The first thing Jason noticed when he stepped into the apartment wasn’t the smell of sugar or butter.

It was the silence.

That alone set his hackles—black wolf ears tipped in white—on edge. They twitched atop his head as his long tail flicked behind him, brushing the doorframe while he kicked his boots off. Silence in an apartment shared with two Alphas never meant peace.

Then—

“Chocolate chip is safe,” you snapped from the kitchen. “Reliable. You don’t experiment when someone’s had a shit day.”

Roy’s reply came instantly, smug and loud. “Safe is boring. Peanut butter has depth. Personality. Jason deserves better than bland.”

Jason froze.

“…Why do I hear my name,” he called, voice tired, tail stilled mid-sway.

The argument stopped dead. A beat. Then chaos.

“Shit,” Roy muttered.

You appeared in the doorway first, soft ears flattened back in frustration, tail stiff behind you. Roy followed, ginger wolf-like ears perked like he wasn’t ashamed at all, his long, fluffy tail swishing lazily.

Jason took you both in—flour on your clothes, bowls abandoned, tension crackling between two Alphas who never knew when to quit. He sighed, rubbing his face.

“You’re fighting over cookies,” he said flatly.

“They were supposed to be a surprise,” you groaned.

Roy grinned. “Still can be. Surprise: we care.”

Jason snorted despite himself. The weight of the night—the missed leads, the vigilante who vanished like smoke, the familiar ache of coming back alive when he wasn’t supposed to—eased just a fraction.

He leaned against the counter, tail curling loosely around his ankle. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“We wanted to,” you said immediately, tone softer now. You always did that—burn hot, then turn gentle when you looked at him. Both of you did. Alphas by birth, by instinct, but it was Jason, Beta after death, who anchored the pack.

Roy scratched the back of his neck. “Figured you could use something warm. Something… home.”

Jason’s ears flicked. He reached out, tugging Roy’s sleeve, then yours, pulling you both closer until the familiar press of bodies settled his nerves. Two Alphas seeking solace in him, like always. Like it made sense.

“It doesn’t matter what flavor,” Jason said quietly. “Really.”

Roy opened his mouth. You cut in. “Split the batch.”

Roy blinked, then laughed. “Fine. Half peanut butter, half chocolate chip.”

Jason smirked. “Compromise. Look at that.”

The tension broke. You went back to the kitchen together, bumping hips, muttering about oven temps and who was measuring wrong. Jason watched, tail swaying slow and content.

His pack didn’t fit what the world expected. Alphas who argued over cookies. A Beta who held them together.

None of that mattered.

When the cookies came out—imperfect, warm, smelling like comfort—Jason took one of each.

They watched him anxiously.

All that mattered now was if Jason actually liked the cookies (and whose was better).