They didn't have to wait long before the waitress returned with their order.
Acheron had settled on something light, a small meal that didn't feel too intimidating on his already unsettled stomach. He'd chosen tea instead of his usual coffee, hoping the warmth might soothe some of the nervous tension sitting beneath his ribs.
Eamon, on the other hand, appeared to have ordered enough food for two people. Alongside his breakfast sat another double espresso, which he drank with the same ease that Acheron sipped his tea.
Acheron tried not to stare.
How was it possible for someone to consume that much food and still look perfectly composed?
Perhaps it was an Alpha thing.
Surprisingly, despite their very different appetites, they finished eating at almost the same time. Acheron had barely placed his cup down when Eamon reached for the bill.
"Oh, I can pay for mine," Acheron protested.
"It's fine."
"But—"
"Achie." Eamon gave him a gentle look. "Let me."
Acheron hesitated, then quietly relented.
Before he could even reach for his jacket, Eamon had already stood and helped him slip his arms into the sleeves. The gesture was so natural that Acheron didn't think to question it until Eamon was straightening the collar around his neck.
A faint flush warmed his cheeks, and his heartbeat quickened.
It was ridiculous, really. Eamon had only helped him with his jacket. It wasn't as though he'd done anything particularly extraordinary.
Still, Acheron found himself unable to face Eamon. Who was apparently unaware of the small crisis he'd caused, collected his bag and led the way outside.
The morning air greeted them with a sharp chill. Eamon unlocked his car and opened the front passenger door for Acheron before walking around to the driver's side.
"Come on. We should arrive with time to spare."
Acheron climbed inside, carefully arranging his jacket before fastening his seat belt.
"Thank you, Eamon."
"No thanks needed."
Eamon glanced at him, something thoughtful passing across his face. For a moment, he seemed about to say something more, but he eventually turned his attention to the road instead. Whatever he had wanted to say, he decided to keep it to himself.
The traffic remained light, and the journey to the hospital was pleasantly uneventful. Acheron watched the familiar streets pass beyond the window, occasionally rubbing his thumb against the seam of his sleeve.
He was slightly disappointed when they arrived.
The hospital's enormous parking lot was already close to full, despite how early it still felt to him. Cars occupied nearly every available space, leaving them to circle the rows before Eamon finally found an opening. Unfortunately, it was quite a distance from the entrance.
Acheron stared at the building, then at their parking space and back at the building.
"Really?"
Eamon followed his gaze.
"I'm afraid so."
Acheron sighed dramatically before opening the door.
The weather had been relatively pleasant over the past few days, but the morning wind carried a sharper chill now. Winter was approaching, and it seemed determined to remind everyone of that fact.
Acheron pulled his jacket closer around himself and hurried towards the entrance, his shorter stride forcing him to take several quick steps for every one of Eamon's.
Eamon noticed but did not comment. He simply adjusted his pace to match Acheron's.
Inside, the hospital was busy with the familiar sounds of footsteps, distant conversations, and the occasional call from the reception desks. The clean, sterile smell made Acheron's stomach tighten. He followed the signs towards the elevators, then led Eamon to the third floor. Dr Blois's office was towards the back of the hospital, away from the main corridor. By the time they reached it, Acheron's palms had grown damp.
He stopped in front of the door. For a moment, he could do nothing but stare at it. He drew a slow breath through his nose, held it, then let it out again.
It didn't help.
He tried once more.
Still nothing.
A warm hand settled gently against his back.
"You'll be okay," Eamon whispered.
Acheron turned his head to look up at him. He wanted to believe those words. He really did. But his anxiety had gathered into a tight knot inside his chest, and every attempt to loosen it only seemed to make him more aware of how frightened he was.
His fingers curled against his jacket.
"C-can you come in with me?"
The question came out so quietly that he almost hoped Eamon hadn't heard it.
Eamon's expression shifted with surprise. He had fully expected to wait outside for however long Acheron needed. He'd made himself comfortable with the idea of being available if Acheron wanted him, but he'd never intended to intrude on an appointment that was so personal.
Still, he didn't hesitate.
"If you're comfortable with me being there," he replied gently.
Acheron nodded. His small hand found Eamon's sleeve and held on. The simple reassurance of having someone beside him didn't make the fear disappear, but it gave him something else to focus on. Eamon was here. He wasn't being rushed, and nobody was asking him to face the appointment alone.
That was enough to help him move.
Acheron knocked.
A muffled conversation could be heard from inside before a voice invited them in. Acheron pushed open the door and stepped into the office, Eamon following close behind.
"Good morning, Mr Desrosiers," Dr Blois greeted.
