Aviv continued to scroll further down, his stomach swirling in disgust.
[@SilverArchive:Wait… pause at 0:14. Those bruises on his arms are old. That's not from one night.]
[@IronChain:Bruises happen in BDSM. People need to calm down.]
[@SilverArchive:Bruises happen in consensual BDSM, too. But he's begging for drugs while shaking. That's withdrawal.]
[@PackLawyer:If this video is real evidence, why does it end right after he asks for drugs? Where's the rest?]
[@VelvetNight:Because that's the part people wanted to show.]
[@DominantCrown:Everyone suddenly pretending to care about omegas is hilarious.]
[@QuietReader:I don't know anything about the case, but that kid looks terrified.]
[@GreyMarketAlpha:Terrified people don't offer to "do anything."]
[@QuietReader:Addicts do.]
Further down, the argument intensifies.
[@OmegaRightsNow:This is revenge porn disguised as journalism.]
[@PackTruthNews:No one forced him to get addicted.]
[@OmegaRightsNow:Addiction literally destroys your ability to refuse.]
[@ColdTruthMedia: Funny how the lawyer defending him is the son of the scientist who removes Alpha marks.]
[@NightCourier:So the conspiracy now is… an omega scientist raised his son to fake abuse cases?]
[@ColdTruthMedia:I'm saying the timing is suspicious.]
[@MoonDistrict:I still can't get over how pretty he is.]
[@CrimsonAlpha:That kind of omega causes trouble wherever he goes.]
[@GlassLibrary: The fact that you're calling someone "pretty" while he's crying and begging for drugs is insane.]
[@CrimsonAlpha: I'm being honest.]
[@GlassLibrary: You're being exactly the type of person this video exposes.]
Then someone posts a zoomed-in screenshot.
[@FrameByFrame:Screenshot from 0:12. You can see hand-shaped bruises on his upper arm.]
[@VelourRose:Oh my soul.]
[@IronChain: Or someone grabbed him during play.]
[@FrameByFrame:He's literally shaking.]
[@NightCourier:Also, the guy filming is laughing.]
Then the internet does what it always does. The thread splits into two camps.
[@PackDominance:Omegas who play submissive shouldn't cry abuse later.]
[@BlueCrown:You're assuming that's what happened.]
[@PackDominance:Looks obvious.]
[@BlueCrown: Looks like a man being humiliated while withdrawing.]
Buried deeper in the replies is one small comment with very few likes.
[@AnonymousWatcher:This video shouldn't exist. Whoever released it wanted people to enjoy watching him break.]
Aviv's emotions churned like a storm caught in a glass jar, nowhere to go but violently around. His stomach twisted hard enough to make him swallow against it, his breakfast threatening a dramatic return.
He dragged his gaze away from the venom on his screen and glanced at Acheron.
Still sitting there, calm as ever. Still soft. Still… Acheron.
Leg tucked under himself, sketchbook balanced carefully, lollipop's stick angled from the corner of his mouth like it had taken up permanent residence there. His fingers tapped lightly against the page in a quiet rhythm.
Aviv's chest tightened.
He wanted to ask; he needed to ask. But how do you take something so ugly and place it gently into a conversation?
He didn't get the chance.
"I never wanted to do that," Acheron said softly.
The words slipped out like something that had been sitting for too long.
"Huh—?" Aviv blinked, his head snapping slightly toward him. For a second, he wondered if he'd imagined it.
"The BDSM… or whatever you call it." Acheron shifted the lollipop's stick with his tongue, pulling it out just enough to speak properly. His eyes met Aviv's, steady despite the faint tension in his shoulders. "I didn't like it."
Aviv stared at him for a beat too long. "Oh."
Brilliant response. Truly. A master of language, Aviv criticised himself.
His gaze dropped back to his phone, though the words there now felt… smaller somehow. Petty, even, compared to the quiet gravity sitting beside him.
"Sorry, I didn't—I mean…" Aviv rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure where to put his hands. "Did you see it?"
Acheron nodded once. "Briefly."
He reached into his pocket, pulling out another lollipop with the absent-minded ease of habit. The wrapper crinkled softly as he unwrapped it, his fingers a little more deliberate this time. He took out the previously finished stick and popped the new one into his mouth—
—and bit down.
Hard.
The crack of sugar between his teeth was sharp and sudden.
Aviv's gaze flicked to him.
