The silence that followed stretched tight.
Juno moved first.
He let the blanket drop from his shoulders. He looked exhausted, stripped clean of the confidence and the narrative armor he wore like a second skin. He looked at Rowan, his amber eyes clear for the first time in days.
"I want to stop lying," Juno said softly.
Rowan blinked. "About your designation? We know, Juno."
"About everything," he corrected. He traced the rim of his mug. "For seven years, I have curated every interaction I’ve had. I managed Mateo and Stephen because I was afraid they’d see me as weak. I managed you because I was afraid you’d see me as a liability."
He looked up, meeting her gaze.
"I don't want to manage you anymore, Rowan. I want to be known. Fully. The ugly parts. The parts that leak and shake and need. I want..." He swallowed, his throat working. "I want the specific vulnerability of trusting you not to use it against me. That’s what I want. I want to stop hiding."
Rowan’s expression softened, the manager’s mask slipping. "You aren't hiding, Juno. I see you."
"Good," he whispered.
Mateo set his empty mug down. The sound was a heavy thud on the counter.
We all looked at him. Mateo didn't do speeches. He did actions. But he pushed off the counter now, crossing his arms over that massive chest.
"I'm tired of pretending this is casual," he rumbled.
He looked at Rowan.
"I guard people," he said. "That’s the job. I stand between the asset and the threat. But with you..." He shook his head, lookingfrustrated by the limitations of language. "With you, the threat isn't just physical. It’s silence. It’s the way you look when you think you aren't enough."
He took a step toward her.
"I don't want to just guard the door, Rowan. I want to be inside the room. I want the right to touch you without needing a panic attack as an excuse. I want to claim the space."
Rowan’s breath hitched. She looked at him, wide-eyed. "That’s... that’s what I want, too, Mateo."
"Good," he said simply.
Then, they looked at me.
I adjusted my glasses. It was a reflex, a stalling tactic. I was the lawyer. I was supposed to have the structure ready. I was supposed to have the terms of service drafted and notarized.
But looking at them, the exhausted Omega, the stoic Alpha, the terrified Beta, I realized the law was insufficient.
"I want a Pack," I said.
The word dropped into the room like a stone into a still pond.
"Stephen," Juno breathed, a warning or a wish, I couldn't tell.
"I want the formality of it," I continued, my voice steady, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. "I want the legal binding. I want the shared assets. I want to walk into a room and have everyone know, without a word being spoken, that you are mine and I am yours. I want to mark you and for you to mark me in return."
I looked at Rowan.
"I want to love you," I said. "Not as a colleague. Not as a friend. I want to love you with the full, terrifying weight of what that word actually means. I want to wake up next to you every day and argue about contract law until we're both hoarse, and then I want to fuck you on my desk."
Rowan flushed a brilliant, deep red.
"But," I added, holding up a hand before the panic could set in. "I know we can't do that yet."
