A New Season

The rain continued, but the worst of the storm passed sooner than Stan and Kyle expected. The cave was dark now, the only sound the steady drip of water from the entrance. Kyle watched it intently, while Stan stared at the back of Kyle's head. Neither of them spoke. The day's exhaustion was finally catching up to them. Kyle moved first. He got up, immediately missing Stan’s body heat, and went over to his bed of moss and ferns to straighten the wool sheet. After kneeling on the bed and realizing how small it was, he didn't say anything, just glanced at Stan. They both knew that for the two of them to sleep there, they would have to press against each other. Kyle was still wondering how to voice his concerns about the lack of space when Stan smiled shyly, got up, and lay down on the narrow bed. He left space for Kyle and gestured with his hand to make it clear the spot was for him. Kyle felt his face heat up as he accepted the invitation and lay down. He immediately turned toward the wall to hide his embarrassment. Stan settled in behind him and pulled the wool sheet over both of them. After a moment's hesitation, he put his arm over Kyle's side, careful to keep his touch light. “I-I need to stretch my arm—because of my wound. You d-don’t mind, do you?” he said nervously, even raising his arm a little as if ready to pull away if Kyle so much as grunted softly. But Kyle didn’t shrug him off. “It’s okay,” he replied. The cave was cold and damp, but under the sheet, with Stan at his back, Kyle was warm. The familiar smell of his own sheet mixed with Stan's scent. It was comfortable. He felt his eyes grow heavy, and for the first time since his exile, he fell into a deep, easy sleep. Feeling Kyle relax completely against him, Stan let out a slow breath. The sharp worry that had been driving him since he left the village was gone. He’d found Kyle. Kyle was safe, right here in his arms. The thought was a quiet relief. The ache in his wounds didn't seem to matter anymore. He closed his eyes and slept deeper than he had in days. Kyle woke up just as the first grey light of dawn filtered into the cave. He was used to it; being an omega meant his chores started before anyone else's. He could even say he was always the first one awake in the whole tribe. Stan, as a hunter, woke up early too, but Kyle was the earliest bird of all. For a moment, he was confused by the warmth at his back. Then he remembered. Stan. They had slept pressed together under the wool sheet. Kyle’s face grew hot with embarrassment again. He had never slept next to anyone who wasn't his immediate family. It was a nice feeling—especially since it was Stan next to him. He carefully lifted Stan's arm and slid out from under it, moving quietly to the other side of the cave. He glanced back at Stan, still asleep. For a second, he just looked at him, feeling a warmth in his chest. Then he shook his head, scolding himself. Stan was just tired, and his embrace meant nothing romantic. The makeshift bed was the only dry spot. It was cold, and in their tribe, people often slept close together for warmth. For Stan, it had been logical to sleep next to him. It didn't mean anything. Kyle was the one overthinking it. He was the one who had always been pushed to the outskirts, never included in the normal, easy closeness the others shared. He wasn't accustomed to this kind of thing, but he knew that for other tribe members—and of course, for Stan—sharing a bed for practical reasons was a common and encouraged custom. Usually, it was only encouraged within classes, alphas with alphas or omegas with omegas, but if there was no other option, having unmated alphas and omegas sleep together was always preferred over a member of the tribe dying from the cold. So Stan would not see the situation as the big deal Kyle was making it out to be. He pushed the thoughts away and decided to start the day’s work. He needed to make breakfast first. Kyle pulled out his supplies. A few strips of dried venison, a handful of last season's dried berries, and some foraged nuts. It wasn't much, but it was a typical breakfast. He mixed the berries and nuts into a small wooden bowl and set the dried meat beside it. He was just about to get water from his waterskin when he heard a rustle behind him. Stan stirred, pushing himself up on his good elbow. He looked at Kyle across the cave, who was organizing their meager breakfast. He was confused at first, but soon the memories of the previous day flooded his mind—the storm, finding Kyle, and their tense conversation. The early morning light, sneaking in through a small hole in the ceiling, caught Kyle’s red hair, and a warm feeling spread through Stan's chest as he imagined, just for a moment, waking up like this