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Pack nights at Tyler’s always started the same way. One of them put a game on and claimed it was only for background noise. The living room was a sprawl of bodies and snacks and half-finished conversations. Mario planted in the armchair like it had been built around him. Tyler is on the couch with a beer balanced on his knee. Eky cross-legged on the rug like he’d chosen the floor on purpose and Will and Mack on the other couch, shoulder to shoulder. It was easy to forget, on nights like this, that the world outside insisted on lines. That it asked questions. That it made everything complicated. In here, it was just pack. It was Tyler, inevitably, who started it.
“I’m just saying,” he argued for the third time, waving his hand like he could swat the point away, “she liked it.”
Eky blinked up at him slowly, the kind of blink that was less an expression and more a warning.
“What did you buy?” Eky asked, voice so calm it was almost suspicious.
Tyler straightened like a man defending his honour. “A weighted blanket.”
Eky’s face did something very controlled. Like shock tried to climb up, and he politely shut the door in its face.
“And…” Tyler added quickly, because he could sense weakness and was incapable of leaving it alone, “those ergonomic pillows. The ones that are supposed to support your neck.”
Mario made a soft, thoughtful noise, like he was watching an interesting play develop.
Eky stared at Tyler for a long beat. Then he let out a sigh so long it belonged in a tragedy.
“Okay,” Eky said, and there was that omega voice under it, gentle, but immovable. “I need you to listen to me very carefully.”
Tyler’s eyebrows climbed. “I am listening.”
“No,” Eky corrected, “you’re waiting for your turn to argue.”
A couple of the guys laughed. Tyler looked personally attacked.
Eky pointed at him like a teacher with a chalkboard. “Nesting materials should be soft, yes, but they also need to hold shape. You need things you can build with. Things you can pull and tuck and shape into something that feels… contained.”
Tyler opened his mouth.
Eky held up a hand. “Clothes that smell like the alpha. Blankets. Pillows. A hoodie that’s been worn and washed so many times, it feels like safety. Stuff like that.”
Tyler protested, “But she said…”
“Yeah,” Eky cut in, “because she loves you and doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
Tyler’s jaw dropped. “That is…”
“That is exactly what happened,” Eky said, completely unbothered. “You gave her neck support pillows, and she smiled and told you it was perfect, while she internally vowed to never, ever tell you the truth about nesting materials because she wants peace in her home.”
Mario’s lips twitched. “He’s not wrong.”
Tyler turned to Mario like he’d been betrayed by a brother-in-arms.
Mario lifted one shoulder, still amused. “My wife would do the same.”
Tyler looked back at Eky, stubbornness hardening. “She likes the weighted blanket.”
Eky’s expression went flat in a way that should’ve been illegal.
“Are you really trying to win a discussion about nesting materials against an omega?” he asked, deadpan. “Come on.”
Tyler scoffed. “That doesn’t mean you’re automatically right.”
Eky turned his head, slow and deliberate, until his gaze landed on Mack.
“Come on, Mack,” Eky said, already victorious. “You have to back me up on this one.”
It should’ve been simple. A quick nod, a shared eye roll, an omega solidarity moment. Instead, Mack’s whole posture shifted under the sudden attention. His shoulders drawing in like he was trying to make himself smaller without meaning to, like the spotlight had heat to it. Will felt it immediately, that subtle flinch in the air, that instinctive retreat. Mack’s fingers tightened once around the hem of his shirt.
“I don’t know,” Mack said, quiet enough that the room actually softened to hear him. “I’ve never… nested.”
For a second, it was like someone hit mute on the entire house.
Eky’s face changed in real time, shock first, then confusion, then something like offence on Mack’s behalf that made his eyes go sharp.
“You have never built a nest in your life?” Eky repeated, stunned.
Mack’s cheeks flushed, pink blooming. He hated that his body did that. Hated that it gave him away. He tried to shrug, but it looked more like he folded in on himself.
“I don’t… I don’t know how to,” he admitted.
Will felt the words land in his chest like a weight. Because he had assumed quietly and carefully, because it felt invasive to even wonder. He’d assumed Mack kept his nests private. That maybe Mack didn’t want Will to see them yet. That maybe, in the way some omegas guarded that part of themselves, Mack held it close until he could trust it. He had never asked. He’d never dared. Not because he didn’t want to know, but because he didn’t want to put his hands on something that belonged to Mack’s instincts, not his curiosity.
