Chapter 9: Blindfolded Trust
The bell’s shrill ring echoed through the shared studies classroom, a jarring end to the focused quiet. Addie flinched, her pencil skittering across the page. Beside her, Atlas gently rested a large hand over hers, stilling the tremor. "Easy, little dove," he murmured, his deep voice a calming rumble beneath the sudden chatter filling the room. "Time for lunch."
Kim offered a final, crisp nod. "Reflect on today’s trust exercises, everyone. Your bonds are the foundation." Her gaze swept the room, lingering for a fraction of a second on Addie, who quickly looked down, gathering her notebook with slightly trembling fingers. The lessons on vulnerability and relying on her caregiver still felt like uncharted, slightly terrifying territory.
Atlas stood, his height immediately commanding the space around their shared desk. He effortlessly took Addie’s bag, slinging it over his broad shoulder with his own. "Hungry?" he asked, offering his arm. The simple gesture, so natural for him it seemed, sent a warm flutter through Addie’s chest. She slipped her small hand into the crook of his elbow, grounding herself against his solid presence as they navigated the flow of departing students – caregivers guiding littles, handlers walking beside pets on leashes, a Mistress giving quiet instructions to her slave. The controlled chaos of the transition was becoming familiar.
The dining hall was a wall of sound and smell – clattering trays, overlapping conversations, the warm, comforting scent of roasted vegetables and baked bread. Their group’s usual table was already a vibrant hub. Cammy, her short red hair a vibrant splash against the institutional walls, waved enthusiastically, mouthing “Over here!” around a bite of sandwich. Jasper was already attempting to balance a spoon on his nose while his caregiver, Cora, watched with affectionate amusement, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Silas and Finn had claimed one end; Silas was feeding Finn bites of apple slices, the puppy-sub eagerly catching them, tail (or rather, the enthusiastic wiggling that served in lieu of one) practically vibrating. Owen’s usual spot sat empty, a subtle reminder of his absence.
"Saved you seats!" Cammy announced brightly as Atlas guided Addie to the bench. Addie sank down gratefully beside her friend, the noise of the hall softening slightly within their little bubble.
"Thanks, Cammy," Atlas said, easing down beside Addie. His proximity was a warm buffer against the world. "Managed to keep Jasper from turning his mashed potatoes into abstract art this time?"
"Hey!" Jasper protested, the spoon clattering to his tray. "That was modern expressionism, Atlas. You wouldn’t understand." Cora chuckled, squeezing his shoulder gently.
Addie picked at her chicken and rice, her appetite still a fluttering thing. She felt Atlas’s gaze and glanced up. He didn’t push, just nudged her pink water bottle closer. "Sip," he suggested quietly. She obeyed, the cool liquid helping.
"How was shared studies, Addie?" Cora asked kindly. “Kim can be intense."
"It was... okay," Addie murmured, tracing a pattern on the table with her fingertip. "Lots of talking about... trust." She risked a glance at Atlas. "Atlas was patient."
"He better be," Silas chimed in, ruffling Finn’s hair. Finn leaned into the touch, making a happy, grumbling sound. "Us Doms gotta earn it, right, pup?" Finn nodded vigorously, nuzzling Silas’s hand.
Cammy bumped Addie’s shoulder lightly. "Owen video-called me earlier. He says hi and misses everyone. Especially me, obviously." She grinned, but Addie saw the faint wistfulness in her green eyes. "Said he saw some cool toy stores he wants to raid when he gets back."
Kaelan, who had been sitting slightly apart, nursing a black coffee and scrolling his phone, looked up at Cammy’s words. His sharp, dark eyes flickered over the group, lingering for a moment on Addie. She felt the scrutiny like a physical touch and instinctively pressed closer to Atlas’s side. A flash of something unreadable crossed Kaelan’s stern features before he looked back at his phone.
The lunchtime conversation flowed around Addie – Silas recounting Finn’s enthusiastic but clumsy attempt at agility practice, Jasper plotting a harmless prank on one of the stricter dorm monitors, Cora sharing a funny story from her work-study. Atlas participated easily, his arm resting casually along the back of the bench behind Addie, his thumb occasionally brushing a stray strand of her blonde hair. He felt solid. Calm. A harbor in the noisy sea.
