Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In Edelmor, everyone knows the legend. And everyone knows that every year, an omega must die.
No one questions the bloodline. No one speaks of the black rose.
Because here, silence protects more than the truth.

Alan doesn't think about ancient tales... until he begins dreaming of a ruined forest and eyes that stop time.
Jeff only wants to survive and help his brother Charlie.
And when their paths cross, something impossible happens: an echo from the past, a love that seems to have survived death, betrayal... even time itself.

They say it was a human who betrayed the wolves.
They say that ever since, their fury has never died.
They say that each year, the life of a human omega is the price to pay for that betrayal.
But legends don't always tell the truth.
And love... is sometimes older than the curse itself.

Chapter Text

Ten Months Ago

The moon was broken into fragments of silver, hanging over a sky too black to be natural. The forest slept, but it was not a peaceful sleep: branches cracked, leaves whispered unintelligible secrets, and in the thicket floated a silence that seemed to be watching everything.

Prem was running.

He ran without looking back, throat torn, chest burning. His bare feet sank into the mud and stumbled on roots that seemed to rise deliberately to trip him. The icy air cut his skin like invisible blades, and the sweat beading on his forehead mixed with dirt and the blood from small cuts.

He knew he was being hunted. It wasn't a suspicion—he felt it. The entire forest vibrated with that certainty.

Each beat of his heart was like a drum announcing his presence. "Faster, faster," he told himself, though his body no longer responded with the same agility. The air in his lungs turned to fire, each breath scorching his insides.

Then he heard it.

A deep, wet sound—a breathing too heavy to be human. It came from behind, always behind. When he sped up, the sound did too. When he stumbled and stopped for even a second, it grew louder, like a breath against his neck.

Fear became something physical, a fist tightening inside him.

He didn't know how long he had been running. Minutes, hours, an eternity. The forest offered no exit: each tree was a wall, each shadow a trap. The pines leaned over him like twisted giants, as if trying to close a circle.

Prem could barely think. He repeated one silent plea in his mind: Don't catch me, don't catch me, don't catch me.

A crack to his right made him veer sharply. He forced his way through bushes that tore at his arms and made him bleed. It didn't matter. Pain was better than stopping. Pain kept him conscious.

For a moment, he thought he heard human footsteps. The familiar rhythm of someone running on earth. He clung to the idea like a burning nail. Maybe he wasn't alone, maybe someone was coming to help him. But then the footsteps changed. They no longer sounded human—they became heavier, more brutal, like claws ripping into the ground.

A distant cry, like that of a night bird, made him stop dead. The silence that followed was unbearable.

The forest held its breath.

Trembling, Prem forced himself to look back.

At first, he saw nothing. Only shadows and the mist coiling among the trees as if it had a life of its own. But when he fixed his eyes, he distinguished a figure. Tall. Its body seemed to break in on itself, arms trembling as if twisting against their will. And then, the sound: a sharp crack like bones splitting, followed by a guttural moan.

Prem staggered back. His heart pounded so hard he thought it would tear through his chest.

He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to recognize who that figure was. But the eyes... those eyes were impossible to mistake. He had seen them before, full of life, of humanity. Now they burned like live coals in the darkness.

—No... —he whispered, barely audible— Not you...

The silhouette took a step. The air trembled with a low growl, a sound so primitive it seemed torn from the bowels of the earth. Mist swirled around him, as if it wrapped him, as if it celebrated him.

Prem spun and ran again.

He didn't know where. There was no path, no exit. Only more forest, more darkness, more roots trying to bring him down. His tears mixed with sweat, desperation made him slip again and again. Each time he got up, he felt his strength crumble a little more.

The smell of iron thickened. It wasn't his. It was something else, metallic, unbearable, like the stench of fresh blood.

The forest was no longer a forest. It was a labyrinth, a trap made of shadows and whispers. Everything watched him, everything pointed at him. The wind's wail in the branches blended with lamentations. In the distance, he thought he saw flashes of light among the trees, like dead lanterns—but when he blinked, they were gone.

The sound came again. The echo of a muffled moan that swelled into a roar. Each of Prem's steps grew clumsier. The mud clutched his ankles, as if the ground itself wanted to deliver him.

A huge root crossed his path. He stumbled and fell flat on his face. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, a metallic taste filling his mouth. He coughed, blood staining the earth.

Forcing himself up with trembling hands and broken nails, he barely rose when he heard it behind him.

A growl. Close. Too close.

Prem turned sharply, and for an instant saw the whole silhouette. It was not human. Not yet, not entirely—but neither was it what it was destined to become. Flesh tore with every movement, skin unable to contain the creature fighting to emerge. Arms were no longer arms. Hands were no longer hands.

Its face was hidden in the gloom, but the eyes blazed with impossible fury.

Prem screamed, a dry, desperate cry lost among the trees. And he ran again, though he knew it was useless. Each step shorter, each breath more painful. Desperation hardened into certainty: there would be no escape.

The forest roared with him. Or at least that's how it felt.

The air vibrated with a howl that split the night in two. It was no ordinary howl. It was a curse. A sentence. The echo multiplied in the thicket, as if a thousand voices answered at once.

Prem stumbled once more, and this time did not rise as quickly. Exhaustion crushed him, his muscles screamed. He crawled only a few steps, forehead pressed into damp earth.

And then, a shadow lunged at him.

Not from the front. Not a confrontation. An attack from behind, fast, brutal, final. The last thing he felt was hot breath on his neck and the sound of claws tearing.

A voice whispered, barely a murmur among growls:

—I do this to save him... after what humans did, this is the least they deserve.

The world went dark.

The forest fell silent again. As if nothing had happened.

The curse had claimed another life.

📰 The Edelmor Herald

A 21-year-old man vanishes after a night out with friends.

Prem V. R., resident of the village of Edelmor and 21 years old, disappeared in the early hours of Monday after going out drinking with a group of friends at a local tavern. According to witnesses, the young man said goodbye shortly after midnight and never returned home.

His family reported the disappearance at dawn, and since then search operations have been deployed in different sectors of the village, with special focus on the Lormere Forest. Several patrols and volunteers are involved in the search, but so far no trace has been found.

The case has revived concern in the community, as Edelmor has been marked for years by similar disappearances, always with young omegas as victims. Residents recall that "every winter it happens again," and despite police efforts, no culprit has ever been identified.

📰 The Edelmor Herald

Body of missing youth found mutilated; the black rose returns.

On Thursday the 16th, in Lormere Forest, the body of Prem V. R., 21, was found. He had disappeared three days earlier after going out with friends.

The young man was discovered in a deep, hard-to-reach area of the forest with low visibility. According to sources close to the investigation, his body was found mutilated, and upon his chest rested an intact black rose. This macabre discovery adds to a series of deaths that have occurred in the village over the last hundred years.

Local authorities acknowledge that despite mobilizing resources and efforts, no conclusive evidence has been gathered and no culprits identified. No footprints, no weapons, no witnesses.

What is most unsettling is the repetition of the pattern: year after year, an omega dies under similar circumstances, always with the black flower marking the scene.

Among the inhabitants of Edelmor, the legends of the "curse of the black rose" have resurfaced with force. For many, this is not the work of a killer, but something much older and darker than any police report could explain.

📰 The Edelmor Herald

Editorial: The truth no one dares to speak about the black rose.

Once again, the village of Edelmor is in mourning. Once again, an omega has been found dead in Lormere Forest. And once again, upon his chest rested a black rose, intact, like a signature impossible to erase.

Authorities speak of "lack of evidence" and "ongoing investigations." But the truth is that after so many years, no one can deny the obvious: this is not an isolated case, nor a common crime. It is a chain of deaths that repeats with ritual precision, winter after winter, leaving behind a broken family and a village drowning in fear.

The story is always the same: a young man disappears, the police search in vain, and soon after his body is found mutilated—always with the cursed flower as witness. And despite patrols, interviews, and promises, no culprit has ever been identified. No trace, no clue, nothing science or logic can explain.

In Edelmor, everyone knows it, though no one says it aloud: this is not the work of a man.

The legend of the black rose has survived entire generations, whispered by fireplaces like a bad memory that never fades.

We can keep silent, as has been done until now, or accept the uncomfortable truth: the curse exists, and as long as no one confronts it, it will go on claiming one life every year.

Fear is the true master of this village. And the black rose, its eternal stigma.

🔊 Voices of Edelmor

"My grandfather used to tell me as a child: every year someone had to die. I never believed him... until I started seeing the flowers. The black rose doesn't lie." — Anonymous resident, 67

"We all know it's the curse, but no one dares to say it. Who's going to report a ghost? A monster? The police look for footprints, but they'll never find anything." — alpha, 42

"I don't care what they say, I won't let my children go out at night. I'd rather they think I'm overprotective than risk losing them." — Young father, 29

"They say omegas are the marked ones. That the rose seeks us as if it were already written in our blood. Every day I wake up thinking: will I be next?" — Omega resident, 21

"It's always the same: a boy disappears, the police scour the forest, and then they find him mutilated. How many more years will this go on?" — Local shopkeeper, 54

"The only thing certain is that someone—or something—wants to remind us that the curse is still alive. The flower is the message. A message for us all." — Retired professor, 63

Chapter Text

Jeff

The afternoon had a strange glow, too festive for me.

The university courtyard was filled with voices and colors, everyone dressed in the same gown and cap I wore like an ill-fitting disguise. Around me, my classmates laughed, hugged tightly, let themselves be kissed by proud fathers and mothers with tears in their eyes.

I was there, in the middle of the crowd, but I didn't belong. I never belonged.

I never knew how to fake enthusiasm. Other people's joy rarely reached me. My world had always been quieter. More isolated.

My hands sweated inside my pockets, hidden, because the thought of someone brushing against them was unbearable. The touch of another's skin sent shivers through my bones, like lightning splitting me open. It had always been that way. Being too close to another body always felt like a sentence.

A couple of times someone bumped into me, laughing, jostling, and I nodded silently, pretending it didn't matter. I didn't stop to explain that my heart shrank every time a hand brushed mine. I'd learned long ago that it was something I couldn't explain. No one understood.

The ceremony had ended only a few minutes earlier. The speeches had blurred into a uniform murmur, nothing more than a hum in my ears. Everyone celebrated—except me. For them, it was a beginning. For me... it was nothing more than the end of a path.

I had a degree in mechanical engineering. Yes. I had good grades. But I also had a history of failures. It wasn't enough. Not for the world.

I tried so many times. And always the same obstacle: the oral interview. That damned table, those eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to speak with ease, to smile, to improvise. I never could. The words broke, my throat closed, my hands shook. I always ended in silence.

As I watched the others posing for photos, laughing, raising their diplomas toward the sky, a sharp pang struck my chest. Not envy. More like emptiness. As if they were part of a play I could only watch from the shadows backstage.

Then someone said my name.

"Jeff."

I turned my head.

It was my advanced design professor. His hair was grayer than last semester, and his glasses slid down his nose.

"You did well," he continued, stopping in front of me. Around him, whole families took pictures together. The contrast was grotesque. Me, alone. Him, speaking to me as if it actually mattered.

"Thanks," I murmured, lowering my gaze.

He didn't seem satisfied with the minimal response.

"You have talent. Much more than you think. I saw your projects, your models, your calculations. Not everyone can do what you do."

I shrugged. My fingers trembled in my pocket.

"It doesn't matter if... I can't pass the interviews," I replied quietly.

The professor shook his head slowly.

"That's the least of it. You'll learn. What matters isn't speaking well, but not giving up. Don't let the world convince you that you're worth nothing just because you don't fit its molds."

I swallowed hard. His words struck inside me. Not because I hadn't heard them before, but because believing them was impossible.

"Thanks," I whispered again, even softer.

He smiled, squeezing my shoulder before leaving. I felt the pressure of his fingers like fire against my skin, and I had to suppress a shiver. I hated touch. But there was something in that gesture that didn't hurt as much as the others. Maybe because it was brief. Maybe because it was honest.

I watched him fade into the crowd until he was gone.

And then I saw him.

In the distance, behind the laughing, embracing crowd, a figure stood still. Motionless.

He was dressed in black. Completely black. Dark trousers, fitted shirt, long coat swaying faintly in the wind. His hair fell in messy strands across his forehead. He wore sunglasses, though the sky was overcast.

He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He was just there, standing, like a shadow detached from the rest of the world.

Kenta.

What was he doing here?

Without thinking, I started walking toward the back of the university, where he seemed to be waiting for me.

Charlie.

The thought of his name made me pause.

Charlie had asked me to wait for him, said he wanted a picture with me. And as always, I couldn't say no. Charlie was... different. He didn't suffocate me with his presence. He didn't force me to talk when I couldn't. He was the only family I had.

But Charlie didn't trust him. He had said so more than once, with a hard look in his eyes, with that tone he used when he wanted to protect me from something. And yet... within me, there was something different. A silent complicity, an invisible bond I couldn't deny. Something about Kenta inspired a trust I had never been able to explain.

Maybe that's why... I chose to move forward again. Before Charlie appeared.

As I approached, the noise of the celebration faded, as if someone had turned down the volume of the world.

I stopped in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Congratulations."

He extended a box toward me.

I blinked, perplexed.

"You came... to bring me this?"

He nodded.

I took the box, surprised by its weight in my hands.

"Thanks," I said at last. And I looked at him, searching for a crack in that cold, distant mask.

There was a brief, heavy silence stretching between us.

Then he spoke again:

"I also wanted to give you some advice. For you and Charlie."

I stared at him in confusion.

"Advice?"

"Tony has decided to leave the city, in search of another prey. Use this chance to disappear from his sight once and for all."

A chill ran down my spine.

"What... do you mean?"

"You know, especially you, Jeff... Tony is only waiting for the highest bidder. Run. You've graduated now. This is the moment."

I swallowed hard.

"I'll talk to Charlie. How much time do we have?"

Kenta shook his head.

"I don't know. Right now he's obsessed with a racer. So much that he's moving all his activities to some town in the middle of nowhere."

"Is he really that special?" I asked, curious.

"So it seems," Kenta replied dryly. "He caught Tony's attention at the last race, to the point of diving into that whole industry. Sometimes he talks about legends I don't understand. He seems more obsessed than usual. 'PitBabe this, PitBabe that'..."

My eyes widened, frozen. The name burned me like a brand. It wasn't the first time I'd heard it. Lately, Charlie had been mentioning it far too often.

"Are you sure it's PitBabe?" I asked, my voice tense.

Kenta nodded.

"You must've heard it because he just won the big race. He's become very famous."

Kenta's phone rang. He glanced at it, then held my gaze.

"Take my advice and run, Jeff. This is a golden opportunity."

I nodded, though something inside me knew it wouldn't be that simple.

I watched him get into his car and drive away. The roar of the engine faded into the distance, leaving me with the box in my hands and a knot in my chest.

Then a familiar scent surrounded me.

Charlie.

"I was looking for you!" His clear, cheerful voice broke the silence.

He came running, camera in hand, a huge smile lighting up his face.

"Were you trying to escape?" he asked, raising the camera with a grin. "It'll only take one picture, Jeff. My little brother doesn't graduate every day."

I sighed, surrendering, and followed him back to the crowded courtyard.

As we posed for the photo Charlie wanted so much, my mind was still trapped in Kenta's words.

Should I tell him what I'd been warned about?

Charlie's smile shone like the sun, but inside me, the shadows kept growing.

😟

The apartment smelled of garlic and melted butter.

A simple, warm aroma. The kitchen was small, barely a rectangle with tiles that had seen better days, but in that moment it felt like the center of the world.

I lingered at the door, leaning against the frame, watching Charlie bent over the pan. He stirred with the wooden spoon with such concentration that it looked like he was conducting a symphony. His brow was furrowed, his tongue caught between his teeth, and every so often he'd lift his phone to check the video he was following. The volume was low, but I caught the enthusiastic voice of some cooking influencer: "And now, we mix the pasta with the sauce, make it creamy, let everything melt together!"

Charlie mimicked the gesture, stirring with exaggerated force. Some of the sauce splashed onto his apron. He laughed, shaking his head, as if he couldn't take himself seriously.

"You're having way too much fun for it to be just pasta," I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

Charlie turned, surprised to see me there. His face lit up, the way it always did when he caught me watching him like that.

"Jeff! Don't you dare ruin this for me. This recipe is TikTok-blessed, you know? They say it's impossible to mess up."

"Knowing you, if anyone can defy the odds, it's you," I replied softly.

He pouted like a child, but his eyes gleamed with excitement.

I stepped closer, letting the heat of the kitchen wrap around me. There was something comforting about seeing Charlie like this, his cheeks flushed from the steam and that smile that never seemed to fade. I wasn't someone who sought out company. But Charlie... Charlie was the exception. He could fill even my dimmest corners with light.

I sat at the table, watching as he set out the dishes. The cutlery didn't match, and one of the glasses had a crack at the base, but he arranged everything with ceremonial care, as if we were about to witness a coronation.

"Today's special," he murmured, serving the steaming pasta onto my plate first, like he always did. "My little brother is now a mechanical engineer."

I lowered my gaze to the pasta. The sauce was creamy, speckled with golden garlic and parsley. The smell made me smile despite myself. I twirled the fork slowly, tasting the first bite.

"Well?" Charlie asked, his words tight with anticipation.

"...Not bad," I answered, keeping my tone neutral, though deep inside I was surprised. It was delicious—far better than I'd expected.

He gave me a look of mock outrage before bursting into laughter.

"I knew you'd like it! See? All it took was following the steps. I think I could even start a cooking channel, right? Charlie's Magic Pasta."

"With luck, you'll go viral."

"Or at least score some free pasta," he grinned, raising his water glass as if in a toast.

His enthusiasm was contagious. I caught myself smiling again, a real, warm smile I rarely let escape. And for a moment, I allowed myself to forget what had happened at the university. Kenta's words. Tony's shadow.

But memories always seep back in.
The echo of his voice returned, cold and sharp: "Disappear. Now's the moment. Tony is only waiting for the highest bidder, Jeff. Run."

I blinked, setting the fork down on my plate. Charlie kept talking about the texture of the sauce, about how hard it was to manage the flame on that old stove. I listened, yes, but at the same time my mind wrestled with itself: should I tell him what Kenta had confided?

Then Charlie, unknowingly, opened the door.

"Speaking of dreams and recipes... Remember what I told you about PitBabe?"

A shiver ran down my spine. I looked at him intently.

"What about him?"

Charlie smiled, resting his chin in his hand, his eyes lit with a rare spark of wonder.

"That guy is incredible, Jeff. He won the big race on his first try. They say he's the untamed king of the track. And I don't know... I feel like maybe I could be like him someday. A real racer. If only I had the luck of meeting him."

My breath caught. The fork trembled in my hand before slipping gently onto the plate. Charlie didn't notice, too absorbed in his own dream. But I saw it clearly: the name, the coincidence, Kenta's warning.

I couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Charlie..." My voice came out deeper than I intended. He looked up, curious. "I spoke with Kenta today."

Charlie's expression hardened immediately.

"With Kenta?" he asked, his tone edged. "What did he want?"

I swallowed, uncertain.

"He warned me. Said Tony's leaving the city. That he's set his sights on someone else... A racer."

Charlie paled slowly, as if the blood drained from his face.

"...No," he whispered. "Don't tell me..."

"PitBabe. Yes. He named him."

The silence grew heavy, thick. The only sound was the bubbling of the still-hot sauce in the pan.

Charlie pressed his lips together, closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, the light was gone—only determination remained.

"Then we have to do something," he said. "We can't just sit still, Jeff."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"What are you planning? To confront him?"

"Not exactly... but I won't stand by while Tony obsesses over someone else. You know what that means." He leaned toward me, brow furrowed. "That man destroys everything he touches."

My chest tightened. The truth in his words struck like a blow.

"I know," I admitted.

We spent the rest of dinner in uneasy silence. I barely touched my food; Charlie toyed with his fork, lost in thought.

The following days were heavy with tension. We packed the essentials quietly, avoiding each other's eyes. We made lists of what to take, what to leave behind. I pretended it was just another trip. But I saw it in him: Charlie was scheming something.

Every time he mentioned "finding a safe place," his lips trembled with a contradiction he couldn't hide from me.

And one night, when I caught him standing at the window, eyes lost in the horizon, I couldn't hold back anymore.

"Charlie..." I called softly but firmly. "You're my brother. I know you."

He closed his eyes, exhaling a sigh that carried the weight of centuries.

"I'll put you somewhere safe, Jeff. And then I'll go warn Babe."

My heart lurched.

"No," I said firmly, stepping closer. "I can't let you do that alone."

Charlie looked at me with a mix of tenderness and desperation.

"You don't understand. I can't let Tony hurt him the way he's hurt us. But I also can't expose you. I'll leave you far from all this, and I'll—"

"No!" I cut him off, louder than I meant. My hands shook, but my voice did not falter. "You don't get to decide for both of us. We're in this together."

He lowered his head, fists clenched.

"Jeff... to Tony, I don't matter. He's never seen me as useful." He swallowed, voice breaking. "You... you're different. You're a special omega. For him that means power, means... merchandise. It means he'll always come back for you. If he ever catches you..."

He couldn't finish.

"Charlie..." I took a deep breath. "You know with Tony there'll never be a safe place. Never. We're in this together, Charlie. I won't leave you."

Charlie stayed silent.

