Chapter Text
The house was quiet in that specific way it got over winter break.
Not empty—just… spread out. Everyone in their own spaces, no real schedule pulling anything tight. The kind of quiet where you could hear movement if you paid attention, but nothing demanded it.
Somewhere down the hall, the soft clink of dishes carried faintly from the kitchen.
Sebastian.
He’d been in there for a while, moving around without urgency, the low murmur of something playing from his phone blending into the background.
The front of the house was still.
Kimi and Charles had gone out earlier—errands, something small, something that didn’t need more than the two of them. They hadn’t said how long they’d be. It hadn’t mattered.
The rest of the house had settled around that absence without really noticing.
The media room was warmer than anywhere else.
Not by much. Just enough that it lingered, built up from the electronics and the lack of airflow, the curtains pulled halfway shut to keep out the dull winter light. The TV cast everything in a soft, shifting glow, commentary humming steadily under the quiet.
It was the kind of room you sat down in and didn’t leave.
Daniel had taken over the couch like he always did, one leg hooked over the arm, the other stretched out, controller loose in his hands. He wasn’t playing badly, but he also wasn’t really trying—just tapping through it, half-focused, letting the rhythm of the game carry him along.
Max was on the floor.
Not sitting properly. He rarely did.
One shoulder leaned back against the couch, head tipped just enough to catch the screen, legs stretched out in front of him. The controller rested in his hands, but not tightly—balanced more than held, like something automatic rather than intentional.
On screen, his team moved forward.
Usually, that meant something.
Max didn’t lose possession easily. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t second-guess.
But this time—
The pass came a fraction too late, drifting wide instead of threading cleanly through the center. A second later, he pushed too fast, running himself straight into a defender he would normally sidestep without thinking.
Daniel huffed a quiet laugh, not looking away from the screen.
“You’re not even trying,” he said, easy, familiar. “I’m carrying you.”
Max didn’t answer.
The game reset. Another possession. Another slight delay—just enough to throw off the timing. Not obvious unless you were paying attention.
Daniel wasn’t.
Not really.
He nudged his foot down absently, tapping it against Max’s shoulder without looking. “Oi.”
Max shifted under it, the movement small, almost automatic, like the contact registered a second later than it should have.
“Mm,” he said, noncommittal.
On screen, he missed another pass.
Daniel grinned to himself, still focused on the game. “That’s actually tragic,” he added, shaking his head slightly.
Max didn’t rise to it.
Didn’t argue. Didn’t snap back. Didn’t even glance up properly.
He just adjusted slightly against the couch, resettling in a way that didn’t quite look like comfort, fingers shifting on the controller before going still again.
The commentary rolled on.
Somewhere in the house, a cabinet door closed softly.
And the game kept going.
Daniel’s smile faded a little.
Not completely. Just enough that it didn’t quite sit right anymore.
He didn’t look away from the screen right away, thumb still moving, but his attention had shifted.
Max missed another input.
Not badly. Just late.
Daniel let the play run out before pausing the game, the screen freezing mid-motion.
“Alright,” he said, dragging the word slightly as he finally looked down properly. “You good?”
Max didn’t answer immediately.
He’d gone still again, but not in the same way as before. Tension had crept into it now—shoulders drawn tighter, jaw set, fingers curled a little too firmly around the controller.
“I’m fine,” he said, too quickly.
Daniel tipped his head, watching him for a second longer.
“…Yeah?”
Max didn’t look at him.
Instead, he shifted.
This time it wasn’t subtle.
He pushed himself up off the floor in one quick movement, like staying there had suddenly become uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t ignore anymore. The motion wasn’t smooth—just a little too sharp, a little too fast—and he ended up on the couch beside Daniel without quite settling.
For a second, it looked like he might stretch out.
He didn’t.
Instead, he pulled in.
One leg, then the other, folding up tight beneath him, knees drawn in close, shoulders curling forward like he was trying to make himself smaller without thinking about it.
The controller ended up trapped awkwardly between his hands, his grip shifting on it like he didn’t quite know what to do with it anymore.
