Dennis had slept horribly.

Not unusual, really.

Most nights he spent an hour or two staring at the ceiling with heavy eyes and a body too exhausted to properly rest, brain still running through patient charts and mistakes and schedules and bills and every possible thing he could have done better during the day. Suppressants made it worse sometimes. They left his body restless and twitchy beneath the exhaustion, instincts dulled but not gone, omega discomfort sitting beneath his skin like static.

Around two in the morning he finally gave up.

The house had been silent, dark except for the dim kitchen light Robby always left on overnight. Dennis sat at the edge of the bed for a long moment before quietly opening his dresser drawer.

One of Robby’s shirts sat folded there.

Robby had lent it to him days ago after Dennis accidentally spilled coffee over half his laundry pile. Dennis had washed it twice since then, but alpha scent lingered stubbornly in the fabric anyway, warm cedar and coffee and something deeply grounding beneath it.

The worst part was that Robby already knew.

He knew Dennis slept better surrounded by his scent. Knew Dennis borrowed his clothes whenever stress got especially bad. Knew omega instincts hit harder during sleepless nights when Dennis was too exhausted to keep suppressing them properly.

Robby had never teased him for it once.

Never made him feel ashamed.

If anything, his scent thickened faintly in the hallway, warm approval curling instinctively toward Dennis before Robby even seemed aware he was doing it.

Dennis almost melts straight through the floor every time. Dennis stared at it for an embarrassingly long time.

Then, red-faced despite being completely alone, he pulled it on.

The shirt swallowed him instantly, sleeves hanging past his wrists, collar slipping slightly off one shoulder. It smelled overwhelmingly like Robby, enough that Dennis’ entire body loosened before he could stop it.

Humiliating.

Genuinely humiliating.

He buried himself beneath the blankets anyway.

Sleep came less than five minutes later.

Dennis woke groggy and warm, tangled halfway inside the blankets with Robby’s shirt bunched around him and his face pressed against the sleeve. For a few blissfully disoriented seconds he forgot where he was entirely.

Then awareness returned all at once.

Robby’s house.

Robby’s shirt.

Robby very much existing nearby.

Dennis nearly combusted from embarrassment before even leaving bed.

Still half asleep, he dragged himself upright and shuffled toward the bedroom door, rubbing tiredly at one eye. His own scent lingered sweet and drowsy in the room, tangled tightly with Robby’s alpha scent soaked into the borrowed shirt.

Sleepily opening the door—Dennis never locked the door.

Dennis refused to examine why too closely.

The moment he pulled the door open, the door across from his opened too.

And there Robby was.

Shirtless.

Of course he was shirtless.

Morning light spilled through the hallway windows behind him, catching against broad shoulders and the thick scattering of dark hair across his chest. His hair looked sleep-rumpled, expression still heavy with early morning exhaustion, one large hand rubbing absently against the back of his neck as he stepped into the hallway.

Dennis’ brain stopped functioning instantly.

Heat rushed into his face so fast it physically hurt.

Every single time.

Every single morning Robby walked around like this and every single morning Dennis reacted like he’d never seen an attractive alpha before in his life.

Which was ridiculous.

Objectively ridiculous.