"I know," he said at last, his voice low, tired, but honest. His gaze locked on mine. "Even if we ran... even if we hid in the most remote city... he'd find us. He always does."

The air thickened. And yet, within that weight, there was clarity. It was true: Tony wasn't just a man; he was a shadow clinging to everything, a threat that never disappeared, even when you closed your eyes.

Charlie stayed quiet for a long time after that. Only the ticking of the apartment clock filled the emptiness between us, a harsh beat reminding us that time moved forward, with or without our choice.

He was the one who spoke first, lowering his voice as if revealing a dangerous secret:

"Jeff... even if you come with me, I won't let you get in the middle."

I looked at him, confused. Charlie clenched his fists, as if he had to hold his words in place with sheer force.

"I'll be the one to warn Babe," he went on, lifting his gaze to me. "I'll find out what Tony really wants. If we uncover something, if we manage to find a lead to destroy him, good. And if we don't, at least we'll have done one thing: warned Babe. Stopped Tony from winning again."

The firmness in his voice made me shiver.

"Charlie..." I began, but he shook his head, his tone softening slightly, though the resolve remained.
"You'll stay out of it. That's a condition I won't argue."

I leaned toward him, clumsy as ever in showing affection, and let my fingers barely brush his arm. It was enough for him to lower his guard a moment, the hardness in his expression softening into a fleeting warmth.

"Then... together," I whispered, my throat tight with emotion.
"Yes, together," Charlie affirmed, then added more seriously, "Just promise me you won't put yourself in the middle. You and I are brothers, Jeff. You're my only family. I can't lose you."

That fear in his voice struck me harder than any warning. I nodded, though deep down I knew things rarely go the way one plans.

Chapter Text

Jeff

The lake's water was an impossible shade of blue. The wind brushed through my hair, and for a moment I thought I had found a place of peace. Around me there was nothing but silence—an expectant silence, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

Then I saw them.
Blue butterflies. Dozens of them, fluttering above the surface of the water. So fragile, so perfect, that I stood still, unable to do anything but watch. I was trapped in that image, in that beauty so sharp it almost hurt.

But the calm shattered.
The sky turned darker, heavier. The gentle wind shifted into an icy breath that pierced through my skin. The butterflies began to fall one by one, striking the water as though they were broken fragments of glass.

Panic clenched my throat. The lake was no longer blue but gray, deep, like a bottomless pit. The air grew denser, harder to breathe. And then I heard it.

A roar.
Deep. Ancient. The roar of a beast I couldn't see, but one I recognized without knowing why. Something inside me shrank, as if my bones remembered a fear my memory could not name. It was impossible... and yet, it felt familiar.

I jolted awake, heart racing. The car roof above me. The road sliding under the tires. My breath came in broken gasps, as if I had been running for miles.

"A nightmare?" Charlie asked, eyes still fixed on the road.

"It's nothing," I answered quickly—too quickly.

I pulled the headphones from my pocket. New ones: braided black cord, earbuds gleaming in metallic blue. I pushed them into my ears, searching for shelter in the music, anything that might keep me from thinking.

"They're new," Charlie said, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

"Kenta gave them to me."

Charlie drew in a breath, as if he wanted to say something, but swallowed the words instead.

We kept going. The road narrowed, forcing Charlie to grip the wheel more tightly. Potholes jolted the car, and roots broke through the asphalt, exposed and gnarled. The trees grew taller and taller around us, closing in, forming a kind of tunnel of shadows. Hardly any gaps remained for the sky to filter through.

The air changed. Damp, heavy, with the earthy smell of rotting leaves. The music in my ears barely drowned out the sensation that the forest was watching us.
That was when I saw it: a worn wooden sign, barely clinging to a crooked post. The letters, almost erased by time and moisture, read Edelmor.

The breath caught in my chest. The name meant nothing—and yet it meant everything.

A shiver ran through me. It wasn't just fear, but an overwhelming sadness, as if I had lost something here long before I had ever arrived. I swallowed hard, trying to loosen the knot in my throat.

Charlie turned his head toward me.
"You okay?"

I forced myself to nod, though my hands trembled faintly on my knees.
"Yeah. Just... tired."

He held my gaze a moment longer but didn't press. He sped up a little, and the car rolled into the town.

Edelmor was not the small, forgotten village we had imagined. It was large, alive, full of people carrying baskets of fruit, tools, children laughing and running through the streets. The houses were painted in bright colors, and music drifted from an open window.

The noise struck me harder than silence ever could. I wanted to cover my ears. I wanted to scream. Why does it hurt so much?

Charlie parked in front of a two-story inn, neat and well cared for, flowerpots hanging from the windows, the murmur of travelers moving in and out. No ruins, no abandonment. On the contrary: Edelmor pulsed like a heart beating stronger than ever.

And I—I could barely hold myself together.

The name echoed in my head, impossible to silence. Edelmor. Edelmor. Edelmor.
A weight pressed down on my chest. A memory—or something like one—just out of reach. As if I were about to find someone, to see him again after an eternity.

But who?

The question burned inside me. I had no answer, but the longing tore a silent sob from me.

Charlie noticed. I saw it in the way he looked at me, in how he hesitated before speaking.
"Jeff..."

I shook my head, swallowed hard, forced a smile.
"I'm fine. I just need some rest."

He didn't push. He knew my silences.

We went up to the room we'd been given, a space with two beds and a window facing the edge of the forest. Charlie set his backpack on his mattress and sighed.
"I'm going out to ask about Babe... and about Tony too. Stay here. Rest. It was a long trip."

I nodded, though deep inside I knew I wouldn't stay still. The door closed behind him, and the room became too small, too suffocating.

I walked to the window. Outside, the trees rose like green walls, immense, dense, swaying faintly in the wind.

And then I felt it.

It wasn't a voice.
It wasn't a sound.
It was the forest itself breathing inside me.

A heartbeat whispering: come.

The knot in my chest pulled tighter, forcing me to clutch my heart. The air thinned, rough in my throat, and my eyes burned with a strange sting. As if I wanted to cry without knowing why. As if something in me had been waiting for this call all my life.

I didn't think. I didn't reason. I just obeyed.

I opened the door, went down the stairs of the inn, and crossed its threshold like a sleepwalker. The bustle of the town—the merchants' voices, the hum of cars, the children running—faded into a distant murmur. I no longer saw the streets, nor the people. My eyes fixed only on the forest's dark edge, the heavy shadow stretching toward me, claiming me.

The wind gusted suddenly, sharp and cold. It whipped my hair, froze my cheeks. Branches bent, as if pointing to an invisible path. And I stepped forward, certain beyond reason that if I crossed that threshold of trunks, I would find what I had always been searching for.

As if at last I would see him again...

But who?

The thought ripped me open. Desperation blurred my eyes. And before I realized it, I was running, dodging trunks, inhaling the wet scent of earth, chasing that force that called me.

I ran until the town was gone, until the inn vanished, until only the endless forest remained.

Then I stopped, gasping, lost. I looked around. No path, no signs, no way back.

The forest had swallowed me whole.

Fear rose sharp and cold, needling my skin. Sweat clung sticky at my nape, and I felt the crawling certainty of eyes hidden among the trees. I tried to calm myself, to walk straight back, but every step dragged me deeper in.

I've gone mad.
The thought slammed into me. For a moment I lost my grip on reason. And now I was lost.

Nothing.
Only silence.
The trees stood tall like motionless sentinels, watching me under a sky that darkened too fast.

A crow cawed in the distance, a harsh cry that froze my bones. Then, silence again.
I swallowed, lips dry.

And then came a scent, strange, too vivid to be an accident.
Pine.
Fresh-cut grass.
And a faint citrus sweetness, familiar... oranges, my favorite fruit.

A shiver ran down my spine. Why that smell here?

A crack.
A sudden movement in the brush ahead.

My heart leapt like a spring. I stumbled backward, searching for a trunk to grab, but there was only air and damp ground beneath my feet. The last glimmer of sunset broke through the treetops, blinding me with a crimson glare that painted the low fog blood-red.

I blinked again and again.
When my sight cleared, I heard it.

A growl. Low, deep, barely an animal murmur vibrating in my bones.
Then, a heavy breath. Ragged. Close.

My throat sealed shut. The thicket in front of me shook again, branches shuddering with something moving straight toward me.

I couldn't see it yet, but I could feel it.
Each step, each breath—it was getting closer.

I stumbled back blindly, panic shoving me. One step, then another... until my foot caught on a hidden root.

I fell hard on my back, the damp earth soaking through my clothes. My chest heaved violently. Air wasn't enough.

And before me, the thicket stirred once more. Something was coming.

Chapter Text

Jeff

The rustling in the bushes grew louder. The undergrowth parted, and from it emerged a massive boar, its tusks gleaming under the last crimson glow of the sky. It advanced toward me with blind fury, its breath harsh like thunder held back.

I froze. My heart pounded against my chest as if trying to break free. I wanted to move, but my legs refused to obey.

And then—
A leap.
A shadow sprang from the side, so fast I barely followed it. A flash of steel, a muffled roar, a piercing shriek. The beast writhed on the ground, blood darkening the grass, until it stilled in brutal silence.

The air filled with a scent stronger than the forest itself. Pine, damp earth... and sweet oranges stealing my breath away. My body trembled, as if it had been waiting for this moment all along.

The alpha straightened, hardly winded. His eyes lifted toward me, and the world shattered. Dark eyes, black as night, but holding a secret glimmer, like stars burning in the deepest void.

Time stopped.

The scent grew heavier.

It slid across my skin, filled my lungs, burned my throat. My pulse quickened instantly, pounding at my temples. The air was fire, and I couldn't stop breathing it in, though each inhale betrayed me.

I hated myself for it.

Something inside me recognized him. As if I had breathed this before, long ago, in another life.

The pain in my chest became unbearable. Rage, grief, longing... everything twisted together in an impossible storm. I felt I was about to cry, to scream, that everything I had been holding back for years was about to burst. And to keep myself from breaking, I clung to the only thing I knew: distrust, anger, rejection.

Run. Run from him.
Don't let him near.
But... it's him. At last, it's him.

A battle raged between my head and my heart. It was too much.

A tear rolled down my cheek before I could stop it. I didn't know why.
I didn't know him. I couldn't know him.
And yet seeing him was like remembering a dream too vivid, too painful.

His voice reached me like a soft, unexpected blow:

—"Are you all right?"

I blinked, snapping back to reality. I pushed myself up clumsily, retreating two steps as if I needed space just to breathe.

—"I'm fine," I answered brusquely.

He studied me, tilting his head slightly, as though trying to read me. I avoided his gaze and began walking away.

—"You're welcome," he said calmly, following at a distance that seemed deliberate.

I tensed. His words cut through me like a reminder that I owed him something, even if I didn't want to.

—"Thanks," I muttered through clenched teeth, quickening my pace. I didn't know where I was going; the forest shadows all looked the same. I just wanted to lose him.

But I couldn't. His steps trailed mine—quiet, steady.

—"What are you doing here?" he asked. "This is private property."

—"It's a forest," I shot back coldly. "It belongs to no one. It's free."

—"Not everything that looks free truly is," he replied, following me calmly, like a predator with no hurry. "Some parts are private. And you're trespassing."

I glanced back with a scowl. —"And you? What are you doing here then?"

A faint smile curved his lips, as disarming as it was dangerous. —"Maybe I have every right to be here. Unlike you."

My throat went dry. Tension coiled in the air like an invisible rope. I tried to ignore it, to keep walking, but my steps were clumsy, disoriented.

—"An omega shouldn't wander alone in this forest," he added more seriously this time. "It's dangerous."

I froze, and before I could stop myself, my voice cut sharp:
—"Dangerous only for an omega?"

His gaze darkened further, and I caught a glimmer of something... curiosity, interest. Just a subtle curl of his lips, almost invisible, as if he had recognized the thorn hidden in my words.

—"More so for omegas," he said calmly, his eyes never leaving mine.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I swallowed hard, lowering my gaze, shoving my hands deep into my coat pockets as if I could hide everything tearing me apart. I had to leave. I had to get away from him. I turned sharply, fists clenched, and walked faster, my heart racing.

What chilled me wasn't just what he'd said—
but the fact that he had known.
No one ever noticed. Never. I was invisible, nearly scentless, almost erased from that biological mark that defined us all. How could he...?

—"You're not from here," he said again, trailing me, his voice threading through the trees. "That much is obvious."

—"Not your concern," I spat, not turning around, each word edged like a blade.

The scent hit me again, stronger the closer he came. It twisted my stomach and my heart, a sweet poison I despised.

—"Maybe not," he replied after a pause. "But it's easy to tell."

I bit my lip hard. The scent struck again like a wave. It made me dizzy, stripped me bare.

—"I'll be leaving soon," I said firmly, though my legs trembled.

—"What's your name?" he asked then, unexpectedly gentle.

I ignored him. The silence thickened between us.

If I'd been smart, I would have asked him for help. I didn't know this forest. I had no idea where to go. I was lost, trapped in a maze of trees and shadows offering no way out. But I couldn't. Not with him. Every part of me screamed to keep him away, to run as far and fast as I could.

Run.
Far.
Before it's too late.

And yet... another part of me—that reckless, deranged part—wanted to stay. Wanted to get closer, to breathe in that scent of citrus and pine until I drowned in it, until I fell. But that part was insane. And I had to be rational.

—"What are you looking for out here?" he asked then, his voice closer, though I hadn't heard him shorten the distance.

My body tensed instantly. I forced myself not to turn, to keep walking.

—"Nothing that concerns you," I hissed.

—"Right," he said suddenly.

—"What?"

—"If you keep straight, you'll end up lost deeper in the woods. Go right. After that big tree."

I frowned. I obeyed, though it burned to admit I was listening.

—"Now downhill," he added after a few steps. "There's a hidden path past those bushes."

I walked where he told me, without looking at him. My fists tightened in my pockets. I didn't want him guiding me. I didn't want to owe him anything.

I stopped abruptly, turning to him with a scowl, my heart beating too fast.

—"You're not going to stop following me, are you?" I snapped, my voice trembling despite myself.

He watched me in silence for a few seconds. His lips curved slightly, a faint, mocking smile that made my blood burn hotter.

—"I'm headed that way too."

I inhaled sharply, irritated. He was lying—obviously. I saw it in his eyes. He was only making sure I found my way out. And deep down, that worked in my favor. I was lost, I had no idea how to return.

But I couldn't stand it.

I couldn't stand that calm.
That smile.
That scent that stripped me of control over my own body.

That alpha infuriated me.
He infuriated me too much.

I don't know how long we walked. The forest seemed endless, as if toying with me, stretching the paths, multiplying the trees so I'd never leave. Or maybe it was me who didn't want to find the way out so soon, though I swore to myself otherwise.

He stayed beside me. Not too close, not enough to brush against me, but near enough that all my senses were locked on him. I heard his steady, measured breathing. The crunch of his steps matched mine. And above all... that scent. That cursed scent that invaded my lungs and made ordinary air no longer enough.

It was unbearable. And at the same time, addictive.

I tried to distract myself, to stare at the trees, the stretching shadows. But every time my gaze slipped away, it inevitably returned to him. To the profile of his face, the strong line of his jaw, the way the filtered light slid across his dark hair.

I forced myself to look away before it showed.
I couldn't let him notice.

—"The path opens up ahead," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

—"I see it." My response was sharp, defensive.

When the forest began to thin and I spotted the gray glimmer of rooftops in the distance, an odd emptiness filled me. Part of me sighed in relief: at last, I could escape this unbearable tension. But another part... resisted. Because it meant he would leave too, stop walking beside me. And that hurt more than I cared to admit.

I stopped abruptly at the edge where the trees gave way to a dirt road. The wind carried faint human voices, the smell of chimney smoke, fresh bread. The contrast with the forest was so stark it made me dizzy.

He stood beside me, unshaken, as if none of this had affected him.

—"I'll take you somewhere," he said suddenly.

I froze, surprised by his tone. It wasn't a kind offer. It was a hard statement, as if I had no choice.

—"No, thanks," I snapped, not looking at him.

But he didn't move. I felt his gaze pierce me. The silence grew unbearable, the air thick, as though his stare alone bound me to him. I swallowed hard, nerves burning under my skin.

—"Stop looking at me," I spat finally.

He didn't look away.

—"Are you leaving soon?"

I froze.

—"What?"

—"You should leave soon," he repeated calmly, as if stating the obvious. "It's dangerous here for omegas. Do your sightseeing, whatever you came for... and go."

A chill raced down my spine. My jaw clenched.

—"I don't see why—" I started, but bit my tongue. His tone wasn't a suggestion. It was a warning.

I stared at him, waiting for an explanation, but he said nothing more. He just stood there, that guarded expression on his face, as if he had already made a decision for me.

The air between us thickened. Part of me wanted to thank him, to say something that would close the moment with some dignity. But all that came out was:

—"Thanks for the advice."

I turned sharply and strode toward the village, anger burning in my chest. Who did he think he was, telling me what to do? Why should he care if I was safe or not? And why the hell did it bother me so much to feel like he was dismissing me?

"You want me gone, huh? Then I'll stay. I'm not here because of you."

I repeated the words silently, like an oath. But the discomfort lingered. I walked with clenched fists, cursing myself for feeling something so absurd.

The road widened, and after a while, I found an old taxi idling at the roadside. The driver gave me a weary look but agreed to take me into town for a few coins. As soon as I slid into the back seat, I leaned against the window, watching the forest shadows recede.

I didn't look back once to where I had left him.
And still, I couldn't shake the feeling of his presence pressed against my skin.

The inn appeared at last, its warm lights spilling from the windows. I paid the driver, stepped out without a word, and stumbled inside. Charlie hadn't returned yet. The room was silent.

I collapsed onto my bed, kicking my shoes off carelessly.

—"What the hell is wrong with me today?" I muttered into the pillow, exasperated.

That alpha. That gaze. That voice. Everything spun in my head like a maddening echo.

I shook my head hard, as if I could expel him by force.

—"Doesn't matter." I said it low, almost as a command to myself. "I'll never see him again."

I forced myself to believe it as exhaustion dragged me down into sleep.

That night, I dreamed of a sky vast and black, endless, studded with stars that pulsed as if they breathed. The air was cold, heavy, and in the midst of nothing, blue butterflies fluttered in circles, dancing to the rhythm of an ancient secret.

I reached for them, but every time my hand stretched out, they dissolved into sparks of light.

And there, in the shadows, I felt him before I saw him: that presence. That quiet breath that made the air itself bristle. The forest seemed to hold its breath.

Then I saw him. Not his face, not his body... only his eyes.

Dark. Burning in the gloom like lit coals, fixed on me. Unblinking, unyielding. And I stood rooted in place, unable to move, unable to run.

My chest burned, my heart pounded violently, and my whole being clung to that gaze as if it recognized him from a place I couldn't remember.

I tried to speak, to say something, but my voice broke before it formed. Only a single tear fell, cold, and all I heard was the echo of my own breath mingling with his—deep, distant... too close.

The blue butterflies began to gather around those eyes, like guardians, as if they were protecting him from me... or me from him.

I woke with a jolt, throat dry, fists clutching the sheets.

Chapter Text

Jeff

The smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with toasted bread and butter in the small common room of the inn. Outside, the town woke slowly, with the murmur of distant engines and birds that seemed more watchful than usual, as if even nature itself distrusted this place.

I sat across from Charlie at one of the wooden tables. His hair was a mess, his eyes bloodshot as if he had barely slept.

"What time did you get back?" I asked, dropping a slice of bread onto my plate without much appetite.

Charlie looked at me for barely a second before answering, as if weighing his words.
"Almost at dawn. I didn't want to wake you."

I raised my eyes. There was something strange in his expression, a mixture of exhaustion and something else, something he didn't want to tell me.
"Yesterday I..." he began, voice low, almost guilty. "Yesterday I met Babe."
"Did you warn him?" I asked, more harshly than I had intended.

In my head, one thought repeated over and over: we needed to get out of this damned town before something exploded.

Charlie slowly shook his head.
"It's... hard to explain. I realized it's not as simple as walking up to him and dropping a warning. He wouldn't believe me so easily, Jeff. And the worst part is, we don't even know for sure what Tony really wants."

I turned my gaze toward the window. Sunlight spilled in bursts, staining the floor with light, but it brought me no calm.
"So?" I pressed my lips together. "What do you propose?"

Charlie drew in a deep breath, as if searching for the right way to sort his thoughts.
"Apparently Tony got into the racing industry... and he came here to train." He paused. "This town is surrounded by perfect roads for it, but we know that's just the excuse. What Tony wants... is Babe. The question is... why?"

I fell silent. The coffee in my cup had suddenly gone cold.

"Babe is stubborn," Charlie continued. "He doesn't trust anyone, least of all strangers who show up to tell him someone wants to use him. It's not that easy."

"Then... what will you do?" I asked, a knot tightening in my throat.

Charlie lowered his gaze. A shadow of unease crossed his face before he sighed.
"Babe... he's the kind who looks for one-night lovers. And last night... apparently he liked my scent, or maybe the way I can hide it."

My eyes widened, startled. Air caught in my chest.
"Lover?" I asked, incredulous.

He nodded, a brief gesture, almost ashamed.
"I don't even know how it ended up that way..." his voice dropped lower, as if confessing a crime. "One moment we were talking, and then..." He stopped, looked at me with something like a plea, then turned his eyes away. "And then we weren't talking anymore."

