Capítulo 4: Longing

Noelle sat in what had been transformed into a lush, thriving garden. Just two weeks into his role as Thorne Alden's husband, he had already turned a neglected, weed-ridden area into a small haven of vegetables and herbs. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the green abundance that contrasted sharply with the dismal conditions of the past.

He had uncovered a military uniform and an ID among Thorne's belongings—evidence of a past life marked by duty and honor, now relegated to the shadows of neglect. Noelle's lips curled in a scornful sneer at the thought of how Thorne had probably been discarded like an unwanted burden, his fate seemingly sealed by others who had tired of caring for him.

Noelle's gaze swept over the verdant patch he had cultivated. Despite his pride in the garden's progress, he was weary of the monotonous diet of wheat and the discomfort of the threadbare beddings. A trip to town for meat and additional supplies was needed, but he couldn't bear to leave Thorne alone just yet.

With a resigned sigh, Noelle left the garden and headed to the kitchen. He warmed up the bland, unsavory porridge that had become a staple of Thorne's diet. His stomach growled in protest, but he set his own hunger aside as he carried the food to the room where Thorne lay.

Entering the dimly lit space, Noelle's eyes found Thorne's still form, only the faintest movement of his hands betraying any sign of life. "Dinner time," Noelle announced softly, his voice breaking the silence. Thorne's response was minimal, but Noelle's steady presence and gentle actions seemed to be making a difference.

Sitting beside Thorne, Noelle began the painstaking process of feeding him. He noticed the subtle changes in Thorne's reactions as the days progressed; he was more receptive to food, and his expressions, though fleeting, were signs of progress. As he spooned the porridge into Thorne's mouth, the general's nose scrunched in a cute, almost childlike gesture.

Noelle chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. "I know, I know—it's bitter, but it's good for you," he said, his voice a mix of humor and encouragement. The sight of Thorne's reluctant acceptance of the food brought a small smile to Noelle's face, a rare moment of warmth in the otherwise harsh routine of recovery.

In the enveloping darkness, Thorne found himself unable to open his eyes, his body weighted by relentless pain. Yet, amidst the torment, there was a persistent, comforting presence—the scent of rain mingled with vanilla. At first, he had thought it was a mirage conjured by his desperate mind, a cruel trick played by his own senses. But as time wore on, it became clear that this scent was real and ever-present.

The pain was unbearable, a constant gnawing ache that seemed to consume him from within. But even in his haze, he found moments of solace when surrounded by that scent. It had become a beacon of comfort, a lifeline that made the excruciating pain bearable. His instincts had connected the smell with food and safety, creating a semblance of hope in the midst of despair.

From the brief moments of wakefulness he managed to grasp, Thorne had learned that he was married to an omega named Noelle. The young man's voice, often filled with self-directed conversation, became a thread of connection to the world outside his suffering. Though it was peculiar, these snippets of Noelle's words were a lifeline, offering a strange comfort in the otherwise oppressive silence.

Thorne's initial assumption was that Noelle would eventually leave him. The omega was young, vibrant, and full of life—qualities that Thorne felt were wasted on a half-dead shell like himself. He was tormented by the thought that Noelle deserved better, that he should be free to seek a life unburdened by the weight of Thorne's incapacitated existence.

Yet, despite this self-loathing, Thorne found himself clinging to the hope that Noelle would stay. The young man's presence was a balm to his suffering, and Thorne's heart twisted with guilt and longing every time he considered Noelle's continued devotion.

As Noelle fed him the bitter porridge, Thorne's senses were overwhelmed by the taste, but also by the gentle, reassuring chuckle that followed. It was a sound that made his heart leap despite the pain, a reminder that he wasn't entirely alone. The way Noelle laughed at the bitterness of the porridge, it stirred something deep within Thorne—a flicker of warmth and an aching desire to bet he man Noelle deserved.