Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The city was dark, and although fear settled like a second skin over Neil, he forced himself to keep going. He wasn't going to let it delay another day.

A cold gust of wind whipped through his hair, chilled his cheeks, and made him shove his hands in his pockets. Winter had only started a week ago, and he didn't feel ready to say goodbye to the pleasant autumn weather.

He paused briefly at a traffic light to let the cars pass and adjusted the large hood that hid his face with a little more force than necessary. When the light changed, he crossed and continued walking. It was past midnight, and the only people on the street were a few young people in somewhat tight clothing, so there was no palpable threat. It was better than having gone during the day.

His stomach growled when he spotted the familiar gas station in the distance.

He hurried even faster, and saliva trickled from his mouth. For the past two days, he'd only been eating a can of legumes he'd bought in this very place the previous week. When hunger started bothering him more than usual, he forced himself to go out and buy more. And here he was.

Before stepping through the glass door, he spotted a car next to one of the gas tanks. He recognized a man in the passenger seat, and outside the car, with the door open, was another man with dark skin making movements that betrayed him as he tried to stretch his legs while saying something to someone in the back.

The store's bright white light always managed to blind him, no matter how much he tried to prepare himself. He grabbed a garish red basket and headed to the canned goods section. He took several cans, the ones he liked best. He opted for the cheapest ones and then went for the bottled water. He walked through the aisles, taking only what he absolutely needed. With luck, if he ate enough, he wouldn't have to leave the house again for the next few weeks.

He made a move to go to the checkout, but as always, he spotted the tobacco section. He stopped, swaying slightly, unsure what to do, but he mustered his courage and went towards it. Like magnets, his eyes spotted his mother's familiar brand. He knew that taking it would only hurt him more. However, the house wasn't a home; there were new smells, new structures, clean sheets, and padded beds with no weapons under the pillows. Neil felt like a deer in headlights and didn't know which way to turn.

He needed something familiar with the same urgency as breathing. Something he recognized. He longed for it, longed for it, longed for it.

"Are you going to take it or keep staring at it in fear?"

He jumped, taking a step back. He hadn't even noticed the other presence beside him and wondered how stupid he'd become. Ever since the FBI had tried to counteract the suppressant his mother had injected him with, Neil felt like he'd been reborn and was learning to walk again. He didn't understand anything. His senses hadn't sharpened as he'd been warned, nor had he felt the need to build a nest, nor had he experienced the supposed sensations of foreplay. The only thing that had changed was that his skin felt tighter, almost as if he were being reprimanded. Perhaps a lack of common sense was normal for omegas; after all, his mother had told him so more than once.

"So?" the stranger insisted.

He wasn't tall, perhaps about Neil's height. His hair was blond and messy, shorter on the sides. He was dressed all in black and bundled up in a thick jacket that practically swallowed him whole. It was almost comical, if not for his expression. When he thought he'd seen everything, Neil mustered the courage to look him in the eyes and sat down. There was calm, firmness, and a myriad of other things. They were like a hazelnut covered in honey with green undertones, seeming to gleam against his somber face and harsh features.

“What?” he blinked, unsure what to do. It had been over two months since anyone had spoken to him, since anyone had approached him. It had been over two weeks since he had heard his own voice. Accustomed to going unnoticed, he felt the urge to run. So he made a move to leave.

“And the tobacco?” he interrupted.

“No, thank you,” he stammered, turning away. He went to the checkout machine, and the man who served him slowly scanned his items.

This time, he noticed the man behind him, and Neil tensed. Was he being followed? A man from his father's side? The FBI had promised him that there was no one left of the Wesninski empire alive beyond his mother and himself, yet Neil could doubt it.

When he finally paid, I'd be lying if I said he didn't practically run for the exit. A few blocks later, when the gas station was barely a blur, Neil felt his chest quicken, his cheeks burn with exertion, and his eyes well up with tears.

He squatted on the asphalt, clutching the bag, his hood pulling his face even lower, and gasped for air, desperately searching for the breath he'd unconsciously deprived himself of.

He arrived home with a dragging gait, any trace of strength completely gone. He turned the key in the lock, leaned his shoulder against the door, and pushed twice before it gave way and opened with a hoarse, almost painful click. He left his things on the dining room table and grabbed a random can, opening it and pouring the contents onto a plate before putting it in the microwave.

He waited, standing, watching the numbers dwindle with each passing second, and then the sound momentarily broke the silence. It smelled good, a little plasticky, but it tasted good.

The apartment the FBI had temporarily given him was the size of a shoebox. Small and cramped. The only reliable thing about the place was that few people frequented it; the only remotely threatening thing was the cat that occasionally roamed the street and, if you got close enough, wouldn't hesitate to swipe at you. However, the boiler frequently broke down, the upstairs neighbors groaned loudly, and the elderly gentleman cursed at everyone who passed by. Nothing out of the ordinary. To tell the truth, during his time on the run, he'd lived in worse and less warm places. Here, at least, there was a bed against the wall, a duvet, and fairly reliable electricity.

He spent the next few days at home. He woke up in the middle of the night with a nightmare that was nothing more than a handful of memories, showered, washing away any trace of sweat, and had a simple black coffee for breakfast. And he studied. He was getting his GED, and there was a certain excitement in it. Something he would achieve on his own. Then, if he was hungry, he ate, and after working up his courage, he went downstairs and waited for the soft meow before leaving a small portion of his food on the floor, next to a capful of water.

He tried to see if this time the cat would let him pet it, but when it showed its claws, it gently backed away with a murmur that sounded almost apologetic and went back upstairs.

The days dragged on, boring but familiar. Until the following Friday. He went to get one of his patches, but the container was empty, except for one that looked at him mockingly with a soft, sweet pattern of bubbles.

He looked at it with a hint of betrayal.

To be honest, Neil had gone through puberty while on the run, so the patches were something he should have been able to do without at almost 19 years old, yet here he was. His omega didn't produce pheromones on his own yet; in fact, he doubted that would ever happen. But according to the FBI, it could manifest again at any moment, which would result in a possible pheromone shower. He wasn't sure what they meant, but it didn't sound good. He didn't want to take any chances. Anyway, the lack of patches tugged at his skin the same way Mary's fingers had tugged at his hair. Neither was pleasant.

He had a bad tendency to get used to things easily, and when his mother made him wear patches shortly after his manifestation, they had become as familiar as getting dressed.

He took the last one and placed it on his stomach so it would be completely inconspicuous, ignoring the redness in the area.

He threw on a sweatshirt and some random pants. He grabbed the jacket from the other day and left the house with a handful of coins.

The route was familiar and somewhat more pleasant. It was dark, as it always was when he deigned to leave the apartment. The gas station illuminated the street in front, and the practically empty place relaxed the shoulders he hadn't realized were tense.

The doorbell rang as usual, and he didn't take a shopping cart like last time. He wandered through the aisles, checking the shelves. He used to buy the patches at a pharmacy around the corner, but it had closed two weeks ago.

His eyes drifted to a bag of tangerines and glanced at the box before returning to the fruit. He hadn't known gas stations sold fruit. He picked up the bag and kept walking until he recognized the aisle with a somewhat more clinical atmosphere.

He looked up and checked. There were several brands, and he couldn't help but grimace when he realized it was a bit more expensive than at the pharmacy. He took her usual ones, square ones with random patterns on them, and held them in his free hand. He walked down the aisle and, feeling a newfound willpower, without thinking much about it, stopped at the cigarette shelf and took his mother's usual brand.

"Is that your choice?"

He glanced behind him. The same man who had looked back at him before. This time, his hair was tucked under a wool hat. His hands were hidden in the pockets of his dark, wide-legged jeans, clean and crisp.

"Yes," he dared to reply. He waited for a reaction. He didn't really know his designation, and Neil's experiences had taught him that Alphas hurt, Betas were traitors, and he'd never been close enough to an Omega to say much.

He didn't answer, but Neil could see the flicker of emotion in his face. The man walked around him and took a pack of Marlboros.

"Let me show you what a good cigar is." He went to the register without waiting for him and paid. Neil also went to the register and paid for his things, ignoring the raised eyebrow the man had taken as he scanned the patches. He stuffed the box in his pocket and decided to forgo a bag, opting instead to use the package of tangerines as a shield and, if necessary, missiles.

The man stood with his back to the gas station wall. His cigarette rested lazily between his fingers as he exhaled the smoke upwards, tilting his chin, his Adam's apple gleaming in the light.

He glanced at his own pack of cigarettes and belatedly remembered he didn't have a lighter.

"Can I borrow your lighter?" he asked, moving a little closer.

"Not to smoke that shit." He inhaled and turned to face him.

Neil needed to know why his eyes were warming his chest. He felt hot. He didn't allow himself to relax, but decided to think he wasn't a threat.

"So…"

"Here." He offered him one of his cigarettes, and Neil took it, careful not to touch it with his fingers. I glanced around and spotted the same car that had been there the previous week, the only difference being that this time, it was empty. The lights were off.

“What’s your name?” Neil asked as the man dropped the lighter into his free hand. He twisted it between his nimble fingers and, with a click, moved the flame away from the lighter and lit the cigarette. Once it was lit, he blew it out and, bringing the cigarette to his lips, inhaled.

It wasn’t like his mother’s. This one was rougher, more pungent. It relaxed him almost instantly. He looked at the lighter one last time, and a fleeting flash from the dashboard lighter brushed against his cheek, sweeping down his spine. He blinked at the man.

“What’s your name?” he repeated more clearly.

“Andrés.” He inhaled and exhaled. “And you?”

“Neil.”

“There’s no light like a Neil.”

He opened his lips like a fish out of water, not really knowing what to say. Maybe he wasn't Neil. Every trace of the names, dyes, and contact lenses he'd worn in previous years had vanished. Neil was as real as could be. Brown, almost reddish hair and blue eyes. Scarred skin and dark eyes. He was the most real thing he had to offer, and his name, which still sounded foreign even to his own lips, was the most precious thing he possessed. An identity.

