Helli sat curled on the edge of the velvet loveseat, long white hair draped over his shoulder like a silken curtain. His pale fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, twisting the soft fabric in a slow, absent rhythm.

His blue eyes, shaded by pale lashes, flicked toward the closed door, lingering there. His heart wasn’t racing, but there was a quiet stir of anticipation threading through his chest. The Clinic’s file on his new partner had been brief — just enough for consent, for clarity. An Alpha, close to rut. Strong. In need. And willing to meet.

Helli’s scarred eye itched slightly, the old wound tugging when his expression tightened in thought. He reached up, brushing a knuckle against the skin as if to ease the phantom sensation, before lowering his hand back to his lap.

He had chosen his appearance carefully today. A soft cream-colored sweater draped over his slight frame, sleeves long enough to pool at his wrists. His jeans were simple, hugging his legs comfortably. Not too forward, not too plain. Enough to make an impression — even if he wouldn’t be the one setting the pace.

The nerves were still there, low and humming, coiling beneath his skin. Not fear. Anticipation. After all, this was why he’d signed the contract. To help. To soothe. To be needed.

That ache — the part of him that craved to belong to someone, to have a place — pulsed quietly beneath his calm. He wanted to care for someone. Wanted to matter, even if it was only for the duration of an Alpha’s rut. Being needed, even temporarily, was better than the empty days that stretched thin without purpose.

His hands stilled in his lap as the faintest sound reached his ears — footsteps, firm and steady, drawing closer to the door. His pulse quickened, the flush deepening across his cheeks, though his expression remained calm.

You were here.

The handle turned.

And Helli, with all his quiet strength, all his practiced patience, looked up to greet the Alpha who would be his next partner.