амега (peterick)

un an plus tard.

Patrick didn't want to go to any of the trials; any excuse he found not to see Leo, he took.

The police took statements from both Patrick and I two weeks after the ball, and soon after, a court case was opened. There was no footage from the auction itself, but news broadcasters documenting the event managed to capture every moment of the subsequent fight, whereby Leo confessed to the kidnapping (or at least giving the order to his employees) of at least thirty Omegas. He wasn't charged for any of those accounts, because deviously, he hired a lawyer to dig out old prescriptions for his bipolar depression, and his behaviour in the video showed substantial proof of the disorder. However, the abduction and aggravated assaults toward Patrick, Buzz and Allie added up to around 45 years in prison without parole, plus another twenty for the sexual harassment of a minor.

Today marks one year since Leo received his life sentence, but that's not what we're celebrating.

Sebastian is two weeks and three days old. He's the spitting image of his father, and if Lucas were still tiny you'd mistake them for almost identical twins. Their only difference lies with skin colour; Lucas is as pale as a sheet, but Seb has skin closer to olive, like mine. I'm the luckiest guy in the world, and I know that sounds sentimental, but it's true.

Before babies became a thing, my ideal lifestyle would have been quiet, empty, and clean. No five a.m. wake up calls; no rubber ducks collecting mould in the bathtubs; no chocolate sauce stains on the couch; no spare Lego pieces stuck between our toes. Just me, myself and I, living in a quiet, empty, clean house, with my Omega.

Bliss.

Needless to say, if you'd asked me last year, coming home to a house full isn't something I thought I'd be experiencing in the near future. It's stressful; it's noisy; it rids you of sleep. There's piss stains on the toilet seats, toothbrushes in the kitchen sink, and, most concerningly at this current moment in time, there's glitter on the floor. Everywhere.

Bliss? Absolutely. Nothing makes a man's heart warmer than an adorable, tiny human rocketing toward him from the moment he steps indoors.

"Daddy, you're home!"

I put down my shopping bags and kneel to greet Lucas, catching him in a hug as he barrels into me. He squeals delightedly as I lift him high above my head, swinging him around once before snuggling him to my chest. "Hey, little Lu," I say, pecking his nose with my lips. I've barely been gone an hour, but it feels like we haven't seen each other in a week. Toddler logic. "Where's your brother?"

"Sebby is sleeping with dada on the couch," he says. "They're so boring. They been sleepin' all day."

"That's awful. Guess we'd better wake them up soon, then."

Lucas nods frantically. Supporting his weight with one arm, I crouch to pick up the groceries before walking to the kitchen, where Allie stands alone, making herself a cup of coffee (her wife doesn't usually work any later on Friday's, but for now she isn't around). Unsmiling, she salutes me curtly with two fingers; her passive aggressiveness hasn't changed a bit, but it makes her fun to tease.

I sit Lucas down on the edge of the counter and dump the shopping bags next to him, and he promptly leans over them to peek at their contents. "Daddy, are we havin' a party now?" he asks. His arms disappear into one of the bags, and a moment later he's pulling out a tube of Pringles.

"Later," I tell him, snatching the chips from him and putting them back in the bag. "Have you finished your homework?"

"Yep. Mommy helped. She said I gotta hoover up the glitter, though." Lucas is already well into his first year of elementary school, and he adores it. I'm not sure what kind of homework requires a five year old to use 50 bags of glitter (that's just my estimation from the piles of it spread around the floor), but I can guarantee you Lucas won't be cleaning it up. "But look!" he exclaims. He swings his feet at me and wriggles his toes. "My feet are blue."