Julien woke before dawn with sweat slicking his skin.
The air in his tiny bedroom felt heavy, suffocating. His shirt clung damply to his chest, his throat dry, his heart pounding with a rhythm he couldn't calm. He sat up slowly, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead.
It wasn't a fever. It was worse.
A month too soon, his body had begun whispering warnings: a heat was coming. Not full yet, not unbearable, but close enough that he could feel the edges of it pressing against his control.
"Not now," he muttered under his breath, curling his fingers tighter into his sheets. "Not now."
He doubled the blockers, swallowing the bitter pills with a gulp of water. The suppression patches burned against his skin where he'd replaced them just yesterday. But the telltale sweetness of his scent was already pushing past the chemical masks, delicate but undeniable.
Julien wanted to scream.
---
At school, he pulled his hoodie tighter, hoping the extra fabric would muffle everything—his scent, his nerves, his trembling hands. He kept his eyes down as always, clutching his sketchbook like a shield. But as he stepped into the classroom, he felt it.
The weight of an alpha's gaze.
Damien was already there, sprawled casually in his seat with one arm draped over the backrest. His dark eyes snapped to Julien the second he entered, sharp and unrelenting.
Julien's skin prickled under the scrutiny. He could almost hear the unspoken word in Damien's stare: omega.
Quickly, Julien slid into his chair, willing himself to be invisible.
But invisibility had never worked where Damien Santiago was concerned.
---
They met in the library again that afternoon to continue their project. The place was quieter than usual, most students still buzzing about yesterday's game. Julien should've been relieved at the empty tables, the hush of paper and dust. But sitting across from Damien, the air felt charged, too thick.
Julien's pencil scratched against the page as he tried to focus. His sketches came out messy, the lines shaking with every flick of his wrist.
"Julien."
The way Damien said his name—low, steady—made Julien's head jerk up in alarm.
"What?" he asked, sharper than intended.
Damien didn't flinch. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Something's off with you."
Julien's heart lurched. He gripped his pencil tighter. "I'm fine."
"You're pale. Sweating. You smell—" Damien cut himself off abruptly, jaw tightening. His fists clenched against the table, the tendons in his forearms standing out. "Different," he finished, his voice strained.
Julien's blood ran cold. He scrambled for an excuse. "I—I didn't sleep well."
Damien didn't look convinced. His gaze flicked to Julien's throat, then back to his eyes. Heat simmered beneath his restraint, the alpha in him straining against invisible chains.
Julien's pulse thundered. He shifted in his chair, desperate to break the tension. "Shouldn't you be working?"
"I can't," Damien said bluntly. "Not when you're like this."
The words cut deeper than Julien expected. He hated the shame curling in his stomach, hated how easily his body betrayed him. He wanted to vanish.
"Then don't look at me," Julien snapped, shoving his sketchbook closed.
But Damien did look. He always looked. And Julien didn't know whether he wanted to scream or collapse under the weight of it.
---
The hours stretched. Julien forced himself to draw, to pretend everything was normal, but his control frayed with every passing minute. His scent slipped through the blockers like cracks in glass, sweet and fragile, curling into the air between them.
Damien's hands gripped the edge of the table hard enough that the wood groaned. He sat rigid, muscles coiled, his jaw locked tight.
Finally, Julien couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his sketchbook shut. "I'm leaving."
Damien was on his feet in an instant. "I'll walk you."
"No," Julien said quickly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Stay here."
"Julien."
His name again, sharp and commanding. It rooted Julien in place against his will.
Damien's voice softened. "You shouldn't be alone like this."
Julien's chest tightened. For a second, he let himself imagine it—letting Damien walk him home, letting Damien shield him from the world until the storm of his body passed. Safe. Protected.
But reality slammed back harder. Omegas didn't rely on alphas without consequence. And Julien couldn't afford more whispers, more eyes on him.
"I said no," Julien whispered, and hurried out before Damien could follow.
---
The walk home was torture.
Every step felt heavier, the faint hum in his veins growing stronger, hotter. His vision blurred at the edges. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms, trying to ground himself.
He made it to his door, fumbling with the key, when a voice spoke behind him.
"I knew you'd be stubborn."
Julien froze. Slowly, he turned.
Damien leaned against the wall a few steps away, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Julien's stomach dropped. "You followed me?"
"Yeah." Damien pushed off the wall, walking closer. His eyes darkened as Julien instinctively backed up against the door. "And I'll keep doing it until I know you're safe."
"You can't just—"
Damien stopped a breath away, close enough that Julien could feel the heat rolling off him. His scent—pine and smoke, sharp and grounding—clashed with Julien's sweetness, filling the narrow space between them.
Julien's knees nearly buckled.
Damien leaned down, bracing one hand against the door beside Julien's head. "You're burning up," he said softly. Not accusing. Not mocking. Just stating the truth.
Julien's throat closed. His lips parted, but no words came out.
Damien's eyes flickered with something raw. "You should've told me."
"I don't need your help," Julien forced out.
"Liar."
The word sliced through him.
Julien's breath hitched as Damien's other hand hovered near his face, hesitant but steady. He brushed damp hair from Julien's forehead with surprising gentleness. The touch sent a shiver down Julien's spine.
"You're terrified," Damien murmured. "But not of me. You're scared of needing anyone."
Julien wanted to deny it. To shove Damien away, to retreat into silence. But the truth lodged like a stone in his throat.
He hated how easily Damien saw him.
---
The silence stretched, broken only by the ragged rhythm of Julien's breathing. The early heat gnawed at the edges of his composure, pulling sweetness from his scent in waves he couldn't stop. He felt exposed, raw.
Damien's restraint was visible in every tense line of his body. His pupils were blown wide, his scent surging heavier in response. Yet he didn't move closer, didn't take.
Instead, he leaned his forehead against the door beside Julien's, closing his eyes like he was wrestling a war inside himself.
"You don't get it," Damien said hoarsely. "Every alpha instinct I have is screaming at me to claim you right now. To make sure no one else ever comes near you. And it's taking everything in me not to."
Julien's breath caught.
"Then don't," he whispered.
Damien's eyes snapped open, meeting his with an intensity that stole Julien's air. "I won't. Not until you want me to."
Julien's vision blurred again—this time with tears.
He hated it. Hated how much those words mattered. Hated how much he wanted to believe them.
Damien finally stepped back, giving Julien space to breathe. "Go inside. Rest. Take care of yourself."
Julien gripped the doorknob with shaking hands. He should've felt relief. Instead, he felt hollow.
As he slipped inside and shut the door, Damien's scent lingered in the hallway like a promise he couldn't escape.
---
Julien collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. His body trembled with heat and shame and something dangerously close to longing.
He pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle the sound threatening to escape.
Because for the first time, the thought terrified him less than it should have:
Maybe Damien Santiago wasn't going to break him.
Maybe he was the only one who wouldn't.