The Terms of an Alpha ✔️

t h i r t y - t h r e e

Ender snuggled into the warmth next to him. It was so soft... so warm... so... squishy? Groggily, he opened an eye to find him dangerously close to humping a pillow. Where was Saint? He was a much better candidate to hump. Groaning, he dragged himself out of bed.

After showering and getting ready, he headed to the kitchen where he heard Saint and his parents talking. When he entered, they fell silent.

"Why do I feel like this is an intervention?" Ender stood behind the seat at the kitchen table where Saint was at. He draped his arms around his neck and kissed the top of his forehead, inhaling Saint's scent. Saint's hair always smelled good, like black walnut and cedar.

"Your parents were telling me that Monica's leaving today. She's going to your grandmother's pack." As Saint spoke, he rubbed Ender's arms affectionately.

"And?"

"You haven't seen her or spoken to her once. You've been avoiding her," Xavier said, swirling his coffee in his cup before drinking it.

"I'm not avoiding her," Ender huffed, walking over to the counter to make himself a plate of scrambled eggs. "I just don't have anything to say."

"Really? Nothing?" Darius deadpanned. "I could think of a few words," he grimaced. Xavier lightly punched his shoulder and smacked his lips.

"She almost killed Saint. The only thing I want to say to her starts with the letter F and ends with 'you.'"

Darius snorted, which made Xavier give him a stern look for being so childish.

"E. I get it. I mean I was the one who turned," Saint said, pulling out a seat next to him for Ender to sit at. "She did help too though, right? If it wasn't for her, you would've never came."

"Goddess, you're not seriously defending her right now, are you? If it wasn't for her, none of this would have happened."

"I'm saying I forgive her. I get that you're not at that stage yet, but I think it's because you have a lot of unresolved tension between each other."

"Uh, yeah. She fucking sucks."

"So, tell her that. Just talk to her."

"You're one to talk! You're avoiding your mom." Saint's face fell. Low blow, Ender.

"Saint, I didn't—"

"That's... different."

"But is it really?" Ender gave him a slight smile and shrugged his shoulders as he asked. "Saint, you actually like your mom. Honestly, I couldn't care less if me and Monica never talk again." That was a lie, but Ender felt so stupid and childish, hoping that he and Monica may be able to one day repair their relationship. He was 21 years old, and somewhere deep inside of him he thought with a little more time Monica would come around and genuinely care to get to know the child she left on a porch more than a decade ago.

"Okay. I'll make you a deal. If I talk to my mom, you have to talk to Monica."

"You're forcing me to talk to her."

"You don't have to." Saint shrugged.

"But then you won't talk to your mom..?" Ender wanted them to repair their relationship. He saw how badly Saint was hurting because of it.

"I'm fine staying here." And Ender was fine to that too. It almost seemed like a win-win. He got Saint, and he didn't have to talk to Monica. But he couldn't handle that kind of guilt. Saint must have known Ender would give in.

"Go home." Everyone's eyebrows raised.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Ender rolled his eyes. "I'll talk to her today." Saint looked at him with his head turned slightly to the right. "I promise," Ender added.