“I am,” he forced himself to say.

“Are you telling me or are you just imagining things?”

There was no reply. He didn't know why Andrew was asking him things like that either. Was he that easy to read? His mother would have beaten him senseless if she were still around. Luckily or unluckily for him, she was rotting away in a California prison. He had to talk to the FBI to find out when he'd have a chance to visit her.

They remained silent. Sooner rather than later, Neil's cigarette ended and he crushed it against the ground, watching the ash draw a misshapen circle on the asphalt.

“Thanks,” Neil said.

“Thanks by throwing that shit away, Neil.” His name sounded like a taunt, yet Andrew's face remained completely cold. To the right. “If you're going to smoke, smoke something decent.”

Then he saw a flash move, and the pack of Marlboros fell onto the bag of tangerines. So calculated that he wondered if Andrew played any sport that required precision.

Neil walked and walked through the suburbs. When he reached his street, he stopped for a second. He saw the black cat huddled but alert against some trash. He sighed and walked more slowly, trying not to scare the creature. A few steps from his house, hesitantly, he juggled the pack of cigarettes his mother used to smoke and threw it into the bin; it fell with a soft thud.

He went upstairs, ignoring the loud music from the upstairs neighbors, opened the door after those two shoves, and locked it with the key in the lock. He opened a can and put it on a plate before heating it up. He watched the minutes tick by and ate it with a spoon, ignoring how hot it was in his mouth. He showered and put on his usual pajamas. He lay down on his bed, and just as he was about to fall asleep, he looked at the pack of Marlboros tangled in his fingers.

A month later, she found herself in the same routine, the only difference being a burning anxiety in her chest. Hot and thick. Something was about to explode. She left the house wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt and jeans she'd bought two days earlier at a flea market. They were wide and long; she had to fold the hems twice, otherwise they dragged on the ground. There was a hole near one of the loops, but it wasn't visible and wasn't wide enough to repair.

He went into the gas station and scanned the store from top to bottom. There wasn't really anything she needed, since he'd stocked his cupboards the week before, yet he wanted something. He checked each item, but nothing appealed to his. Frustration mounted. He grabbed some cookies and put them down, eyed the orange toothbrush as if it were an enemy, then picked up a bag of chips but put it down again. Soon after, he was torn between a loaf of soft bread and one that looked harder. He didn't even eat bread; after all, what was he going to give it? Lentils?

“Have you decided?”

This time he wasn’t startled. In fact, his body shifted to the side as if he’d been expecting it.

“Why are there so many?” He glanced back at the shelf, which was now filled with many more brands and shapes of panels.

“Why not?”

“That’s not an answer.” He almost growled and put the packages down. Then he picked up a smaller one, more rounded in shape. He examined it and put it down.

“Are you planning to buy something?”

I didn’t know. I didn’t even know what I was doing here. I just needed to do something.

“Are you going to buy something?” I asked instead.

Something flashed in the man’s eyes before he turned around and carried his basket of goods. Neil couldn’t help but grimace as he watched him pile up more and more candy until it was basically an unhealthy heap. Then he went to the tobacco section and got two packs.

“Do you live on candy?” he asked me once Andrew had paid.

“The problem?” he grumbled, pulling out a package of chocolate muffins with cocoa cream. That wasn't healthy. He didn't point at them.

“Does he always answer everything with a question?” he muttered irritably. His legs bounced when he sat down on the asphalt. The car was empty again, and he wondered if those people he'd seen were friends, family, or his pack.

“Want some?” he offered him the bag.

He looked at him doubtfully, but Neil opened the bag and took out some small, credit card-sized rolls filled with cream. He took a bite. The sweet treat exploded in his mouth, and even though he knew it wasn't that bad, he couldn't help but grimace.

The corner of Andrew's mouth twitched, but he didn't say anything.

“What are you doing here?”

Neil looked down at his feet, his sneakers riddled with holes. The other day, a gentle-looking woman had jokingly but affectionately mentioned that his shoes were hungry. He spent the next few days wondering why, then he noticed that the sole had come loose from the fabric and it looked like a mouth. He found it funny.

He blinked at Andrew.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Having nightmares?” the blond man took a drag.

“Do you?” he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Yes,” he said, shrugging.

He relaxed. He looked past Andrew. The moon was high and glorious, waning. He reminded himself that he wasn’t running anymore, that his father’s men were behind bars, that his father was dead, and, much to his dismay, that his mother was in prison. There was no one who could hurt him. No one but himself. Neil was a free man. So, he looked at Andrew and said,

“I’m Abram too,” he whispered. Maybe he was giving more of himself than he needed to a stranger. But he needed him. He felt restless, his head spinning, his chest yearning for something he couldn't understand, and the frustration had only lessened when he'd seen Andrew's eyes. Perhaps trust wasn't the right word, but he wanted to offer something similar. "Neil Abram Josten."

Andrew hummed.

"That sounds more real."

They remained silent. The cigarettes went out, and Andrew lit another. They stayed like that until heavy sleep settled over Neil's eyelids. Before giving in, Andrew called him by name. He said "Neil Abram Josten" all in one breath, as if it were a sentence rather than a name, something like you're real, you're real, you're real... Neil looked at him, inhaling deeply.

He arrived home wearily. He went through his usual routine. He ate and checked the numbers. He showered and put on his pajamas. He fell asleep with the bread wrapper between his fingers.

Not every time, but most of the time he went to the gas station, he ran into Andrew. Perhaps because he made a point of going at the same time every Friday. But that meant Andrew also made a point of going at that time, and he supposed his presence didn't bother him either.

They spoke little and smoked a lot. However, nothing he said was a lie. His few, whispered words were like wielding a knife and ripping open his chest. Neil bled truths that Andrew heard and even bled back.

Things changed one particular night. Neil staggered to the gas station as usual. This time he was wearing a coat. December was in full swing, and although he resisted spending money on anything beyond truly useful things like food and patches, Andrew had told him that if he didn't show up with something more than a sweatshirt, he'd never get another cigarette. The next morning, he ran to the thrift store and grabbed the first one he saw; it was made of a color-changing fabric, electrified orange with a somewhat plasticky brown texture.

Something like a laugh bubbled in his throat when Andrew made a particularly funny face the following Friday upon seeing him.

"Look, I look like a fox." He held his hands out at his sides and spun around before sitting down next to Andrew.

"You're more like a rabbit," Andrew sighed, handing him a cigarette.

"Big ears?" He took his own, tugging at them.

"More like annoying and a runner."

He hummed along without arguing.

"You're like a wolf." He looked at his shoes with holes in them. "A predator, but... I don't know? There's something soft about it, maybe even pleasant."

Andrew snorted, and Neil's eyes couldn't quite linger on his neck. His pale complexion, the bulge of his new arm, and a hint of the curve at his shoulder. Something in his mouth watered, but he blinked, snapping back to reality, and wrinkled his nose as Andrew exhaled smoke in his direction.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that," he muttered, stating the obvious.

"I don't get it." He frowned, but didn't get a real answer. Irritated and feeling like he'd missed something, he scratched the back of his neck. He noticed the hem of the patch there. The area around his stomach had turned a reddish-purple hue, so he figured he should move it until it cleared up.

“Why do you use them?” Andrew stubbed out his cigarette on the asphalt and, contrary to popular belief, didn't light another.

He considered whether to answer or decline the question. But he was surprised when his lips parted without him really thinking about it.

“Habit.” He shrugged, going for the easiest option. “My mother made me wear them when I was with her, and ever since, I feel weird without them.”

It was true. Maybe she distrusted the injection, or maybe she was aware of how intense instincts could be, so she never told him to get rid of the patches. Just in case. Little had he managed to glean from the FBI doctor, except that the patches were state-regulated suppressants, and they were so mild that they didn't act as a suppressant, but rather as a pheromone regulator. It didn't even make sense.

“She makes you?” He raised an eyebrow at him.

“But she did it because she cared about me.” He added it as an afterthought.

Silence. Then Andrew stood up, and Neil soon followed. Suddenly, along with the slightly warm breeze, he caught a whiff of something. He glanced at the gas station door; maybe there was fruit there, and he hadn't noticed. He should stop by before leaving.

"Are you leaving?"

Andrew approached with a bored, perhaps even annoying, air. "I have a game tomorrow."

That caught his attention. He knew Andrew must do some sport. Despite the baggy clothes and awful coats, his movements had a certain calculated precision, and he could see some muscles peeking through his clothes.

"What sport do you play?" He saw Andrew press a button on his key fob, and the car lights flashed before coming on. A beep sounded from inside.

"Exy."

Neil tripped over one of his shoelaces, but it didn't matter when all his attention was fixed on Andrew.

"Exy!" He exhaled sharply before feeling every pore of his skin light up like a Christmas lightbulb. "You play Exy. What position? How long have you been playing? Did you see the match the other day…?"

Neil rarely allowed himself to watch Exy. It had to be on a really good day; otherwise, he felt so guilty it made him nauseous. However, that didn't mean he didn't stop whenever he saw a racket, or that when he was chasing a nightmare in the wee hours of the morning, he didn't imagine he was on a tennis court. Now, Andrés. The gas station attendant. His… Andrew also knew about the damned sport.

“Oh, no…” The annoyance was palpable. “You’re a fanatic.”

“Of course! And you play!” He jumped up, unable to contain his excitement. The thought of watching Andrew play didn’t make him nauseous at all. “What position?”

“Goalkeeper.”

“Sure. Are you any good?”

“I’m not talking about Exy.” The blond man shook his head with something like a grunt as he opened the driver’s side door and climbed in. He didn’t start the car.

“Why?”

“Because he’s bored.”

Neil’s jaw dropped. Bored? Exy? Exy and bored? He never thought he’d find those two words in the same sentence. Yet here he was.

“But—”

“Get in?” he interrupted.