There it is; it wasn't really loud or dramatic, but still there. A fracture beneath the surface.
Acheron didn't say anything else. He just chewed, slow and thoughtful, eyes dropping back to his sketchbook even though his pencil hadn't moved.
Aviv exhaled quietly through his nose.
Right. So this was what his "fine" looked like.
He forced himself to remember: Acheron had called him over this morning. That alone said everything Acheron hadn't voiced out loud.
Support wasn't just optional here. It was… required.
Even if it had to be quiet. Aviv glanced at his phone one last time, thumb hovering before selecting the most irritating comment he could find. His lips curved. His fingers flew across the screen, sarcasm dripping from each word he typed. Although not a perfect response, it did make him feel helpful.
He locked his phone immediately after, as if sealing the whole mess in a box and tossing it into the ocean.
"Right," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
They didn't sit long before a voice, bright, warm, and unmistakably Ivy, floated through the garden.
"There you are."
She emerged between the blooms as if she belonged to them, gliding rather than walking, which felt frankly unfair considering the height of her heels. A small silver tray rested effortlessly in her hands, balanced with the kind of grace people usually trained years to achieve.
Oaklen followed just behind her, mirroring her path with quieter intensity, his gaze flicking between the ground and her steps like he was personally responsible for ensuring she didn't trip. He carried an identical tray.
"Mom—" Acheron straightened slightly, surprise softening his voice. The lollipop stick tilted precariously again as he spoke, and he quickly adjusted it with a small, almost sheepish movement.
Ivy's smile widened at the sight of him.
"I brought you both a few snacks," she said, lowering herself gracefully to place the tray onto the blanket.
Acheron immediately leaned forward, curiosity lighting up his expression as the contents were revealed. There are small, delicate cakes. Each one is iced in a different colour like a tiny edible garden of its own.
Nimbus, who had been mid-battle, froze.
Sniff.
Sniff sniff.
Tiny paws crept forward with exaggerated caution, nose twitching as he investigated this new development. He stretched his neck toward a pink-iced cake—
Acheron gently scooped him up mid-crime.
"No," he whispered, tapping Nimbus lightly on the head. "Not for you."
Nimbus blinked. Then, with deep personal offence, he attempted to chew on Acheron's sleeve instead.
"I see I've been replaced," Aviv murmured, watching the kitten's betrayal unfold.
"You were never in competition," Acheron replied quietly, entirely sincere.
Aviv clutched his chest. "That's so cruel."
Ivy laughed softly, clearly pleased. "Camlo sent me a new recipe, and I've been itching to try it."
"Coffee," Oaklen added, placing his tray beside hers with careful precision. The rich aroma curled into the air like an invitation.
"Thank you, this looks amazing," Aviv said, and this time his reaction was entirely genuine. His eyes lit up just a little too brightly as he reached for one of the cakes, then paused—manners catching up with him at the last second. "May I?"
Ivy nodded, amused. "Of course."
He took a bite. and immediate regret, because now he'd want ten more.
"I'm glad," Ivy continued warmly. "It's a small thank you for looking after Acheron so well… and for driving all this way."
"It's really my pleasure," Aviv said easily, brushing crumbs from his fingers. "Besides, my parents have a place here in Ashmere Heights. I grew up about three properties down."
Ivy stilled slightly. Her head tilted, eyes sharpening with recognition as she looked at him properly now.
"Your mother wouldn't happen to be Isabella?"
"The one and the same," Aviv said, laughter spilling out of him before he could stop it.
Ivy's expression lit up with delighted recognition. "What a small world… you must be little Beanie."
Aviv groaned. There was that stupid nickname, sticking to him like an ancient curse, impossible to get rid of. He dragged a hand down his face. "I was hoping, hoping, we could leave that buried in the past where it belongs."
"Beanie?" Acheron echoed, tilting his head slightly. The lollipop shifted from one corner of his mouth to the other as curiosity softened his features. His fingers, still faintly smudged with graphite, tapped twice against his sketchbook.
"My mother," Aviv began, with the solemn tone of someone recounting a lifelong injustice, "says that when I was born, I was long and slender."
He gestured vaguely to himself.
"Like a string bean."
Acheron blinked, then giggled. It was soft, bright, and a little surprised at it himself. He brought his sleeve up to his mouth as if to catch the sound, his shoulders lifting slightly. "I… can see that."