The doctor sat behind his desk, his computer monitor positioned slightly askew. Several documents lay arranged beside the keyboard, and a folder bearing Acheron's name rested near the edge of the desk.
"Morning, Dr Blois," Acheron replied softly. His nerves began tightening again.
Dr Blois glanced up from his computer, then paused when he noticed the Alpha standing beside Acheron. His gaze lingered for a moment, taking in the unfamiliar face.
"Good morning," he greeted Eamon politely.
"Good morning, Doctor."
Dr Blois raised an eyebrow, perhaps wondering who the newcomer was, but he didn't ask. Instead, he returned his attention to the screen and brought up Acheron's medical records.
"It's been a while since we last did a gland check-up," he remarked. "Let's have a look at how things have healed."
He stood and gestured towards the examination bed positioned against the side wall.
"Hop up here for me, please."
Acheron approached the bed. It was high and narrow, with a thin sheet covering the surface. He pulled the small step stool closer and climbed up carefully, settling on the edge while Dr Blois prepared for the examination.
Eamon remained nearby, quiet and unobtrusive.
"Have you had any discomfort around the gland recently?" Dr Blois asked as he moved behind Acheron.
Acheron hesitated. He remembered the sharp, burning sensation he'd felt in the studio after the students had left. It had lingered even after his shaking had subsided.
"A little," he admitted. "Nothing too bad."
"How often?"
"Not very often." It wasn't entirely an answer, and Acheron knew it. He lowered his eyes, hoping the doctor wouldn't ask him to elaborate just yet.
Dr Blois made a note. "All right. We'll have a closer look."
Acheron had already removed his jacket, so the doctor only needed to guide his shirt down far enough to expose the back of his neck.
"Would you mind loosening your Omega collar a little?"
Acheron's hand rose instinctively to the fastening.
The collar was designed to respond to its wearer's fingerprints, a security measure intended to prevent anyone else from tampering with it. Since Acheron's gland injury had left him unable to produce enough pheromones for the usual identification system to work reliably, his collar used a different authentication method.
He pressed his thumb against the small touch-sensitive panel. For a second, nothing happened. With a soft chime sound, the lock released. Acheron carefully loosened the collar and shifted it aside.
Dr Blois reached for the edge of the white medical dressing covering the gland. He peeled it back slowly, taking care not to tug at the healed skin.
The dressing came away, and the scar was exposed.
Acheron couldn't see it himself, but he felt the cool air against the back of his neck and became painfully aware of Eamon standing only a short distance away.
The injury had healed better than Dr Blois had initially expected. The skin had closed, and there were no obvious signs of an open wound. Yet the scar remained prominent, its jagged edges uneven against the surrounding skin, raised in places where the tissue had healed thickly.
It was impossible to mistake it for anything other than what it was.
Acheron stared down at his hands. He hated the thought of someone looking at the scar.
He hated even more that, despite everything, he still cared what they saw.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Dr Blois leaned closer to examine the healed tissue, his expression thoughtful rather than alarmed.
"All right, Acheron," he said calmly. "Let's see what we're working with."
While Dr Blois inspected the gland, he asked Acheron a series of questions, his attention remaining on the scar as he worked.
"What would you say your pain levels are like on a daily basis?"
"Normally, I don't feel much," Acheron replied. "But sometimes, when I'm around someone with strong pheromones, or when I forget and try to release my own…" He trailed off, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. "It starts to hurt."
Dr Blois gently touched the edge of the scar. Even the light pressure made Acheron tense, though he tried not to show it.
"And how much sensation do you have in the gland itself? Is it sensitive to touch?"
"Uhm…" Acheron hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's still worse than before the accident. Some areas feel almost numb, but other places can be really sensitive."
Dr Blois nodded, his expression giving little away as he made a note.
"Have you noticed any pheromone activity at all? Any output, even in small amounts?"
Shame swept over Acheron so suddenly that he almost forgot how to breathe. He lowered his gaze and shook his head slightly.
"No."
There was no disappointment in Dr Blois's response, no frown or uncomfortable pause. He simply recorded the answer and moved on to the next question.
"Have there been any signs of your heat cycle returning?"
Acheron's fingers tightened together in his lap.
"No," he murmured. "Nothing at all."
The words sounded worse aloud. He had known the answer, of course. He had lived with the absence of every familiar sign for months, long enough that he had almost stopped expecting anything to change. Still, saying it to another person made the silence inside his body feel like something he had failed to fix.
Dr Blois glanced up briefly, giving him time to settle, then continued.
