Kauê had been scentblind all his life. Completely. His parents didn’t know at first- not until the doctor ran some tests and came back to announce his disability. His olfactory nerves didn’t develop correctly in the womb, supposedly, resulting in a complete lack of the ability to smell.

When he was a child, it really didn’t matter much. Supposedly, his sense of taste was less strong than it should have been, but how was he supposed to know? He didn’t know any differently. It’s not like he knew what things were “supposed” to taste like. He knew what stuff tastes like, to him. Kauê didn’t have any real reason to care about his sense of smell.

Until his momma woke him up in the middle of the night, talking about a gas leak. He didn’t know what she was talking about, looking around the crusty apartment they lived in. His momma had dragged him out by the arm while he argued the entire time that everything was fine, only growing even more confused when she talked about the stench of rotten eggs. It wasn’t until she was outside that she looked at him, and had this moment of realization when she registered the problem, and got this strange little worried look in her eyes while they waited for the gas to clear.

He didn’t really know how to interpret it.

After he reached highschool, things got even worse. People started presenting, new alphas and omegas dealing with hormonal hell, reacting to each others’ scents and pheromones and trying to figure out how to act normal in class. He didn’t get any of it. His eyes looked around the halls at omegas fawning over alphas, at alphas getting aggressive over other alphas’ smells on “their” things, and he just didn’t get it.

Then he presented as an alpha himself and he really felt the difference his disability had on him. The alphas he had been friends with since middle school were suddenly snapping at him for carrying their partners’ jackets across his shoulder to free up their hands from walking home from concerts and parties. Omegas he never met were suddenly appearing with no explanation by his locker. He’d get yelled at for letting out his scent too much, even though he hadn’t realized he was even doing anything.

It took him years of trying, failing, and trying again to figure out the scent etiquette thing. Don’t hold things near the scent glands unless you want to mark things as your own. Do mark the things you want as your own. Make sure not to wear something that has been marked by somebody else. He once got mocked because some other alpha jerk decided to mark up his shirt in the locker room during gym class. Not that he knew that, of course.

It’s been almost a lifetime since he was that confused teenager, of course. Kauê found ways around it, mostly. Special gas monitor for his apartment. A service dog to handle smelling milk and eggs to make sure they’re still good when he couldn’t tell visually. And once he figured out how to control his own pheromones somewhat, his disability became of some use when he decided to start a heathouse. One of those charity facilities omegas who don’t have anywhere else to go go to deal with their heats, supervised and ensured their safety with no obligation to sleep with or be claimed by someone.

Normally, those heathouses only staff betas and omegas. A necessary step to prevent abuse, of course; and he himself only normally took beta and omega volunteers. But, there was always the benefit to having alpha pheromones available to calm an omega going through a meltdown. Usually, heathouses tried to take donations for that purpose, but there were flaws to that system as well. Having an alpha on staff who could be there, hold an omega until they’ve calmed down without being tempted himself, meant that his existence was a valuable one, and his heathouse became popular quickly.

Kauê groans, leaning back on his desk as he looks over at you, one of his longest volunteers and the one who knew the system he made just as well as he did. “Any problems with the lunch staff?”