27. Calliope
Calliope
Theo is vibrating with a nervous, humming energy I haven’t seen since his first day in the house.
He spends the entire morning in the kitchen, his movements bird-like and frantic, as he arranges four matching glass containers into a thermal bag.
He barely slept after the rough pre-heat night, his body still carrying that heavy sweetness that makes my own skin feel too tight, but his focus is entirely on the sandwiches.
“They need to be exactly the same, Callie,” he whispers, his fingers trembling as he tucks a sprig of parsley into the corner of Idris’ container. “If they aren’t the same, it isn’t an offering. It’s just... lunch.”
I reach out, my hand hovering near his shoulder before I pull back.
I don’t want to startle him out of this rare moment of agency.
He’s wearing my oversized gray sweater again, the sleeves swallowing his hands, and the sight of him trying so hard to perform a traditional Omega role for our Alphas makes my chest ache with a dull, familiar thrum.
“I want them to know I thought about them,” he says, quieter. “All of them. You too.”
My throat tightens. “They’re going to know, Star. Sloane will probably eat his in three bites, and Idris will pretend he isn’t hungry while he steals your grapes. It’s perfect.”
Theo looks up at me, his eyes wide and dark with a desperate kind of hope. His hands stay wrapped around the thermal bag even though every container is already packed. I understand the need beneath the careful parsley and matching portions more than I want to.
The drive to Blackline Securities is quiet. Theo sits in the passenger seat with the thermal bag gripped in his lap like it holds the secrets of the universe. When we pull into the sleek, glass-fronted parking lot, he hesitates, his gaze fixed on the heavy front doors.
“We can go back,” I offer, though I know we won’t. “We can eat these on the porch and pretend we forgot the way.”
Theo shakes his head, his jaw setting in a way that reminds me he isn’t just soft. He’s resilient. “No. I want them to see. I want to be... out there. With you.”
Walking into the lobby feels different with Theo tucked under my arm.
Usually, I’m the one slipping in unnoticed, the Beta partner bringing a forgotten badge or a mid-day coffee.
But Theo draws the air out of the room. He’s a visible Omega, marked by his skittish grace and the careful way he holds himself, and I feel the weight of every gaze as we head for the elevators.
Sloane is the first one to see us. He’s standing near the glass-walled conference room, sleeves rolled up, halfway through whatever consulting problem Idris has dragged him into that morning.
Kade is beside him, apparently pulled into the same consulting mess, with a tablet in one hand and a coffee in the other.
The moment we step off the elevator, Sloane’s head snaps up.
“Sweetheart?” he calls out, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the office chatter. He doesn’t wait for us to reach him. He moves with that predatory Alpha focus, closing the distance in seconds. “What are you doing here?”
Theo steps forward, his face flushed a soft, dusty pink. He holds out the bag with both hands. “I made... an offering. For the pack. It’s lunch.”
Sloane freezes. I watch the realization hit him—the effort Theo put in, the way he’s shaking, the fact that he’s chosen Sloane’s workplace as the stage for this.
Sloane’s expression softens into something so tender it’s almost painful to witness.
He reaches out, not for the bag, but for Theo’s neck, his thumb grazing the line of Theo’s jaw.
“An offering,” Sloane murmurs, his voice thick. “God, Theo. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” Theo insists, his voice gaining a fraction of strength. “Callie helped me with the containers.”
Idris appears then, stepping out of his office with his usual calculated precision.
He looks at the scene—Sloane’s possessive stance, Theo’s offering, and me standing just half a step behind them.
His eyes meet mine first, a sharp, searching look that checks for my comfort before he even acknowledges the bag.
“This is a surprise,” Idris says, though his posture relaxes the moment he reaches us. He walks over, his hand finding the small of my back, a grounding anchor that reminds me I’m not just the driver. “The office is a madhouse today. You’ve rescued us.”
We settle in the small breakroom near the back, a space of chrome and white light that feels too clinical for the messy warmth of the lunch Theo packed. Sloane pulls two chairs together so Theo can sit practically in his lap, while Idris sits across from me, his knee brushing mine under the table.
Theo unpacks the containers with meticulous care, his fingers lingering on the lids.
He watches Sloane’s face as the Alpha takes his first bite of a turkey club sandwich.
It’s messy; a piece of lettuce falls onto the table, and Theo immediately reaches out to brush it away, his movements domestic and frantic.
“It’s good, Theo,” Sloane says, his mouth half-full. He reaches over and snags a grape from my plate, just like I predicted. “Best thing I’ve had all week. Better than the stale donuts Kade keeps in the breakroom.”
Idris opens his container, his movements slow and deliberate. He inspects the sprig of parsley, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Precision. I appreciate a man who understands the importance of presentation.”
Theo beams. It’s a small, fragile thing, but it lights up his entire face.
He leans into Sloane’s side, his shoulder pressing against the Alpha’s broad chest, while Idris opens the containers and slides mine toward me before taking his own.
Sloane keeps one arm around Theo as he reaches for the first sandwich.
“Eat your fruit, Callie,” Idris murmurs, nudging my hand. “You spent the morning hovering over him. You need to fuel up too.”
I take a bite of an apple slice, the sweetness sharp against my tongue.
I feel a strange, soaring sense of pride.
Theo is doing it. He’s finding a way to exist here that doesn’t involve hiding in a closet or clutching my sweaters in the dark.
He’s offering himself, and they’re taking him with open hands.
