Neteyam is more than happy to help you out when you are in heat.
⋆｡° ✮ Lost and found (mini series)
Neteyam hates humans. One day, he finds you all alone and lost in the forest, but quickly decides against killing you. What might be the odd reason for that?
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4
⋆｡° ✮ Three is always unfortunate
(Stepbro!Neteyam AU) Neteyam is ready to do everything in his might to protect his precious little sister. Especially from mean boys that can't keep their hands to themselves.
⋆｡° ✮ Not good enough
(Stepbro!Neteyam AU) Neteyam isn't happy about the future mate his parents have chosen for you. Afterall, no one can compare to him.
⋆｡° ✮ Work of art
You're an artist and Neteyam accidentally finds your secret notebook, full of filthy drawings you've made to cope with the little crush you had on him.
⋆｡° ✮ Special friends (mini series)
Neteyam was so used to being the golden child of his family, always doing as he's told... he wanted to be bad sometimes too. He wanted to be the one that would teach you all these filthy things. All the things you were never allowed to do, talk or even think about.
When you compete, it's always a battle to see who will get the upper hand. And when you fuck, it's the same struggle.
⋆｡° ✮ Drunk words, sober secrets
Getting drunk with Ao'nung was probably not the best idea you ever had. Good thing a certain someone always makes sure you'll get home safe and sound.
⋆｡° ✮ Infected
(Stepbro! Neteyam AU) While on a hunt with your stepbrother Neteyam, he comes in contact with something that makes him act... strange.
⋆｡° ✮ A lesson on concentration
(featuring Neytan) Lately, you can't seem to focus on any of your training lessons in preparation for your upcoming iknimaya and your karyu [teacher] are determined to find out why.
⋆｡° ✮ Unwinding together
Neteyam seems quite tense lately, and like the good friend that you are, you offer him a way to relief all of his stress.
⋆｡° ✮ Feral hearts
There is always a thrill to the chase.
⋆｡° ✮ Sweet dreams
It's date night, the marui is quiet and Neteyam has you all to himself.
⋆｡° ✮ A mighty warriors need
The only trouble Neteyam allows himself to get into, is you.
⋆｡° ✮ Quid Pro Quo
You owe Neteyam a favor. Luckily, the olo’eyktan has just the idea how you could repay him.
⋆｡° ✮ Smells like trouble
Neteyam is in trouble. There‘s a human in his home, a human female. And she smells dangerously close to something she certainly wasn’t. Sometimes she couldn’t ever be. An omega.
⋆｡° ✮ Be brave, I‘m worth it
The mission was simple: keep the prisoner alive. But Neteyam isn’t interested in survival— he’s interested in you.
⋆｡° ✮ Good vibes
(Featuring Lo’ak) What made the Sully brothers so dangerous was not just how they made you feel individually, but how they fed off each other when they were together. Lo’ak lit the spark and Neteyam fanned the flame.
⋆｡° ✮ Drabbles:
Neteyam loves when you wear short dresses
Some sneaky under the table action
Dom!Neteyam edging himself
How he would celebrate your birthday
Discovering that the word "sir" turns him on
He makes you squirt for the first time
Neteyam learns what a lollipop is
Stepbro!Neteyam + cockwarming
Distracting him when he's grumpy
Possessive / toxic Neteyam
Public make out session with Neteyam while your mate is busy looking for you
Series Introduction: The certain man everyone warned her about was exactly how his reputation told; a bad influence with personal problems, and someone no one would want to bump into. However, how would that polaroid even exist unintentionally, despite all the hardwork not to press the shutter? Did the vortex suck them in together?
“Nathan Prescott.” One of her friends stated to another. Raven, a blonde girl with alternative fashion like everyone she hangs out with. Her fingers are fidgeting with drumsticks as she talks. “That name is the one you must not cross with, in any matter. His family owns Arcadia Bay and you will have nowhere to go if you make a terrible mistake.”
“Yeah, I heard that rich little kid’s got everything under his grasp. You wouldn’t want your name to cross his mind.” The other said, Zane, a blonde man of bass guitar with visible piercings and tattoos. “I heard he almost killed someone out of anger.”
Y/N Preston is aged 18, a rock music enthusiast and a band member alongside Raven and Zane, her twin friends. She is specialized in guitar and vocals, completing their three men band. Her hair is always arranged into something recognizable for her, and her clothing is full of simple grunge.
The three of them grew up together, all focused in their life careers such as music. However, Y/N life had a drift change after turning 18. “It’s not like I’d even interact with anyone that much.” Y/N responded with slight chuckles. “I am moving to that school to graduate, it’s only for a year.”
“And after Blackwell, college will come. That will be very easy for you, you are extremely gifted.” Raven chuckled. “Imagine being a band member and an aerospace engineer? You’ve got your life together.”
Y/N chuckled as she packed her things. “Like you don’t? You are going to be a doctor, and Zane is going to be a chemical engineer.”
“Turns out we’re just science and math nerds in a rock band.” Zane said and they all laughed. Indeed, they’re all stem kids who got their souls into music, intelligent and gifted.
Y/N finished packing and faced her friends. “Wherever life directs us, I know one thing, I will always do.”
Raven chuckled and hugged her, and Zane joined in. “In the end, we’ll always meet again to play music with our souls.”
“Let’s meet this year as well, alright?”
Moving into a new place isn’t something Y/N expected, given it’s only one year left until graduation. However, life has its own ways of making moves in events. Her family decided to move to Arcadia Bay for who knows what reason, she is not having family problems anyway. It’s like a sudden change of direction, that’s all.
She heard that Blackwell Academy is full of gifted artists, and her hope is to find her people, those whom she would get along with.
She is currently sitting down at the fountain, a huge sketchbook by her lap and she draws designs for her mechanical things— future designs for her machinery in aerospace engineering as she called them. Satellites, space ships, and many computations of their dimension by the side.
Looking at her grunge appearance, which she made look discreet by just wearing a black jacket and loose pants, it would be surprising to see that she is into engineering as a hobby. Unfortunately, she has been wearing eyeglasses since she lost her contacts— so it’s still believable that she’s into those things.
Pretty stereotypical, but she’s self aware.
After Blackwell, she’ll move into a top university to pursue engineering like planned. That’s the only plan after all— graduate, live life to the fullest, and be happy.
Her eyes have been focused on her sketchbook for the past hour, not paying any mind to her surroundings. Until a certain man in a red varsity jacket walked past her without looking at her. His scent is what caught her attention, a strong scent that lingers longer than she expected, but it isn’t hurtful. Her eyes landed on the tall figure, light brown hair that looks pretty high maintenance, expensive looking clothes inside the jacket, and a posture of confidence.
For a split second that he turned to his side, she saw his face— “Wow…” She whispered to herself in disbelief. Indeed, he is really beautiful along with the rays of morning sun. It may sound cliche but it is the first time that she was caught off guard by someone’s appearance.
Until,
“Where the fuck’s your compensation, you asshole? You think you can afford my shit?” She heard him speak to another student from a distance. His words made her cringe, making her scrunch her nose and look back to her sketchbook.
She isn’t a huge fan of strong languages, and an attitude like that is a massive drag down for a good looking man. It sounded like he is the type of person to start a fight, and that is a huge no to her. She just shook her head and continued sketching, what a waste of looks.
She gave him another glance from the side, and there she found him pushing the student as he shouted strong words. She just sighed and looked back to her sketchbook. Well, there are really people like that, what a shame. She thought.
[next]
[main]
This is a fanfiction based on Life is Strange’s Nathan Prescott, all made with my imagination. Please do not copy, translate, or repost to another platform without my permission!! —⋆｡°✩ Thank you so much!!
i actually never ever want AO3 to be censored bc nothing is more fun than reading the tags on a fic and going “huh. didn’t know there was a market for that.”
Gideon had been standing at the back door of his childhood home for almost fifteen minutes straight. He had his arms folded, jaw set, gaze sharp enough to slice through the window glass. The only movement came from the slight tap of his fingers against the soda can he held, long since gone warm, the condensation having dried to a tacky ring around his palm. He took a sip of his now warm soda. He spit it back into the can when something hit the back of his neck with a loud thwap!
“Ow!” He cried, turning to find his father strolling closer.
Jesse sauntered closer, all smug grin and dad-bod menace. “Quit starin’, son. You look like a damn pervert.”
Gideon’s cheeked burned in an instant. “I wasn’t-“
“Boy, you were standing there so long I thought the security cameras froze. What are you even staring at anyway?” Jesse looked through the window, spotting the babysitter at the opposite end of the pool, crouched down to give Abraham a high five. “Oh.”
She wore a modest black swimsuit with thick straps and a matching skirt that swished gently every time she shifted positions. It wasn’t flashy. Practical, even. No nonsense. But the sun glinted off the water and lit up her skin in a way that made Gideon’s mouth go dry anyway. The sunlight danced off the water and set her skin aglow. It wasn’t about the cut of the suit. It was her.
She had this easy way of existing, like the heat didn’t touch her, like the chaos didn’t rattle her. Hair pulled back in a low bun, sunglasses pushed up on her head, a whistle tucked between her fingers and a laminated sheet of drills fluttering beside her towel like she ran a day camp for misfit angels.
“Dad, don’t st-"
Jesse laughed, doubled over laughed a loud bellowing laugh that made her look up. Gideon took a few steps back, his face burning.