Daniel leaned back slightly to give him space, brows pulling together just a fraction.
“That doesn’t look like fine,” he said, still light, but not quite joking anymore.
Max huffed out a breath.
“I said I’m fine,” he snapped, sharper now, defensive in a way that came too fast to match the situation.
Daniel held up one hand, easy. “Alright, alright.”
Max didn’t relax.
If anything, he folded in tighter.
His knees pressed together, foot shifting restlessly against the cushion, a small, repetitive movement like he couldn’t quite get comfortable. His shoulders stayed tense, head dipping forward slightly as he dragged a hand over his leg again, fingers pressing in briefly before he pulled them away.
Daniel watched that.
Not alarmed.
Just… noticing.
“You want me to turn it off?” he asked, nodding toward the screen.
Max shook his head immediately. “No.”
Too fast again.
He adjusted again—another small, sharp movement through his hips, like something had caught wrong—and his breath hitched just slightly before he forced it back down.
Daniel’s frown deepened, just a little.
“You sure?”
Max finally glanced at him.
There was something off in it. Not anger. Not really.
Something tighter.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just play.”
Daniel hesitated for a second.
Then shrugged, picking the controller back up.
“Alright,” he said lightly. “Your loss.”
He unpaused the game.
The screen sprang back into motion.
Beside him, Max stayed curled in tight, knees drawn up, shoulders hunched slightly forward, his focus fixed on the screen in a way that looked more like holding on than actually paying attention.
Another shift.
Another small press of his legs together.
And the game kept going.
Max’s hand dropped again.
This time it didn’t stop halfway.
His fingers pressed hard into his own thigh, digging in like he was trying to ground himself through the contact, like if he could just anchor it there it would settle—
It didn’t.
His grip tightened for a second, knuckles paling slightly, before he jerked his hand back like the pressure had made it worse instead of better.
“Max?”
Daniel didn’t move right away.
He was still half-turned toward the screen, controller loose in his hands, but his attention had fully shifted now, eyes narrowing just slightly as he watched the way Max held himself.
Max shook his head quickly.
Too quickly.
Like he was trying to dislodge something that wasn’t physical.
“It’s—” he started, voice catching, then stopping altogether as his jaw clenched hard enough to show.
He swallowed, breath hitching again, and shifted.
Not subtly this time.
His knees drew in tighter, pressing together in a way that looked less like adjusting and more like containment, shoulders curling forward as he exhaled sharply through his nose.
Daniel’s grip on the controller stilled.
That—he recognized.
Not exactly this, but something close enough.
“Hey,” he said, more focused now, leaning forward. “What’s going on?”
Max didn’t answer.
He just shook his head again, more frustrated this time, like the question itself was too much. His hands hovered uncertainly for a second—like he didn’t know where to put them—before one dropped back to his leg again, fingers pressing in and then pulling away just as quickly.
His breathing had changed.
Shallower. Uneven.
Daniel set the controller down.
Fully, this time.
“Max,” he said, firmer, already shifting his weight forward. “Talk to me.”
Max let out another rough exhale, something sharp and unsteady in it.
“I don’t—” he started again, cutting himself off with a small, irritated sound. “It’s just—”
Another shift.
This one more abrupt.
His hips angled slightly, legs pressing together harder, like he was trying to force stillness into something that wouldn’t stay put.
Daniel was off the couch before he’d fully decided to move.
It looked wrong.
Not sick. Not injured.
But wrong in a way that set something instinctive off.
Max folded in another inch, shoulders tightening further, head dipping forward like he was trying to close himself off from whatever was happening.
“Hey—hey,” Daniel said, dropping down in front of him now, voice softer but more urgent. “What’s wrong?”
Max didn’t look at him.
Or—he did, but it didn’t quite land. His gaze flicked up and then away again, unfocused for a second before snapping back down.
“I don’t know,” he said, and that sounded real. Frustrated. Strained. “It’s just—off.”
Daniel frowned.
Off.
That wasn’t how Max described things.