As trays started to empty, Atlas leaned down, his breath warm near Addie’s ear. "Alright, little dove. Lunch is winding down. Time for your quiet time." His voice was low, just for her.
Addie nodded. The thought of a quiet space, away from the overstimulation of the hall, was suddenly deeply appealing. "Okay."
Atlas squeezed Addie’s hand lightly before standing. "Cammy," he called softly across the table, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Nap time." Cammy groaned dramatically, flopping her head onto Cora’s shoulder. "Five more minutes?" she pleaded, batting her emerald eyes.
"Not a chance, trouble," Atlas chuckled, already gathering Cammy’s things. "You know the drill. Up you get." He offered Cammy his free hand while keeping Addie tucked securely against his side with the other. Jasper blew Cammy a raspberry. "Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite!"
"Jasper!" Cora admonished gently, though her eyes sparkled. Silas snorted, feeding Finn another apple slice. "Ignore him, Cammy. Dream of chasing squirrels." Finn yipped happily at the suggestion. Kaelan watched them leave, his dark gaze lingering on Addie’s retreating back before returning to his phone.
The hallway felt cooler, quieter after the dining hall’s clamor. Cammy skipped ahead slightly, her energy dipping as they neared the residential wing. "Owen better bring me something awesome," she mumbled, stifling a yawn. "Something sparkly."
"He will," Atlas assured her, his deep voice echoing softly off the polished floors. Addie stayed silent, absorbing the shift in atmosphere, the scent of lemon polish replacing food smells. Her small fingers tightened slightly on Atlas’s arm. The walk felt longer today, anticipation humming beneath her skin.
Reaching the girls' shared dorm room, Atlas released Addie’s hand. "Wait here just a sec, Addie," he murmured, unlocking Cammy and Addie’s door with a key from his pocket. Cammy shuffled inside, kicking off her shoes. "Night, Addie," she mumbled, already heading for her bed piled high with plushies.
Atlas followed Cammy in. Addie hovered in the doorway, catching glimpses of the cozy chaos of their room– colorful artwork, Owen’s hoodie draped over Cammy’s desk chair. Atlas’s low rumble was indistinct, a comforting sound as he helped Cammy settle. Addie heard the soft thump of a favorite stuffed animal being arranged, the gentle creak of bedsprings.
"Water bottle?" Atlas asked softly inside the room. A sleepy grunt answered him. A tap ran briefly. "Alright, trouble. Lights out." The room dimmed, leaving only the soft glow of Cammy’s nightlight owl visible from the doorway. Atlas reappeared, pulling the door almost closed. "Out like a light already," he whispered to Addie, a fond smile touching his lips. "Come on."
He guided Addie a few steps down the hall to his own adjoining room. The key turned smoothly in the lock. His room was different – neater, dominated by a large oak desk stacked with files and a sleek laptop. Dark blue bedding, a sturdy leather armchair, shelves lined with business texts and a few framed photos. It smelled faintly of cedar and Atlas’s clean, masculine soap.
"Make yourself comfortable, little dove," Atlas said, gesturing towards the plush armchair. He pulled a soft, knitted grey blanket from a basket nearby and draped it over the chair’s arm. "I need to tackle these reports for Dad." He tapped a thick folder on the desk. "Quiet time for you. Coloring? Your book?"
Addie nodded, clutching her small bag containing her sketchpad and pencils. "Coloring, please." The armchair swallowed her petite frame as she sank into it, pulling the blanket onto her lap. Its softness was comforting. Atlas switched on a focused desk lamp, casting a warm pool of light over his work area, leaving the rest of the room in soft shadow.
He settled into his desk chair, its leather sighing softly. The sharp click of his laptop powering on was loud in the sudden quiet. Addie pulled out her sketchpad, selecting a deep blue pencil. The silence wasn't empty; it was filled with the soft scratch of her pencil, the rhythmic tap of Atlas’s fingers on the keyboard, the occasional rustle of paper as he turned a page in a file.
She stole glances at him. His brow was furrowed slightly in concentration, hazel eyes scanning lines of text, the stern planes of his face illuminated by the screen’s glow. Yet, when he caught her looking, his expression softened instantly. "Alright there?" he murmured, not looking away from his screen but clearly attuned to her.
