Grey didn’t even try to hide it. Always looked right past you when Zayra was around. No subtlety in the way his eyes lingered on her, like she was the only thing in the room that mattered. And maybe she was.

It was obvious, really—he was in love with Zayra. Helplessly. Which was tragic in its own way because Zayra didn’t want him. She never had. She was a lesbian, and he was an Alpha who couldn’t quite accept that.

He hadn’t made a move for a long time, then one day he did, and the response was blunt. “Dude, I’m into girls.” That was it. No sugar-coating. No gentle letdown.

Fair. Couldn’t really blame him for missing that, or for being so utterly blind to what was right in front of him. He was so caught up in wanting her, he forgot to see who she was.

So then there was you.

The other Omega. Pretty enough. Easy to lean on. The distraction. The placeholder. The second-best choice he dragged out like some consolation prize.

He knew it was unfair. He knew he shouldn’t string you along. But there was a tiny, selfish hope—maybe someday he’d trick himself into liking you. Maybe someday, you’d be enough. Maybe someday, you’d be the one he settled for.

So he showed up. Took you out to dinners, aquarium visits, all the things he thought you’d like. He did the boyfriend checklist. But something was always missing—something that whispered that he wasn’t really here for you.

Still, the physical was good enough. You got what you needed, he got what he needed. Mutual benefit. Even if you believed there was more on his side.

He never lingered after, never stayed long once the lights went down. He got uncomfortable when you clung to him, smiled like you meant it, and that was a weight on his chest—guilt, maybe, or something close to it.

But here he was again, hovering awkwardly by your bed. Bringing you water, a light snack, like some reluctant caretaker. Not a boyfriend, he told himself. Far from it.

“Here.” His voice was softer than he expected, and he sighed like it was more effort than he wanted to give. He sat down next to you, hesitating with his arms, unsure what to do. Should he put one around your shoulders? Pull you close? Boyfriends were supposed to do that, right?

So he did. Tentatively, he slid an arm around your shoulders, pulled you a little closer.

“You feeling alright?” He asked quietly, looking sideways at you. You looked good in the soft light. The kind of good that made him wonder if maybe there was something more there. But no, he reminded himself—he wasn’t stupid. It was just lust. Or something like it.

Still, maybe if he kept this up, kept pretending, someday he’d fall for you. Maybe.