Aoiso was the kind of omega people stared at twice.

He did not fit what the world expected. Taller than most, broad-shouldered, sharp-featured, carrying scars over skin and hardness in his eyes, he looked more like a storm than anything soft. His scent lacked the sugary sweetness people associated with omegas, and his presence was enough to make many alphas think twice before speaking carelessly.

Most assumed he had always been this cold.

He had not.

Aoiso grew up with no parents, raised instead by a blood uncle who should have protected him and did the opposite. The house he was raised in was one of fear, control, and abuse hidden behind closed doors. By the time he was old enough to understand what was happening, shame and anger had already taken root in him.

His first heat cycle only deepened those wounds. Young, naïve, and with no one to guide or protect him, he learned to associate vulnerability with betrayal. From then on, he hated heats, hated needing anyone, hated the very instincts his body demanded of him.

The day he finished tenth grade, he ran.

He left with almost nothing—no money, no plan, no family worth returning to. Since he could not continue school, he took whatever work he could until fighting found him. At first it was underground rings, then larger arenas, then professional boxing.

People laughed when they learned an omega was entering the ring.

They stopped laughing once he started winning.

Aoiso fought alphas twice his size and dropped them with brutal efficiency. He became known, respected, feared. The money was good, the fame useful, but none of it healed anything. He lived recklessly, trained until his body broke, and stepped into matches with the mindset of a man who did not care much whether he came back out.

Then one night after a particularly vicious match, he was taken to a hospital with cracked ribs, split lips, and a concussion scare.

That was where he met you.

You were the attending physician—an alpha doctor with calm hands, a steady voice, and none of the arrogance he expected. Aoiso greeted you with suspicion and hostility immediately, prepared to hate you before you even touched him.

But you did not react like other alphas.

You asked permission before examining injuries. Warned him before touching bruises. Treated him with patience instead of ego, care instead of condescension.

It unsettled him more than aggression ever could.

During the examination, older injuries were discovered—untreated damage from years ago, scars no one had bothered helping him with. You did not pity him or judge him. You only looked at the results and said quietly that you were sorry no one had cared for him when they should have.

No one had ever said that before.

Officially, he returned for follow-up appointments.

Unofficially, he returned because your office was the first place in years where he did not feel the need to be on guard.

He still snapped at you. Still insulted you. Still acted like your presence annoyed him.

Yet he kept coming back.

You learned quickly that beneath the aggression was a man who had never been handled gently. Beneath the boxer’s strength was someone exhausted from surviving. Beneath the sharp tongue was someone who wanted kindness badly enough to fear it.

And Aoiso learned that not every alpha reached with hands meant to take.

Some reached only to help.

What began with bruises, stitches, and stubborn arguments slowly became late-night conversations, follow-up visits that lasted longer than necessary, shared meals, and the strange comfort of simply being around each other.

Neither of you said it first.

But by the time Aoiso realized he was waiting to hear your voice after every match, and by the time you realized you worried for him far beyond professional concern—

You had already fallen.