every day. "How do you feel today?" Kyle asked, noticing Stan was silently looking at him. The question pulled Stan back to reality. "Fine," he said, his voice rough with sleep. Kyle gestured to the food. "Eat. You need your strength." He sighed. "You're really cutting into my supplies, you know. I’ll have to gather more food today than the other days if I want to be ready to leave when I was planning—" He stopped abruptly, and a tense silence fell between them, as if they both had something to say but didn't dare. Stan frowned slightly before standing up and walking over to sit next to Kyle. He picked up a piece of the dried meat, hesitated, then looked directly at him. "Does that mean you've already decided? Are you still planning to leave?" Kyle didn't answer right away. The way Stan asked was calm, as if he were asking about a plan they were making together. The unspoken understanding was that if Kyle didn’t want to go back, Stan would follow him. But even if Kyle liked that idea, he would still feel guilty for dragging Stan with him, especially if it was only out of Stan's guilt. "No—I'm still thinking about it," Kyle said finally. "It’s just—for now, I'm going to act like I'm leaving and not coming back. It doesn't hurt to be prepared. And it's easier for me to think when I'm gathering." Stan let out a quiet sigh. "Then I'll help you gather," he said, starting to get up. "Not now," Kyle said firmly. "Maybe later. If I find a rabbit trail again, you can give me some hunting pointers. But for now, you need to rest. Your leg still looks bad." They ate in a calm silence, Kyle feeling guilty and Stan oddly realizing that he wouldn't mind leaving forever if he went away with Kyle. But maybe he should go back briefly to say goodbye to his mom. After finishing, Kyle left Stan in the cave with strict orders to rest. Kyle moved quietly through the forest, his mind elsewhere as he kept replaying Stan's words and the feeling of waking up next to him. For this reason, he walked past a patch of edible roots twice before he noticed them. It took him longer than usual, but he eventually gathered a good share of healing herbs for Stan's wounds, along with more nuts and bitter greens. His pouch was full, but he still needed clean water. He made his way to the small stream, his ears tuning in to every unfamiliar sound in the forest. That's when he heard the distant, distinct sound of voices. Though too far to make out words, they were definitely people—probably hunters from his former tribe. A cold knot tightened in his stomach. If they found him, they might kick him off the tribe’s land, or worse, attack him. He quickly filled his waterskin and hurried straight back to the safety of the cave. Kyle slipped back into the cave, his heart still beating a little too fast from the near-miss. As he rearranged the plants, vines, and sticks covering the entrance, he worried that the tribe members might discover their hideout. He was about to inform Stan about the situation, but the sight that greeted him inside the cave made him stop. Stan was on his feet, using a charred stick from the fire to draw on a smooth, flat part of the cave wall. He’d covered it in rough sketches. “You’re back,” Stan said, turning with a small smile. “What is all this?” Kyle asked, setting down his pouch and waterskin. He walked closer to look, forgetting about his rush. “Rabbit traps,” Stan explained. “We mostly hunt big game, but my uncle showed me how to catch smaller stuff like this. It’s easier than chasing them.” He pointed at one of the drawings. “See this? It’s a snare. You make a loop with cordage on a game trail. When the rabbit hops through, it tightens.” He moved the stick to another sketch. “And this one is a deadfall. You prop up a heavy rock with a stick. When the rabbit takes the bait, the rock falls.” Kyle, listening to Stan's enthusiasm, decided not to interrupt him with news of the tribe members nearby. There was no reason to cause alarm; the cave entrance was hidden, and they were safe as long as they didn’t make too much noise or light a fire. Stan's voice, though excited, was soft, and the weather was still warm enough that they didn't need a fire. They were okay. He listened, as fascinated as his companion was eager to talk. He remembered his own father showing him similar things a long time ago. He found himself leaning in, asking questions, and pointing at parts of the drawings. Soon, he had completely forgotten about the tribe members he’d heard. They ended up talking about Kyle's awful attempt to catch a rabbit, where he’d tripped over his own feet and landed face-first in a bush. Stan laughed. “That’s nothing. On my first real hunt for a deer, I got so excited I yelled and scared everything for a mile. My dad didn’t