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It’s been years since he’s been able to be anywhere near a fireplace without a cold sweat breaking out all over his skin, without the smell of ashes and betrayal clogging up his throat and making it hard to breathe.
He thinks it’s because he’s got so many other smells, so many other things that capture his attention, that fill his heart that he doesn’t really have time to give into the old fear and panic.
It’s still a bit thrilling to be honest, this feeling that he’s not sure he deserves on the bad days, that he’s just thankful for on the good ones and he tries not to let on how overwhelmed he is by all of it.
There is a head on his chest, brown hair twined with caramel as the pair use him as a pillow, soft voices conversing about nothing and everything as they watch over the flame in the fireplace, one with a poker on hand, the other a pail of water.
Shifting his numb leg slightly so he can get a bit of blood flow going, he makes sure he doesn’t disturb the owner of the strawberry blond curls that flow over his knee; even after all these years, her temper is something to avoid…
But he doesn’t need to worry, because a hand attached to an arm with a dual band on it reaches up and gives those curls a light tug, distracting their owner long enough that he can stretch out his leg into a more comfortable position before they go back to resting on him, her head in the bend of his knees, his alpha’s hand resting on his ankle.
There are another pair of bodies behind him, steadying him, letting him know that there are others watching over everyone and that they’re all safe.
Gentle hands on his side and shoulder that say they understand, even now, his need to double check and make sure that everyone is there.
Finally closing his eyes, he listens to the crackle of the wood burning and hears, for the first time in an age, the sound of home.