The next morning, the Desrosiers household buzzed with the chaotic harmony that only came when every family member had a reason to be excited. Today wasn’t just any outing; they were heading to the university Acheron had once dared to dream about.

It had been his goal for years, ever since he’d begun to take his art seriously, but in the wake of the attack, that dream had felt impossibly far away. He’d told himself it might take years before he’d even consider applying again ... if ever. The idea of walking through crowded hallways, of being seen, had once made his chest tighten with panic.

After last night, however, curled up in a corner of the couch with Kai’s steady voice and Acacia’s sharp, encouraging fire, something inside him had shifted. Their words hadn’t erased the fear, but they’d lit a small, defiant spark beneath it.

You don’t have to commit. Just go. Just see.

He was at least ready to try.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, his high school art teacher, a quiet but fiercely protective woman, had sent his portfolio to the university’s art department when he couldn't bring himself to do it. Moved by the emotional depth and technical brilliance in his pieces, the head of admissions had drafted a personal invitation for Acheron to tour the campus, hoping that seeing the school might ignite the passion she saw on the page.

Acheron had found the letter tucked inside the post and had promptly thrown it in the trash. Somehow, Acacia, ever the meddler with a soft spot, had spotted it during a visit. One text to Kai, and suddenly the entire family had been recruited into turning it into a cheerful "just-a-little-trip." No pressure, no expectations, just a normal day out.

That brought them to now.

Upstairs in his room, Acheron added the final touches to the outfit he’d laid out carefully the night before. Today’s ensemble did not attempt to soften or hide who he was.

Draped in a dark, oversized jacket bristling with buckles, asymmetrical straps, and deep pockets, he looked more like a character from a forgotten cityscape than a student headed to a university open day. The garment fell heavy on his narrow shoulders, slouching with deliberate disinterest. Whenever he moved, the zippers caught the morning light, flaring silver for a heartbeat before disappearing back into shadow.

Underneath, a close-fitted white shirt offered contrast; it was the only softness in an otherwise structured silhouette. His trousers were split colours: one leg was pitch black with patches stitched roughly and boldly. The raw slashes are laced up with crimson ribbon, exposing hints of deep red fabric like a half-healed wound. The other leg was snow-white, clean and loose, drawn tight at the ankle with fraying ties.

Worn high-top sneakers, slightly scuffed at the toes, grounded the look. Functional but still comfortable. At the base of his neck, gleaming subtly under the collar of his jacket, sat his Omega collar.

Obsidian black, inlaid with delicate silver filigree. It caught the eye just long enough to be memorable, but not long enough to linger, unless you knew what you were looking at. 

It is a protective mechanism. A badge of survival. A locked gate with no key unless willingly given.

It was the only piece of jewellery he currently wore, but it said more than anything else could.

As he stepped out of his room and padded down the hall, he passed his parents’ bedroom. Ivy had just cracked the door open and glanced up instinctively. Her eyes flicked over his outfit, pausing at the harsh lines of his pants, the glint of his collar, the defined shape of his eyeliner.

She didn’t say anything. Just smiled faintly and nodded once before closing the door gently behind her.

In the kitchen, Camlo was already in the final stages of preparation. He moved with the easy grace of someone long accustomed to bustling mornings, spreading out the travel snacks with practised precision. Ivy had passed the tradition down: no matter where they were going, whether it was a beach, a hike or even a university tour, the car had to be stocked with sandwiches, coffee, and something warm for the kids.

Camlo had taken over that duty with joy.

He had stacked neat rows of travel mugs, black coffee for the adults, hot chocolate in cartoon-themed cups for the twins. Plastic containers held neatly wrapped triangle sandwiches filled with cheese, egg, or leftover roast chicken. A small bag of salted nuts. A few packs of crisps. Two extra croissants, wrapped in wax paper, sat off to the side for Acheron and Ivo.

Camlo flashed a soft grin as he spotted Acheron’s shadow in the doorway.

"Morning, sweetie," Camlo greeted with a gentle smile or, at least, the best version of a smile he could manage. His morning sickness simmered just under the surface, threatening to revolt with every movement.

"Morning. How did you sleep, Camie?" Acheron asked as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Pretty well... probably not so great for your poor brother." Camlo let out a soft laugh, rubbing his temple. "I had night sweats again. Looks like these pregnancy symptoms are kicking in early."

Acheron smirked knowingly. "How many times did he shower?"

"He tried to be discreet, but I counted at least four. Might've been more." Camlo began packing sandwiches into individual lunchboxes, each one stitched neatly with a family member’s name, another tradition Ivy had started when they were kids. Even now, with everyone grown, the embroidered names remained, and two more were added for Camlo and Lena. 

Acheron's was in pale blue thread, understated and soft, much like the boy who bore it.

"I told him he didn’t have to cling to me all night, but of course, he refused. Held onto me like a koala. A sweaty koala."

Acheron chuckled, grabbing the stack of packed boxes and helping transfer them to the cars waiting in the driveway. “He can be surprisingly stubborn when he thinks he’s being helpful.”

“I married a gentle tyrant,” Camlo agreed, pressing a hand to his queasy stomach. “And now he’s going to drive me to the hospital every time I sneeze.”

As they stepped outside, the quiet morning was suddenly broken by wild laughter and stomping feet.

Ivo emerged from the front door, struggling under the weight of an over-packed nappy bag and a toddler. He held Alen securely in one arm while Nia clung to his legs like a determined little gremlin. Her golden curls bounced as she giggled wildly, refusing to let go. Ivo sighed, attempting to hobble his way forward without stepping on her fingers.

“Help,” he groaned dramatically. “She’s evolved. Her grip strength is unnatural.”

“She’s training to be a world-class wrestler,” Acheron said, deadpan.

Nia caught sight of him and immediately changed course, releasing Ivo and sprinting at full toddler speed straight for her next target.

“Uh-oh,” Acheron muttered.

He crouched just in time, scooping her up into his arms before she could tackle his knees. With a mischievous grin, he dug his fingers into her sides, tickling her relentlessly. Nia squealed and kicked, her laugh bright and infectious, echoing through the crisp morning air.

When she finally surrendered, red-faced and gasping, Acheron hoisted her up onto his hip. She nestled in comfortably, heavy and warm, her giggles fading into occasional snorts of aftershock.

“Excited?” Ivo asked, lifting the nappy bag into the trunk. His tone was light, but his eyes, which are gentle and searching, landed softly on Acheron.

Acheron hesitated, his fingers flexing slightly against Nia’s side. “Nervous,” he admitted.

“That’s allowed,” Ivo replied with a nod. “Though personally, I’m hoping you meet some brooding art major who falls hopelessly in love with you and writes tragic poetry by Monday.”

“Gross,” Acheron deadpanned, rolling his eyes as Nia nodded in fierce agreement.

Oaklen arrived with the rest of the family, chuckling at the tail end of their conversation. “Maybe wait until the tour’s over before assigning dramatic lovers.”

“Or don’t,” Ivy added, playfully nudging Oaklen. “We could use more poetry around the house.”

The final car arrangements were made quickly. With so many people attending the university visit, they needed two vehicles. Oaklen took the wheel in the lead car, joined by Ivy, Kai, Camlo, and Lena. Lena had tried every tactic to convince her kids to ride with her, including snacks, toys, and even promises of singing games, but it was no use.

Wherever Uncle Ivo and Uncle Achie went, the twins wanted to follow.