But this… This wasn’t privacy. This was absence. And now that Will knew, he couldn’t ignore it. Mack had been the only omega in his household. He’d grown up with expectations stacked on him like armour. Expected to move like an alpha, speak like one, swallow softness like it was weakness. Mack had spent years trying to outrun his own second gender, and Will had seen the insecurity in him sometimes, hidden under humour and the way Mack always tried to be the steady one. Will had been supportive because it wasn’t complicated for him. Mack was Mack. That was the whole point. But the idea that no one had ever shown him how to build a place for himself, made something sting behind Will’s ribs.
Eky, at least, didn’t hesitate.
“Well then,” Eky declared, already pushing up from the rug like a man on a mission, “we have to change that immediately.”
Tyler blinked. “Right now?”
“Yes, right now,” Eky said, like Tyler had asked whether gravity was optional. “We need every blanket and pillow in this house.”
Mario’s laugh rumbled low. “You started it, Ty.”
Tyler, still looking vaguely dazed, stood up and held his hands out like he was surrendering. “Okay. Okay. Every blanket and pillow.”
He disappeared down the hallway, muttering something that sounded like, “I can’t believe I’m being bullied in my own home.”
Will didn’t move. He couldn’t. He was watching Mack like a man trying to memorize something fragile. Mack’s gaze flicked around the room. He was taking in everyone, everything, too many eyes looking back at him and then landed on Will like a lifeline. He looked unsure. Exposed. Will didn’t trust his voice, so he gave him a small smile instead and nodded once, slow. You got this.
Mack swallowed, then let Eky tug him gently toward the corner of the living room, a little away from the main sprawl of the team. The conversations started up again, carefully, like no one wanted to spook a skittish animal. The pack adjusted around them without making a production of it. Mario turned back to the game, Tyler’s wife called something teasing from the kitchen, a couple of guys argued quietly about a penalty.
Tyler returned a minute later with what could only be described as enough nesting material for an army. Blankets in a tumbling pile, pillows stacked against his chest, a spare comforter trailing behind him like a cape. He dropped it into the corner with a soft whump and flashed Mack an easy, reassuring smile.
“No pressure,” Tyler said, and for all his arguing, his voice was gentle now. “You don’t have to get it perfect. We’ve got you. That’s what a pack is for.”
Mack’s shoulders eased a fraction.
Eky clapped his hands once, businesslike. “Okay.”
He crouched by the pile like an artist approaching raw materials. “First, you decide how big it’s supposed to be,” he told Mack, tone shifting into something careful and instructive. “Just for one person, or two, or the whole pack.”
Mack hesitated, looking at the pile like it might bite him. Eky waited him out. No rushing. No teasing.
Finally, Mack said, almost inaudible, “One. Maybe… two.”
Will’s throat tightened. He kept his face neutral, but inside he went warm and steady. Wanting two meant admitting Mack wanted space for someone else. That he wanted comfort that wasn’t solitary. That he wanted pack in a way he’d probably spent years pretending he didn’t need.
Eky’s mouth softened into a small smile. “Good. Then you decide the form.”
He gestured at the corner, two walls meeting, already protective by nature. Mack picked up a blanket, one of the soft and heavy ones, the kind that held warmth like a promise and spread it on the floor, hands careful, movements restrained like he was afraid of doing it wrong. Eky watched like a proud older brother.
“Perfect,” he praised immediately, firm enough that Mack couldn’t argue with it. “Now, you outline the general shape.”
Mack pulled the blanket into an oval, then paused, tilting his head like he was listening to something inside himself. He adjusted it again, wider on one side, narrower on the other.
Eky nodded, approving. “Now you start adding layers and building the sides. If it’s in a corner like this, you can add pillows there so you can sit up comfortably, too.”
Mack’s hands were tentative at first, then steadier. He placed pillows, then moved one, and then moved it again. He layered another blanket, folded it, pressed it into a gap. He wasn’t smiling. But there was some instinctive focus, that settled over him as he worked. Like the part of him that had been waiting his whole life to do this finally had permission.
Eky fed him options without crowding him.
“This one’s good,” Eky said, offering a plush throw. “Soft, but it holds.”
Mack took it, murmuring, “Thanks.”
Eky handed him another pillow. “And this.”
Mack’s fingers brushed it, then he shook his head. “Not that one.”
“Okay,” Eky said easily. “Trust that.”
Will watched from the couch, trying to act normal, while something tender and furious coiled in him at the same time. How did no one give Mack this? And then, as quickly as the anger came, it shifted, because he knew the answer. It was that Mack’s parents hadn’t understood what they were missing. Two alphas can love an omega and still not know the language of it. They’d have given Mack structure, confidence, the tools to survive being the only omega in an alpha house. They probably thought that was the important part.
But this, blankets and shape and scent and permission to take up soft space, this was different. This was comfort with instructions. A kind of care you only learn by living in the instincts yourself.