"Traitor," Aviv muttered, though his grin betrayed him.
"The worst part," he continued, leaning back onto his hands, "is that I was larger than my twin brother at birth. Everyone thought I'd be the taller one. But alas."
"You're the shorter twin?" Acheron asked, his emerald eyes widening slightly.
"Unbelievable, right?" Aviv said, a hand pressed dramatically to his chest.
Acheron nodded, a quiet, little dip of his head. A mixture of both sympathy and surprise.
Acheron's gaze flicked over him again, this time more openly, as if reassessing. The lollipop stick bobbed faintly as he tilted his head. "But you seem… adequately tall."
"I'll take adequate," Aviv said with a sigh.
"I didn't know you had a twin?" Acheron asked, leaning forward just a little. Nimbus, sensing movement, immediately climbed halfway into his lap like a determined little shadow, kneading at the fabric of his shirt with tiny, insistent paws.
Acheron absently scratched behind the kitten's ear.
Nimbus purrs loudly.
"He's an Alpha," Ivy added, a knowing note in her voice. "Studying to be a doctor, if I remember correctly?"
"Yes," Aviv said, rolling his eyes with practised affection. "And he has not stopped reminding me since the day he got accepted. I breathe, and somehow it becomes a conversation about his future medical brilliance."
"He sounds dedicated," Oaklen remarked.
"He sounds insufferable," Aviv corrected lightly.
Acheron smiled around his lollipop, the expression small but genuine. Nimbus, now fully committed to his role as accessory, flopped sideways in his arms and latched onto the lollipop stick for a moment.
"No," Acheron murmured, gently nudging him away.
Nimbus blinked up at him.
Ivy watching them with quiet fondness, "It's a shame, really. If both you and Acheron didn't go to boarding schools. You might have become friends much sooner."
For the briefest moment, something flickered across Aviv's face, the flinch game and gone quickly. Almost as if it didn't happen.
"Yeah," he said lightly, picking up a small cake to occupy his hands. "We would've been unstoppable. Probably would've gotten into a lot more trouble."
He took a bite, and whatever shadows had lingered were promptly buried under sugar and delight.
"Oh, this is dangerous," he declared through a mouthful, pointing slightly at the cake. "You can't just make things like this. People develop dependencies."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Ivy said, amused.
Acheron watched him for a moment, then reached for one himself. He studied it like it required careful consideration, turning it slightly before taking a small bite. His eyes widened just a fraction.
He immediately took another.
He noticed Nimbus' attention shift to the cake before he could attempt a bite. Acheron gently scooped him up and placed him on the blanket."You have your ball. Go fight your enemies."
Then, with renewed purpose, Nimbus launched himself at the knitted ball as if he'd just remembered an unfinished duel.
Oaklen and Ivy lingered only a little longer, long enough to see the ease settling into the space again. The tension had softened.
Ivy's gaze lingered on Acheron for a heartbeat longer before she stood, smoothing her dress.
"We'll leave you to it," she said gently.
Oaklen gave a small nod, his eyes briefly meeting Acheron's, something protective and quiet passing between them.
Then they were gone, disappearing back into the garden like they had never disturbed it at all.
Time stretched.
They ate.
They talked.
Acheron sketched, occasionally pausing to tilt his head or chew lightly on the lollipop stick when a line didn't come out quite right. Aviv sprawled dramatically beside him, offering unsolicited commentary.
Nimbus continued his relentless campaign against the knitted ball, punctuated by sudden, chaotic sprints across the blanket and dramatic flops onto his back like a creature completely unburdened by the concept of dignity.
At one point, he fell asleep mid-attack.
Face-first, and still holding the ball.
Acheron very carefully drew that, too.
Eventually, the sun shifted, pulling the afternoon gently toward its end.
Acheron packed up with quiet efficiency, though he smoothed the blanket twice again before folding it. Nimbus protested being moved, letting out a tiny, indignant sound before immediately curling into Acheron's arms like he'd never complained in his life.
Aviv stretched as he stood, glancing at the time.
"Right," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Reality calls."
Acheron nodded softly.
The word didn't need to be said.
DAA.
Acheron adjusted his hold on Nimbus, pressing his cheek briefly against the kitten's soft fur in a small, grounding gesture before pulling back.
"Let's go," he said quietly.
Together, the two omegas and their tiny, fearless warrior left the garden behind.