Eren hurried after Adriel, his steps faltering when the Alpha stopped and glanced back.
"P–Pres—" he stammered, then swallowed, forcing himself to try again. "A-Adriel." Even after living under the same roof for several days, saying his name aloud still felt heavy on his tongue.
Adriel's eyes softened for a heartbeat before he turned fully toward the kitchen. "What do you want to eat?"
"Huh?" The question caught Eren off guard.
Adriel arched a brow. "What do you mean, 'huh'? I'm asking what you want for dinner." He slipped on an apron and moved with practiced ease toward the stove.
Eren lingered in the doorway, watching him. For someone born into wealth, a corporate president at that, Adriel didn't rely on chefs or staff. He prepared his own meals, and strangely enough, Eren's stomach only ever accepted the food Adriel cooked. Everything else—even restaurant dishes—tended to sit wrong, except for the strawberries he often craved.
"Why are you just standing there?" Adriel asked, noticing Eren still rooted by the door. "If you've got something to say, then say it. I'm not a mind reader." His tone was calm, though the faint thread of his Alpha scent—warm spice and cedar—stirred faintly in the air.
Eren's fingers curled against the doorframe. He inhaled carefully, steadying himself. "Tomorrow—" he began, hesitating when Adriel glanced back at him with open curiosity. "Tomorrow, I might be home late."
"Plans?" Adriel asked, turning back to the pan. "Where are you going?"
"We… we have a college batch reunion."
"That's fine." Adriel's voice was matter-of-fact. "You still have your freedom. Just tell me the location, and I'll have the driver take you."
Eren shook his head quickly. "No, it's fine. I can manage. It's Saturday—your driver deserves a rest too." He tried to make it sound casual, but his scent wavered, betraying a flicker of unease.
Adriel finally stopped what he was doing, turning to face him fully. His gaze was steady, unreadable, but the weight of it made Eren's chest tighten.
"Then I'll take you."
It wasn't a question. His voice was quiet but certain, carrying that Alpha edge that left no room for protest.
"No!"
Eren's quick reply slipped out sharper than he intended, startling even himself. Adriel's brow lifted in mild surprise.
"No?" the Alpha repeated.
Eren rubbed the back of his neck, trying to calm the rush of heat blooming under his skin. "I'd… feel embarrassed," he admitted, his voice dropping.
Adriel chuckled, the sound low and easy. "So now you're shy around me." He plated the food with practiced hands, then went to the fridge and retrieved a small bowl. When he returned, he set it in front of Eren. Strawberries, bright and fresh, their scent sweet in the air.
Eren's breath caught. He couldn't explain why something so simple tugged at him so hard. His chest tightened, his Omega instincts curling warmly in response to the Alpha's thoughtfulness. He picked one up, took a bite, and mumbled, "...Thanks, Adriel," avoiding his gaze. His scent betrayed him anyway, shy warmth unfurling despite his efforts to keep it steady.
Adriel leaned back in his chair, watching him with quiet amusement. "There's no need to be embarrassed around me, Red."
Eren blinked, startled. "Red?"
A faint smile tugged at Adriel's mouth. "It's your color. It suits you."
The words landed heavier than Eren expected. His heart gave a traitorous thump, and he pressed his lips together, unsure how to answer. He wasn't supposed to let himself feel this way—Adriel had been clear when they'd agreed to live together. No attachment. No messy emotions. Just convenience.
But how could he separate the man from the agreement when Adriel kept doing things like this? Cooking for him. Noticing him. Choosing a nickname that made his chest feel both unsteady and full at once.
Eren forced himself to look up. His voice trembled slightly. "You… really think it suits me?"
Adriel's gaze didn't waver. "Absolutely. Red's bold. Passionate. Strong. The same as you." The sincerity in his tone sent a shiver down Eren's spine. He tore his gaze away, afraid that if he looked too long, he'd lose whatever fragile grip he still had on the boundaries between them. And deep inside, he wondered how much longer he could keep pretending those boundaries still held.
Eren tried to focus on the food instead of the weight of Adriel's words. He picked at his plate, chewing slowly, but every bite tasted brighter, richer, because it was something Adriel had prepared. His chest felt uncomfortably tight, like he couldn't quite get enough air.
Across the table, Adriel ate with his usual calm efficiency, but his eyes kept drifting back to Eren. The Alpha's steady cedar-and-spice scent wrapped around the space like a protective cocoon, making it harder for Eren to pretend he wasn't affected.
"Do you always cook like this?" Eren asked finally, his voice a little strained as he reached for another strawberry, more to occupy his hands than his appetite.
Adriel raised a brow. "What, you thought I lived off takeout?"
Eren ducked his head. "Kind of."
Adriel smirked faintly, spearing another bite with his fork. "I like cooking. It's… grounding. Reminds me I'm human before I'm a president of a big company."
That simple honesty made Eren's chest ache in a different way. He swallowed, trying to mask it. "You're good at it."
"I noticed you only eat when it's my food," Adriel said casually, though his eyes lingered on Eren's face. "Even the strawberries taste better when I serve them, hm?"
Eren nearly choked, his ears burning as his Omega scent spiked shyly. "T-that's not—" He cut himself off, clamping his mouth shut.
Adriel chuckled, low and rough. "Relax, Red. I was teasing." But his gaze softened, holding Eren's just long enough to stir something unsteady in his chest before he looked back down at his plate.
Eren pressed his lips together, trying to focus on eating, but his thoughts spun. He wasn't supposed to fall for him. That was the rule. That was the line.
And yet, sitting across from Adriel, bathed in his scent, watching the Alpha cook and smile in ways no one else ever saw—Eren realized he was already slipping.
Eren pushed another strawberry around the bowl with his fork, pretending not to notice how Adriel's gaze lingered. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was charged, too heavy with everything left unsaid.
Finally, Adriel broke it. "Why don't you want me to take you tomorrow?" His voice was quiet, but there was an edge beneath it, the unmistakable command of an Alpha who didn't like being refused.
Eren froze. His throat worked, but the words wouldn't come easily. "Because…" He gripped the fork tighter, knuckles whitening. "Because I'd feel like a child being escorted. I don't want people to think I'm… relying on you for everything."
Adriel leaned back in his chair, studying him with those steady eyes. The cedar-spice weight of his scent deepened, warm and protective, brushing against Eren's senses like a firm hand at his back. "You are under my roof. There's nothing wrong with that."
"That's not the same as…" Eren's voice faltered. He bit down on his lip, frustrated with himself. "It's complicated."
Adriel's gaze softened, though the Alpha intensity in it never waned. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "Red." The nickname carried warmth and gravity both. "You don't need to be embarrassed around me. Not for relying on me. Not for anything."
Eren's chest tightened, his pulse stuttering. His Omega instincts curled traitorously toward that voice, that scent, that certainty. He dropped his gaze, afraid that if he met Adriel's eyes, he'd say something he couldn't take back.
"I…" His throat went dry. The words clawed at him, desperate to slip free: I think ----vI'm already falling.
But he swallowed them down, forcing a shaky laugh instead. "You make it sound easy."
Adriel's lips curved into something between a smile and a knowing smirk. "It is. You just don't believe it yet."
The silence stretched again, heavier this time. Eren couldn't meet his gaze, couldn't still the pounding in his chest. The strawberries tasted too sweet, his body too warm, and he hated how much he wanted this—how much he wanted him.
And all the while, the rule they'd agreed on echoed in his head like a warning: Don't fall for me.