Will’s jaw tightened. He kept his expression easy, because Mack would feel him looking too hard and shrink again. He just stayed where he was, steady and present, letting Eky lead, letting Mack learn and realizing something simple. Mack doesn’t have to do this alone any more.
The nest took shape with layers and edges, hollow in the center, like it could hold a body and keep it safe from the world. When they were done, it looked… right. Comfortable. Thoughtful. Like a place you could breathe in. And still, Mack stared at it with a sceptical frown, as if he’d built something technically correct but unfinished. Eky studied him closely.
“You’re not happy about it yet,” Eky stated, not a question, just a fact.
Mack’s mouth opened, then closed. He tried to find words, clearly annoyed with himself.
“It doesn’t…” He stopped, his nose wrinkled slightly, like he was tasting the air. “It doesn’t smell right.”
Eky’s expression lit up like he’d been waiting for that exact sentence.
“Yes,” Eky said satisfied. “Good. That’s just as important as structure.”
He leaned in a little, voice dropping into something softer. “A nest is for comfort. To feel protected. So you pick things that smell like home or pack and put them into it. Smells that calm you.”
Mack’s gaze drifted around the room, slow. Will felt it like a pull when Mack’s eyes landed on him. Across the living room, Will’s heart did something stupid, something hopeful and aching. He made himself look steady, made his eyes ask silently ’Are you okay?’
Mack stood and came over hesitantly, as if walking across the room was suddenly a risky thing. The team didn’t stare openly, but Will could feel their attention in the way a pack watches its own, quiet, protective and careful. Will lowered his voice when Mack stopped in front of him.
“Hey,” Will asked, soft. “Everything okay?”
Mack’s cheeks flushed again, pink creeping up like betrayal.
“Can I have your hoodie for my nest?” Mack blurted, like he had to spit it out before he lost his nerve.
Will’s answer came too fast.
“Of course.”
Because it hit him all at once what Mack was actually asking for. Not fabric. Not convenience. Scent. Comfort. A claim that wasn’t about possession, just trust. Mack admitting that Will’s presence calmed him, in front of the pack. That Will belonged in the soft parts of his life, not just the loud ones. Will felt a sharp, private swell of pride that he kept locked behind a steady face. He didn’t want to make it a big thing, didn’t want Mack to second-guess himself. But inside, it mattered. Mack didn’t ask for things easily. Mack didn’t need out loud. So for him to ask this so directly, cheeks pink, voice brave, was huge.
Will tugged the hoodie over his head immediately, not because he was eager to show off, but because he didn’t want Mack to have even a second of doubt. No hesitation. No “are you sure?” that would make it feel like a burden. Just a clean yes. He handed it over carefully, like it was something fragile. Not because the hoodie mattered, but because what it meant did. Mack’s fingers curled around it and something in his face eased.
He returned to the nest and placed it carefully into the center, not tossed, not folded away. Claimed. Eky nodded, approval in the tilt of his head.
“Better?” Eky asked gently.
Mack breathed in slowly. His shoulders lowered, like his body recognized the scent and unclenched around it.
“Yeah,” he said, quieter. “Better.”
“Then you can get in.”
Mack hesitated at the edge, one last pause like the moment before stepping onto new ice. Then he crawled in carefully, trying not to ruin the shape. He shifted, moved a pillow, tugged the hoodie closer. He wriggled until something clicked and his whole body settled. It was subtle, but Will saw the exact second Mack’s instincts exhaled. Mack looked up at Eky.
“You’re not coming in?” he asked, surprised.
Eky’s brows lifted. “You didn’t invite me.” He nodded toward the nest like it had rules written on it. “This is your nest. No one’s allowed to enter an omega’s nest without permission.”
Mack let out a breath that sounded like relief. The nest seemed to deepen around him, becoming more than blankets and pillows, becoming a boundary and safety. Mack’s shoulders dropped another notch. A faint sound slipped out of him instinctively and pleased. A tiny keen he immediately looked embarrassed about. Then a softened rumble that he didn’t even try to stop. Will’s chest ached.
Mack stared at the corner for a second, then said, like it was obvious now that he’d finally listened to himself, “I want you in my nest.”
Eky’s smile turned huge and bright, pure pride.
“Thank you,” Eky said, and climbed in carefully, moving like he respected every inch. He settled beside Mack. And Mack, still shy and learning, curled in closer with a tenderness that made Will’s chest go tight. Years of tension seemed to melt out of Mack’s posture. Like his body had been holding itself rigid for so long it forgot it was allowed to rest. Eky’s scent wrapped around him like a gentle blanket. Mack’s eyes fluttered. He let himself drift, not into sleep, but into something close enough.
