Rain bled from the sky in a cold drizzle that soaked through the back alleys of Sector 12. The city glowed in muted neons, colors smeared by mist and grime. Trash clung to the walls like wet paper skin, and puddles reflected broken signage and tired stars. Somewhere far off, sirens groaned like wounded animals. The underbelly of Helios City never slept—it merely curled tighter into itself.

Alek Renwick stepped from his sleek transport, the door sliding shut behind him with a hiss. The heels of his boots echoed as he crossed the alley, a shortcut he rarely used unless necessity drove him. He wasn't dressed for rain, but he never was. The wetness didn't bother him. Nothing really did anymore.

He was a man forged from discipline. Groomed for control. His presence carried weight—the kind that pressed down on a room before he even spoke. Tall, broad-shouldered, eyes like ice—he wore power like a second skin, but tonight something cracked beneath it.

His coat billowed as he turned a corner—and stopped.

Something was wrong with the air.

It wasn't the scent of rot or spilled synth-alcohol. It wasn't the stench of piss, diesel, or the sweet decay of addiction. It was instinctual. Animal. Pheromonal.

Omega.

He inhaled sharply, every muscle in his spine locking tight. The hairs on his arms rose before the logic could reach him.

There, crumpled against a brick wall, was a body. Small. Barely clothed. Shaking.

Alek's breath turned sharp, nostrils flaring. The scent hit him harder the closer he moved. Heat. Not fresh—but not finished. Faint tremors still shook the fragile frame, and Alek realized the Omega was either unconscious or close to it. Vulnerable in a way that made Alek's instincts claw at his throat.

He approached, his mind battling with his biology.

"Hey," he said, his voice low, non-threatening. He crouched beside the body, his eyes scanning for signs of trauma. "Are you—"

A whimper.

The Omega stirred. His lips were split. Blood crusted beneath one nostril. His left eye was swollen nearly shut. Still, when he moved, it was with a flicker of awareness, a ghost of resistance. His body jerked back against the wall.

"Don’t—"

The word was a broken rasp.

Alek held up his hands. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're in heat. You're not safe out here."

That earned him a snarl. The boy—because he was young, far too young to be left like this—bared his teeth like a cornered animal.

"Don’t touch me."

Alek respected the command. He stayed where he was, crouched, watching.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t already called for medtech. Or left. This wasn’t his problem. He had meetings to prepare for. Shareholder vultures to placate. His entire life was built on efficiency, not entanglement. And yet here he was, rain soaking through his thousand-cred coat, crouched in filth beside a broken Omega with bite marks on his throat and bruises on his arms.

Not fresh. Old. Patterned.

This wasn't a heat gone wrong. This was a life lived on the edge of violence.

He could see faint scars on the Omega’s collarbone, lines too deliberate to be accidental. Brands, maybe. Ownership. Alek’s stomach twisted.

The Omega swayed, and without thinking, Alek reached out to steady him.

"Don’t—"

He flinched, but this time he didn’t pull away. Maybe because he was too tired. Maybe because some part of him recognized Alek wasn’t a threat. Not yet.

Their eyes met for the first time.

Grey. Stormy. Eyes that had seen too much. That still burned despite it.

Alek’s chest tightened.

Something about that gaze rattled him. It wasn’t fear that lingered in the boy’s eyes. It was something darker. Resignation. Like he’d already given up, but his body hadn’t caught up yet.

He exhaled, slow. "What's your name?"

The Omega didn’t answer.

Alek tried again, softer. "You need help."

Still silence.

"I can get you somewhere warm. No touching. No binding. Just a bed. And suppressants, if you want them."

The Omega blinked slowly. His voice cracked when he finally spoke.

"Liar."

Alek felt that cut deeper than he expected. His jaw clenched.

"I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm just giving you a choice."

Rain poured harder now. Thunder rolled over the city, distant but coming closer.

The Omega closed his eyes, and for a second Alek thought he’d passed out.

Then he whispered: "Kai."

Alek leaned closer. "What?"

"My name. It’s Kai."

He stood slowly and offered a hand.

Kai stared at it for a long time. His fingers twitched, hesitant, as if touching might shatter him.

Then, finally, he took it.

Alek pulled him gently to his feet. Kai wobbled but didn’t fall. The contact sent a ripple through Alek’s nerves. Nothing carnal—just the overwhelming sense that he was holding something breakable. Something sacred.

"You live nearby?" Kai asked, voice hoarse.

"No. But I have a place."

"Then take me before I change my mind."

The ride was silent.

Kai leaned against the window of Alek’s personal transport, forehead pressed to the cool glass, watching the city blur past in streaks of red and blue. His breathing had steadied but his scent hadn't. It still hung in the air—thinner now, like smoke after a fire, but no less dangerous. The air inside the transport was saturated with it, and Alek could feel it in his veins like poison.

He kept his hands on the control panel. Kept his eyes forward. He counted the lights ahead of them, the seconds between his breaths. He focused on the mechanical, the routine—anything to keep the primal tension from digging into his chest.

