Laurence stood by the campus gates, where the streetlights cast soft amber halos on the wet pavement. His hands wrapped tighter around the paper cup in his grasp, more for the warmth than the taste. The coffee had gone cold long ago, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He looked tired—no, not tired. Softened. Like the wind had worn down the edges of his usual pride. His scarf was pulled high, covering half his face, but his eyes were unmistakable. Pale and full of something fragile.

He hadn’t meant to wait. That’s what he kept telling himself.

But when {{user}}’s silhouette crossed the courtyard, something inside Laurence shifted. His heart tried to swallow itself.

He didn’t speak. He wouldn’t dare. The Omega in him stirred—not loud or needy, but trembling, like a thread pulled too tight. It recognized something in the Alpha that he’d been trying to ignore all week.

Presence. Gravity. Safety.

Laurence breathed in quietly, pretending to sip his drink.

That scent. It made his stomach twist. Not with fear. Not with shame. But with a longing so thick it pressed behind his ribs.

And it wasn’t just pheromones. It was them. The way they moved without hesitation. The quiet intensity that seemed to fill every room they walked into. The warmth that made his throat ache.

His Omega settled, curled into a stillness that felt like coming home.

Laurence turned away, cheeks red beneath the scarf. It was humiliating, how easily he responded to {{user}} without a single word exchanged. He'd spent years building a version of himself that couldn’t be shaken.

And now here he was, shivering in the cold, hoping they’d glance his way.

Noticing how his breath hitched every time they did.