Chapter 28
Vincent
As the next few days went by, Charlie and I got into a rhythm, as best we could. I returned to work part-time, working in the office. I kept the door open each time, a silent way for the Omega to come seek me out if he desired.
And did.
Often.
Charlie moved through the house with a quiet urgency, small tasks, small gestures.
A glass of water was placed beside me without asking. A snack left within reach. Dusting shelves that didn’t need it yet, just to keep his hands busy.
None of it is loud. None of it is performative. But in those moments, I saw it—his need to serve. Not out of obligation. Out of instinct. To feel useful. To be seen, not praised. To exist in a space without taking up too much of it.
It was the kind of presence that didn’t ask for words. But still asked to matter.
He didn’t ask for attention. Charlie never did. But I saw it, in the way he moved through the house, quietly filling space without disturbing it.
So when he set the glass down, I looked up. “Thank you,” I said.
He nodded, eyes flicking away like he wasn’t sure how to hold the moment.
“I see it,” I added. “The way you move. The way you help without asking. You don’t have to earn your place here, Charlie. You already have it.”
He froze. Just for a second. Like the words hit something he didn’t know was exposed.
I didn’t push. Didn’t ask for more. Because sometimes, the smallest gestures carried the heaviest truths. And I wanted him to know—he mattered. Even in silence.
“I appreciate it, though. All of it.” I went on, saving the document spreadsheet I was on.
“I don’t know what I’m to do otherwise, Sir.”
I was glad that Charlie was feeling better. He took a small nap in the afternoon, which I would keep encouraging, since he was up with the sun the last few days.
I took a moment to look at him, to really look.
His eyes weren’t rimmed with lack of sleep and pain. Nor were they swollen anymore. The cut on his neck was almost healed, and a light dusting of a line was barely visible. His shoulders were no longer tense, waiting for me to hit him at any given moment.
I wanted to think that maybe he was starting to trust me. Just a tiny bit.
Today, he wore faded blue jeans, frayed in places along his thighs where the fabric had given way to glimpses of pale skin. The shirt was dark blue, loose across his frame, sleeves brushing his wrists like it had been made for someone broader.
But somehow, it suited him. Better than it should have. Better than I’d seen it suit anyone else.
I let the moment settle before I spoke, voice calm and even. “You can read,” I said. “Watch something. Sit outside. Explore the yard.” I met his eyes. “This property is yours to move through. You can do anything here you want to do.”
I meant it. Because freedom wasn’t just about space. It was about knowing you were allowed to take up room in it.
“Can…” Charlie took a deep breath, eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second before dropping to the floor. He clasped his hands in front of him before speaking again. “Can you tell me what to do?”
“I could.” My words were slow. “But I’m not.”
That got his head snapping up, looking at me with part in shock, part in begging.
“D-dominats so that. Tell-tell the Omega what to do.”
Maybe that book wasn’t the best one to read, given how easy he would, and was, taking the advice of whoever wrote it.
“That comes with trust. I’m not going to demand you to do things that we haven’t agreed on prior.”
“I don’t know what to do. Please, Sir. I don’t….I feel….” He snapped his mouth shut, giving his head a small shake.
“Come here, sweetheart.” I barely got the words out before he was moving closer. Without orders, he fell to his knees right before me, his shoulders shaking.
“You aren’t in trouble.” I rested a hand under his chin, lifting his face.
“First off, thank you for trying to tell me something you don’t have words for just yet.
Second, I won’t tell you tasks to do without your consent.
There’s a long list of things we need to go over, and I don’t have trust that you’ll answer those things the way you’d need to.
You’d go off of what I’d want, which isn’t how that process works. ”
When he went to open his mouth to speak, I raised an eyebrow, causing him to close his mouth again.
“Good boy.” I let my thumb run across his cheek.
“Trust goes both ways. Remember that, Charlie. A few days isn’t going to be enough time to earn that, or enough time for me to show you that I can be trusted with what you need.
Especially when you aren’t comfortable sharing your needs with me.
And I don’t expect you to. I am going at your pace on it all, because there are no other options but to do so. ”
There was no other way forward. Charlie had to take the lead. Even if I already understood the shape of what he needed, it had to come from him.
