The Omega Who Wasn't Supposed to Exist-Chapter 22: Soup, Spoons, and Sleepy Snuggles

Silas took a step forward. Then another. Until he was at the edge of the mattress, looking down at the elegant chaos that was his new reality—an omega, pregnant, theatrical, and maybe... his to-be husband.

Lucien lay sprawled like a Renaissance painting that had given up halfway. One leg was flung off the bed like it had somewhere better to be, his hair looked like it had lost a fistfight with a leaf blower, and his satin robe hung open just enough to be dramatic, but not enough to be censored.

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears—of what, no one knew. Hunger? Betrayal? Low sodium? And his fingers were pressed dramatically to his forehead, as if he’d just been informed that he’d been engaged to a goat with a gambling problem.

Silas exhaled slowly through his nose. The omega glow was real. The omega drama was feral.

"Dinner is served," he said, deadpan. "Let’s go before—"

Before he could even finish, Lucien exploded off the mattress like a demon summoned by the scent of chili oil.

"I HOPE IT’S SPICY CHICKEN!" he yelled, already halfway across the room with the energy of someone who’d just remembered K-pop concert tickets had gone on sale.

"Let’s go to my spicy destiny!!"

He didn’t walk—he waddled with the flamboyant urgency of a pregnant diva late to her own award ceremony. Arms wide. Robe flapping. Bare feet slapping against the marble like tiny applause.

Silas blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then chuckled, because what else could you do when your potential husband was both pregnant and possessed by a demonic chicken craving?

This was his life now.

Omegaverse, baby.

And apparently... extra spicy.

***

[Dining Area, Later...]

Lucien’s eyes sparkled like a thousand sapphires in a jewelry commercial as he took a dainty sip of his soup. He moaned—loudly, dramatically, and entirely unnecessarily—as if the spoon had just delivered divine salvation.

"It’s so good," he mumbled with stars in his eyes. "It feels like... heaven. Like angels massaged this broth with their bare hands."

Silas arched an eyebrow. "Angels? Massaging soup?"

Lucein completely ignored him and said, "I wish I could have some wine—"

"YOU CANNOT!" Silas shouted, pointing his spoon at him like a holy relic. "There is a child present! Inside you! That includes no wine, no caffeine, and no roaming and jumping around, Lucien!"

Lucien blinked. "...That last one wasn’t even on the menu."

"It will be from now on," Silas said firmly.

Lucien stared at him, caught mid-fantasy of red wine rivers, and sighed. "I get it..." He poked his spoon back into the soup. "But if I can’t drink wine, I’ll eat twice the soup. Justice must be served—and slurped."

He immediately resumed eating with the grace of a chaotic gremlin at a royal banquet.

Silas shook his head in amusement until Lucien suddenly paused, his gaze lifting with concern. "So... What about the missing omega? Is she okay?"

Silas’s smile faded. He sighed, setting down his fork. "No. Frederick said she needs to deliver the baby by tonight... or we might lose both mother and child."

Lucien froze, soup forgotten. "But she’s only eight months in, right?"

Silas nodded grimly. "Yes. But we have no other choice. The baby’s in distress."

Lucien frowned, his glowing face dimming a little. He brought the spoon to his lips again, slower this time. "I hope she and the baby come out alive... and harmlessly." He paused. "Wait, no. Safely. Not harmlessly. I don’t want a weak baby. I want a baby who can punch fate in the face."

Silas smiled faintly, his eyes lingering on Lucien’s slightly furrowed brow. In that moment, he looked different—less dramatic, less loud—just... quietly worried. Maybe for that omega woman and her unborn child. Or maybe for his own, the wobblebean growing inside Lucien, who was barely the size of a peach pit.

Strange, really, how he already felt this odd sense of attachment after just one month. Like his heart had signed a contract no one told his brain about.

Silas reached across the table and gently took his hand.

"Don’t worry," he said, his voice low and sincere. "Just like I promised... I’ll protect you. Both of you."

Lucien blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then he made a strangled squeak and yanked his hand away like it had caught fire. "I—! I know that, okay?! Stop being caring and lovey-dovey."

His cheeks were now pink. Bright, unmistakable cotton-candy pink.

Silas leaned back with a smug smile. "You’re blushing."

"I am glowing," Lucien snapped, lifting his chin with all the dignity of a royal offended by commoners. "Pregnancy glow. Has nothing to do with you, thank you very much."

Silas smirked. "Pregnancy glow... already? Isn’t it a bit early?"