His eyes moved over him again, taking in the way he was holding himself now—curled in, tense, restless in a way that didn’t settle.
A drop, maybe.
Not a clean one. Not the kind he’d seen in the pack room.
But the start of one?
“Okay,” Daniel said, adjusting without thinking. “Alright, that’s fine—just stay with me, yeah?”
Max huffed something that might’ve been agreement, but his shoulders stayed tight, breath uneven.
Daniel leaned in a little closer.
“Hey—look at me,” he added, quieter now, trying to pull his attention back.
Max didn’t quite manage it.
His eyes flicked up again, caught for a second, then dropped, frustration flashing across his face like he didn’t understand why he couldn’t just—get it together.
Daniel moved without overthinking it.
Instinct.
If it was a drop, you grounded it. You gave something solid. Something steady.
“Alright, I’ve got you,” he said, already reaching forward, hand coming down toward Max’s arm to steady him—
And that’s when everything shifts.
Daniel’s hand closed around Max’s arm—
And everything broke.
Max jerked.
Not away.
Into him.
Hard.
It was full-body, immediate—his shoulders locking as he surged forward, breath tearing out of him in a sharp, broken sound as he pressed into the contact like he’d been bracing for it without knowing why.
“—ah—”
His hand latched, fingers twisting into Daniel’s shirt, dragging him closer without thought, without control.
For a second, there was no separation between instinct and action.
Just need.
And then it hit him.
Max froze.
The movement didn’t stop—it stuttered, like his body was still trying to follow through while something else slammed the brakes down.
His head jerked back slightly, eyes going wide as awareness caught up all at once.
“Oh.”
It came out thin. Wrong.
And then—
He shoved himself away.
Not just pulling back—pushing, hard, like the contact had burned him, like he needed distance immediately, now, even if he didn’t know where to go.
His balance went with it.
He slipped half off the couch, the movement messy and uncoordinated, shoulder hitting the edge as he scrambled back, legs tangling under him as he tried to get as far away as possible in too small a space.
“No,” he said, sharper now, breath uneven, shaking his head. “No, no—”
Another wave hit mid-motion.
It showed.
His body seized for a second, hips shifting instinctively before he could stop it, knees drawing in tight as he tried to contain it, one hand gripping at his own leg again like that might anchor him.
“It’s not—” he tried, voice breaking on it, frustration flashing hard. “It’s not supposed to—”
Daniel, still reeling from whatever just happened, suddenlly scented the air, with it, the sickly sweet smell of an omega in heat. Daniel moved immediately.
Fast.
He pulled back immediately, hands up like he’d crossed a line he couldn’t see a second ago.
“Oh, fuck—”
Max made a small, strained sound as the space opened between them, his body tensing again like it didn’t know where to settle without the contact, even as he kept trying to push himself farther away.
Daniel was already scrambling to his feet.
“Seb!” he shouted, voice cutting sharp through the house. “Seb!”
Max’s hand lifted again without thinking, reaching—then stopping halfway, fingers curling back in on themselves as he dragged them back, shaking his head harder now like he could force it to stop.
“Seb!” Daniel yelled again, louder, urgency breaking through any attempt at control. Sebastian was somewhere behind them in the house, music loud enough in either room to drown out Daniel’s calls.
Max’s hand lifted again.
Reflex.
Not thought—just his body trying to follow the last point of contact, reaching toward where Daniel had been—
And then it hit him.
Max froze.
His fingers curled in midair, like he’d caught the motion too late, like even that was wrong.
“—no.”
He dragged his hand back hard, like he didn’t want it anywhere near that direction, dropping it to his own leg instead, gripping tight enough to hurt.
“No—no—”
This wasn’t confusion anymore.
It was recognition.
And it made everything worse.
“It’s not—” he tried, voice breaking as the next wave hit him full force. “It’s not supposed to—”
He folded forward, shoulders pulling in tight, breath hitching sharp—
and then it sped up.
Too fast.
His breathing broke into uneven pulls, shallow at first, then deeper, harder—each one catching halfway like he couldn’t quite get enough air.
