Yiannis didn’t follow right away. He turned back to his team first, the decision already settled before he put it into words.

“Head back,” he told them. “Report what we cleared. I’ll rejoin later.”

One of the older men frowned slightly. “Alone.”

“For the night.”

The man’s gaze shifted past him, landing briefly on Charles, then back again. Something like recognition passed between a few of them. Not surprise. More like something remembered.

“That him,” another said under his breath.

Yiannis didn’t answer.

A quiet understanding moved through the group. One of the older women let out a small breath, almost amused, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Go,” she said, waving a hand lightly. “We’ll manage. You… take your time.”

Another added, softer, “Looks like you both need it.”

No one pushed further. They turned back the way they came, leaving the space behind them quieter than before.

Yiannis didn’t watch them go. He turned back to Charles instead.

“Lead,” he said.

Charles didn’t respond. He just adjusted the weight in his hands and started walking.

The path wasn’t clear. It wound through the trees in a way that made it hard to follow unless you knew where you were going. Charles moved without hesitation, stepping over roots, pushing past branches that would have slowed anyone else down. Yiannis kept close, careful not to break the rhythm Charles had set.

They didn’t talk much.

A few words here and there. Directions, mostly. A warning about loose ground, a quiet signal to slow down. The kind of conversation that didn’t touch anything deeper because it didn’t need to yet.

After a while, the trees thickened, then opened again in a way that didn’t make sense at first glance. Charles stopped in front of what looked like nothing more than a wall of leaves and branches, dense enough to hide whatever sat behind it.

He pushed through without a word.

Yiannis followed.

The space beyond was smaller than he expected. Tucked into the side of the terrain, hidden in a way that felt deliberate. A cave, shallow but enough to offer cover. The air inside was still, warmed slightly by a small candle placed near the wall.

It wasn’t much.

But it was lived in.

There were supplies stacked carefully to one side. Cloths folded, tools placed where they could be reached quickly. Everything had a place, not out of comfort but necessity.

Further in, near the back where the light softened, sat a small crib.

Yiannis stopped.

Two small forms lay inside, wrapped and still, breathing slow and even.

Sleeping.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

“They’re quiet,” Charles said, his voice lower now. “Most of the time.”

There was something in it that didn’t quite hide the pride underneath.

“They don’t cry much,” he added. “Just when they’re hungry. Or if they wake and I’m not here.”

Yiannis stepped closer, careful without thinking about it.

“They’re…” he started, then stopped.

Small.

Alive.

Real.

He swallowed, the words catching somewhere he couldn’t quite place.

“How do you…” he tried again. “How do you manage.”

Charles shrugged slightly, setting the cans down with practiced ease.

“You figure it out,” he said. “Same as everything else.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

Yiannis watched the babies for a second longer, then looked back at Charles.

“Who,” he began, hesitating just enough to notice. “Who’s the father.”

The question hung there, heavier than he intended.

Charles’s expression shifted immediately.

Annoyance, sharp and quick.

“You really need to ask that,” he said.

Yiannis didn’t respond.

Charles let out a short breath, shaking his head slightly.

“It’s you,” he said. “Of course it’s you.”

The words landed harder than anything else had.

Yiannis felt something in his chest drop, then settle in a way that didn’t make sense.

“That’s not…” he started, then stopped. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

“I know,” Charles replied. “I figured that out already.”

Another pause.

“But they’re here,” Charles added, softer now. “So I stopped questioning it.”

Yiannis looked back at the crib, then at Charles, then back again.

It didn’t line up with anything he knew. Anything he had been taught, anything the system insisted was fixed.

And yet.

They were there.

Alive.

He felt the weight of it all at once.

Not just the impossibility.

Everything that came with it.

“You carried them,” he said quietly.

Charles nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Alone.”

“Yeah.”

“And gave birth out here.”

Charles didn’t answer that one. He didn’t need to.

Yiannis exhaled, the breath uneven in a way he couldn’t smooth out.

“And then you’ve been raising them,” he went on, voice lower now. “Out here. By yourself.”

Charles looked at him, something steady in his gaze.

“Someone had to.”

That was it.

That was all it took.

The rest hit at once.

The months he hadn’t been there. The pain Charles had gone through alone. The loss, the recovery, the birth, the nights, the days that followed. Every moment Yiannis had been somewhere else, doing something that had felt necessary at the time.

