“If we want this to work, we need to stop thinking about who she reaches for first and start thinking about what she needs.”
“It’s already happening,” Bash says after a moment, his voice low. “The competition, I mean. I keep catching myself watching how she responds to you two. Noticing who makes her smile fastest, who she leans toward first.” He shakes his head slightly, frustration edging into his tone. “It’s fucked up. She’s already overwhelmed enough without us making it worse.”
Embarrassment flickers across Adrian’s face. “Part of me has been fighting possessiveness harder than I expected,” he admits, his voice low. “Not toward Maya herself, but toward the situation. I’m terrified of failing her, of pushing too hard or not enough or—“ He stops, frustration clear in the set of his shoulders. “I’m terrified she’ll panic and disappear. That she’ll decide this is all too overwhelming and choose distance instead.”
The vulnerability in his voice surprises me. Adrian doesn’t show this side of himself often—the part that worries and second-guesses and cares too deeply to risk being casual about it. He’s good at making people comfortable, at reading rooms andadjusting to fill whatever space the moment needs. But this—the raw concern beneath his confidence—is something I’ve never seen.
“I’ve been so focused on making things easier for her that I haven’t stopped to process how deeply attached I already am,” Bash says after a moment, his voice deliberately even. “She already feels like home.” The words land heavily between us, weighted with a sincerity that makes the air feel suddenly thicker.
Adrian’s expression softens at that, understanding replacing the frustration in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says simply. “She does.”
I nod once, the certainty behind the statement settling somewhere deep in my chest. I'd known it longer than I wanted to admit. “She doesn’t need perfection from us,” I say. “She needs consistency. Safety. Stability. She needs to know the people around her are steady enough to hold her together when her heat fully hits.”
They’re both watching me now.
“You've seen it,” I say. “The way she settles with Bash. The way she looks for you when she's uncertain.”
Neither of them looks away.
“And when she starts spiraling, she comes to me.”
The words aren't a boast.
Just a fact.
“Those things don't have to compete with each other.”
Surprise flickers across Bash’s face . He looks down at Maya, then back at me. “We haven’t talked about it,” he says. “Any of it. Not what happens after filming wraps, whether she’ll want bonding immediately during her heat, or how to support her without making her feel trapped.”
“We should,” Adrian says. “All of it. The practical concerns, the emotional ones, everything. She deserves to know we’re thinking about the future, not just reacting to the situation.”
They’re both right. Maya’s heat is coming—Nadia confirmed it’s only days away, not weeks—and none of us have discussed what happens when it hits. Whether she’ll want to be bonded immediately. How to support her without making her feel like she’s losing control of the situation. What happens after, when the immediate crisis has passed and we’re left with whatever we’ve become.
For the first time, I realize none of us are worried about whether we'll still want her when this is over.
The only question is whether she'll still want us.
“I’m already thinking long-term,” I say. “I’ve had intentions way before she presented as an omega.”
Adrian nods once. “Same here,” he says.
“Me too,” Bash says, his voice careful. “It’s not just about her heat or the compatibility or even how she makes me feel. It’s about who she is. How she moves through the world. The kind of person she’s been all along, not just who she’s becoming.”
I agree. This isn’t just about Maya’s presentation or her omega instincts or even the compatibility between us. It’s about theperson she’s always been—the one who notices details others miss, who solves problems without drawing attention, who creates space for everyone else while asking for almost nothing in return.
“We need to tell her,” I say after a moment. “About what we’re thinking. About the future. She deserves to know this isn’t just instinct or proximity or any of the things she’s been telling herself.”
“We will,” Adrian says. “When she’s ready to hear it. When she’s not so overwhelmed by everything else.”
Bash’s arm tightens slightly around Maya’s shoulders, a brief, unconscious movement he doesn’t seem to realize he’s making. “We should get her to bed,” he says. “This couch isn’t doing her back any favors, and she needs real rest before tomorrow.”
He’s right. Maya’s been running on empty for days, pushing through exhaustion and fear and the constant strain of her changing body. She needs real sleep in a real bed, not the half-conscious dozing that happens when her body finally gives out.
“I’ll take her,” Adrian says, already starting to move. “My room’s closest, and the bed’s already—“
“Wait,” I say. “We should ask first. When she wakes up. She’s been making her own decisions this whole time. We shouldn’t stop that now.”
Embarrassment flashes across Adrian’s face. He nods once, settling back into the couch. “You’re right,” he says. “We wait for her.”
