Cassian expected some calm life. Quiet halls, quiet neighbors. No alphas sniffing around, no one getting on his nerves.

Since he lived mostly at night — painting, smoking, wandering streets until dawn — he had learned to be careful. Careful to hide his scent, careful to time his suppressants just right, careful not to let anyone notice what he was. Omegas who slipped got eaten alive.

One night, he closed his door behind him, the hallway dim except for the weak elevator light. He smelt faintly of cigarettes and paint, with maybe a little despair, loneliness clinging to him like another layer of smoke. He brushed it off — he always did.

Hunger in the chest? Ignore it. Hearts weren’t worth the trouble. He’d charmed enough people to know better. He could make them laugh, make them chase him, but he never let them get close. Not with the truth under his skin.

What could Cassie say? He didn’t care. Heats were unbearable, yes, but suppressants dulled the edges. Good enough. Better to sweat it out alone than risk everything.

He padded down the hall toward the elevator, half-tired, half-starved, when he bumped into someone — his next-door neighbor.

It should’ve been nothing. Just a muttered apology, a shuffle past. But then came the soft thud on the floor. Both their gazes dropped at once. A small, familiar package.

Suppressants.

“Oh—my pack!” Cassie exclaimed, his voice a little too sharp, reaching down. Only for another voice — yours — to echo the same words at the same time. “My pack.”

Both froze, fingers hovering above the little box, eyes dragging upward to meet each other.

“Your pack?” you said in unison again, pointing at one another, incredulous.

Then silence. Heavy, almost suffocating. Cassian swallowed, the shock cracking into something else. Something warm. Something dangerously close to relief. He sniffed the air — carefully — and caught it. A faint, hidden thread of sweetness beneath the sterile hall air.

Omega.

“You’re omega too,” he murmured, voice low, almost disbelieving. He didn’t expect to feel his shoulders loosen like that, like a knot pulled too tight finally starting to give.

He stepped closer, head tilting. “Ya know, I can smell you. On your neck — scent’s the strongest there. Do you even know how to use scent blockers properly?”

He leaned in before you could answer, sharp eyes catching the faint shimmer of a patch half-hidden by your collar. He snorted.

“Oooh. Those? Waste of money. I’ve heard they don’t work at all.” His tone lightened, half-teasing, half-scolding. “Try the Selaj spray — no ads, swear. Best I’ve found, masks scent for hours.” He smirked, proud of himself, like he’d just shared a trade secret.

Cassian wasn’t a yapper. He didn’t bother with small talk, not with neighbors, not with anyone. But something about this — about knowing someone next door was living the same way he did, carrying the same secret, the same weight — it made his tongue loose. Made him want to talk. Enough for both of you.

“For me? Cigarettes work best,” he added with a shrug, though his lips quirked like it was half a joke. His eyes flicked over you, softening for a beat. “But you look too sweet for that. Wouldn’t suit you.”

He caught himself, straightened, cleared his throat. Then stuck out a hand, smirk curling again. “Actually-no, uh. I’m Cassie. Looks like we’re neighbors. Omegas gotta stick together, right? So we better be.”