Chapter 8 #5
The forty-minute ride was a study in contradictions.
Every bump and jolt sent me pressing back against Stefano’s solid chest, his arms tightening protectively around me when the trail became particularly rough.
The rational part of my mind cataloged this as practical safety measures.
The traitorous omega part reveled in being held so securely, surrounded by his pine and winter scent.
By the time the cottage came into view, I was wound tight with tension from fighting my body’s responses to his proximity. When the engines finally cut off, I practically launched myself off the ATV, desperate for space to think clearly.
Aunt Akiko burst through the cottage door before I’d taken three steps, Uncle Jiro close behind. Her hands immediately flew to my face, checking my temperature and studying my pale complexion with obvious concern.
“Leo-kun! You look absolutely dreadful!” she exclaimed, her voice pitched high with worry. “Jiro-san, look how thin he’s gotten! And so pale!”
Uncle Jiro’s weathered face creased with concern as he took in my unsteady posture and the way I was swaying on my feet. “What happened to him?” he asked the alphas directly, his tone carrying the authority of someone who’d been entrusted with my care.
“Medication reaction,” Stefano explained diplomatically, his hand steady on my arm as my legs threatened to give out. “Military-grade suppressants. His system is still recovering.”
“Suppressants?” Aunt Akiko’s eyes widened with understanding and immediate action. “Jiro-san, get the civilian-grade backup from the emergency kit. The mild ones, not the standard strength.”
Uncle Jiro nodded grimly, heading back into the cottage with purposeful strides. “I’ll prepare the guest room on the first floor too,” he called over his shoulder. “Stairs will be too much for him.”
“No,” I protested weakly, though my voice lacked conviction. “My room is fine. I can manage stairs.”
“You can barely manage standing,” Marco said. “Stairs would be an unnecessary risk.”
Aunt Akiko was already ushering us toward the cottage, her hands fluttering over me like a worried mother hen. “Inside, inside! You need warmth and proper food immediately. I’ll make something gentle for your stomach.”
The procession into the cottage felt surreal. Three massive alphas crowding into our modest living space while Aunt Akiko bustled around, pulling blankets from the linen closet and directing Uncle Jiro to adjust the thermostat.
“The first-floor guest room,” she announced, leading us down the hallway past the kitchen. “Better for monitoring, and the bathroom is just across the hall.”
The guest room was smaller than my upstairs bedroom, dominated by a double bed covered in one of Aunt Akiko’s handmade quilts. Uncle Jiro had already turned down the covers and was adjusting the pillows.
“Into bed immediately,” Aunt Akiko declared, and before I could protest, Stefano was lifting me again, settling me against the pillows.
“I can undress myself,” I said, though the borrowed clothes were starting to feel heavy and uncomfortable against my skin.
“Can you?” Uncle Jiro asked skeptically, noting how my hands trembled as I reached for the shirt hem. Without ceremony, he moved to help, his movements brisk but gentle as he eased the fabric over my head.
Even Uncle Jiro is treating me like an invalid. This is definitely rock bottom for my dignity.
“The suppressants and painkillers,” Aunt Akiko said, pressing the pills into my palm along with a glass of water.
I swallowed the medication gratefully, the water soothing my dry throat. Within minutes, I could feel some of the shakiness beginning to ease.
“I’ll start the soup,” Aunt Akiko announced, bustling toward the door. “Jiro-san, make sure he stays in bed. No getting up except for bathroom breaks, and only with assistance.”
“I’m not an invalid,” I protested, though the words came out weaker than intended. “I don’t need constant supervision.”
“You nearly collapsed walking from the ATV to the house,” Uncle Jiro pointed out with his characteristic bluntness. “Supervision is exactly what you need.”
The alphas had positioned themselves strategically around the room—Stefano in the chair beside the bed, Marco near the door, Matteo by the window. Their presence filled the small space with an intensity that made breathing feel complicated.
“You don’t all need to stay,” I said, pulling the quilt up to my chin in a futile attempt at creating a barrier. “I’m sure you have more important things to do than babysit a recovering omega.”
“This is exactly where we need to be,” Stefano replied, settling more comfortably in his chair like he planned to stay indefinitely. “Your recovery is our priority.”
Uncle Jiro nodded approvingly at this declaration. “Good. He’s been pushing himself too hard for too long. Needs proper rest and supervision.”
Like I’m some kind of flight risk who can’t be trusted to recover without an alpha audience.
When Aunt Akiko returned with a steaming bowl of chicken soup, the sight and smell made my mouth water despite my exhaustion.
I managed a few spoonfuls before my eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.
The combination of medication, food, and exhaustion was finally catching up with me, my body demanding the rest I’d been fighting against.
“Sleep now,” Stefano said quietly, his hand briefly touching my forehead in a gesture that felt disturbingly tender. “Rest.”
As consciousness began to fade, I was dimly aware of the alphas’ presence still filling the room—their scents, their quiet voices, the weight of their attention.
Part of me wondered if they’d still be there when I woke up, if this strange intimacy would continue, or if they’d disappear back into whatever shadows they’d emerged from.
Will I wake up to find them gone? Will this all feel like some fever dream brought on by heat suppressants and exhaustion? Or will they be sitting there, watching me sleep like the predators they are?
The last coherent thought I had before sleep claimed me completely was that I wasn’t sure which outcome I was hoping for.