Milo:oh
Milo: how much time?
Callum:I don't know. However long she needs.
Milo:is she mad at me too?
Callum:She's mad at both of us. But she told me to take care of you, so that's something.
Milo:ok
Milo:i'm scared
Callum:Me too. But she said she'd reach out. That means she's coming back.
Milo:you really believe that?
Callum:Ava always comes back. She just needs to do it on her terms.
A long pause. Then:
Milo:can i come over tonight? i don't want to be alone with this
Callum:Already making dinner. Bring the cookies.
Milo:all four dozen of them
I put the phone down and take the first sip of my coffee. It's gone completely cold, and it tastes like nothing.
Milo
Something came out of the oven twenty minutes ago. Cinnamon rolls, this time. Callum's shift ended an hour ago, and he's still not home. Which is fine. Normal. Sometimes the handoff takes a while. But his last text was six hours ago:Rough one. Talk later.That "rough one" is exactly why I'm sitting on the couch, staring at my phone instead of studying for my psych midterm.
It's been three days since he told Ava. The outside world is settling—she texted him this morning, then sent me a meme with awe should talk soonand a heart. But inside this apartment, there's just the hum of the fridge, the warm smell of cinnamon, and Gerald the fern on the dresser. Gerald is doing great. He doesn't give a fuck about my anxiety. I cook when I'm worried. I feed things I can't fix. So now there's a tray of cinnamon rolls cooling on the counter, a soup simmering on the back burner, and I've reorganized the spice rack twice. Callum's spice rack. In Callum's kitchen. Where I now have a key, a drawer, a nest, and apparently very strong opinions about the alphabetical placement of cumin.
The lock clicks.
I'm on my feet before the door even opens. It's embarrassing, but it's pure instinct—my omega registeringmate, home, checkbefore my brain even catches up. The door swings in. Callum is standing there, and my eyes immediately scan him for damage. No visible injuries. No limp. No bandages. But something is wrong.
He looks completely hollowed out. His broad shoulders are slumped forward, his jacket half-off one arm like he started taking it off and just forgot how. There's a dark smudge of soot behind his ear. He didn't wash it off at the station, which means he skipped the shower, which means he just wanted to gethome. When his eyes finally meet mine, they look empty.
"Hey," he says. His voice is flat. Callum's voice is always steady, even when he's dead on his feet. But this is just... vacant.
"Hey." I cross the room. He's hanging up his jacket on pure muscle memory, and I catch the faint tremor in his hands when he reaches for the hook. You wouldn't notice it unless you were looking. I'm always looking.
"Smells good in here," he mutters, already moving toward the kitchen. He's redirecting. Picking an action so he doesn't have to stop and feel whatever is eating him alive. "You didn't have to cook—"
"Callum."
He freezes. I step into his path and press my palm flat against his chest. His heart is hammering against my hand, way too fast for a guy who just walked through his front door. He looks down at my hand, then up at my face. TheI'm fineis fighting to get past his teeth. He wants to box it up. Hide it where I won't find it. I know that trick. I've been doing it since I was twelve, showing up with cookies when my parents were fighting, like sugar could fix it. It's weird seeing someone else try to pull my own bullshit on me.
"Come shower," I tell him. "Let me."
Two words. I've learned to give orders over the last two weeks—get in here, don't move, let me—but this isn't about sex. It's about the soot on his neck and the shake in his fingers.
He opens his mouth to argue, then snaps it shut. The fight just drains right out of him. His shoulders drop. His jaw unclenches. He nods once, and I take his hand and lead him down the hall.
The bathroom is small. My toothbrush is sitting in the cup next to his. He bought it without telling me, and I had to sit on the toilet lid for three minutes the other day because seeing our toothbrushes touching was apparently my emotional breaking point. I turn the water on hot, the way he likes it, and start with his boots.