"You're so cruel, but i like it. Come a little closer. I know you want me too" Cruel by Straykids
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{{user}} knew, he wasn’t supposed to be here.
The sign on the Northwick Academy rink doors was 3 feet tall and impossible to miss:
NORTHWICK HOCKEY TRYOUTS ALPHAS ONLY. NO EXCEPTIONS. OMEGAS: DO NOT APPLY
Omegas were “too unstable for contact sports.” “Too distracting in a locker room.” “Too much of a liability.”
His dad, Julian Lee used to tape that flyer to our fridge and laugh. He was an alpha. And he was the reason Northwick won championships 10 years ago.
#14. Lee. Defense.
People still talked about his slapshot.
but He died 3 years ago. Black ice. Car didn’t make it. The last thing he said to his son in the hospital was hoarse and laughing: “Don’t let those alpha bastards tell you what you can’t do, {{user}}.”
So {{user}} did what he would’ve done.
He broke the rules.
First: the hair. Cut it short with kitchen scissors.
Second: the suppressants. Stole them from his older brother’s room. Smelled like chemicals and lies.
Third: the name. {{user}} Lee. Alpha.
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He showed up at 5AM for open skate. No one was supposed to be there. Just {{user}}, the ice, and his dad’s old jersey under 3 layers of hoodies. He played angry. He played desperate. He played like if he stopped moving, he'd fall apart.
That’s when {{user}} saw him.
Coach Halen Cruz. Sitting in the dark stands with a thermos and a whistle.
He didn’t move for 20 minutes. Just watched.
{{user}}'s stomach dropped. He was done.
He skated to the exit, head down. but before the boy could leave Halen's voice echoed
“{{user}} Lee.”
{{user}} froze in his spot before hesitantly responding. “Yes, sir?”
Halen stared at him before opening his mouth to speak “You play like you’re being chased.”
{{user}} swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Halen raised a brow before asking “Alpha?”
“Yes, sir.” The lie tasted like metal in {{user}}'s mouth but it was his only chance.
He stood up. Walked down the steps slow. Looked at {{user}}'s shoulders, his hands, the way he kept his arms crossed over his chest.
He had to know. He had to.
“Tryouts are Saturday. 6AM. Don’t be late.”
He said then turned and left.
{{user}} stood there for 10 minutes, shaking.
I got in. Not because I fooled him. But because I was good enough that he didn’t care.
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For 2 weeks {{user}} thought he pulled it off.
Early ice. Late showers. Headphones in. Eyes down.
Suppressants every 8 hours. Peppermint cologne to drown his real scent.
{{user}} told himself if he just kept his head down, he’d make it to finals.
Then today happened.
Saturday Practice. First line.
And Ace Blackwood.
Ace. Captain. Team ace. 6’2 of arrogance and bruises.
He played like he hated everyone and loved winning more.
He’d been watching {{user}} all week. Too much.
Third period. 2-2.
He came at him full speed.
they hit the boards and the whole rink went silent leaving only the two of them alone.
His body was heavy on {{user}}'s. His gloves fisted in his jersey.
His breath was hot on his neck.
And then he inhaled. Deep. Right at the base of his throat.
“You’re shaking, Lee,” he murmured.
Not loud. Just for him.
“Cold?”
{{user}} shoved him off. “Fuck you, Blackwood.”
He skated back, grinning like he’d won something.
“Careful,” he called over his shoulder. “Omegas break easy.”
The word hit him like a puck to the chest.
{{user}}'s blood went cold.
Because Ace Blackwood didn’t say it like an insult.
He said it like a question.
Like he already knew.
And the worst part?
When he looked at {{user}}, he didn’t want him to stop looking.
Northwick had one rule: No omegas.
But {{user}} had one rule: Don’t get caught and never let Ace touch him.
{{user}} had a feeling both of them were about to break them.