"You live alone?" Kai asked suddenly, voice still raw.

Alek nodded. "Yes."

Kai didn’t speak again for several minutes. Then: "Good."

The word sat between them like a knife.

They pulled into the underground garage of Alek’s building. A private lift awaited. Kai’s steps were unsteady, but he didn't accept the offered hand this time. He refused to lean on anyone—not out of pride, but survival.

The elevator ride was long. Tense. Kai’s reflection flickered in the mirrored walls: bruised, filthy, gaunt. His clothes hung off his frame like wet rags. Alek noticed the way he stared at his own reflection—like he didn’t recognize it. Like he didn’t want to.

Alek didn’t speak.

Words would’ve broken something.

When the doors opened, Alek led the way into his penthouse. It was clean. Minimal. More like a hotel suite than a home. Cold surfaces, dim lighting, too much space. Kai blinked at the emptiness of it.

"This is yours?"

Alek nodded.

Kai snorted softly. "Of course. Alphas always live in palaces."

Alek didn’t rise to the bait.

"You can take the guest room. Bathroom’s attached. There are clothes in the wardrobe. They might be big, but they’re clean."

Kai walked stiffly into the hallway. He paused in the doorway. Didn’t look back.

"Thanks."

He didn’t sleep.

Kai lay on the guest bed—too soft, too clean, too alien—and stared at the ceiling. He’d showered, changed into oversized sweats, taken the suppressants Alek had placed silently on the nightstand. But sleep wouldn’t come. It never did when it was too quiet.

He kept expecting a lock to click. A voice to command. Hands to grab.

None came.

And that absence gnawed at him just as much as their presence once had.

He sat up after two hours, tangled in sheets that smelled like expensive detergent and nothing else. The window stretched across the far wall, giving a panoramic view of Helios City’s sleeping skyline. From this high up, everything looked small. Silent. Like it had nothing to do with the grime he’d clawed through to survive.

He got up. Wandered.

The penthouse was a surgical theater of taste. Cold grays, clean whites, black metal. Not a single picture. Not a single personal object. Kai trailed his fingers across the marble countertop, almost expecting alarms to sound.

He found Alek on the couch.

Still dressed, long legs stretched out, fingers steepled under his chin. Watching a blank screen.

Kai hovered at the edge of the room.

"You don’t sleep either?"

Alek’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. "Not much."

Kai stepped closer. Slowly. Cautiously. His voice was quiet. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because you needed help."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one I have."

Kai folded his arms. "You expect me to believe you just... saw a broken Omega and thought, 'Let’s play hero today'?"

Alek didn’t flinch. "No. I didn’t think anything. I just couldn’t walk away."

Kai scoffed. "So you’re what? A noble Alpha?"

Alek finally looked at him. "I’m not noble."

Silence.

Kai stared at him for a long time. Then, too tired to keep standing, he sat on the edge of the couch. Not close. But not far either.

"I hate Alphas."

"I know."

"You should."

"I do."

Kai blinked. The quiet admission broke something.

He laughed. Just once. Dry, bitter. Then he buried his face in his hands.

"You don’t know what they did to me."

Alek didn’t answer.

Kai didn’t expect him to.

"They said I was born defective. An Omega with too much mouth. Too much fire. They tried to break it out of me. Every time I talked back. Every time I fought... they punished me."

His voice cracked. "And it worked. It worked so well I don’t even know who I am anymore."

Alek sat still. A statue in the dark. But his voice, when it came, was quieter than Kai had ever heard.

"You’re still here. That’s who you are."

Kai swallowed. Hard.

He rose and left the room without another word.

He woke screaming.

Nightmares clawed their way out of his throat. The room was dark but too large—he didn’t remember where he was at first. The smell hit him: linen, synthetic air, Alek’s lingering scent.

His breathing calmed slowly.

He got up and wandered again. The suppressants were wearing off. He felt the itch behind his teeth. The flush in his chest. The pressure building low in his gut.

He found Alek in the kitchen.

"I need more."

Alek was already holding another dose. He handed it over without a word.

Kai took it dry.

Then: "What happens when they stop working?"

"We’ll figure something out."

Kai stared at him. "You say that like it’s easy."

"It’s not. But I’m not leaving you alone with it."

That promise—simple, flat, absolute—hit harder than anything so far.

Kai turned away, ashamed of how much he wanted to believe it.

Kai didn’t wake gently. He surfaced from sleep like someone breaking through ice—fast, disoriented, and cold despite the warm sheets tangled around him.

His heartbeat was already high when he sat up, ribs straining like his body was still fighting something invisible. For a few seconds, he couldn’t tell if he was in danger or just remembering it.

But there was no shouting. No footfalls. No hands.

Only silence.

He exhaled shakily and sank back into the bed. The room was still dark, lit only by the distant glow of the city skyline pressing in from behind the window. Rain tapped faintly against the glass, like a memory still clinging to the edge of morning.

His body ached in slow, dull waves. Not from heat. From safety. From sleeping more than a few hours without bolting upright in fear. It was disorienting. Dangerous, even.

