There was a faint pause.
"…Yes." Acheron opened the front door and left.
The door clicked shut behind them, and silence returned to the apartment. Nimbus slowly walked back to the couch and stared at Ivo, who leaned back into the couch, arms crossed. His mind replayed the sequence of events over again. Not just his secretive reactions but also Acheron's softening expression, the way he carefully spoke.
But most importantly, he thought about Eamon Sauveterre.
He knew far too little about him. About them. About what is going on.
"I am going to need more details." He mumbled. His gaze fell onto the closed apartment door once more; his earlier calm curiosity turned into something more serious. He is realising that his baby brother might be stepping into something... very complicated.
***
Acheron sat at a small table tucked neatly against the wall of a trendy late-night restaurant. It had become something of a quiet favourite in the area, known for its good food, soft lighting, and the way it stayed open long after most places had locked their doors.
Outside, rain had started falling just moments after he arrived. Now it drummed steadily against the glass beside him, tracing thin wavering lines down the windowpane.
Inside, everything felt warm. Soft yellow lighting pooled across polished tables, and the hum of conversation blended with gentle music that never quite became loud enough to dominate the space. Just added to the atmosphere.
Acheron wrapped his hands around the edge of his sleeves, the oversized black-and-white striped sweater swallowing his wrists almost entirely. A thin necklace rested against his chest, the small angel-wing pendant catching light every now and then when he shifted. As always, his clothes looked like they belonged to a different aesthetic than his personality suggested. It was both Soft and comfortable, but also loudly expressive in a way he himself often wasn't.
He looked… settled here. Even he found that strange. He had only eaten at this place twice before, yet each time it felt like the space had already decided to accept him.
Acheron was still quietly observing the condensation on the glass when the chair opposite him was pulled out.
Eamon Sauveterre sat down both unhurried and composed. It is as if the rain, the hour, and the city itself had all been scheduled around this moment. His eyes found Acheron immediately and stayed there.
"What's good here?" he asked casually, but his attention didn't move away even for a second.
Acheron blinked at him, briefly caught off guard by the steadiness of Eamon's gaze. Heat crept into his cheeks, and he quickly looked down, sliding the menu across the table.
"The coffee is pretty good."
A smile tugged at Eamon's lips.
"Of course it is," he said. "You little caffeine monster."
Acheron paused, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.
"I prefer the term enthusiast."
A soft laugh escaped Eamon. "If that's what helps you sleep at night."
"I sleep just fine."
"I'll believe that when you stop drinking coffee after eight."
"I don't see the problem."
"That's because the caffeine has already clouded your judgment."
Acheron let out the faintest huff of amusement before looking back at the menu.
"...You're a little mean."
"And yet," Eamon replied, his smile lingering, "you haven't left."
Acheron hid another smile behind the menu. Ivo reached over and took the menu. He glanced at the items listed, but didn't honestly look.
"What else is good?"
Acheron tapped one of the pages.
"The nachos."
"That's all?"
"I haven't tried anything else," Acheron admitted, voice dipping slightly quieter as if this was somehow an embarrassing confession.
"Really." Eamon's eyebrow lifted.
Acheron slightly nod his head.
"…Yes."
"I see." Eamon's mouth twitched again, like he was trying not to smile too openly.
His voice lowered a few notches. "Want to try something different today?"
Acheron hesitated, his fingers tightened slightly around the edge of his sleeve.
"…Not really." The admission came with a faint blush that crept up his ears almost immediately afterwards, as if his own honesty had betrayed him.
Eamon noticed, of course he did, but he didn't press the matter. Instead, he leaned back slightly and raised a hand to call the waitress over.
"Two coffees," he said smoothly. "And nachos for both of us."
Acheron looked up in surprise.
"You could've ordered something else."
"I could have."
"So... why didn't you?"
Eamon shrugged.
"You made me curious."
Acheron frowned.
"I did?"
"You've recommended exactly two things since I sat down." A smile tugged at the corner of Eamon's mouth. "I figured they must be worth trying."
Acheron looked at him for a moment before lowering his gaze again.
"...I hope you like them."
"I have a feeling I will."
Acheron let out a small, reluctant sound that was almost a laugh and looked away, pretending very hard to be interested in the rain again. Their interaction, however small, lingered between them in a way neither of them commented on.
When their drinks arrived, Acheron immediately began preparing his coffee with the familiarity of a well-practised ritual. First came the cream, followed by a generous spoonful of honey. He stirred the cup with practised ease before eagerly lifting it to his lips.
The moment the sweet, mellow bitterness spread across his tongue, his shoulders relaxed. The tension he'd been carrying seemed to ease, and a small, thoroughly content smile found its way onto his face.
Eamon watched the transformation with quiet amusement.
"You really do love coffee."
Acheron lowered the cup and nodded without a hint of embarrassment.
"I do."
"I have a coffee machine at my apartment," Eamon said casually. "Imported."
Acheron's head turned almost immediately.
"Really?" The subtle shift in his expression made him look younger.
"Yeah," Eamon replied. "Clients and partners keep gifting me coffee beans. At this point, I have more varieties than I know what to do with."
Acheron's eyes widened slightly.
"You can't finish them?"
"I physically cannot."
"How many kinds?" Acheron leaned forward a fraction.
Eamon tried to think about it, but ended up shaking his head, "…Too many."