He stepped back slightly, a hand coming up to his face without thinking.

“I didn’t know,” he said.

Charles didn’t answer.

“I didn’t know any of this,” Yiannis repeated, quieter now.

“I know,” Charles said.

That didn’t make it better.

Yiannis let out a breath that didn’t settle, his eyes dropping for a second before lifting again.

“I should’ve been there,” he said.

Charles shook his head.

“You couldn’t have been.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is.”

Yiannis’s expression tightened, something breaking through the control he usually held.

“I left you to do all of this alone,” he said.

“You didn’t leave me,” Charles replied. “I left.”

“That doesn’t change it.”

“It does.”

Another pause.

Yiannis’s voice dropped when he spoke again.

“I should’ve been there when you carried them,” he said. “When you gave birth. When you needed—”

He stopped, the words catching.

Charles didn’t interrupt.

“I wasn’t there for any of it,” Yiannis finished, his voice uneven now. “And you had to go through everything alone.”

Silence followed, but it wasn’t empty.

Yiannis looked at the crib again, then back at Charles.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

It came out quieter than anything else he had said so far.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry you had to carry all of that by yourself.”

Charles didn’t respond right away.

He watched him for a moment, something unreadable moving behind his eyes.

Yiannis shook his head slightly, like he was trying to steady himself and failing.

“I won’t ask you to bring them back,” he said. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Charles stilled slightly at that.

“I won’t,” Yiannis repeated. “I won’t let anyone take them from you. Not the camp, not the system. Nothing.”

The words came out firm now, something solid under them.

“You don’t have to choose that,” he added. “Not anymore.”

Charles let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

For the first time since they stepped inside, the space between them felt different.

Not closed.

But not as far apart either.

Behind them, one of the babies shifted slightly, a small sound breaking the quiet.

Both of them turned instinctively.

The moment held there, fragile but real.

And this time, neither of them stepped away.

The first cry cut through the cave before either of them could speak again. It came from the girl, quick and sharp, like she had decided the quiet had gone on long enough. The boy followed a second later, his voice thinner but just as insistent. The sound filled the space in a way that made everything else fall away.

Charles moved first. He stepped in without thinking, lifting the girl from the crib and settling her against his chest with a practiced ease that didn’t need explanation. He glanced at Yiannis, then reached back for the boy.

“Here,” he said, already placing him into Yiannis’s arms. “Hold him. Support his head. Not like that. Here.”

Yiannis adjusted under his guidance, his hands careful and unsure at first. The boy squirmed, his crying uneven, then softer as Yiannis shifted again, trying to match the rhythm Charles showed him. He felt too aware of every small movement, like he might break something if he got it wrong.

“You’re too stiff,” Charles said quietly. “He can feel it. Just… relax a little.”

Yiannis exhaled and loosened his hold, not enough to lose control, just enough to stop fighting it. The boy’s cries eased into quieter sounds, his body settling closer as if that was all he had needed.

Charles rocked the girl gently, murmuring something soft that barely formed into words. She calmed faster, her small hand pressing against his chest before curling in. When he turned slightly, letting her face Yiannis, her eyes opened just enough to notice him. She stared in that unfocused way, then leaned forward, her tiny fingers brushing against his shirt before settling.

“She’s like that,” Charles said, softer now. “Curious. She stops quicker.”

Yiannis watched her, something shifting in his expression as she grew still in his presence. The boy followed a moment later, his breathing evening out as he leaned into Yiannis’s chest.

“They do that when they think I’m near,” Charles added. “Even if they’re half asleep. Like they know.”

Yiannis didn’t answer. He just looked at them, trying to take it in without losing it.

Charles sat on the edge of the makeshift bed and nodded for him to join. Yiannis lowered himself beside him, careful not to disturb the boy. The space between them was smaller now, not something either of them tried to manage.

“She tries to help him,” Charles said after a while, nodding toward the girl. “If he cries too long, she reaches for him. Doesn’t always work, but she tries.”

Yiannis glanced down at the boy, then back at her.

“And him,” Charles went on. “He’s clingier. Won’t sleep unless he’s close.”

As if to prove it, the boy shifted closer, his small hand curling into the fabric of Yiannis’s shirt.

They sat like that for a long time, the babies settling fully into sleep, their breathing soft and steady. The cave felt warmer than before, the candlelight flickering against the walls in a way that made the space feel held together, even if nothing about their lives really was.

