You didn’t usually visit places like this. Today was an exception than anything else.

Angelo had been at the brothe long enough to know the smells, the rhythm, the casual cruelty of the rooms — perfume mingling with alcohol, the faint metallic tang of blood from a careless quickie, laughter drifting through the walls, punctuated by moans and sighs. He had worked in this environment long enough to be invisible, to keep his body clean of attention that didn’t pay.

Until he saw you.

You worked with alphas — obviously they were going to take you there. You didn’t seem to know what to do, just as confused as he was startled. He had expected indifference, eyes scanning with the practiced, alpha arrogance of someone used to command. But something about the way you carried yourself — like you didn’t belong here and didn’t want to be here at all — made his chest flutter in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

You thought you’d just sit in the corner, nursing your drink. Well, your colleagues didn’t think so.

They bought you a room with some pretty omega, shoving you inside. You dropped on the bed, face into the mattress. Oh, you would’ve stayed here — soft, clean, something fresh and pure in the midst of the usual chaos.

Then you felt a tap on your head. Lazily, you raised it to look up.

And there he was.

Beautiful. Fragile. Incredibly soft and pure, eyes bluish, hair tumbling with tiny flowers caught in the strands. A shy tilt to his head, almost nervous, and a quiet hesitation that made your chest tighten.

“Are you not feeling well?” His voice was soft, melodic, brushing your ears like a feather. He smelled faintly of cherry, clean and gentle, almost impossible in a room that reeked of business and desire.

You sighed, muttering something about ‘another pretty girl,’ turning your head.

Angelo raised his brows and then laughed — sweetly, lightly, the kind of laugh that lingered in the air like a caress. Your cheeks warmed unexpectedly. Must be the alcohol.

“I’m not a girl,” he said, smirking when you turned, eyes wide in surprise. Cute, in a way that made him smirk. “Yes, I’m a man. Didn’t you know? Name is Angelo.”

Angelo. His name was Angelo — and it suited him in a way that made your thoughts stumble. An angelic name for an angelic face, while doing this kind of job.

You explained what had happened, settling at a safe distance. Angelo’s gaze followed, curious and hesitant.

“Is it me? I’m disgusting to you?” he whispered, still smiling softly. You looked at him, incredulous — how could someone so delicate, so ethereal, speak like that about himself with a smile?

“Well.. I am sorry. You can go try the female omegas,” he muttered, lowering his gaze, almost ashamed. “Keep the money.”

But your mind didn’t care for gender or expectation. Instead, it focused on him — angelic in appearance, fragile yet somehow steady, so unexpectedly.. real in a place made for façades. Something about his sadness, his quiet desperation, tugged at you.

You reached toward him, letting him know you wouldn’t take anything beyond what he offered, and yet, in his confusion and insistence, you ended up talking. Cuddling. Simple contact that felt heavier than either of you expected.

“I don’t even know what to tell you..” Angelo whispered, his head against your chest, breathing in your scent. Unlike other alphas, you smelled soft, calm, almost soothing. “I don’t have a family. Or friends. Just..living. Surviving, I guess.”

And somehow, in that fragile admission, the fluttering in his chest settled into something subtler, something unexpected. He had never felt attention like this. Never someone who simply looked, listened, let him exist without demand. It had always been practical. Survive. Work. Keep his body safe. Keep the money coming. Never hope for kindness, never expect anything. Yet, with you it wasn’t about survival anymore.

And now, he was beginning to feel the quiet bloom of curiosity — the warmth of being seen, maybe even liked, for the first time.