His thighs pressed together hard, restless, the movement sharper now, more urgent, like his body was trying to compensate for something spiraling out of control.
“It hurts,” he said, rough, immediate. “It’s—too much—”
Heat was building under his skin—visible now in the flush climbing up his neck, across his face, his whole body holding tension like it had nowhere to go.
Another spike—
His breath stuttered into a near pant, chest rising too quickly, shoulders tightening further as he tried to force it back under control.
He couldn’t.
“I don’t—” he tried again, cutting himself off with a frustrated shake of his head.
His gaze snapped toward the door.
Focused. Certain.
“Charles,” he said, strained but clear. “I need—”
He swallowed hard, breath hitching again, faster now, uneven.
“Alpha,” he forced out, voice tightening. “I need—fix it—he needs to fix it—”
Another break.
His whole body pulled in tighter, knees pressing together hard, one hand gripping at his leg while the other hovered uncertainly, like he didn’t know where to put it anymore.
“Get him,” he said, urgency cutting through now. “Get Charles—”
Daniel stepped closer without thinking.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, dropping down in front of him again, hands hovering, unsure but trying. “It’s okay, Max—just breathe, yeah? Slow down—”
Max shook his head hard, panting now, breath coming too fast, too shallow, not controlled at all.
“It’s not—” he snapped, voice breaking. “It’s not alright—”
Another sharp hitch—
Daniel reached for him anyway, instinct taking over, hand landing briefly against his arm.
“It’s okay,” he said again, more urgent now. “It’ll be alright, I’ve got you—”
Max flinched at the contact—wrong, not reaching this time, just too much—and Daniel froze, hand pulling back immediately.
His heart jumped.
This wasn’t something he could handle.
Not this.
Daniel pushed back to his feet in one quick motion, voice breaking through the house, louder than before, edged with real panic now—
“SEBASTIAN!”
Daniel’s shout didn’t even fully settle before there was movement in the house.
Fast.
Not messy—direct. The sound of feet hitting the hallway hard, quick, cutting straight toward them without hesitation. Something in the kitchen knocked out of place in the rush, a cabinet left half open as Sebastian moved without stopping.
He didn’t slow down.
He reached the doorway in seconds.
“What—”
He stopped.
It didn’t take more than a glance.
Max was half-curled on the couch, body pulled in tight, breathing broken into uneven, shallow pulls, shoulders shaking with the effort of trying to control something that clearly wasn’t controllable. His hands didn’t know where to go—one gripping hard into his own leg, the other hovering and dropping again in quick, frustrated motions.
And the scent—
It hit fully now.
Sweet.
Overwhelmingly so.
Not subtle, not gradual—no warning like there should have been. Just there, all at once, heavy in the air and wrong in its suddenness, pulling instinct with it whether anyone wanted it or not.
Seb took it in.
All of it.
The lack of buildup. The intensity. The way Max was already too far into it, body running ahead without regulation.
“Okay.”
The word was quiet.
But everything about him shifted around it.
He stepped fully into the room, closing the space with purpose—but not fast now. Controlled. Measured. Every movement deliberate.
“Max, hey—look at me.”
Max’s head snapped up.
Immediate.
Like something in him had been waiting for that exact voice, that exact tone to lock onto. His focus, scattered a second ago, sharpened all at once, fixing on Seb like it was the only stable thing in the room.
“It hurts,” he said, the words rough, breath still too fast. “It’s too much—”
“I know,” Seb said, already moving closer.
He didn’t reach for him right away.
He stopped just within Max’s space, lowering himself slightly—not crowding, not overwhelming—just enough to bring himself level, to give Max something steady to orient around.
“You’re alright,” he said, voice low, even, unshaken. “Just stay with me, yeah?”
Max shook his head immediately.
“No,” he said, sharper, more desperate this time. “I need—”
His breath broke again, chest rising too fast, the heat still building under his skin, nowhere to go.
“I need my alpha,” he forced out, voice tightening around it. “I need Charles—”
That clarity cut through everything else.
Not confusion.
Not misdirection.
Just need.