Then he realized he was standing right next to the passenger door. The window had rolled down at some point, and his face was almost inside the space.

"Huh…?"

"Are you getting in, or are you walking back?" He pressed a few buttons on the console before looking back at him.

"Are you taking me home?"

"That's what I said." He looked at him like he was stupid, and maybe he was.

He pulled the handle and climbed into the soft seat. He looked around, at the space, something new that belonged to Andrew. Andrew was sharing his car. Not just cigarettes and the occasional overly sweet pastry.

"Where?" He started the engine.

He watched the streets of Columbia pass by one after another. From here, it looked calmer and not so dangerous. Almost pleasant. Almost.

Neil's fingers caressed the skin beneath his thighs, then the stiff fabric of the seatbelt, and then the interior handle. He looked at Andrew; he seemed very relaxed driving. He touched the dashboard and pulled a handle underneath it. It flew open, scattering a couple of papers, but he managed to retrieve a piece of dark fabric.

“Don’t take my car apart.”

His mouth twitched, and he put his things away, but his gaze lingered for a moment on the cotton. He remembered it. He’d seen Andrew wearing it that time they’d met at the gas station. There was no label, no brand, just tightly woven wool. He touched it with his fingertips, and something burned in his chest.

He heard a strange noise coming from his side. Andrew wasn’t looking at his, but his knuckles around the steering wheel were white from his heavy grip.

He was about to ask what it was when something muffled his voice. He realized that, at some point, he had brought the hat to his face and was inhaling. He didn't understand why, but he didn't want to move away. There wasn't a scent as such, yet something compelled him to stay there, not to move. He sighed and leaned back against the seat, completely relaxed. He inhaled again and noticed his eyelids growing heavy, heavier than seconds before.

He came to when the car stopped. His eyes recognized his familiar street, narrow, moldy, and with a stale smell because it was near the garbage dump. Somewhat reluctantly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed the door handle.

"Thanks for the ride." He opened the door and jumped out.

"Neil," he murmured.

"Hmm?"

"The hat." He gestured with his chin to the hat still clutched in his hands.

He frowned. Andrés's hat. He looked at it for a moment between his long, thin fingers, some of them bent from poor healing. The fabric was warm and soft. Neil thought it was the most precious thing he had ever touched. He pressed it a little closer to his own coat, against his stomach. He pressed his lips into a thin line and untangled his fingers.

There was a noise. Maybe a sigh, a cough, or his imagination. He couldn't place it.

"Keep it," he interrupted Andrés.

"Really?" he squeezed his fingers again. He could have it, for himself, in his house, still in his hands. He knew it was Andrew's and that it was wrong to take other people's things, but he couldn't give it away; it was his now. Andrew had said he could keep it, so it was okay, wasn't it? Besides, it was in a drawer; Neil would get better use out of it, and Andrew had told him to keep it.

Andrew had told him to keep it. Andrew stared at him impassively, though something burned in his eyes. He shrugged and sat up.

"Thanks." It was barely a whisper, but it sounded too loud on the completely silent street. "Good night."

Andrew didn't reply. So, unsure of himself, he went to his building's entrance, seeing the car still parked on the street. As he opened the door downstairs and started up the stairs, he heard the unmistakable roar of the engine fade away ahead.

Neil urgently pulled his hat over his head. He wasn't cold, but he wanted it on. He ate dinner, showered, put on his pajamas, and fell asleep with his nose buried in the fabric.

The week passed quietly. Monotonously. He had some GED assignments and ignored Browning's calls. He'd already made it clear that if it was something truly important, he'd show up at his door; otherwise, he could answer his demands by text and avoid having to listen to his irritating voice.

He didn't have to wait long.

One Saturday around ten o'clock at night, there was a knock at his door. Neil shuddered from head to toe, averting his gaze from the orange numbers on the microwave as they descended. For a second, he stood still, considering who it could possibly be. Nothing should be within his reach. There was another knock, and he held his breath. He crouched down, feeling his whole body tremble, turning into mush on the creaking wooden floorboards beneath his feet. Breathe. It was his imagination. Maybe he'd hallucinated again. He wanted to pretend nothing had happened. Maybe it was the downstairs neighbor, but that man didn't knock; he just ambushed him as he went upstairs. Maybe it was the upstairs neighbors, but they always knocked haltingly on the door and said, “Redhead.” This time it was the doorbell, clinical and soft. No one so civilized lives on this or the next block that they need a doorbell.

“Josten, open the fucking door!” they growled from the other side.

Air returned to his lungs like the first breath after painfully holding his breath underwater. His eyes saw beyond the crumbs of dirt on the floor, and his shoulders stopped shaking violently.

He breathed and breathed, only allowing himself to walk to the door when he felt himself returning to normal. He opened it.

“Don’t you know how to knock like a normal person?”

“But I—Jesus, never mind. Why aren’t you answering? I’ve been out there for half an hour.” A pretty exaggerated statement, if you asked Neil.

“What are you doing? This is my house.” He grunted, crossing his arms firmly.

Browning was the beta and officer who had handled his case from beginning to end. A man of average build, broad shoulders, a thick black beard that was now starting to turn gray. Neil pointed this out whenever he had the chance. They didn't have the best relationship; both were very volatile, and it probably didn't help that Neil had punched him in the face the first time they saw each other, and Browning had called him a useless omega just to annoy him. They didn't care about each other. But even though his case was closed and filed, he remained in witness protection; he had to stay there for a few more months before the FBI's deadline to ensure he was safe.

"Is this even a home? It's exactly the same as when I left you."

And it wasn't a lie. Neil hadn't changed a thing. Not even the microwave, but why bother when it was perfectly functional? The only thing worth mentioning was that instead of three shirts, he now had nine T-shirts, five pairs of pants, a jacket, a hat, an empty pack of cigarettes, and a plastic wrapper from a sweet roll.

"Is that why you came here?"

"No. We're going to talk." He made a move to sit on the sofa but looked at him suspiciously before remaining standing.

"Sober?" Neil opened the microwave and took out the can of lentils. He poured it onto a plate and gave him the first spoonful.

"What the hell is that kid? Do you live on that crap?" the beta growled. "You know you can be normal?"

Neil glared at him.

"Leave that crap. Let's get something to eat. I've been driving here for five hours. I'm dying for something hot."

“Idiot.” Muscular.

“I heard you. Come on. And what the hell are you wearing on your head?”

He frowned before tensing up. Andrew’s hat. He snarled another insult, ignoring Browning in favor of grabbing a jacket and putting it on. He was going to go like this and screw Browning if he objected. He was fed up with his bullshit.

“You look like a homeless person.” But he went downstairs.

Neil followed him and reluctantly got into the agent's luxury car. Browning might be a complete idiot, but he had no malicious intentions beyond making Neil feel stupid, which he certainly returned.

He parked near the city center, and they walked in silence through the streets, which were far too crowded for Neil's liking. He stopped at a place whose name was plastered across red, yellow, and orange neon: Burros-turros. It said. A stupid name, but one that apparently drew quite a crowd. It wasn't packed like many other places, but it wasn't exactly empty either, and the atmosphere heated up as soon as he stepped inside. He took off his jacket but adjusted his hat, ignoring the agent's bored expression.

They sat at the back of the place, in one of the corners. Neil sat with his back to the wall, the only downside being that the bathroom was on his right.

"So?"

"How are you finding the adjustment?"

"I snarled. "Is that what we're here for?"

“You know I have to inform—”

“I haven’t killed anyone, I’m keeping a low profile, the GED is going well, and no one connected to my family has contacted me. And no, I’m still a useless omega. Happy now?” he spat. “Now for the important part.”

“Insolent.”

“Stupid.”

They both fell silent when a waiter appeared. Browning recited their order, and Neil decided on the plain burger and some water.

“For the time being, your mother’s visit is canceled.”

“What? I didn’t even know I had a visitor.” He looked at him incredulously.

“Didn’t they tell you?” He raised an eyebrow before shrugging. “Never mind, it’s canceled.”

“Why?”

“She’s displayed some… hostile behavior toward her cellmates and…”

“What has she done?” he interrupted. He didn’t want any technicalities. Shyness and gentleness had long since vanished from his life.

"She stabbed her cellmate. She's okay. But the date is canceled as punishment." She glanced absently at the street beside her.

"And when will she be able to see her?" He pressed his hands to his thighs.

"There's no date set yet. Maybe next year." He sighed. "That's not all."

Waiters came and went. A woman and her son sat across the bar. He was beaming, arguing something with fervor; his cheeks were flushed with his smile, and his lips chattered, revealing gaps in his teeth. His mother rested an elbow on the table, her hand cupping her face. She nodded with conviction and answered him calmly.

"Lola is negotiating with the FBI. She says that if she can have a meeting, she'll tell you the truth about your father's case." He sighed. “You can refuse and say no, but…”

His eyes left mother and son and went to Browning. What? Lola? Why on earth would Neil say yes?

“But?” his voice was dry and sour on his palate.

“The FBI has helped you and…”

His blood boiled.

“Is this some kind of blackmail? You’re telling me that if I don’t agree, they’ll leave me to the wolves, huh? Without what? Without money? Without an apartment? A fucking piece of paper that proves my education? Go to hell, Browning, you and your stupid, stuck-up police agency. Do you think you’re useful? You’re not even good enough to feed the rats. You think you have the moral compass of right and wrong, ignoring the number of sickos in your ranks and how badly trained you are by frauds.” "Tell your shitty team I'd rather die than share the same space as Lola. And they can take whatever they want from me, I've survived more than ten years with the bare minimum. I know I can do with less."

The waiter cleared his throat before placing their plates on the table, then their drinks, and then extra sauces.

“Would you like anything else?” he cleared his throat again when neither of them answered and left.

For a while they ate in silence. They didn't even look at each other. They were simply there, existing.

“How are the stimulants working?”

He shrugged after thinking about it for a moment.

