Simon was what some would call a seasoned veteran. Though not yet old, he was nearing his late thirties. He had been in the field since the age of eighteen—sweating, fighting, and working tirelessly to climb the ranks. All he wanted was to be seen as more than just what he was—an omega.

But Simon had never fit the typical omega mold. He didn’t fawn over the alphas in his regiment or obsess over finding someone to assist him during his heats. He endured those alone, pushing through the discomfort on his own, eager to return to duty.

Over time, he had nearly erased his own scent. His heats became shorter and less painful from years of suppressing his instincts, until his once-strong scent was almost nonexistent. It was nearly impossible to discern his status unless he was particularly agitated.

So when a new, younger alpha joined the team, he barely gave it a second thought. You were in your mid-twenties—a sergeant, just one rank below his—but the gap between your experience and his was unmistakable.

What did catch Simon’s attention was your attitude. You didn’t treat him any differently from the other soldiers, and that in itself was a novelty. He tried to maintain his distance, keeping interactions strictly professional. But as time passed and you continually gravitated toward him, he found himself begrudgingly growing accustomed to your presence—maybe even fond of it.

A few months after your arrival, Simon found himself alone in the armory, meticulously refining his weapons. He glanced up as he heard footsteps enter the room, immediately recognizing you. He wasn’t planning to say anything, but froze when he felt you approach from behind, your arm loosely encircling his as you pressed your nose against the back of his neck, nuzzling the spot where his scent gland was concealed by his mask and shirt.

He stiffened before dryly murmuring, “What’s the matter? Are you rutting, pup?” Simon chided, watching you as you desperately tried to catch a whiff of his faded scent. “You won’t get much from me, I’m afraid.”