They had hired the babysitter when Gideon left for Los Angeles. He’d usually been the one to tutor Abraham in his elementary school homework, keeping him focused long enough to finish his daily assignments. She wasn’t around when he’d attempted to rob the family of the Easter Collection, but by the time he returned from Haiti, she was there.
The first time they met, he was running late to pick up his brother. He liked to be the one to pick up Abraham from whatever practice he was in that season. It got him out of the house and let him spend some time with his little brother. It was an attempt to connect, make sure that Abraham doesn't feel as lonely as he did when Gideon was his age. Just as he found his keys and he was about to leave, the front door opened. He took a step back. He noticed Abraham before he noticed her.
She froze for a second, her hair falling around her face gently. They locked eyes, confusion settling over both of them. She smiled widely, shocked at the fact that he’d been there.
“You must be Gideon!” She grinned, sticking her hand out through grocery bags hung on her wrist. She introduced herself. “I’m Abraham’s babysitter. I've heard so much about you from him."
He’d stared. Said nothing. Just drank her in like a man finding color in a grayscale world.
Abraham narrowed his eyes, staring at the dumbfounded look on his oldest brother’s face. Gideon still hadn’t said anything. She walked past him, taking the bags back to the kitchen. She shouted over her shoulder. “I was out west when you were home, but I’m glad I could finally meet you.”
She rounded the wall again. "I was really curious about you." And with that, she was leading Abraham to the kitchen counter, already talking about math and his junior science camp.
It was then that he knew he was fucked.
She laughed at something Abraham said, head tilted back just enough to expose the line of her neck. Her whole body moved when she laughed. Not big and showy, just fully present. And Gideon, the idiot that he was, stood frozen in place like some Southern Gothic ghost who’d died of longing in the hallway.
He didn’t even realize he was staring again until Jesse elbowed him. “Just go say hi to her.”
Yeah, like he hadn’t tried that before. He’d tried to strike up a conversation, but it was hard when their only common factor was Abraham.
“She’s workin’,” Gideon said.
“And you’re ogling her.” Jesse reached for the soda in his hand, took a sip, and gagged. “Ugh. That’s warm as piss. Is this what you’ve been doin’ the whole time? You wasted this perfectly good can of-“
“You know your mama thinks y’all a would be cute together,” Jesse said, smirking. He took another sip. “Told me you had ‘love eyes’ when she stayed for youth group. Thought you were havin’ a stroke, I said—nah, boy’s just sufferin’ from a case of terminal horniness.”
“Please leave,” Gideon said flatly, cheeks red as if he were the one out there doing laps. Jesse shoved the can back into his son's hand.
"Alright, fine." He muttered, retreating.
"Thank you," Gideon muttered sarcastically.
Behind him, Jesse’s voice rang out faintly from the hallway, smug as sin. “She’s gonna end up a Gemstone, ain’t she?”
Gideon threw the soda in the garbage. “Shut up,” he practically whimpered, voice tight with secondhand embarrassment as he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway, tail tucked like a spooked dog.
Outside, she was all calm control. Her whistle hung around her neck, though she rarely used it. Abraham didn’t like loud noises, and she didn’t like repeating herself, so they’d come to a quiet understanding. She coached from the edge of the pool with a laminated page of drills in hand and a tiny waterproof notebook resting beside her towel.
“Two more laps and we’re done,” she called to Abraham, who was halfway across the pool and currently doggy paddling with the ferocity of someone being chased by a pool floatie.
“You said that two laps ago,” Abraham deadpanned.
“And yet here you are,” she said with a smile. “Thriving. Come on. Just two more. I’m not timing these.”
He let out a long, suffering sigh and turned for another lap, pushing off with a dramatic splash.
She didn’t flinch.
The truth was, she had Abraham figured out.
Not in a smug way, just in that calm, patient, observant kind of way that came from spending hours with him every week. She knew he liked his math worksheets laminated so he could use dry erase markers. She knew he had a soft spot for classical music and would only sit still for his astronomy lessons if Mozart was playing in the background. She knew he had a strict post-practice Skittles policy and hated when people brought him the purple bag. And she never talked to him like he was a baby, which was half the reason he trusted her in the first place.
Gideon flopped face first into his comforter. He was so horrendously down bad for someone who was quite literally being paid to be there. She leaves the minute Abraham’s homework is done. Sometimes she doesn’t even come inside when she drops him off. She just waits in her car until the door shuts behind him. Gideon always knows when she drives up, music blasting but she always turned it down when she gets close to the house. But he hears it anyway. Abraham clambers out of the back seat, waving goodbye to her.
She comes by some mornings when Jesse and Amber aren’t there to send him off to school. She walks in, effortlessly, when Gideon still has morning breath and is wearing the thinning pajamas he’s had since he was Abraham’s age. She’s always done up, hair and makeup flawless. She wears earrings often. Sometimes they’re simple gold hoops, other times they’re dangling fishes or soda cups. Abraham eats his cereal as she combs through his hair, makes sure his backpack is packed with everything he needs. She always waves goodbye to him.
“Are you sure?”
Her voice cuts through the air, bringing him back to reality.
His mother smiled at her. “Of course. I’ll make sure Abraham gets dressed. Your skin is probably burning.”
Even Jesse chimed in. “No one uses that old pool anyway.”
Gideon could practically picture the shy smile on her face when she responded. “Okay. Thank you, guys.”
His heart melted.
He waited for a while before trudging back downstairs. Jesse was leaned against the counter. If Gideon wasn’t searching the room for her, he wouldn’t have noticed the way his parents winked at each other.
“Son, take out the garbage.” The can wasn’t even full yet, plenty of room for another few hours worth of garbage.
His mood deflated. “Dad, please. Can’t-“
“Gideon,” his mother warned, staring at him over the rim of her mug.
“Yes, ma’am.” He sighed internally as he tied together the top of the trash bag and pulled it out of the can. He grumbled to himself as he yanked the door open and looked back. “You are horrible people.”
Amber hummed. “Go get her, baby.”
He didn’t hear any water splashing or music playing. Maybe she’d already gone inside. He took a few steps around the wall of bushes, running into her. The water from her wet arms soaked through his shirt.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Gideon,” she said, a light laugh. “My eyes are burning so bad I didn’t even see you.”
He smiled. Even his name on her tongue made him nervous. “M-maybe you should wear goggles.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”
He finally looked her over. Her skirt was missing, showing the tops of her thighs, soft and plush. His brain short circuited.
“Gideon,” she said softly. She crossed her arms, pressing her breasts together in a way that made him dizzy. He moved to hold the trash bag with both hands.
“Yeah?” He looked her in the eyes, terrified she could read his mind.
“You’re, uh, standing in front of my towel.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah.”
He bolted back like she’d zapped him, nearly pulling a muscle in his neck trying to look anywhere but at her. The trash bag swung wildly at his side, hitting his knee with a wet thud as he scrambled to create space.
She didn’t laugh at him, which almost made it worse. She just dipped down with effortless grace, the muscles in her legs flexing slightly as she reached for the towel. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders, beads of water tracing lazy paths down her arms, her collarbone, disappearing beneath the curve of her swimsuit. Gideon turned sharply, like a gentleman, or a coward, depending on how you looked at it, and faced the hedges again.
He squeezed the plastic of the trash bag so hard it crinkled.
“I wasn’t—” he started, voice cracking, and then gave up. “Sorry.”
“‘S okay.” Her voice was warm, casual. She wasn’t flustered. Why would she be? She was the picture of composure, like she hadn’t just short-circuited his entire brain with a single sentence.
He could hear her patting her skin dry, slow and methodical. Every rustle of the towel felt magnified.
“I wasn’t trying to be in the way,” he said weakly, still facing the hedge. “I was just…”
Just what, exactly? Lurking? Malfunctioning? Falling in love with her in real time?
He felt her presence beside him more than he saw it. The soft sound of her adjusting the towel over her shoulders. The subtle shift of her weight as she stepped a little closer.
“You okay?” she asked. Not teasing. Not pitying. Just... gentle.
“Yeah,” he lied.
“You sure?” A smile in her voice now, but not cruel.
He dared a glance over, just long enough to meet her eyes. And that was it. He was done for. A goner. A puddle of nerves and wet cotton and bad decisions.
“I gotta take this out,” he mumbled, lifting the trash bag an inch like it was some kind of explanation.
She nodded slowly, eyes still on him. “Okay. Well… don’t trip.”
He didn’t trip.
But he did walk straight into the pool skimmer on the way to the dumpster.
He rubbed his shin after tossing the trash bag into the dumpster, wincing as the sting settled into a dull throb. The plastic lid clattered shut behind him, loud and final, like the universe slamming the door on his remaining dignity.
“Smooth,” he muttered under his breath, crouching slightly to inspect the damage. No blood, just the kind of bruise that would scream idiot behavior in a few hours.
He rested both hands on his knees and sighed, long and miserable. The humid air clung to him, and his shirt was still damp where her skin had brushed his. He felt like he was radiating embarrassment, a walking, talking disaster.
She was probably already inside. Probably forgot the whole interaction. Or worse, probably telling Abraham about it right now, laughing at how flustered he’d gotten. Not cruelly, he hoped. Just… amused.
God, he wished he were cooler. He wished he’d said something clever. He wished he hadn’t stared at her thighs like they held the answers to the universe. He pushed off his knee and straightened up, staring at the sky like it might offer divine intervention.
