Enola entered the living room and noticed the blanket on the couch but chose not to ask about it. After a brief pause, he settled into a small armchair nearby. He pulled out a small bag containing an inhibitor syringe, carefully opening the package. "Mr. Jackson, please have a seat. I'll prepare this for you," he said softly.
Jackson sat on the farthest couch from Enola, the warm glow of the wall lamp casting a serene light over the room. Drowsy, he found his gaze involuntarily drawn to Enola, who was working in focused silence. Dressed in soft, cream-colored loungewear, Enola's shirt was buttoned neatly to the top, revealing a slender, pale neck. As he leaned down, Jackson caught a glimpse of the curve of his nape, partially covered by an inhibitor patch, which seemed to have a faint pattern.
After preparing the syringe, Enola looked up to find Jackson quietly watching him. Embarrassed, he gave a gentle smile, "Ready?"
Jackson lowered his gaze and murmured, "Mm," but didn't move.
Enola stood up, walking behind Jackson. The faint scent of roses lingered on him, remnants of his pheromones. The room was silent as Enola waited, but Jackson finally asked, "Is something wrong?"
Enola responded with a soft "Hm?" and then explained, "Just another moment; I'm warming the syringe for you."
Jackson turned to see Enola cupping the syringe in his hands to warm it. Enola blinked in surprise, a trace of innocence in his expression, "Ah? Are you tired or feeling unwell?"
"I'm fine," Jackson replied, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly as he asked in a low voice, "Why are you doing this?"
Enola blinked, smiling. "If you inject it cold, it can sting a lot more. Warming it helps reduce the discomfort."
In truth, Jackson wanted to ask why Enola was doing so much for him when they'd only just met. Was Enola this thoughtful and kind with everyone?
"All done."
Enola gently pressed his fingers against the back of Jackson's neck, causing Jackson to tense up slightly. He wasn't used to close contact with others, especially in such a sensitive area.
Enola's warm breath brushed against Jackson's neck, his voice soft, "Does it hurt?"
In the quiet of the night, his gentle tone felt unusually soothing.
After a long pause, Jackson replied, "No."
With one last gentle press, Enola removed his hand, his voice soft like he was comforting a child. "All done."
Enola cleaned up, placing the used syringe in his small bag. "Do you have any ingredients at home? I can make you something to eat—"
Jackson interrupted, his voice deep, "Call me by my name."
Surprised, Enola looked up at the tall man before him, who was at least a head taller. "Jackson." He smiled, saying his name softly, "Shall I cook something for you?"
Jackson initially planned to refuse. Spending the late night with an omega he'd just met was something the Jackson of a few days ago wouldn't have imagined.
"Alright."
Enola followed him into the kitchen, finding only a few ingredients—a packet of noodles, a tomato, and an egg. He made a simple noodle soup with an egg, garnishing it with a sprinkle of green onions. As he prepared the food, Jackson leaned against the doorframe, watching as Enola skillfully laid out the brand-new kitchen utensils that had never been used. The exhaust hood, a feature of the expensive renovation, was finally put to use.
In the chilly autumn night, there was a surprising warmth in the air.
Enola placed the noodles into a bowl, adding a poached egg on top. Just as he was about to bring it to the table, Jackson's voice sounded from behind, "Let me."
With his long strides, Jackson took the bowl to the table and then returned to the kitchen.
Seeing that his work was done, Enola decided it was time to leave. He gathered his things and approached Jackson, who was still in the kitchen. "Mr. Jackson, I'll head out now. Enjoy your meal," he said with a gentle nod.
Jackson's hand paused for a moment, but he didn't stop Enola, only setting down his things to walk him to the door.
"Goodbye." Jackson inclined his head slightly. "Thank you."
Enola tilted his head, smiling playfully, "Consider it a thank-you for your pheromones."
The words carried a lighthearted tone, both of them recalling Jackson's own words in the elevator: "Consider it repayment for the fish soup." Jackson's serious expression softened slightly. "Goodbye."
Enola waved, and Jackson stayed by the door, watching until the elevator showed Enola had reached the 26th floor before he returned inside.
As Enola reached his own door, he sensed something wasn't quite right. The moment he opened it—
"Enola, why are you only getting back now? And why are you still wearing your loungewear?" Jay's voice, slightly slurred, greeted him from the hallway. He reeked of alcohol, his eyes a bit bleary as he frowned at Enola.
Enola lowered his gaze to hide his irritation, his voice warm. "I just stepped out to take out the trash."
"Would you like some soup to warm your stomach?"
Jay's hazy eyes softened, the furrowed brows relaxing. "Sure."
Enola quickly moved away from Jay's alcohol-heavy presence. Not feeling like making more effort, he reheated the leftover fish soup, grabbed an old bowl he used to feed stray dogs, and poured a serving for Jay.
Since Jay was likely too drunk to remember anything by morning, Enola figured it didn't matter.
Jay held the bowl, sipping the soup. Perhaps in his drunkenness, a hint of guilt surfaced, and he mumbled, "Enola, I'm sorry…"
But his words trailed off, and he muttered, as if in thought, "Why does it smell like alpha pheromones?"
He frowned, dazed. "Your clothes…"
Before he could finish, Enola cut him off. "There's nothing."
Enola was more bothered by the omega pheromones clinging to Jay. It seemed that his earlier interactions had stirred things up for Jay and Billy alike.
As soon as Jay finished, Enola left him asleep on the couch, returning to the bedroom without another word.
…
Back at Jackson's apartment, he finished the bowl of noodles and returned to the couch, only to hear the faint beep of the door unlocking. He frowned, glancing toward the entrance as a figure, smelling faintly of alcohol, stumbled in and flipped on the lights.
"Jackson?" Billy froze, visibly startled. "You're here?"
Billy hadn't expected Jackson to be back; wasn't he supposed to be staying at the office?
Panicking, Billy stammered, "I… I received an invitation to a gathering from a friend after I left Grandmother's, so I joined them for a meal." His eyes flickered nervously, before he added, "Did you… come here because of your susceptibility period?"
His cheeks flushed at the thought. In their social circle, Jackson was practically an idol, admired from afar. Even if he had someone he liked, he wasn't against the idea of helping Jackson if he needed it.
Taking a step closer, he suggested softly, "Shall we do a temporary mark?"
A temporary mark would typically involve either a kiss, a bite to the gland, or another form of contact.
Jackson's expression remained indifferent as he said, "No need."
Billy's hopeful expression faltered, tension stiffening his entire posture.