His mother had injected him with a suppressant a few days after his heat. It left him empty. Not completely, though, but it bottled up all his pheromones, his hormones, and his senses. It limited his perception so much that he couldn't smell anything beyond common, foul things. He also emitted empty pheromones that often helped him pass as a beta male. At first, it was awful. He had high fevers that induced hallucinations, and muscle pains that prevented him from moving a single muscle in his body. But little by little, he balanced out.

When the FBI found him years ago, after a blood test and several X-rays, they prescribed pills that stimulate the hormone regulating emotions to produce pheromones and finally allow him to become a true omega again. An experimental method that didn't guarantee anything, but it was one of the rules of witness protection and, in essence, of having an identity.

"I'm still waiting."

According to Neil, nothing had changed beyond the norm. Part of that scared him. Maybe he would never be normal again, maybe he was condemned to be nothing, to be strange and misunderstood. But another part was reassuring. His mother had forbidden him from reading about subgenres, but the little he had explored had left him with a queasy stomach. Whores, they just fuck, they're good for breeding, and nothing much beyond that. It's not like he has anyone to talk to about it anyway. The FBI had been rather vague and unprofessional with the information. His mother would hit him at the slightest provocation, and some of them only knew Andrew, with whom the conversation hadn't yet begun. Perhaps it never would.

Aside from that, he knew that betas were quite normal and, for the most part, more socially accepted. The only alphas they knew were his father and Stuart. Since he didn't receive pheromones, he couldn't identify them just by sniffing the air, and contrary to popular belief, secondary designations lacked the same stereotypes as primary ones; however, they had their own.

He took the pills because the FBI mandated them, and if he failed to take any of them, they could take away his identity. But if it didn't work within five years, it would be taken away, and he would become whatever had emerged.

"Dr. Smith has been experimenting, and maybe they have something to accelerate your stimulation."

It was strange, yet strange, not to talk about these things with Browning. Neil just wanted to go home. Be that as it may, if he didn't become a real omega, maybe he could play Exy.

“Tell that doctor that…” His voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn toward the entrance.

First, he spotted a cluster of heads, some taller than others, until he found one considerably shorter and blond, without a hat. Andrew soon saw him too, and his steps stopped. A tall, thin-looking man with a dark complexion bumped into his back and complained, frowning at Andrew.

He parted his lips and closed them again, looking away.

“What happened?” Browning glanced behind him, following his gaze. “Oh, Exy players.”

Exy players, yes. But it was more than that. Andrew was there. Andrew, Andrew, Andrew. Something stirred, a prickle beneath his skin. He pulled away.

The morning after Andrew dropped him off with his car, he spent hours searching for his name on Exy teams until he found Palmetto. He was a goalkeeper, number 03. It was his first year as a player, and rumors circulated that several teams already had their eyes on him. He was said to be one of the best goalkeepers in recent years, and much was expected of him. Neil couldn't help but feel proud of his Andrew.

That same night, he dreamt that he was playing too. That he was wearing a bright orange uniform, and Andrew was passing him the ball from one end of the field to the other, and Neil was catching it. He woke up like he would from a nightmare; his heart racing, sweating, and his throat dry. But it wasn't a nightmare. It was a dream.

"Technically, you can play."

"What?" He frowned, turning his attention back to the agent.

"Exy. You can play. No one's after you anymore. Obviously, you'd have to follow certain guidelines, but after your GED, you can go to college and play..."

"I'm an omega," he interrupted, looking at him as if he were stupid.

"So what? It's not that relevant these days." He shrugged. “That’s what you say. When do omegas ever play in the minor leagues? How many of them make it to the majors? If they draft me—which is unlikely considering we’re not cut out for it—I could never aspire to make a career out of it. There are no omegas in the major leagues.”

“But the policies of the ERC do not preclude the participation of omegas,” he replied. “What? I know a few things.”

“The fact that there isn't a single active omega in Exy today, in either the major or minor leagues, says a lot about the damn ERC. What would happen to me? I haven’t trained in years, and—and I’m the son of a fucking mugger, my mother’s in prison, and…”

He trembled. Exy wasn’t up for discussion. There was nothing to fight for. With luck, he’d get his GED, and maybe he’d get a full-time job since he didn’t have enough money to pay for college, much less the skills to get a scholarship. He could have a full-time job. Maybe knowing languages ​​would help. He'd find an apartment in a neighborhood that didn't smell of urine, and he could have a cat. He'd once tried to kidnap the black cat on his street, but the damn thing was slippery. He accepted the rejection with dignity.

"Breathe, Neil."

"What?" He looked at the hamburger. He'd taken two bites and felt full, so full it made him nauseous. "I'm in for a miserable life."

Alone and without anything that made him feel even remotely human, free, and a fighter; Exy.

"That's not true. You have an identity, take it. You've fought hard for it, be someone worth saving."

What if he wasn't? What if he'd survived all this time by sheer luck and there was nothing to salvage from him? He barely left the house. He'd memorized the number of wood panels in the bathroom and was starting to count them in his bedroom. He felt disoriented and needed a compass to tell him what his next step should be. What it should be. When he wasn't studying, he slept. When he wasn't having nightmares, he ran, and when he was, he ran too. He showered even three times a day to kill time, and at the same time, he became captivated watching the microwave tick down to nothing, realizing that now he could have time to do nothing.

"I'm going to the bathroom." He stood up without waiting for an answer.

He grimaced when he saw the omega sign and then the beta one. He didn't know what to do. He generally didn't go to public restrooms; in fact, he didn't leave his house except to get gas. He stumbled, unsure what to decide.

"Neil."

Andrew was standing behind his, hands in his pockets. He wasn't wearing a sweatshirt, and it was the first time he'd seen him without so many layers of clothing. A long-sleeved black t-shirt and baggy black jeans. He spotted boots on his feet. Now maybe they were the same height.

"Andrew." His smile faltered; it was strange to see Andrew in any light other than the cold, white light of the gas station. "Hi."

"Who is he?" He made a clumsy movement of his jaw. He clenched it.

"Who?" He frowned.

"That man."

Oh…

"Browning the… He came to supervise. He's like a mentor?"

He had told Andrew a lot, but not enough. He didn't want to put him in danger. Not when he was still under witness protection. He didn't want another death to bear, much less someone like Andrew. It felt like a sin.

He hummed and took a step toward him, then another. Neil didn't back down. There was no reason to run from someone who had never made a single move that would cause him pain. His eyes followed Andrew's thick, hard hand as it rose to his temple and tugged at the wool of his hat, just a little. Enough for him to notice.

Suddenly, Neil felt something warm sweep across his chest, then his chin, and suddenly his whole face was hot. Maybe it was a fever. Maybe embarrassment.

The corner of the blond man's mouth twitched, but tightened as he lowered his gaze to Neil's eyes, his hand sliding down to his cheek. Not touching, but close enough to feel his presence a breath away. Without even realizing it, he leaned in, and suddenly Andrew's calloused, dry fingers cupped his face.

"What's wrong?"

Neil didn't answer, fascinated by the situation. His own hands reached for Andrew's, but stopped just inches away. Maybe he was taking more than Andrew was willing to give. He tried to move away but Andrew didn't take his hand off my cheek.

“You can touch my hand.”

A sigh escaped his lips, and Neil’s hands cradled Andrew’s, pressing it closer to the scars on his face. Seconds later, he found himself rubbing his cheek harder and harder against the warm, hard skin. He buried his face between the curve of Neil’s index finger and thumb and stayed there. His earlier tension vanished, and he felt like when he was little and would lock himself in his bedroom closet with the pillows and books he’d collected without his parents noticing.

His eyelids began to feel heavy.

“Abram.”

He woke with a start. They were still in the bathroom doorway. Andrew’s thumb traced the scar Lola had left with his knife. It was deep and visible. A little disgusting. What did Andrew think? People were usually afraid of him. They’d change their wax, pick up their children, stare intently, sometimes ask questions, and even suggest facial surgery. He might have considered it if he hadn't never allowed himself to be unconscious next to someone with something sharp.

"Sorry." He stumbled backward, backing away abruptly. He tried to smile, but he thought he only managed a grimace. "Is this your team?"

Andrew put his hand back in his pocket. Neil followed the movement, feeling like he'd lost something.

"Seven come... Good."

"Could be worse."

This time he managed a genuine smile. One corner of his mouth turned up. That was about as close to a compliment as Andrew could get.

"Close son?" he blurted out. "Do you guys come here to eat a lot? Are you celebrating something? Oh, by the way, how was the game?"

"We won." He snorted. "We're just making a stop before heading back to Palmetto."

"Aren't you staying?" There was a hint of disappointment, maybe. His shoulders slumped, and his chest tightened. He was fine. Andrew, after all, had a family, probably even a pack. Neil was just some random guy he shared cigarettes with and little else. Neil had to understand that. His mother had told him so too; he had a tendency to get attached to things, to people, very quickly. She'd also said it was something only "loose" women did, omegas. Once, Mary decided to take everything away from him. She left him with trousers that were longer than usual and somewhat stiff, and a holey sweater. Neil became a wandering creature whose shuffling steps made him stumble more than once; he was like that for days, feeling more lost than ever.

Andrew couldn't answer; the door suddenly opened, and Browning interrupted.

"Neil, what...?" His eyes met Andrew's before he looked at him suspiciously. "I think you were going to the bathroom."

"Yeah, uh..." He looked at Andrew before turning back to Browning. "Can you...?"

Browning frowned before glancing back at the blond man and leaving the way he'd come in.

"Congratulations on the game, and see you..."

"Friday."

"Yes. Yes, Andrew. Friday."

He arrived at Browning shortly after. He was texting on his phone but stopped as soon as Neil sat down across from him.

"Who is it?"

“An acquaintance.” He shrugged. “An important case?”

“Yes. You didn’t mention it.” He crossed his arms.

