil, and occasionally the drifting tang of Ezra’s Alpha pheromones after a long day.

It was chaotic and imperfect—but it felt alive.

Sebastian had slipped into their routine so easily that Ezra sometimes forgot how recent his arrival was.

He was always where the children needed him, always calm and kind. It was a skill, really—the way Sebastian moved like he belonged there.

His Omega scent—lavender with something faintly sweet underneath—hung faintly in the linens now, in the corners of the home. He knew when Mia needed a moment alone, when the twins needed distraction.

He even had a knack for remembering where things were, like Ezra's second hammer or Mia’s lost sketchbook.

Ezra, meanwhile, did what he did best: he worked. He’d taken up a local renovation job at the far end of town.

It paid well, which mattered more than ever now. Three children meant more food, more clothes, more everything.

But the job came with long hours, and sometimes he wouldn’t get home until long after the kids had gone to bed.

On those nights, the house would be quiet—except for Sebastian, always up, always waiting. A lamp left on in the living room. The faint smell of garlic, herbs, and Omega pheromones still lingering in the air.

Ezra could track it like a trail. It grounded him in a way he didn’t have words for.

Tonight was one of those nights.

He stepped through the back door, boots heavy with dust. His scent—sandalwood and spice—carried the sharp edge of exhaustion, and it mingled in the doorway with Sebastian’s calming lavender in a mix that made something inside Ezra's chest tighten.

The kitchen lights were dimmed, casting soft shadows across the wide countertops and worn wooden floors.

There, standing barefoot in a loose shirt and boxers, was Sebastian. His scent drifted toward Ezra slowly, like it had been waiting for him—warm, soft, and dangerously comforting.

“I saved you dinner,” Sebastian said, his voice a quiet balm, like the end of a long ache.

Ezra gave a tired nod and walked to the fridge. The moment he opened it, the cold air did little to cut through the warmth pressing in on him—from Sebastian’s scent, from the way the Omega was watching him with those soft, unreadable eyes.

He grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap open, and drank half of it in one go. His shoulders ached. His scent was all aggression and tired muscle, thick in the air. He didn’t even notice Sebastian approaching until he was close enough that Ezra could feel him.

Sebastian’s scent flared subtly with proximity—lavender deepening into something more plush, like crushed petals and soft linen. It curled around Ezra, and his instincts hummed low in his spine.

“They were good today,” Sebastian murmured. “Mia helped the twins with their spelling. Camden actually asked me to read him a bedtime story. Twice.”

Ezra grunted—not out of indifference, but because the weight of the day and the Omega’s nearness pulled tight across his skin. He leaned against the kitchen island, the cool marble steadying him against the low, stubborn pull in his gut.

“I can tell they’re settling,” Sebastian said, eyes scanning Ezra’s face. There was something in his scent that flickered—quiet pride, maybe. Or affection.

Ezra didn’t look at him. He didn’t want to see that expression again. That soft, adoring one that made his instincts itch to do something about it. To protect it. Claim it. Bury himself in the warmth of it and never come up for air.

The air thickened between them—his Alpha scent brushing against Sebastian’s, testing the waters, pushing forward. Sebastian didn’t recoil. If anything, he leaned into it, his own scent deepening like a heartbeat.

And then, Sebastian reached for Ezra’s shirt—fingers light, brushing the first button at his collar. His scent spiked—nervous, hopeful, sweet.

“Here, let me—”

Ezra caught Sebastian’s wrist roughly. Not hard, not cruel—but firm enough that Sebastian stilled, his scent snapping into something sharp and uncertain.

“What are you doing?” Ezra’s voice was low, the growl beneath it involuntary.

Sebastian’s lips parted, his pulse fluttering where Ezra gripped him. “I thought—”

“No.” Ezra shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

Sebastian blinked, the hurt flaring in his scent before he could even say a word. “Do what?”

“Don’t try to seduce me.” Ezra released his wrist like it burned, stepping back.

“That night—it was a mistake. I was drunk. You were drunk. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m not—” He clenched his jaw. “I’m not gay.”

Sebastian stepped back. The oversized shirt slipped lower on his shoulders, brushing the curve of his waist. His scent faltered—like a garden left untended, curling in on itself.

“I never said you were,” he whispered.

“Well, you’re sure as hell acting like it.” Ezra’s voice cracked under the strain of all the things he wasn’t letting himself feel.

“You walk around like this is your damn house. You’re always here, always touching things. Touching them. Touching me.”

Sebastian swallowed. His scent tried to stabilize, tried to stay calm, but Ezra could feel the tremble of it, the way it twisted with sadness. “I’m just helping. You asked me to help.”

Ezra turned away, dragging a hand down his face. The smell of his own scent—conflicted, fraying at the edges—made the room feel smaller.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should keep it professional. We’re not a couple. You’re not my… whatever you think you are.”

The words sliced through the kitchen like a cold wind.

“I never thought we were,” Sebastian said, barely audible. “I’m here for them. That’s always been the deal.”

Ezra didn’t answer. He left the kitchen, his scent trailing behind him like smoke. Sebastian stood in the dim light alone, head bowed, his scent folding inwards.

Upstairs, the house creaked with the wind. Ezra stood in his room, trying to calm his breathing. His Alpha instincts were churning, confused and furious. He could still feel the ghost of Sebastian’s fingers on his chest. His scent was still in Ezra’s lungs.

It made something primal stir deep inside him—something he didn’t want to name.

His reflection in the mirror was a stranger. Eyes too wild. Shoulders too tense. Scent too unstable.

Downstairs, Sebastian carefully packed away the untouched plate of food. His movements were quiet, deliberate. He wrapped it, placed it in the fridge, turned off the lights.

When he climbed into bed that night, he lay flat, staring at the ceiling. His scent was muted, withdrawn. The space beside him was cold.

And yet…

The next morning, they both pretended like nothing had happened.

Sebastian made pancakes with Camden while Mia braided her hair at the table. She looked up once, catching Ezra’s gaze as he stole a glance at Sebastian. Her head tilted slightly—curious, perceptive.

Ezra drank his coffee in silence, his scent carefully pulled in, restrained—but every now and then, it still reached out, brushing against Sebastian like a tether he couldn’t quite sever.

The silence between them wasn’t hostile.

It was heavy. Loaded. Scented with longing and denial and everything they refused to say.

Sebastian, despite everything, still smiled.

Still helped.

Still stayed.