"So," Keith says, setting down three mugs of coffee with the kind of precision that suggests he's using it to process. "We're talking about this."
We're settled around the kitchen table now—me with the flower on my wrist still glowing softly, Keith across from me looking equal parts fascinated and overwhelmed, Dylan beside me with his usual careful focus.
The morning light streams through the window, painting everything in gold. It should feel peaceful.
Instead, my stomach is doing complicated things.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "We're talking about this."
Dylan's hand finds mine under the table—the one without the flower—and squeezes gently. Grounding.
"Start from the beginning," he says. "What exactly did Nalani tell you?"
I take a breath and try to organize the chaos of that conversation in the celestial garden into something coherent.
"She said I have Omega-like traits. Except for heats—I don't have those." I watch their faces carefully. "Do you know what that means? The Omegaverse thing?"
Keith's eyes widen slightly. "Oh. Oh."
"You know what it is?" I ask.
"I've... heard of it. In fiction. Stories." Keith runs a hand through his already chaotic hair. "It's a system where people are categorized as Alphas, Betas, or Omegas. Omegas can conceive regardless of their original biology, and they go through heats where they need to find a mate—" He stops abruptly, his face going red. "This is a really weird conversation to have before coffee has kicked in."
"It's a weird conversation to have at all," I mutter.
Dylan is quiet, processing. "But you don't have the heats."
"No. Nalani was very clear about that. I just have the... other part." I can feel my face burning. "The ability to conceive."
"Because Aethera gave you that ability when she brought you here," Dylan says slowly, putting pieces together.
"Yes. But there was a safeguard. The flower." I hold up my wrist, looking at it again. "It only appears when I've found someone I trust completely. Someone I feel safe enough with to... to potentially have that kind of future."
The words hang in the air between us.
Keith stares at the flower. Then at me. Then at Dylan. Then back at the flower.
"So that flower means..." he trails off.
"It means I trust you," I say quietly. "Both of you. Completely."
Dylan's hand tightens around mine.
"There's more," I continue, because I promised no more hiding. "Nalani said some Celestians might want to use me. Because of what I am. Because I'm rare—a human with these traits."
Keith's expression darkens immediately. "Use you how?"
"To hurt my fated partner, apparently." I swallow hard. "Or partners. Aethera was... vague about the details. But she made it clear I'm a target because of this ability."
"That's why she's been so protective," Dylan murmurs, understanding dawning. "Why she's been so careful about who knows what."
"Yeah."
Keith leans forward, his elbows on the table. "What else did Nalani tell you?"
I think about the pills. The note. For when the partners arrive.
My face must do something because Keith's eyes narrow.
"Cecil?"
"She... she gave me something. Pills. And a note." I can barely get the words out. "For when my partners arrive."
"Partners," Dylan repeats softly.
"Yeah." I can't look at either of them. "I don't know what the pills are for exactly. She said I might need them someday. That she knew what she was talking about."
The silence stretches.
Then Keith starts laughing.
Not a nervous laugh. A genuine, delighted laugh that makes me look up in confusion.
"Keith?"
"Sorry, sorry." He's grinning now, eyes bright. "It's just—Nalani gave you mysterious pills for when your fated partners show up, and you're sitting here with a magical trust flower on your wrist that appeared because of us. The conspiracy theorist in me is connecting some dots."
"Keith," Dylan says, but his voice is warm. Almost amused.
"I'm just saying! The timing is suspicious!"
I stare at him. "Are you suggesting—"
"I'm not suggesting anything." Keith's grin doesn't fade. "I'm just observing that we are sitting here, with you, who has a trust flower that means you feel safe enough with us to potentially have a future that involves..." He waves a hand vaguely. "All of that. And Nalani apparently knew this would happen."
"We don't know that," I protest weakly.
"Don't we?" Keith looks at Dylan. "Dyl, you're the analytical one. Connect the dots."
Dylan is quiet for a moment, his thumb still tracing circles on the back of my hand.
"The flower appeared because Cecil trusts us completely," he says slowly. "Nalani gave Cecil pills 'for when the partners arrive.' Aethera mentioned that Cecil has a fated partner—or partners." He pauses. "The implication is fairly clear."