He couldn’t afford to get used to it.

Not here. Not anywhere.

He swung his legs out of bed and stood. The borrowed clothes hung loosely from his frame. He could still smell the sterilized softness of detergent in the sleeves. Someone had cleaned them recently. Or never worn them at all.

He wandered into the hallway barefoot.

The apartment was as silent as the night before. No music. No television. Just the low hum of refrigeration and electricity through the walls. The place was too clean, too composed.

Alek wasn’t there.

For a wild moment, Kai thought he’d been abandoned.

But then he saw the plate.

It sat covered on the island in the kitchen. Warm. Beside it, a sealed note with his name printed in clean block letters: KAI.

He hesitated before touching it. Then picked it up, unfolded it.

Had to go in early. There’s food and more suppressants in the cabinet. I’ll be back late. You’re safe here. – A

He read it twice. Then a third time.

He didn’t know how to react.

No demands. No schedule. No locked door. Just a note. As if he were someone worth considering. Someone Alek trusted enough to leave alone.

Kai sat at the island and slowly uncovered the plate. Eggs. Toast. Grilled vegetables. Warm. Real.

He stared at the food for a long time before picking up the fork.

And he hated that his hands were shaking.

The morning dragged. Kai explored the apartment with careful steps, like each room might shift if he moved too fast. Everything was functional. Expensive. Lifeless. There were no photos. No decorations. No clutter.

The only personal thing he found was a stack of books by the bed in the main room—economics texts, a worn hardcover titled The Architect's Collapse, and one slim poetry collection that looked untouched.

Kai didn’t touch anything else. He didn’t sit on Alek’s bed. He didn’t even breathe too loudly when he passed the threshold.

He ended up curled on the living room sofa, legs tucked under himself, flipping channels he didn’t care about. Nothing stuck. His brain buzzed but wouldn’t land on anything.

He hated the way his body felt.

Empty. Hollowed out. Still waiting for the next hit of pain.

At some point, he slept again. Lightly.

The kind of sleep that let every sound through. Every distant siren. Every creak in the building.

When the door finally opened that night, he startled.

Alek stepped inside, drenched from the rain. He carried a satchel over one shoulder and looked like he hadn’t slept either.

He froze when he saw Kai curled on the couch.

"Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you."

Kai sat up slowly. "You didn’t."

Alek moved past him toward the kitchen. He didn’t ask if Kai had eaten. Didn’t ask anything at all. Just started peeling off his wet coat, layer by layer, until only a black undershirt clung to his frame.

Kai tried not to stare at the lines of his arms. At the scars he didn’t expect to see. Long, thin ones. Surgical.

"What happened to you?" Kai asked before he could stop himself.

Alek didn’t turn.

"War."

That was all he said.

Kai stood and crossed the room.

"You were a soldier?"

"Briefly."

"Why?"

Alek opened a cabinet, pulled out a glass, poured something clear and sharp into it.

"Because I didn’t want to be an Alpha."

Kai blinked. "What?"

"I thought maybe if I bled hard enough in a uniform, it would cancel out the biology. The instincts. The expectations."

Kai didn’t answer. He sat back down.

Alek turned and leaned against the counter.

"Turns out being a soldier doesn’t change what you are. It just teaches you how to hide it better."

His eyes met Kai’s then. And for the first time, Kai didn’t flinch.

A slow understanding had begun to form between them—not trust, not yet—but the fragile beginning of something that couldn’t be named. It settled between them in moments like this: silence that wasn’t empty. Distance that wasn’t cruel.

Kai spoke again. "You’re not like them."

"I’ve spent most of my life making sure I’m not."

"And still... you are."

Alek didn’t argue. "I know."

Kai’s throat worked. He stood, walked to the window. The rain had cleared. The sky outside glimmered with the distant, artificial dawn of city light. He folded his arms over his chest.

"Why didn’t you bond me that night?"

Alek’s reply was immediate. "Because you didn’t say yes."

Kai turned, shocked at the certainty in Alek’s tone.

"That’s it?"

"That’s everything."

Kai’s mouth parted. No Alpha he’d ever met spoke like that. Like consent wasn’t optional. Like it mattered.

"You could’ve done it. I was in heat. Weak. Vulnerable."

"Which is exactly why I didn’t."

Kai lowered his gaze.

"I don’t know what to do with that."

Alek nodded. "You don’t have to do anything."

Kai’s lip curled slightly. Not from mockery. From frustration.

"You say things like that and expect me to believe them. Like I haven’t been conditioned to see every offer as a trap. Every kindness as a lead-up to pain."

"I don’t expect you to believe anything."

"Then why keep trying?"

Alek’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture softened.

"Because I remember what it felt like to have no one."

The words broke something.

Kai looked away sharply, biting the inside of his cheek.

They didn’t talk much after that.

But when Alek passed Kai a blanket later that night without saying a word—just a gesture, an offering—it meant more than any apology could.

Kai took it.

And for the first time, he sat on the couch beside Alek. Not close. But closer than he had the night before.

They watched the skyline together. Silent.