All it gave him was a sunbeam straight to the eyes.
“Perfect,” he grumbled, blinking hard as he shuffled back toward the house, hoping no one was around to witness his walk of shame.
Of course, the kitchen blinds twitched. Someone had been watching.
Gideon barely made it back to his room before gravity took him hostage again. He collapsed face-first into the edge of his mattress, forehead pressed to the cool fabric as he groaned into the comforter like it might absorb his humiliation. The damp spot on his shirt hadn't dried yet, and it stuck to his skin, a clingy reminder that his pulse had been going berserk for the past twenty minutes.
He flipped onto his back, one arm slung over his face, trying to reset his brain. Maybe a nap would short-circuit the embarrassment. Maybe he'd wake up and discover it had all been a heatstroke hallucination.
Then he heard it.
The bathroom, the shared one between his room and Abraham’s, hissed softly with the unmistakable sound of water cutting off. The pipes groaned and settled, and the last drops of water tapped against the porcelain. His breath caught, chest tightening. The prickle of awareness crawled across his skin, fast and uninvited, like goosebumps under sunburn.
He heard a soft shuffle. The thud of something falling, maybe a bottle, maybe her towel. The air shifted, humid and warm, curling beneath his bedroom door like a beckoning finger.
Then came the knock. Barely a pause before the handle turned.
Gideon sat up too quickly, smacking his shin again against the underside of his desk. His hiss of pain was cut short by the door creaking open.
She stepped inside, steam curling around her like fog in a dream. Her hair was damp and darker now, the ends curling against the collar of an oversized t-shirt that hung off her frame like it belonged to someone else, and maybe it did. Her sweatpants clung loosely to her hips, cinched at the waist with a knotted drawstring, and the whole look screamed effortless in a way that made Gideon forget every language he’d ever learned.
“Sorry,” she said, voice gentle, not quite embarrassed. “I tried to use Abraham’s door, but it was locked. I assume he’s changing or something. Your mom said I could shower in there.
Her bare feet padded against his carpet, and all he could do was nod like a bobblehead with a busted spring.
“Oh,” he croaked. “Yeah. Probably. It- it's all good.”
She didn’t move to leave immediately. Her gaze scanned his room. She looked over the stacks of books, the tangle of phone chargers, the Gideon-shaped dent in the comforter. Her eyes landed back on him, and he swore he felt it.
The shift.
The heat in the silence.
He couldn’t tell if it was real, or if his brain had finally given up and let his hormones take the wheel. Either way, it knocked the breath out of him.
“I like your posters,” she said, finally filling the silence as she stepped further into the room. Her fingers worked absently at the ends of her damp hair, squeezing water into the towel slung around her neck. Droplets trickled down her collarbone and disappeared beneath the neckline of her shirt.
Gideon swallowed hard. “Thanks,” he managed, his voice rough around the edges. He was suddenly hyper-aware of every little thing. How his desk chair creaked when he shifted, how warm the room had gotten, how the scent of her shampoo, something sweet and clean, floated in with the steam.
She drifted toward the wall where a vintage Raiders of the Lost Ark poster hung slightly crooked, next to a signed stunt crew photo from a film he’d worked on for three whole days before getting a concussion and being sent home. She looked at everything like it meant something, like it told her things about him he hadn’t said out loud.
“You really liked this one, huh?” she asked, pointing at the Blade Runner print, faded at the edges but still vibrant.
He nodded. “Yeah. I dunno. It’s kind of depressing, but... pretty. In a weird way.”
She smiled softly, still drying her hair. “Fitting.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Pretty. In a weird way,” she teased, glancing over at him with a glint in her eye.
Gideon choked on air. “I- uh, thanks?”
She laughed, turning back to face him fully, arms crossed now with the towel slung over one shoulder. The shirt she wore tugged against her curves just enough to send his thoughts spiraling again. He forced his eyes up. Eye contact, eye contact, he repeated like a prayer.
“You okay?” she asked, eyebrow arched, almost concerned.
He nodded again, too quickly. “Yeah. Totally. Just, uh, didn’t expect company.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not staying.” She took a step toward the hallway, but paused in the doorway, her hand on the frame. “But I like your room.”
Then she was gone, and all that was left was the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
He doesn’t see her for two days.
She only comes over during the week, and even though he knows that, Saturday and Sunday feel like an eternity. Each hour seems to stretch out longer than the last. He checks the driveway more times than he’s willing to admit, hoping maybe, maybe, she’ll pop by early. But the spot stays empty, and with it, so does his patience.
Jesse, of course, notices.
Sunday afternoon, he corners Gideon in the kitchen while digging through the pantry for pork rinds. “Son, you got that pitiful lovesick look about you again. Like a basset hound that got left at the altar.”
“I’m fine,” Gideon mutters, tugging the fridge door open just to have something to look at besides his father’s smug face.
Jesse keeps going anyway. “Y’know what worked on your mama? Confidence. I walked right up to her, told her she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen and that if she didn’t marry me, I’d probably die.” He paused. “Well, I said it a little louder than that. I had flair.”
“You also fake-cried during your proposal,” Amber added as she walked by, sipping her tea. “We all knew it.”
Jesse pointed a chip at her. “Still worked, didn’t it?”
Amber ignored him and turned her attention to Gideon. “Don’t listen to all that mess. Just ask her. No smoke and mirrors. If you like her, tell her. Buy her flowers if you’re scared to say it with your mouth.”
“She’s just… cool,” Gideon admitted, fingers tightening around the fridge handle. “I don’t wanna make it weird.”
“Baby, everything’s weird when it’s real,” Amber said gently. “That’s what makes it honest.”
Gideon didn’t respond. Not out loud anyway. But later that night, he found himself staring at the ceiling fan in his room, wondering what kind of flowers she liked.
+++
“Okay. Then what do you do with the three?”
Abraham thought hard. She sat beside him, nodding gently. “You’ve got it,” she encouraged.
“Drop and divide?”
“Drop and divide. Go ahead.”
Abraham scribbled the numbers down on his worksheet, tongue sticking slightly out the side of his mouth in concentration. She leaned in a little, watching his pencil move, her arm warm against Gideon’s where he sat on the other side of the couch.
Gideon hadn’t even known she was coming over today. He’d come downstairs to grab a snack and nearly tripped over his own feet when he saw her sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with a textbook and Abraham’s math homework spread out in front of her.
Now, she’d made herself at home between them, smelling faintly of vanilla and pollen. She was wearing one of those oversized college sweatshirts and the same sweatpants from a few days ago. He was pretty sure they were technically her pajamas. He was also pretty sure he was going to combust.
“Okay,” Abraham said slowly, “so I divide the three into the twelve…”
“Twelve what?” she prompted softly.
“Twelve cookies,” he said with a small grin.
“Right,” she laughed. “Now how many does each person get?”
Abraham counted on his fingers. “Four.”
“Perfect.” She high-fived him, and Gideon’s heart clenched at the way she smiled wide and full of pride like she’d just taught him to build a rocket. She turned toward Gideon, catching him staring.
He looked away fast, suddenly very interested in the edge of the couch cushion. “He’s, uh, doing really good.”
“He is,” she said, nudging him gently with her elbow. “You were probably just like this when you were his age.”
Gideon made a noise in his throat. “I was more annoying.”
She snorted. “Hard to believe.”
He glanced over at her then, heart hammering, and for a second, he thought maybe this was the moment. Maybe he’d just ask—no smoke, no mirrors. Just like his mom said.
Gideon watched them for a while, pretending to be more interested in the math homework than he really was. His eyes flicked between Abraham’s scribbled notes and her focused expression. She was in her zone, leaning forward slightly, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. Every time she tucked a stray piece behind her ear, Gideon’s stomach twisted in a way that felt a little too much like nervousness.
The silence between them was comfortable, but it only lasted so long before his attention drifted. His gaze wandered over to the couch where her bag rested, the one she had dropped by the door when she came in. Her phone sat on top of it, the screen face-up.
Then, it happened. The phone lit up with a soft buzz, the kind that made his heartbeat skip for no reason. He tried to look away, but his eyes locked on the screen as the text notification flashed across it.
he’s picking you up at 9???
It took every ounce of Gideon’s self-control not to choke on the air around him. His chest tightened as the words sank in. He didn’t need to know who the message was from. He could already guess. She’d mentioned someone in passing once or twice, though he couldn’t quite place the name.
His stomach did a strange little twist, but he fought to keep his face neutral. He could feel his pulse in his throat as he pretended to focus on Abraham’s homework again. The math problems seemed like foreign symbols now. He barely heard Abraham mumble something about dividing fractions.
"Who’s that from?" Abraham asked suddenly, glancing at the phone.
Gideon froze, just a fraction too late in looking away. Her eyes flickered to the phone, and she reached over to swipe it quickly, as though she hadn’t meant to leave it out in the open. She gave him a brief, awkward smile.
“Uh, just a friend,” she said quickly, tucking the phone into her bag. Her fingers lingered on the strap for a second too long.
Gideon tried to act like it didn’t matter, that he wasn’t having an internal battle over the mere idea of her going out with someone else. He forced a smile, his heart pounding hard in his chest.
But his mind couldn’t stop racing. 9 p.m.? Who is picking her up? And why didn’t I know about this sooner?
