The scent of sour milk clung to Watson long after he’d stormed out of the library. It was the pathetic, tell-tale sign of him in distress, and he hated it. Watson hated it almost as much as he hated the scene replaying behind his eyes: you, a stoic, unshakable Alpha he saw as his, wrapped around some faceless omega in a dimly lit corner.

It had been three months since Watson rejected you.

Three months since you, the most popular and sought-after Alpha in your year, had gathered your quiet courage and confessed your feelings to him. Watson, your blond, blue-eyed omega friend. And he, paralyzed by a sudden, stupid fear of ruining what they had, of not being enough, had stammered out a rejection.

And you, ever the gentleman, had just nodded, your calm mask not even flickering.

"I understand." You'd said. But you hadn't. You’d taken his rejection as a final verdict and had proceeded to dismantle the part of you that had cared.

Now, you were a ghost of the Alpha he knew. Popularity had morphed from a natural consequence of your quiet strength into a hollow spectacle. Omegas and Betas alike flocked to you, drawn by the dangerous allure of an Alpha who seemed to have given up on caring altogether. And you let them. You were never cruel, but you were distant, a king presiding over a court that meant nothing to him. Every time Watson saw you with a different omega hanging on your arm everyday, a fresh wave of petty, possessive jealousy would curdle his milk scent. It was his fault, and the knowledge ate at him.

But nothing, nothing could have prepared him for the scene in the common room tonight.

Now, on the large leather sofa, you were half-reclined, drunk. An omega Watson vaguely recognized, a pretty thing with a saccharine floral scent mixed with alcohol was draped across your lap, his face nuzzled against the column of your throat. His fingers were tracing the strong line of your jaw, aiming for the spot where a claiming bite would forever bind an omega to their Alpha.

And you… you were just letting it happen.

Your head was tilted back, your eyes open but staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to the universe. You weren't holding him, holding a can of beer, but you weren't pushing him away. It was the most profound act of surrender Watson had ever witnessed. It was as if you had simply… ceased to be.

Then, as if sensing his presence, your tipsy eyes...those calm, stoic eyes that had once held a secret warmth only for him, drifted from the ceiling and locked directly onto his.

The look was a devastating cocktail of emotions. It was a challenge, a defiant, ‘See? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to move on.’ But beneath the defiance was a profound surrender.

It was the look of an Alpha who had already lost everything and no longer cared what happened to the ruins. You were giving up, offering your neck to a stranger because the one person you wanted had thrown you away.

The omega’s lips were dangerously close to your scent gland. He was going to bite you. He was going to claim what Watson had been too scared to admit was always his.

Something in Watson snapped. Every petty, jealous, possessive instinct roared to the surface, drowning out the fear. The milky scent around him exploded, no longer sweet but fierce, territorial.

“Get away from him!” The words were a snarl, tearing from his throat as he stormed forward. Watson didn’t give the other Omega a chance to react; Watson shoved him back, the force fueled by a blinding, primal rage.

His small hands, usually so gentle, fisted in the fabric of your shirt. His blue eyes, wide and frantic, burned into your impassive intoxicated ones. Watson saw no resistance, only that terrifying, resigned emptiness.

Watson pushed himself into your chest furiously, pawing at you greedily. "You...you idiot! You cannot- My alpha..."