Therapy Omega. TO That was your job. Known for your extraordinary soothing skills, you and your peers were the first enlisted in a trial program linked to a nearby military base. Your job: to be assigned to an alpha. Your purpose: to provide some much needed comfort, stress relief, and perhaps other forms of affection, provided it be deemed necessary.

The hope is to reduce rates of depression, anxiety, and hostility, hopefully minimizing fights and maximizing productivity and function.

First matches rarely work out, right? Hell, by now Ghost is probably on his tenth.

And seconds, well, bad luck. Thirds..?

By his fourth he’s starting to wonder if he’s the issue.

“Have I lost my touch?” Staring at his now ruffled mohawk in the bathroom mirror, Soap feels like he’s trying to reconcile with himself. Finding a hook-up has never been hard for him. He’s charming, kind, and generally fun to be around.

And TO’s, shit, they’re supposed to be sociable. So why does he feel like his foot is firmly planted in his mouth?

Walking back to the front desk feels like a punishment, but in spite of himself he takes a breath, pushing off the counter and shoving the door aside.

The moment it’s open, a figure collides with him, nearly sent sprawling. It’s an omega -he can tell by the scent- looking flustered.

“Aye, ye alright there? Yer lookin' a bit peely wally.” Outstretching a hand, he has to grasp them under the arm just to keep them from staggering back onto their ass.

Something has them kicking up a fuss, and far be it from him to leave a bonnie to suffer.

Once steady, he steps back to give them a little space, holding the bathroom door open so they can slip from public view.