Buzz.
The soft vibration of his phone alarm disturbed the silence.
Eamon reached across the bedside table and silenced it before a second vibration could follow. In one smooth motion, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and made his way toward the en-suite bathroom.
Dawn had only just begun to break. Thin ribbons of pale gold filtered through the curtains, stretching quietly across the polished wooden floor.
His morning routine rarely varied. Always starting with a shower, a shave, then followed by a skincare routine that his mother insisted every respectable man should have. By the time he stepped back into the bedroom with a towel draped around his waist, the lingering traces of sleep had long since disappeared.
His wardrobe mirrored the rest of his apartment: orderly, understated, and meticulously organised. Every shirt hung evenly spaced. Suits were arranged by colour, shoes polished to perfection beneath them. Eamon reached for a freshly pressed black shirt and a pair of tailored black trousers. Years of repetition allowed him to dress almost absentmindedly. The only interruption came, as always, when he reached for the tie.
Midnight blue, his favourite. He looped it around his collar with practised movements before tightening the knot.
If the decision had been his alone, he would have left it hanging in the wardrobe. Unfortunately, as long as his father remained the public face of Sauveterre Law Firm, ties were considered a symbol of professionalism. Family tradition left very little room for negotiation.
Eamon found them unnecessarily restrictive.
After smoothing a hand through his dark hair and fastening the cuffs of his sleeves, he gave himself one final glance in the mirror before heading downstairs. Passing by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city below. The storm that had rolled through the previous evening had finally passed, leaving rooftops glistening beneath the first light of morning. Water still clung to the balcony railing, and the streets below looked freshly washed, as though the rain had quietly scrubbed the city clean while everyone slept.
The apartment itself was equally immaculate, with minimalist furniture in muted colours. Bookshelves lined with legal texts and the occasional history novel. Everything has its place... almost everything.
Eamon's gaze shifted toward the living room.
Jasper had somehow managed to occupy the entire L-shaped couch despite only being one person. One leg dangled onto the floor, an arm hung limply over the backrest, and the blanket had wrapped itself around only a single foot. Judging by the empty takeaway containers on the coffee table and the discarded jacket lying nearby, he hadn't even attempted to sleep properly.
Jasper had gone out drinking with friends in the neighbourhood the previous night. Rather than make the drive home afterwards, he had let himself into Eamon's apartment sometime after midnight and promptly declared the couch "good enough."
Eamon lightly nudged his brother's exposed shin with the side of his foot.
Jasper grunted.
Satisfied that he had at least acknowledged the world, Eamon continued toward the coffee nook.
Unlike the rest of the apartment, this small corner carried far more personality. Shelves displayed carefully arranged brewing equipment collected over the years. Hand grinders, pour-over drippers, glass kettles, scales accurate to a tenth of a gram, and more mugs than one person could ever reasonably need.
Within a customised cabinet nestled his prized possession: an imported Italian espresso machine. Without a care in the world, he switched it on, and the apartment filled with its unmistakable mechanical hum.
It's loud enough to wake the dead. Or, at the very least, Jasper.
Eamon opened the cabinet above the counter. Inside, neatly arranged rows of imported coffee beans stretched from one side to the other. Ethiopia. Colombia. Guatemala. Brazil. Kenya. Small labels marked tasting notes beneath each sealed bag.
His fingers hovered over several before pausing. Unexpectedly, an image slipped into his thoughts. Of a small Omega standing exactly where he is now, carefully lifting one bag after another, reading every label before opening one just enough to breathe in its aroma. Curious emerald eyes would light up with each new scent, unable to decide which one to try first.
Acheron.
The image arrived so vividly that Eamon found himself smiling before he realised it. It was a real one, one that reached his eyes first before the mouth could even twitch.
Jasper awoke with a groan, rubbing the shin Eamon had just kicked. Still half asleep, he turned toward the deafening coffee machine, prepared to glare at his older brother for ruining a perfectly good morning. Instead, he froze.
Eamon was smiling.
Not the polite, professional smile he reserved for clients and colleagues. This one brightened his entire face.
Jasper stared, his mouth slowly falling open.
"What happened to your... face?"
Eamon blinked, the question pulling him cleanly from his thoughts. Whatever warmth had settled across his expression vanished almost instantly, replaced by the composed neutrality he wore as naturally as his tailored suits.
"What do you mean?" he asked, though the faint hesitation in his voice betrayed a flicker of embarrassment.
Jasper stared at him.
"You just smiled!"
"I smile."
"No," Jasper replied immediately. "You perform socially acceptable facial expressions."
Eamon raised an eyebrow.
"That..." Jasper pointed dramatically toward the coffee machine. "...that was an actual smile."
"It wasn't."
"..."
"..."
"Sure, sure..." Jasper muttered. "Never knew I could spontaneously hallucinate."
