He sat on the edge of the bed, not leaning on the headboard, his back straight but not tense. His fingers, intertwined, slowly clenched and unclenched on his knees. He didn't feel any sense in this movement, rather, an attempt to hold on to his body, not to fly away. His thoughts constantly returned to the clearing, to those white flowers with fragile petals that could not withstand his touch. Their vulnerability echoed in him with bitterness, but not because of the death itself. But because he hoped. Something inside him expected something different. Like then, in childhood, when everything could still be safe. He thought that perhaps it was worth going back there. Once again. To make sure that they were still alive. That at least those he had not touched remained. It was stupid, he knew, but the thought did not leave him. He was drawn there not because of the flowers, but because of the feeling that he had left something elusive, necessary, as if that moment had not been completed.
He had just started to rise when the door to the room swung open without a knock, abruptly, as if someone had thrown it. He did not have time to get scared, he only froze.
Serak entered first. Without an escort and certainly without any words. He did not look at Omega right away, he walked inside calmly, as if he had been here many times. Behind him, servants began to appear one after another. They carried trays, plates, dishes, light folding tables, tablecloths that unfolded almost in the air. Everything was rehearsed.
Not knowing what to do, Omega stood in a stupor. But when Serak finally turned to face him, he felt how everything in his body tensed - his hands, fingers, breath, stomach muscles. The Alpha looked straight ahead, calmly, not trying to be magnanimous or intimidating.
"We should have dinner," he said, his voice measured but not distant.
He didn't ask, didn't suggest, simply stated. As if the fact that they would sit down together at the table was as inevitable as the light from the window.
When everything was ready, the dishes laid out, the glasses filled, Serac took his place on the balcony. He sat down without touching the back of the chair, and picked up the cutlery, as if by doing so he was indicating that he was ready. The Omega approached slowly. He sat opposite him, not lowering his head, but not looking directly.
The table was groaning with food, but not the simple dishes that Omega liked: stewed meat rolls, thinly sliced fruits, intricate garnishes served in curved bowls, the steam rising in gentle curls. The smells were soft, without the sharpness of spice, but together they created such a richness that Omega felt dizzy for a moment. He had only seen food like this from afar, on other people's tables. Never in front of him.
He ate slowly, carefully. But his body accepted the food with ease, as if it knew that it was okay to eat now. Over time, his movements became more confident. He noticed that Serak ate little. Much less than he should have. He drank more often, from a small glass of dark amber liquid that Omega took for some kind of fruit drink. The smell was sweetish, with a warm note. He did not know it was wine.
He glanced at Serak furtively. He did not seem to be frowning. His lips, usually pressed into a straight line, were now slightly relaxed. The corners of his mouth were raised. It was not a smile, but there was more approval in it than Omega would have expected. He felt his cheeks begin to warm slightly. He didn't know if it was the food, the look in front of him, or the feeling that he wasn't being appreciated at the moment.
When dessert was served, Omega was surprised. A round arrangement of soft cream and berries, decorated with spikes of white mass - he didn't know what it was. He couldn't figure out how to eat it. He reached for the bright berry on top, but before his fingers could touch it, one of the maids gently but firmly pushed the dish away, quickly cut it with a knife into neat pieces and served it on individual plates.
Omega pulled his hand away, feeling his cheeks flare with a bright, dense heat. He felt incredibly stupid. But when he tasted the dessert, all thoughts disappeared. Softness with a surprising sweetness spread through his body. It melted, dissolving like warm snow. It left a taste that nothing could confuse. It was the taste that finally made him understand what the clients' words meant when they called him "sweet" during intercourse. He ate piece after piece. Without any embarrassment, he asked for a second piece, a third, a fourth.
He didn't notice how he ate more than he expected from himself. And Serak was still watching - not forbidding. He just drank. Their glances met, there were no words, but each understood that the other was tasty.
When the fifth piece disappeared from his plate, Omega carefully lowered the cutlery and ran his fingers along the napkin, folding it slowly. For the first time, he felt like he could breathe at the table without looking back at every smirking glance from the servants. Serak still didn't say a word, but his posture had changed: he leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand on the armrest, the other holding his glass. He seemed calm, almost satisfied, and Omega suddenly, without knowing where it came from, felt that he had to say something.
When the servants began to silently collect the remains of the dishes, clearing away the dishes but leaving the dessert veil in the air, Serak, leaning slightly, was about to stand up. His palm rested on the edge of the table, his leg was half-bent, and it was at that moment that Omega decided. A voice escaped his lips, quiet, almost hesitant, but too full of the personal to go unnoticed.
"Thank you… for the walk."
He wasn't even sure if Serak had heard him, but he stopped. His back straightened a little, his head turned, and his eyebrows drew together.