talk to me for two days.” As the daylight faded, the easy feeling from their conversation faded with it. The cave felt smaller, and after dinner, both of them knew what was coming next—an awkwardness greater than the night before. Yesterday, they had been exhausted and caught up in the storm. Today, they had spent the whole day together, talking and laughing. Now, the idea of sharing the small bed felt like a bigger deal. Kyle busied himself with tidying the cave long after there was anything left to tidy. Stan pretended to be very interested in adjusting his bandages. The silence stretched on. Finally, Kyle gathered his courage. His voice was a little too loud in the quiet cave. "It's time to sleep." He walked over to the bed and straightened the wool sheet, making a clear space for Stan. He didn't look at him while he did it. They lay down together, back to front again. This time, their bodies were stiff. Neither of them could relax. Kyle was hyper-aware of every point where he and Stan were touching. For his part, Stan was just as awake and tense. It took a long time, but eventually, the long day and the steady rhythm of their breathing won out. Their muscles slowly unclenched, and one by one, they both fell into a fitful sleep. The next morning, Stan was the first to wake. The deep rest was finally helping his body heal. He was already sitting up when Kyle stirred. "My leg feels a lot better," Stan said as Kyle opened his eyes. "We can go set those traps together today." Kyle sat up, rubbing his face. He remembered the voices from the day before. The last thing they needed was for both of them to be seen out in the open. Even if Stan was feeling better, he would definitely make more noise than necessary. Kyle now realized he didn't want to tell Stan about the tribe members nearby. If he did, Stan would never allow him to leave alone, which would either delay him further or pressure him into deciding right then if they were leaving for good or going back to the tribe. And he still didn’t have an answer. He wanted to stay like this forever. "Let’s have breakfast first," Kyle said. "I know where to find the good vines for rope and the right kind of wood. I'll go get the materials and bring them back here. We can build the traps inside the cave. We won't catch anything in the middle of the day anyway. Rabbits are more active at dawn and dusk. If we hurry, we can set them for the evening." Stan thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. That makes sense." He picked up his charred stick while settling in to eat, tidying a spot next to him for Kyle to sit. "I'll work on some more drawings while you're gone. I can show you a few more tricks for tracking." "Fine," Kyle said, getting up and sharing his food supplies with Stan. He let himself fall once more into that sweet fantasy of them being like this forever. "Don't tear your stitches trying to reach a high part of the wall," Kyle added a moment later, just before gathering his things to leave. He hoped to finish the task before any hunters from the tribe started their patrols. Kyle focused only on gathering the materials for the traps. He found the strong, flexible vines he needed and cut a few straight, sturdy branches. He ignored the edible plants and roots he passed. He knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t help it. If he avoided picking the food, if he avoided making a decision, then it would be as if time had stopped, and he and Stan could keep being like this forever. Everything felt strangely perfect, and he didn't want that feeling to end by making a final choice. Kyle was about to uncover the cave entrance, his arms full of wood and vines, when a twig snapped loudly behind him. His heart jumped into his throat. He froze, his grip tightening on the branches. There was no time to hide and nowhere to go. He was caught. He braced himself for the angry voices of the tribesmen, resigned to his fate. But the person who stepped out from behind the trees wasn't a hostile hunter. It was Kenny. His expression, usually nonchalant and cheerful, showed pure relief at the sight of Kyle. “Kyle!” he breathed out. "Kenny?" Kyle’s body slumped with a sudden rush of shock and confusion. Before he could process Kenny's presence, his friend closed the distance in a few quick strides. Kenny’s arms wrapped around him in a sudden, tight hug, making the gathered materials tumble from Kyle's grasp and scatter on the damp earth. "I was so scared you'd already be gone," Kenny's voice was a rushed, relieved whisper against Kyle's shoulder. He pulled back just enough to grip Kyle’s upper arms, his hands squeezing firmly as his eyes scanned Kyle’s face, checking for any sign of harm. Kyle shook his head, his gaze darting briefly back