Page 73 of Knot Baked Out For This
Emergency lights flicker on, casting everything in red that should be creepier but isn't. We're sitting on the filthy basement floor, me with tear tracks on my face, him looking ridiculous with his hair still static-wild.
Our faces are inches apart.
His eyes are so green this close, green with gold flecks that catch even the emergency lighting. His scent wraps around me—honey and vanilla and something warm and safe and?—
"AHHHHHHHHH! IT'S STARTING! THE GHOSTS ARE COMING!"
Children's screams echo from upstairs, the happy kind that means the haunted house is officially open.
We both jerk back, the moment shattered.
"We should—" I start.
"Yeah, we should?—"
We stand awkwardly, me brushing dust from my jeans, him running hands through his impossible hair.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For... you know."
"Anytime," he says simply. "Always."
Always. Like it's that easy. Like being there for someone is just something you do.
We head upstairs, extension cords forgotten, and the rest of the night becomes a blur of controlled chaos. Kids shriek through the manor, parents take photos, volunteers jump out at appropriate moments.
Levi breaks character constantly, making kids laugh instead of scream. He does a ghost dance that looks like he's being electrocuted. He tells knock-knock jokes to crying toddlers. He sneaks them extra cookies when their parents aren't looking.
And through it all, he stays close. Not obviously, not possessively, just... there. His hand brushes mine when we both reach for the same cookie tray. His shoulder bumps mine when we squeeze past each other in the crowded room. Every small touch grounds me, reminds me I'm safe, I'm here, I'm not locked in the dark.
I catch Rowan watching from across the room where he's manning the "brave the haunted attic" station. His amber eyes track between Levi and me, something complicated in his expression—jealousy mixed with relief, want tempered by understanding.
He knows something happened. Can probably smell the panic-sweat under my perfume, the way my scent's still slightly sharp with residual fear.
The night winds down eventually, sugar-crashed kids dragged home by exhausted parents. Volunteers pack up, the manor returning to its natural state of genteel decay.
"Let me walk you to your car," Levi offers, appearing at my elbow as I stack empty pastry boxes.
"I can manage?—"
"We'll all walk you," Rowan interrupts, materializing with Luca in tow.
When did they coordinate this?
"It's literally fifty feet to the parking lot," I protest.
"Fifty feet of darkness and potential ankle-breaking gravel," Luca says, already taking my boxes. "Also, there might be actual ghosts."
"Ghosts aren't real."
"You just spent four hours in a haunted house and you're going to claim ghosts aren't real?" Levi asks. "That's ghost erasure."
"That's not a thing."
"It's definitely a thing. I'm starting a petition."
We walk to my car as a group, which should be awkward but isn't. The October night is crisp, stars bright above the manor's Gothic silhouette. Their scents mingle in the cool air—cedar and honey and gingerbread creating something that makes my omega hindbrain purr despite the evening's earlier panic.
Luca loads my boxes with his typical silent efficiency. Rowan checks that my car doors lock properly because of course he does. Levi hovers, clearly wanting to say something but not finding the words.
