Fallen General's Omega (BL)

 The cold and darkness of the small stone house wrapped around Noelle as he stepped inside. A sharp gust of wind from the open door made him shiver, and he sneezed involuntarily. The air was thick with dust, and the silence was profound, suggesting that the house had been uninhabited for quite some time.

Noelle hesitated for a moment, leaving the door ajar to let in the faint moonlight that offered some illumination. He took careful steps, his eyes straining to adjust to the dimness. Moving cautiously through the musty interior, he made his way toward what he hoped was the kitchen. His heart quickened with a mix of trepidation and curiosity.

In the kitchen, he spotted an old oil lamp perched on a wooden shelf. With trembling hands, Noelle struck a match and lit the lamp. The soft glow of the flame began to chase away the shadows, revealing more of the space around him. The room was modest but functional, with a stone hearth and rudimentary cooking tools.

As he explored further, Noelle's gaze fell upon a metal fixture mounted on the wall. His heart skipped a beat as he realized it was a tap—a luxury he had never encountered in his village, where they only had communal wells. His fingers brushed the metal, marveling at the prospect of running water.

Excited by this small revelation, Noelle ventured further into the house. He found a door leading to a separate room and pushed it open, revealing a bathroom that took his breath away. His eyes widened in awe at the sight of a freestanding bathtub. It was an indulgence he had only heard of in stories, a stark contrast to the pit latrines of his past.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Noelle stood there, trying to process the reality of his new surroundings. The simple comforts of this place—a functioning tap, a bathtub—were luxuries he had never imagined. As he took in the details, a tear slid down his cheek, a mix of relief and joy flooding over him. The house, though weathered and worn, held unexpected treasures.

The small house, though modest, had distinct areas that made it functional. As Noelle explored, he discovered a kitchen, a bathroom, and a living room with a sturdy fireplace. His curiosity led him to what he presumed was the bedroom.

Pushing open the door, which creaked softly in the night, he entered the room. The furnishings were simple but endearing: a scruffy bed, a tiny wardrobe, and a small mirror perched on the wall. The window was ajar, letting in a biting draft that made the room feel colder.

The bed appeared worn, and Noelle's mind wandered to the house's origins. He remembered hearing that such modest homes were sometimes built by nobles for their mistresses or for banishing unwanted family members for 'recuperation.' The possibility that his husband might be an illegitimate child of a noble family didn't bother him. 

Noelle plopped his small bag onto the bed, only to hear a faint groan in response. Panic surged through him as he quickly moved to the bed, his breath catching in his throat. In the soft light of the room, he could make out a figure—barely more than skin and bones, with gaunt features and what seemed to be blonde hair matted to the scalp. 

A scream tore from Noelle's lips as he realized what he was seeing. "What is this?" he whispered in shock. With trembling hands, he pulled back the dusty blankets from the bed, revealing the pitiful sight before him. Tears welled up in his eyes as he took in the state of the person lying there. How could anyone be so cruel?

The figure's chest barely moved, just the faintest rise and fall indicating life. If Noelle had arrived even a moment later, this person—his husband—might have slipped away for good. He felt a wave of fury and sorrow wash over him as he shook out the blankets, releasing a cloud of dust and bugs. The condition of the bed was appalling.

"Did no one come here at all?" Noelle muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "Did no one care? Or worse, did they want to make me a dead bride? Bury me alongside a corpse like those horror stories from the capital?"

But there was no way he would let that happen. Not to him, and certainly not to this man. Steeling himself, Noelle approached the bed again. "Hello, my dear," he murmured softly to the unresponsive figure. "I'm your husband. Everything's going to be okay now." He didn't know if the man could hear him, but it didn't matter. They were stuck with each other, and he intended to do whatever it took to help.

Noelle spotted a chair nearby and, with great care, managed to lift the man out of the bed, his frail body almost weightless in his arms. He placed him gently onto the chair before turning his attention to the mattress, flipping it over and shaking out the bedding. The state of disrepair was unbelievable. As he returned to move the man back onto the bed, Noelle was suddenly engulfed by an overwhelming scent—sandalwood, fresh alpine air, and something subtly sweet, like the distant memory of comfort and home.

The smell was familiar, calming. It reminded him of his childhood, sitting in a tree near the cliffside in his village, feeling the cool breeze and the scent of the woods. His mother had always told him that an alpha's pheromones were just that—until you found your alpha. Then, they smelled like home.

"What are the odds?" Noelle thought, a small, bitter laugh escaping him as he looked at the pitiful form on the bed. Despite everything, he felt a flicker of hope. This was his alpha. And somehow, against all odds, this broken man smelled like home.

Noelle quickly grabbed a cloth, dampened it with water from a small basin, and carefully pressed it against the man's dry, cracked lips. The sight of his husband in such a fragile state made his heart ache. Determined, Noelle gently wiped the cloth over the man's parched skin, hoping to bring some relief to the frail body before him.

The room was still cold, a chill hanging in the air that seemed to seep into his bones. Noelle glanced around and noticed a small pile of firewood in the kitchen. With swift movements, he gathered some logs and arranged them in the fireplace, striking a match and igniting the wood. As the fire crackled to life, a warm, golden glow began to spread through the room, chasing away the cold.

The house visibly warmed up, the once icy air gradually replaced with comforting heat. Noelle felt a sense of accomplishment as he watched the flames dance in the hearth. The small, dilapidated house might have been neglected for months, but it was slowly coming back to life—just like the man he now called his husband.