The room shrank unbearably small. I swallowed hard, searching for something to say, but the only thing hitting me was the obvious: Babe wasn't just a risk, he was a trap Charlie would hardly escape unscathed.

"If I earn his trust," Charlie pressed on, with more firmness than his eyes betrayed, "then he'll believe what I tell him."

"Charlie..." I murmured, shaking my head faintly.

We both knew it was a terrible idea. A really bad one. Babe was more than just a target for Charlie, and now that they were entangled, everything was even more dangerous. If Tony truly wanted him, this could end in disaster.

For a long while, neither of us spoke. The silence weighed more than any word. Only the clatter of cutlery against plates from other tables broke the stillness.

Finally, Charlie raised his eyes, fixing them on me with a stubborn gleam.
"I won't put you in danger. Just give me some time to figure out what Tony really wants."

I tried to cut him off, but he went on with a smile that looked more like a shield than a true expression.
"I won't lose myself for Babe. He's just playing."

I nodded, but inside, I read it differently. Those words weren't for me—they were for himself, as if he needed to repeat them to believe them.

I watched him drink his coffee in silence, the bitter certainty sinking in that things were already getting more complicated than I had imagined.

I went back to the room at the inn. The distant murmur of other guests—dishes clinking, bursts of laughter—slipped under the door. Charlie was already gone. His bed was carelessly made, the blanket thrown loosely over it. His way of saying "don't notice I slept little," but of course I noticed anyway.

I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. The memory of the forest returned like a sting. I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to think about him. And yet... my thoughts kept circling back to those eyes that had pierced me like blades. Dark, glimmering in the shadows. A pair of embers burning in the middle of the forest.

I drew a deep breath, trying to shake off the sticky sensation that came with remembering. If I kept wallowing in those memories, I would end up losing my mind. Again. And I wasn't willing.

"Not today," I told myself.

I dressed without hurry, pulling on the first things I found: plain jeans, a gray t-shirt. Nothing that drew too much attention. I threw on a light jacket and decided to walk through town.

At first, the fresh air did me good. The sky was clear, a vivid blue too bright against the dark memories that haunted me. The cobbled streets were full of tourists: families, couples holding hands, groups of young men laughing as they snapped pictures of every picturesque corner.

I walked among them like a ghost. Nobody looked at me, and that was comforting. I had always preferred going unnoticed.

But as I went on, something unsettled me: that strange sense of familiarity. As if I had been here before.

The church tower, with its massive clock striking the hours with chimes that resonated in my chest. That sound... something about it felt too close, like an echo from another life. I stood still, staring up while the crowd moved on. Why did it feel like I knew it? From where?

I shook my head, forcing myself forward. Maybe I was just tired. Or maybe it was the aftermath of what had happened yesterday in the forest. My mind still unsettled.

I blended into the bustle of the market. Vendors hawked cheap souvenirs: keychains shaped like the town, t-shirts with clever slogans about racing and speed. Because, of course, everything revolved around that.

It didn't take long before I heard it:

"Ever since PitBabe won the big race, this town has changed."

The voice came from a pair of tourists, two men who had stopped at a drink stand. I pretended to examine some crafts, but I listened closely.

"Really?" asked the other.
"Yeah. Now people come just to see him. They say if you're lucky, you'll catch him on the street, or training. Even the church is getting more donations."
"Wow... so all thanks to that racer."

I bit my lip. Babe. Again, always him on everyone's lips. As if the whole town revolved around that name.

I kept walking, a knot in my stomach.

That was when a sign posted on a shop window caught my attention.

"Mechanic Wanted — X-Hunter Workshop. Requirements: mechanical engineer or related. Proven experience. Alphas or betas only. Attach CV via email. Interview only with pre-selected resumes."

I froze. X-Hunter. A group of teenagers passed by laughing, and one of them said:

"They say that's PitBabe's workshop. If you want to be close to him, try there."

"Yeah, that's why they're asking for pre-screened resumes now. Otherwise it'd be full of fans pretending to be mechanics."

My chest tightened. That was Babe's workshop. No doubt. X-Hunter wasn't just a workplace—it was the epicenter of everything Tony was planning. And maybe... my chance.

Charlie had told me not to get involved, that he'd handle it. But Charlie was getting dragged in too deep. I knew him. If it went on like this, he would lose himself—and I wasn't going to let that happen.

I bit my lip, torn. I could ignore it, keep walking, convince myself not to get entangled. But if I went in there... if I stayed close to Babe... then maybe I could see what was coming, stay ahead of Tony. Maybe even change it.

I walked back to the inn faster than usual. Went up to the room, closed the door behind me. Turned on the old laptop I carried.

The blank document mocked me. My fingers tapped nervously on the keyboard.

Name: Jeff... Collins.
Title: Mechanical Engineer.
Experience: ...

The ad asked for experience. I barely had any. I'd fixed my own car, a few neighbors' cars, spent endless nights dismantling engines just to feel like I could control at least one thing in my life. But did that count as real experience? I doubted it.

I sighed. No point in lying. If they found out, it would be worse. I typed honestly: "recent graduate, with hands-on experience in personal and community repairs." It sounded ridiculous, but it was all I had to offer.

Then my eyes caught another line in the ad:

"Alphas or betas only."

I frowned. What kind of nonsense was that?

"This is gender discrimination," I muttered under my breath, irritated.

I stared at those words too long. And for an instant, I thought again of the eyes of that alpha in the forest. I shivered, shaking my head. I shouldn't think of that.

"Seems like they don't want omegas here," I snorted bitterly.

I leaned back in the chair, biting the inside of my cheek. I knew why they asked for that: heat permits, unnecessary risks. Most workshops didn't want the trouble. But I didn't have cycles, didn't need permits. For all practical purposes, I lived like a beta. I could prove it.

So I ticked a box in the form, attached part of my medical record, and typed: "Stable condition. No active cycles."

Perfect.

I stared at the CV before sending it. I knew I was stepping into dangerous ground. But I couldn't just stand by watching my brother sink deeper.

I pressed my lips together, drew in a breath, and hit send.

The file shot off into the workshop's inbox.

I closed the laptop slowly, as if doing so would ensure there was no turning back. Then I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, feeling that something enormous had just been set in motion.

For the first time since we arrived, I felt maybe I had a purpose in this town. And though fear gnawed at me, there was also a spark of determination. One that told me, no matter what happened, I wouldn't let Charlie face this alone.

The rest of the day I spent locked in, pretending not to wait. But the truth was, every beat of my heart struck like the email might carry a new fate with it.

I kicked off my shoes, tossed them to the side of the bed, and lay flat on my back.

"What the hell am I doing..." I whispered.

I stared at the inn ceiling, searching for answers that never came. The only thing that did, like a curse, was the image of those eyes that had haunted me since the forest. Dark, intense, staring into me from the depths.

I shut mine tight, as if I could erase them. But I couldn't.

And as sleep finally pulled me under, the last thing I remembered was that gaze fixed on me, framed by an endless forest and a sky full of blue butterflies beating their wings like a prophecy.

✨

The email arrived early, just a few minutes after I came downstairs for breakfast. The header was brief, dry, impersonal:

"Thank you for your interest in joining our team. After reviewing your profile, we regret to inform you that you have not been selected to move forward to the interview process."

I read it once, twice, three times, as if repeating it would change something. But no. The words stayed the same, sharp and final. I shut the laptop harder than necessary and sat there for a while, staring at the wooden table.

They didn't even give me the chance for an oral interview. Not even a call. Nothing. Just a cold, automatic rejection, as if I were one of those fanboys trying to sneak in to catch a glimpse of PitBabe.

For a moment, I thought about writing back, explaining, insisting that I wasn't like the others. But I stopped. What difference would it make? Deep down, I already expected this.

The days dragged on, all alike. I got used to my routine walks around the town, always avoiding the streets leading to the forest, as if straying too close might drag me back into that nightmare with the eyes of that strange alpha.

Charlie, meanwhile, was more absent every day. I saw him coming home late, wearing that expression he tried to hide but was far too obvious. I didn't need him to say it: he was getting more entangled with Babe. And when I confronted him, all I ever got were the same words, like a mantra:

—"I'm investigating. There's nothing new."

That was it. No further explanation, no clue about what he was really doing. He only left books on the table for me, as if he wanted to keep me busy, distracted, out of his world. But I wasn't stupid. I knew things were getting complicated. The more time passed, the harder it would be for him to get out.

One morning, leaving the inn, I saw it. The car.

It was impossible not to notice. A black pickup, gleaming despite the dust of the road, with the sleek lines of the newest models. The hood was open, exposing its metallic guts, practically begging for hands that knew where to touch.

One of the guests stood beside the vehicle, cursing under his breath. He was a tall alpha, elegant in bearing, with sun-warmed brown skin that gleamed under the light, black hair, and dark eyes with a sharp glint that instantly reminded me of a razor's precision. Something in his features made me think of Chinese ancestry.

I don't know why I did it. Maybe because I was bored. Maybe because, deep down, I missed too much the feeling of getting my hands dirty with grease and hearing the purr of an engine obeying my fingers. But before I knew it, I was walking toward him.

—"Excuse me..." My voice came out lower than I expected, nervous. "I'm... I'm a mechanic. Can I take a look?"

The alpha lifted his head and looked at me with a slight frown, evaluating me.

—"Sure," he finally said, his tone calm, almost deep. "I haven't found anyone to take a look at it."

He turned to the innkeeper.
—"Do you have any tools?"

The man hesitated, glancing at me as if doubting I could actually help. But the alpha's firm gaze made him nod, and soon enough he came back with a metal toolbox.

I crouched in front of the engine, my fingers trembling slightly as they touched the hot metal. I took a deep breath. There was nothing like that smell of oil mixed with fuel, that sense of standing before a puzzle only I could solve.

—"Start it up, please," I asked the alpha.

The engine coughed, half-roared, then died with a harsh click. Instability in the mix, I thought immediately. I checked the injectors—dirty and clogged with residue. The air filter was blocked, practically suffocated with dust.

—"Here's the problem," I muttered more to myself than to him.

I got to work, carefully cleaning each part, adjusting connections, blowing the filter until it could breathe again. Grease stained my hands, and for a moment I felt alive, useful, like I hadn't in a long time.

When I finished, I closed the hood with a soft thud and stepped aside.
—"Try it now."

The alpha got in and turned the key. This time, the engine woke with a deep, steady, almost elegant roar.

A wide smile spread across his face as he stepped out.
—"You're really talented," he said, a sincere spark in his eyes.

I felt my face heat up. I shook my head, uncomfortable.
—"It was nothing, just dirty."

He pulled out his wallet without hesitation.
—"Let me pay you."

I raised my hands, refusing.
—"It's not necessary... really."

But he insisted, holding out a couple of bills.
—"This is the minimum any mechanic would charge for the work you just did."

I hesitated. The truth was, I needed it. The inn wasn't cheap, and every day reminded me we were spending too much. In the end, I took the money with a barely audible murmur of thanks.

He watched me for a few more seconds, with an expression I couldn't quite read. Then he asked:
—"Are you staying here?"

I nodded.

A faint smile curved his lips, as if he'd found something unexpected that pleased him.
—"Then let me buy you a coffee."

For a moment, I hesitated. Coffee meant sitting, talking, staying close. And that terrified me. But at the same time, something in his voice, in the quiet firmness with which he said it, made me nod.

☕

The coffee steamed between us, filling the air with a toasted, comforting aroma. The alpha held his cup calmly, sipping slowly as he ate a croissant with measured patience. The contrast was strange: his elegant bearing, his almost intimidating presence, and at the same time that serenity that made him seem unshakable.

His phone buzzed nonstop on the table, but each time he answered the same way:
—"Sorry, I'm in an important meeting."

An important meeting. With me. I didn't know what to do with that, so I just lowered my head and took small sips of coffee. The strange part was, he didn't seem eager to fill the silences either.

When he finally hung up another call, he set the phone aside and looked at me.
—"You saved me. I know X-Hunter could've fixed the car, but they're swamped with work and I didn't want to delay them."

He pulled a card from his jacket and slid it toward me.
—"I'm Pete Patharapol," he said with calm certainty, as if no further explanation was needed.

I took the card carefully. The name hit me instantly. I knew it. Everyone did. His company ran too many brands, and X-Hunter was only one of them.

—"I'm Jeff," I finally said, because for some reason I didn't want to say the surname that tied me to Tony.

Pete raised a brow, curious.
—"So... you're an engineering student?"

—"I just graduated," I replied.

He smiled as if that explained everything.
—"You must've received lots of offers."

I felt my throat tighten. I licked my lips, uneasy.
—"I don't talk much," I blurted without thinking. Then added, "That's why I don't have offers."

Pete looked at me as if he didn't get it.
—"And what does that have to do with anything?"

I lowered my gaze. I had no intention of explaining. Instead, I took another sip of coffee, as if the bitterness could cover my words.

—"So are you here on vacation? Or are you from this town?" he asked, direct.

—"Something like... vacation," I muttered.

He nodded slowly, then suddenly asked the question that threw me off completely:
—"Would you be interested in covering a few days at X-Hunter?"

My eyes widened.
—"What?"

—"I don't want to interrupt your vacation, but we have too much work and we haven't found quality mechanics. The pay is good. And if you decide to move or go back to the city, with the trial period at X-Hunter I can transfer you easily to any of my companies."

I stared at him like I'd misheard.
—"Just because I fixed your car?"

Pete chuckled softly.
—"No. Because while you were doing it, you reminded me of someone. And trust me, not just anyone can do it like you."

I took a deep breath and nodded.
—"I already sent my résumé."

He leaned a little closer.
—"You sent it?"

—"Yes. They rejected me."

Pete was thoughtful for a few seconds before answering firmly:
—"I see. This time it'll be different. I'll take you myself. They're being strict with requirements, but all they really need is to see you work."

I didn't know what to say. I just nodded, thanked him, and stood up.

Back in my room, I threw myself on the bed with the card between my fingers. I turned it over and over, like it was something strange.
—"This... must be destiny, right?" I whispered to myself.

I closed my eyes and pressed the card against my chest.
—"Charlie... this isn't my fault. It was simple chance."

Chapter Text

Alan

The smell of grease and hot metal clung to my skin like a second layer. The car groaned above me, held up by the lift, while I tried to loosen a stubborn bolt that refused to budge. I had the wrench clutched in both hands, my arms tense, sweat trickling down my temples. Everything in me wanted to focus on that simple mechanical gesture, on the physical effort, on the distant roar of other engines, on anything but him.

But it was useless.

Every time I closed my eyes to take a breath, I saw him.
His hair, dark as night, falling messily over his forehead.
The tenderness of his features, in contrast with the coldness he radiated in every word.
And above all, his brown eyes—huge, deep, as if they held a secret capable of unraveling the entire world.

They haunted me in every reflection, in every shadow. I had dreamed them before, long before, in nights when I woke soaked in sweat without knowing why. They were the eyes that stopped time.

And now, after that encounter in the forest, they were no longer just a dream. They had a face. A body. A sweet scent that mixed with the air until it became suffocating.

The memory hit me like an arrow: the crackle of branches, the wild boar, the blood, the trembling of the boy's legs. And then him, standing tall in front of me, the universe in his eyes, with that expression between coldness and vulnerability that dismantled me.

—"Damn it," I muttered through clenched teeth, tightening the wrench as if I could crush the memory with it.

The metal gave slightly, then jammed again.

I felt like I knew him from before. As if my whole life had been a long wait for that moment in the forest. His gaze had opened something in me that should never have been opened: pain, longing, desperation. And beneath it all, anger. Deep anger toward him, toward the entire world.

Humans... they destroy everything. Everything.

The wrench slipped suddenly, brushing my shoulder before bouncing away. I flinched, barely avoiding it, and ended up sitting on the cold floor, breathing hard, my heart pounding as if I were still in front of him. Sweat ran down my forehead, and I wiped my dirty hands across my face, leaving a black smear on my skin.

I took a deep breath. Closed my eyes. And there they were again: his eyes, his scent, that strange pull in my chest.

I brought my hand to my face and sighed.

Sonic's voice broke into my thoughts.
—"Did you even go home to sleep?"

I lifted my head. He was there, holding a steaming coffee, frowning, watching me with that mix of concern and reproach only he could sustain without losing the light in his eyes.

—"Of course I slept," I replied, clumsily standing to take the cup.

I wasn't entirely lying. I had slept. Just a couple of hours, enough to sink into broken dreams. But not at home. Too close to the forest. Too close to him. The risk of waking up in the middle of the night and running out like a madman to find him had been real, palpable, stalking me every time I closed my eyes.

Sonic offered me the coffee with a smile. I took it without protest, grateful for the warmth between my hands.

—"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he studied me as if reading every lie etched into my skin. "Because those dark circles don't say the same thing."

I forced a smile, pretending to be warm.
—"I slept, Sonic. I'm fine."

A lie.
I hadn't been fine since that night. Since those eyes. Since that scent I still thought I could feel even amid the stench of gasoline and metal in the workshop.

Sonic studied me, uneasy.

—"If you had symptoms, would you tell me?" he asked, his voice tense.

The word hit me like a hammer to the gut. Symptoms.

I looked at him for a few seconds, stunned. Then forced a smile. I wanted it to be warm, reassuring, but it came out broken.
—"I don't have symptoms, Sonic."

A lie.

Racing heart, the fever coursing in my blood, increasingly vivid dreams that refused to let me rest. And since that night in the forest, everything had worsened.

I took a sip of coffee to swallow the lie.
—"There's just too much work," I added.

I lifted the cup as an excuse and glanced around: the workshop crowded, engines roaring, mechanics running back and forth.
—"We still haven't gotten a new assistant. We're swamped. That's just a bit stressful, nothing more."

Sonic exhaled, relieved, scanning the workshop with his eyes.
—"Everyone just wants to see Babe," he said, teasing.

I rolled my eyes.
—"Yesterday we hired one who doesn't seem to be here for that."

—"Yeah, but you already complained he wasn't good enough." He leaned in, giving me a playful nudge. "No one's ever good enough for you."

His clear laughter echoed through the workshop, a fresh gust of air contrasting with the weight pressing on my chest. Sonic always had that effect: light, vibrant, almost unbearable in its brightness.

I sipped my coffee, burning my tongue.
—"Pete said he'd bring someone personally," Sonic added, in the tone of someone holding a fun secret. "He must be worried. After seeing you with those dark circles..."

I looked at him silently. The concern in his eyes was too honest, too pure. I couldn't let him see what was really going on.

—"I'm fine, Sonic," I repeated, firmer this time.

He smiled, but not completely convinced.

I turned to the car, the tools, anything to distract myself from the image of those brown eyes that haunted me even awake. But it was useless. Every time I tightened a screw, every time an engine roared, I remembered him. His breathing, his contained anger, the tear I saw fall in the forest.

How could it hurt so much to recognize someone I, in theory, didn't know?

I wiped my hands, squeezing the rag tightly. Anger boiled under my skin, mixed with something I didn't want to name: longing, desperation, the absurd certainty that I had been searching for him all my life.

And fear.

Because I knew that if I went looking for him again, if I gave in to the impulse to get closer, everything would break. As always. Like everything humans touch.

It was then that North burst in, running with arms open, a bright smile on his face.

—"Alan! Sonic! You have to see this!"

I turned toward him, frowning.
—"Pete brought a mechanic," he exclaimed, almost breathless, with that contagious excitement that characterized him. "It's incredible! I've never seen a car reach that speed!"

Sonic, already tense with excitement, shot off after him.
—"I want to see! Is he handsome?"

—"Why are you asking that?" North grumbled, laughing, nudging him as they approached the testing area.

—"Because it matters!" Sonic replied dramatically, running faster.

I lagged behind, bringing the coffee to my lips and observing the scene with a half-smile. At least, I thought, the work side might start improving. We were overwhelmed, needed extra hands, and if Pete said he was good, he must be.

I continued walking behind them, unhurried. The roar of an engine began to fill the air, vibrant, powerful. The echo bounced off the workshop walls and grew, like a thunder contained. The anticipation was palpable; the boys crowded around the testing area, all speaking at once.

Way leaned toward Pete, eyes wide.
—"I've never seen it reach that speed," he said, with no doubt in his voice: he was impressed.

—"I know," Pete replied, a satisfied smile on his face. "I told you, he's talented."

The exclamations continued around, but I no longer heard anything.
It wasn't the engine roar that stopped my heart.
It was the scent.

Sweet.
Strawberries with honey.

I froze, as if struck in the chest. The air grew thick, impossible to ignore, burning my lungs with every breath.

My heart stopped... and on the next beat, it surged violently, as if trying to rip my ribs from the inside.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, trying to control the tingling in my fingertips, the trembling in my arms. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it: I inhaled deeply.

And I saw him.

There he was. Bent over, back to me, shoulders tense as he worked on an old laptop connected to Way's car. His attention fixed on the screen, fingers moving quickly over the keyboard, as if the chaos around him didn't exist.

Everyone talked, laughed, celebrated.
But for me, the world had shrunk to a single thing:
Him.

His scent, his presence, the brutal certainty that these were the same eyes that had haunted my dreams.

The same weight on my chest.
The same impossible longing.
The same fear that humans would, in the end, destroy everything.

I forced myself to look away, though my heart still roared louder in my ears than any engine.