“Do I have to explain everything to you? Do you also want to know how many times a day I take a dump?” he snarled. “Let’s get out of here.”

Browning didn’t argue. He stood up and paid quickly. Neil put on his coat and headed for the exit. I couldn’t help but glance back at Andrew. He was already looking at him. Sitting against a wall with a fairly large group surrounding him. They were all eating and talking animatedly; every now and then someone would burst out laughing and ruffle someone’s hair. A girl next to Andrew, whose hair was white with colored tips, pushed his shoulder against his, drawing his attention. He said something Neil couldn’t read. He saw the corner of Andrew’s mouth.

Neil looked away.

“You could have that, you know?”

“Do you have to?” He pretended not to care, walking back to where they had parked.

"A pack. Like I said, you're free and..."

"If I were free, you wouldn't be here," he interrupted, pulling his hat up to his ears. It was getting colder. Neil looked up at the sky before looking down again and shrugging. "It doesn't matter. I doubt I really know what freedom is."

A golden snort.

Neil made a move to nudge him.

"The vetting process for your father's trust fund has been completed. The money will be deposited into an account in your name, which you can access freely. The card will arrive soon."

"You only bring bad news?" he muttered sarcastically, but they both sensed the venom in his voice.

"It's clean money. Take advantage of it and make yourself feel free."

Browning drove in silence, and Neil was grateful. He watched the city streets blur into a blur until he parked on his street and jumped out.

"I hope I don't see you anytime soon."

Browning, alarmed for the first time.

"Don't get into trouble."

"You know I'd never do something like that."

Browning snorted and shifted gears after Neil closed the door. He saw him hesitate and glance at him before shaking his head and reversing. The car disappeared, and Neil walked to his street. He saw the cat and smiled at it. It meowed, its fur standing on end. He went upstairs and pushed the door twice before it opened. He spotted the half-eaten lentils on his table. He put them in the microwave and took a shower. He put on his pajamas and went to sleep, firmly believing he would have nightmares.

He studied the next few days and felt a certain pride in passing one of his exams.

Lately, he'd felt more restless, maybe even irritable. There was something he wanted to do, but he had already eaten, made his bed, and showered. And yet, he felt incomplete. Perhaps he had forgotten something. He searched for information about Andrew every day. However, he stopped when, during one of his searches, he happened to find his designation.

Sparto.

Andrew was an Alpha. Part of him felt wrong; the only Alpha he had ever met in person was his father, and he was terrified at the mere thought of him, even at looking at himself in the mirror more than necessary. On the other hand, he felt guilty; he felt he had invaded something private of Andrew's. A truth that hadn't been granted to him, that hadn't been given to him. He closed his laptop and left it in the dining room, almost as if he were being punished.

The following days didn't improve. Guilt burned like a hot iron in his chest, and the restlessness only increased. He tried to smell and reach for the hat, but there was nothing there anymore. Nothing that might have been there before. He felt empty.

Friday arrived as if it were a special occasion. Neil went out before sunset. It was early. He bought a pack of cigarettes and a bag of strawberries this time. He smoked and ate. He bought more strawberries when they ran out. The afternoon turned into evening, and when his backside went numb, his legs protested, and his spine creaked, he saw Andrew's car pull up in its usual spot.

Neil watched him walk toward him. Calm, almost indifferent, while Neil practically bounced where he was. Andrew stopped in front of him and looked him over, leaving a hot trail on his skin, then glanced at the half-smoked pack of cigarettes and the insane amount of fruit piled up beside him.

"How long have you been here?"

“I know you’re an alpha,” he interrupted. A great relief settled in his chest. And suddenly he could breathe more easily. “I’m sorry. I know it was wrong. But I was looking online and it just popped up and I couldn’t ignore it, so…”

“So?” he interrupted. “It’s common knowledge.”

It was true. Players in Exy, and indeed in any sport, must designate themselves with a secondary gender, and it was illegal to lie about it. Knox was able to get away with it because he had a professional contract, and although it could have been voided for fraud, it wasn’t because the public was watching him closely. An omega in Exy? He was the first in history; he stood to gain more than he lost.

“Yeah, I know. It just felt wrong. You should have told me when you wanted to, not had me see it and…”

Andrew sat down on the asphalt and stole one of his cigarettes. He lit it.

“I don’t see the problem,” he shrugged. “Everyone knows I’m an alpha.”

“If…” everyone except Neil. Nothing was wrong. Absolutely nothing was wrong, yet something pressed against his chest.

“Does it bother you?”

“No. I don’t know.” He was sincere. “I… My father was an alpha. The only one I ever knew. He wasn’t good. My mother said all alphas are the same, and I believed her, but you’re not like my father. Not even close. I never thought you’d be like him, and I’m starting to think nothing makes sense. I don’t know what to do. Is it wrong that I want to see you? I… Do you know I’m broken? You need to know.” He broke off.

He was rambling, so he tried again.

“It doesn’t bother me. You’re you. You’re not like him. Not at all. Not in the slightest. You’re… warm and nice. I feel good with you, at ease. Like nothing’s different.”

He gasped, his throat dry. He didn’t dare look past his feet. Neil was crazy. I hadn't talked this much in months, even years.

"Look at me."

I raise my gaze to Andrew's eyes. Both hazelnut and honey. A perfect blend. The green flecks aren't as clear as they are under a light.

"Breathe," he said.

A hand landed on the back of his neck, and all the hairs on his head stood on end. He shook himself and suddenly relaxed. His thoughts quieted, and he felt as if he had landed on solid ground. His thoughts seemed clearer, even more lucid. He didn't really understand what was happening, but he let Andrew do it. He trusted him and knew there were no malicious intentions.

"That's it. Breathe again."

Neil followed his words like a faithful dog.

When he calmed down, Andrew slowly released his fingers, but a sound escaped Neil's throat, and the hand returned.

"It's okay. I'm not going anywhere."

He's not going anywhere. He's not going anywhere. He's not going anywhere.

He nodded to himself. He looked up at Andrew. His gaze was steady and unwavering. Sincere.

"Better?"

"Yes," he whispered sincerely.

Andrew didn't remove his hand, but he relaxed.

“Now explain to me why you’re broken.”

“I…” he stammered, unable to meet his gaze. It would scare him away. No doubt about it. No one would be willing to accept someone as misguided and wrong as him.

Andrew’s hand pressed a little harder, and he blinked. It felt like being in a hot bath. “I’m not running away, I’m not a rabbit.”

I waited.

“My mother… we ran away from my father. When I was eight, my mother took millions of dollars and took me with her. We wandered through countries, and in France, at twelve, I presented myself. An omega.” He breathed raggedly. “I was so disappointed and angry. I had never been afraid of my mother until that day. Shortly after, she injected me with a suppressant. So that my designation wouldn’t get in the way. She suppressed everything.”

“She hurt you.”

“She never hit me when I was in heat.”

Andrew's lips moved in voiceless words.

He cleared his throat and focused on Andrew's calloused palm at the back of his neck.

"I'm taking a pill that stimulates my hormones. It's experimental, but I know it's not working." He straightened to look at him. "Maybe I'll never be normal again."

"And what is normal? What imprint? You're alive, why should the rest matter?"

His lungs stopped working.

"Because..." He looked everywhere but at Andrew. "It is what it has to be. It's... I'm already weird enough. My scars. As if I'm not a full omega now."

"Neil." They looked at each other. "Who cares? Does it matter to you?"

"No, but..."

"So?" Andrew sighed.

"I... Do you?" He inhaled and exhaled. "Does it bother you?"

"No." His hand pressed against his chest. "It doesn't bother me that you knew I was an Afla either. You have enough problems without adding more."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, Andrew's hand unwound from the back of my neck, and as soon as it disappeared, I felt the absence sink into my bones. I wanted to complain, but I knew it was too much.

"A cigarette?" I murmured.

"I think you've smoked enough for both of us today." Instead, he stood up and offered me a hand, which I readily accepted.

His hand had longer fingers than Andrew's, but not any more hideous. Neil's hands were also dry, but Andrew's were covered in calluses from Exy's rackets. They went into the gas station, and Andrew grabbed a basket without letting go of my hand. He dragged me through the aisles, his hand still gripping Neil's, placing things in the cart: cinnamon rolls, chocolate pastries, water, tangerines, and coffee. He went to the checkout, and the man, who had already begun to recognize them, looked at them with a raised eyebrow before pretending nothing was wrong.

Their hands separated as they got into the car, and he thought he was going to lose it until Andrew started the engine and pushed his hand up. A choice. Neil took it again, and Andrew shifted gears without letting go. It was warm. He drove aimlessly, and as time passed, his body warmed up and he relaxed. When he felt completely safe, he fell asleep.

He woke up when Andrew closed the driver's side door. Through his sleep, Neil saw him circle the hood of the car and disappear, but Neil's attention was drawn to a garish orange metal door. He blinked, squinting, but didn't understand anything. He unbuttoned his helmet and pulled the handle before getting out.

“What is this…?” His eyes flicked to his right. Andrew was leaning against his car, a half-finished cigarette dangling from his fingers. He inhaled, and Neil’s eyes followed the way his chest rose, then his hand lowered slightly, and he looked him straight in the eye.

“I’m not wearing the uniform,” he declared.

“What? What are you talking about—No!” Neil jumped out of the car. “The court! Is this your court? Andrew, come on, come on. We’re on your court!”

“It’s not my court,” he said, but followed him.

“This is where you train! Can we play? Can we?” He jumped up and down.

“That’s why I brought you here, junkie.”

At some point, he reached the court and gasped. It was immense, even though the lights were off. He was tanned… magnificent. A light illuminated the center, and suddenly, after a subtle flicker, all the lights gradually opened. It was gleaming. The almost neon orange was jarring to his eyes, but it was a good kind of jarring.

“Andrew—” The Alpha was beside him. “It’s incredible.”

“Put on your protective gear before I change my mind. We have two hours.”