toward the direction of the village. “I still have a lot of stuff to get before leaving.” Kenny sighed in relief. "I tried to get here as soon as I was told you left, but the river was swollen from the storm—completely impassable. And then the whole tribe was swarming the woods. I had to be careful. I couldn't risk leading them right to you." Kenny's grip on Kyle's arms softened, his expression shifting to one of deep sincerity. "I had to find you," he repeated, his voice dropping. "I had to see for myself that you were alright. And..." He looked down at the scattered vines between their feet before meeting Kyle's eyes again. "We never got to say goodbye." Kyle finally found his voice, the initial shock giving way to a wave of guilt and affection for his friend. "Kenny— I'm okay. I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I just— I couldn't risk it. But I trusted Karen would tell you. That you are my best friend and I was going to miss you, that I was grateful for all you did for me." Kenny nodded vigorously. "She told me. She did." He shifted his weight, his earnest eyes locking with Kyle's. "But that's why I had to find you. I brought you some more supplies," he said, gesturing with his head to a small pack slung over his shoulder. "But that's not the only reason." He took a deep breath, the words rushing out as if he'd been holding them in for too long. "After they exiled you— I can’t stand it anymore, Kyle. The tribe is terrible. I want to leave, too. All of us—you, me, and Karen. We can go together." His voice was filled with a desperate, hopeful energy. "I'll take care of you, and you can help me with Karen. We can find a new home. A better one." The sheer force of Kenny's sincerity left Kyle speechless. He asked himself, how could he possibly answer? If Stan hadn’t proposed to leave with him, his immediate answer would have been yes. But now... He could tell Kenny that Stan was going to help him clear his name, and then Kenny, Karen, and he could go with the other tribes on good terms. Kyle would of course help Kenny take care of Karen; he knew Karen’s condition was what had kept Kenny in the tribe, as he couldn't possibly take care of her alone while traveling. But if he left with Kenny, then he could help taking care of Karen and Stan’s presence wouldn’t be needed anymore... That was good for Stan because he could stay in the tribe living his perfect life. But he and Kyle wouldn’t be together. There would be no need. He didn’t want that. But Kenny was looking at him with such hope. And Kenny was making so much sense... The sound of a branch snapping made Kenny and Kyle jump. They turned to see Stan standing at the mouth of the cave. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and a deep frown was etched on his face. His gaze was fixed on Kenny. "What are you doing here?" Stan’s voice was low and firm. He asked not because he didn’t know what Kenny was doing there—he had heard him—but because he knew telling him to get the fuck away from Kyle was too much, even if that was what he wanted to say. He took a step forward, his eyes flashing with a possessive anger. When he had heard voices he had immediately rushed to the entrance, ready to protect Kyle, but stopped in his tracks when he heard Kenny’s words—his offer, the promise of a new life for them together, in a home that was obviously for Kenny and Kyle and in which there wouldn’t be a place for Stan. He didn’t even know Kenny and Kyle were friends, but it made sense. It ached, Stan realizing that he still knew very little about Kyle. Seeing Kenny's hands on Kyle, hearing that Kenny knew about this place all along... it made something hot and ugly twist in his gut. "Kyle’s not leaving with you," Stan continued, his voice dropping to a near-growl as he glared at Kenny. He stopped himself from demanding Kenny stop touching Kyle. “We are going back to the tribe and fix everything. Who do you think you are? What kind of alpha thinks it's a good proposal to make such a dangerous journey, knowing pretty well that you won't be able to protect him? You are by far not the best hunter, and you will be dragged down by your—other priorities.” Kenny and Kyle stared at Stan with obvious shock. Kenny was at first baffled by his presence, but immediately after by the meaning veiled in his words. Stan had called him a bad alpha, a bad hunter, and implied that Karen was a liability. He immediately let Kyle go, and a glint of defiance flooded his eyes. However, before he could launch himself at Stan, Kyle spoke. “Stan, what is wrong with you?” Kyle’s angry tone and posture made Stan snap out of his jealous trance, his ears immediately lowering. He felt a pang in his chest because Kyle was obviously ready to fight him to protect Kenny.