Abraham, oblivious to the tension building in the room, asked her another question about long division. She smiled, her attention shifting back to him, but Gideon’s mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the thought of her getting in someone else's car later. A flash of jealousy burned behind his ribs, and despite his best efforts to keep his expression neutral, he couldn’t quite suppress the frustration bubbling under the surface.
She didn’t notice. At least, not at first. But she’d surely seen the flicker of discomfort in his eyes. And for a moment, it felt like the air between them shifted, just a little. But she kept smiling at Abraham, and the world kept turning, even if it felt like it was spinning too fast for him to keep up.
Gideon overheard you later that night as you were leaving. The soft murmur of voices from the hallway reached him, and he couldn’t help but listen, feeling like an outsider in his own house. He leaned against the doorframe, straining to hear as Amber offered you a seat at the dinner table, her voice warm and welcoming.
But you didn’t stay.
“I’d love to, but I’ve got to get going,” you said, your voice light, yet polite. You hoisted your purse over your shoulder, giving Amber a smile before stepping toward the door.
Gideon couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment settle in his chest as he heard the door click shut. She wasn’t staying. Not here, not with him.
The night dragged on from there. Dinner was a blur. He didn’t eat much, his stomach flipping over itself in a knot that no amount of food could undo. His mind kept replaying the same thought over and over: I'm too late.
He had waited too long to make his move, too cautious in all the wrong moments. And now, someone else was picking you up at 9 p.m. He didn’t even know who, but the sting of that realization was sharp and relentless.
When the clock finally ticked over to 9 p.m., he couldn’t stand it anymore. He threw the covers off, tossing and turning in bed, his body restless. Finally, he gave in, dragging himself out of bed and trudging downstairs. He was running on autopilot, his steps heavy, his mind a chaotic mix of frustration and regret.
He reached the kitchen, hoping to find some Tums, a quick fix for the ache building inside his chest. As he opened the cabinet, reaching for the bottle, he heard a voice from behind him.
“Well, look who’s awake.”
Gideon turned, finding Jesse leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. The older man’s gaze was calculating, sharp as usual, but there was something in his eyes. Something that made Gideon feel like he was being read, dissected, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.
“Late-night snack?” Jesse asked, his voice casual, though the look on his face suggested he knew exactly what was going on in Gideon’s mind.
Gideon hesitated before answering, his voice a little too tight. “Just grabbing some Tums,” he muttered, uncapping the bottle.
Jesse raised an eyebrow but didn’t press, letting the silence hang in the air between them. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The ticking of the clock was louder than it should have been.
Finally, Jesse spoke up, his tone still casual, but with a hint of something more serious underneath. “You know, if you want something, you have to go for it. Can’t just wait around hoping it’ll come to you.”
Gideon didn’t look at him. He just popped a few Tums into his mouth, the chalky texture not doing much to soothe the ache inside. “I know.”
But Jesse didn’t seem convinced. He let out a sigh and pushed himself off the doorframe, stepping into the kitchen. “Just don’t wait too long. You’ll regret it.”
The words hung in the air long after Jesse had left, and Gideon was left standing there, his thoughts spinning. The clock ticked on.
The next day, she was behind the wheel, driving Abraham home from school. The ride was quiet for the most part, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the air. Abraham, always the chatterbox, seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, occasionally muttering something about a math problem or how his friends had been acting. She nodded along, offering the occasional response, but her mind wasn’t really on the conversation.
As she pulled into the driveway, Abraham unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door handle.
"Thanks for the ride," he said, offering a grin before stepping out.
"No problem," she replied, waving him off as he jogged to the door, his backpack bouncing with each step.
"Keep working on your homework! I'll check it out tomorrow!"
She started to pull away from the house when she noticed a familiar figure standing just a few yards down the driveway. Gideon. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his stance casual but his eyes locked on you as he approached.
Her stomach did a little flip, and she wondered if she’d been caught in a moment she hadn’t planned for.
He moved toward her car as she slowed to a stop in front of him, his eyes flicking toward the passenger seat before meeting her.
"Hey," he greeted, a slight hesitation in his voice as he leaned against the car. "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight... maybe go get something to eat?"
The words hit her like a ton of bricks. She froze for a moment, her fingers tight on the steering wheel. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, and she hated how obvious it must have been.
He was already debating whether this was a good idea. He didn’t know if you could do the casual “just friends” thing with her anymore, not after everything. Still, she managed a soft smile, even though he could tell there was something more on her face than just friendly intent.
But then, just as quickly as the smile appeared, a grimace followed. It was hard to ignore. He hadn’t planned for this. The weight of it, the vulnerability of the whole situation, made her hesitate.
"I- I don’t think so, Gideon," she murmured, her words trailing off awkwardly. "I have some plans with friends.”
She could see it in his eyes immediately. Disappointment, mixed with something else you couldn’t quite place. He pulled back, trying to cover it with a small nod, but you could still feel the tension in the air.
“I get it,” he said, though the smile he tried to offer didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll see you around.”
With that, he turned and started walking away, and your heart sank. He couldn’t tell if it was the regret of missing his chance or the growing frustration of avoiding the inevitable. But either way, he felt the weight of the moment linger long after she disappeared from view.
He cried that night. Actually cried. The kind of cry that twisted deep in his chest and wouldn’t let up, no matter how hard he tried to breathe through it. The hot water from the shower beat down on his back, but it didn’t soothe him. His knees had buckled somewhere around the five-minute mark, and now he sat hunched over on the tile floor, his head resting against the cold porcelain, arms wrapped tight around himself like that might keep the ache from spreading.
He didn’t sob loudly. He couldn’t. Not with his brothers just a few rooms over, not with the paper-thin walls of the mansion that made privacy almost impossible. Instead, it came out in sharp exhales and trembling shoulders, tears that slid quietly down his face and mixed with the water running over his cheeks. The steam clung to his eyelashes. He couldn’t tell where the water ended and the tears began.
He stayed there longer than he should’ve,, long after the hot water began to cool, long after his skin felt raw. He didn’t care. He needed to feel something, and right now, the sting of water hitting his tired muscles was the only thing grounding him.
When he finally got out, his fingers were wrinkled and his eyes were bloodshot. He dried off in silence, moving slowly, like each movement took more effort than the last. He pulled on a hoodie and joggers without thinking, not caring what he looked like.
In the kitchen, the light over the sink was still on. The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the fridge. He reached for the door, grabbing a half-full water bottle and letting the cool air hit his flushed face.
“Hey.”
He froze.
Amber stood in the doorway in her robe, arms crossed, hair piled on top of her head. Her eyes scanned him, looking at his slumped shoulders, the redness around his eyes, and the way he wouldn’t look at her.
“You okay?” she asked softly, almost like she already knew the answer.
He hesitated, then let out a breath through his nose, blinking a few times too fast.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Shampoo got in my eyes.”
Amber raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push. Instead, she stepped closer and rubbed his arm gently before heading toward the stairs.
“Okay,” she said simply, with that quiet kind of love only a mother could give. “Just… be kind to yourself, alright?”
He nodded, gripping the water bottle a little tighter as he turned back toward the fridge, eyes stinging again. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this hollow.
The following afternoon, everything feels numb. Predictable. She followed the same routine without thinking—drive Abraham home from school, help him settle at the dining table with his backpack slung lazily across a chair, go through his homework until his answers stop needing your encouragement. He’s bright, quick-witted, and growing more independent by the day. Gideon wonder if he even needs your help anymore or if she’s just a part of the structure he’s gotten used to.
When he finishes, she pats his shoulder, gathers her things, and slips her shoes back on. She passed Gideon in the hallway. He doesn’t say much—just gives her a little wave, half-smile tugging at his mouth. She returns it with a soft goodbye and let herself out. The door closes behind her with a quiet finality.
Gideon lingers in the hallway for a second before he ends up in Abraham’s room, leaning against the doorframe. The younger boy is sprawled across his beanbag chair, controller in hand, eyes locked on the flashing screen of a game clearly not rated for his age group. Gunshots echo from the TV. A car speeds down a city street, sirens wailing in the distance.
“You know Mama wouldn’t want you playin' that,” Gideon mutters.
Abraham scoffs but doesn’t look away from the screen. “You played it when you were ten.”
Gideon shrugs and drops onto the floor beside the beanbag, stretching his legs out. “Yeah, well. I also thought wearing fingerless gloves made me look cool.”
“Fair point.”
They sit in silence for a few minutes, the flickering colors of the game casting faint shadows over the walls. Then Abraham crashes his car straight into a streetlight. His character flies through the windshield with a crack and a grunt, followed by a string of curse words from the NPC.
Abraham doesn’t even flinch.
“You’re a dumbass, you know,” he says casually, respawning his character.
Gideon blinks, caught off guard. “S’cuse me?”
Abraham tosses him a glance, the kind that only a kid with an older sibling and a death wish could manage. “She likes you. You just waited too long and now she thinks you don’t like her back.”
Gideon scoffs, trying to ignore the flush that creeps up his neck. “You don’t know that.”
“I do. I’m not dumb, Gideon. She looks at you like... like you’re one of those sad songs people play in movies.”
Gideon groans and covers his face. “What does that even mean?”
Abraham shrugs. “I dunno. But it sounds right.”
He crashes into another light post. His character groans again, saying what sounds suspiciously close to a slur Gideon learned about in Haiti.
“Maybe you should focus on driving,” Gideon mutters.
“Maybe you should focus on not being a sad song.”
