"Eat," Adriel muttered, dropping the tray onto the table with a dull thud. No eye contact. No softness. Just the words, clipped and flat, like a chore he couldn't wait to be done with.
Eren sat frozen on the bed, arms wrapped tight around himself. His stomach felt like ice—empty but clenched. Not from hunger. From him. From the way Adriel's pheromones spiked sharp and bitter, refusing to soften, refusing to reach for him.
He didn't move.
"If you're not gonna eat, then toss it," Adriel snapped. His voice was harsh, but his scent told another story—burning, restless, heavy with suppressed fear. He crossed the room and lay down with his back to him, shoulders stiff, jaw locked, fists buried under the pillow.
Eren's throat tightened. His own pheromones had grown thin, weak, barely a trace of omega sweetness lingering in the air. He pressed a trembling hand over his belly, closing his eyes. Adriel was right. He couldn't starve the baby just because everything between them felt like it was falling apart.
He didn't know how long Adriel would stay angry. Maybe forever. And maybe he deserved it.
The mattress creaked when Eren stood.
Adriel's eyes snapped open instantly, instincts sharp, but he didn't turn to face him. He just stared at the wall, his pheromones coiled tight and jagged. It wasn't hate. It was fear.
He hated himself—for losing control earlier. For nearly choking James. For letting jealousy rip through him like an animal. Because James had reminded him—Eren wasn't his first. Because James's taunts had awakened that gnawing dread inside him.
And now the doubts were eating him alive.
Why Eren? Why then? Why on that cruise, of all places?
Was James right? Was it all planned?
Was his innocence just a mask? A trap?
Adriel's pheromones spiked bitter, conflicting with the soft, fragile sweetness drifting from Eren as he sat at the table and picked at the food. Quiet. Careful.
But the tears came anyway—slow, steady, silent. His scent wavered, trembling with sadness, curling submissive, pleading. He tried to hide it, to keep the sound of his sniffles soft.
But Adriel heard every one.
Every stifled sob cut like needles into his chest.
He sat up, eyes blazing. His pheromones snapped hot and sharp, flooding the room before he could stop himself.
"Are you gonna eat or cry?" he snarled. "Pick one."
His voice cracked halfway through. The bite was there, but so was the break. He hadn't meant to sound cruel. He just couldn't take it anymore—the sound of his omega breaking, the way his scent was thinning, fading, slipping through his grasp.
Adriel couldn't take it anymore. The soft sniffles coming from Eren were getting under his skin—quiet, shaky, like he was trying not to cry while forcing food down his throat.
Then he choked.
Eren coughed hard, his body jerking forward.
Adriel shot up from the bed, instincts kicking before thought. Two strides and he was at his side. His pheromones spiked sharp, flooding the air with authority and alarm.
"Seriously? You're crying and eating at the same time?" he snapped, voice tight with frustration. "What are you, five?"
But even as the words left his mouth, his hands betrayed him—already on Eren, rubbing his back in steady circles, taking the plate from his trembling fingers, setting it down on the table. His scent softened, curling protective around the omega even while his tone stayed rough.
He grabbed the glass of water, guided it to Eren's lips.
"Here. Sip. Slowly," he muttered, voice gruff but low.
Eren drank, shaky and silent. His pheromones were thin, almost fading, sweet but fragile. That weakness stabbed at Adriel's chest more than the coughing ever could.
When the coughing finally eased, Adriel set the glass down. He straightened, ready to retreat—before he got pulled deeper.
Then a hand caught his wrist.
He froze. Looked down.
Eren's fingers trembled against his skin, his scent trembling with them—raw, pleading, uncertain.
Adriel frowned. He's shaking. Is he scared? Of me?
"You need something?" he asked, voice low, carefully neutral.
"Are you still mad?" Eren whispered, barely meeting his eyes.
Adriel's jaw tightened. His pheromones pulsed, sharp and restless.
"What do you think?" he said coldly.
Eren's hand slipped away instantly, his gaze dropping. His scent curled in on itself, bitter with hurt. That was enough. He knew. Adriel wasn't ready to forgive. Maybe he never would.
But the anger—Adriel knew, deep down—it was aimed at the wrong person. Claude had set everything up. Eren had just walked into it. And yet here he was, breaking under the weight of blame.
Then he gasped.
"Ah—" Eren clutched his stomach, face twisting in pain. His pheromones snapped sharp with panic, fear laced through every trembling note.
Adriel spun around, heart slamming against his ribs, instincts roaring.
The doctor's words thundered in his skull.
Unbonded. High-risk. One wrong move and you could lose them both. You need to mark him before it's too late.
And now—Eren was in pain.
Adriel's blood ran cold.
"Hey," Adriel said, voice cracking as he dropped to his knees beside him. His hand found Eren's, the other pressing flat over his belly, as though he could steady the pain with touch alone.
"What's wrong? Is it your stomach? Talk to me."
But Eren didn't answer. His body was curled forward, trembling, clutching his abdomen. His silence was louder than any scream.
Adriel's pulse spiked. His instincts roared at him to act—to fix it. He could smell it now, faint but sharp: Eren's pheromones spiking in distress, his scent frayed and unsteady. It clawed at him, every note screaming danger.
"This isn't working. I'm calling the doctor—" Adriel stood quickly, panic cutting through his anger.
But Eren's hand shot out, gripping his wrist hard. His scent surged, desperate and pleading.
"Don't go," he whispered, his voice almost breaking.
Adriel froze. "Eren, you're in pain. I need to—"
"I just want you here," Eren said, eyes glistening, his pheromones pulling on Adriel's like a tide. "Stop pretending I don't matter."
The words punched through him, harder than any accusation. Adriel stiffened, torn between instinct and fear, between fury and tenderness. His own scent flared uncontrollably—alpha dominance, protective, furious—then softened, curling helplessly around Eren as if answering the call.
"What are you even saying?" he muttered, half-reaching for the phone again, half-ready to drag Eren into his arms.
But Eren stood unsteadily and closed the distance first. He pressed his face against Adriel's chest, burying himself in his warmth, his trembling scent bleeding need and trust. His arms wrapped around him tight, as if letting go would break him.
"I don't need anyone else," Eren murmured into his shirt, his voice muffled, fragile. "I just need you."
Adriel's throat closed. His hands hovered, useless, before finally clutching Eren close, fighting the instinct to mark him right there and now. His alpha screamed at him—Bond him. Make him safe. Before you lose him.
"You're hurting," Adriel rasped. "You can't just—"
"I'm not seeing any doctor unless you stop being mad at me," Eren whispered, his fingers curling tighter in his shirt. "Your choice."
Adriel shut his eyes, fury and fear twisting inside him. His pheromones swirled with his omega's, clashing, merging, until the air was thick with heat and desperation. He couldn't breathe past it. Couldn't fight it anymore.