Sloane finishes the first half of his sandwich in three bites, because of course he does, then reaches for the second like Theo might vanish if he doesn’t prove fast enough that he wants it.
Idris steals another grape from my plate without looking at me.
Theo catches it this time, his eyes narrowing, and Idris only lifts one brow.
“I was told there would be grapes,” Idris says.
“They were Callie’s,” Theo whispers, but there’s a flicker of humor in it.
“Then Calliope can steal mine.”
I reach across the table and take one from his container, and Theo’s smile widens like we’ve completed some sacred ritual correctly. It should be silly. It is silly. It’s also the first time all morning that his hands stop shaking.
Then the phone on the table chimes.
It’s Idris’ personal cell, and the name on the screen makes the air in the room cool by a few degrees. Garrett Crane.
Idris’ jaw tightens. He doesn’t look at the screen for more than a second before he taps the speakerphone. He doesn’t want to hide the call from us, which feels like a victory and a warning all at once.
“Garrett,” Idris says, his voice dropping into that neutral, professional register he uses for pack law.
“Idris. I assume you’re with Sloane?”
“We’re at lunch,” Idris replies. “Calliope and Theo brought us a surprise. Is there an emergency?”
There’s a pause on the other end. Not long. Just long enough for Theo’s hand to go still on the lid of Sloane’s container.
“A surprise,” Garrett says. “That’s good. I won’t keep you. Bellwether confirmed the adjusted timing for the next heat-prep delivery, and I wanted to make sure someone would be home to receive it.”
“I’ll be there,” Idris says. “Send me the window.”
“I already did.” Garrett’s voice stays mild. “Keep the rest of the day quiet, though. Outings can feel larger to an Omega this close to his heat.”
Sloane’s hand settles over Theo’s. “He’s doing fine.”
“I’m sure he is,” Garrett says. “Still, we don’t want him mistaking a sweet moment for something his body will expect during the harder hours.”
The words land softly. That’s the problem. They don’t crack across the room. They settle, cool and careful, over the glass containers and half-eaten grapes.
Idris’ eyes sharpen. “We’ll handle the rest of the day.”
“Of course,” Garrett says. “Enjoy your lunch.”
The line goes dead.
The silence that follows is too careful. Theo looks down at the table, his thumb pressed against the edge of the lid. He doesn’t pull away from Sloane, but something in his shoulders folds inward.
Sloane squeezes his hand. “He doesn’t get to name what you meant,” he whispers. “You made lunch. We know what that was.”
Theo doesn’t answer. He reaches out and slowly, carefully, begins to put the lids back on the containers, even though Sloane isn’t finished.
Sloane catches the closest lid before Theo can seal it. “Absolutely not. I’m not done.”
Theo blinks at him.
Sloane picks up the second half of his sandwich and takes a huge bite, chewing with stubborn, theatrical determination.
Lettuce falls onto his wrist. A smear of mustard catches at the corner of his mouth.
Theo stares at him for one fragile second before the tiniest breath leaves him, almost a laugh.
“There he is,” Sloane murmurs, softer now.
Idris reaches for his own container again. “I’m also not finished. The parsley requires respect.”
Theo’s mouth trembles, but he leaves the lids off.
We stay a few more minutes. Not long enough to make the room easy again, but long enough that Theo sees them finish.
Sloane eats every bite. Idris steals two more grapes and lets me steal one of his apple slices.
I keep my hand close to Theo’s without trapping him, and when he finally starts packing the containers away for real, he does it with less panic in his fingers.
“We should go,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. “I do actually have grading before my afternoon seminar.”
Sloane stands, pulling Theo up with him.
He doesn’t let go of Theo’s hand as we walk back to the elevators.
The office staff glance over again, but this time I don’t let myself read too much into it.
Theo brought lunch. They ate it. That gets to be true even if Garrett’s voice tried to make it smaller.
When we reach the car, Sloane opens Theo’s door and leans in, his forehead resting against Theo’s for a long, silent moment.
I stand by the driver’s side, feeling the cool autumn air bite at my skin.
Idris stands beside me, his hand moving to the back of my neck, his fingers pressing into the sensitive muscles there.
“Text me when you get back to campus,” Idris says. It isn’t a request, but it’s threaded with care instead of doubt. “I want to know you’re safe in your office.”
“I will,” I promise.
Sloane looks over the roof of the car at me, his eyes dark and shadowed. “I’m coming home early. We’re going to talk about this. All of us. Without the phone.”
I nod because I want to believe him. Because believing him is easier than looking at Theo clutching the thermal bag to his chest like a shield.
He doesn’t look at me. He stares out the window, his lips moving silently, as if he’s trying to hold onto a language someone keeps trying to take away from him.
I drive back to Briarwick with the heater on low and the smell of sandwiches still lingering in the car. Turkey, mustard, parsley, apple slices. Proof of an ordinary thing that happened because Theo wanted it to happen. I park in my usual spot and sit for a second before I reach for my phone.
Back at campus. In the office. The lunch was beautiful, Idris. Please tell Theo he did a good job.
I stare at the screen until the little gray bubbles appear.
He knows. And so do you.
I keep the phone in my hand longer than I need to, thumb resting over the words while Theo sits quiet beside me with the empty containers in his lap.
Garrett can chill a room from miles away, but he didn’t make the containers empty.
Sloane ate every bite. Idris stole the grapes.
Theo offered something, and we took it with both hands.