And it was then that I collided with Pete's gaze. Calm, assessing, always professional. Without losing his neutral tone, he approached and handed me a document.
—"This is his résumé," he said, low but firm. "The boy's name is Jeff."

The name hit me like a punch to the stomach. I felt my heart tighten, as if it wanted to escape my chest.

I glanced at him sideways, trying to disguise my reaction while Pete and Way began explaining the improvements Jeff had implemented on the car. They talked about precision adjustments, calculations no one else had managed, results confirming him as an exceptional talent.
But Jeff never looked up from the laptop once. He was there, present, and at the same time, not.

—"You can relax now," Sonic said, exhaling and smiling. "We got a talented mechanic."

Anger, fear, desire, and desperation swirled in my chest like a storm. I couldn't allow it. I couldn't have him so close.
—"He can't stay," I spat, louder than I intended.

Silence fell like a blow. Everyone turned to look at me.

Pete said nothing at first. He just fixed his gaze on me, measuring, evaluating every word, every gesture, as if analyzing a complex machine. Finally, he nodded slowly.
—"Let's talk in private," he said, firmly.

Without waiting for a reply, he led the way to the office.

As we walked, that sweet scent still lingered in my lungs, reminding me it was useless to escape.

😟

The office door slammed shut behind us. Outside, the voices of North and Sonic, laughter, comments, the clatter of tools... but inside, the air turned heavy, dense, almost impossible to breathe.

I crossed my arms for strength, though everything inside me trembled.
—"He can't stay," I repeated, rage biting my throat. "He's an omega. You know it's dangerous."

Pete held my gaze silently, studying me as if to dismantle me piece by piece. Then, with that calm that defined him, he said:
—"So you noticed."

I looked at him in disbelief.
—"How could I not? It's too obvious."

He leaned against the desk, relaxed, as if he didn't understand the weight of my words.
—"My senses are sharp too, Alan, and even so... I can't detect his scent. I checked his medical history. His pheromone production is too low, almost nonexistent. He has no active cycles."

I stared at him, stunned.
—"That... that's not possible," I whispered, feeling vertigo rise in my chest.

—"It's possible," he replied firmly. "And we need him. He's talented. Behaves like a beta. We're lucky to have him." His eyes drilled into mine, studying me. "Unless there's something else."

I swallowed, tongue heavy in my mouth. My heart pounded hard, too hard.
—"Less than two months remain..." I stammered. "And omegas... he's human... and..."

—"It will be a short period," Pete cut in, curt but calm. "We need him. Nothing will happen to him."

I couldn't respond. Anger, fear, longing... everything twisted into a knot that was suffocating me.

Pete approached, placed a hand on my shoulder. The gesture was firm, almost reassuring, but to me, it felt like a sentence.
—"Trust me," he said.

And he left the office, leaving me alone.

I collapsed into the chair, breath ragged. I brought my hands to my head, as if I could contain the whirlwind destroying me inside.
—"Him... nothing can happen to him... him..." I whispered, voice breaking.

Silence fell over me like a slab, while pain pierced me with the brutal clarity of a premonition.

Chapter Text

Jeff

The roar of the engine filled the workshop—deep, strong, alive. My fingers flew over the laptop keyboard, adjusting parameters, correcting calculations, reprogramming the fuel distribution. The smell of gasoline didn't bother me. On the contrary, I had missed it so much.

In front of me was the test car. A sleek racing model, more delicate and temperamental than any ordinary vehicle. Its owner was Way, an omega boy with chestnut hair, soft, beautiful features, almost unreal under the artificial light of the workshop. Pete had told me he was a professional racer.

I swallowed my frustration in silence.
"If an omega can be a racer, why can't an omega be a mechanic?" I thought, as I adjusted the pressure in the injection system. It didn't make sense. I was here, proving I was capable, that I didn't need labels to show what I could do.

Everything was going well. Better than well. The engine responded better than expected, revved higher with almost flawless smoothness. Pete watched me from a distance, arms crossed, that half-proud smile on his face—the kind that didn't say much, yet said everything. For a moment, I felt like I was actually achieving something.

And then it happened.

The air changed.

I won't lie: when I first walked into the workshop, I had sensed it, faintly, hidden among the strong scent of gasoline and hot metal. I thought it was my imagination, a trick of my restless mind. But now... there was no way to deny it.

That scent.

The citrus of oranges. The freshness of pine.

It hit me like a punch to the chest.

My fingers froze on the keyboard, the letters on the screen blurring. My heart took off, violent and out of control. I didn't want to look. I couldn't. If I don't look at him, he won't see me. I repeated that lie over and over, as if I could hide from the inevitable.

Pete walked over to talk to someone. I didn't lift my head. I didn't want to confirm what I already knew.

And then the voice came.

Firm. Steady. Relentless.

—He can't stay.

Everything inside me froze.

I didn't lift my gaze. Didn't move a muscle. I faked indifference, that mask I'd always relied on—the only defense I had left. But inside... it hurt. It hurt more than I was willing to admit.

Pete immediately called him to speak in private. He gestured for me to continue, and I did.

When they were far enough, the whispers began.

—I don't understand —Way said—. He himself complained about being overworked and not finding a good mechanic.

Another omega, wearing a coat full of blinding colors, chimed in, equally puzzled.
—Yeah, that's what he said.

Then a third, younger, brimming with energy in every move—North, I think his name was—shrugged.
—Well, we'll just have to wait. I'm sure it'll clear up soon.

I'd heard enough.

"Not that I care. I don't. Actually... I shouldn't be here. This confirms it. I have to stay away from him. He's dangerous. Very dangerous."

And yet... my feet didn't move. I stayed there, rooted to the spot, unable to pull myself free.

The engine still purred beneath my hands, and the gleam of metal surfaces threw back reflections of me—rigid, tense, conflicted. I breathed deeply, and though the rejection stung, I couldn't let it interfere with what I'd come here to do.

I refocused on the car, adjusting every component, checking every calculation, fixing the small flaws we had found. My heart was still hammering, a relentless drum under my skin. The citrus-and-pine scent of that strange alpha chased me, but I forced myself to ignore it. I couldn't afford to get distracted—not now.

While Pete spoke with the alpha elsewhere in the workshop, I worked. Focused, meticulous, making every adjustment to the engine flawless. If there was one thing I could control in that moment, it was that: the machine before me.

👀

The metallic clink of tools against the engine was the only thing keeping me grounded. The rest of the workshop buzzed with murmurs and footsteps, voices blending with the muted growl of engines under test. I didn't look at anyone. I never did.

The grease on my hands was a shield; the smell of hot metal, my refuge. If I kept my head down, if I focused on calculations, I could forget for a while the pressure in my chest—that absurd sensation that hadn't left me since I'd stepped into the workshop.

His voice cut through me like a blade.

—Come with me.

It wasn't harsh, though it was an order. But it was... softer than I had expected.

I stood, wiping my hands on a rag, though there was barely any grease left. I followed him with measured steps, trying not to look too much, trying not to seem more affected than I already was. But every time my eyes flickered his way, I felt that stinging discomfort—the fresh rejection lodged in my chest—and at the same time, that impossible pull, that instinct dragging me toward him.

He simply began guiding me through the workshop.

—We work with racers and race cars —he explained, his deep voice resonating against the metallic echo of tools and engines—. Here everything is discipline. There's no room for mistakes.

I followed in silence, listening to every word. There was rigid order in the chaos of the place: shelves lined neatly with parts, tables with tools, screens with performance diagrams. Everything breathed precision. It was a world that attracted me as much as it intimidated me.

The alpha walked with steady, imposing steps. Every time he turned to point something out, his eyes met mine, and I had to look away before he noticed how much he unsettled me inside.

—We adjust, calculate, repair. —he went on—. Nothing hits the track without passing through our hands.

He said it with a conviction that made me swallow hard. And though he sounded cold, distant, there was in his words a silent passion, the weight of someone who didn't just give orders—he also got his hands dirty with what he loved.

He showed me the workstations, the testing area, even the room where they kept whole engines ready to be dismantled. And finally, he brought me to a cubicle at the far end, next to a window that looked out on a small garden. The light was better there, and it was isolated from the noise of everything else.

—This will be your cubicle —he said, with the same firmness with which he had rejected me earlier—. You'll have your tools here.

He pointed to the adjoining door.
—My office is next door.

I didn't look at him right away. My eyes lingered on the space—ordered, solitary—as if he already knew that isolation was where I felt most at ease. Apart, away from the others, away from the noise... close to him.

He stepped closer and extended his hand toward me.
—I'm Alan. The owner and head of the workshop.

Alan.

The name hit my chest like a gunshot. It hung in the air, etched into my mind with absurd force. Alan. As if I had always known it, as if it weren't the first time I'd heard it.

I didn't move my hand. I swallowed and lifted my gaze.
—I don't like contact. —My voice came out harsher than I intended, but it was true. I clung to it like a shield—. Germs scare me.

Alan stared at me, puzzled. He said nothing. No questions, no reproach. He only lowered his hand slowly and nodded coldly.
—I understand.

Silence stretched between us. Tense, uncomfortable, as if we were both waiting for the other to break it.

—When do I start? —I asked at last, just to end the pressure crushing my chest.

—You already started. —His gaze was severe, but there was something else hidden behind it, a nuance I couldn't decipher—. There's no room for distractions here. Do your job and you won't have problems.

I nodded.
—I didn't come here to cause problems.

Inside, I was contradicting myself. Every fiber of me screamed to get out, to leave, not to return. That alpha was too dangerous, his mere presence breaking down my defenses, pushing me back to the edge of madness. But Charlie's image, smiling innocently whenever he talked about Babe, stabbed through me like a dagger.

I couldn't leave him alone.

No matter how much I wanted to run, I couldn't.

—One more thing... —he said, looking at me seriously—. If anyone asks... you're a beta.

I froze, confused.

—Why?

He didn't hesitate.
—Because if they know you're an omega, they won't see your work. They'll only think you got in through connections. I'll repeat it: say you're a beta.

I frowned.

—That's ridiculous. The work speaks for itself.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His gaze, harder than ever, locked on mine.

—It was in the requirements: only alphas and betas. Just obey and say you're a beta.

I wanted to ask more, demand a better answer, but the tone he used left no room. Still, something in his eyes made me think the real reason went far beyond "professional" appearance.

I lowered my gaze, resigned.

—Fine.

Silence wrapped us again, heavy, suffocating.

—Pete told me you were on vacation. That your stay would be short, and then you'd be moved to another workshop. —His voice dropped a tone, more serious, almost cold—. I hope that's the case.

I looked at him, bewildered.

—Why?

He sighed, as if carrying an invisible weight.

—This isn't a good place for you. I warned you already.

I tensed.
—Why isn't it a good place?

He didn't answer right away. He walked toward me, slow, sure, like a predator closing in on its prey. I stepped back. Again. Until my back hit the cold wall behind me.

—Why are you so stubborn? —he asked, his voice low, rough, dangerous.

My heart pounded violently against my ribs. I felt the heat of his body too close, the vibration of his voice rippling across my skin. My breath came uneven, caught between the impulse to shove him away and the absurd need to stay still, not to lose a single second of that closeness.

It wasn't logical. It didn't make sense. Every part of me screamed to run, to get away. But another part... begged for the opposite. Stay. Closer.

A loud noise from the far end of the workshop shattered the moment. Alan stepped back, putting space between us.

—Adjust the engine. —He pointed at the open hood without looking directly at me—. The performance is fine, but I want to see if you can optimize it further.

I let out a shaky breath, realizing I had been holding it. I walked toward the car, seeking refuge in metal and logic. But his voice reached me still, low, almost a murmur as he vanished toward his office:

—Do as I say, Jeff. For your own good... leave soon.

I stood frozen, hands trembling over the wrench.

I hated him.

I hated how hard he tried to push me away.

Because... he didn't have to try so hard.

I wanted to stay away from him.

Even though deep down...

Deep down, I knew I wasn't going anywhere.

Chapter Text

Jeff

I had learned to move in silence.
To hide within the noise of engines, the screech of metal, the oily perfume of the workshop.
My cubicle, tucked away by that window, was more than just a workspace: it was my hiding place.
Charlie couldn't find out I was here.

Every time he came with Babe, my heart stopped. One wrong step, one second out of place, and my secret would collapse. But isolation played in my favor. Alan had placed me far from everyone else, as if he had sensed from the very beginning that I shouldn't mix with the rest. A punishment, or a way of protecting me. Maybe both.

From there I could go unnoticed, watch, listen, without anyone knowing what I was really doing.

And what I was doing... was waiting for the moment.
The chance to get close to Babe.
To touch him.

That was my cursed ability, the gift I hated and that condemned me at the same time: a simple brush of skin, and I saw the future of the person. Fragments, sometimes clear, sometimes blurry, but enough to know what to avoid or what was coming. That was the reason I avoided touching others. Because every touch was another weight I carried, a destiny that wasn't mine and yet cut through me all the same. But with Babe... with Babe I needed to know. That racer Charlie was falling for without even realizing it... he was a riddle I had to solve.

I had heard too many rumors.
Babe was a player, they said. Never stayed with anyone for more than a few days before getting bored and moving on. And I saw the way Charlie looked at him, the way his naive heart gave itself away without a second thought. I couldn't allow it. I couldn't let him be destroyed.

That was why I was here.
That was why I endured everything else.

Alan.

The Alpha was a living contradiction. With everyone else he was light: he laughed, clapped shoulders, asked about families, shared racing stories as if they were precious secrets. I watched him move among them with impossible ease, radiating confidence, inspiring loyalty. But with me... with me it was always something else.

Serious. Harsh. Cold.

Alan never left me alone, even when he pretended otherwise. He kept his tone cool, his answers short, but he was always nearby. Asking, correcting, making me feel like every move was being assessed.
—Why did you choose this calculation?
—What was your basis for that adjustment?
—What's your consumption estimate?

He corrected me when I was wrong, but also—much to my surprise—he praised me when I was right. A brief word, almost dry, but enough to ignite something in my chest:
—Well done.
—That was precise.
—Not many can do that without experience.

There were moments when he leaned over my shoulder to point out a detail. It was impossible to ignore how it made me feel. His breath brushed my ear, the heat of his body was far too close, as if the air itself grew heavier. I instinctively pulled away, clumsy, trying to hold my composure.

A couple of times, while I checked calculations on the laptop, I felt a tingle at the back of my neck. That unmistakable sense of being watched. I turned quickly, but Alan was already looking elsewhere, or pretending to sort through papers in his office with the door half-open. Even so, I knew: his eyes had been on me.

One day, Sonic—a young omega, far too enthusiastic for my taste—suddenly came over, slamming his hands onto my work table.
—Wow, Jeff, this is amazing! —he exclaimed, leaning too far into my space. He kept talking about the car with exaggerated enthusiasm, laughing and chattering like I was actually going to answer him.

The mix of gasoline and Alan's citrus-pine scent still had me unsettled, and Sonic's sudden intrusion made me tense. Before I could react, Alan's voice thundered across the workshop:
—Sonic.

The boy straightened immediately, like he'd been caught stealing.

Alan strode toward us, his steps firm, his shadow falling over both of us. He stopped just inches away, so close I could feel the vibration of his voice in my chest.

—Respect his space. You're distracting him.

His tone was firm, unwavering. Sonic muttered a "yes, boss" and left. And I was left with my stomach tight, not understanding why it mattered so much.

The strange thing was that, despite that authoritative tone and calculated distance, Alan always ended up showing attentiveness in small gestures.

He would leave a coffee on my desk without a word. Leave lunch when he noticed me too absorbed in the numbers. And at the end of the day he forced me to leave.
—Go home. —His tone was a command, but there was a shade of care in it that threw me off—. Staying late here isn't healthy.

He repeated it every day. As if he cared. As if he couldn't help it.

Contradictions. He treated me as though he wanted nothing to do with me, but couldn't stop watching over my every step. And me... I was stuck in the middle, frustrated, confused.

👀🤭

The workshop was silent. Only the hum of the fluorescent light above my head and the metallic echo of some shut-down machine remained. The others had already left, but I was still hunched over the car, determined to finish calculations that refused to make sense.

The car belonged to North, the guy who always talked too fast, too loud. Something in the calibration didn't add up; my numbers left me with a margin of error I couldn't shrink. I frowned, adjusting a valve with the wrench, leaning too far over the engine block.

The metal gave suddenly. The tool slipped from my sweaty hand, and a sharp edge sliced the back of my hand.

A burning sting spread through me, and instantly, blood welled up.

—Shit... —I muttered, pressing the wound with a dirty rag.

The pain was bearable, but the blood wouldn't stop.

—Jeff.

Alan's voice cut through me like thunder. I turned, and there he was, standing, brow furrowed. His expression was controlled, but his eyes said something else: worry. A worry that disarmed me more than the wound itself.

—It's nothing —I lied, hiding my hand behind me like a child caught misbehaving.

Alan stepped forward.
—Let me see.

—I can handle it myself.

—Jeff —he said with that firmness that allowed no argument. Reluctantly, I showed him.

His eyes fixed on my hand, and for an instant I could swear something like fear crossed his gaze. He stepped closer, raised his own hand... and stopped. Left it suspended in the air, trembling slightly, as if he remembered what I always made clear: I didn't like contact.

—May I? —he asked, for the first time with a different shade in his voice.

I swallowed hard, a knot in my throat. I wanted to say "no." I wanted to keep my wall intact.
—Yes.

I cursed myself inside. Why did I say yes? What the hell was wrong with me?

Alan took my wrist carefully, turning it to see the wound. The touch was barely there, but an electric shiver ran up my arm, into my chest. My heart raced, pounding so hard I thought he could hear it.

His skin was warm against mine. Firm, but incredibly gentle.
The world shrank to that single point of contact.

—Come with me. —His tone changed, lower, almost... intimate.

He led me to his office, closing the door behind us. Inside, Alan's scent was stronger, more enveloping. That citrus mixed with pine seemed to cling to my skin, invading every breath.

He bent over a drawer and pulled out a metal box: first aid. He set it on the table, opening it with precision. I stood there awkwardly, out of place.

—You should ask me for help when a lot of strength is required —he said without looking up, motioning for me to sit beside him on the sofa.

—I don't want to bother.

—It's not a bother. —He picked up the antiseptic bottle and looked me straight in the eyes—. But you shouldn't stay so late. I told you: it's not safe.

I frowned, trying to keep my cool.
—Why isn't it safe?

—Are you always this defiant? —he replied calmly, though his lips barely moved, as if he didn't want me to notice the real concern.

—And are you always this... worried? —the word came out dripping with irony, but broke at the end.

He made a faint grimace.

He reached for my hand, brushing it lightly. Just a touch, so careful it made me tremble. A shiver ran down my spine.

Alan paused a second.
—Is that okay?

I nodded silently. I hated myself for it. My heart was pounding too loudly, he must have heard it.

—I'm going to clean the wound. Hold still.

He poured antiseptic on the gauze and pressed it against my cut.

—Ah! —I hissed, pulling my hand back slightly.

—Stay still. —His voice dropped, deep, like an order impossible to disobey. And then I heard it, barely a murmur from his lips—. Nu, stay still. Almost done.

I stared at him, stunned.
—Nu? —I asked, bewildered.

Alan tensed, as if he hadn't realized what he said. Then he looked away, as though wanting to swallow the word.

—You're the youngest in the workshop... and you complain like a kid who wants to be grown. It suits you... "Nu."

Was he... giving me a nickname?

I didn't know how to react. Was it good? Bad?

I froze. I didn't know whether to get angry or... keep that word as a strange secret.

—I'm not a kid —I muttered, turning my eyes away.

That was when I noticed the scattered papers on his desk. Order sheets, numbers crossed out, margins filled with rushed notes. I skimmed through them discreetly.

—Trouble with a supplier? —I asked, more to escape the awkwardness than out of curiosity.

Alan sighed, fastening the bandage on my hand.
—A botched order. If I don't fix it, we lose weeks.

I picked up one of the sheets. My brain, still fogged by his scent, managed to sort the data in seconds.
—It has a solution. You don't need to redo everything. If you fit these parts to the reserve batch and change the assembly order, you'll save half the time.

He looked at me with that intensity I despised. The one that made me feel like he could see straight through me.

—You thought of that just now?

I nodded, shrugging.
—It's the most logical, viable option.

Alan rested his hand on the sofa's backrest, leaning slightly toward me. His closeness hit me like a wave of heat, wrapping me in his scent, in that presence that seemed to fill everything. The air grew heavy, hard to breathe.

—So that's why you seemed stressed... —I murmured, not realizing I said it aloud.

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head a little.
—Are you consoling me?

—No. —I answered instantly, too fast.

A spark lit in his eyes, and his lips curved slightly, letting slip something he had never given me before: a smile. It was warm, unexpected. A crack in the mask of seriousness he always wore with me.

—You are —he said softly, his tone edged with something that sent shivers down my skin.
He leaned a bit closer, as if my words had pulled him in without remedy, until I felt the vibration of his voice near my ear—. You know how to console... Nu.

The air caught in my throat. My heart pounded against my chest like a wild hammer. I turned away immediately, as if the papers on the desk could save me from that smile. From that nickname. They couldn't. Nothing could.

I bit the inside of my cheek, clinging to my cold façade. I couldn't let him see how much he made my world tremble.

—No... —I whispered, lower, stubborn. I swallowed hard and added, clumsy and betraying myself—. You're wrong...