He didn’t even blink before running to the locker room. Protective gear and a racket were already on the couch. Neil put them on with alarming speed over his clothes and left. Andrew only raised an eyebrow at his appearance; the Alpha wasn’t wearing any protective gear, yet his racket wobbled lightly in his hand.

Andrew threw him something, and Neil barely managed to catch it. He stared at the ball in his hands.

Before they started playing, Andrew made him warm up. He ran faster than ever, following his instructions, and when he finally gripped the racket and caught a ball from Andrew, it felt like something akin to freedom.

Neil hit and swung, and although Andrew held absolutely every one of his shots, it didn’t matter. He was playing with Exy. He wasn't exactly good, but he was pleased by Andrew's serious demeanor. Every now and then, Andrew corrected him, and Neil quickly learned that if he tilted his head almost imperceptibly to one side, it meant he'd made a mistake, but if he kept it steady, it meant he was moving on.

He played until sweat trickled down his back and his hair stuck to his teeth. He was panting, his lungs burning, his legs trembling from the exertion. Andrew ended the game when he stepped out of the goal.

"You're incredible! You save absolutely everything. The best goalkeeper on the team, in the leagues. Of all time. You have a gift, and it's magnetic to watch you play. I can't take my eyes off you."

Andrew almost rolled his eyes, but his chest swelled strangely, and he turned his face away from Neil.

"Take a shower. You stink."

He shamelessly sniffed his armpit and grimaced.

"I don't have a change of clothes."

Andrés didn't answer. He left the court, and Neil followed a little slower. They walked through the locker room, and Andrew put his gear in a locker labeled 05 and his racket in locker 03.

"That's the girls' locker room, and the orange door is the omegas'," he pointed. "You can shower there."

"Oh..." he said, moving forward belatedly. "There are omegas on the team."

"No. The coach put them there just in case."

He nodded.

"Can I shower here?" He cleared his throat. "I... I feel safer knowing you're here."

"Whatever you want." He shrugged before taking off his sweaty t-shirt.

Neil's hands sweated and his mouth went dry. Andrew's chest. Even though his arms were covered in bandages, his horribly wide muscles were visible. Andrew was big. Big. He was ripped, and even though there was a light layer of fat, it didn't diminish his presence.

They looked bulgy and smooth.

He cleared his throat, unsure whether to take off his t-shirt or what to do. He felt safer knowing Andrew was there, but he didn't know if he was ready for him to see the sea of ​​scars on his body. He didn't have time to decide either, as Andrew grabbed the towel and a change of clothes before heading to the showers shirtless.

"Here, take this." He left a tracksuit next to him. A few seconds later, he heard a shower turn on behind him. Neil inhaled and took the towel Andrew had left him. He went in through the same entrance after taking his things and leaving them on a stool.

He entered one of the stalls, and once he was naked, he allowed The hot water cascaded over him. His muscles relaxed.

He ran the soap over his scars, lingering longer than necessary. He looked at them. He tried to imagine his skin smooth, free of scar tissue. He couldn't. He wasn't able to. He imagined Andrew, looking directly at him, with no layers of fabric between him and his skin. Would it bother him? Perhaps he could try some makeup.

The shower next to his was still running. A mental image of Andrew under the stream of hot water took his breath away. He didn't know where it came from, but suddenly something tickled in his stomach as he thought of Andrew's strong, full muscles, now wet.

He raised his own hand to his temple, tracing the same path Andrew's hand had taken that night in the restaurant. It had been gentle, intimate, and he hadn't seemed bothered by touching the uneven skin of his cheek. The shower stopped, and Neil's throat went dry. He heard the click of a bottle. Was he going to lather up? His calloused hands running over him. He put his head under the stream of water, trying to erase that image from his mind, but he couldn't.

Andrew was strong. He was very strong, and he had a relaxed, confident voice. The way he let him sleep in his car, how he gave him sweet rolls and bought him fruit, or how he held his neck, even his hat, which now lay safely tucked under his pillow, devoid of any scent but just as familiar as the first time he buried his nose in it. The tingling in his stomach warmed and intensified. He let out a strange noise, and when he looked down, mortified, he realized his cock was erect.

Andrew's shower stopped, and Neil brought his hand to his lips.

"Are you okay?"

It was husky, almost velvety, and sounded a little rushed. His eyes widened in fascination and fear as he felt his erection twitch and rise harder.

"Y-Yes."

"Neil," he squealed.

An electric current shot down his penis, and a drop of pre-ejaculate escaped. Why was this happening? He'd never experienced heat like this before. His free hand went down and squeezed it. His legs trembled, and he blinked, his vision clearing.

"What?"

"Don't lie to me. Do I have to call an ambulance?"

"No," he almost shouted. "I'm fine."

For a second, he thought Andrew was insisting, but suddenly the shower turned on again. Neil sighed and turned the handle until the water cooled, staying on until his erection subsided. Truthfully, Neil had never noticed a person more than twice; in fact, he didn't think he'd ever noticed anyone at all. Running away was out of the question.

He dried himself quickly, ignoring his skin protesting the force and speed. He changed inside the cubicle despite his skin still being slightly damp, and once dressed, he couldn't help but unconsciously sniff the clothes he'd been given. His body warmed up. He smelled good and warm again, like the cap. He still couldn't identify anything clearly, but even though his nose lacked skill, his body reacted to whatever the garment smelled like.

He opened the cubicle door at the same time as Andrew's door, and the alpha came out wearing his bandages but with a towel around his waist. Neil quickly looked away, fearing that his body would react again. With his eyes fixed on his feet, encased in worn-out sneakers, he heard Andrew getting dressed.

"Let's go."

They left the locker room, and he was pleasantly surprised to find a room resembling a dining room, which he assumed was the lobby. There was a small table with a television against the wall, several sofas of varying sizes and colors, the walls covered in a poster of the Foxes, and a small but gleaming display case containing a few medals.

Neil's attention was drawn to the wall with a corkboard covered in photographs. He scanned them one by one, searching for Andrew in each one.

“You have a twin!” I said, surprised.

“You looked me up online,” I replied after a few seconds. I was standing next to him, but without much interest. A cigarette danced between his fingers.

“Yeah. So?” the mirror asked, confused.

“Didn’t you find an Aaron Minyard?”

“Oh…” he squinted, trying to remember. “Well, yeah. It’s just…”

His cheeks flushed. His priority and attention were focused on Andrew. Andrew seemed to be reading him like a book because I noticed the corner of his eye twitch.

Neil forced himself to change the subject; “Who are the others?”

Looking bored, I explained. There was also his cousin Nicky Hemmings, who had adopted them when he was thirteen, and Kevin, who Neil sensed was the closest thing Andrew had to a friend. I talked about everyone, and something bothered him when I mentioned Renee.

“Is she your girlfriend?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“What?” Andrew looked at him like he was stupid.

"I... I saw you at dinner. You look good together." It was true.

"One last thing: I like men."

"Oh..." he blinked in surprise.

"Exactly." he muttered something mocking before moving away from the wall.

With his heart pounding, Neil walked through the living room and one of the sofas caught his eye. He sat down on it, looking around the room. Andrew leaned against the wall, watching.

"It's comfortable." He sniffed the fabric and felt that same feeling he had when Andrew gave him something of his. It was everywhere. He rubbed his cheek against the fabric while his hand cushioned the cotton. He buried his nose deeper and hummed along, feeling his pulse slow and his eyes well up with tears. He felt like a damn dog, but he couldn't stop.

A hand pressed against the back of his neck, and Neil's body kneaded until it was still. He could fall asleep like this.

“Enough, rabbit,” the alpha muttered. “You’re getting high on my scent.”

“Huh…?” He pulled back just enough to look at him.

“You’re lounging against my pack’s couch,” he murmured. “That’s where I sit.”

“Oh…”

“Didn’t you get an education during your time on the run?”

His cheeks flushed. “We never stayed long enough for me to enroll in school.”

“What about your mother? Do you know what that means?” he growled, tightening his grip on his fingers.

Neil sighed or groaned, maybe both, but suddenly he leaned forward, baring his throat to Andrew. His chest quickened as he saw the blond’s eyes darken and devour the hazel iris. Had he done something wrong? He stretched out a little more, so far that his eyes met the cold ceiling. He wanted… He wanted… Andrew. The wan-

The door, whose code secured entry, beeped and opened, letting more light into the room. Then someone turned on the light, and although Neil's whole body shrank instinctively, he didn't move. Not when Andrew's hand was still at his neck.

“Wh-Andrew?” The voice was rough and deep. It echoed. “What the hell are you doing here, kid?”

“Coach, nothing to worry about.”

“There’s always something to worry about with you,” the man muttered, approaching them, oblivious to Neil. “What the hell have you done? You never come volunt-”

The footsteps grew closer, and Neil spotted a tall, broad figure. Fear gripped him, and though every instinct screamed at him to flee, to run until his feet were raw, his body shifted, part of his body exposed, and he hissed.

The hiss. He didn’t even know where it came from. The sound simply left his lips and gave way to a growl. Not as grim as Andrew’s, but firm nonetheless.

Several things happened at once. The man stopped, searching for the source of the noise, before realizing it was behind Andrew. He muttered something akin to a curse, as Andrew's fingers loosened and simply remained there, like a collar, except his thumb caressed the curve between his neck and shoulder.

"What the hell?" Disbelief swept across the face of the man he now recognized as Andrew's trainer. "Andrew?"

"Neil, this old guy is my trainer. He's not a threat," he said. "You can relax, junkie."

And so he did. Confident in Andrew's voice and words, his anger suddenly deserted him, and he felt his cheeks heat up. Was he going crazy? Hissing? What was he, a fucking animal? He hid behind Andrew and pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, trying to bury himself in it, mortified.

"We were just paying a visit," Andrew replied, his hand leaving the back of his neck to slide down and take hold of his fingers.

For a moment, the man didn't respond, even while looking at him. Neil shrank back more, and involuntarily, Andrew took his hand more firmly.

