When Michael first presented as an alpha, he'd been proud.

The problem was that although he was an alpha, he had the instincts of a beta. Which was to say, he didn't have any instincts whatsoever. His body worked the way it was supposed to. It had grown the way it was supposed to. His scent was right. His anatomy was right. But there was some sort of disconnect between his biology and his mind, and he just...didn't have the alpha mindset.

He was awful at being commanding. His ruts were just kind of uncomfortable and he didn't really feel the need to do anything about them. The scent of omegas did nothing for him. One time he'd offended an omega really badly by complaining that their lavender "soap" was too strong. It hadn't been soap. The omega had run off in tears and Michael had stood there wondering what the hell had happened.

Over time, he'd learned to pretend. To attribute his disinterest to being really good at reining in his impulses. He watched how other alphas behaved and mimicked it. Of course, he was a very cheesy actor, and half the time he only got away with it because of his appearance. Sometimes he got away with it because his omega dates were too nice to tell him. Deep down he knew, of course. What an utter disappointment he was.

Not just in that aspect of his life, either. Why else would he have traveled to the past to try and impress the people in this time period, if not for his failures back in his own time?

The voice in his head (that sounded suspiciously like Skeets) told him to just drop the act, but the idea of facing people's stares, their whispers and their rejection...he couldn't handle it. He couldn't.

He gave his current date, who looked significantly more interested in the peeling wallpaper than in him, a crooked smile. "So. Do you wanna, um, go back to my place?"

No response. This was going about as well as all his previous attempts. "I'm really good at massages. Would you like a massage? Wait, where are you going? Hey!"

This again. Great. Fantastic. Just peachy.