I felt him watching me in silence, and I had to close my eyes for a second not to drown in his gaze. That gaze that confused me, that hurt me and healed me at the same time.

I was stubborn, I knew. Closed off, cold, distant... and yet, with him, everything failed. Because while my head screamed to keep my walls intact, my chest begged in silence for him not to leave.

It was an unbearable contradiction: wanting to run, and at the same time, needing to stay.

Chapter Text

Charlie

The steam swirled along the walls, fogging up the mirror and blurring my reflection until it looked as if I too were just an illusion. I had always liked hiding in places like this, where no one could really see me. Maybe because since I was a child, I had learned how to disappear. Not only with my gift. Also with my smile. With the way I pretended to be normal.

Tony never looked at me twice. And he didn’t need to. To him, I was a mistake. A son of powerful alphas who inherited nothing, who was born empty. The useless one. The invisible one. And I let him believe that, because it was safer than the truth. My parents had warned me since I was small: “Hide what you are. No one must know.” And I obeyed. I became a shadow. I learned to erase my scent, to vanish from rooms, to turn myself into a ghost.

The only one who ever really saw me was Jeff.

Jeff… the only omega among all those alphas Tony collected like trophies. Always apart, always quiet, as if he carried a wound on his skin that no one else could touch. He hated physical contact, because every time he brushed against someone, his cursed visions spilled out—those windows to the future Tony exploited like treasure. I was the only one who could get close without breaking him. The only one he spoke to.

I remember his child’s voice, fragile and stubborn all at once. I remember the way he told me about his nightmares, and how I swore I’d be there, always, even if the world turned against us. He was Tony’s favorite. I was the discard. But Jeff never treated me like I was useless. He gave me a place. He gave me… a brother.

And when they almost killed him with those medical trials, when I saw his body trembling on that gurney, his heart close to stopping… I swear something inside me broke. That was when I decided to use what I had, what I had hidden all my life. I hacked the records, faked reports, tricked the machines. I made them believe Jeff had lost almost all of his powers. That he wasn’t useful anymore.

It was my way of saving him.
My way of giving him a little freedom.

But what I really did was rip the mask off Tony. From that day, the façade of the loving adoptive father was gone. He turned into an open tyrant—brutal training, shouting, humiliation. Jeff learned to endure, to grow even quieter, and I… I learned to hate harder.

When he came of age, I got him out. Two years older than him, I had always felt it was my duty to protect him. And I did. Running, hiding, reinventing ourselves. Jeff trusted me. Only me.

We should have run farther. We should have vanished off the map while Tony was busy with his experiments and his races. I should be taking care of Jeff, not dragging him into this cursed town full of traps.

So what the hell am I doing here? What am I doing following Tony’s trail, drawing closer to his new hunting ground? I should be taking Jeff as far away as possible, making use of the fact Tony has his eyes set on another target. But no. I couldn’t.

Because Babe appeared.

The rookie driver who tore the track apart in his very first race, who roared louder than everyone else and crowned himself king in a single moment. I saw it. And I also saw how Tony looked at him, with that obsession I know far too well. That hunger to capture what’s rare, what’s valuable.

Babe… has something. I don’t know what. His sharper senses, his overbearing strength, that way he moves like the track belongs to him. He’s not an ordinary alpha. And Tony knows it. So do I.

I wanted to warn him, to tell him to run. But who the hell would believe a stranger appearing out of nowhere whispering: “A monster is hunting you”? No one. So I lied. I told him I wanted to be a driver too, that I needed a place in his world. And he, with that damn crooked smile, told me: “You’re too handsome to be just a stalker.” Then, as if it wasn’t enough to ruin me, he added: “If you can satisfy me, I’ll help you.”

I needed to earn his trust.
And I did.
Too well.

Now I’m his sexual partner. And every time his mouth touches mine, every time his teeth mark my skin, I feel like I’m losing myself. Like I’m betraying Jeff, even though I never hide what matters from him. Like I’m risking everything for something that might not last. But I want it anyway.

Sometimes I daydream: a workshop, Jeff happy among engines and parts, Babe smiling, races, nights without running away. A life. Could it be possible? Could there be a place for the three of us, far from Tony?

A soft knock on the door cuts through my thoughts. The steam drags me back to the present.

—Already here? —his voice is rough, mocking, dangerous.

The mirror shows him before I turn. Babe walks in unhurried, shameless, a towel barely hanging from his waist. Water runs down his chest, his abdomen, droplets I want to catch with my fingers. His scent slides into me like sweet poison, toppling my defenses.

He leans against the doorframe, tilts his head, smiles at me like he knows he’s already won. And he does.

—Why are you thinking so much? —he asks, coming closer, slow, sure, with that grace that’s anything but innocent.

—Waiting for you —I say, and my voice trembles just a little.

He laughs, low and deep, while the towel loosens. He lets it fall carelessly, and for an instant, my breath stops. Babe comes closer, his still-damp skin brushing mine, the heat of his body pushing away the steam’s warmth.

His mouth barely grazes my lips—a touch that burns hotter than a kiss. Then he catches me, hard, hungry, as if he knows I’m about to give in. And I do. Because I’m strong in everything, except him.

The kiss flares quickly, fierce, his tongue invading mine with a rhythm that steals my breath. My back slams against the cold tiles while his hands roam my torso, firm, claiming, marking territory. My fingers dig into his neck, his shoulders, searching for more, always more.

The steam wraps us like a secret, and the world shrinks to his heat, his scent, his skin. My hands slide down, feeling the tension of his body, the desire thrumming against mine. The kiss breaks only so we can breathe, and he smiles with that playful cruelty before pinning me against the wall again.

His breath scorches my neck, his teeth graze my skin, ripping a moan from me I can’t contain. Babe chuckles low, satisfied, and I let myself be lost. Because in this instant, there’s no Tony, no Jeff, no running. Just this. Just us.

The towel is gone, my clothes will soon follow. And in the thick steam of the bathroom, Babe drags me into a place I don’t want to leave.

The future can wait.
So can guilt.
Right now, there’s only him.

😅

The mirror was covered in mist. I wiped the surface with my hand, and my reflection stared back—flushed, water dripping down my temples, hair plastered to my forehead, shirt half open, carrying a guilty look I didn’t want to acknowledge.

Behind me, Babe strolled around naked, with that insolence that drove me insane. He was toweling his hair dry as if we were in some damn hotel and not in a bathroom barely big enough for the two of us. Getting dressed in front of him was always torture: I could button my shirt as quickly as possible, but I knew at any moment his eyes would pin me with that dangerous smile.

—There’s a party Saturday —he suddenly said, tossing the towel carelessly to the floor—. Come with me.

I looked at him, startled. It wasn’t just any invitation. It was the first time he’d asked me to something that sounded like a “date.” What we had was always an unspoken agreement: sex, heat, sweat. Nothing more. And still, just hearing those words tied a strange knot in my stomach.

—I can’t —I finally answered, lowering my gaze as I zipped up my pants.

The mood shifted instantly. His smile vanished, and I felt him move toward me with the tension of a brewing storm.

—Can’t? —his voice was sharp—. Why?

I swallowed hard. He was too close, and the warmth still radiating from his damp skin wrapped around me.

—It’s Jeff’s birthday.

Babe froze. He looked at me as if I’d just confessed a crime. His dark eyes narrowed, and a dangerous, almost jealous expression crossed his face.

—Are you seeing someone else? —his voice was low, rough—. If so, we’re done.

My mouth fell open, stunned.
—What…?

—We’re done. Even if we’re just sexual partners, I like exclusivity. —He suddenly turned, as if to leave.

Fear made me react before I thought. I grabbed his arm, his skin still hot and wet beneath my fingers. A shiver ran through me.

—Wait! —I tightened my grip harder than I meant—. It’s no one else.

He turned slowly, jaw tense.
—Then what?

I looked him straight in the eyes.
—He’s my brother. Jeff. It’s his birthday.

The silence thickened, as if the walls had closed in on us.

—Your… brother? —he finally asked, incredulous.

I nodded.
—I want to spend the afternoon with him. Cook him something good. I’ve neglected him a bit, and I don’t want him to feel like I’m pushing him aside for… this.

Babe exhaled and slowly pulled free, though he didn’t step away. He looked at me for a moment, then, with a sudden shift that caught me off guard, said:
—I’ll invite you both to dinner that night.

I stared at him as if he’d spoken another language.
—What?

—Both of you. You and your brother —he replied casually, bending to pick up the towel.

My brain lagged. Babe—the same one who always insisted this was “just sex”—was suggesting dinner… with my brother. It didn’t fit his rules.

—But… —I stammered—. You said you had a party.

He shrugged, walked naked to the locker, opened it, and pulled out his phone like it was nothing.
—Yeah, but it’ll be the same as always. Noise, booze, empty faces. I can skip it. I’d rather try a new restaurant, and this is the perfect excuse.

I watched him light up the screen, focused, that crooked smile disarming me all over again.

I folded my arms, still dazed.
—It’s just Jeff and me. It could be awkward.

—Then I’ll bring a friend —he said immediately, as if it was already settled—. Four people. Eating, talking, music. Don’t you want your brother to meet more people?

—He’s very shy, he doesn’t like gatherings.

—Even better —he shot back, a mischievous glint in his eyes—. I’ll find someone he’ll feel comfortable with.

—Babe…

—What does he do? What does he like?

I sighed, giving in.
—He’s a mechanical engineer.

—Perfect. —He typed something quickly, then winked at me—. I already have a few people in mind.

—It’s not necessary…

—Of course it is. —His tone was firm—. What flavor does he want the cake?

I stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
—Are you seriously thinking about the cake?

—Of course. We have to sing him happy birthday. And if he also likes the friend I’ll bring… —Babe added with a mischievous smile—. And they treat him really well… it’ll be an unforgettable birthday.

—Are you talking about sex with my brother, Babe?! —I choked.

He laughed, rough, that laugh that burned my skin.
—So what? He has the right to have fun too. Don’t limit him.

—Me? I’m the one limiting him?

—Of course. Would you forbid it if it happened?

—I don’t think it will…

—But if it does, would you? —he cut me off, that provocative gleam in his eyes.

I was speechless, and he laughed, victorious.

Babe circled me slowly, a predator toying with its prey, and leaned to my ear.
—You’ve got a big-brother complex.

The heat of his breath on my neck raised goosebumps. I bit my lip, trying not to give in.
—It’s not that. I just… —I whispered, but even to me it sounded unconvincing.

He smiled against my skin, then, with the same ease he had ignited me, stepped back.
—Relax, Charlie. It’ll be fun. —he said, scrolling on his phone—. A small place, cozy, good food, good music. My treat.

—Are you really sure about this? —I asked, still in disbelief.

—Yes. It’ll be a special night —he answered, his eyes never leaving mine.

I stayed quiet, watching him laugh while he searched restaurants and cake options as if everything was already decided. And I realized I had a problem:

How the hell was I supposed to tell Jeff we were celebrating his birthday in what looked like… a double date?

It had been years since we’d shared anything with anyone but each other. And now, suddenly, Babe was about to crash into that little world of ours, breaking all its rules—and maybe mine too.

Chapter Text

Alan

Past

Everyone believes the alpha of the pack is chosen by the moon, that he carries in his blood the ancient power of the forests, the wild strength of our ancestors. And maybe that’s true. But that power has a price.

I am the heir of the Hemmawich.

And there is no greater curse than that.

While the other sons of the moon celebrate the transformation as a gift, a mark of power and lineage, I’ve counted every full moon as yet another omen of my end. Everyone in my pack can shift, yes. They run free beneath the silver light, skin and bone yielding to the beast without losing themselves. But for the heir of the Hemmawich, it isn’t like that. For the heir, the moon is no mother. It is a sentence.

I am doomed to lose myself.

The curse awakens with every full moon from the moment you turn fifteen. From then on, the destined alpha begins to go mad. And not figuratively. The mind fractures, the wolf takes full control, and he becomes a creature without conscience or soul.

A monster.

An animal.

I am thirty years old.

Fifteen moons of madness.

Fifteen years of losing myself.

First came the tremors. Then the fangs. My body breaking into twisted bones and muscles that no longer obey me. The beast does not hide inside me. I am the beast. And every full moon, I am more so. Each cycle rips something else away: a word I no longer remember how to pronounce, an emotion that feels foreign, a face I once held dear.

There is no prayer, no herb, no sorcerer, no will strong enough to halt the transformation. In fifteen years I have shredded trees with my claws, howled at the night until my throat bled, and tasted the metallic fear of my own people. They look at me with respect. With silence. With distance. But I know the truth: they fear me.

My mother says there is still time, that I can find balance. My father… says nothing. His eyes of ice weigh heavier than any word. And the rest of the pack has already begun to whisper among the trees, as if the forest itself didn’t tell me everything.

I know the day will come. When they no longer recognize me. When my eyes will no longer be eyes, but fire. When the moon claims me completely. And then, for the good of all, someone will have to lift the ritual dagger… and sacrifice me.

It has always been so. And yet, in the middle of all this, something happened I did not expect. A mistake, perhaps. A twist the moon enjoys playing on the condemned. It was some moons ago, while I was patrolling the borders of the forest. I had gone alone. Sometimes I need the silence of the trees to not lose my mind completely.

And then… him.

Human.

We do not trust humans. We never have.

They destroy our forests for gold, hunted us as if we were soulless beasts, tore our names from history to rewrite it as they pleased. And I, who barely keep myself contained, should have killed him the moment I scented him.

But I didn’t.

The scent was the first thing.

Sweet. Strangely fresh. Wild strawberries and warm honey. It forced me to stop. I closed my eyes, inhaling like a predator confused… not by hunger, but by wonder. I had never smelled anything like it. No human should smell so… sweet. So clean. My wolf tensed. My chest as well.

I searched for him among the trees, crouched in shadow, my heart pounding against my ribs as if something inside me already knew that this—that omega—was going to mean trouble.

Then I saw him.

He had wandered from the village, crossed into the forest without permission. And yet, my heart—no, not my heart—my wolf stirred.

There he was.

Black hair, tousled as though the wind couldn’t decide which way to touch it first. Barefoot by the stream. Brown eyes. No, not just brown: wet earth after the storm. Deep. Beautiful.

I stayed hidden among the brush, holding my breath. A branch cracked beneath my foot, but he didn’t hear. He crouched, touched the water. His reflection rippled with the movement. And his eyes… his precious eyes looked at the world as if nothing could ever harm him. As if he didn’t know that beyond the trees, a monster was watching him.

Me.

I didn’t understand what I felt.

Curiosity?

Desire?

Hunger?

His scent came to me like a sweet poison: soft, warm, intoxicating. I felt it slide down my throat, coil around my nerves, press against my fangs. And I couldn’t stop staring.

I came back the next day.

And the next.

Always in shadow. Always silent. Watching him. My wolf wanted to run to him. I only wanted to understand why… why I couldn’t stop watching him.

Present

I woke up gasping, as if I had been running for hours, my chest on the verge of bursting. The room was dim, but I could still see clearly the gleam of the stream, the mist floating above the water, and that face.
That damned tender face.

I pressed a hand to my heart; my pulse was so fast I thought it would rip my ribs apart from the inside. I had never dreamed with such sharpness. I had never felt a dream so real.

I stayed still, breathing deep, with the sense that the dream wasn’t a dream at all, but a memory. But could that be?
That boy…

The boy from my dreams, the one who had haunted me for years, had always been a shadow without defined features, a ghost. But now, no. Now he had a face. Now he had a scent.
And not just any face, not just any scent.
Jeff.

I tried to force myself to forget, to convince myself it was only a dream, an illusion. But I still felt it on my skin: the dampness of the forest, the wind striking my body, and that intoxicating sweetness filling my lungs, as if I couldn’t breathe without it.
It wasn’t fair. It made no sense.

I sat up in bed, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to sort through my thoughts. Why? Why had my mind given that boy Jeff’s face? Why was his scent contaminating my dreams, my memories, my entire body?

I staggered to my feet, still trapped between dream and reality, and went to the mirror. My reflection gave me back the image of a tired man, jaw clenched as if he wanted to break his own teeth.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I muttered.
It was a dream. Nothing more.

I forced myself to repeat it, again and again: It’s only a dream, Alan. You’re confusing things. You don’t like his scent. You don’t like his eyes. It means nothing.

But the voice in my head didn’t believe me. The memory of that sweetness in the air lingered, lodged in my lungs. And with it, the impossible certainty that I had known him before. Long before.

“It’s only a dream…” I said through gritted teeth, slamming my knuckles against the sink until they burned. “Just a damned dream.”

But it wasn’t.
I knew it. I felt it.

I swallowed hard. Closed my eyes, but the moment I did, I saw him again. Jeff, leaning over the car in the shop, his dark hair falling forward, his expression focused. And then the other Jeff, the one from the forest, from my dream, from that impossible memory: barefoot by the stream, eyes filled with a serenity I had never known.
They were the same.
It couldn’t be.
And yet it was.

If I didn’t stop it, if I didn’t block it out now, I would lose control. And I couldn’t afford that. Not now.

“He must go,” I told myself. That boy shouldn’t be here. He should have gone far from the shop, far from me, far from all of this.

Then I heard the door open. A creak, followed by footsteps and a clear voice from the living room:
“Alan, you’re already awake! I’ll start the coffee.”

The warmth in his tone yanked me abruptly from the storm devouring me. My shoulders sagged as I let out air I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I couldn’t go on with this obsession. I couldn’t lose myself in that face, in that scent. I couldn’t let Jeff—that strange boy who should never have set foot here—steal more from me than he already had.

I turned, grabbed a towel, and decided to take a quick shower. Cold water might clear my head.
Yes, I needed that. Cold water, silence, routine.
And then I’d go down to talk with Babe.

Because, though he hid it well, even he was starting to worry me with his behavior.

👀

The steam from the shower still clung to my skin as I walked down the stairs. The smell of fresh coffee hit me before I even saw the kitchen: strong, bitter, an anchor in the middle of the whirlwind dragging me since the dream.
And there was Babe, as always, moving with a grace that looked practiced but was entirely natural in him. Loose pants, a T-shirt slipping off one shoulder, a tilted smile I never knew if it was mockery or affection.

He turned when he heard my steps and lifted his cup as if in a toast.
—Well, the great alpha finally woke up. Or did you not sleep at all?

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the weight pressing down on me.
—I slept enough.

A lie.

I sat across from him, and the steaming cup appeared in my hands. The heat seeped into my fingers, easing me just barely. I looked at him. There was something different in his expression. Not just his usual flirtation. Not just the defiance with which he always faced the world. There was… something else. And that worried me.

—We need to talk —I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

Babe raised a brow and leaned his elbow on the table, propping his chin on his hand.
—That sounds serious. What did I do now?

—Babe… —I began, and he arched his brow with that smile he always used when he was about to provoke me.

—Oh, oh. Here comes the big brother’s lecture.

—It’s not a lecture. It’s… a warning. You know there are rules.

—Rules? Since when do I care about rules, Alan?

—You always cared —I shot back, holding his gaze—. Even you knew where the line was. Until now.

The brightness of his smile faltered. He took another sip of coffee, too long, as if to buy time before answering.

—This is about Charlie, isn’t it? —he asked at last, tilting his head.

—This is about Charlie.

—For the moon’s sake, Alan… —he sighed theatrically—. Again? He’s just a guy. Just another one.

He said it with practiced certainty, with that carefree air he used to convince everyone that nothing in his world ever mattered. But I knew him too well. Better than anyone. And the way he avoided meeting my eyes while he said it, the slight twitch of his hand on the cup’s rim, everything screamed the opposite.

—Just another one —I repeated slowly, chewing on the words.

—Yeah. What else would he be? —he laughed, though it sounded more nervous than amused—. I like his scent. It’s subtle. Doesn’t overwhelm me like the others. Not that heavy fog that leaves you dizzy. It’s… light. Easy to carry. And, to be honest, the sex is good. Really good. Helps me relax before competitions. Nothing special about it.

I leaned toward him, resting my elbows on the table.
—Don’t lie to me, Babe. I know you. You’ve never brought anyone into the workshop before. You’ve never let anyone cross those doors.

The silence fell between us like a slab of stone. Babe drummed his fingers on the table, searching for an escape he couldn’t find. Finally, he sighed, tired.

—Fine. Yes, I invited him. So what? It was just to please him. It means nothing.

—Please him? —I echoed, incredulous—. You never please anyone. You never cared if your flings wanted more or less. You were always the one who decided when and how the game ended.

His lips curved into a crooked smile, but his eyes didn’t follow.

—Maybe I’m just bored of always doing the same thing.

—No, Babe. This isn’t boredom. It’s him.

He clicked his tongue and looked aside.
—You’re exaggerating.

—No. You know I’m not. If you keep this up —I said quietly—, you’re going to break the rules. And you know what breaking them means.

The word hung in the air like a sentence. Babe looked away, spinning the cup between his hands. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t know how to answer.

—Don’t be so dramatic, Alan. —He tried to laugh, but it came out forced—. I’m not going to marry him.

—But you’re letting him in. And that’s already too much.

Babe stayed silent. The nervous tic in his jaw betrayed that my words had hit the mark. Then, as if to recover lost ground, he took another sip of coffee and said:

—Don’t make that face, Alan. I’m not falling in love or anything like that. I’m just keeping him around longer because it works for me. If someone better shows up, I’ll replace him. Like always.

He said it with such ease it turned my stomach. Because I knew him too well. Because I knew he was lying, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.

