His mind drifted to the image of a small Omega sitting cross-legged on a couch, absentmindedly petting a kitten while sketching in his notebook.
He wondered what Acheron was doing.
Had he eaten already?
Was he studying?
Drawing?
Playing with Nimbus?
The cursor blinked patiently on his screen. Important documents remained open, his fingers resting against his keyboard, and yet his thoughts refused to cooperate. It kept wandering. Eamon blinked and realised he had been staring at the same paragraph for nearly five minutes.
He sighed softly and tried to focus once more, but just a few minutes later, his thoughts drifted once more. This time, they returned to the previous evening. To the small omega holding a plate of nachos, eating in tiny bites, chewing carefully. Every now and then, a small pink tongue peeked out to lick seasoning from his lips.
Eamon's fingers froze above the keyboard; he sighed, then he quietly set his hands in his lap.
This was becoming ridiculous.
He reached for his wine and took a long sip.
It did not help.
Eamon closed his eyes. Almost instantly, an image of Acheron's smile appeared. It was small, gentle and a little shy. His chest tightened unexpectedly. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling.
His gaze slowly shifted toward his phone resting on the desk; the screen remained dark. His thumb hovered over Acheron's name.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
With only a second of hesitation, Eamon typed out a simple message.
[Eamon]
[How are you?]
The instant the message disappeared, he let out a slow breath, only then realising he had been holding it. Leaning back in his chair, he allowed himself to relax.
Beyond the large windows of his office, the city glittered beneath the night sky. Streams of headlights moved through the streets like glowing rivers, weaving between towering buildings and disappearing into the distance.
Eamon found himself watching them absentmindedly. As he gazed lingered on the flickering light, realising each flame represented a life.
Some are rushing home after a long day.
Some are heading toward a celebration.
Some are returning to their family.
Some are sitting in traffic on their way to an emergency.
Out there, countless lives were unfolding all at once.
The thought was oddly humbling.
A soft vibration against his desk snapped him from his thoughts.
He immediately looked down, and a small smile appeared on his face.
[Achie]
[Cosy.]
A second later, another notification appeared. This time, a photo came through; it showed a pair of feet covered in bright pink wool socks. Thick blankets had been pulled over slender legs, creating a small mound beneath them.
For some reason, the sight made his chest feel unexpectedly warm.
[Eamon]
[Cute socks.]
[Achie]
[Thank you. Ivo got them for me.]
Another message quickly followed.
[Achie]
[What do you think?]
Acheron sent a new picture; this time it was of his sketchbook. Several pages were filled with concept drawings of rope, some at different lengths and shapes. Some neatly coiled, others frayed and unravelled.
The details were remarkable. Each tiny strand had been carefully drawn, every twisted fibre painstakingly rendered. Even to someone with no artistic knowledge, the amount of skill was obvious.
A small smile tugged at Eamon's lips.
[Eamon]
[Where did you find so much rope?]
There was a short pause.
[Achie]
[Very funny...]
[It's not that realistic.]
Eamon let out a soft laugh.
[Eamon]
[I think it looks very realistic.]
[Achie]
[You're just saying that.]
[Eamon]
[No. I'm being serious.]
Three little dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Before:
[Achie]
[...Thank you.]
Eamon could almost picture Acheron looking down at his phone, ears faintly red.
[Eamon]
[How was class today?]
[Achie]
[Boring.]
[A full day of theory.]
[Eamon]
[Sounds rough.]
[Achie]
[Says the guy who studied law.]
Eamon smiled.
[Eamon]
[I also found it boring.]
[Achie]
[Really? Then why did you study it?]
[Eamon]
[Mainly because of my father.]
He thought for another second before continuing.
[But once I'm in court, I enjoy every minute of it.]
[I enjoy the challenge. Finding the right laws, building an argument, proving a point.]
[And when I'm able to help my clients... it makes all the boring hours worthwhile.]
Several seconds passed.
[Achie]
[Do you get bored reading all the paperwork for my case?]
Eamon froze, his fingers hovering above the keyboard. That... was not the direction he had expected the conversation to take.
He stared at the message for several moments.
Then quickly typed:
[No.]
He hesitated, then added
[Not at all.]
[Your case isn't boring.]
He stared at the messages.
Why did that somehow sound worse?
A full minute passed, and still no reply. Eamon's expression gradually stiffened. His phone remained silent. He tried to remind himself that Acheron was probably simply distracted. Another thirty seconds passed before his phone vibrated with a photo of Nimbus lying sprawled on his back, all four paws in the air, exposing his fluffy stomach. His eyes were closed, and he looked completely unbothered by the world.
[Achie]
[To relieve your boredom]
Eamon laughed. A genuine laugh that echoed softly through the quiet office.
[Eamon]
[Look at that. I'm completely cured.]
[Nimbus thinks you're cute.]
Before Eamon could reply, another photograph appeared. This time, Nimbus was sitting directly on top of Acheron's sketchbook, completely covering the drawings. The kitten stared into the camera with an expression of deep annoyance.
Eamon laughed even harder. Finding them both utterly adorable.
Without thinking, he saved every photo Acheron had sent.
