PHOENIX

12. A Lesson in Acceptance

He was waiting for something to happen.

Punishment. Reprimand. Some kind of consequence for what he had done.

He had taken something.

Taken food from their hands. Allowed himself to taste it, to want it. To choose one over the others.

And yet... nothing had happened.

No one had grabbed him. No one had sneered at him, mocked him for daring to have a preference. No one had shoved the plate away, told him he had had enough, told him he didn't deserve more.

Instead, they had only watched.

Darius had given him a small nod before stepping back, as if his choice—his tiny, fragile choice—was something that mattered.

Aldric had simply resumed drinking his tea by the window, flipping through a book, as if what had just happened was completely normal.

And Orion...

Orion had been staring at him with something unreadable in his golden eyes before, without a word, he had picked up another small piece of pancake, dipped it in Nutella, and held it out.

A test.

It had to be a test.

He froze, body locking up.

He had already been given food. He had already taken something. If he reached out again—if he accepted more—

Would they take it back?

Would they be angry?

Would they—

His thoughts snapped to a halt as Orion did something unexpected.

He didn't force him.

Didn't push the food closer.

Didn't tell him to take it.

He just... held it there.

And then, after a moment, he ate it himself.

Like it had never been a test at all.

Like it hadn't mattered whether he took it or not.

Something inside his chest twisted in a way he couldn't understand.

Orion

He had seen it.

That flicker of hesitation, the way their mate had wanted to reach out but had stopped himself—his entire body going stiff with barely contained tension.

He was waiting for something.

Orion didn't know what, but whatever it was, it terrified him.

So Orion did the only thing he could think of.

He let it go.

Brought the pancake to his own lips and ate it, as if the offer had never happened.

As if it hadn't mattered whether their mate accepted or not.

Because it didn't.

Not really.

Orion didn't want him to eat out of fear or obligation. Didn't want to turn something as simple as accepting kindness into another cage.

So he waited.

And when their mate didn't shrink away, didn't recoil or flinch at the lack of consequences—Orion took another piece.

Dipped it again.

And held it out.

Not pushing. Not expecting.

Just offering.

The boy's silver eyes flickered toward it, uncertainty flickering in their depths.

Seconds passed.

Then—hesitantly, cautiously—his lips parted just slightly, the barest signal of permission.

Orion didn't hesitate.

Gently, he placed the bite in his mate's mouth.

This time, he didn't freeze.

Didn't hesitate to chew.

Didn't look around as if expecting something to go wrong.

For the first time, he just... ate.

And Orion thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Aldric

Aldric pretended to focus on his book, but his mind was far from the words on the page.

He had seen what Orion had done.

Had seen how he had offered without forcing, how he had eaten the food himself when their mate had hesitated—how he had waited until their mate was ready to accept.

And Aldric saw the shift.

It was small, barely noticeable.

But it was there.

Their mate wasn't flinching at every movement anymore. He wasn't curled in on himself, bracing for impact.

There was still tension—there would always be tension for a while. But something in his posture had changed.

Less like a wounded animal caught in a trap.

More like... something uncertain.

Something considering.

Something learning.

Aldric exhaled softly, letting the moment settle between them.

Their mate had taken another step forward.

A tiny, cautious, trembling step.

But a step nonetheless.

And Aldric would wait for every single one of them.

No matter how long it took.