My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
"But that doesn't mean—I mean, we don't have to—" I'm stumbling over my words now. "Just because the ability is unlocked doesn't mean anything has to happen. It's just... there. Available. If. You know. Ever."
"Cecil." Keith's voice is gentle now. "Breathe."
I take a shaky breath.
"We're not pressuring you," Dylan adds quietly. "We're just... understanding what this means. What you're telling us."
"Which is that you trust us," Keith continues. "That you feel safe with us. That we're..." He trails off, something vulnerable crossing his face. "That we're your partners. Potentially. Maybe. If everyone involved wants that."
"Do you?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "Want that?"
Dylan and Keith exchange a look—one of those silent conversations they have sometimes that I can't quite follow.
Then Dylan turns back to me, his dark eyes steady and warm.
"Yes," he says simply. "I do."
Keith nods. "Yeah. Me too. Obviously."
"Obviously?" I manage.
"Cecil." Keith's grin returns, softer this time. "I've been in love with you since we were kids. Dylan's been gone for you since the day you saved his cat. We're both fated to you—" He glances at Dylan. "And apparently to each other too, which we should probably talk about at some point."
"Probably," Dylan agrees dryly.
"But the point is," Keith continues, "we're already here. Already committed to this. The flower just... confirms what we already knew."
I stare at them, my chest too full, my eyes burning.
"I don't know what to say," I whisper.
"You don't have to say anything," Dylan says gently. "Not right now. We have time. All the time you need."
"Just know that we're here," Keith adds. "That we want this. Want you. However that looks. Whenever you're ready."
The tears spill over before I can stop them.
Not sad tears. Not scared tears.
Something else entirely.
Relief, maybe. Or gratitude. Or the overwhelming realization that I'm not alone in this.
That these two people—these impossible, wonderful people—are choosing me.
All of me. Including the complicated, scary parts.
Dylan pulls me against his side and Keith reaches across the table to take my other hand.
And we sit there in the golden morning light, with the flower glowing softly on my wrist, and let the truth of what we're building settle around us.
Not rushed. Not forced.
Just... there.
Real and solid and ours.
Eventually I pull back, wiping at my face with the back of my hand.
"Sorry," I mutter.
"Don't," they both say in unison.
I laugh—genuinely.
"I should probably..." I start to stand, needing a moment to process, needing to move.
That's when something falls out of my pocket.
A small piece of paper, folded carefully.
It hits the floor with a soft flutter and all three of us stare at it.
"What's that?" Keith asks.
I bend to pick it up, my stomach dropping as I recognize it.
The note. Nalani's note.
I'd forgotten I still had it.
"It's... from Nalani," I say quietly.
"What does it say?" Dylan asks, his tone careful.
I unfold it slowly, even though I already know what's written there.
For when the partners arrive.
-N🌺-
I hand it to Dylan without a word.
He reads it. Then passes it to Keith.
Keith reads it. Then looks up at me with wide eyes.
"She knew," he breathes. "She knew we were coming."
"Apparently." My voice comes out smaller than intended.
"That's..." Keith trails off, looking at Dylan. "That's actually really sweet? In a mildly creepy, all-knowing-goddess kind of way?"
"Definitely creepy," Dylan agrees. "But also sweet."
They both look at me.
And despite everything—despite the overwhelming nature of this entire morning, despite the fear and uncertainty and the sheer impossibility of it all—
I smile.
"Yeah," I say softly. "Sweet."
Because it is.
Nalani knew. She knew I'd find them—or they'd find me. She knew I'd be safe enough to let the flower bloom.
And she gave me exactly what I'd need when that moment came.
The pills. The note. The reassurance that this was always meant to happen.
"Well," Keith says, standing and stretching. "This has been the most emotionally intense morning I've had in at least a week."
"It's barely seven AM," Dylan points out.
"Exactly. Which means we have the whole day ahead of us to process our feelings about magical trust flowers and fated partnerships." Keith grins. "I vote we start with more coffee and possibly breakfast."
"Seconded," I manage.
