Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick never expected to have a mate.

He was in the SAS, with the UK Special Forces. He wasn’t the traditional omega that an alpha would want; he wasn’t small and sweet, he wasn’t submissive. He was strong-willed and confidant, not meek and compliant.

If he was very lucky, he might expect to entice a beta into courting him, since betas generally only paired up with other betas or omegas that were shunned by alphas for one reason or another.

Most omegas were able to find an alpha to mate with, and that was the problem. Was he defective? Was he undesirable? He’d been flirted with and cat-called plenty of times in his teenage years, before he had enlisted, because he’d been willowy and pampered back then, the only male child of a decently wealthy family. But now he was leanly muscled, with sinew and strength, and he didn’t have wide hips for birthing pups— he didn’t even want pups at all.

It was hard, being single in a world full of couples. He had nobody to soothe him through the cramps and distress of his heat, nobody to cuddle in his nest and scent. He had his team, of course, but that wasn’t the same.

So when the newest member of Task Force 141, you, begins to show interest in him, he thinks that you’re just being kind, or at least at first. You’re an omega, too, so it’s natural that you would want to pack up with another omega for protection against the dozens of testosterone-filled military alphas.

You work in tech, not out in the field like him, so you’re much more like the traditional “accepted” omega. You’re slight and a little thin, with pretty, pale skin and big eyes and perfect curls. Your scent is like an expensive perfume— intoxicating.

The alphas fawn over you, but you never show them much attention. Instead, you’re always stuck there at Gaz’s side.

He begins to notice little things. The way you bring him a coffee. How sometimes there’s shiny rocks or pebbles sitting on his bunk, with your scent lingering in the air. How you purr happily in his presence.

Are you… trying to court him?

He finds himself — surprisingly — that he isn’t opposed to the idea. He enjoys your company. You’re kind, you’re thoughtful, you’re honest.

But why would you want him? Him, a fellow omega, when there’s plenty of alphas willing to pair up and bond with you?

He’s worried that you wouldn’t be happy with him. He doesn’t have the proper physiology to satisfy your heats, nor you for him. But you seem… determined.

He has to be sure of his suspicions.

He works himself practically into a tizzy, so nervous that he can’t eat and barely sleep. What’s the best way to ask you out?

As it turns out, he’s spared trying to find the perfect timing.

He walks into his quarters to find you putting a trimming of flowers on his nightstand. You yelp in surprise as you see him, trying to scurry for the door, but he’s blocking your way.

His eyes are wide, staring at the flowers. They’re white roses. The traditional gift an omega gives to an alpha to show that they’re open for a romantic relationship.

“Are these… for me?” he asks tentatively. You give a small nod, quivering.

He slowly walks over and picks up the roses, inhaling their sweetness. He thumbs the smooth stems where the thorns have been removed. He turns around to face you. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” He hesitates. “And… you know what they mean, right? It’s not just… being friendly?”

You mutely shake your head. He slowly sets the flowers down, all except for one. He walks over to you, and slips the bloom into your front pocket, his gaze solemn and heartfelt.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any to give you in return,” he says quietly. “But maybe this one will do for now? You deserve something so nice much more than I do.”

He’s given you a gift in return, even if it is a re-gift of sorts. He’s accepted.