Dashiel sighed when he heard his sister's words.
"I'm busy right now, Cristina," he said, pulling off his reading glasses and rubbing his eyes.
"Busy? Tell me something, Dashiel — when's the last time you went home to rest? Have you even looked in a mirror? You look terrible. Like some kind of work-obsessed maniac. I'm saying this for your own good — you need to stop running yourself into the ground, or you're going to destroy your health." Cristina walked around the desk and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"So stand up, grab your jacket, and let's go. I have clothes for you at my place. You can shower and have dinner with us."
"How about I finish this first and catch up with you later? I really do need to get it done." He regretted the words the instant he saw Cristina's blue eyes fill with tears.
"Do you want to spend the rest of your life making me worry about you? Dashiel, I'm sure the company won't go bankrupt if you step away long enough to rest. I run Mom's cosmetics company, and on top of that I have time to raise my kids and take care of myself — and you know perfectly well I've done a good job of it. How is it possible that you can't take even a little time for yourself? I don't want to lose you too." She pressed her hands to her face as tears streaked through her makeup.
Dashiel couldn't bear to see her like that. Watching people cry had always been one of his weaknesses, especially when those people were close to him.
"All right. I promise I'll start resting more often." He meant it, though even he wasn't sure he'd keep the promise.
"Perfect! Then let's go — everyone's waiting for us at home." Her voice was bright with enthusiasm, as if the melodramatic crying scene from moments ago had never happened. Dashiel rolled his eyes at the whiplash. Tears were one of Cristina's most reliable tools for getting what she wanted from him. He shook his head with a private laugh, pulled on his jacket, and followed her as she strode triumphantly toward the door.
After a ten-minute drive, they arrived at Cristina's house — a modern two-story home in one of the safer neighborhoods in the city.
When they stepped inside, they were greeted by her younger son, who was around twelve. The boy hadn't seen his uncle in a while and immediately launched into a breathless recap of everything happening in his soccer practice until Cristina cut him off.
"Mateo, can you come help me set the table? Mom would really appreciate it."
The boy scurried off to help.
"And you — go take a shower. There are clothes in the guest room you can use." She pointed Dashiel toward the stairs before heading to the kitchen for plates.
Dashiel didn't argue. He went to the room she'd indicated and straight into the bathroom. After his shower, he noticed his stubble had gotten out of hand. Luckily, there were fresh razors of his usual brand waiting for him. Dashiel smiled — his sister really had thought of everything. He picked one up and shaved.
Fifteen minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, found clothes in the closet, and got dressed. Once he was satisfied that he looked presentable, he stepped into the hallway.
As he passed his niece's room, he saw the door standing wide open. The walls were painted purple and white, the floor covered in plush carpet, and every available surface was plastered with images of Asian pop stars and animated characters he didn't recognize in the slightest. Seated at her desk with her back to him, his niece appeared to be reading something.
Dashiel walked up behind her. Years of scanning dense corporate documents had trained him to read a page at a glance, so absorbing the two pages open in front of her took no effort at all.
What he read, however, made no sense.
"What's an omega?" he asked without thinking.
"AAAHHH!" Felicia screamed, startled by the sudden voice behind her. She relaxed when she realized it was her uncle. "You scared me! When did you get here?"
"A few minutes ago. Your door was open, so I came in to say hello. But tell me — what's this omega business? And what do they mean in that book when they say he can be pregnant?" Dashiel frowned, genuinely confused.
Felicia, in her fifteen years of life, had never once imagined that her workaholic uncle would ask her this kind of question. Still, there was a certain thrill in knowing she could lecture him on a subject where he was completely clueless, and she couldn't resist playing the expert.
She cleared her throat and launched into an explanation of the omegaverse with the gravity of someone defending a thesis — complete with diagrams and mind maps on the small whiteboard in her room.
By the time she finished, her throat dry from talking, she caught the look on her uncle's face: completely serious and deeply unsettled.
She worried she might have short-circuited his brain with too much information.
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