"Do you want anything? Water? Tea?" I ask as we enter, shedding jackets and shoes by the door in our familiar routine.
"Water's good." Micah stands in the middle of my living room looking uncharacteristically uncertain, as if he's not sure where he belongs in this space he's inhabited countless times before.
I bring him a glass, our fingers brushing as I hand it to him. Even that small contact sends warmth pulsing between us, easing the constant ache that's been our companion since we separated this morning.
"Come here," I say softly, taking his free hand and leading him to the couch. When we're seated, facing each other, I take a deep breath. "I need to show you the truth about how I feel."
Micah's eyebrows lift slightly. "Okay?"
"But first—" I take the water glass from his hand, setting it on the coffee table, then take both his hands in mine. "I need you to hear me. Really hear me."
His pulse jumps under my fingers, but he nods, those beautiful hazel eyes locked on mine.
"I love you." The words come easily now, like they've been waiting just beneath the surface all this time. "Not because of the bond. Not because of the baby. I love you, Micah Bennett. I think I have for a long, long time."
His breath catches, but I press on, needing to get this all out.
"I didn't recognize it because I was too caught up in who I thought I was supposed to be. The straight alpha, following the path everyone expected. But the truth was right in front of methe whole time." I squeeze his hands gently. "It's why none of my relationships ever worked. It's why Friday nights with you always felt more important than dates. It's why I've built my life around you without even realizing it."
His emotions shift through our connection—hope warring with doubt, longing with fear.
"The heat, the bond, the baby. They didn't create these feelings, Micah. They just forced me to finally see what was already there." I bring one of his hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "And I need you to believe that. Not just hear it, but believe it."
Micah's eyes shine with unshed tears. "I want to," he whispers. "But Nick, this is...it's everything I've wanted for so long. It's hard to trust that it's real and not just because of the circumstances."
"I know." I release his hands reluctantly. "That's why I need to show you what I've been doing. Come with me?"
Curiosity flickers across his face as he nods, following me as I stand and lead him toward my bedroom. At the doorway, I pause, suddenly nervous. What if he doesn't see it the way I do? What if it's not enough?
"Whatever it is, it can't be worse than the time you showed me your freshman year attempt at growing a mustache," Micah says, a hint of his usual dry humor returning.
I laugh, the tension breaking. "Low blow. That was a respectable attempt."
"It was three sad hairs and a lot of wishful thinking."
And there it is—that easy banter that's always been the foundation of us. Friendship first, then everything else building on that solid ground.
"Just...look," I say, opening the bedroom door and stepping aside so he can enter first.
My bedroom is exactly as I left it this morning—bed unmade, clothes draped over the chair, books stacked on the nightstand. But as I watch Micah take it in, I see it through his eyes for the first time. See what I've been doing unconsciously for weeks, maybe months.
His worn NYU hoodie hanging on the back of my desk chair, though he's never left it here overnight. The spare toothbrush in the holder on my bathroom counter, visible through the open door. The stack of his favorite fantasy novels on my nightstand, though I prefer non-fiction. The throw blanket he always wraps around himself during movie nights, now folded at the foot of my bed. His favorite tea in the kitchen cabinet, his preferred cereal, the almond milk he drinks instead of regular.
I've been gathering pieces of him, bringing them into my space, creating a place for him in my life without even realizing what I was doing.
"Nick," Micah breathes, turning to me with wide eyes. "What is all this?"
"I didn't realize until just now," I admit, moving to stand beside him. "But I've been nesting. Not the way omegas do during heat, but...my version of it. Bringing you into my space. Making room for you in my life."
I pick up one of his books from my nightstand. "This showed up three weeks ago. You mentioned wanting to reread it, and the next day I found myself buying it. Not borrowing it from you—buying my own copy so it would be here when you visited."
I move to the closet, sliding open the door to reveal more evidence. "Your favorite hoodie of mine, the gray one from college? I stopped wearing it because it made me think of you. And these—" I pull out a pair of sweatpants from the drawer. "I bought these in your size two months ago. Just in case you ever needed something comfortable to change into."
His surprise gives way to understanding, then to warmth. "You've been preparing," he says softly. "Without even knowing it."
"For you. For us." I move closer, drawn by the pull that's always existed, long before the bond made it tangible. "My body knew what my brain was too stubborn to admit. That you're not just my friend. You're my home."
Micah reaches out, his fingers tracing my jaw with a tenderness that makes my chest ache. "I've loved you for so long," he whispers. "I never thought..."