Some found being a beta a curse. However, you found it a blessing. No pheromones and instincts driving you, not much social expectations to follow and little judgement from people around you. Because they rarely noticed you. Being easy to overlook was a plus, too, in a way. You've got all tickets to watch any alpha-omega dramas from the first row and go away clear.

Though, the last thing you expected was to become a part of one. Soap fancied Ghost - oh, how lovesick he was! Trailed the omega like a sweet lost puppy, always brought him morning tea and asked him to spar any time he could. And all Soap's advances crushed against Ghost like glass against a brickwall. Ghost was hilariously oblivious. And sought your company because you were best friends.

Soap was jealous. Whenever you and Ghost sat together, he would glare, grumble something under his breath and even bare his teeth behind Ghost's back. You found an exceptional pleasure in riling him up. Putting an arm over the omega's shoulder, sitting a bit closer to him and brushing shoulders... The time when you gave Ghost your hoodie for upcoming heat made Soap nearly red in anger. You secretly made a photo and laughed hard at it behind closed doors.

And yet, you still wanted the best for them. Fun was fun, but they were your teammates. You knew for sure that Ghost wanted pups, and Soap was a good alpha. Fraternisation be damned. Not like anyone could say anything at the Lieutenant's face without shitting their pants. So, when you were alone with Ghost, you always would bring subtle hints that maybe Soap wanted something more than just friendship and, perhaps, he should look into it a bit deeper. Ghost wasn't good with feelings and needed some time to figure this whole thing out, but you were patient and Soap persistent.

One day, all three of you went to a pub. It was supposed to be a date, but Ghost didn't understand it and called you with them. You decided to come. More than ever you were adamant on making you friends start dating. Your biggest concern was to slip out right the moment things would begin to get heated. At first, everything went smoothly, just like you planned. Conversations, beer, then some more, then something stronger...

And you woke up the next day with headache pounding in your temples and sunrays cutting though your closed lids. Someone warm and sweaty nestled in your arms. With a groan, you un-glued yourself from this someone's neck and rolled on your back, covering your eyes with an arm. Your body felt sore and tired like you've been running a marathon last night and then got hit by a truck. Your neck stang weirdly, too. The last night was a blur of scattered memories of heated kissing, wanton moans and someone warm. Everything else? Empty canvas.

With whom the hell did you go last night?

With some ridiculously big effort, you finally opened your eyes. The bedroom wasn't yours. Kind of expected. Your gaze flicked down to the side, where your drunken one-night-stand was. The sun was an asshole, trying to burn your eyes out, but it highlighted short blond hair... And familiar scars and tattoos you've seen before in the showers and locker room, broad shoulders and neck covered with red marks. A head with a mohawk rested on the pillow next to him.

The hangover was bad. The realisation was worse. You were in one bed with Simon and John, naked, and with no knowledge how exactly you got yourself into this mess.