Overnight••√•• a foreign omega”

chapitre : 13

• ஜ • ❈ • ஜ •

Day would lie awake long after Smith had fallen asleep, listening to his Omega's steady breathing, feeling the last tremors of anxiety gradually dissipate from his scent. Smith's account had moved and troubled him deeply. He now understood the magnitude of the chasm his beloved had crossed, and the weight of the fear that still gnawed at him: the fear of being just a replacement, a visitor in his own life.

This idea was unbearable to Day. The love he felt for Smith was visceral, absolute. He did not love a memory, a shadow, or a name. He loved the man who was here, now, with all his vulnerability, his newfound strength, his wonder, and his scars. He had to prove it to him. Words were no longer enough; he needed an act, a symbol as powerful as Julien's gift.

That's how he came to call Julien the next morning, asking to meet him at the café.

"I need your help," he had said, his face grave. "The marriage proposal I made before... it wasn't for him. Not for the Smith who is here today. It belonged to another man, a ghost. Smith deserves his own promise. A promise meant for him, and him alone."

Julien had listened, his eyes lighting up with understanding and enthusiasm.

"You're right, Day. Absolutely right. He needs to feel that everything, from the start, is built for him. That he isn't walking in someone else's footsteps. So, what do you plan to do?"

Day outlined his idea. It wouldn't be a public ceremony or an elaborate production. It would be intimate, charged with the symbolism of their world and their story. Julien, delighted, immediately offered to play assistant and distract Smith while the preparations were made.

A few days later, Julien dragged Smith out for an "exhausting but necessary shopping day." Meanwhile, Day transformed their living room. He drew the curtains, letting only the fading twilight filter through, and lined up sandalwood-scented candles, a scent he knew was soothing for Smith. He put on no music; only the soft crackle of the candles was to fill the silence. In the center of the room, he placed a single, plush cushion.

When Julien brought Smith back, it was almost dark.

"Alright, I'm leaving you to it, I have cramps everywhere!" Julien declared, gently pushing Smith towards his apartment door. "Be nice to him, Day, he's a bit grumpy."

Smith, indeed a little tired, pushed the door open and froze on the threshold. The sight of the candles, the warmth of the air, the familiar scent of Day mingled with sandalwood… his heart leapt.

Day was there, standing in the middle of the room, dressed simply but with an elegance that tightened Smith's throat. He held out his hand.

"Come."

Smith approached, a little short of breath. Day guided him to the cushion and gestured for him to sit. Then, instead of pulling a box from his pocket, he knelt before him. The position was that of a supplicant, an Alpha offering himself to his Omega, in a gesture of ultimate respect.

"Smith," Day began, his voice low and clear in the silence. "The first time I asked you to marry me, it was months ago. But that man, the one I was speaking to, is gone. Or perhaps he never truly existed."

Smith held his breath, his eyes locked on him.

"The question I ask you today is not for him. It is for you. For the man who had the courage to cross the darkness to find the light. For the strong, passionate, and vibrant Omega you are. For the one who chose to fight for his happiness, for me, for us."

Day plunged his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a box. When he opened it, Smith let out a small sob.

It wasn't the ring from their previous engagement, a classic and beautiful design. This one was unique. The metal was worked into a pattern of intertwined bonds, evoking both the roots of a tree and the golden thread Julien used to describe their connection. In the center, a stone of a soft golden hue, warm like a sunrise, sparkled in the candlelight.

"I had this ring designed last week, after you told me everything," Day continued. "It represents our bond, Smith. The one we wove together, you and I. Not an inheritance, not a loan. Our story. It is strong, it is rooted, and it is unique."

He took Smith's trembling hand.

"So, I ask you again, you, Smith. The man I love. The one who filled a void I felt without even understanding its nature. Will you marry me? Not to honor a promise made to another, but to seal our own, the one we write every day?"

Tears streamed freely down Smith's cheeks. They were not tears of fear or sadness, but of healing. Every word from Day was a balm on his secret wound, that of the usurper. He saw the sincerity shining in his Alpha's eyes, brighter than all the candles.

"Yes," he sobbed, squeezing Day's hand with all his strength. "Yes, Day! It's you I want. It's this life I want. Our life."

Day slid the ring onto his finger. It was a perfect fit, warm against his skin. He then stood and drew Smith to him for a tender, deep kiss, a seal upon their new union.

When they parted, Smith looked at the ring on his hand, then at Day's face.

"It's perfect," he whispered. "How did you know?"

"Because I know you, Smith," Day replied, leading him to the sofa. "I know you. Your soul, your heart. Not a ghost's. Yours."

That night, curled against Day, Smith felt one last wall of fear collapse within him. The ring on his finger was not mere jewelry. It was armor, a tangible reminder of his legitimacy. Day didn't want the man he was supposed to be. He wanted the man he was.

And for the first time, Smith believed it without a shadow of a doubt. He was home. And this time, the foundations were solid, because they had been built for him, and with him, from the very beginning.