Dean wanted Theo to know first.
That decision became complicated the moment he and Arion entered the family sitting room and found their son lying on his stomach across the carpet, the wooden dragon tucked beneath one arm while several books about animals were spread open around him.
Theo's pheromonal flare from the night before had disappeared completely. His eyes were gold again, his temperature normal, and Victor had left only after extracting promises that nobody would treat the newly confirmed sigma like a medical emergency simply because nobody had enough comparable children to know what normal development looked like.
Theo looked up.
"Did Seven say you're sick?"
Dean stopped.
Arion's hand settled against the small of his back.
He had been doing that for nearly an hour.
If Dean crossed a room, Arion crossed it.
If Dean sat, Arion sat close enough for their thighs to touch.