"How have your energy levels been? Do you find yourself getting tired more easily during the day?"
Acheron took a moment to consider the question. At first, he wanted to say he was fine. It was the answer he gave most often, partly out of habit and partly because explaining everything that wasn't fine took more energy than he usually had to spare. But Dr Blois was waiting for an honest answer, not a reassuring one.
"Yes," Acheron admitted. "I don't seem to have much energy anymore. Even when I haven't done very much, I can feel exhausted."
"Does that happen consistently, or are there days when you feel closer to normal?"
"Most days, I think." He paused. "Sometimes I feel better in the morning, but by the afternoon, I'm tired again."
Dr Blois nodded thoughtfully.
"And because your heat cycle hasn't shown any signs of returning, I assume you haven't needed to take any suppressants?"
"No. I haven't taken anything."
"All right."
Dr Blois finished his notes, then stepped back from the examination bed. "That's enough for now. You can get dressed and take your seat again, Acheron."
Relief loosened something in Acheron's chest. He carefully pulled his shirt back into place, trying not to brush the scar as he did so. The collar took a little longer. He settled it around his neck and pressed his fingertip to the small panel until the lock engaged with a quiet click.
Only then did he climb down from the examination bed.
Eamon had remained quiet throughout the examination. He hadn't interrupted or tried to answer on Acheron's behalf. When Acheron returned to the chair beside him, however, Eamon shifted just enough to make room, his presence steady and familiar.
Acheron sat down and folded his hands in his lap.
Dr Blois returned to his desk and settled into the chair opposite them. He reviewed his notes for a moment, his gaze moving from the page to Acheron as though carefully considering how best to explain what he had found.
Acheron's stomach tightened. He knew that look. It was the look people wore when they were choosing their words carefully, and he had never been particularly fond of what tended to follow.
"Before we discuss your options," Dr Blois began, folding his hands on the desk, "I want to explain what these symptoms suggest and what we can realistically hope to achieve."
Acheron swallowed. "Is it bad?"
The question escaped before he could stop it.
Dr Blois didn't dismiss his concern or offer him an easy reassurance.
"Your gland has healed in some important respects, and that is encouraging. However, the lack of pheromone output, the reduced sensation, and the continued absence of your heat cycle suggest that its function has been significantly affected by the injury." He paused, allowing Acheron to absorb the words. "That doesn't necessarily mean nothing can be done. It does mean we need to look carefully at the options available to you."
Acheron stared at him, trying to separate what the doctor had actually said from all the frightening possibilities his mind was already inventing. Beside him, Eamon remained still. He didn't reach for Acheron or interrupt the explanation. He simply stayed.
"Acheron, as you know, your gland was badly damaged in the accident. The surgeries you underwent last year were focused primarily on preserving the gland and preventing further complications. Those procedures were successful, but the damage has left it functioning well below normal levels."
Dr Blois paused, allowing the explanation to settle before continuing.
"Given what we've observed today, there is a possibility that your gland may never regain the ability to release pheromones or resume your heat cycle."
Acheron's shoulders slumped.
For a moment, the words seemed to lose their meaning. He heard them, understood each one individually, yet struggled to make sense of what they meant when put together. Never release his pheromones. Never have a heat.
A dark hollow opened in his chest.
The room seemed to grow smaller around him. The edges of his vision blurred as his thoughts began to tumble over one another, each one worse than the last. He had known something was wrong. He had lived with the numbness, the exhaustion, the aching silence where his pheromones should have been. But some small, stubborn part of him had continued to hope that his body would eventually find its way back to him.
Now even that hope felt as though it were slipping out of reach.
His fingers curled tightly into his palms.
A warm hand enveloped one of his own.
Acheron startled slightly, his gaze dropping to where Eamon's hand covered his. Eamon didn't tell him to calm down or insist that everything would be fine. He simply brushed his thumb over Acheron's clenched knuckles, a slow, gentle movement that gave him something to focus on beyond the rising panic.
Acheron tried to draw a breath. It caught halfway, but Eamon's hand remained steady around his.
He was here. In a doctor's office, sitting in a chair, with both feet on the floor. He could feel the fabric beneath his fingertips and the warmth of Eamon's skin against his own.
He wasn't back there, and he wasn't alone.
Little by little, the panic loosened its grip.
"But…"
Dr Blois's voice reached him through the chaos of his thoughts.
Acheron lifted his head.
"There is another option we can consider." Dr Blois leaned forward slightly, his tone careful but not without hope. "Corrective reconstructive surgery may allow us to improve the gland's function."
Acheron stared at him. "Improve it?" he repeated, barely above a whisper.