"See you, Coach." He pushed Neil aside, leaving Andrew between them.

"Wait, what? Explain this to me right now, Andrew Joseph—"

“About your salary, David.” There was something almost sarcastic about it. “You don’t want me to let any goals go by this week, do you?”

They left through the same door the coach had entered. Neil could only breathe a sigh of relief when it closed behind him. Now, dawn was bathing the sky in a warm orange and pink hue, which in a few hours would give way to the sun.

“Sorry, he’s your coach and—”

“He’ll get over it.” He shrugged. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Andrew started the car and the streets blurred into the distance. At some point, he handed Andrew a sweet roll, and Neil ate a little, careful not to make a mess. He leaned back against the seat and buried his nose in his clothes.

“What was I doing?”

Andrew hummed.

“Earlier on the sofa. You said if I knew what it meant… I don’t know. Is it bad?” he clarified.

He slowed down and glanced at him briefly.

"You were marking the couch. You wanted to leave your pheromones on the couch because you smelled me on it. It's a way of marking territory."

"But I don't have pheromones."

"No, but you still have instincts. Just like now," he pointed out briefly.

"I can't smell either. The doctor said maybe I never did." He glanced at the mirror. "But... I have to admit you smell good. I can't stop smelling your clothes and your hat, even though it doesn't smell anymore. It's like... I don't know. It helps me sleep better."

"You feel safe."

"Yes," he said, though it wasn't a question.

They remained silent. He began to recognize the streets. Andrew stopped at the gas station to fill up the tank while Neil stayed inside. It was strange to see the same place as the day before. Almost mistaken. Andrew didn't take long, and a few minutes later they arrived at his street. Neither of them moved.

"See you Friday?"

“You know it is.”

They fell silent. Neil didn't want to go home. He wanted to stay here with Andrew. It had been the best day of his life; getting out of the car felt like the end.

“I…”

“Okay, Neil. We'll see each other again.”

He nodded, finally unbuckling his seatbelt. He unlocked the door handle.

“See you Friday.”

“See you Friday.”

Like last time, I waited until he crossed the street to his building. The mangy cat wasn't there, so he didn't waste any time opening the door, glancing one last time at the car. Andrew was looking back at him. When he knocked on his door, he heard the roar of an engine fade away.

In the following days, something simmered in his chest. He felt disoriented and numb. His scars ached and were tense. His mind raced, but nothing coherent came out. He couldn't even study for more than two hours before the words lost all meaning. He wanted to curl up in bed but also run for miles and miles. He always ended up against the wall, his tracksuit, his beanie, his empty cigarette pack, and the plastic wrap around him. He felt like a giant pillow hugging him back, and he imagined it was Andrew.

There were nights he woke up whimpering, his cheeks wet, then he curled up, his chest tight, and lay awake until hunger gnawed at him. His body sweated and trembled. Neil had never been addicted to drugs, yet he felt like he was going through some kind of withdrawal.

Friday arrived, and he got up in the afternoon. He warmed up his can and watched the numbers go down. He showered and put on Andrew's tracksuit. When the sky darkened, he went to the gas station. His feet were calm but with a certain urgency.

Andrew was already there.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Neil sat down next to him and took the cigarette from his fingers. He didn't smoke, but he let it burn itself out, inhaling the scent. Tobacco was no longer a memory that belonged to his mother; at some point, he had begun to associate it with Andrew.

"Don't waste my cigarettes."

“Do you have a pack?”

I looked at him, somewhat surprised, before lighting another cigarette.

“Yes.”

“How does it feel?”

“It’s like trying to pet a stray cat. Sometimes it lets you, other times it scratches you.”

“Mmm…”

“Haven’t you had one?”

“When I injected the suppressant, I didn’t feel the need to form a pack. She wouldn’t have tolerated it either.” He shrugged.

“Do you want one?”

“I don’t know? I know that sometimes I feel aimless. Like I don’t have a purpose. But I’ve never depended on anyone other than my mother, I don’t know if I like it.”

“A pack doesn’t mean dependence. There’s no comparison.” He exhaled a puff of smoke. “It’s different. You’re there no matter what. It grounds you. It’s innate.”

He said nothing.

“How do you get along with your pack?”

He leaned back slightly. "Nicky and Aaron are betas; one of them is always getting into trouble if you don't keep a close eye on him, the other is a button-pusher who's not ready to sew. And Kevin is an alcoholic alpha with serious dad problems. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Can there be two alphas in the same pack?"

"Yes. Forget whatever you were taught. Packs are different and are formed according to each individual's needs." He exhaled a puff of smoke toward him.

"But who's the leader?"

"There isn't one leader. There's usually a head in the pack, but it's not necessarily the voice of reason; rather, it's the support and foundation for consolidation."

"Is that you?"

"Yes." He shrugged.

"I can see it." He smiled.

Andrés didn't answer.

"And since when are you a pack?"

"I can see that." "Nicky and Aaron were the ones who took us in; at first, Nicky was the leader, but things changed when we went to college. Kevin came along shortly after." He stubbed out his cigarette on the asphalt.

"And how do you know who's the leader?"

"The pack notices. The change. It happens gradually, but it's constant and steady."

"Wasn't Nicky upset?" He frowned. "He was the leader."

"He was surprised, but he said it was only a matter of time."

“Mhm…” he hummed more calmly. The anxiety and unease he had felt earlier had subsided.

“You have a lot of questions today,” he whispered. “Do you know what the internet is?”

“I like learning from you,” he murmured sincerely.

“I hate you,” he snarled.

For some reason, that caused a bubbling sound similar to laughter in his. They continued talking with more trivial conversations. Neil opened up and told his that his guardian had visited to check if things were alright. He omitted the part about Lola because he didn't want to mention even her name, but it made him feel lighter.

“He said they had my father's money. Clean, of course.” He paused when a car drove by. “The card arrived two days ago. I haven't opened it yet. I don't know if I want to.”

“You can do whatever you want with it.” "There's no one dictating your life anymore, except yourself."

He sighed. It felt like a leash that was too tight had been loosened around his neck.

"Whatever I want..." he hummed before leaning slightly toward the Alpha.

All that time on the run made him want to go to the bank and withdraw all that money, hide it somewhere in his apartment, and hold onto it until he had to run again, but he knew that would only push him back. He belatedly thought that maybe he should do something with it, maybe buy a house, something he could truly call his own.

He hid under Andrew's tracksuit when a particularly cold gust of wind made him shiver. The Alpha seemed to notice because he stood up and offered Neil a hand.

"Let's go to the car."

They got in, and Andrew turned up the heat. Neil leaned back in the seat to look at the blond, forgetting his seatbelt.

"Christmas is coming." There were about two weeks left before the festivities started. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m coming with the pack to Columbia. We have a house here. And we try not to kill each other.”

“Oh… Is that why you frequent this area?”

“When we go to Eden’s.” Andrew looked at him and perhaps saw the doubt because he clarified. “Not local.”

He nodded to himself. Neil should maybe consider getting a job to kill time. Andrew would be spending Christmas with his family, so he doubted he'd have time to see him, but maybe he could get some of his GED done. When the car clock struck almost four in the morning, Andrew started the engine.

It felt like a blink of an eye, but he was already on his familiar street. He wondered how long they'd keep doing this. Neil knew things didn't last. Not for him. He just hoped they'd continue like this until, selfishly, Andrew decided he didn't want to break the routine.

Again, he didn't move.

"I've read a few things about pheromones," he said quietly, not entirely sure about anything. "Can you smell me?"

"No. There are no hay pheromones." He shifted into gear, and the car acquired speed. "Sometimes there's a nuance."

"Nuance?"

"Yes." But it doesn't last long." He lay back.

He sighed without moving. His street, as always, was empty and gloomy.

"Have you ever tried being smelled?"

"What's that?"

He clicked his tongue. "There's a difference between someone smelling you and someone smelling you. The first is deliberate, the second intentional. Depending on who smells you, your omega will inevitably release pheromones to attract or repel."

"Really?" His enthusiasm didn't go unnoticed. "Could we try it?"

Andrew looked at him, his brow furrowing slightly. "Having someone smell you is a socially intimate act. Not everyone should do it."

"But you can? I trust you," he murmured, stating the obvious.

Andrew inhaled sharply and exhaled through his mouth. When he glanced at Neil, he noticed his pupils were dilated.

"It's usually reserved for the pack or mates."

"Oh… So you don't want to?" A soft disappointment settled, but he didn't dwell on it. If Andrew said no, it meant no.

"It's not that. I need you to know what you're saying yes to, rabbit," he explained. "Smelling someone's gland directly, or having them smell yours, is common for calming and relaxing someone. It's quite intimate, but it might work."

Gland. He had some red, thinner-skinned glands on his neck, near his collarbone, and others between his thighs. He blushed even more.

"Which ones?"

Andrew blinked before opening his eyes slightly.

"The ones on my neck, rabbit."

He let out a sigh that shouldn't go unnoticed.

"Okay, yes." He straightened up. “What?”

“We can do it here if you want, or we can do it at your place.”

He thought about his house; it was quieter, and he'd feel less exposed, but he was embarrassed about Andrew coming in. It was frankly a mess, and the most acceptable place was his bedroom, which was definitely not acceptable.

“Here.” He looked at the completely empty street in his neighborhood.

Andrew got in.

“Who…? Could you smell me? To see if there really is nothing there.” He tried to smile.

Andrew responded by pulling out the armrest. Now, the only thing between them was the gearshift. They both unbuckled their seatbelts, and Neil put his legs up on the seat, turning completely around to face Andrew.

“Yes or no?” the blond man asked him.

“Yes.” He swallowed before reaching for the collar of his shirt, pulling it down and tilting his head to the side.