"Yes," Addie whispered, quickly looking back at her drawing – a simple star pattern. "Just... quiet." It felt strangely peaceful, this shared solitude. Safe. She relaxed deeper into the chair, the blanket warm around her shoulders. The tension from the dining hall, the lingering unease from Kaelan’s watchful gaze, began to melt away.
Atlas worked steadily, occasionally jotting notes on a legal pad. The silence stretched, comfortable and thick. Addie’s coloring became slower, more deliberate, her eyelids feeling heavy. The rhythmic tapping of keys was almost hypnotic. She focused on the strong line of Atlas’s jaw, the way his dark hair fell slightly over his forehead as he leaned forward.
"Owen calls Cammy every day?" she asked softly, breaking the quiet without meaning to. Her voice sounded small in the room.
Atlas paused his typing, turning slightly towards her. A genuine smile warmed his face. "Religiously. Drives him nuts when the time zones mess it up." He chuckled softly. "Misses her like crazy. Drills me for details about her day." He glanced at his phone, face down beside the keyboard. "Should be calling her again soon, actually."
Addie nodded, a small smile touching her lips. "That’s nice." She imagined Owen’s playful grin on a video call. The thought was comforting. She picked up a yellow pencil, adding tiny points of light to her stars. Atlas watched her for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the delicate concentration on her face, before turning back to his screen with a soft sigh.
The rhythmic tap of Atlas’s keyboard became the steady heartbeat of the room. Addie’s pencil drifted across the page, filling a star shape with soft violet, her breathing evening out into a calm rhythm. Outside, distant shouts from the athletics field drifted in, muffled by thick glass. Atlas frowned at a column of figures, rubbed his temples, then typed a decisive final sentence. He saved the document with a sharp click.
Silence bloomed, deeper now without the keyboard’s rhythm. Addie looked up, her star only half-colored. Atlas pushed his chair back, stretching his arms overhead, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut across his shoulders. He glanced at the sleek clock on his desk. "Hmm. Still about twenty minutes before quiet time officially ends." His gaze settled on her, warm and considering. "Work’s done. How about we ditch the quiet and just… talk? Get to know each other a bit better?"
A flicker of surprise, then warmth, spread through Addie’s chest, loosening the knot of quiet-time tension. She set her pencil down carefully on the sketchpad. "I’d like that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper but clear. "Talking sounds nice."
Atlas moved from the stiff desk chair to the armchair opposite hers, sinking onto the thick rug beside her instead. He leaned his back against the chair’s leg, bringing them almost level. The proximity wasn't demanding; it felt companionable, a shared secret space on the floor. "Okay," he smiled, his hazel eyes catching the lamplight. "How about a game? We take turns asking each other a question. We both answer. Twenty questions?"
Addie nodded, pulling the soft grey blanket tighter around her shoulders like a shield. "Okay." She paused, thinking. "Who starts?"
"You found us the spot," Atlas said gently, gesturing around his room. "You ask the first one."
"Okay…" Addie chewed her lip. "What's… what's your favorite color?" A safe start, easy.
Atlas chuckled softly, a low rumble. "Simple. Good. Deep forest green." He tilted his head. "Like the pines behind my parents' cabin. Yours?" He mirrored her question back, as promised.
"Periwinkle," she answered immediately, a shy smile touching her lips. "Like the sky just before the sun fully sets." She looked down at her half-finished violet star, then back at him. "Your turn?"
"Alright," Atlas leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Favorite thing to eat? Mine’s my grandmother's beef stew. Thick, hearty, perfect after a cold day outside." He raised an eyebrow expectantly.
"Strawberry shortcake," Addie breathed, her eyes brightening. "With real whipped cream and fresh strawberries." She pictured the messy sweetness. "With my dad. He always made it for my birthday." A shadow flickered across her face, quickly masked. "Now me… What… what scares you?"
Atlas’s expression sobered. He didn’t look away. "Failure," he said quietly, the word carrying weight. "Failing the people who depend on me. Especially you, Addie." The honesty was stark, disarming. He took a breath. "And you? What scares you?"
The question hung in the cedar-scented air. Addie looked down at her hands twisting in the blanket. "Disappointing people," she whispered. "Not being… enough. Like my mom thinks." The admission felt raw, leaving her throat tight. She hurried on, needing to shift focus. "Your turn."
