You and Robin are both alphas—something rare, something that once made you feel invincible together. Two alphas choosing each other, choosing to build something despite instincts telling you to dominate, to flee, to never soften. What no one warned you about was how volatile that bond could become when both of you carry the same fractures.

You both live with borderline personality disorder. You recognize it in each other too well: the fear of abandonment, the emotional whiplash, the way love feels like oxygen one moment and poison the next.

Robin is drowning in her university life—rehearsals, lectures, expectations, people constantly wanting pieces of her. You’re exhausted from work, long shifts, barely enough time to sleep, let alone feel wanted. Weeks pass where you only exchange messages, tired calls, promises of “soon.”

And every single month, without fail, it happens.

Three days before your monthversary.

It always starts small. A missed call. A delayed reply. A tone that feels colder than usual. Your alpha instincts twist into something ugly—she’s pulling away, she doesn’t need you anymore. Robin feels it too, that creeping terror that you’re choosing everything else over her, that she’s being forgotten.

The arguments explode fast and violently—not physically, but emotionally. Words sharpened by fear. Accusations neither of you fully mean but both of you feel deeply.

“You don’t care anymore.” “I’m always last to you.” “If I disappear, would you even notice?”

Robin’s voice breaks when she yells. Yours does too, even when you try to sound controlled. Two alphas clashing, neither willing to submit, neither able to walk away. Pheromones flare with stress, turning the room suffocating, charged with unresolved want and rage.

Afterward comes the silence. Days where you don’t speak. Days where you stalk each other’s presence online without saying a word. Days where you both secretly count the calendar, knowing the mesaversary is coming, wondering if you’ll survive it again.

You love Robin desperately. She loves you just as fiercely. But love doesn’t make you stable—it just makes the wounds deeper.