—What do you want from me? That I dump him? That I go back to messing around with arrogant alphas who smell like they bathed in cheap pheromones? No. I prefer Charlie. For now.

I felt a knot in my chest. His words were harsh, but harsher still was the instinct I couldn’t shake. Charlie wasn’t “just another one.” He wasn’t, no matter how much Babe tried to say it.

He watched me for a moment, and then, almost casually, he dropped:
—Besides, I thought of you.

I frowned, confused.
—Me?

—Yeah. Since you’re so stressed, I figured you could use a little relaxation. I got you a date.

I blinked, stunned.
—What?

—Next Saturday. With Charlie and his brother. It’ll be fun, Alan. Just sex. Nothing more.

I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing.
—Are you telling me you invited the brother of your… bedmate… to set him up as my date?

—Don’t say it like that, it sounds awful.

—Because it is awful! —I slammed my palm on the table—. Do you hear yourself?

—Relax. It’s just sex. You need it more than I do. How long’s it been since your last date, huh? Charlie knows. There won’t be any drama.

I ran a hand over my face, trying to calm my racing pulse.

—Alan… —He lifted his hands as if to soothe me—. He told me his brother’s birthday is coming up. That he’d just celebrate with him. I said I’d invite them to dinner. What’s the problem?

I looked at him like he’d gone mad.

—That’s all it is —he insisted, taking a long drink of coffee—. Just that. If it goes well, you’ll thank me later. You need to loosen up. You’ve been so tense lately even Sonic notices.

I stared at him coldly, feeling my blood boil.
—You’re dodging the point.

He smiled.
—No, I’m broadening it. Or are you going to deny you’ve been a bundle of nerves for weeks? Even after hiring new mechanics, you won’t stop scowling. Way told me the last guy was a genius, but it seems like you’re hiding him from everyone. Even I haven’t seen him, and we work in the same shop.

The knot in my throat tightened. I forced myself to look away.
—When is it? —I asked.

—When’s what?

—The date.

A spark of triumph lit his face.
—Oh, it’s next Saturday. —His voice grew lighter, almost enthusiastic—. The guy’s a mechanical engineer. You’ll have plenty to talk about. Trust me, you won’t regret it.

I kept staring at him for a long time. Because he could repeat a thousand times that Charlie was “just another one,” but his eyes, his gestures, the way he gave him spaces he’d never shared before, all screamed louder: he wasn’t.

And if Babe was willing to break the rules for him… then something was going to shatter, and I couldn’t let it happen.

Chapter Text

Jeff

The steam from the tea still floated above the porcelain cup when I sat by the window, the small table turned into an improvised dining room. The fogged glass barely let me glimpse the town waking up: damp streets, lights turning off, a routine that was starting to feel familiar.

Charlie was behind me, fixing himself in the wardrobe mirror. I could hear him moving, humming at times, opening and closing drawers.

“I’ve been observing more closely,” he said, breaking the silence. “Babe is definitely not a common alpha.”

I turned slightly, the cup in my hands. “What do you mean?”

Charlie adjusted his shirt, then bent down to tie his shoelaces.

“He’s not like the other alphas,” he muttered, frowning. “His senses are way more developed. He hears better, smells better… even his strength is superior.”

I stayed silent for a few seconds, processing the information.

“And you think he’s like you?” I asked, lowering my gaze toward the tea that had already cooled. “With… multiple special abilities?”

Charlie grew thoughtful, biting his lower lip. “I’m not sure. But it all fits. Why else would Tony be so interested in him?”

“That’s why he moved here,” I murmured.

“Exactly.” Charlie straightened up, a feverish spark in his eyes. “I got close to Tony’s new house. Also to the workshop he bought—‘Racing.’ It looks like just another business… but it’s not. Security ramped up all of a sudden, and even for someone like me, it was complicated. Tony’s using it as a front. I’m sure he’s still running his human experiments.”

Silence fell between us, heavy and oppressive.

“I don’t understand what that man is after…” Charlie rubbed his face, exhausted. “Is all of this really just about money?”

I lowered my gaze to the tea. There was something… a strange sensation at the bottom of my memory. Like a recollection buried under layers of fog: it was there, I could feel it, but every time I reached for it, it dissolved.

Charlie sighed. The shift in his tone was sudden, almost clumsy.

“Enough of this.” He smiled at me, bright, almost childlike. “Let’s talk about something better. On Saturday, I’ll dedicate the whole day to you.”

I blinked. “Saturday?”

“Yes.” He approached me eagerly. “I’ll make you a special breakfast, something I find on TikTok. And for lunch… I don’t know yet, but it’ll be something big. And for dinner…”

“Why?” I cut in, unable to hide my surprise.

Charlie looked at me like I’d said the most absurd thing in the world. “Why not?”

“I know you’ve been busy with your research,” I told him softly. “If it’s because you feel like you’re leaving me too much time alone…”

He blinked a few times, then sighed. He leaned toward me with a warmth only he could offer.

“No.” His smile softened even more. “It’s because I miss spending time with my brother. This town looks beautiful, interesting… I want to explore it with you, okay?”

I froze, my hands tightening around the cup. Part of me wanted to refuse, to tell him it wasn’t necessary, that he should focus on what mattered. But another part… another part wanted to accept, just to hear that emotion in his voice.

“It’s really not necessary,” I muttered stubbornly.

“Now you don’t want to spend time with me?” He pouted, exaggeratedly.

I was speechless. The knot in my throat kept me from making up any excuse.

Then, Charlie’s phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up, and when he saw the name on the screen, his eyes lit up.

“It’s Babe.”

Something inside me tensed, an automatic reflex.

“You know it already, Jeff,” he said while typing quickly. “Saturday is our brother date. Whatever book you’re reading that day, you’ll put it on hold.”

“Mm.” It was all I managed to say.

“I’ve got a nice surprise.” He winked, and before I could reply, he rushed out toward the door, brimming with that energy that always disarmed me.

I was left alone in the room, surrounded by silence. The tea was cold now, and the town outside went on with its rhythm.

I exhaled deeply, pressing my forehead against the glass.

Now… how was I supposed to ask for Saturday off at the workshop?

😟

I’d spent the whole morning with my mind stuck on one single point, though my hands didn’t stop: the engine open in front of me, parts neatly arranged on the metal table, grease on my fingers, the smell of gasoline. Outside came the sound of Dean’s tools, Sonic’s cheerful laughter, and the metallic clatter of the workshop like a mechanical heartbeat.

I should have been focused. But I wasn’t.

Saturday.
Damn Saturday.

Charlie had said it with that smile of his, like it was the most natural thing in the world: “I’ll dedicate the whole day to you.” I couldn’t afford to ruin it. But… how do you ask Alan for a day off?

A day off. Just a simple phrase, and yet the thought of saying it to Alan felt like a suicide mission. He searched for any excuse to pin me against the wall, to point out I didn’t belong here. And though it was true—though I knew it better than anyone—this was still the best way to help Charlie.

I’d rehearsed it in my head a thousand times. I could say: “I have a family commitment, just one day, I’ll make up the hours.” Or maybe: “I need to handle some documents. I’ll work overtime.” But every line sounded weak, like a rope about to snap. Alan didn’t need much to give me that hard, cutting look of his.

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, leaving a streak of grease. Focus, Jeff. Keep it simple. If you say it firmly, maybe he won’t find a crack to tear into.

A metallic thud yanked me out of my thoughts. A large shadow fell over the car I was working on. My back stiffened even before I heard his voice.

“That bolt’s not tightened right,” Alan said.

I straightened sharply, almost bumping into him. He was too close. So close his body heat reached me. His scent was stronger than ever, shaking me to my core.

“I was just about to…” I cleared my throat. “I was going to tighten it.”

Alan didn’t look at me. He leaned over the engine instead, one hand on the edge, tightening the bolt with precision. His arm brushed mine lightly, but the contact hit me like a current.

“Look,” he said, turning the bolt firmly without lifting his eyes from the task. “It’s not about strength, it’s about listening to how it fits.”

I barely heard him. My heart pounded, hammering up into my throat. The air between us grew too dense.

I swallowed hard, suppressing the urge to step back.
Now. Now’s the moment. Ask about Saturday.

I opened my mouth. “Ala—”

“Boss!” North’s voice cut in. I turned immediately, both relieved and frustrated.

North approached, frowning.
“There’s someone insisting on seeing you. Says he’s from Racing. Won’t move from the door.”

I saw Alan’s body tense instantly. His shoulders hardened, his jaw clenched. He straightened slowly, dropping the wrench on the table with a sharp thud.

“Racing?” he repeated, and something dark flickered in his eyes.

I discreetly followed him as he headed to the entrance.

And then I saw him.

Kenta.

My breath caught. Damn it. No. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Kenta stood at the entrance, his cold eyes scanning the workshop.

Alan studied him for several long seconds. Then, without a word, he gave him a curt gesture and the two walked toward the office.

I didn’t think. I crouched behind the car I’d been working on, hiding. If Kenta saw me… I was done.

I waited until their footsteps receded, and when the office door closed behind them, I crept closer. Luckily, it had been left slightly ajar.

I pressed against the wall, trying to steady my breathing. What the hell is Kenta doing here?

The voices reached me muffled, but clear.

“I come on behalf of Racing,” Kenta’s voice was as dry as ever. “We want to negotiate.”

Silence. Then Alan replied, his tone sharp.
“There’s nothing to negotiate.”

“Everyone has a price.” Kenta didn’t waver. “We want Babe.”

My chest tightened.

“He’s family.” Alan’s fist hit the desk, making the door vibrate. “He’s not for sale.”

“Don’t be naïve, Alan.” Kenta pressed on. “It’s business. Name your price. We’ll double it.”

“No.” Alan’s voice hardened. “Not everything is for sale.”

The tension grew with every word. I held my breath, as if any sound would give me away.

“Alan, think carefully.” Kenta insisted. “There’s no one else with Babe’s potential. With Racing, he could surpass himself in unimaginable ways.”

“What you’re saying makes no sense.” Alan slammed something—probably the desk. “He’s not a product.”

I pictured Alan’s face: his clenched jaw, the fury burning in his eyes.

“Get out,” he growled.

“You’re making a mistake.” Kenta’s voice stayed unshaken.

A sharp thud, then footsteps.

I retreated at once, running back to hide behind the car. I barely held my breath when the door swung open.

Kenta walked out firmly, face stern. He didn’t look to either side. I watched him until he disappeared through the workshop exit.

Way appeared then, holding some papers.
“Who was that? What happened?” he asked, confused, glancing toward the door.

Alan came out right after, his face burning with fury.
“Nothing. Nothing happened and nothing will.” His voice was a sharp blade.

Way frowned, worry in his eyes.
“Well… I’m not so sure.”

“What are you talking about?” Alan turned to him, patience already gone.

Way handed him the papers. Alan snatched them roughly. And then I saw him pale, horrified, as if what was written there was a death sentence.
“This can’t be happening,” he muttered, voice breaking with contained rage.

Silence spread like a shadow. And just then, the workshop door opened again. Sonic entered, Babe at his side. The moment they saw the scene, Sonic moved straight toward Alan, but stopped at the tension in the air.
“What’s going on?” he asked, concerned.

Alan opened his mouth, but Way cut him off, raising a hand as if to shield him from his own outburst.
“There’s a problem with the spare part orders,” he said, his voice grave, careful, weighted. “It’s not just a delay… it looks like sabotage.”

Sonic blinked, incredulous.
“What?”

Babe stepped forward, steady, calm.
“What do you mean sabotage?”

Way nodded slowly, glancing at Alan, then at the newcomers.
“The documents are clear. The order was tampered with. If this is what it looks like… someone’s playing dirty against us.”

The words fell on everyone like a heavy blow. Alan, papers still in his hand, ran his fingers through his hair in desperation.
“I knew it!” His voice cracked with fury. “It’s not a mistake. They’re screwing us!”

Sonic rushed forward, as if afraid he might collapse right there. He placed a firm hand on Alan’s arm.
“Hey, breathe,” he said in a low but intense tone, like a younger brother trying to hold up the elder who’s crumbling. “If it’s sabotage, we’ll fix it. You’re not alone in this.”

Alan refused to meet his eyes, but Sonic didn’t back off. Instead, he tightened his grip, forcing him to look.
“We’re with you. If you lose it now… who’s going to guide us?”

Alan clenched his teeth, on the verge of breaking down. Then Babe stepped in, calm but resolute, right at his side.
“You don’t have to carry all of it alone. Let us help.”

Way nodded immediately.
“Yeah. I’ll talk to Pete. If he doesn’t have answers, we’ll find another supplier. There’s still time.”

“I’ll make calls too,” Sonic added, determined. “We’re not just going to sit around.”

Alan stood rigid, eyes locked on some void point, like the weight was about to crush him. That’s when Babe, with unexpected authority, cut through the air.
“Enough.” The word rang in the workshop, sharp and firm.

Everyone looked at him. Babe didn’t back down, didn’t lower his voice.
“We need rest.”

Alan stared at him in disbelief.
“Rest? In the middle of this?”

“Precisely because of this,” Babe replied, unwavering. “We’re exhausted. You’re exhausted. And the worst thing we can do now is keep pushing until we break.”

Sonic jumped in immediately, backing him with that stubborn glint in his eyes.
“Babe’s right. You’re killing yourself, Alan. And I’m not going to sit and watch it happen.”

I watched them, hidden, my heart twisting. There was a warmth in that scene that struck me harder than I wanted to admit. The way they held him up together… is that how a family is supposed to work?

Babe stepped closer, laying a hand firmly on Alan’s shoulder.
“On Saturday, we rest. All of us. We need it. You need it.”

Alan ground his teeth.
“We’re not in a position to—”

“Yes, we are.” Babe cut him off, calm but firm. “If we keep going like this, we won’t make it to what’s ahead. What’s the point of winning a race if we cross the finish line broken?”

Silence fell again, but different this time. Sonic, Way, even the others in the shop half-listening, all looked at him, waiting. It was like the whole place was holding its breath.

Finally, Alan sighed, defeated.
“Fine… one day. But just one.”

Sonic smiled in relief, giving his shoulder a light tap like a younger brother who’d finally convinced the stubborn elder.
“You’ll see, everything will feel clearer after some rest.”

Babe nodded in satisfaction, and Way raised his hand with a practical gesture.
“I’ll handle Pete. We’ll find another way for the parts. Trust me.”

Alan didn’t answer, but though his body stayed tense, it seemed to yield a little.

I watched them from the shadows, silent. A strange warmth spread through my chest. Seeing them together, looking after one another, like parts of a machine fitting perfectly… It was a scene too foreign to me.

And all I could do was watch from afar, like an intruder.

I gripped the edge of the car, trying to ignore the pang in my chest.

At least… at least I wouldn’t have to ask for permission. Saturday was secured. Charlie would have his day.

For the first time in hours, I felt a flicker of relief. And yet… as I watched Alan, his face marked with fury and exhaustion, I couldn’t shake something else.

Worry.

I could almost see him collapsing right in front of my eyes, like a machine on the verge of breaking down. And the thought pierced through me: sooner or later, Alan was going to shatter.

I shook my head hard, forcing it away. Not my problem.
Saturday was free. Charlie would get what he wanted. And I… I could pretend everything was under control.

For now.

Chapter Text

Alan

Although I closed my eyes early, I didn’t sleep until well past midnight. When exhaustion finally defeated me, the sky was already lightening, and the dream that followed was nothing more than a jumble of images that gave no rest.
Not having to see Jeff that Saturday should have calmed me. It should have given me a break. And yet, the thought of not crossing his gaze until Monday left me more anxious.

“Forget it. You’ve got too much to worry about,” I muttered as I got up, voice hoarse, mouth dry.

I laced up my sneakers and called Tomás, who came wagging his tail. We ran a couple of kilometers down the dirt road that bordered my house. The fresh air should have cleared my head, but it only fueled the pressure in my chest. Every step was a reminder: Kenta’s proposal, his cold words demanding Babe as if he were merchandise; the fury in my own hands slamming against the table; the papers Way had shown me, with numbers that confirmed what I already suspected: sabotage.

Humans. Greedy, damned humans. Always chasing plunder. Always trying to buy what they don’t understand. Always believing everything has a price.

I quickened my pace, and Tomás trotted beside me without complaint. Sweat soaked my forehead, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the anger.

Back at home, I busied myself with cleaning. A clumsy excuse, but a necessary one: dishes I never used, papers stacked on the table, clothes tossed over the couch. As if the house reflected my head, and putting it in order might give me some control. It didn’t.

Babe’s call came when my arms were full of shirts. I answered with a frown.

—What is it?

His voice sounded light, almost mischievous.
—Nothing serious. Just wanted to remind you not to get ready too late. This isn’t going to be just a dinner, Alan.

I froze, shirt half-folded.
—What?

—That. —Babe chuckled softly, as if it didn’t matter—. First we’ll have lunch, then the movies, then dinner and the celebration. And after that… whatever happens.

I closed my eyes with a groan.
—A whole day?

—A whole day —he repeated, with that teasing tone he used to try and sweeten me—. Don’t play hard to get, Alan. It’ll do you good.

He hung up before I could reply.

I leaned against the table, the phone still in my hand.
I’d fallen for it. Babe had sold it to me as rest, when in reality he had dragged me into a date disguised as a day off.

Lunch. Movie. Dinner. Birthday. And “whatever happens.”
The trap was set, and I had no way out.

I sat for a while, Tomás stretched at my feet. The silence in the house sank into my bones. Everything was calm, too calm, as if that stillness was hiding an inevitable collapse.

The hours crawled by: cold coffee, a failed attempt at reading, shower water beating down my back until my skin was red. The memory of Kenta, of the papers in my hands, of Sonic’s worried look, of Babe’s firm voice saying we’ll rest… it all mixed with what I shouldn’t have been thinking about: Jeff leaning over an engine, Jeff with grease-stained hands, Jeff’s beautiful brown eyes fixed on me.

I dressed slowly and faced the mirror.

The mirror gave me back a face I didn’t want to recognize.
Sunken eyes, furrowed brow, shadows of exhaustion carved like warnings into my skin. I ran a hand through my hair, trying in vain to tame it, and let out a sigh that sounded too loud in the empty room.

Sometimes I think the worst punishment isn’t carrying the weight in silence, but seeing it written all over you every time you lift your head.

The jacket was ready on the chair. I reached for it, but stopped halfway.
I looked at myself again.
What was I doing?
I was never good at this. Not at dinners, not at light conversation, not at dates. I don’t know how to play those games; I never cared to. And yet here I was, letting Babe drag me into a whole day he called rest and I could only see as a trap.

Babe had decided it for me, supposedly for my own good.
—It’s just sex, Alan —he had said.
As if things were that simple. As if everything burning in my chest could be silenced with one night of distraction.

I leaned closer to the mirror again. It wasn’t just the reflection that unsettled me. It was what pulsed behind it: the memory of the dream, the eyes that now had a name and a face, the scent I could still recall, even after days of trying not to breathe it in too deeply. Jeff.

One month. That was all I had to endure. One month until Pete sent him to the capital. One month to survive this curse of feeling him in the workshop, hearing him type with focus, having him too close. One month of hiding my symptoms and making sure no one suspected.

I sighed.
Maybe Babe was right.
Maybe I did need to shut everything off, even for a few hours. If this date worked to distract me, if I could force Jeff out of my head, then maybe the sacrifice was worth it.

I leaned closer to the mirror.
—A disaster —I muttered at the reflection.

I swallowed hard.
I didn’t like the date, but I had to convince myself it served a purpose. I needed to distract myself, clear my head, see for myself who Charlie was and what he meant to Babe. Maybe then, if I was lucky, I’d get the answers I was looking for. And if the boy turned out to be a pretty, friendly, approachable omega… maybe, just maybe, I could lose myself in something easier, lighter, safer.

That’s what I kept telling myself.

I put on the jacket. The weight of the fabric on my shoulders anchored me, forced me to move. I crossed the room, picked up the keys from the table, and froze for one more second, holding my breath.

I was a disaster.
A disaster with too many pieces in play:
—Fighting the symptoms that bit harder as the moon drew closer.
—Watching over Babe, making sure he didn’t make a mistake he couldn’t take back.
—Protecting Jeff, making sure no one noticed what he was until he was gone.
And on top of that, pretending interest in a stranger in the middle of dinner.

Tomás watched me from the doorway, head resting on his paws. I stroked his back, and he looked at me as if he knew exactly what was happening. Sometimes I think he does.

—Stay here —I told him softly—. I won’t be long.

A lie. Babe had set a trap for the whole day.

I took a deep breath.

I was a disaster, yes, but a disaster I could no longer postpone.

I closed the door behind me, the fresh air hitting my face. For a moment, I wanted to go back, lock myself again in the same routine: engines, parts, numbers to balance. But I forced myself forward.

Babe was driving, as always, one hand on the wheel, the other fiddling with the radio, skipping stations every few seconds with impatient clicks. He wore sunglasses even though the sky was overcast, and he smiled that smile of his, the one that always hid more than it revealed.

—Relax, Alan —he sang, tilting his head toward me without taking his eyes off the road—. You look like a convict on his way to the gallows.

—That’s exactly how I feel. —I crossed my arms, staring out the window.

—Oh, come on. —He elbowed me lightly, like we were kids again—. It’s nothing you haven’t done before. It’ll be fun.