"That's not an answer."
"It is the most honest one."
Acheron narrowed his eyes slightly.
"You can come visit anytime," he said, the words landed between them with casual ease. Eamon took a sip of coffee immediately afterwards, giving himself something else to focus on that isn't his frantically beating heart.
Acheron, in the meanwhile, paused. The spark in his eyes flickered, not completely diminishing but definitely tempered. It was a small shift in his demeanour, a subtle retreat.
Eamon took notice of this. Although Acheron still seemed eager, his guard has gone up.
He sighed softly... that was too direct.
'Slow and steady.' He reminded himself.
"Forget I said that," he added lightly, redirecting the moment without pressure. "We'll get to the important question first."
Acheron blinked.
"…Which is?"
"Are the nachos worth their reputation?"
That earned him a small, genuine laugh from Acheron. Whatever tension had lingered between them eased, and the atmosphere softened again.
The food arrived shortly after.
They ate and talked.
From light and easy family stories to old cases Eamon had worked on drifted into the conversation, his tone shifting when he spoke about them, becoming more measured, more precise.
Acheron listened closely, occasionally asking quiet questions that showed more interest than he probably realised.
Somewhere between shared coffee and half-finished nachos, the conversation began to stretch out. It wasn't rushed or forced. It just unfolded naturally in the soft glow of the restaurant, while rain continued to trace slow lines down the window beside them.
Eamon's gaze lingered a little longer than before, like he had been waiting for just the right opening.
"You have a doctor's appointment with your gland surgeon next week, right?" Eamon's voice was calm, but his attention didn't drift from Acheron even for a second.
Acheron had just pushed his plate slightly away, fingers lingering near the edge of the table as if reluctant to fully let go of the meal. He had eaten more than he expected, quietly surprising himself with every bite, but his appetite had eventually tapered off.
"Yeah, I do," he nodded. His voice was light, but his shoulders subtly shifted, a small unconscious tell.
Eamon noticed anyway.
"How are you feeling about it?"
Acheron took his time before answering. His gaze drifted briefly toward the rain-streaked window, where the city lights blurred into soft gold smudges.
"Nervous, I guess." He reached for his glass of water, wrapping both hands around it before taking a slow sip. He needed something steady to hold onto while he spoke.
"The doctors said my glands have healed physically," he continued, voice quieter now, "but my pheromone levels still haven't increased."
Eamon's expression tightened just slightly.
"Do they have a solution for that?"
Acheron shrugged a little, though it didn't fully mask the tension in his fingers.
"I think that's what next week is about," he said. "That, and possibly adjusting or developing new suppressants for me."
Eamon's brow furrowed faintly.
"Won't you only need suppressants once your heat returns?"
"Yeah," Acheron nodded. "Maybe they just want to prepare early."
A pause. "…Honestly, I'm not sure." He let out a small, nervous laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was the kind of sound that tried to mask his fear.
Eamon didn't miss it.
"I believe it'll be fine," he said firmly, but not too forcefully. "We'll provide Alpha masks as a precaution during the trial phase. Just in case anything becomes overwhelming."
"Thank you, Eamon." The words came softly, while warmth bloomed in Acheron's chest before he even fully understood why. It wasn't just because of the reassurance but rather the way Eamon said things like they mattered.
Like Acheron mattered.
"I didn't realise I needed that," Acheron admitted quietly, almost to himself.
Eamon's gaze softened.
"No problem," he replied. "It's what I should do."
Not just as your lawyer.
The thought came and went behind Eamon's composed expression, never spoken aloud.
Too soon.
Far too soon.
Instead, he set his cup down gently.
"Would you like me to accompany you to the appointment?" The question left his mouth before he could fully weigh it. For half a second, even he looked slightly surprised he'd asked.
Acheron froze; it was slight but enough for someone who knew him well to notice.
His first instinct was to kindly refuse, but the words didn't come; they stalled somewhere behind his teeth. Strangely... the idea didn't feel that wrong. And he couldn't turn Eamon down.
No, he didn't want to turn him down.
Acheron looked down at his hands.
"…Okay," he said softly.
Eamon smiled in surprise. Then very carefully set his cup down again, as if sudden movement might disturb reality.
"…Okay?"
"Yes." Acheron nodded.
A beat passed.
Then, almost as if he needed to confirm it wasn't a mistake:
"If that's alright?"
Eamon exhaled slowly. It was a small, controlled breath that still managed to carry his relief.
"It's more than alright."
Acheron tilted his head slightly.
"…Okay," he repeated again, quieter this time, as if testing the sound of it.
Something in Eamon's eyes warmed. "I'll take you home," he said gently.
"Okay." Almost as an afterthought, he added: "…Thank you for the food."
"Thank you for choosing it." Eamon's lips curved slightly.
Acheron blushed, nodding his head.
Eamon stood first, pulling his coat from the chair back.
Acheron followed more slowly, gathering his sweater sleeves over his hands in that habitual way as if he was trying to make himself just a little smaller in the world. As they stepped out into the rain-slick night, Eamon walked slightly closer than necessary, shielding Acheron from the edge of the sidewalk where puddles had formed.
Acheron didn't move away; instead, he walked slightly closer in return. It was a small movement done unconsciously.
A quiet kind of agreement neither of them wanted to name yet.