Griffin glanced out the window, relief etched on his face. "Thank God the storm’s finally subsided," he said knowingly, throwing a look over at Alaric Storm, who was sprawled out on the couch, eyes glued to the television.
If Alaric heard him, he didn’t acknowledge it. His entire focus was on whatever movie was playing, the screen casting a faint glow across his face.
Griffin sighed, rolling his eyes before stepping forward and placing a tray on the table in front of him. "I made you your favorite snacks."
And the transformation was instant.
Alaric’s gaze snapped to the tray, his blue eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. And it was all thanks to Salted Caramel Brownie Bites.
Griffin had gone all out, baking them in mini-muffin tins to create bite-sized treats, drizzling each with rich, homemade salted caramel sauce, and finishing them off with a sprinkle of sea salt for contrast. The scent alone was intoxicating, a perfect mix of chocolate, butter, and caramelized sugar.
Alaric turned to Griffin with a look of pure adoration. "Have I told you I love you?"
Griffin, pulling off his apron and tossing it onto the table, smirked. "Sorry, I’m straight."
Alaric chuckled but wasted no time grabbing one of the brownie bites. Still warm from the oven, steam curled from the edges as he took a bite.
"Oh God," Alaric moaned, his head rolling back in bliss. "This is so much better than fucking."
Griffin shot him a dubious look. "Mmhmm."
He highly doubted that.
There was absolutely nothing better than sinking his d*ck into a woman’s soft, warm heat, gripping her ass while she moaned his name—
Yeah, nope.
A slight shift in his body temperature had him immediately dropping the thought, reaching instead for another can of beer from the table.
It was times like this he enjoyed the perks of being a werewolf. They couldn’t actually get drunk which meant no liver failure, no blackouts, and certainly no hangovers, no matter how many cans of beer they downed. Unless of course, the specifically created ones designed to inebriate them.
And judging by the empty cans scattered around the floor, they’d put that theory to the test. At least a dozen lay discarded, with another half-dozen still waiting for their turn.
It wasn’t just the beer either.
Empty snack wrappers littered the ground, proof of their unapologetic binge session. The only reason there weren’t piles of dirty dishes in the mix was because Griffin had already cleared them earlier, right before he started baking.
And now?
Now, Alaric sat on the couch, blissfully lost in the world of salted caramel and chocolate, while Griffin nursed his beer, wondering how the hell he ended up babysitting a sugar-high storm wielder.
Well, it had all started when the damn rain just wouldn’t let up, and Griffin finally had enough of Thunderboy turning his heartbreak into their personal weather disaster.
So, naturally, he’d done what any sane person wouldn’t do. He tracked Alaric down to the hills in the middle of a raging storm and launched a high-risk rescue mission.
Griffin couldn’t even recall how many lightning bolts scorched him in the process, but thank the gods he was a tough bastard. In the end, he had convinced Alaric to stop sulking and come back with him.
And now here they were, holed up in his room, binge-eating, watching movies, and pretending like they wouldn’t talk about Violet anytime soon.
Griffin didn’t bat an eye Alaric flopped onto him while eating, casually using him as a human pillow. Their closeness had been a hot topic for a while with plenty of people rumoring they were gay. But he couldn’t care less.
He and Alaric had always been tight, like the brother he never had... at least, until recently. His mother had finally given birth to another son —a two-year-old little shit who was Arion’s official successor.
Not that it changed anything.
Both his fathers—Aeron and Arion—had never cared about biological ties. They never personalized the children, never claimed one over the other.
As they always said: "They’re all ours."
Even up to this day, Griffin had no idea which one was his biological father, especially since Aeron and Arion were identical twins and shared the same features.
Nor did he plan on getting a test done, not until the day he died. It didn’t matter. Because they both loved him equally. And that was enough.
Alaric abruptly muttered, "Simp."
Griffin’s attention back from wherever his mind had wandered. He glanced over. "What?"
Alaric gestured lazily at the movie. "The guy’s been crushing on the female lead for years, and she won’t even notice him. Meanwhile, he’s got another girl who actually wants him, but does he go for her? No. He just keeps lingering like a lost puppy. So foolish."
Griffin snorted. "You mean the same way you like Violet even when Elsie wants you?"
Alaric sat up instantly. His expression darkened as he snapped, "I told you not to mention her name."
Griffin only shrugged, eyes flicking back to the screen. "I bet in the movie, the boy still ends up with the girl." Then, looking at Alaric, he added, "But this isn’t a movie. This is real life. And reality is a bitch. So... isn’t it better to talk to Violet one on one and hear her words before writing her off completely? Even if you call it quits, at least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what if."
For a moment, silence stretched between them.
Griffin could tell from the cold, unreadable look on Alaric’s face that he was going to cling to his usual stubbornness. But to his surprise, Alaric sighed.
"Fine." He said , raking a hand through his damp hair. "We’ll meet tonight and talk."
Griffin brightened immediately. Then, grinning, he playfully patted his chest. "Now, come on, baby boy. Lay your head on my chest."
Alaric flipped him off without hesitation while Griffin laughed.
All good.