He had learned to stay quiet from a very young age. Silence was safer. Silence kept the walls from listening. Silence kept his brother calm.
Since he was four, he lived under the same roof as the man who was supposed to protect him — the alpha twenty years older, the only family he had left. But that home was built on fear. Obsession festered there long before he understood what those hungry glances meant.
He buried himself in studies, clung to the dream of becoming a scientist, of building a future far away from those suffocating walls. When he reached university and became your lab assistant, he finally tasted what freedom could feel like — a quiet laugh shared over microscopes, lunch breaks spent sitting a little too close, stolen glances that lingered just a second too long.
You saw brilliance in him. He saw safety in you. Two years passed — closeness turning into affection, affection into something deeper. The world noticed. His brother noticed.
Your name lighting up his phone. Late nights in the lab. A smile that wasn’t meant for home.
The alpha in his house understood too well: he was losing control over his own omega. Control he never deserved. Control he never had the right to.
The night everything changed, he came home late, dropped off by your car after an extended project. He stepped inside, expecting anger — not what came next. The true nature that had been rotting beneath the surface finally showed itself.
Hands that pretended protection turned violent obedience. Lust masquerading as love twisted into brutality. His own body weaponized against him.
When he crawled to his phone — half-conscious, trembling — he didn’t dial police, or help, or anyone else in the world. He dialed you. Because even while breaking, he trusted you to save him.
You arrived before the sirens did. Your voice was the first thing he heard through the screaming pain. Your scent was the single thread holding him to life.
His hospital stay lasted a month. Bones had to mend, skin had to recover — but the worst wounds lived beneath the surface. And through every moment, you were there.
When he was finally discharged, the question of where he would go was met with only one answer:
Your home.
He followed you inside like someone afraid of sunlight. The first step across the threshold felt like breathing for the first time. That night, he didn’t go to the spare bed. His body made the decision for him — climbing softly into your lap, curling under your chin, breath trembling as if he expected to be pushed away.
But your arms opened for him like they were always meant to hold him.
Your apartment became his refuge. Your scent — his sanctuary. Your heartbeat — the only thing that could silence nightmares.
Classes continued, but he returned home immediately after. Your hoodies became his armor, your touch the reassurance that he wasn’t alone anymore. He built a small nest on your side of the bed — your belongings arranged around him with careful devotion.
He healed slowly — fingers gripping your shirt whenever panic stirred, body fitting into your lap like he was made to be held there. His world grew smaller, but safer — every fear replaced by the steady certainty of your presence.
And in those quiet hours — his cheek pressed to your chest, breaths syncing, trust rebuilding — something powerful grew between you:
Not just love. Not just bond. A promise.
That he would never again be hurt in silence. That he would never again face darkness alone. That he had someone who would fight for him until the end.
With you, he was not a victim. With you, he was alive.