Chapter 3: The Morning After

Kai didn’t wake gently. He surfaced from sleep like someone breaking through ice—fast, disoriented, and cold despite the warm sheets tangled around him.

His heartbeat was already high when he sat up, ribs straining like his body was still fighting something invisible. For a few seconds, he couldn’t tell if he was in danger or just remembering it.

But there was no shouting. No footfalls. No hands.

Only silence.

He exhaled shakily and sank back into the bed. The room was still dark, lit only by the distant glow of the city skyline pressing in from behind the window. Rain tapped faintly against the glass, like a memory still clinging to the edge of morning.

His body ached in slow, dull waves. Not from heat. From safety. From sleeping more than a few hours without bolting upright in fear. It was disorienting. Dangerous, even.

He couldn’t afford to get used to it.

Not here. Not anywhere.

He swung his legs out of bed and stood. The borrowed clothes hung loosely from his frame. He could still smell the sterilized softness of detergent in the sleeves. Someone had cleaned them recently. Or never worn them at all.

He wandered into the hallway barefoot.

The apartment was as silent as the night before. No music. No television. Just the low hum of refrigeration and electricity through the walls. The place was too clean, too composed.

Alek wasn’t there.

For a wild moment, Kai thought he’d been abandoned.

But then he saw the plate.

It sat covered on the island in the kitchen. Warm. Beside it, a sealed note with his name printed in clean block letters: KAI.

He hesitated before touching it. Then picked it up, unfolded it.

Had to go in early. There’s food and more suppressants in the cabinet. I’ll be back late. You’re safe here. – A

He read it twice. Then a third time.

He didn’t know how to react.

No demands. No schedule. No locked door. Just a note. As if he were someone worth considering. Someone Alek trusted enough to leave alone.

Kai sat at the island and slowly uncovered the plate. Eggs. Toast. Grilled vegetables. Warm. Real.

He stared at the food for a long time before picking up the fork.

And he hated that his hands were shaking.

The morning dragged. Kai explored the apartment with careful steps, like each room might shift if he moved too fast. Everything was functional. Expensive. Lifeless. There were no photos. No decorations. No clutter.

The only personal thing he found was a stack of books by the bed in the main room—economics texts, a worn hardcover titled The Architect's Collapse, and one slim poetry collection that looked untouched.

Kai didn’t touch anything else. He didn’t sit on Alek’s bed. He didn’t even breathe too loudly when he passed the threshold.

He ended up curled on the living room sofa, legs tucked under himself, flipping channels he didn’t care about. Nothing stuck. His brain buzzed but wouldn’t land on anything.

He hated the way his body felt.

Empty. Hollowed out. Still waiting for the next hit of pain.

At some point, he slept again. Lightly.

The kind of sleep that let every sound through. Every distant siren. Every creak in the building.

When the door finally opened that night, he startled.

Alek stepped inside, drenched from the rain. He carried a satchel over one shoulder and looked like he hadn’t slept either.

He froze when he saw Kai curled on the couch.

"Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you."

Kai sat up slowly. "You didn’t."

Alek moved past him toward the kitchen. He didn’t ask if Kai had eaten. Didn’t ask anything at all. Just started peeling off his wet coat, layer by layer, until only a black undershirt clung to his frame.

Kai tried not to stare at the lines of his arms. At the scars he didn’t expect to see. Long, thin ones. Surgical.

"What happened to you?" Kai asked before he could stop himself.

Alek didn’t turn.

"War."

That was all he said.

Kai stood and crossed the room.

"You were a soldier?"

"Briefly."

"Why?"

Alek opened a cabinet, pulled out a glass, poured something clear and sharp into it.

"Because I didn’t want to be an Alpha."

Kai blinked. "What?"

"I thought maybe if I bled hard enough in a uniform, it would cancel out the biology. The instincts. The expectations."

Kai didn’t answer. He sat back down.

Alek turned and leaned against the counter.

"Turns out being a soldier doesn’t change what you are. It just teaches you how to hide it better."

His eyes met Kai’s then. And for the first time, Kai didn’t flinch.

A slow understanding had begun to form between them—not trust, not yet—but the fragile beginning of something that couldn’t be named. It settled between them in moments like this: silence that wasn’t empty. Distance that wasn’t cruel.

Kai spoke again. "You’re not like them."

"I’ve spent most of my life making sure I’m not."

"And still... you are."

Alek didn’t argue. "I know."

Kai’s throat worked. He stood, walked to the window. The rain had cleared. The sky outside glimmered with the distant, artificial dawn of city light. He folded his arms over his chest.

"Why didn’t you bond me that night?"

Alek’s reply was immediate. "Because you didn’t say yes."

Kai turned, shocked at the certainty in Alek’s tone.

"That’s it?"

"That’s everything."

Kai’s mouth parted. No Alpha he’d ever met spoke like that. Like consent wasn’t optional. Like it mattered.

"You could’ve done it. I was in heat. Weak. Vulnerable."

"Which is exactly why I didn’t."

Kai lowered his gaze.

"I don’t know what to do with that."

Alek nodded. "You don’t have to do anything."

Kai’s lip curled slightly. Not from mockery. From frustration.

"You say things like that and expect me to believe them. Like I haven’t been conditioned to see every offer as a trap. Every kindness as a lead-up to pain."

"I don’t expect you to believe anything."

"Then why keep trying?"

Alek’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture softened.

"Because I remember what it felt like to have no one."

The words broke something.

Kai looked away sharply, biting the inside of his cheek.

They didn’t talk much after that.

But when Alek passed Kai a blanket later that night without saying a word—just a gesture, an offering—it meant more than any apology could.

Kai took it.

And for the first time, he sat on the couch beside Alek. Not close. But closer than he had the night before.

They watched the skyline together. Silent.

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