It was another day in the modest house, and Noelle was enjoying slices of watermelon, the juicy sweetness a welcome change from the bitter porridge. He grumbled about a pesky stray bird that had taken to raiding his tomato plants. "You know," he muttered between bites, "I found this little vermin trying to peck at my tomatoes. It's been a thorn in my side for days. If I catch it, it's going to be dinner for sure."
His frustration was abruptly interrupted when Thorne began to cough, a harsh, rasping sound that cut through the room. Alarmed, Noelle sprang into action. He hurried over to Thorne's side, gently helping him sit up and rubbing his back in soothing circles. The coughing fit seemed to stretch on, but Noelle remained by his side, a comforting presence.
When the fit subsided, Noelle quickly moved to the kitchen, filling a cup with water and returning to offer it to Thorne. He carefully helped Thorne sip from the cup, dabbing at his mouth with a cloth. As he set the cup down on the nearby table, Noelle found himself caught in the gaze of Thorne's piercing blue eyes. They were an intense, vivid shade that reminded him of the deep, endless ocean—a sight he had never actually seen but could vividly imagine.
Noelle's heart skipped a beat, and he felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. The intensity of Thorne's gaze was almost overwhelming, and he found himself at a loss for words. "Uhm… I…" he stuttered, unsure of what to say or how to bridge the awkward silence.
Thorne attempted to respond, but his voice emerged as nothing more than a weak croak. Noelle's concern deepened, and he quickly offered more water, urging Thorne to take it slowly. "Hey, don't strain yourself," he said softly. "You just woke up. Relax, okay?"
Despite Noelle's attempts to soothe him, Thorne's blue eyes continued to observe him with a mix of curiosity, wariness, and an emotion that Noelle couldn't quite decipher. The scrutiny made Noelle feel self-conscious, a stark contrast to his earlier confidence. He wondered what Thorne saw in him—just a peculiar omega, perhaps?
Aunt Nancy had always said he was exceptionally attractive, but Noelle questioned her judgment, given that she had never ventured beyond their village. As the thought of possible disappointment crossed his mind, he quickly shut it away, pushing his insecurities into a mental box. He reminded himself that they were married, and any doubts about Thorne's perceptions were irrelevant now.
Noelle took a deep breath and tried to focus on caring for Thorne, pushing aside his worries to concentrate on the present moment.
*
Thorne had fought against the darkness for what felt like a lifetime, clinging to the frayed edges of consciousness with a desperation born of pure survival instinct. He hadn't known why he fought; all he knew was that letting go meant sinking into an endless void, a cold nothingness where his suffering would finally end. And yet, something—someone—had anchored him to the world of the living. He didn't know who, but that presence, that faint scent of rain and vanilla, had been his lifeline.
Now, as he forced his heavy eyelids open, the world slowly came into focus, like a long-forgotten memory returning in fragments. The first thing he registered was warmth—genuine warmth, not the cruel mockery of heat that had teased him in his fevered dreams. Then came the sight that took his breath away.
The omega sitting before him was a vision of beauty, one that struck Thorne so profoundly it hurt. His black hair was gathered in a loose, messy bun, with a few stray strands falling softly around his face. It should have looked unkempt, but on him, it was nothing short of perfection. His skin, illuminated by the soft glow of morning light, was warm and inviting, the kind of warmth Thorne had forgotten existed. But it was his eyes—those vibrant green eyes—that shattered the last of Thorne's defenses. They were vivid and expressive, filled with a concern so genuine it felt like a knife to the heart.
Thorne had spent years in a world devoid of color, locked away in his own pain and misery. To suddenly be confronted with such a sight, such a person—it was too much. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the beautiful vision before him. He wanted to look away, to shield himself from the overwhelming emotions threatening to consume him, but he couldn't. He was mesmerized, ensnared by the purity and gentleness in the omega's gaze.
In that moment, Thorne saw Noelle for what he truly was: a savior, a lifeline, a beacon in the storm. This man, this angel, was everything Thorne had convinced himself he would never have—kindness, warmth, and, above all, beauty. It wasn't just physical beauty, though Noelle possessed that in abundance; it was the beauty of someone who cared, someone who gave without expecting anything in return. Thorne had believed he would die alone, forgotten. But now, looking at Noelle, he realized how wrong he had been. The omega was real, solid, and filled with a life force so powerful it left Thorne trembling.
Yet, beneath the awe, there was turmoil—a storm of guilt, shame, and self-loathing. How could he, a broken man, a half-dead shell, be worthy of this angel's care? Noelle was young, vibrant, full of life—everything Thorne was not. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve him. The thought made his heart ache, a dull, persistent pain that throbbed alongside his tears.
But even as the self-hatred gnawed at him, he couldn't bring himself to push Noelle away. Because beneath the darkness, beneath the pain, there was a flicker of hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, he could hold on a little longer. And it was all because of him.