He understood. "Okay. What makes you laugh? Truly laugh?" A softer question now.
"Cammy," Addie answered instantly, a genuine, small laugh escaping her. "When she tries to mimic Ms. Kim's stern face. And Jasper’s ridiculous jokes. Even if they’re terrible." She thought of Finn’s playful tackle-hugs. "The whole group, sometimes." She found her courage. "What makes you laugh?"
Atlas grinned, his boyish smile transforming his face. "Owen’s terrible impressions. Cammy’s outrage when anyone touches her sparkly pens. Watching Finn try to ‘help’ Silas with anything technical. Pure chaos." He shook his head fondly. "Okay. Your question."
Addie thought of Kaelan’s intense, unreadable gaze during lunch. She hesitated. Too soon? Instead, she asked, "What do you do when you're alone? To relax?" She imagined him reading dense business texts.
Atlas surprised her. "I build model ships," he admitted, looking slightly sheepish. "Tiny ones. All wood and string. It’s… quiet. Focused." He gestured vaguely towards a high shelf where the intricate hull of a small schooner was just visible. "Your turn. Same question."
Addie tucked her feet under her. "I draw," she said softly. "Or read old fairy tales. The ones with happy endings." She didn’t mention the comfort of predictable stories where good prevailed. "Now you… What’s something you’re proud of?"
Atlas considered. "Building my own business consultancy from scratch while finishing my degree," he stated, a quiet pride in his voice. "Tough, but worth it." He paused. "And… waiting. For the right little." His gaze held hers, warm and steady. "What about you? Something you’re proud of?"
Her pale blue eyes widened slightly. No one had asked her that in a long time. "Getting into the Artisan Program here," she murmured. "My portfolio. Even… even though Mom thought it was a waste." The defiance felt fragile. "I worked really hard."
"You did," Atlas affirmed softly. There was no pity, only acknowledgment. The clock on the desk ticked, marking the dwindling quiet time. A comfortable lull settled. Addie traced the weave of the blanket. The earlier fear, the raw honesty, had settled into a fragile warmth.
Atlas stretched his long legs out on the rug. "Alright, dove. My question: What’s one thing you secretly wish for? Doesn’t have to be big."
Addie hesitated, the word security burning on her tongue. But she deflected slightly. "To feel… truly settled. Like I belong right where I am." She looked at him, the lamplight catching the gold in his hazel eyes. "Your secret wish?"
He didn't hesitate. "To see you smile without that little shadow behind your eyes," he said, his voice low and rough with sincerity. "Just pure, easy happiness." Her breath hitched. He reached over, not touching her, just resting his hand palm-up on the rug between them, an open invitation, not a demand. "Your question. Last one for now?"
Addie pulled the grey blanket tighter, the soft yarn scratching faintly against her chin. The lamplight haloed Atlas’s dark hair, etching the strong line of his jaw in warm gold and deep shadow. His palm remained open on the rug between them, waiting.
"Last question," she repeated, her voice barely disturbing the cedar-scented quiet. She met his steady gaze, the vulnerability from earlier coiling tight in her chest again. "Atlas..." She swallowed. "Did you really want this? To be a Daddy? Or... or was it just what happened?"
The question hung, sharp and sudden. Atlas didn't flinch, but the easy relaxation bled from his posture. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his large hand closing slowly, then reopening. His hazel eyes, usually warm honey, held a complex storm. "Yeah, Addie," he said, his voice lower, rougher. "I wanted it. More than anything." He looked past her, towards the model ship on the shelf. "Chose it."
He dragged a hand through his hair. "My Dad? He's a Handler. Got Finn’s cousin, actually. All about precision, commands, clear tasks. My uncle? A Master. Strict protocols, high discipline." A muscle ticked in his jaw. "They think... they think this," he gestured between them, encompassing the quiet room, the blanket, the unspoken care, "is weak. Soft. That I'll end up with some brat who walks all over me because I don't crack a whip or issue orders like drill commands." His laugh was short, humorless. "They think empathy is indulgence. Patience is a flaw."