—The difference —I growled— is that before, I chose who I did it with.

Babe burst out laughing, a short, provocative sound that filled the car.
—Oh, brother, if it were up to you, you’d never leave that workshop. You’re rotting in there between engine parts and worries. And don’t look at me like that—you know I’m right.

I ignored him. Or tried to. But Babe never stayed quiet.

—Besides, don’t complain. You could be working right now, huh? Instead, thanks to me, you’ve got a day off.

I glanced at him sideways.
—Off? That’s what you call it? You trapped me.

—I call it an intervention —he said with a shameless wink—. For your own good.

I didn’t answer. There was no point arguing when Babe got that tone. I just watched the cityscape appear ahead. The restaurant was in an area we rarely visited: more elegant, less crowded.

The car stopped. I got out with some reluctance, smoothing my jacket with one hand. Babe pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, revealing his bright eyes, full of that restless fire that never burned out.

—Come on, Alan. —He took my arm lightly, almost dragging me—. Smile a little. If you walk in with that face, they’ll think I’m taking you to the guillotine.

The restaurant buzzed with murmurs and the metallic clink of cutlery against plates. The air was filled with the pleasant mix of freshly baked bread, spilled wine, and meat sizzling on the grill. We followed the waiter to a table in a discreet corner. And then it happened.

A crash.
A collision.
The sound of a tray falling, glasses shattering against the floor, the clatter that makes every head turn at once.

A boy had stood up abruptly, bumping into the waiter passing by at that very instant. Disaster was immediate.

—Damn it… —I muttered, though my voice died as soon as the scent reached me.

I recognized it instantly. I could have been anywhere in the world and still recognized it. Sweet. Unmistakable.

Jeff.

My chest tightened. Time seemed to slow as Babe moved quickly, naturally, slipping into the scene as if it belonged to him. He was already crouching to gather some fallen silverware, murmuring reassuring words.

Charlie hurried too, stepping forward from his table. I saw him: his worried expression, his steady hands helping to lift the tray. And behind it all, Jeff.

He stood a little apart, breathing fast, avoiding my gaze. But I saw him. I saw him as if there was nothing else in the room. And then, slowly, he gave in and lifted his eyes to mine.

I looked at him.
He looked at me.

Like a deer caught by a predator in the middle of a clearing, knowing there’s no escape.

Chapter Text

Alan

I froze.
My body begged me to move forward, my wolf roared against my ribs, but my feet were nailed to the ground.

“I’m sorry, nothing happened,” Charlie said then, his calm voice shattering the silence. “Don’t worry, Jeff.”

Jeff.

The name floated between us.

Charlie turned to us, and it was he who made the introductions, smiling.

“Jeff, this is Babe,” he said softly. “The friend I told you about. Babe, this is my younger brother, Jeff.”

It couldn’t be.
No.

Charlie had said it with such naturalness, with that serene calm that seemed to envelop everything. As if there were nothing strange about it. As if the world hadn’t just shifted beneath my feet.

Jeff.
His brother.

I stared at him, frozen, unable to fit the pieces together. Charlie had come to the shop several times with Babe, always smiling, always so calm… and yet he had never once brought Jeff? Never even mentioned him? And Jeff—he hadn’t said a word either. Not once.

What did this mean?
Who were they, really?

Jeff lifted his eyes for a moment, only to drop them again right away.
“Nice to meet you, Babe,” he murmured, not offering his hand.

Charlie hurried to explain:
“Jeff prefers to avoid physical contact. Health reasons. He’s afraid of germs.”

I knew. I already knew.

Babe, far from feeling awkward, flashed that mischievous grin of his.
“That’s fine. A ‘nice to meet you’ is enough.” He turned toward me, and I already knew what was coming.

“And Jeff, this here is Alan,” he said, giving me a light tap on the shoulder with ease. “My best friend—like a brother. He’s a mechanical engineer too, and he runs the shop where I work, X-Hunter.”

I took a deep breath. My throat tightened, words clawing their way out. I could have said: I already know him. I could have revealed everything right there, explained that Jeff had already been at the shop for weeks, working under my supervision every day.

But I didn’t.

Because Jeff spoke first.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Jeff’s voice was soft, polite, but when he said it, he looked at me with those beautiful wide eyes, and I saw the plea hidden inside them. The desperate plea for me to play along. To not expose him.

I could almost taste his fear.

A single moment was enough to disarm me.
Without knowing why, I went along with it.

“The pleasure’s mine,” I answered, pretending it was the first time I’d seen him.

I hated myself a little for it. I didn’t understand why I was protecting his lie. I didn’t understand anything.

Charlie, satisfied, nodded and invited us to sit.

We settled in: Babe and I facing Charlie and Jeff. The table was small, close enough that every gesture felt more intimate than it should. We glanced at the menus, but I could hardly see the letters. It took effort to pull my eyes away from Jeff, and even then, they always found him again. Every time I looked, he turned away so fast it was painful, like even a glance from me burned him.

What are you planning, Jeff?

The silence between us stretched like a taut wire. And just then, Babe—with that reckless lightness that made him dangerous—said:

“You can order anything you like, Jeff. Today I’ll do everything I can to please you. After all… it’s your birthday.”

A sharp blow hit my gut.
Of course. The whole dinner was for Jeff’s birthday.

Damn it.

I felt like an idiot.
I hadn’t thought to bring him a gift. Not even the smallest gesture. What kind of fool shows up at someone’s birthday dinner empty-handed?

Jeff flushed, dropping his gaze as if he wanted to hide behind the menu. Babe didn’t let him.

“Charlie told me you were cute,” he added shamelessly, “but he understated it. You’re gorgeous. And sweet.”

The air burned in my lungs. I felt my jaw clench, my instincts roaring inside me, begging to step in.

“Babe!” Charlie scolded, nudging him with his elbow, half amused, half protective. “Remember he’s shy.”

“So what?” Babe laughed. “I’m just telling the truth.”

Jeff’s blush deepened. His fingers twisted the napkin, folding it again and again.

Meanwhile, I sank into my chair, swallowing hard. I barely heard the easy conversation between Babe and Charlie—full of cars, projects, races. I nodded when I had to, but in truth, I wasn’t listening. My focus was fixed on him.
Jeff, sitting across from me, stayed withdrawn. He toyed with the rim of his glass, barely touched his food. His eyes always darted away from mine, to any corner that didn’t include me. And yet, I could feel him in every breath.

Every time Babe addressed him directly, Jeff looked away. Every time Charlie spoke, Jeff nodded in silence, hiding inside that shyness that cloaked him like armor. And I… I kept asking myself the same question over and over:

Why pretend not to know me?
Did his brother not know he was already working with me? What kind of game was this?

Logic slipped through my fingers, and the confusion only tightened the tension strung between us.

At times, it was impossible not to notice the obvious: how Charlie and Babe looked at each other, how their words and gestures intertwined, as if they were more than casual lovers. As if they were already tangled in something far more dangerous.

I’d think about that later. I’d weigh the risks of that bond Babe was letting grow so carelessly.

For now, my attention was nailed to Jeff.

The meal blurred into a formality. I couldn’t have remembered what I ordered if anyone had asked. All I remembered was Jeff, fidgeting with the napkin, answering in short phrases when Charlie drew him in, his skin glowing with a constant blush, his desperate avoidance of me driving me mad.

It was as if just seeing me could set him ablaze.

Lunch dragged on. The murmur of the restaurant wrapped around us, but to me it was a distant hum, muffled. The only thing I truly heard was Jeff’s voice when he spoke, low, restrained, in a tone that cut deeper than any clamor.

I don’t know how long it lasted. Minutes, hours—time blurred. Until Jeff shifted uneasily in his chair, cleared his throat, and said softly:
“Excuse me, I’m going to the restroom.”

He stood carefully, almost awkwardly, and walked away.

I followed him with my eyes, fighting the urge.

Charlie and Babe were absorbed in a heated debate about cars—the horsepower of engines, the parts that lasted longest, the tweaks that shaved off fractions of seconds. Babe gestured animatedly, Charlie followed, fascinated. Neither of them noticed when I rose seconds later.

The hallway to the restroom was dim. I walked slowly, measuring each step. I could sense no one else inside. I pushed the door open. Closed it behind me, turning the lock.

The click echoed too loudly in the silence.

Jeff was gripping the edge of the sink, head bowed, breathing hard. When he turned at the sound, his eyes widened with a mix of fear and surprise.

We stared at each other in a silence that burned.

I stepped forward, slowly.
He retreated just slightly, like a deer unsure where to flee.

“So…” My voice came out low, thick with something even I couldn’t control. “We’re meeting for the first time today, aren’t we?”

Jeff swallowed hard, the movement of his throat visible. He didn’t answer. He just looked at me, trembling faintly, like a trapped animal.

Chapter Text

Jeff

A Few Hours Earlier

The first ray of light yanked me abruptly out of sleep. The room filled with the glow of morning as Charlie pulled the curtains wide open. The brightness blinded me for a few seconds, and I frowned, still caught halfway between wakefulness and the haze of sleep.

“Good morning!” he sang out in an exaggeratedly cheerful tone.

I shifted under the sheets, uncomfortable with that overflowing energy I would never understand. I was about to cover my face with the pillow when I heard the next words:

“Happy birthday, Jeff!”

I sat up sharply, bewildered. Charlie stood there, right in front of me, holding a small cake on a plate. On top, a lit candle illuminated his smile.

It took me a few seconds to react.
Birthday. Today?

I had completely forgotten the date. In Tony’s house, we never celebrated anything. No candles were lit. No one sang. My life had been a straight line of identical days, and you learn to forget what you never had. Until Charlie—since the day we escaped together—decided to change that.

He celebrated. He remembered.

I stared at him, unable to hide my surprise.

“What…?” I muttered, my voice hoarse, not knowing what to say.

Charlie chuckled softly. “I know, I know, you always forget. That’s why I’m here. Come on, make a wish.”

The flame flickered in front of me, waiting. I wasn’t used to things like this, but… I closed my eyes for a moment, in silence. And the wish came to me, clear and natural:

That Charlie be happy. That he be safe. That nothing and no one ever hurt him.

I opened my eyes and, without thinking twice, blew out the candle.

“That’s it,” Charlie said, clapping softly. “Another year older, another year wiser.”

“Another year…” I hesitated, then shrugged. “Another year alive. I guess that’s enough.”

Charlie let out a laugh and set the plate on the nightstand by the window. There, something else was waiting: a tray covered with a cloth. With theatrical flair, he uncovered it.

The smell spread instantly: eggs, golden toast, steaming coffee, and a sweet I half-recognized.

“You… made this?” I asked, caught between disbelief and concern.

“Of course!” he replied proudly. His face had that boyish look of someone showing off his masterpiece. “Well, with a little help from TikTok.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“The innkeeper lent me the kitchen,” he continued eagerly. “I told him it was a special day, and he let me in. I almost set the pan on fire, but… we both survived. The pan too.”

I couldn’t stop a low laugh from escaping.

“And you expect me to eat it?” I teased dryly, though I already knew I would.

“If you don’t eat it, I’ll be offended.” Charlie lifted his chin in mock seriousness, though his eyes shone with expectation.

He handed me a plate. I took a bite. The eggs were a little dry, the butter on the toast overly melted, and the coffee so strong it nearly burned. But none of that mattered. What truly weighed was that Charlie had made it for me. Just for me.

“Well?” he asked, leaning forward as if my response were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“It’s… fine,” I murmured.

Charlie smiled as though he had just received the most glorious review on earth.
“I knew you’d like it.”

I turned my gaze toward the window. Outside, the town moved through its usual routine. People who had no idea what lay behind our walls, nor the shadows that followed us. I felt part of that shadow… but also part of something else, whenever Charlie was near.

“I don’t get how you remember these things,” I confessed quietly. “I didn’t even know it was today.”

Charlie set the fork aside, his smile softening.
“Because someone has to remember for you.”

I looked at him. His words struck me deeper than I wanted to admit.

“I’ve never been good at this,” I whispered awkwardly.

“I know,” he said with a shrug. “But it doesn’t matter.”

A comfortable silence stretched between us. I toyed with the toast, not daring to hold his gaze for long. Charlie was the only person capable of pulling me out of that constant darkness, the only real family I had.

At last, I muttered:
“Thank you.”

“All right,” Charlie said suddenly, clapping his hands with energy. “Now shower and change.”

“What?” I blinked, still holding the half-empty plate in my hand.

Charlie grinned with that mischievous spark that always followed him and pulled a colorful paper bag from his backpack. He dropped it onto my lap.

“Put this on—we’re going out.”

I frowned, confused.
“Out?”

“It’s my gift.” His tone left no room for argument. And before I could ask more, he gently pushed me toward the bathroom.

I stood there for a moment, watching him close the door behind me. Charlie had that way of turning my silences into action. With a sigh of resignation, I opened the bag.

Inside, I found a black jacket, soft material, elegant without being flashy.

I set it aside and stepped under the hot water. Steam filled the small bathroom, slowly clearing away the morning haze. I closed my eyes, letting the water slide down my face. A part of me wanted to stay there, unmoving, but another part—the one only Charlie could awaken—urged me to step out, to play along.

When I finished, I dried off quickly, dressed, and put on the jacket. In the mirror, the fabric fit perfectly across my shoulders, as if tailored for me. I studied my reflection cautiously. I wasn’t used to looking at myself too much, but… I couldn’t deny it: I looked good.

I drew a deep breath and stepped out.

Charlie was waiting outside, drumming his fingers against the table. When he saw me, his eyes widened, and his smile lit up the entire room.

“You look so handsome!” he exclaimed with such pure enthusiasm it unsettled me.

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, though I hid it by turning away.
“It’s just clothes,” I muttered.

“No,” he corrected, shaking his head. “It’s you in those clothes. And that makes all the difference.”

I didn’t know how to respond. His words always seemed simple, but sometimes they struck deeper than I cared to admit.

“Come on, we have an itinerary.”

“An itinerary?” I echoed, raising a brow.

“Of course.” Charlie pulled a folded paper from his back pocket and waved it like a treasure map. “I planned it all last night.”

I sighed, though inside, I was curious.

The town was alive in the cool morning breeze. Cobblestone streets, balconies overflowing with flowers, the hum of people moving calmly about.

Charlie walked a few steps ahead, as if he knew every corner, though I knew he was discovering it too.

“First stop: handicrafts,” Charlie announced, pointing to a small square where wooden stalls displayed bright colors: woven fabrics, ceramics, carved stone figures.

He leaned over a table full of leather necklaces and bracelets, touching everything with insatiable curiosity.

“Look at this, Jeff, isn’t it amazing?” He lifted a dark-toned braided bracelet. “It’d look perfect on you.”

“I don’t need that,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

Charlie tilted his head at me.
“It’s not about need—it’s about taste.”

“No.”

“You’re so boring.” He laughed, but warmly, and set the bracelet back down.

We kept walking through the stalls.

At the central square, Charlie tugged my arm suddenly.

“Picture.” He pointed at the grand statue of the town’s founder, a stone man on a stone horse, equally solemn.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Charlie…”

He didn’t listen. He pulled out his phone, stretched his arm out, and stood beside me. Before I could move away, he had already pressed the screen. The click captured my stern expression next to his radiant smile.

“Perfect,” he said, showing me the photo.

I scoffed. “I look like a wanted criminal.”

“Well, the handsomest criminal in town.” He winked playfully.

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t stop the faint curve forming on my lips.

👀😧

The restaurant was farther from the town center, down a quiet street where vines climbed the walls. Even from outside, it looked different from ordinary places: white curtains swaying gently, round tables covered with spotless linens, the aroma of freshly baked bread drifting out of open windows.

I stopped short.
“Charlie… this looks expensive.”

“Shh.” He nudged me toward the entrance. “Just sit down, please. I need to tell you something.”

The seriousness in his voice unsettled me. Charlie rarely spoke with that weight.

A waiter greeted us and led us to a table by the window. I sat slowly, still frowning.

Charlie drew a deep breath, his fingers playing with the edge of the napkin.
“I… sometimes I feel that in trying to protect you from Tony and everything else, I’m only helping you isolate yourself even more.”

“Charlie, that’s not—” I tried to stop him, but he shot me a look that silenced me.

“Listen to me.” His voice trembled but stayed steady. “I want you to truly be happy, Jeff. You’re smart, kind, warm, and gentle, even if you don’t want to admit it. And I think you deserve more than living always in shadows.”

I froze, unable to respond.

“So…” he continued, lowering his voice, “when they told me about this outing, I had my doubts. I thought maybe you wouldn’t agree, or you’d be angry with me. But I think a get-together among friends, with someone you can share interests with, could help you slowly open up to the world. And of course… with me by your side.”

His words rippled like stones thrown into water, unsettling everything inside me. I didn’t fully understand what he was saying.

Charlie sighed, biting his lip. Guilt clouded his expression—something rare for him.
“Today… let’s forget Tony. Let’s just be us, an afternoon among friends, celebrating a birthday like normal people. Please, don’t be upset. Try, Jeff. You might be surprised.”

I blinked, confused.
“I don’t understand… what are you—”

Then I felt it.

A scent cut through the air, sudden and unmistakable. Pine. Oranges. Sharp, familiar. My heart slammed against my ribs.

I lifted my gaze.

Babe had just entered the restaurant. I recognized him instantly by his confident stride, that unmistakable energy that filled any space. And behind him… Alan.

My eyes widened. The air caught in my throat.

Charlie’s voice reached me like a distant echo.
“Babe invited us to celebrate your birthday. Please don’t be upset. I accepted because…”

My mind clouded. No, it couldn’t be. Alan was here.

“…Sometimes I’m scared that if something happens to me, you—” Charlie was still speaking, but his words dissolved into nothing. I wasn’t hearing anymore.

Panic overtook me. I stood up suddenly, stumbling into a waiter carrying a tray full of glasses. Crystal shattered across the floor. The crash drew every gaze in the room.

“Jeff!” Charlie jumped up instantly, trying to reach me.

Babe rushed closer, worried. “Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?”

I stepped back, breathing hard. The mess, the shards of glass, the murmuring voices—all swirled into a suffocating storm.

Charlie touched my arm.
“Calm down, Jeff, it’s okay. It was an accident. These things happen.”

But my body wouldn’t obey calm. My chest heaved violently, and even though I tried to avoid it… I couldn’t. My eyes lifted.

And found his.

Alan’s.

Dark. Intense. Fixed on me with the same shock and disbelief I felt.

I was caught in that gaze, as if time itself had stopped.

Now💕

The click of the door shutting echoed like a gunshot in my ears. I looked up, startled, and there he was. Alan. His figure filled the small bathroom as if there wasn’t enough air for the both of us.

I froze, gripping the edge of the sink. My breathing hitched against my will. I felt like a trapped boy, eyes wide open, caught in the act of a crime.

Alan stepped forward slowly, each step hitting my chest like a blow.
“Tell me, Jeff…” His voice was low, deep, like a restrained blade. “We’re meeting today… what kind of game is this?”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
“It’s not a game,” I muttered, barely audible.

He took another step. And another. The heat of his body reached me, along with that unmistakable scent of his—an aroma that wrapped around me without permission, raising goosebumps along my skin.

“So what is it, then?” he asked, eyes locked on mine.

A shiver ran down my spine. There was no escape. His dark eyes held me captive.

“I…” I started, but my voice failed me.

Alan narrowed his eyes, as if he could read what I was hiding.
“You’re pretending, Jeff. Since you arrived, you’ve been pretending not to know me. And I had to pretend too… why?”

His accusation hit me like a hammer. My instinct screamed that he was misunderstanding everything. After what happened in the workshop with Kenta, after the parts… I had to clarify it, now.

“I’m not a spy,” I said firmly, though my voice cracked at the end. “I’m not… an infiltrator. It’s nothing like that.”

Alan held my gaze, hard, relentless.
“Since you showed up, everything got more complicated. Coincidence?”

“It is!” I answered immediately, my heart hammering.

“Then explain it,” he demanded, taking another step.

The air got stuck in my lungs. How could I explain without dragging Charlie into it? How could I tell the truth without making things worse? I closed my eyes for a moment, then forced myself to speak.

“It’s… because of my brother,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Charlie is… overprotective. We’re on vacation. He wouldn’t let me work. But I… I love engines, Alan. Every day in the workshop, I feel at home.”

He frowned, confused.
“I don’t understand. You’re a genius with cars. Why wouldn’t he want you working in a prestigious shop?”

I lowered my head, biting my lip.
“You don’t understand…” I murmured.

“Then explain it,” he insisted, now closer, so close that his breath mingled with mine. The proximity made me tremble.

“It’s… Babe,” I said, forcing myself to admit it. “If things go wrong, I’m afraid he’ll think Charlie sent me to spy on him. That he’ll believe I’m nothing more than a pawn.”

Alan narrowed his eyes, studying me.
“That’s not true, right?”

“No!” I shouted, louder than I intended. The sound bounced off the narrow walls. I lowered my voice immediately, heart racing. “I just… I love engines. That’s all. Working at X-Hunter is a dream I never thought I’d reach after so many rejections…”

Alan growled, his voice low but loaded with disbelief.
“You’re lying. With your talent, who could reject you?”

A blush spread to my ears.
“Because of me… my personality,” I admitted, embarrassed.

He looked closer, eyes fixed on mine, as if trying to extract the truth from its roots.
“I still don’t understand,” he said, softer now. “Your personality isn’t a problem.”