A feeling ran through him. He felt exposed. He closed his eyes, waiting for Andrew to approach, and frowned when nothing happened at first. He was about to complain, but suddenly a rough hand gently placed itself on top of his and pulled a little closer. There was a soft rumble that vibrated from Andrew's body to his, and then he felt the gentle caress of Andrew's nose against his neck. A shiver ran through his entire body, and he couldn't help but gasp.

"Good?" he whispered in his ear.

"Yes." Neil closed his eyes, pressing his lips together. He was tingling with the same warm liquid that coursed through him in the shower.

His eyes welled up as Andrew moved closer until his nose pressed directly against his glans. This was different, more than he had expected. He heard him inhale sharply, and his body relaxed. He blinked, watching Andrew's hand grip the headrest of his seat. It stayed there for a while until it limply softened under the alpha's sniffing. He thought that would be it, Andrew gently stroking his still-pressed hands. He leaned in a little closer, and suddenly his nose caught something.

It wasn't exactly a smell, more like a feeling. That feeling he got when he was surrounded by Andrew's things. It was intense; his nostrils flared, inhaling more, and he only caught the scent of leather from the seats and the soft floral air. However, something electrifying swept through his body, dulling any rational thought, and he became restless, fidgeting. Andrew moved slightly away from him. Neil wanted to complain, but his attention was completely captivated by the wave of heat. It was incredible, and it was Andrew. It made his mouth water, and he needed more. He fidgeted.

"Andrew."

"Yes."

Neil lunged at Andrew's neck and inhaled. It felt so good, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more and more and more, so he inhaled until his lungs were full of nothing and his body reacted to everything. He didn't realize it, and each time he pressed harder, he got closer to Andrew. He pulled back a little, thinking he was testing some limit. He knew the Alpha didn't like physical contact.

A hand twisted around his neck and pressed his nose to Andrew's glans. A sound escaped his throat, ignoring his suddenly hot cheeks. He leaned toward Andrew, who caught him and pulled him close. As fast as it happened, Neil found himself straddling the Alpha, his face buried in his neck and his hands gripping his shoulders. He moved closer, still not satisfied, until their chests were pressed together, and he stayed there.

He split his time between tracing Andrew's neck with his nose and inhaling. Neil had never tried drugs, but he could say this was close. It felt like being in a bubble that enveloped him with tenderness and security. The closest thing to home. He moaned, and Andrew groaned in response. He moaned again, squeezing tighter, asking for more. Andrew's hand tightened on his neck, and the other encircled his waist, pulling him closer.

He finally relaxed.

"Andrew," he whispered minutes later.

He wasn't sure what he'd said. He noticed his lips moving, but not the sound or the intonation. Suddenly, something about Andrew's scent changed; it was darker, tighter, and denser. He felt it on his skin, now warmer and heavier. Neil took it all in. It was new and pleasant, warming him from the inside out. He felt his lips part and his cheeks ache. He ran his tongue over them, but they were the same as always.

"More." He groaned.

The hand on his neck trembled, and Neil rubbed against him again and again and again. His pants began to dampen. He was getting wet. His erection pressed against Andrew's stomach, and with a final sway of his hips, he felt the reaction in Andrew's pants. He groaned.

"Andrew," he whispered against his neck. "What are you...?"

The alpha growled, his eyes widening as he moved more forcefully. He needed more. He didn't understand what was happening, but his body was hungry. He swept again, this time more slowly, and felt Andrew's chest rise and his hips tense. Neil tightened his hands on his shoulders and pulled away from his neck, searching for Andrew's gaze.

He hummed, blinking slowly.

Andrew's cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes now black, free of their beautiful honey irises, and his jaw was tense.

"Andr-" he moistened his lips, noticing his pants tighten even more. "Sparto."

A growl echoed in the vehicle. It was Andrew, who lowered both hands to Neil's hips.

"Rabbit." He stopped him. "You're high on pheromones."

Neil whimpered, leaning back on the steering wheel. His scalp felt slightly damp, his lips dry, and his eyes blinked slowly. He tried to move his hips instinctively, but the hands on his waist tightened. He looked down; his tracksuit, the one Andrew had given him last week, was tight and slightly darkened at the toe. However, what caught his attention was that Andrew's was too. He swallowed.

"There's something," he tried to say, his words slurred.

"What?"

“I…” He slowly tilted his head and looked down again. He frowned. With the slowest possible movement, he lowered his hand inside his pants and underwear. Andrew looked at him with something close to disbelief in his eyes, but he didn't stop him, didn't make any movement beyond watching. Neil's fingers brushed against his crotch and the inside of his pants.

They were wet.

“No blood.” He raised them to his eye level and separated his index and middle fingers, the thick, clear liquid forming a bridge between them.

Andrew recoiled sharply and saw his nose flare. He swallowed and looked away before meeting his eyes again.

“Neil.”

“What is it…?” He brought it to his nose, sniffing. He didn't notice anything. His other hand, in a reflex, went to his pants and he made a move to stop himself, suddenly startled. Had he peed? It didn't look like pee, but it almost felt like it.

Andrew stopped him before he could pull his pants down right there.

"Neil," he said more clearly. "Shit. Neil, stop."

Neil straightened up, tense, and stumbled back to his seat. He'd screwed up. He'd upset him. Andrew's gaze was unfocused, his jaw clenched tight. Neil thought if he kept clenching, he'd crack a tooth. His mother was right. He was stupid. Too stupid to think beyond numbers. He had to get out of here, out of the car, out of his house, out of the state…

"Neil. Stop thinking, I can hear you from here," the alpha interrupted.

Neil inhaled and exhaled, forcing himself to relax. Think clearly, he told himself.

"I'm sorr-"

"Don't apologize. I don't want it," he growled. "Just… Shit, I'll kill your mother."

“I doubt you’d fit in a California jail,” he muttered, somewhat mockingly.

Andrew frowned before relaxing again. A conversation for later. Abram discreetly wiped his fingers on his pants, but Andrew followed suit.

“That’s your lube,” he said explicitly.

“Lube? Why was my ass leaking—” The blush spread from his neck to his face, so intense that Neil had to turn his head away for a moment.

He'd forgotten. He vaguely remembered overhearing a conversation between FBI agents about sex and how omegas tend to lubricate. He wasn't even paying attention to the topic; he was more focused on getting a weapon to defend himself if necessary. But apparently, the conversation was stored in his mind.

“Yes, exactly.” Andrew's voice held a cynical edge. “Do you need me to explain what it's for, or do you already know?”

“For knotting?”

Andrew snorted.

“Yes, for knotting. For fucked, penetrated, raised. Call it what you want. Your body was reacting to mine and getting ready for me to sheath you.” He said it with absolute seriousness, as if it were nothing, the only difference being that, after observing Neil's face, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Oh my God," he choked. "You're having fun with this. You're cruel."

Andrew blinked innocently.

"It's normal."

"You...? Alphas...?"

"If you're asking if we lubricate, it's because we don't. Only omegas have that ability." He sighed. "Are you okay?"

"Me?" He pointed to himself. "Yes, yes. Great. I... I wasn't expecting that, I had heard something about it, but... With the injection, I didn't think I could do it too."

"Forget what you're supposed to do or not do. Being different from the rest doesn't make you any less of an omega."

He nodded to himself before looking at him again. More stern, more resolute. He inhaled sharply when he realized his hip was throbbing under Andrew's firm grip. He didn't want it to disappear.

"And you seem to react to my pheromones. And I to yours."

"But I don't... It's not like I smelled anything, I just felt really good and... Wait, did you smell my pheromones?"

He grimaced, tilting his head, his eyes settling on the curve of his neck where they'd been just minutes before.

"No. There are no hay pheromones." Then he cleared his throat slightly. "And your tallow stinks."

"Does it smell bad? I can't smell anything."

"It doesn't smell bad. It just stinks."

"Isn't that the same thing?" The mirror looked bad.

"No, Neil, it's not the same thing." He sighed before his lips curved slightly into a smile, his eyes flashing with mockery. "Needless to say, you don't have to show everyone what you're doing?"

“Andrew!” he groaned, embarrassed. “That’s not what I said.”

“Actually, that’s what you said.”

A quiet calm settled between them before a thought crossed his mind.

“If I didn’t smell your pheromones, why is my body reacting to you? And if you didn’t smell my pheromones, why…?” He frowned before sighing and leaning back against the wall. He was a little uncomfortable with the now-cold dampness staining his trousers.

“Smell is the easiest way to perceive pheromones, but it’s not the only way. Your body reacts to them too.”

“How do you know so much?” He was frankly fascinated by Andrew’s extensive knowledge. He didn’t want to stop listening to him.

“My brother is studying medicine.” He shrugged, sounding bored. “And I have an eidetic memory.”

Neil looked at him for a moment longer before leaning back completely in his seat. He wanted to ask more, about everything. But he noticed his eyes were heavy, and when he checked the time, it was almost six in the morning.

“So it worked?” he asked in barely a whisper.

“It’s better than nothing.”

Neil smiled slightly before disappearing again.

“I’m sorry I—” he stopped. “I’m sorry about the erection and the—”

“Rubbing against my cock like you were in heat.”

“Why are you talking like that?” he growled, turning even redder. “It’s… It’s… I don’t even swing.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow, not believing him.

“That’s right! I thought I was weird. I’m not interested in people. Well, I wasn’t.”

“Are you confessing?”

“Confessing what? A crime? I’m clean of my criminal record. At least that’s what the FBI said—”

Andrew blinked at him as if he’d grown another head. Neil could mentally confirm that Andrew thought he was stupid. But what else could he confess? He'd already told Andrew more than was truly appropriate. Nothing too compromising, but enough to make Neil feel like he was handing over pieces of himself.

"Go get some rest, Neil." He sighed.

Neil walked over and made a move to pull the lever to open the car door, but turned to Andrew.

"Are you mad?"

"No, rabbit." Neil wasn't really sure. "It was a yes to me, was it to you?"

"It was a yes to me too," he whispered. "See you...?"

"Friday."