Gideon pressed, leaning a little closer, voice low like he was afraid someone might overhear—like the walls had ears.
“Did she ever… talk about me? To you?”
Abraham didn’t look away from the screen. His thumbs moved quickly over the controller, but his lips twitched like he’d been waiting for that question.
“Dude, I’m ten. She wasn’t giving me full monologues about her feelings.” He paused, then added, “But… she used to be on the phone with her friends and stuff. They’d talk about you in code.”
Gideon blinked. “What?”
Abraham finally looked over, one eyebrow raised. “Her friends call you Bible Boy, nitwit.”
Gideon’s face went bright red, mouth falling open. “Bible Boy?”
“Yeah,” Abraham said with a snort. “Like, ‘Bible Boy was acting weird today,’ or ‘Bible Boy held the door open for me and didn’t even look me in the eye.’ That kind of stuff.”
Gideon groaned and dragged both hands down his face.
“Oh my God.”
Abraham grinned. “Pretty sure she liked you, man. She wouldn’t call you Bible Boy if she didn’t.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“You’re the one who asked,” Abraham said, crashing his car again with no remorse. “Maybe next time, don’t wait until there’s a dude picking her up at 9 to get your act together.”
Gideon didn’t respond. He just sat there, hands resting uselessly in his lap, wondering how badly he’d fumbled something that once felt so close.
“Which, by the way,” Abraham said, not even looking up from his game, “she was getting picked up at nine in the morning for a car appointment that wasn’t until noom. Her dad was picking her up early so they wouldn’t be late but she usually sleeps in before her class.”
Gideon blinked. “Wait, what?”
“You heard me.” Abraham crashed his car into a pedestrian this time, totally unfazed. “It wasn’t a date, moron.”
Gideon slumped back against the floor with a groan, staring at the ceiling. “I need to talk to you more often.”
That made Abraham pause the game. Literally pause it. He turned, controller in his lap, eyes narrowed.
“Yeah. You haven’t picked me up from school in months.” He gave Gideon a pointed look, a rare kind of honesty in his voice. “Give her a break, man.”
Gideon opened his mouth to respond, but Abraham cut him off with a sigh, unpausing the game with a dramatic press of the button. "H-how do you think I should bring it up?"
“Jesus Christ, I have to do everything in this house.”
Gideon then did something he never thought he would do. He asked his parents for help.
It was late. Their bedroom was dark except for the soft glow of the TV. Jesse was watching a movie on mute, eyes glazed over, only half-interested. Amber lay beside him, legs tucked up under a quilt, reading through her Bible with a highlighter in one hand and a ballpoint pen in the other. Jesse held her notebook steady on his stomach like it was some sacred duty.
“Hey,” Gideon said, standing awkwardly in the doorway.
Both of them looked over. Amber’s face lit up. Jesse raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, son?”
“I… need advice. Girl advice.”
Amber immediately sat up straighter. Jesse grinned like he’d just been handed a six-pack.
But they were absolutely no help.
Amber started in with talk about being vulnerable, open, intentional. Jesse interrupted constantly to add his own opinions. Things like “eye contact is key,” “don’t talk too much,” and “girls love mystery.” At one point, they both started talking over each other, and Gideon had to raise a hand just to get them to stop. He left more confused than when he walked in.
Back in his room, he paced for about an hour. Picked up his phone. Put it back down. Thought about texting you. Thought about what Abraham said. Thought about the way you looked at him last week when he stammered through asking if you’d like a glass of water.
Finally, without really thinking, he pulled on a hoodie, grabbed his keys, and took the golf cart over to his grandfather’s house. The night air was cool against his skin, the buzz of the crickets loud in the stillness. His headlights cut through the dark as he rolled across the lawn toward Eli’s quiet front porch.
If anyone could make sense of what the hell he was supposed to do, it was him.
Eli answered the door quicker than Gideon expected, still dressed in slacks and a pale blue sweater from earlier in the day. He looked like he hadn’t quite settled in for the night, just winding down, maybe waiting for the quiet to fully take hold.
Gideon stood there, hands shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie, shifting on the balls of his feet.
“Grandad,” he said, his voice low and a little uncertain. “How did you… how did you woo Grandma?”
Eli’s face softened immediately, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. It wasn’t a teasing smile either. It was warm, fond. The kind of look he only wore when talking about things that really mattered.
He opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Come on in,” he said. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
Gideon stepped into the familiar quiet of the house, breathing in the scent of old wood, books, and something faintly spicy—maybe from dinner or one of Eli’s candles. The door clicked shut behind him.
“You bringin’ me a girl problem, or a girl solution?” Eli asked, already moving toward the kitchen with a slow, steady stride.
“Definitely a problem,” Gideon muttered, following. “I messed it up. And I don’t know if I can fix it.”
Eli filled the kettle and flipped the switch, leaning back against the counter with his arms folded as the water began to heat. “Start from the beginning.”
And Gideon did.
Gideon hadn’t even realized how much he’d been holding in until the words started pouring out. He sat hunched at Eli’s kitchen table, his fingers wrapped around the warm mug of coffee he hadn’t touched, eyes fixed on a knot in the wood grain like it held all the answers.
“She just… smiled at me,” he said quietly. “That first day. It wasn’t polite or fake, you know? It was like she was surprised. Like something about me was worth being surprised over.”
Eli sat across from him, hands folded, not saying a word. Just listening. Just being there in the way only someone who’d lived a whole lot of life could.
“And then there was this one time,” Gideon continued, a slight, almost wistful smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Pontious was on one. Got mad at me for something stupid and cussed me out in front of everyone. I—I didn’t even say anything back. Just stood there.”
He paused, remembering the moment in vivid detail.
“She didn’t look up. Kept her head down. But she muttered, real quiet and called him a ‘punk.’ And then she looked right at Abraham and said, ‘Have more respect for people.’ Like it wasn’t even about me. Just… the principle of it. I don’t know. It felt like she was protecting me, even if she didn’t mean to.”
Eli nodded, his face unreadable but open. “And what happened after that?”
Gideon exhaled, shoulders slumping. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything. I froze. I always freeze. She just kept being… kind. Just kind. Even when I was awkward or silent or too careful. I thought I was playing it safe, but now she’s gone and I’m here, talkin’ to you about it like a kid with a crush who never grew up.”
Eli leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “You are a kid with a crush. That’s not a bad thing. But she’s not a test you pass or fail. She’s a person. A good one, from what you’re tellin’ me. And good ones are worth being honest with.”
Gideon looked down into his coffee. “What if it’s too late?”
Eli didn’t hesitate. “Then at least let her hear it from you. Not from silence.”
Gideon swallowed hard, nodding. “Okay.”
And for the first time in days, he didn’t feel like crying.
Eli leaned back in his chair, the coffee now lukewarm but untouched by either of them. “Your grandma had her mind made up the moment she saw me sing at that revival. She looked at me like she already knew me, and I swear my heart about jumped outta my chest. But it still took me three weeks and five different excuses to bump into her before she finally said yes.”
Gideon cracked a smile. “What finally did it?”
“A single daisy,” Eli said. “Wrapped in notebook paper and tied with a shoelace. I handed it to her after choir practice and said, ‘I figured you’d like something simple but real.’ She cried, told me it was the nicest thing anyone had ever given her.”
Gideon sat up straighter. “A flower?”
“One flower,” Eli confirmed, holding up a finger. “You ain’t gotta drown her in roses or make some big show. Just prove you’re thinking about her. Like you're really thinking. That’s what sticks.”
They talked for another hour, sketching out ideas with the quiet comfort that only family could bring. The plan was simple: he’d wait until she brought Abraham over again—no dramatics, no speeches. Just a thoughtful gesture, offered with the honesty she always seemed to pull from him without even trying.
Amber had been furiously tapping through flower arrangements on her tablet, grumbling over shipping costs and whether sunflowers sent the wrong message. But Eli’s idea felt right. Real. A single flower, maybe her favorite kind if he could figure it out in time. Something small and earnest.
When Gideon finally climbed back into the golf cart and drove across the yard toward the main house, the wind was cooler than it had been all week. He felt clearer. Not braver, exactly, but certain.
The kind of certain that sticks.
The morning was crisp, the kind of cool air that made Gideon feel like he had to do something important. His steps felt heavy as he made his way to the florist, the small bell chiming as he entered. The woman behind the counter looked up with raised eyebrows as he scanned the bouquets.
“A daisy?” she asked, clearly puzzled. “Just one?”
He swallowed hard, his fingers brushing over the petals of the nearest arrangement. “Yeah. Just... one.”
She gave him a long, evaluating look, as if trying to gauge how serious he was. Finally, she shrugged. “Well, we don’t usually sell them individually."
But as he paid, he caved and bought the entire arrangement. Gideon watched, feeling slightly foolish, as she fumbled to wrap it up. The flowers didn’t look special, but to him, it was everything. When she handed him the small bundle, he felt a strange mixture of pride and self-doubt, like he was about to do something important and ridiculous all at once. He stared at the single bloom, wishing he could know if it would be enough.
His aunt, Judy, had been mentioning how the flowers in the house looked a little tired lately, so he figured he could use them to make himself feel less like a man who had spent money on a single flower and then had to justify it. He plucked the brightest one out of the bunch and set it in the cup holder.
