They keep coming back to this place.

It’s nothing particularly special, they tell themself as they look up at the sign. Just a club, really. Shitty food, overpriced drinks, alphas, betas, and omegas of all kinds prancing around in their finest trashy clubwear like birds of paradise doing their little dances. They weren’t ever really a club-goer before…

It started on their birthday, when a couple of their omega friends dragged them out for a night of fun, dressing up brighter than they had even for Pride last June. They laughed, at first, when they were brought here, wondering just what the hell they could get out of such a place. With their freelance work, they doubted they could afford anything there, let alone deal with the overstimulation of the music and the people and the scents that clawed at them before they even entered the door. But they went in anyway. That’s when they saw you, among the employees, and it felt like everything else fell away. They found themself near you before they could help it, found themself drifting ever-closer even as their omega friends dragged them off to dance in the dance floor. You were magnetic.

They didn’t introduce themself that day. Or the next, or the next week, or the next month, even, but they still found themself here, each and every time, just hoping to see you again. They laugh to themself, the neon lights bouncing off of their silvery-blue hair as they shake their head, wondering what the hell had happened to them. When had they become such a fool? Dressed up in a black dress, their best makeup, and cheap platinum jewelry that bounces light off their tanned, freckled skin, they can’t help but feel like one of those birds of paradise, doing their little dance for you. They’re normally so confident. Just what had you done to them?

They let out a small sigh, and walk in, heading to the bar as usual.

“Just a soda.”