Nia, the older by four minutes, held tightly to her brother Alen’s hand in one fist and his beloved stuffed bear in the other. Alen, as always, clung to his small, fluffy crocheted blanket, the edge of it dragging softly behind him. His pacifier was firmly in place; he’d been particularly attached to it lately.

The doctor had said both twins would eventually differentiate into Alphas, yet Nia already acted like Alen’s personal bodyguard.

“Mom, can we go paint with Uncle Achie?” Nia beamed, wrapping herself around Lena’s legs.

Acheron had gifted them a children’s art set for their second birthday, and since then, he’d patiently taught them simple painting and drawing techniques. Ever since, the twins had driven their parents crazy, constantly begging to visit Uncle Eron again.

Alen waddled over, quiet as always. He looked up at Acacia, his big eyes wide and pleading. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

Acacia nearly caved on the spot. She always did when it came to Alen’s puppy-dog eyes, but today, she hesitated. She wanted them to have fun, but she didn’t want to overwhelm Acheron.

“Let me ask your Uncle Achie first, okay?”

“Yay!” Nia squealed.

Lena held them back gently while Acacia slipped outside without her two energetic shadows in tow.

By this time, Acheron had already finished cleaning up. He had gifted the rose-and-vase painting to Kai and Camlo, a quiet but still meaningful gesture.

“Wassup, Erie,” Acacia greeted with a grin, walking into the garden.

“Thorny,” Acheron replied with a smirk, pulling her into a warm hug.

It had been ages since they’d seen each other in person, but the familiarity settled between them instantly.

“How’ve you been?” she asked.

“So-so,” Acheron replied, his voice low but honest.

She didn’t press. Their brief exchange said enough.

“The twins want to paint with you again.”

“I’d love to.” He was already unpacking the acrylic tubes again. “I’ll fetch some sheets of paper. Can you grab their table and chairs from the storage room?”

“On it.”

As Acacia walked through the house, she passed the wall covered in family photos; snapshots of laughter, milestones and awkward teenage years. She passed her old bedroom, then Ivo’s room, which he still used when he came home during university breaks and occasionally on weekends. Finally, she paused in front of Eron’s closed door.

She opened it slowly.

She remembered the blue-painted walls, the soft white curtains, the frilly bedspread her mom had insisted on. The walls were still blue, but everything else had undergone a change. The curtains were now heavy and black. The bedding was grey, with two large, overstuffed pillows. A thick white rug covered the hardwood floor.

Art supplies filled every available surface, but the space was still tidy in its own way; cluttered but not chaotic. Controlled and organised.

It was a quiet reflection of the boy who lived here.

She didn’t linger long. She quickly retrieved the twins’ table and chairs and carried them out into the garden, placing them under the large tree where sunlight filtered gently through the branches.

Nia and Alen were practically vibrating with excitement when they arrived, practically running circles around each other. Acheron found an old picnic blanket and began squeezing colourful acrylics onto paper plates.

“What are you up to?” Acacia asked, amused.

“I thought we could do some finger painting.”

“That’s a great idea,” Camlo said, approaching with a wide smile and rolling up his sleeves. He’d clearly decided to join in.

The twins plopped down on their miniature chairs, hands diving straight into the paint before smearing bold streaks across the paper. Ivy and Oaklen came out to take pictures, already talking about updating the photo frames around the house.

Before long, paint was everywhere on the tables, on faces, even in hair. Laughter filled the air like sunlight.

Eventually, Kai and Acacia called from the patio, announcing that lunch was ready.

Lena and Camlo scooped up a toddler each and rushed inside before the house became a canvas, too. After a quick bath, full of squeals and splashes, the twins joined everyone at the dinner table. Wearing matching pyjamas, their hair damp and smelling of lavender soap. Alen is still holding his blanket, and Nia is bouncing her legs under the table. 

The long wooden table was packed with food, hearty and comforting, and surrounded by the soft buzz of familial chatter. Oaklen finally joined everyone, wiping his hands on a towel and accepting a well-earned plate from Ivy.

Acheron filled his plate slowly. He helped himself to a few pieces of grilled chicken and some of his father’s signature side dishes: roasted vegetables, rice with herbs, and a buttery, flaky tart.

His appetite had been all but non-existent these last few weeks, but today... Today was different. The food smelled good, and there was a sense of safety in familiarity.

More importantly, he felt okay… maybe even good.

Acheron took small, slow bites of food. His stomach remained cautious, but he was determined to enjoy it. Around him, voices rose and fell in a familiar rhythm. Camlo was telling Lena about a new pastry recipe involving caramelised pears and rosemary. Kai and Acacia were comparing hospital stories with theatrical flair, occasionally making their spouses laugh or groan.

“We should do this more often,” Acacia said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “Just… exist together. No schedules. No rushing around.”

“I agree,” Ivy said, her voice gentle but earnest. “We’ve all been spread so thin. But today felt… necessary.”

“It did,” Camlo added, sipping his tea. “Like the world paused for a bit.”

Oaklen glanced around the table. “We need more of that. Not just for Eron, but for all of us.”

At the mention of his name, all eyes subtly flicked to Acheron, but no one pressed. He didn’t flinch ... not this time.

Instead, he said quietly, “It was nice. I liked today.”

There was a pause, soft and full of something like gratitude, and then the conversation resumed, still as light as before.

“Alen,” Acacia said with warning in her tone, “stop using your carrot sticks as swords.”

“But I’m fighting the evil broccoli!” Alen declared, dramatically stabbing the green florets on his plate.

“Broccoli is good for you,” Lena chimed in, brushing a smear of mashed potatoes from Nia’s cheek with a napkin.

“Broccoli is suspicious,” Alen countered, eyes narrowed as he jabbed it again.

The adults all burst into laughter. Lena tried to hold hers back while trying to convince Alen to eat the said vegetables. 

Nia, seated beside Camlo, turned to him with wide, curious eyes.

“Uncle Camie,” she asked sweetly, “if broccoli is suspicious, does that mean the baby in your tummy can’t eat it either?”

Camlo choked on his drink. Somehow, the toddler had found out. 

Every adult at the table froze.