The day stretched on slowly. He thought about texting her, and he almost did, but then he decided to let it be a surprise, make it something casual. When she pulled into the driveway that afternoon with Abraham in tow, his heart kicked up in his chest. He waited by the front door, the daisy clutched in his hand, fingers nervously wrapped around the stem.
She stepped out of the car and smiled at him, her eyes immediately catching the flower. He held it up to her, uttering a soft for you that she probably didn’t hear. For a split second, she seemed taken aback, and for a second, he thought maybe she wasn’t going to say anything. But then her lips curled up into a soft, genuine smile.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice warm and kind, though a little unsure.
He wanted to say something, anything, but before he could open his mouth, Abraham was already beside him, punching his arm hard enough that he stumbled back. “God, you’re fucking stupid.” Abraham huffed, clearly embarrassed by the moment but also not one to let it linger.
Without a moment’s pause, he turned to her, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Y/N. Will you go out on a date with my lame-ass brother?” he asked, shaking his head as if the whole thing was ridiculous. “He’ll probably take you somewhere lame.”
Gideon stood frozen, his stomach doing flips. He glanced at her, his heart pounding in his throat, unsure of how this was going to land.
There was a moment of awkward silence, the kind that made Gideon’s skin feel too tight. Abraham stood there, looking between the two of them, his arms crossed, clearly waiting for something to happen. Gideon’s stomach did a weird flip, as though his insides were preparing for something that might break him, or make him.
She gave him a raised brow, amusement flickering in her eyes, but there was a slight hesitation in her voice when she spoke again. "I don't know. Pontious is kinda young for me."
Gideon blinked, his heart hammering harder than it should’ve been. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a terrible one.
It took a second for him to register the words, his brain doing a mental rewind as he tried to process it. She was joking. Right? Or were you... serious? His gaze flickered between her and Abraham, who was grinning like the little troublemaker he was.
But then, it clicked. He cleared his throat, the sound rough in his chest, trying to focus, trying to get his mind to do what his body was telling it to do. “With me,” he said, his voice quiet, the words finally coming out, “I’m the lame-ass brother.”
There was no going back now. He stood there, waiting, holding the daisy between his fingers like it was some kind of fragile thing that might shatter if he didn’t handle it perfectly.
She blinked at him, her lips pressing together for a moment as she took him in. The air around them seemed to hum with the tension of the moment. Would she say yes? Would she laugh? Would she think it was weird?
And then, after what felt like an eternity, she smiled. A soft, playful smile, and Gideon felt something inside him relax, even though his nerves were still buzzing like live wires.
“Okay, fine,” she said, the words light, but the look in your eyes was something else. “Maybe I’ll go on a date with the lame-ass brother.”
Gideon’s chest tightened, but this time it was a good kind of tight. The kind that made him feel like maybe he had a chance, maybe he wasn’t as out of place as he thought.
“Yeah?” He could barely keep the disbelief out of his voice, the excitement barely contained behind his words.
She nodded, her smile widening, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.
“Pick me up at 7:30. Your mom has my address.”
And with that she was gone. Gideon stood there, frozen as his mind raced with date ideas. He needed something meaningful but casual. Amber walked by, brows furrowed as she looked at Abraham, silently asking why her oldest son was staring at the door like he was trying to melt it with his mind.
Abraham tossed his backpack to the side. “I need a new babysitter,” he said, heading to his room.
Content Warning - Lack of formatting? (someone help I beg) Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Pain, Spiralling!Sebastian Sallow, Endearing Nicknames, Flashbacks, Ominis would burn down the world for you (and I love it), This is literally so self indulgent (I love yearning men)
Summary - Trapped in Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium, you, Ominis Gaunt, and Sebastian Sallow are forced to make an unforgivable choice—one that will leave scars far deeper than magic itself.
Author's Summary; my version of getting to Slytherin's Scriptorium, but with a bit more angst. Chapter 1 of 4 (maybe)
A.N. - I stopped writing years ago, but I don't see enough love for my boy Ominis. I'm an Ominis-girly through and through. I have an idea of how this ends but we'll also see how I feel lol. Please review/comment - they feed my motivation. Also I did write this instead of my thesis so like pls let me know if it was actually worth it
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The air was heavy. Thick with dust and something far worse.
It curled in your throat, the scent of rot lingering long after you had already taken your next breath. The walls of the Scriptorium stretched high above, their looming presence pressing down like unseen hands, and yet somehow, the space still felt suffocatingly small. The light from your wand barely reached beyond a few feet, casting long, flickering shadows that made the darkness seem alive.
The silence was deafening.
And then you saw her.
Aunt Noctua’s remains lay crumpled before the sealed door, her bony fingers still outstretched toward salvation that never came. Her tattered robes, once fine, were stiff with age, pooled around her skeletal frame in a final, undignified heap.
Your stomach twisted.
But it wasn’t just her remains that caught your attention—it was what surrounded them.
The word Crucio had been carved into the stone, deep enough that the grooves were still sharp despite time’s best efforts to wear them away. It was jagged, uneven—done with a shaking hand.
And beside her, a wand.
Snapped in two. The broken edges blackened and burnt. A sign of how many times she had tried. How many times she had forced herself to endure.
And still, it had not been enough.
A breath hitched beside you.
Ominis.
His face was unreadable, but his cloudy eyes—usually so guarded—gave him away. A deep crease had formed between his brows, his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. His pale irises, though sightless, moved as if trying to chase away the horrible images forming in his mind. His fingers twitched at his sides.
Sebastian stepped forward, his boots scraping against the stone. His gaze lingered on Noctua’s remains for only a moment before flicking toward the door. His expression hardened.
“So, this is it,” he murmured. “This is what happened to her.”
“She died here, Sebastian.” Ominis’ voice was quiet, but there was a tremor beneath it.
Sebastian didn’t look disturbed. He barely even looked concerned. “And do you know why?” His gaze flickered back to the word on the ground. “She hesitated. She wasted time. That’s why she—”
“That’s why what?” Ominis’ voice was razor-sharp.
Sebastian hesitated—only for a fraction of a second. “That’s why she didn’t make it,” he said, but something about the way he spoke made your skin crawl.
Ominis turned his head slightly. His expression darkened. “You pity her.” The words weren’t a question.
Sebastian scoffed. “I don’t—”
“You think she was weak.” Ominis’ breath came faster, something fraying at the edges of his composure. “You look at her, and you see someone who should have just gotten on with it, don’t you?”
You could see the war in his head. He wanted to deny it. He knew he should deny it. But he didn’t believe it.
Ominis let out a slow, humourless laugh. “You’re disgusting.”
Sebastian’s expression flickered. Just for a second.
Then his face hardened. “I’m disgusting? You’re the one pretending she had a choice!” His voice was rising now, sharp with frustration. He gestured toward the word carved into the ground. “This was the way out. She knew it. And she still couldn’t do it.”
“Because she wasn’t a monster like you!” Ominis snapped.
The words cracked like a whip.
Sebastian’s expression darkened. His eyes held something dangerous, something wrong. His grip on his wand twitched.
“You’d rather we rot down here with her?” His voice dropped, quieter now, but far more dangerous. “You’d rather let Anne suffer, too?”
Ominis inhaled sharply.
You turned to Sebastian—really looked at him.
He was different. Paler. Sharper. His eyes were darker than they should have been, and there was something unsettling in the way he gripped his wand—his fingers twitching, restless.
Something was changing in him.
And Ominis saw it, too. He was gripping his own wand tightly, his knuckles pale. But he said nothing.
Sebastian took another step forward, closing the space between them. “I’m not going to let her suffer because you have a problem with what needs to be done.”
Ominis exhaled sharply through his nose. His shoulders rose—tensed—then, suddenly, he let out a slow breath.
The anger in his face faded.
Not into acceptance.
Into resignation.
“Fine,” he said.
Sebastian blinked. “Fine?”
Ominis straightened, tilting his chin up. “We cast it.”
A beat of silence.
Then, slowly, Sebastian smirked. “Finally. You’re—”
“But you will not touch her.”
Sebastian’s smirk faltered. His gaze flickered to you, then back to Ominis.
Ominis stepped closer. “You will curse me.”
Your breath hitched. “Ominis—”
His head turned slightly toward you. His brows furrowed, something tightening in his jaw. “I won’t let you take it.”
Sebastian exhaled sharply. “And you refuse cast it.”
“Exactly.” Ominis squared his shoulders. “That’s why you will do it. And you will listen to me. You will do it properly.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I know how to—”
“No, you don’t.” Ominis’ voice cut through the space like ice. “If you don’t mean it, it won’t work. If you hesitate, it will be worse.” He exhaled, voice dropping lower. “If you do it wrong, Merlin knows if you’ll be able to do it again.”
Sebastian didn’t respond.
Ominis took another breath. His hands trembled at his sides, but he didn’t step back.
“Do it right the first time.”
Sebastian lifted his wand.
Your heart pounded. You stepped forward before you even realized it. “Wait—”
Ominis turned sharply. “Stay out of this.”
You froze.
His expression was unreadable now, his pale eyes like ghostly embers in the dim light. His hands were still shaking.
But not from fear.
He was bracing himself.
Sebastian hesitated for only a second.
Then—
"Crucio."
====================================
You didn’t think.
You just did.
Before either of them could stop you, before Ominis could say another word, you threw yourself forward—toward him.
It was a desperate, instinctual movement. The force of it made your heart race as you curled your body around his, pushing him back with your arms, shielding him with your body—your back preparing to take the curse.
