Charles hesitated at the threshold just enough that I noticed the slight pause in his step.
Inside, the store was bright. Loud. Too many colors. Too many choices. It was sure to be overwhelming.
I walked ahead, calm and composed with Charles behind, eyes taking in everything with curiosity and caution. He didn’t touch anything, nor did he speak.
I reached for a basket and handed it to him without comment, which he took with both hands, holding it like it might be part of a test.
I didn’t correct him, nor did I guide him. Mostly, the basket gave him something to shield himself with from the items that he most likely had no clue what to do with. And as we walked through the aisles, I kept one eye on the list in my phone—milk, bread, things for dinner—and the other on Charles.
I noticed how he flinched slightly when someone brushed past. I noticed how he stood too straight, too still, like he was bracing for correction.
I slowed, letting Charles match it step for step. The Omega was scared, and rightfully so. But really, he was doing better than I expected, even with the lingering fragments of subspace.
When we reached the produce section, I handed him a bag and pointed to the apples. “Pick a few.”
He looked at me, uncertainly.
“Any kind,” I added kindly. “Your choice.”
Charles blinked. Then turned to the fruit. And for the first time since we entered the store, he moved without waiting for permission.Maybe giving him tasks helped, I thought.
“Potatoes. How ever many you think we’ll need for the stew.” I said, handing him another bag once the apples were placed in the basket.
“Do…do you like red or brown ones best, Sir?”
Assuming that the Lockswell House went on the cheaper side, I answered, “Brown.” I enjoyed both, but I wasn’t the one cooking the stew today.
Charles nodded putting a good amount of the brown potatoes into a bag.
“What else do we need for the stew?” I knew, or could look it up on my phone, but I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to show him that it was okay to talk without fearing of being hit.
“Carrots, the canned ones. And corn, peas, and then stew meat.”
“Alright.” I turned, knowing that he’d follow.
Thankfully, the few people that knew me wisely kept their distance. I wasn’t up to explaining why I had an Omega at my side.
It didn’t take long to grab what we needed. Then, I led Charls to a checkout line, where the one checker took ten times longer to get through each customer.
I stood beside him, basket in hand, posture relaxed. Charles kept his eyes low, hands folded neatly in front of him. He didn’t fidget, didn’t speak. Just waited.
The cashier was young, distracted, chatting with another customer as she scanned items.
When it was our turn, I stepped forward, placing the basket on the counter. Charles stayed half a step behind, still watching. Still taking in everything around him and my movements at the same time.
Then—
“Love your shirt,” the cashier said, glancing at the Omega with a quick smile. It was a simple one, black with a ghost on the front with some silly saying. It definitely was something Adrian would have picked out.
Charles blinked. Then, once the words processed, he nodded once, unsure if he was supposed to respond.
I didn’t say anything. But I noticed the way his fingers curled slightly into a fist, like he was holding onto something he didn’t quite understand.
I let the moment pass without comment. Because sometimes, the smallest kindnesses were the ones that lingered longest
***
I left Charles in the kitchen, putting together the stew. I almost didn’t want him out of my sight, but after the morning so far, I thought it’d be best to give him space.
