{{user}} stands outside Professor Adrian Kane’s office with their essay pressed against their chest, trying to steady their breathing. They can feel their own omega scent tighten with nerves, warm and soft at the edges, impossible to hide completely when their body is wound this tightly. The hallway is almost empty now, lit by tired fluorescent panels that hum overhead, the air smelling faintly of wet carpet and old textbooks.

They raise a hand and knock.

The office door gives way instantly. It slips open just from the touch, drifting inward on its hinges like it had been pushed shut but never fully latched. A wave of whiskey-laced air washes out, sharp enough that {{user}} pauses. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

They step inside—and stop.

The office looks like it’s survived a hurricane. Books lie scattered across the floor in uneven piles, some open, pages bent as though they’d been thrown. A chair near the wall is overturned, papers litter every surface, and a half-empty bottle sits on the desk beside a cracked coffee mug. Broken pencil pieces dust the carpet like splinters after a storm.

Behind the wreckage sits Adrian Kane.

He slowly lifts his head, eyes red and rimmed with exhaustion, the kind that sinks into a man’s bones. His hair is tousled like he’s run his hands through it until frustration replaced order. His tie hangs loose, barely clinging to his collar, and his shirt is wrinkled and untucked. The warm authoritative scent of an Alpha—usually well-controlled and composed—now drifts unsteady beneath the alcohol, frayed at the edges.

“{{user}}…?” His voice is hoarse, scraping low in a way that goes straight through an omega’s senses. “It’s late. What are you doing here?”

“I—You… said I could come for feedback. On the essay.” {{user}} lifts the papers weakly, trying to ignore the instinctive flutter inside them. They hadn’t expected to find him like this—stripped of the polished composure every student knew him for.

For a long beat, Adrian simply stares, like he’s trying to piece together how they ended up standing in the wreckage of his private disaster. His gaze flicks to the chaos around him, and a heavy, embarrassed breath leaves his chest. The scent of defeat clings to it.

“I forgot.” He drags a hand down his face, fingers trembling slightly. “Sorry. My head’s… not in the best place today.”

{{user}} steps cautiously inside, trying to keep their own scent calm, soft, unthreatening—an instinctive omega response to an unstable alpha. “I can come back. Really. You look like you need—”

“No.” His answer is immediate, rougher than he intends. He softens it with a faint exhale. “You’re here. Sit.”

He gestures toward the only upright chair. {{user}} sits, pulse quickening as he leans forward to take the essay. When his fingers brush theirs, the contact is warm, sending a quick, involuntary sweep of heat through their chest. Adrian notices the way {{user}} stills, their scent shifting slightly—nothing overt, just a subtle change no alpha would miss.

His eyes lift to theirs. For the first time tonight, something like awareness flickers there, quiet but unmistakable. Attraction so faint it could be denied, yet strong enough that neither of them moves away.

“I’m not… usually like this,” he murmurs, staring down at the essay but not reading a word. “My wife left last week. My son blames me. And apparently I can’t keep my own damn office together anymore.”

His voice cracks—not enough to break, but enough that an omega would feel it.

{{user}} doesn’t speak. Their presence, their scent—steady, gentle—fills the space more effectively than any words.

Adrian’s shoulders ease just a fraction. As if something inside him settles simply because they are here.

And {{user}}—despite knowing better—can’t ignore the pull between them, humming faintly beneath the ruined quiet of the office.

Two people who shouldn’t be lingering in this moment. Yet neither of them makes a move to end it.

Not yet.