He looked back at her, intensity burning past the calm. "But they're wrong. Dead wrong. Dominance isn't just about being ruthless or merciless. It's strength, Addie. The strength to hold space. To protect. To be patient when it’s hard. To nurture." His gaze fixed on hers, unwavering. "To see the person, not just the role. That’s the kind of strength I believe in. The kind I choose to use. That’s why I waited. Why I’m glad I was paired with you."
Addie felt the words sink in, heavy and real, chipping away at the image she'd built of his effortless certainty. It wasn't effortless. He'd fought for this path too. The silence stretched, thick with his confession.
"Your turn," Atlas murmured, his voice gentler now, the intensity banked but still glowing in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly. "Did you... expect this? Being a little?"
Addie flinched, pulling the blanket up almost to her nose. She stared at the intricate pattern of the rug, the blues and greys blurring. "No," she whispered, the word escaping like a breath held too long. "Never." She forced her gaze up, meeting his, needing him to understand the depth of her dislocation. "I knew I was submissive. Always. But... I thought I'd be a slave. Maybe a pet. That’s... that’s what I was made for."
Her knuckles were white where she gripped the blanket. "My mother... she conditioned me for it. Trained me. Like... like preparing a tool for a specific job. Obedience drills. Protocols. Endurance. How to take... correction." The words tasted like ash. "Being a little? It wasn't on the list. Wasn't even a consideration." A shaky breath. "I knew she’d be disappointed when I told her. Knew it." She swallowed hard, the memory a fresh bruise. "And she was. Called me a... a disappointment. Said I was weak. Soft. That I’d failed."
Her voice fractured. "And sometimes... sometimes I think she's right. What if something is wrong with me? What if... what if I’m just broken?" Tears welled, hot and shameful, spilling over. She couldn't look at him. "What if I can’t do this? Can’t be the little you wanted? Can’t be... enough? Without disappointing you too?" The fear poured out, raw and jagged, the weight of her mother’s judgment crashing down in the quiet room.
The silence this time was charged, aching. Then, movement. Not towards her, but a shift in the air. Atlas unfolded himself from his spot on the rug. In one fluid motion, he rose to his knees, then settled directly in front of her chair, his height bringing them almost eye-to-eye even with her curled up. He didn't touch her yet, just filled her vision, a solid wall of calm presence.
"Addie." His voice was bedrock. Unshakable. "Look at me." It wasn't a command, but an anchor thrown.
She dragged her gaze up, tears streaking her cheeks, expecting judgment, seeing only fierce, unwavering warmth.
"You listen to me," he said, each word deliberate, landing with the weight of a vow. "You could never disappoint me. Not by being who you are. Not by feeling what you feel." He reached out slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, and carefully brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. The touch was feather-light, grounding. "There is no 'right' way to be a little. No script. No checklist you have to pass."
His hazel eyes held hers, fierce with conviction. "You are not broken. You are Addie. Sweet. Nervous. Craving safety, just like you told me." His thumb brushed her cheekbone again. "You draw periwinkle skies. You laugh at Cammy’s faces. You asked me what scares me." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "That’s my little. That’s exactly who I want. Who I chose."
He let his hand cup her cheek, warm and sure. "Your mother was wrong, Addie. Dead wrong. Her disappointment says everything about her failures, not yours." His voice softened, wrapping around her like the blanket. "Being here, trying, trusting me even a little bit? That’s courage. That’s strength. Your strength. Not weakness. Never weakness."
Addie stared at him, his words echoing in the hollow places carved by her mother’s voice. The tears still fell, but the torrent slowed. The crushing weight... shifted. Not gone, but shared. Borne by the certainty radiating from the man kneeling before her. The open palm still rested on the rug beside her chair. Slowly, hesitantly, she uncurled one hand from the death-grip on the blanket. Her fingers, trembling slightly, stretched out across the small space. The rough warmth of his calloused palm met her cold fingertips. He didn't grab, just turned his hand, letting her small one settle into it. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, a silent promise written in touch. She took a shuddering breath, the first full one in minutes, the cedar and soap scent of him a lifeline. The clock ticked, marking the end of quiet time, but the real conversation, the unmasking, felt like it had only just begun. His thumb moved again, a slow, grounding stroke across her skin. She looked down at their joined hands, her pale fingers dwarfed by his, yet held with infinite care. A fragile understanding, bright and terrifying as the half-drawn stars on her abandoned sketchpad, began to bloom in the quiet space between them.