Lucien scoffed, flicking his hair back like a diva in a perfume commercial. "Excuse you, I’m a rare male omega. At this point, anything’s possible. I could start glowing in the dark and sprout glitter wings. Don’t question me."

Silas chuckled, and Lucien continued sipping his soup and chicken.

***

[20 minutes later...]

The dining table looked like it had barely survived a tornado sponsored by a five-star buffet.

Silas sat silently, watching the disaster zone across from him. Ten empty plates stared back at him like defeated soldiers—bones stripped, sauces vanished, dignity gone. And in the middle of it all... Lucien.

Still nibbling on a piece of chicken like it held the secret to immortality.

His head drooped forward... then jerked up. Then drooped again. His eyes fluttered open, closed, then open again, like he was fighting sleep with the power of one drumstick and sheer omega determination.

Silas blinked slowly. He’s asleep... and still hungry. Impressive.

Lucien’s head wobbled again, mouth full, mumbling something indecipherable to his chicken. Silas leaned forward just in time to catch his face before it could meet the table with a dramatic thud.

Silas stood up and walked over calmly, stopping beside Lucien like it was perfectly normal to deal with a sleep-eating omega baby daddy on a weeknight.

He leaned down slightly, his voice soft. "Should I take you to bed?"

Lucien blinked up at him, slow and confused, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk storing snacks for winter. He looked at Silas... then at his plates... then back at Silas.

"I... I haven’t finished," he mumbled around the bite in his mouth. "Wobblebean... still feels... hung...gry..."

And with that poetic declaration, he slumped forward, cheek landing right on Silas’s stomach with a soft whump, chicken still in hand.

Silas sighed, wrapping his arms around the now fully limp Lucien, his warm breath ghosting against Silas’s shirt.

"You and that Wobblebean..." he muttered, lifting Lucien into his arms with practiced ease. "Tomorrow... we are definitely having a proper talk about changing that nickname."

Lucien snored softly in response, cuddling into his chest like a content baby koala, the chicken finally letting go and landing on the floor in surrender.

Silas walked out of the dining room, carrying the snoring bundle of chaotic exhaustion in his arms, feeling oddly full in his chest. Not with food—but with something else. Something annoyingly warm.

He glanced down at the snoring omega in his arms and whispered with a crooked smile,"I never knew... I’d end up with a food gremlin."

Lucien drooled on his shirt in reply.

Silas just smiled.

The door to the chamber room creaked open, revealing a space that finally resembled something functional, thanks to Alphonso’s miracle-level organizational skills. The once-chaotic chamber—formerly Alfio’s realm of mess—was now a real chamber again, papers neatly stacked, furniture arranged, and the atmosphere surprisingly calm.

He laid Lucien gently on the bed, careful not to wake the snuggle monster. Tucking him in beneath the soft blankets, Silas was just about to turn away when he felt a tug on his robe.

He looked down.

Lucien’s hand was curled tightly around the fabric, his eyes barely open, blinking sleepily.

"Where are you going?" he mumbled, his voice soft and scratchy with sleep.

Silas smiled. "To the guest room."

Lucien pouted, clearly too tired to argue properly but too stubborn to let it slide. "Sleep with me tonight."

Silas raised a brow, amused. "But you hate when I share a bed with you."

Lucien groaned, "Just do what I say..." Then, softer, more vulnerable, he added, "I want you tonight."

Silas blinked. The words were so honest, so sleepy, and so terribly sweet that something in his chest actually fluttered.

"...Alright," he murmured, his voice gentler than he intended.

He slipped off his long robe and climbed into bed, careful not to disturb the already-settling omega. But before he could even settle into the pillows, Lucien scooted over and snuggled into him like it was a competition he fully intended to win.

Silas stiffened slightly—then relaxed when Lucien rested his head against his chest with a long sigh.

"You smell like... the ocean," Lucien mumbled, eyes closed, face peaceful. "I really... love that smell..."

And just like that, he was out—snoring softly, one leg flopped over Silas like he was staking a claim.

Silas stared at him and then at the ceiling, his heart doing cartwheels for absolutely no reason.

"...He’s going to make me insane one day," he whispered, exhaling a laugh that was more fond than frustrated.

Lucien nuzzled closer in his sleep, like a very sleepy cat with too much personality. Silas couldn’t help himself. He wrapped his arms gently around him, pulling him in with the care of someone who didn’t realize he was already too far gone.

He pressed a kiss to Lucien’s forehead.

"Sweet dreams, darling," he whispered.

Lucien made a little humming noise in response, lips curling into a sleepy smile.

And Silas... He closed his eyes with a smile of his own, warmth settling over him like a second blanket.