I nod, wrapping my hands around the ceramic. The warmth seeps into my palms, easing the slight chill that’s been following me since we left the studio. “Thanks,” I say softly.
He moves back to the kitchen, giving me space.
The soup is exactly what I didn’t know I wanted—rich and warm. I take another spoonful, the warmth settling deeper than I expected. I can't remember the last time I actually sat down to eat instead of grabbing something between scenes or swallowing it while checking the schedule.
“Good?” Elias asks from the kitchen, his back to me as he wipes down the counter.
I nod, then remember he can’t see me. “Yeah,” I say. “Really good. Thanks.”
He doesn’t answer, just keeps moving through the familiar routine of cleaning up—wiping counters, putting away the milk, hanging the dish towel on the hook by the sink.
I watch him over the rim of my mug, considering how quickly things have changed.
Three days ago, he was just security—the presence at the edge of the set, the watchful eyes tracking movement. Now he’s making soup in my kitchen, planning to stay the night again, moving through my space like he belongs here.
The thought should make me uneasy.
Instead, it leaves me with a quiet sense of contentment that I don’t know what to do with.
Like the omega has already claimed him in a way I'm not ready to think about.
I finish the soup, setting the empty mug on the table.
“You want more?” Elias asks as he turns from the sink.
I shake my head. “I’m good. Thanks.”
He nods, moving back to the counter to finish wiping it down.
I watch the familiar motion, struck by how small the kitchen feels with both of us in it. The distance I've worked so hard to maintain feels different here. Harder to hold onto.
It's easy to blame the omega for that.
But even as I think it, I know it's not that simple.
Because part of me had been noticing Elias long before any of this started. Since the first time I noticed him watching from the edge of the set. Since I started cataloging small details without meaning to—the habits, the routines, the way he always seemed to be paying attention even when he looked distracted.
It's not just the omega.
It's me too.
I push to my feet, suddenly unable to sit still. “I should change,” I say, the words coming out steadier than I expect. “These clothes have been on since early this morning.”
Elias nods, stepping back to give me room to pass. But the kitchen is too small, the distance isn’t quite enough. As I move past him, my arm brushes his—a brief, accidental contact that shouldn’t mean anything - But it sends a jolt through me. My omega preens at the touch and the fact that he’s close enough to reach.
I don’t pull away immediately. Instead, I let the contact linger a beat longer than I should.
Elias notices. I can tell by the slight shift in his posture. His eyes find mine across the small space between us, holding my gaze.
“You should get comfortable,” he says. “It’s been a long day.”
“I won’t be long,” I say as I step back.
He nods, turning back to the counter. I watch him for a moment longer, thinking of how much has changed in the last few days. Not just the facts of my presentation, but what I’m no longer pretending I don’t feel, and what I’m starting to stop running from. The distance I’ve been maintaining since that moment in the security room isn’t enough anymore. Not with what’s coming, not with the timeline shrinking by the hour, not with the fundamental shift in how I understand myself.
I head for the bedroom, surprised by how little I want this moment to end. That having him here—having this pocket ofrelative normal in the middle of everything that’s changing—makes the constant, crawling tension under my skin ease.
I change quickly, too tired to overthink the decision. My usual sleep clothes—loose cotton pants and an old t-shirt that’s soft from too many washes. Nothing fancy or elaborate, just comfort after a day of holding myself together. My body feels different now, the heat that’s been building since this all started settled into something more manageable.
