Elias notices. His posture shifts almost imperceptibly, his gaze swinging towards me. But he doesn’t crowd me with questions or try to take control of the moment. He just remains beside me, calm and patient, like he’s willing to wait as long as I need.
But that’s the problem.
I should feel better.
Elias is here. The apartment is quiet. The tension that had been clawing at me for days should be easing. Instead, the restless energy beneath my skin keeps building, leaving me with the uncomfortable sense that something is still missing, even though I couldn't begin to explain what.
I should be grateful. Should be relieved that I’m not alone, that someone’s here making sure I’m okay, that I have help even when I’m too proud to ask for it. But gratitude feels miles away from what’s building under my skin—this restless, urgent need for something I can’t name.
Before I can stop myself, I reach for my phone.
My fingers curl around it almost automatically, the screen lighting beneath my touch. My contacts list is already open. Two new entries stare back at me—Bash’s straightforward listing and Adrian’s “my alpha” still sitting at the top of the screen.
I should delete them. Should swipe my finger across the screen and erase the evidence of that interaction altogether. Or at least change Adrian’s contact to something that doesn’t make my stomach flip every time I see it.
But I don’t. Instead, I stare at the screen, suddenly aware of what I’m considering. Reaching out and asking for help. Crossing a line I’ve been trying so hard not to.
“What are you thinking?” Elias asks, his voice low and even. He’s turned toward me slightly, his attention focused entirely on my face.
I close the contacts without answering, suddenly unable to look at him. “Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just checking the time.”
He doesn’t call me on the lie. Just nods once, accepting the deflection without challenging it. “It’s almost noon,” he says. “You should eat something else. The blockers work better if you’re not running on empty.”
The fact that he’s paying this much attention to me—what I need, what my body’s doing—makes something inside me soften despite myself.
“I’m not hungry,” I say automatically.
His eyes narrow slightly. “You should eat anyway,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “
I want to argue. Want to tell him I’m capable of taking care of myself, of making my own decisions, of knowing when I’m hungry and when I’m not. But the words die in my throat as I remember how it felt last night—how much easier everythingwas after I ate, how the constant, crawling tension under my skin eased when I let him take care of me.
“Fine,” I say finally. “I’ll eat something in a minute.”
He nods and turns back to the TV without pushing further, though I don’t miss the knowing look he sends my way first.
Like he's already figured out more than I've said out loud.
“You should call them,” he says after a moment, his tone deliberately even. “If that’s what you’re thinking about. They’d want to know how you’re doing.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I’m not thinking about calling anyone,” I say, though we both know it’s not true. “And I don’t need them checking on me. I’m fine. The blockers are working. I can get through this without—“
“Without help,” he finishes for me. “I know you’ve been trying to carry this alone.” Something tightens in his expression, like he's watching me make this harder on myself and doesn't know how to help without pushing. “But you’re allowed to want things, Maya. Even when you’re trying not to need them.”
“I don’t—“ I start, then stop, not sure how to finish the sentence. Don’t want them? Don’t need them? Don’t understand why my body’s responding to their presence in ways I can’t control?
But before I can find the words, my phone rings—a shrill, insistent sound that cuts through the moment. I look down and seeMy Alphaglowing across the screen, my stomach flipping hard enough to steal my breath for a second. I freeze, suddenly unable to move for a moment.
The phone rings again,My Alphastill flashing on the screen. I should let it go to voicemail. Should take a minute to think, to process, to figure out what I want before I commit to anything. I should do those things, but instead I swipe my finger across the screen, raising the phone to my ear with a calmness I don’t feel. “Hello?”
“Maya.” Adrian’s voice comes through the line, warm and easy. “Hey. How’s it going?”
The warmth in his voice sends an immediate wave of relief through my omega, the restless tension beneath my skin easing at the sound.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Just... you know. Hanging out. It’s Saturday.”
He laughs, the sound warm and familiar. “Yeah, I know what day it is. I was actually calling to see if you wanted to do something. Bash and I are having a movie night—nothing fancy, just hanging out at our place. We thought maybe you’d want to join.” The invitation settles heavily between us, simple in wording but carrying far more meaning.
"We've got that documentary you were watching the trailer for a few weeks ago," he continues. "The coral reef one." He laughs softly. "Bash's been asking me all morning if we've got enough blankets, just in case. I told him we own an embarrassing number already, but he doesn't seem convinced."