Neither of them spoke much. There wasn’t anything they needed to explain in that moment. The quiet didn’t press on them the way it used to.

At some point, Charles leaned back, adjusting the girl against him. Yiannis did the same without thinking, letting the boy rest more comfortably across his chest. The movement felt natural in a way that caught him off guard.

They fell asleep like that, without planning to, without deciding anything.

For the first time in a long while, neither of them stayed awake waiting for something to go wrong.

Morning came slowly. The light filtered in through the entrance, soft enough that it didn’t break the quiet right away. Yiannis woke first and didn’t move. He just looked at what was in front of him, like he needed to confirm it hadn’t disappeared.

Charles was still there. Close enough that their shoulders touched. The girl rested against him, still and quiet. The boy lay across Yiannis’s chest, one hand curled loosely where it had been the night before.

It didn’t feel temporary.

That was what unsettled him.

He should have gone back. That thought came out of habit, not conviction. It didn’t carry the same weight it used to.

He stayed.

At first, it was only for a day. Then another. When he did return to the camp, it was brief. A report given, a few supplies gathered, nothing that required him to linger.

Then he came back.

It became a pattern before either of them said it out loud. Every few days turned into every other day, then sooner. He brought what he could each time. Food that lasted, tools that made things easier, small things that made the space feel less like something borrowed.

Charles stopped going out as much. Not because he couldn’t, but because Yiannis was already doing it.

“Stay,” Yiannis said one morning, not looking at him directly. “I’ll go.”

Charles frowned slightly. “I’ve been doing this longer than you.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t start acting like I can’t.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what.”

Yiannis met his gaze. “I don’t want you out there if you don’t have to be.”

Charles studied him for a second, then nodded once. “Alright.”

It wasn’t surrender. It was something closer to trust.

The camp noticed the change before long. A missed night here and there, then more. Reports that came later than expected. Yiannis not being where he was supposed to be as often as before.

His subordinates filled in the gaps when asked.

“He’s staying outside,” one of them said. “With someone.”

“With who.”

“The one from before. The medic.”

That was enough.

By the time it reached the higher levels, it had already turned into something else.

“A dominant omega living outside without a pair,” one of them said, looking over the report. “That’s not sustainable.”

“It’s not controlled.”

They called Yiannis in.

He stood in front of them the same way he always did, steady, like this was another conversation that could be handled without it turning into something more.

“You’ve been absent,” one of them said.

“I’ve been working.”

“Outside the camp.”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“We’ve been informed about Charles.”

Yiannis didn’t respond.

“He’s unpaired,” the man continued. “That makes him vulnerable.”

“He’s not vulnerable,” Yiannis said.

“That’s not the point.”

“It is.”

Another pause.

“He needs to be paired,” the man said. “With an alpha. For protection. For stability.”

Yiannis felt something shift, sharp and immediate.

“No.”

“That’s not your decision.”

“It is when it concerns him.”

“It concerns the camp,” the man replied. “And the future.”

Yiannis held his gaze.

“You want to assign him,” he said. “Like he’s something to distribute.”

“It’s for the greater good.”

Yiannis let out a quiet breath that didn’t carry patience.

“That’s what you said before,” he replied.

Silence followed.

“We are rebuilding,” the man said. “We need structure.”

“You need control.”

“That’s not—”

“It is,” Yiannis cut in. “And you dress it up so it sounds necessary.”

The room stilled.

“You’re letting personal attachment interfere.”

“I’m finally seeing it clearly.”

Another pause.

“You’re a foreign aid,” one of them said. “You understand how important it is to rebuild a population.”

Yiannis nodded slightly. “I do.”

“Then you understand why this matters.”

He held their gaze.

“And you should understand,” he said quietly, “that forcing people into it isn’t rebuilding.”

A beat passed.

“It’s coercion.”

No one spoke.

“Forcing someone to pair. To produce. In exchange for safety,” Yiannis went on. “That’s not survival. That’s something else.”

“You’re overstepping.”

“I’m not stepping back this time.”

The words landed heavier than anything else he had said.

“I believed in this,” he added. “I thought it was for something better.”

Another pause.

“I was wrong.”

The room stayed still.

“And I won’t be part of that again.”

He didn’t wait for their response.

He turned and walked out.

For the first time in a long time, the direction he chose didn’t lead back to the camp.