He had to ask. Had to reach. Because this wasn’t about me knowing—it was about him choosing. And when he did, I’d be there.
I’d give him what he asked for. And everything he didn’t know how to ask for yet.
All of it. And more.
“Tell me what you feel.”
“Lost. Just….lost, Sir.” The way he spoke it was as though he truly felt it soul deep. He wasn’t at the Lockswell Boarding House, where every second of his day was planned out. “I don’t know what to do. I…need….” He trailed off once again, eyes closing as he sought out the words he wanted to say.
I waited him out. I’d wait forever if need be.
He lifted his gaze slowly, like it cost him something.
“I need structure,” he said. “Rules. Please, Sir. I need tasks. To serve you or not—I don’t care.”
That last part wasn’t true. But I let it pass.
“I want tasks,” he added, voice steadier now.
I nodded, letting the weight of his words settle between us.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
He didn’t respond, but I saw it in the way his shoulders eased just slightly. “What’s something you’d like to do for me?”
“This,” he said. “Just this, Sir. Kneel at your feet while you work. If I may.”
I studied him for a moment. His posture was perfect. His tone was respectful. But beneath it, I saw the need for closeness, for purpose, for safety in routine.
“Very good manners,” I said. “You may kneel. Or sit, if you tire. I won’t have you straining your healing body.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” He moved without hesitation, settling between my legs, just beneath the desk. Not because he was told. Because he wanted to.
And that made all the difference.
Once he was settled, head resting against a thigh, it was as though every worry he carried in his mind vanished. He took a deep breath, muttered, “Thank you, Sir,” before stilling.
My hand found purchase in his hair, not pulling or pushing. Just resting, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, and reminding me that Charlie had wanted this. Had wanted to kneel for me.
“Better?”
Charlie nodded once, a small, barely there hum setting in his chest with the movement.
I made a mental note that there would be a time limit. I didn’t want to cause more harm to his body than there’d already been done to it.
For now, I turned back to my work, content with an Omega kneeling at my feet.
***
Unsure if I liked the idea or not, I watched Charlie put the pan into the oven. I wanted him to rest; I wanted him to regain his strength. Knowing what I do so far, I would bet anything that Charlie would push himself even more than normal, just to prove that he could serve me.
And he could.
By doing what he has so far, simple small tasks, was more than enough. Even though I saw in his posture, the way he kept his posture stiff and eyes alert, he still wanted more to do.
But how much was too much? Did he even know his limits? Even if he did, would he tell me when it was too much to handle?
For the last question, I highly doubted he’d tell me. He didn’t see himself as an equal. He viewed himself as a trained Omega, and it would take time to get him to see anything different.
I had time, and I would prove to him that it was perfectly acceptable to be whoever he was underneath all the training.
“How long will that need to be in the oven for?” I asked as Charlie began to clean up the kitchen.
Not entirely sure what he made, as he had tossed a bunch of different ingredients together that were in the fridge into some form of cheesy burrito goodness. He had muttered something about hating food going to waste and I didn’t dare argue about it with him.
“Twenty minutes, Sir. The cheese on top needs to melt.”
“Perfect. Enough time to show you that photo of my brother.” He’d mention, again, that the younger Omega had come into Lockswell during early morning chores.
Charlie dipped his chin then set the washcloth he was using on the counter, neatly folded.
In the living room, I pulled down a framed photo that was farther back than all the other décor. When I turned, Charlie stood there, head tilted like he was surprised the picture was there at all.
“Most of the personal things stay out of sight,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I don’t want my clients to see something out in the open like this.”
I handed Charlie the photo. The edges were worn, the image grainy with time. But Micha’s pale hair and dark eyes still held. The freckles that used to scatter across his cheeks were probably gone by now, faded with age.
Still, I hoped he hadn’t changed too much. Not in the ways that mattered.
“Micha. He had freckles along the bridge of his nose the last time I saw him.”
“And dark eyes, almost blue but more on the brown side, depending on how the light hit them.”
“So you do know him?” Hope began to bloom in my gut.