Seb’s expression didn’t change.
But his focus sharpened.
“I know,” he said again, steady. “He’s coming. Just stay with me until then.”
Another wave hit.
Max’s shoulders tightened sharply, breath catching mid-inhale before breaking again, his legs shifting, pressing together hard as he tried to contain it and couldn’t.
The scent spiked with it—stronger, heavier, filling the space in a way that made it clear just how far this had already progressed.
Seb adjusted without hesitation.
One step closer—still controlled.
“Easy,” he murmured. “Don’t fight it. Just breathe.”
Max shook his head again, smaller now, frustration and pain tangled together.
But he didn’t look away.
Didn’t lose that anchor.
Behind them, Daniel stayed exactly where he was, chest still tight, the sweetness of the air sitting wrong in his lungs, not used to it like this—this strong, this sudden—watching the shift happen in real time.
The chaos narrowing.
Not gone.
But contained.
And for the first time since it started—
Held.
Another wave hit.
Harder.
Max’s whole body reacted to it this time—shoulders tightening sharply as his breath broke again, uneven and too fast, his legs shifting instinctively before he could stop them.
He couldn’t stay still.
That was the problem now.
His knees pressed together, then apart again, restless, searching for something that would ease the pressure building under his skin.
It didn’t.
Nothing did.
“Make it stop,” he said, voice rough, breaking on it.
“I can’t stop it,” Seb said calmly. “But I can help you through it.”
Max shook his head immediately.
“No—” it came out strained, frustrated, like that answer wasn’t enough.
He shifted again—sharper now—one hand catching at his shirt, tugging at the fabric like it was too much, like everything was too much.
His knees pulled in, then pushed apart again, then back together, the movement unsteady, inconsistent—his body trying and failing to find something that worked.
His breathing had broken fully now.
Fast.
Almost panting.
“I can’t—” he tried, cutting himself off with a sharp inhale. “This isn’t—”
Another spike.
His head dropped forward, shoulders curling in, a strained sound slipping out before he could stop it.
“It hurts,” he said again, quieter, more desperate. “It hurts—”
His gaze flicked up.
Past Seb.
Toward Daniel.
It caught there.
Not want.
Just proximity. Familiarity. The last place his body had tried to anchor.
Seb saw it immediately.
“Not there,” he said, low and firm, shifting just enough to block that line, drawing Max’s focus back to him. “Stay with me.”
Max made a sharp, frustrated sound, shaking his head harder now like he was trying to fight his own instincts and losing.
“I need—” he started, breath hitching.
His hands didn’t settle.
One gripping his leg, the other pulling at his shirt again, restless, searching.
“I need Charles,” he said, the words dragged out of him, uneven but clear. “Where is he—”
Another break in his breath.
“He needs to fix it,” Max said, more urgently, voice rising. “He needs to—”
He cut himself off again, breath stuttering.
“Alpha,” he said instead, the word raw. “I need an alpha—”
That hit harder.
Less controlled.
More instinct.
“I need—” he tried again, frustration spiking when it wouldn’t come out right.
Another wave.
His shoulders jerked, body pulling in tight before shifting again like he couldn’t hold that either.
“Alpha,” he said again, louder now. “I need my alpha—”
Seb didn’t move faster.
Didn’t raise his voice.
“He’s coming,” he said, steady, grounding. “Just stay with me.”
Max shook his head again, smaller now, but more desperate.
“I can’t—” he said, voice thinning. “I can’t wait—”
Behind him, Daniel hadn’t moved.
Still too close.
Still in the space.
Seb didn’t look away from Max.
“Daniel,” he said, calm but firm. “Call Kimi. Tell him to get Charles back now.”
Daniel snapped into motion immediately.
“Yeah—yeah, okay—” he said, already backing toward the door, pulling his phone out.
Max’s attention flickered again at the movement—
—and Seb shifted just enough to catch it.
“Stay,” he said quietly, bringing him back again.
Max’s breath stuttered, but his focus held.
Locked.
Even as his body kept fighting him—
He stayed there.
Held.