He didn’t know how long they stayed like this, but eventually Will’s scent drifted closer. Mack’s gaze sharpened, drawn toward it. Will moved to the edge of the nest and crouched, not entering, not assuming, just… looking. Taking it in. The shape. The care. The hoodie in the center like an anchor. Mack watched him with a softness that made Will feel like he’d been handed something precious.
“That’s a beautiful nest,” Will said quietly.
Mack should’ve scoffed. Should’ve rolled his eyes. Should’ve found it ridiculous. Instead, his scent warmed, sweet and shy and pleased, and a happy rumble slipped out of him, traitorous and unmistakable.
Eky snorted, delighted. “I’m gonna get something to drink,” he announced, already backing out with exaggerated care, like he was exiting a sacred space. “Enjoy your emotional moment.”
Mack made a small sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a protest. Eky disappeared toward the kitchen, giving them privacy without making a big deal out of it.
Will stayed where he was, hands resting on his knees, refusing to crowd.
Mack stared at him for a second, then asked, voice uncertain, “You really don’t think it’s stupid?”
Will’s face softened, because he could see it in Mack’s eyes. He wasn’t asking about nesting. He was asking if he was too much. If wanting this kind of comfort made him needy, dramatic, sentimental in a way that would be embarrassing later. Like he was bracing for the joke, or the impatience, that would make him regret speaking at all.
Will knew his reaction mattered. If he hesitated, if he laughed wrong, if he answered too big or too awkward, Mack would file the whole thing away as a mistake and go back to doing everything alone. So Will kept it simple and solid. No performance. No teasing.
“Why would it be stupid?” he asked honestly. “It looks extremely comfortable.”
“It is,” Mack said and the pride in his voice surprised him. Will could tell by the way Mack’s eyes widened afterward, like he couldn’t believe he’d admitted it.
Will smiled, small and warm. “Oh, you just learned how to nest, and you’re already cocky about it.”
Mack’s laugh came out quieter than usual, but it was real.
“Thank you for not making this weird,” Mack said and there was something fragile underneath it.
“I would never make you feel bad about yourself,” Will promised, steady as a vow. “Not for this. Not for anything else.”
Mack swallowed. His gaze dropped for a second, then lifted again like he’d made a decision.
“I want you in here,” he said, his voice shaking like it cost him something.
Will didn’t move immediately. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he wanted Mack to have room to take it back if the vulnerability hit him all at once. He’d seen Mack do that before, reach for something, then panic about what it implied. Will saw the brief alarm in Mack’s face when he didn’t climb in right away. Mack’s mind racing ahead, filling the pause with doubt. So Will kept his presence gentle and steady, close without crowding, like he was showing Mack that he was not hesitating, just giving him control.
Mack’s shoulders eased when he understood. And there was something in his expression then, quiet appreciation, almost surprised. Like Will had known what he needed before Mack could even name it.
“Come in,” Mack said again, softer but sure. “I want you here.”
Will’s breath left him like he’d been punched gently in the chest. He climbed into the nest with careful respect, moving slowly so he didn’t collapse the edges. He settled beside Mack and the space moulded around them like it had been built for this exact shape. Two bodies, one shared warmth. Will couldn’t stop the rumble that rose in him, low and content, vibrating through his chest like happiness had found a voice. Mack’s eyes fluttered. He shifted closer, then closer again, drawn by instinct now that he’d finally allowed himself to listen. He pressed his nose to Will’s neck, breathing in, anchoring himself in that familiar scent that meant safe and mine and here. Will went still for a heartbeat. Then he curled an arm around Mack’s back and pulled him in with gentle pressure. Mack melted. A sound slipped out of him, soft and pleased. A quiet little keen that turned into a rumble when Will’s hand began to stroke slowly down his spine, not possessive, not claiming, just comforting. Mack’s lashes lowered again. Maybe nesting wasn’t as stupid as he’d thought. Maybe it was just something he’d been denied. Something he was finally allowed to have.
From somewhere in the kitchen, Eky’s voice drifted back, smug and victorious: “See? Soft, shapeable, smells like the alpha. I told you.”
Tyler’s voice followed, grumbling, “Don’t start.”
Mario, amused as ever, rumbled, “Let the omegas have their science, Ty.”
Mack huffed a laugh into Will’s neck. Will smiled against Mack’s hair and held him like the simplest thing in the world. And in the corner of Tyler’s living room, surrounded by noise and warmth and pack-scent and the steady thrum of belonging, Mack finally looked like he could rest.