Dylan stands, his hand briefly touching the small of my back as he passes. "I'll make breakfast. Keith, you're on coffee duty."
"Why am I always on coffee duty?"
"Because you can't cook and we'd like to actually eat something edible."
"Fair point."
They move around the kitchen with practiced ease, and I stay at the table, watching them.
The flower on my wrist glows softly in the morning light.
A symbol of trust. Of safety. Of home.
And maybe—just maybe—of something more.
Something we're building together.
One impossible morning at a time.
---
Later that evening, after we've spent the day carefully not talking about the flower—giving each other space to process, to breathe, to just exist without the weight of that conversation—we settle on the couch for what Keith calls "mandatory decompression time."
Which apparently means a murder mystery.
"I'm telling you, it's the butler," Keith announces, gesturing at the TV with his tea mug. "It's always the butler."
"It's not always the butler," Dylan argues. "That's a tired trope."
"Tired but effective."
"It's literally never the butler in this series. You've been wrong four times."
"Fifth time's the charm."
I'm curled up between them—Keith's legs tangled with mine, Dylan's arm around my shoulders—and despite the emotional exhaustion of the morning, I feel... settled. Safe.
The flower on my wrist has stopped glowing quite so brightly, fading to something softer. More subtle. Like it's satisfied with having made its point.
On screen, the detective is questioning a suspect who is very clearly lying.
"See? Suspicious," Keith mutters.
"Everyone is suspicious in murder mysteries. That's the point," Dylan replies.
I watch them bicker with fond amusement, letting their familiar rhythm wash over me.
Then something occurs to me. Something I've wondered about but never quite had the courage to ask.
"Can I ask you something?" I say quietly.
They both turn to look at me immediately, their attention complete.
"Of course," Dylan says.
"Always," Keith adds.
I hesitate, suddenly uncertain. "It's about Aethera."
Keith's expression shifts—something careful and warm at the same time. "What about her?"
"You both call her Mum." I glance between them. "Is she... I mean, is she actually your mother? Or is it more of a title thing?"
Keith and Dylan exchange a look—one of those silent conversations again.
Then Keith smiles, softer than usual. "She's our mum. She created us."
I blink. "Created you?"
"Yeah." Dylan shifts slightly, his arm still around me. "Gods can have children the traditional way—like Nalani and Eleri had Naomi. But they also have the gift of creation. They can bring life into existence directly."
"Aethera created us," Keith continues. "Not born from her, exactly, but made by her. Shaped from her divine energy and given form and consciousness." He pauses. "Does that make sense?"
"I... think so?" I process this, turning it over in my mind. "So she's your creator. Your mother. But not in the biological sense."
"Exactly," Dylan confirms. "Though the bond is just as strong. Maybe stronger, in some ways. She chose to create us. Chose every aspect of who we are."
"That's..." I search for the right word. "That's actually really beautiful."
Keith grins. "She's pretty great. Even when she's being overprotective and trying to use her powers on me."
"That was one time," Dylan mutters.
"This morning. It was literally this morning."
"Fair point."
I smile, something warm settling in my chest. "She loves you. Both of you. That's obvious."
"She does," Keith agrees softly. "And she loves you too, you know. In her own way."
The words catch me off guard. "Me?"
"You're important to us," Dylan says simply. "Which makes you important to her. That's how family works."
Family.
The word resonates in a way it hasn't in years.
"Plus," Keith adds with a grin, "you have a magical trust flower because of us, which basically makes you family whether you like it or not. Mum's probably already planning how to expand the house to fit everyone."
"Keith—"
"What? I'm just saying! She's going to be so excited when we officially tell her. Though honestly, she probably already knows. She knows everything."
"She doesn't know everything," Dylan says, but he doesn't sound convinced.
On screen, the murder mystery reaches its climax. The detective reveals the killer.
It's not the butler.
"I WAS ROBBED," Keith announces dramatically.
"You were wrong," Dylan corrects.
"Same thing."
I laugh—genuine and warm—and let myself sink deeper into the comfort of being held by both of them.
The flower on my wrist pulses once, very softly.
Like it's agreeing.
Like it knows we're exactly where we're supposed to be.
Together.