[Eamon]
[I think he just wants you to take a break.]
[Achie]
[I hadn't even started yet.]
From there, the conversation drifted naturally. They spoke about class, Nimbus antics and how Ivo tried to force Acheron to wear bright colours because he looked 'too pale.'
At one point, Acheron sent a picture of a strange-looking pastry he had eaten earlier. At another, Eamon somehow found himself explaining a bizarre incident from his university days involving Luka and Mateo.
An entire hour passed without either of them noticing. Eventually, the replies from Acheron began to slow, and the messages became shorter, filled with typing mistakes.
[Achie]
[I think Nimbus and I are going to sleep now.]
Eamon's expression softened.
[Eamon]
[Then you should get some rest.]
[Achie]
[Goodnight, Eamon.]
[And thank you for talking with me.]
Something warm settled quietly in his chest.
[Eamon]
[Goodnight, Acheron.]
[Sleep well.]
A final message appeared before the chat fell silent.
Eamon looked at the screen for several long moments. He lifted his gaze to his still open laptop; a stack of paperwork sat patiently on his desk. All of them suddenly seemed terribly unimportant. For the first time in weeks, he found that he had absolutely no desire to work.
A small, almost disbelieving smile appeared on his face. With surprising decisiveness, he closed his laptop. Standing from his desk, he slipped his phone into his pocket and headed toward his bedroom. One by one, the lights behind him switched off automatically.
Tonight, he would rest.
Once inside his bedroom, Eamon headed straight for the shower. Warm water cascaded over him, washing away the lingering scent of coffee, paper, and the long day's exhaustion.
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. For a few precious minutes, there were no court cases. No Blackwells or judges to investigate or mountains of paperwork waiting for him.
Only the steady sound of water and the warmth easing the tension from his muscles. By the time he stepped out of the shower, a light haze of steam had settled over the bathroom mirrors. Dressed in comfortable sleepwear, he finally climbed into bed.
Unlike most nights, he did not immediately reach for his laptop again.
Instead, he picked up the novel resting on his bedside table.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. It was the very same book that Acheron recommended, or perhaps it was less a recommendation and more of Acheron speaking so enthusiastically that Eamon eventually felt compelled to read it.
The novel followed an eccentric artist in the 1950s who somehow solved crimes by painting crime scenes and locations connected to the victims. Scientifically speaking, the premise was utterly absurd. The artist would stare at a bloodstain and somehow uncover hidden truths through colour and composition. At one point, he had apparently solved an entire murder simply because a tree in one of his paintings "felt lonely."
None of it made any sense.
And yet...
It was charming and whimsical. It was oddly comforting.
Perhaps because every character possessed a certain warmth to them, or perhaps because he could easily imagine Acheron reading this exact book, becoming animated while experiencing the plot twist.
Before long, he found himself genuinely engrossed. Without even realising it, nearly an hour passed. He only stopped when a soft chime suddenly broke the silence. Eamon sighed; his phone displayed a familiar notification.
Bedtime Reminder.
A nightly alarm. One personally installed by Edmun, along with very clear instructions that Eamon was absolutely not permitted to remove it. According to his parent, this was the final warning before he 'inevitably transformed into a sleep-deprived cryptid.'
Eamon had attempted to argue. Several times in fact. None of those attempts had been successful, and so the alarm stayed.
A small smile appeared on his face as he switched off the alarm. As soon as he did, his calendar automatically opened.
Purely out of habit, he glanced over his schedule. The next two weeks were predictably packed, filled with meetings, court preparations, client consultations and a depressing amount of paperwork. His gaze moved down the list, then paused when it settled on Acheron Desrosiers.
It was the Hospital appointment.
Eamon's expression softened. Even now, he still found himself somewhat surprised that Acheron had allowed him to accompany him.
Hospitals were difficult places, especially for Acheron.
There were suffocating memories attached to them.
The fact that Acheron trusted him enough to let him be there...
It felt significant.
It's a small but meaningful step forward. Perhaps Acheron himself did not even realise it, but Eamon did.
He remembered the first few months after they met, how cautious Acheron had been. How he hesitated and carefully guarded every piece of himself.
And now...
He sent him photographs of pink socks, shared his sketches and allowed him to accompany him to appointments. Acheron trusted him with small pieces of his everyday life. The progress had been slow, like the first signs of spring after an endless winter.
His gaze lingered on Acheron's name for another moment. Smiled, locked his phone and placed it on the bedside table.
The room dimmed, illuminated only by the soft glow of the city beyond the windows. For a few moments, he simply lay there. Listening to the distant hum of traffic, the faint sound of wind outside and the occasional creak of the apartment settling. Unlike earlier that evening, the silence no longer felt empty.
Instead, it felt peaceful. Even comfortable.
He pulled the blankets higher; a small smile remained on his lips. Tomorrow would undoubtedly be another long day, filled with meetings, investigations and endless paperwork.
But there would also be messages, perhaps more photographs of Nimbus.
That thought was strangely comforting; with that pleasant feeling lingering in his chest, Eamon switched off the lamp. Darkness settled over the room; within minutes, sleep gradually claimed him, and for the first time in a long while, his rest was deep and undisturbed.