“Wait!” Ominis’ voice cracked, panicked and desperate, but it was too late.
Your eyes were already fixed on Ominis.
Sebastian hestitated. The curse shot from his wand with a violent crack.
The air itself seemed to bend, contort, twist around the curse as it rocketed toward you. The sound of it hitting the air was deafening—like a whip cracking, followed by a deep, unnerving hum of raw, unrelenting power.
But something was wrong.
The curse didn’t feel right.
The red lightning that arced from Sebastian’s wand was jagged—unnatural. It flickered in violent, erratic patterns, crackling around the room like it was searching for something to latch onto, something to devour.
It was more than just wrong. It was dangerous.
And then, in a flash of agonizing pain, it slammed into your back.
Your body seized.
It felt like the bones in your spine were being ripped out one by one. The pain spread, deep and searing, until every muscle in your body was burning. Your breath caught in your throat, suffocating you. It was like your entire body had been set alight from the inside, but the fire wasn’t the kind that could burn away your pain—it was the kind that tore you apart, piece by piece.
You couldn’t scream.
Your lungs refused to work.
The pain was suffocating. It pulled every breath from your body, leaving nothing but raw, unrelenting agony.
Your vision blurred. Every edge of your sight frayed and split, and the world seemed to distort around you.
But it was the sound that cut the deepest—the sound of your own voice, trying to scream, but only a horrible, strangled cry escaping your lips.
Ominis shouted something, but his voice was lost in the crackling chaos around you.
You could hear nothing but the storm that raged inside your chest, the writhing agony in your spine, the sickeningly sharp pain that seemed to dig deeper with every pulse of the curse.
Sebastian’s intent was wrong—too strong.
You felt the wrongness in every electric current that shot through your body.
Your back arched as if you were being pulled in two, the pain pulling you taut like a bowstring. The curse writhed, unrelenting, twisting deeper, tearing your insides apart with each vicious shock that sent ripples of red lightning across your vision. The crackling of the curse itself seemed to snap and crackle, like an unnatural storm roaring above you. It was as though the curse was alive—hunting you, tearing through you with no mercy, with no end.
You barely noticed Ominis’ frantic, shaking hands reaching for you, his fingers brushing against your arm. His touch was like fire, his body trembling violently with the effort to pull you away from the curse that was consuming you.
But it wasn’t enough.
The agony surged again, more intense than before, sending you collapsing forward, barely managing to keep yourself upright. Your entire body felt hollow. Numb. But the pain... the pain was far from over. It kept coming, wave after wave of agony so intense it felt like your body was splitting apart.
Your heart hammered. Your body screamed for mercy that would never come.
And still, Sebastian didn’t stop.
His expression was twisted, consumed by the power he had unleashed. His face was a grimace of frustration, his eyes locked on you—his focus now entirely on you, his rage growing with every second the curse refused to let go.
“Sebastian! Stop!” Ominis shouted again, but his voice was lost to the air around them.
Sebastian’s hand clenched tighter around his wand, his voice muttering curses under his breath, as though he couldn’t hear Ominis’ plea. His grip on the wand tightened, and the curse continued to pulse through with a brutal shock.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
The pressure inside you was unbearable, but Sebastian was too far gone—he was too consumed by his own anger and frustration, too deep in the darkness of the curse he had cast.
Ominis’ eyes widened in realization.
His lips twisted into something tight and furious, and with a single, furious motion, he cast Depulso.
The force of it hit Sebastian’s chest like a cannonball, sending him stumbling backward with a sharp gasp. His wand slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor, his concentration shattering as his wide eyes locked onto Ominis.
“What the hell, Ominis?” Sebastian growled, his confusion clear, his face flushed with irritation.
But Ominis didn’t care. His breathing was heavy, his anger clearly evident.
“What the hell? What do you mean ‘what the hell’? You just—” Ominis’ voice was strained, choked with fury as he stepped forward. “You nearly killed her, Sebastian. You—”
Sebastian blinked, still disoriented by the sudden force of the spell. “I—what? I was trying to—”
But Ominis wasn’t listening anymore.
His hands were shaking as he reached for you, pulling you into his arms. “Don’t you ever—” he started, but his voice cracked. His anger softened, replaced by something almost like desperation. “Don’t you ever do something like that again.”
Sebastian didn’t move, standing there with his eyes wide in confusion, his breath still ragged from his outburst. “Ominis… I didn’t mean—”
Ominis didn’t respond. His focus was on you now, his hand gently brushing the hair from your face, his eyes wild and desperate as he cradled you against him.
Sebastian’s face fell, realization starting to set in. He had pushed too far; gone too far down a path he was already walking.
But Ominis didn’t care for the explanation.
He was angry. Furious. Furious at Sebastian for the reckless violence of it all, furious at him for the danger he had almost put you in.
And he wasn’t willing to let it slide.
====================================
The stone wall rumbled with a low, deep groan, and then the crackling of ancient magic reverberated through the room. The wall split with a sharp, jagged sound, and the heavy stone blocks moved apart, revealing the passageway to Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium. Dark, swirling shadows pulsed from the newly revealed entrance, as though the very air itself shuddered with the raw magic that lingered in this forbidden space.
Sebastian’s attention snapped immediately to the opening, his eyes narrowing with renewed determination. He began to step forward, but Ominis’ voice cut through the thick tension in the air like a whip.
“No.” The word was sharp, laced with a dangerous finality. His fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeve, gripping tightly as though to keep you tethered to him. “We’re not going in there.”
Sebastian hesitated, confused. “What? We came here for this, Ominis. We’ve got to finish this. The Scriptorium is right there.”
Ominis’ breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with barely contained anger. He could hear the desperation in Sebastian’s voice, but it only made his stomach twist further. His pulse quickened as he glanced down at you, the pain still evident in your features, and he cursed under his breath. His voice shook, though he tried to mask it with force.
“You’ve done enough,” Ominis spat, his words sharp like the crack of a whip. His grip tightened around your arm, and he shifted closer to you, his fingers trembling slightly. The sight of you still reeling from the curse gnawed at him. The fury swirled inside him, growing with every second.
Then, you stirred—slightly, as if to push yourself up, to stand despite the searing pain still running through your body. You grimaced, trying to brush it off as if you were okay, but the effort failed you. A strangled grunt escaped your throat, and your hands clenched at your side. The force of the agony made tears spring to your eyes, a sob escaping before you could stop it. Your body shook, unable to bear the pressure of movement.
Ominis’ breath caught in his throat. His heart clenched at the sight of you trying to push through the pain. His expression twisted into something fierce, though it quickly softened as he moved closer, his hands steadying you.
“Don’t.” Ominis’ voice was rough, but it softened slightly as he worked to soothe you, his fingers brushing over your skin with a care that belied his rage. “You’re not going anywhere. You hear me?”
The touch of his hand on your forehead was almost too gentle for the force in his voice. His trembling fingers continued their delicate path across your skin, the contrast stark against the fury that burned behind his eyes. He could feel the raw heat of your pain beneath the cloth, and it only fuelled the fire inside him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he repeated, his words steady despite the storm raging inside him. “We’re not moving from here until you’re able.”
Sebastian, who had watched the exchange with growing concern, stepped forward once more, though his face was still clouded with confusion.
“I’m trying to help,” Sebastian said, his voice losing some of its earlier certainty, a bit of doubt creeping into his tone. He started to take a step forward, but Ominis immediately tensed.
“No,” Ominis snarled, his voice thick with barely contained fury. “You’re not helping, Sebastian. You’ve done enough.” His grip tightened around your arm, and he shifted closer to you, his fingers trembling slightly. The anger twisted within him, made more potent by his fear—fear of losing you, fear of what Sebastian’s recklessness had done to you.
He cast a quick glance at the newly opened stone doorway, his mind working furiously. He could feel the cold, oppressive magic of the scriptorium creeping through the air, but he couldn’t focus on that now. You needed him.
His hand snapped into his pocket, his fingers brushing over his handkerchief. With a muttered incantation, water erupted from the tip of his wand, and he quickly conjured a steady stream of it onto the fabric. Holding it against his trembling hand, he pressed the cool cloth to your forehead with a delicate touch.
Sebastian, watching from a distance, seemed to struggle with the unfolding situation. His brows furrowed, his lips pressing together in frustration. He opened his mouth to protest, but then his gaze flicked to the scriptorium again. The door, still open, seemed to beckon. There was no denying the pull of it, the promise of answers hidden within those darkened walls. But then his gaze slid back to Ominis—saw the fury in his posture, the raw emotion radiating from him. For the first time, a hint of uncertainty crossed his face.
Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to compose himself. His voice dropped to something a little lighter, though the edge of urgency remained. “Hey, come on, you’ve got to admit, we’ve come this far. We can’t just turn back now, right?” He flashed a small, almost amused smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll help you, and we’ll sort this out together, yeah? The Scriptorium’s right there.”
He started to take a step closer to you, his hand outstretched, as though trying to coax you into moving with him, like nothing had happened. His tone was light, trying to make it sound easy—like you could simply walk into the scriptorium and leave the pain behind.
Before Sebastian could take another step, Ominis was already moving, quickly shifting from his position on the floor. His grip on your arm tightened, and with a forceful but careful motion, he lifted your head onto his rolled-up robe, using it as a cushion. His expression darkened as he placed himself in between you and Sebastian, his body tense, his blind eyes narrowing with barely concealed anger. His breath was shallow, his entire demeanour radiating a storm of emotion.
