Author's note (14 Aug): Major edits to the dialogue between Blaise and Thalia. I also removed the fight scene, since it doesn't really contribute to the plot in any way. Tbh it was a filler episode oops 🫣

‘You’ve seen those videos of interviews with Hector, right?’

Blaise looks up reluctantly from the comic he is reading on his iPad. Thalia is standing in the doorway of his bedroom, a strange expression on her face that could only described as triumphant.

‘What?’

Rolling her eyes, she closes the door behind her and collapses across Blaise’s legs at the foot of his bed. He pushes himself up reluctantly from his swaddle of fluffy blanket and quilt, and puts his iPad to sleep. Across the hall, Cas is belting out Taylor Swift in the shower, the last of them to use it after losing the race for the flat’s single bathroom when they got home.

Thalia sprawls across the bed in an old stretched-out jumper and pyjama pants, her dark hair damp, a hand flung across her closed eyes. It has been a while, seeing her so still and quiet in his bed. She has been so busy with workshops and rehearsals and fittings that she was home for dinner only twice in the past month.

They would have to talk about it eventually: Thalia moving out. When the Hollow City movie is released, when the roles stream in, when the fans demand a piece of her, their poky little flat would not be enough for her, and Blaise would go from seeing her twice a month to twice a year, if he were lucky.

Oh, he would still have her: she is a part of him, and he of her. There would be texts and video calls until one of them falls asleep, but they would no longer share a space like this, close enough for him to catch the scent of her flowery shampoo. His chest twinges, somewhere between pride and pain.

This is the fate of anyone who loves such a glorious creature.

He reaches out, touches a lock of her ink-black hair, cold and wet. ‘Thanks for coming tonight.’

She snorts, opening her eyes, levelling him with a piercing look. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I’ve been dying to see how Hector is with you.’

‘He’s a bloody good cook, isn’t he?’

‘Oh, he’s the perfect little alpha, feeding his omega,’ she smirks, something almost mocking in her tone. ‘Quite a coincidence, isn’t it? That the dish he says is his best dish is your favourite.’

He frowns. ‘Piss off. I’m not interested in alphas.’

‘Aren’t you?’ Thalia muses, her gaze sympathetic, because they are both thinking it anyway, even if she does not say the name Oliver. ‘I know how you feel about being a parent, but there are alphas who aren’t interested in child-rearing too, you know. You could meet an alpha like that.’

‘Not interested,’ Blaise says flatly.

She crosses her legs, turning around to face him, tucking her hair behind her ears. ‘But Hector is, and you know that too, don’t you?

His face flushes hot, but his fists are cold. ‘It’s only biology, innit? It has nothing to do with me, he only thinks he’s interested because I’m an available omega.’

‘Oh, love.’ The quelling look Thalia gives him sticks to his skin uncomfortably like sweaty clothes. ‘You really need to get your head out of your arse. Anyway, you have seen videos of Hector’s interviews before, yeah? You know how he is always able to give the perfect answers, even on those Comic Con panels when you don’t know what the crazies might do.

‘There’s a reason why even the Daily Mail calls him the Golden Boy: no one has ever caught a moment when he is not perfect. Everything about him is so polished, and—and … calculated, you know? You get the sense that he never lets his guard down, but Hector tonight was the most human I have ever seen him.’

Twisting his blanket in his hands, he frowns. ‘Normal, innit? For celebrities like you, when you never know who might say what to whom.’

‘To an extent. I mean, everyone wears different faces in different situations, right? You have your customer-service mask, but Hector’s mask is always on. Like that mask he wore to the Halloween party? He’s so polite and considerate and charming to his colleagues, the reporters, the fans, he’s very consistent. Hector Westbrook is always in control.

‘Anyway, the point is that he keeps everyone at a distance, until … well, until I saw the way the two of you are. He teases you, he is sarcastic with you,’ her gaze is thoughtful, steady. ‘And he is letting Cas, Talon and I see it too. He must have a reason.’

‘Well, you did want us to be friends. What are you trying to get at? You know how I feel about being matched up with some random bloke.’

Thalia after all, knows his mother quite well. She grimaces: ‘Wow, thanks, mate, do you think I’m that much of a twat? I’m not in a hurry to marry you off, my love. I honestly do think the two of you will make good mates, seeing as how the both of you are such bloody nerds, and all right, it is amusing to find out that Hector Westbrook loves manga.

‘I know, I know, nothing wrong with that! But you would think an alpha like him would be into going to the gym and protein shakes and hikes or whatever, not manga.’

‘You haven’t been telling people, have you? I don’t think he particularly likes people to know.’

A flash of Hector’s dark eyes, as if he is watching a car spin slowly, uncontrollably across the motorway, headfirst into cars coming from the other direction, and an echo of his voice, low and strained, I’ve been lying to your face, mate, I’ve been pretending all along.

Has he? They talk about books and movies and random cooking videos: when Hector thinks being an emperor is little better than being a slave, what power does he have on the throne really; when Hector would rather a character die for a mistake that hurt a loved one; when Hector hates parsley, but would rather spend ten minutes picking it out of his food than tell the chef—this is not the Hector he saw in front of the fans at We Knead Pizza.

He knows Hector; had no real reason for snooping in Hector’s house. He is merely a nosy parker as bad as any of his manic fans, and he has trampled all over Hector’s secret: Sibyl. Is that how he has fucked up tonight? He should have apologised more, made more amends. You bloody idiot.

‘No, ‘course not,’ Thalia says sniffily. ‘I quite understand the need for privacy, you arse. I’m only trying to … well, warn you, I suppose? I told you he seemed lonely. He was the one who asked me for your number, you know. He thought you might have gotten the wrong impression during the night of the party, when he first asked, and he only wanted to be friends.’

‘We are friends.’

‘I know. I’m surprised, to be honest, knowing how much effort it takes for you to be the slightest bit friendly,’ she teases. ‘But like I said earlier, he’s interested. You say you’re not, but we both know that’s not quite true, is it? Do you know what you’re getting yourself into, love?’