Mellifuous ✔

Chapter 15: A Place to Belong

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The soft hum of the kitchen filled the quiet morning as Santiago moved with careful purpose, his hands busy slicing pieces of fruit into bite-sized portions. The warm scent of cinnamon still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of honey. At the kitchen table, Eli sat perched on a cushioned chair, his small frame barely filling the seat. His wide, cautious eyes followed Santiago's every move, like a shadow watching its light.

"Here we go, little one," Santiago murmured, his voice gentle as he slid a plate toward Eli. The pup blinked at it, his small hands clutching the edges of the table as if bracing himself. Pear slices, a handful of blueberries, and a neatly cut slice of buttered bread adorned the plate, but Eli didn't move to touch it.

Santiago crouched beside him, resting one arm on the table as he tried to meet the boy's hesitant gaze. "It's okay," he said softly, his green eyes warm and patient. "You don't have to eat it all, but your tummy needs a little something, hmm?"

Eli's tiny fingers twitched against the wood, his lips pressing into a nervous line. The boy glanced toward the door as if seeking an escape, his instinct to flee still deeply ingrained from the harsh life he had lived. Santiago reached out, his hand steady and unthreatening, resting it lightly on Eli's knee.

"You're safe here," he whispered, his voice as soothing as the low crackle of the fire in the hearth. "Papa's just making sure your brothers get home, and they're excited to meet you. But right now, it's just us."

Eli hesitated, his small shoulders tense, before finally reaching out to pick up a blueberry. He popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly as if testing the fruit's sweetness. Santiago's heart softened at the sight, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

The sun dipped lower, painting the snow-covered yard in golden light as Will stepped through the front door, his deep voice carrying warmth as he called out, "We're home!" Behind him, the sound of boots shuffling against the entryway followed as the boys came inside. Their excited chatter filled the space, though they kept their voices hushed, as instructed.

Eli froze in his chair, the small piece of bread he had been nibbling slipping from his hands. His tiny shoulders hunched, and his wide, trembling eyes darted toward the doorway as the air shifted. New scents spilled into the room like the rush of an incoming tide—earthy pine, warm amber, and faint traces of schoolyard dust clinging to boots and backpacks. Each scent carried the distinct, layered identities of the boys who had just stepped inside.

His nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling with shallow, panicked breaths. The world felt too big, too loud. His fingers, as delicate as bird claws, found the fabric of Santiago's shirt, clutching it desperately as if it were the only tether to safety. Santiago's heart ached at the strength of that tiny grip, so fragile and yet so fierce in its need.

"Shh, it's alright," Santiago murmured, his voice low and steady, as if smoothing the jagged edges of Eli's fear. He lifted the boy with ease, cradling him close to his chest. Eli burrowed into the curve of Santiago's neck, his breath warm and shaky against Santiago's skin. He was trembling, a small, frightened creature caught in a storm.

The boys entered the room one by one, their steps soft as whispers, though the sheer size of their presence filled the space. Will had clearly prepared them, but their excitement lingered just beneath their quiet movements, a restrained energy that buzzed like an electric hum. Santiago watched as each boy, in his own way, tried to temper his enthusiasm, their faces open and filled with gentle curiosity.

"Eli," Santiago said softly, shifting the boy slightly so he could see the group. "These are your brothers. They've been waiting to meet you."

The first to step forward was Liam, the oldest, his broad frame taking up more space than the doorway itself. At fifteen, he was already nearly as tall as his fathers, his shoulders wide with strength but softened by the careful way he moved. His gray eyes, deep and watchful, met Eli's briefly, but the boy quickly averted his gaze. Liam's brown hair was a little tousled from the cold outside, and his voice, when he spoke, was low and steady, like the first rumble of thunder.