Deciding there was little point in arguing with his stubborn older brother, he let the subject drop... for now. With a long groan, he pushed himself off the couch and stretched until his back gave a satisfying crack. Every muscle protested after the awkward night's sleep, but thankfully, his head wasn't pounding nearly as much as he'd expected. He wandered over to the coffee nook, accepted one of the mugs Eamon had prepared, and took an appreciative sip.
"Okay," he admitted with a content sigh. "You're forgiven."
"I wasn't aware I'd offended you."
"You woke me up by kicking me."
"I nudged you."
"...Well, it hurt"
Jasper rubbed his shin with exaggerated care, as though Eamon had kicked him far harder than he actually had. Eamon briefly looked at his action but just as quickly looked away. Unfazed. Some mornings, he wondered why he bothered waking Jasper at all.
Cradling the mug in one hand, Eamon opened his laptop. Overnight emails immediately flooded the screen, along with reminders, court notices, and messages from associates who had apparently forgotten the concept of business hours. He skimmed through them methodically.
"Where were you last night?" Jasper asked between sips. He knew Eamon often worked late at the law firm, but Jasper had briefly woken when he returned home the night before. Instead of looking drained, as he usually did after a long day, Eamon had seemed unusually relaxed.
Jasper hadn't thought much of it then.
Now, after catching that smile...
He wasn't so sure.
"Dinner."Eamon didn't look up.
"With?"
Eamon paused briefly, "A client."
Technically not a lie.
He almost smiled again at the thought.
"You've never had dinner with a client that late before." Jasper, now truly invested in this, was at first slightly curious but more likely just wanted something to talk about. Why would he have thought he could have stumbled on a mystery and one his older brother is determined to keep to himself?
"It was a special circumstance."
"Sure."
Jasper took another leisurely sip before looking at his brother over the rim of his mug.
"This special circumstance..."
Eamon already knew where this was going.
"... Wouldn't happen to have been a date?"
Eamon said nothing.
Last night had never been intended as a date. It truly had been dinner with a client. A simple conversation and a chance to make sure Acheron was eating properly. Yet, when he thought back to the evening, those weren't the moments he remembered first.
He remembered Acheron smiling over the rim of his cup. The way his eyes lit up while eating the nacho one chip at a time, and the quiet laugh that had lingered longer than it should have.
Eamon sighed inwardly.
No.
It hadn't been a date.
But he hoped that one day, Acheron would let him take him on one.
"Brother... was your client cute?"
Eamon finally looked up.
His expression remained perfectly composed.
"Jasper."
"What?"
"Finish your coffee."
"That's not a no." Jasper's grin widened.
Eamon sighed quietly. Cross-examining hostile witnesses was considerably easier than breakfast conversations with his younger brother.
Jasper finally abandoned the topic. He knew Eamon well enough to recognise when he'd reached the end of a conversation. Yet, as he replayed every answer, every hesitation, and that unusually warm smile from earlier that morning, the pieces quietly fell into place.
Eamon Sauveterre had a crush.
The thought was so unexpected that Jasper almost laughed aloud. He lifted his mug to hide the grin threatening to spread across his face. For years, he'd quietly wondered whether his older brother would ever let someone close enough to matter. Eamon had dated before, but everything had always seemed... measured. Sensible. As though romance was simply another obligation to schedule neatly between court hearings and client meetings.
This...
This seems different.
Jasper desperately wanted to ask a hundred questions.
Who was it?
How had they met?
Did they know Eamon liked them?
How far had things progressed?
But he knew his brother, the quickest way to end a conversation with Eamon was to pry.
Instead, he let the silence settle. Until Eamon cleared his throat.
"What are your plans today?"
Jasper smiled into his coffee.
Nice recovery. He thought.
"I'll probably stay here for a bit," he replied easily. "Recover from your attempted murder."
Eamon gave him an unimpressed look.
Jasper chuckled. "Anyway," he continued, "I'm meeting some friends tonight. Apparently, there's a new bar near Velmira University everyone's been talking about."
Velmira.
The familiar name quietly caught Eamon's attention. Without meaning to, his thoughts wandered once more. He tried, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, to imagine Acheron in a crowded bar.
But the image refused to cooperate.
Instead, he pictured the Omega bundled beneath several blankets, a mug of coffee cradled between both hands while Nimbus occupied his lap as though it were his rightful throne. A tiny smile threatened to return; Eamon quickly buried it behind another sip of coffee.
"I doubt he'd enjoy somewhere that loud," Eamon murmured before he could stop himself.
Jasper's eyebrows climbed. "...He?"
Eamon looked up.
"..."
"..."
Without missing a beat, Eamon calmly closed his laptop.
"Please keep the apartment clean before you leave." Then he stood, picked up his briefcase, and walked toward the front door with all the composure expected of one of the city's most respected attorneys.
The apartment door clicked shut behind him.
Jasper stared at the empty hallway for several long seconds.
Then he burst out laughing.