“You’re not going near her,” Ominis hissed, his voice dangerously low. His wand flicked, and its tip was aimed straight at Sebastian, a warning—sharp and unyielding.
Sebastian stared at Ominis for a long, tense moment, before smirking lightly. “Or else what?”
Ominis’ grip on his wand tightened, his fingers brushing against the cool surface of the wood. The tension in the air thickened, and his jaw clenched. He knew that if Sebastian pushed further, the situation would escalate beyond words, beyond warnings. The frustration—and something far more dangerous—radiated from Ominis as he stared down at Sebastian.
Ominis stepped forward, rising from his crouch, his body broad and solid despite his lean build. His height loomed over Sebastian, though the other boy was far more muscular. Still, Ominis had the advantage of reach and anger. His stance was one of quiet threat, every inch of his body vibrating with raw emotion. He towered over Sebastian, his blind eyes dark and sharp, betraying none of the hesitation that once might have softened his words.
His voice dropped low, the tension in his chest tight, his words a sharp warning. “Don’t ever try me again. You’ve done enough, Sebastian. Now stay the hell away from her.”
Sebastian’s face flickered with a mix of frustration and confusion. He took a half-step back, looking Ominis over, then back at the girl lying behind his friend. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his jaw tightened as he met Ominis’ unwavering gaze. He opened his mouth to retort but shut it again with a huff, clearly seeing that Ominis was beyond the point of reason.
Ominis didn’t give him another chance to argue. He stepped fully between Sebastian and you, his stance firm, his wand still held at the ready. “I won’t let you drag her into this any further,” he snarled, his voice trembling with the heat of anger. “Not while I’m still standing.”
The air was thick with tension as Ominis stared down at Sebastian, his wand unwavering. His gaze was a silent threat, an unspoken promise that anyone who tried to get closer to you would find themselves facing the full force of Ominis Gaunt’s fury.
Sebastian stared up at Ominis, unflinching, his eyes scanning the tall, lean figure of his friend—his once-trusted companion—who now stood between him and the girl they both cared about. His lips curled into a smirk, though there was no real humour in it. He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as he took in the storm brewing in Ominis’ posture. The space between them felt thick, charged with something far more volatile than the air around them.
“Or else what?” Sebastian asked, his voice light, though there was a hint of sarcasm that laced his words, as though he didn’t take Ominis’ threat seriously. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back slightly, a mocking glint in his eyes, trying to mask the unease that was beginning to creep in. “You really think you can stop me? I’m your friend, Ominis. You think this is about you and me now? Is this really the hill you want to die on?”
Ominis didn’t move at first. His wand was steady, the tip pointed directly at Sebastian as though it were a warning, but it wasn’t just the wand. It was everything about Ominis: the tense, broad set of his shoulders, the slow, deliberate way he stepped forward. The anger was practically visible, swirling around him like a storm, but it was more than that—it was disappointment that clawed at Ominis’ insides. It made him feel sick. It made his heart ache with the need to protect you.
Sebastian’s smirk faltered slightly as Ominis took that step forward, towering over him despite the smaller, more solid frame of Sebastian. The two of them were different—Ominis was taller, leaner, his body not as physically imposing as Sebastian’s, but there was no doubt Ominis had the upper hand in sheer presence right now. His rage seemed to fill the space between them, suffocating and heavy.
Sebastian let out a small, sarcastic laugh, though it lacked the bite it might’ve had just moments ago. He shifted slightly on his feet, clearly trying to read Ominis, sizing him up, as if searching for a way to defuse the tension or maybe to call his bluff.
“Oh, I see,” Sebastian said, his tone still light but now laced with a touch of defiance. “You think you can just stand there and stop me because I’ve upset you?” He raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that it? Ominis Gaunt, the one who always plays it so carefully, so calmly... suddenly making threats?”
The air between them crackled with rising tension as Ominis didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact. The depth of his silence spoke volumes, and Sebastian could feel the shift in the atmosphere—something darker, something more dangerous. He was still sizing Ominis up, but there was a distinct shift in his own stance now, his feet planted firmly. He was calculating, watching for any sign of hesitation. Still, he refused to be intimidated, refusing to show weakness.
But Ominis was unwavering. He took another step, his voice low, dangerous, vibrating with emotion. “Don’t.” It was more of a growl than a word. “You’ve done enough already, Sebastian.”
Sebastian's confident façade cracked just slightly. He was used to being the one in control, the one who took risks and challenged anyone who stood in his way. But there was something about the way Ominis stood, his posture firm, his blind eyes dark with something like fury that made Sebastian falter—just for a moment.
Still, Sebastian’s smirk didn’t disappear entirely. He was used to the tension, to the games they played, but this... this felt different. The intensity in Ominis’ gaze, the way the wand trembled ever so slightly in his hand—Sebastian could feel the rawness of it, the bite of the anger that Ominis had been holding back for far too long.
“You’re still my friend, Ominis,” Sebastian said, his voice softer now, but the sarcasm remained. He half-expected Ominis to lash out, to say something cruel, to give in to the storm within him—but Ominis didn’t. He just stood there, staring at him with such intensity that it felt like a challenge.
The silence between them grew, thickening with every passing moment. Sebastian felt his heart rate pick up slightly, though he didn’t let it show. He could tell Ominis was no longer just angry. There was something else—something more desperate, more personal. It was the same rage he’d seen in his friend’s eyes when something mattered so much, when it threatened the very core of what they’d once shared.
But Sebastian wasn’t backing down. He stood his ground, meeting Ominis’ unyielding gaze with a spark of defiance in his own eyes. He wanted to say more, to press Ominis to understand that they couldn’t just stop, but there was something in the way Ominis’ body was now squared against him—something in the air that made Sebastian pause, just for a moment. The tension was suffocating, a silent battle between their wills, between their understanding of what needed to happen next.
And then Ominis spoke again, his voice calm but dripping with authority.
“Stay the hell away from her,” he said, his voice low but filled with conviction. “You’re not needed here anymore, Sebastian.”
It was a threat, sure, but it was also an ultimatum. The meaning was clear. Ominis wasn’t about to let Sebastian anywhere near you, not while you were in this state, not while he could feel every fibre of his being screaming to keep you safe.
Sebastian didn’t move for a long moment, his gaze flicking over Ominis, reading him as if searching for weakness. But there was none to find. Instead, there was only the raw intensity in Ominis’ stance, the surety in his voice. And for the first time, Sebastian realized that Ominis wasn’t bluffing. There was no hesitation anymore. This wasn’t the same Ominis who had kept quiet and followed Sebastian’s lead. This was someone who was willing to fight for you—someone who had already decided where his loyalty lay.
Sebastian swallowed hard, but he didn’t back down. His smirk faded, and for a moment, he looked... unsure. A brief flicker of uncertainty passed through his eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it came.
The silence between them grew, and Sebastian, ever the one to break it with barbed words, leaned in slightly, his voice lighter, but with that unmistakable edge of provocation. “Once a Gaunt, always a Gaunt, right?” He let out a small, dry chuckle, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “All that noble blood running through your veins—just like them. It’s no surprise you’d turn out like this, is it? Condescending, self-righteous, always looking down on the rest of us.”
The words stung, though Sebastian’s voice was too casual for it to seem like anything more than a jab—one that had been waiting to be thrown for some time. His eyes were fixed on Ominis, watching for any sign of a reaction. He knew how to push, how to prod, how to expose the cracks beneath the surface of a person who had been raised with such heavy expectations. Ominis’ family wasn’t just a name—it was a curse, and Sebastian knew it, could see it written in every movement, every word Ominis had ever said.
But Ominis didn’t flinch. Not yet. His grip on his wand tightened, his hand shaking ever so slightly, though his posture remained unnervingly calm.
Sebastian took another step forward, his eyes glittering with that old sense of challenge. “Or are you just trying to surpress the Gaunt in you? Trying to protect the helpless one, because your family would never let you do anything else. Always playing the saviour, aren’t you? Always overcompensating for something rooted deep into you.”
Ominis’ breath hitched slightly, his jaw tightening at the insinuation. His hands clenched into fists, the weight of the accusation sinking into his chest. He could feel the blood rushing to his ears, the heat of anger rising in him like a wave.
But it was more than anger now. It was something else, something deeper. Something born from the years of having that name pressed upon him, of carrying the weight of what his family stood for. The endless expectations. The suffocating belief that he was meant for something darker. And now, here was Sebastian—poking at the old wounds, making it sting once more.
“I’m nothing like them,” Ominis muttered, his voice low, barely above a whisper. But there was a steeliness behind it now, a promise. “I won’t be like them.”
The tension between them thickened, wrapping around both of them like an invisible barrier, each word adding more weight to the words that had been left unspoken for far too long.
Sebastian’s lips twisted into a smirk, his words sharper now, digging deeper. “Sure, Ominis. Keep telling yourself that. But in the end, you’re just as much a Gaunt as they were.”
Ominis’ grip tightened on his wand, and he took a step forward, the movement slow but deliberate, his body a line of unyielding tension. “You know nothing about me,” he ground out, every word laced with fury.
Sebastian paused, a small flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he didn’t back down. “Maybe not,” he said with a shrug, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “But I’ve seen enough to know where your loyalties lie.”
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