[OMEGAVERSE] Grow with me

2.1

Andréa glares at them harshly, almost holding them at bay as he stands in the doorway that separates the kitchen from the living room. Mael is there too, far more groggy, still rubbing his eyes as if clinging to the last traces of sleep. Their hands are fiercely clasped together, the younger one instinctively staying close to his newly bonded partner. Just seeing them like this is enough for the four parents to know—their children are claiming each other, and separating them is unthinkable.

Fortunately, they both seem calmer now, more composed—partners even—ready to face the adults despite their stubborn tempers.

“Mom…? It hurts… it stings…” Mael murmurs, unaware of the tension and the distance Andréa is keeping.

“That’s normal, sweetheart. You just have to wait a little for it to stop hurting. But we’ll take care of it, and you’re brave enough to handle it, okay?”

“Mmmh…”

Marianne’s voice trembles—it’s true. But she quickly pulls herself together, wrapping herself in her “super mom” role to meet her child’s needs. She gently slips out of her husband’s comforting embrace and takes a step toward them, her usual soft and soothing demeanor intact.

But whatever her intentions, Andréa reacts so sharply that she freezes again.

He still says nothing, but his brows knit together, his shoulders hunch. He takes a step back, tightening his grip on Mael’s hand, trying to pull him along. His pheromones surge all at once—his anger and fear laid bare—yet the others can no longer fully understand them. Instinctively, MJ and Adrien catch fragments of it—they are bound by blood, after all. But now that the child is bonded, it’s like a poorly tuned radio: his signals fade for them, meant only for the one who can truly receive them.

And the message is unmistakable.

Just as suddenly, Mael moves in response, reacting to his partner’s unspoken alarm. He realizes that his own mother is the source of his best friend’s distress, so he steps forward. His usually bright, open expression fades, replaced by an eerie neutrality—a barrier that feels far too mature for a child his age. His pheromones rise as well, intertwining with Andréa’s in a perfectly harmonious blend.

Immediately, Andréa’s face softens. He even closes his eyes, as if savoring this invisible dance that only the two of them can perceive.

“It’s okay, boys. Don’t worry!”

Still gentle, Marianne maintains her warm, reassuring presence. Her son has never been difficult, and she has always handled his outbursts without raising her voice, always listening carefully to him. She shares a deep bond with him and believes she can calm them both—if she plays by their rules.

“Are we going to go home?”

“Yes, of course. You need to wash up—you’re… well, sweetheart, look at yourself, you’re all dirty. And we need to take a closer look at the wound to treat it. And it’s late anyway…”

“No! I don’t want to!” Andréa finally declares.

His childish voice cracks like a whip, striking every adult present. His brown eyes blaze with anger as he clings tighter to his friend’s arm. Mael’s small hand rests gently on his arm in comfort, making Andréa grimace—he hates being fussed over, even if he would never admit how much it helps.

“You can’t separate us anymore!” Mael states.

His gaze remains unreadable, his expression giving nothing away. He stands firm, unshakable. Paul realizes then that his son is probably an Alpha…

But in this situation, that matters.

Because he understands what’s happening—he’s an Alpha too.

His child is acting on instinct, unable to process things any other way. The situation forces him into a defensive stance. Right now, Mael isn’t just Mael—he’s an Alpha protecting his bond.