I stared at him in disbelief. Had he really said that?
“I’m weird,” I stammered, looking away. “Anti-social. I prefer being alone. I don’t know how to talk to people…”

Alan didn’t hesitate.
“It’s true. You’re a little weird.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping even lower, like a secret. “But that only makes you… adorable.”

My heart stopped.
That word—adorable—was never meant for me. And hearing it from him… made me feel something I couldn’t describe. Something warm. Something that hurt and healed at the same time.

I swallowed, fighting not to lose control.

He noticed my expression and quickly looked away, as if he had gone too far. He composed himself.
“What matters is the work,” he said, in a grave tone, trying to regain composure. “And you’re incredible at what you do.”

I swallowed, trying to sound steady, though my voice trembled.
“Even so… you want me to leave.”

Alan sighed, as if the words weighed on him.
“I told you: this town is dangerous for you. But with this probation period, you’ll have a secure future in any of Pete’s branches. You’ll succeed.”

“Why is it dangerous… just for me?” I asked, frustrated. I always repeated the same question, but he never explained.

His eyes darkened, looking away.
He wasn’t going to say it. I knew it.

My chest ached. Desperation crept over me.
“Just… let me stay,” I finally said, resigned, a thread of voice heavy with pleading. “Until Pete sends me to the city. When Charlie and I leave.”

He stared at me for a long moment. My chest ached in the wait.

Finally, he sighed, voice softening slightly:
“Fine. I’ll keep it between us. But only because it’s your birthday, Jeff. I won’t be the one to make you fight with your brother on a special day like this.”

I felt the air rush back into me. And before I could think, the words slipped out.
“Really?” I asked, relief and joy mixing and betraying me.

Alan held my gaze a few more seconds, then nodded seriously.
“Really.”

A strange warmth spread through my chest.

But then he added, firm, reestablishing boundaries:
“Still, there are conditions. One month, Jeff. Not a day more. When it ends, you return to the city.”

I swallowed and nodded, resigned, though my lips trembled.
“I promise. Just one more month.”

The silence enveloped us, heavy and dense, but different. Now it wasn’t just confrontation. There was something else. Something pulsing in between, like an invisible thread connecting us. His scent, mine, the heat of his proximity.

Alan drew a deep breath, releasing some of the tension.
“At least now, with everything cleared… there won’t be so much tension for the rest of the day.”

I stared at him, surprised by the shift. The Alan who always seemed made of steel, rules, and growls had just granted me a truce. A small crack of light in the wall he had built in front of me.

I nodded slowly, throat tight.
“Yes…” I whispered, unable to stop my voice from trembling. “You’re right.”

But what I didn’t say was what hit me hardest inside: my heart was racing so fast it hurt.
Because now I understood.

I would spend the rest of the day by his side.
It wasn’t a date. It couldn’t be called that.
But… it felt far too much like one.

Alan looked away first, as if he also needed a break from the closeness, and let slip an almost imperceptible:
“Let’s go. We’re expected.”

And as I followed him toward the door, still heart racing, I kept repeating silently: It’s not a date… it’s not a date.

But the warmth in my chest said otherwise.

Chapter Text

Alan

The click of the lock echoed as I opened the bathroom door and let Jeff go out first. The hallway air hit me cold, as if it had been waiting there all this time, impatient to pull us apart.

We walked back to the table without a single word. I still carried his scent’s heat on me, clinging to my skin like an invisible burn. I couldn’t shake from my head what had just happened: his eyes glowing with pleading, the tremor in his voice, and that damned word that had slipped from my lips—adorable. If I’d had any control, I never would have said it. But Jeff had this way of breaking open cracks where I thought I was sealed tight.

When we returned, Babe and Charlie were lost in an animated conversation about racing, so distracted they barely looked up to acknowledge us.

Jeff sat down next to Charlie, directly across from me.
I watched him silently for the first few minutes while the waiter arranged the last dishes and Babe showered Charlie with attention, like he was his entire world. I tried to follow the thread of the conversation, but the truth was I barely listened. My attention drifted again and again to Jeff, who, with lowered gaze, pecked at his plate in silence.

Charlie and Babe were isolated in their own bubble. They laughed softly, shared smiles spun out of pure complicity. The world shrank to just the two of them, and we, the “others,” felt like extras in a romance playing itself out.

I don’t know when it happened, but Jeff and I started looking at each other the same way. Not simple glances—silent little conversations, as if we were both saying at once, look at them, again. And that, small as it seemed, was binding us. We were co-conspirators. Without planning it, without asking for it.

The contradiction weighed on me like iron in my chest. I’d been hard on Jeff at the start for a reason: he was dangerous. Dangerous to me, to him, to everyone. My world wasn’t built for someone like him, with that untouched innocence, with those eyes that seemed not to have learned hate yet. I’d raised walls to keep him away, to protect him even from myself.

But now… now Jeff had promised me he’d leave in a month. That he’d return to the city with Charlie. He’d be safe. And that promise had given me a breath I hadn’t known how badly I needed. For the first time in a long while I felt like I could drop a bit of the weight, lower my guard. Be a little more… me.

And it was his birthday. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t ruin it.

I tried to keep my composure through lunch, to pretend interest in the group conversation. But really my attention flickered between Jeff and my own thoughts. Every time I caught him smiling timidly at something Charlie said, or lowering his gaze with that nervous little gesture, something inside me trembled.

And then I caught myself thinking stupid things: about how the light fell across his face, how unfair it was that something as simple as his blink could undo an alpha.

The rest of lunch passed in scattered talk and Babe’s easy laughter, until he himself, excitement glowing in his eyes, proposed continuing the date.
—“What if we go to the movies?” he blurted suddenly, as if he’d been waiting for the perfect moment.

Charlie, of course, agreed instantly. Jeff looked at him, surprised but without complaint, and me… well, I had to remind myself this wasn’t a date. Not with Jeff. I was just tagging along with the group. That was all.

The walk was slow. Babe and Charlie walked ahead, so immersed in their own world they seemed to float. I watched them with a mix of irritation and resignation. And then, almost by accident, I noticed Jeff watching them the same way I did: with that restrained expression, as if he were thinking exactly the same thing.

I found myself smiling inside. We were co-conspirators again, sharing a thought without speaking.

A honk snapped me out of that bubble. I noticed Jeff was walking too close to the curb, where cars sped past. An impulse jolted through me. I reached out, gently pushing him toward the inside of the street, placing myself at the edge.

—“Walk here,” I muttered.

—“What…?” he murmured, startled.

I didn’t look at him. My tone was dry, as if the explanation didn’t matter.
—“Habit.”

I wanted to say something more, to keep the conversation alive, but nothing came. I’m not good at this. Never have been. And now, walking beside him, his scent mingling with the fresh afternoon air, my tongue felt like stone.

So the first thing out of my mouth was the lamest thing possible.
—“The weather’s nice…”

I cursed myself instantly.
Was that the best I had? Weather?

But Jeff, instead of laughing or embarrassing me, lifted his gaze to the sky.
—“I like it when it’s like this,” he said, his voice dropping to a sigh. “So blue, so clear. It feels like nothing bad can touch you when you look at it.”

I looked at him then, unable to stop myself. His brown eyes gleamed with the soft reflection of sunlight, and for an instant, just that instant, I felt like he held a piece of that sky in his gaze.

Sweet.
The word pierced me like a dart. He was. Jeff was… sweet. And adorable in a way that was becoming unbearable.

—“It’s… pretty,” I managed to say, though what I meant was you’re pretty.

I fell silent before I betrayed myself. But it was too late: heat rose in my chest, and my heart hammered as if reminding me every second that I was in trouble.

There, walking beside him, I understood the cruelest irony fate could throw at me: I’d agreed to this outing to distract myself from Jeff, to stop thinking about him… and now the date was with him. Me, who had tried to avoid him, ended up walking at his side, sharing awkward silences and tender gestures. And worse: on his birthday.

💗

The walk ended too quickly. We reached the theater. The marquee lights blinked, displaying titles I barely registered. Babe, excited, turned to Jeff:

—“It’s your birthday, so you choose. What do you want to watch?”

Jeff hesitated, shrugging slightly.
—“Anything’s fine. Whatever you guys want.”

Charlie cut in quickly:
—“He likes horror movies.”

Babe snapped his fingers, thrilled.
—“Done! Then we’ll see The Whisper from Beyond.”

The title glowed red on the board, accompanied by a dark silhouette. A chill crawled up my spine. Evil spirits, said the synopsis. Unstoppable apparitions. How do you kill something already dead?
You don’t.
It was absurd… and terrifying.

I shook my head, as if I could erase that thought. I wasn’t going to show weakness. Not in front of Jeff.
—“I’ll get the tickets,” Babe said, dragging Charlie to the counter.

I swallowed hard, trying to convince myself I could handle it. It was just a movie.

Jeff and I stayed behind.
—“Popcorn?” I asked, clinging to normalcy.

He nodded, and we walked to the counter together. The smell of freshly popped corn enveloped us. Jeff breathed it in deep, closing his eyes for a moment as if savoring the memory itself.

—“How do you like it?” I asked, searching for anything to bring me closer to him.

—“With lots of butter. I like them crunchy, but messy enough to get your fingers greasy.”

I don’t know why, but that confession hit me like something precious.

—“Me too,” I admitted, knowing I said it with clumsy, unguarded honesty. “It’s rare for us to agree on something.”

He parted his lips slightly, surprised by my confession. And that expression—so open, so genuine—hit me harder than any argument.

For an instant, it felt like a cliché first date scene: two people nervously discussing popcorn, awkward but connecting through something insignificant that was, in truth, everything.

My chest tightened.

Our hands brushed as we took the hot tub of popcorn, and my body shivered in a way I couldn’t hide. I was nervous. Nervous like an idiot. Nervous like an alpha on his first date… a date that wasn’t a date.

But the way Jeff lowered his gaze, a soft blush warming his cheeks, made it look like it was.

🤭

The theater went dark.
From the start I knew it’d be torture. The suspenseful music, the calculated silences, the jump scares. My body tensed more and more, and though I tried, I couldn’t stop it: I shut my eyes just before each jolt, bracing myself. I told myself it wasn’t fear. Just surprise. Just logic.

I was never good at this. Never. I could face anything in the real world, but put me in a dark room with a cursed ghost on-screen and the adrenaline ate through me like acid. It wasn’t fear, it was panic. Pure and simple.

I forced myself to keep my arms crossed, my jaw tight. Pretend calm. Pretend control. Nobody had to know. Least of all Jeff, sitting right beside me, so calm he seemed immune to the chaos on screen.

Then a soft bump made me turn. Jeff murmured a faint “oops,” and I glanced down: the popcorn he’d been holding had spilled, scattered like golden rain across the dark carpet.
—“Damn… sorry,” he whispered, bending slightly as if to gather the irretrievable. Then he looked at me with those brown eyes, shining under the dim light of the screen. “Alan, will you come with me to get more?”

I saw it as a lifeline tossed into the storm. Escaping the movie was all my body begged for.
—“I can go alone,” I said quickly, though my voice came out tighter than I intended. “You’ll miss the movie.”

—“It’s not that good,” he replied with disarming ease. Then he turned to Charlie, who barely reacted, hypnotized by the screen while Babe held him close.
—“We’ll be back.”

Charlie nodded without looking away.

And so, Jeff and I slipped out together, into the lit hallway.

The concession line wasn’t long. The murmur of people contrasted with the sepulchral silence of the theater we’d just left. I ran a hand over my neck, uneasy, not knowing what to say.

Jeff stood beside me, calm, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just pulled me from one of the worst tortures.

I leaned a little closer, lowering my voice:
—“You noticed… didn’t you?”

Jeff tilted his head, genuinely puzzled.
—“Noticed what?”

I swallowed hard.

For a moment, he looked confused. Then his lips curved faintly, as if the truth clicked into place.
—“That you were scared of the movie?”

I glanced around, dropping my voice like it was a shameful secret.
—“I wasn’t scared. Just… logically speaking… how do you kill someone who’s dead? I don’t get those movies. And the jump scares…” I cut myself off, biting my tongue. “I just flinched a little. That’s all.”

Then it happened.
Jeff smiled.

Not a timid smile, not the polite mask he usually wore. A real one—warm, sincere, like it bloomed from deep inside. That smile lit his brown eyes, and I felt something inside me stop.

My heart skipped a beat. Then returned, pounding hard like it wanted out.

—“You’re right,” he said softly. “Don’t worry. I didn’t notice a thing.”

I looked at him longer than I should have. Longer than I was allowed. And without realizing it, I sank one step deeper into that abyss called Jeff.

He turned his gaze aside.
A dessert shop, warmly lit, displayed pies and colorful ice cream in its window.

—“Want one?” I asked suddenly, following the window with my eyes.

Jeff turned to me, his cheeks flaring instantly.
—“What? No, no, I’m fine.”

That reaction only made me smile.
—“Come on,” I insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “It’s your birthday. Today all your wishes come true.”

—“Popcorn’s fine…” he muttered, almost as an escape.

—“I’m sure it’ll be better than popcorn,” I said firmly, though my eyes flicked toward the theater entrance. The memory of the ghost’s scream still tightened my shoulders. “Though we should head back soon.”

Jeff stayed silent for a few seconds, as if debating with himself. Then, in a voice so low I barely caught it, he murmured:
—“Alright.”

I turned to him, surprised.
—“Alright what?”

He lifted his eyes, and this time he didn’t look away.
—“I’d like a dessert.”

I couldn’t help but smile.
The feeling was strange, dangerous, but warm. A date that wasn’t a date. A promise that he’d soon be safe… and yet, in that instant, I didn’t want anything to end.

Chapter Text

...

The room still breathed with the heat of their encounter. The damp, wrinkled sheets held the trace of what had happened, and yet the atmosphere wasn’t one of satisfaction, but of a heavy silence, too thick to ignore. Outside, the moon hung crooked, casting shadows on the walls that seemed to move on their own.

One of them settled against the other’s chest, exhausted but restless. His voice broke into a murmur:

—It’s not working. On the contrary.

The alpha stayed silent for a few seconds, listening to the irregular rhythm of the clock on the nightstand. Then he lowered his gaze, idly caressing the bare back of his omega.

—Alan looks on the verge of collapse now that Jeff is with him —the omega went on, with a hint of lament—. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.

The alpha didn’t reply right away. He just exhaled a sigh, as though carrying that thought tore at something invisible inside him.

—Things between them ended badly —he finally said, in a whisper—. Even if they don’t remember, the heart knows.

Silence fell again, heavy. The omega let out a soft complaint, almost to himself:

—Before Jeff appeared, Alan was already showing symptoms. I’m sure of it. Even if he tries to hide it… it’s consuming him. And the harder he fights to push him away, the worse it gets.

—If Alan gives in to Jeff, he’ll calm down —murmured the alpha, his voice low, dragging—. But if he doesn’t… he’ll end up breaking.

The omega looked at him intently, worry sharpening his voice.

—And what if, in the process, he hurts Jeff? —he asked, letting the doubt settle in the middle of the bed like another shadow.

The question lingered in the air like an invisible dagger. The alpha closed his eyes, as if hoping it wouldn’t need an answer.

—How does he treat him at the workshop? —the alpha asked at last, trying to steer the thought away.

There was a long pause.

—He’s serious. Cold. Sometimes he seems cruel —the omega admitted—. But he pays attention to little things: his coffee, his lunch, making sure no one bothers him… even that he leaves before sunset.

A faint smile crossed the alpha’s face.

—Then he’s looking after him.

—He looks after everyone —the omega countered, skeptical.

—I want to believe it’s not the same —the alpha insisted—. He’s our best chance if we want to end this cycle. A hundred years of deaths. This has to stop. And Alan… he must be free, live without fear of shattering.

The omega tensed, clutching his mate tighter.

—There’s only a month left —he said quietly—. Just a month. And I fear Jeff, instead of saving him, might ruin him even more. If either of them still holds a grudge… if the wound is still open…

The sentence died between them. The alpha caressed his back, trying to soothe him.

—All we can do is have faith —he murmured.

—There’s something else —the alpha added, almost under his breath—. Tony has already stepped in.

The mention of the name was enough to thicken the air. Neither needed an explanation: Tony meant danger, uncertainty, the piece that could shatter everything they had planned.

—Then it’s not just Alan and Jeff we must worry about… —the omega whispered—. Now we have to watch him too.

The alpha nodded slowly.

—We’ll observe —he concluded, holding his mate tighter—. Intervening too much would be a mistake. Fate must take its course. All we can do is trust that, this time… it finds a happy ending.

The clock struck the hour with a sharp beat. Outside, the crooked moon smiled with irony.

Alan 💕

The window of the small dessert shop glowed under warm lights, like a treasure meant to tempt anyone passing by. Colorful cakes, tarts topped with fresh fruit, neat rows of chocolate slices. Jeff stood staring silently, as if the glass were an unbreakable wall. His brown eyes—always so deep, always so observant—locked on a specific corner. I followed his gaze.

—Lemon pie? —I asked, recognizing it instantly. Bright yellow, toasted meringue on top.

He barely nodded, as though admitting it out loud was too much. Then, in a murmur, he said:

—Yeah… that’s my favorite.

His voice came out low, timid, as if he were confiding a secret rather than a simple taste. I don’t know why it made me smile. Maybe because there was something tender in such a small, domestic confession.

—Mine has always been strawberry tart —I said, pointing at the bright red of a perfectly decorated slice.

Jeff turned his face slightly toward me. He didn’t fully smile, but his lips curved just enough to set my chest alight.

—Unexpected —he murmured, and in that “unexpected” there was no mockery, only something close to warmth.

The girl at the counter offered to pack them up, but Jeff shook his head immediately.
—No, here’s fine. If we take them to the cinema, they’ll be ruined.

His insistence surprised me, though it made sense. There was something almost childlike in his hurry to enjoy it right there, as if he wanted to savor the moment without delay. We ended up sitting at a small table against the wall, facing each other, spoons gleaming in our hands.

The first bite tasted more sour than I expected, but delicious. Jeff tried his lemon pie and his eyes softened instantly. That gesture, just a flicker of genuine pleasure, pierced me harder than any jump scare in the movie.

—How is it? —I asked, just to hear his voice.

—Delicious —he replied, and his cheeks flushed as he realized I was staring too intently.

Silence stretched for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Only… expectant. I wasn’t good at this. I didn’t know how to keep light conversation, how to turn dessert into a pleasant moment. But Jeff, to my surprise, opened the door.

—Did you really study at the Northern School of Engineering? —he asked.

I nodded, lowering my gaze to my plate.
—Yeah. A few years back now.

—What were the professors like? —his curiosity was genuine.

I didn’t think. I just started talking. I recalled names, quirks, inside jokes. The teacher who always smelled like motor oil, the old man who made impossible exams but ended up telling stories of underground races. Jeff listened with his elbows on the table, leaning forward, as if every word mattered.

—At university, what subjects did you like best? —I asked suddenly, wanting to know more about him. To hear him speak.

He took a few seconds before answering.

—Mechanical engineering isn’t exactly… easy —he said, with a nervous half-smile—. But I liked dynamics and thermodynamics. Engines were always my thing. Though… —he lowered his gaze, playing with his spoon— I think more than anything, I was obsessed with understanding how something could turn into movement.

I watched him, captivated by the hidden passion in his words. He was shy, yes, but when he spoke about engines there was something different in him, a brightness that made him almost radiant.

—I was more drawn to the structural side —I said, resting my elbow on the table—. I liked understanding how each piece fit together, how everything could hold. I guess I was always more… rigid that way.

Jeff lifted his gaze to me, and for the first time he held it without looking away.

—But you also raced, didn’t you? —he asked, as if remembering something someone had mentioned.

I nodded.

—Yeah. I raced for a few years. I was good, but… —I paused, searching for the words— I never enjoyed the adrenaline like most did. For me, the interesting part was always the machine. Feeling how it responded, how every detail you’d worked on could mean the difference between winning and losing.

Jeff lowered his head, but not to hide—he seemed thoughtful, as if what I’d said had stirred something in him.

—I could never race —he admitted in a whisper—. I’m too… slow for that. But I like looking at cars from the inside, as if they were living organisms. Every engine, every bolt… like they all had their own personality.

I don’t know what came over me, but I had to bite my tongue not to tell him that he himself seemed more fascinating to me than any engine.

We stayed like that, talking. First about professors we’d had, comparing stories from different universities. Then about cars, workshops, projects. It was strange: I wasn’t the kind of man who could sit and talk for hours without feeling the urge to leave. But with Jeff… time became irrelevant. The words flowed effortlessly.

There was a moment when he looked up to ask me something about an old race, and for a second, the world disappeared. His brown eyes shone under the warm light, and my breath caught in my throat. It was so simple, so natural, that I realized I’d been longing for a conversation like this all my life without knowing it.

Time dissolved. For an instant, I forgot everything else. The town, the risks, the promise of one month. It was just him and me, with spoons clinking against plates and words stringing together as if they had been waiting to be spoken.

I felt comfortable. More than comfortable: free.
And that feeling scared me as much as it soothed me.

The cinema door opened, and suddenly the bubble burst. Charlie and Babe came out, still carrying the dimness of the theater on their skin. Charlie looked cheerful, as always. Babe had an arm around him, both of them in their own world.

—And you two? —Babe asked when he saw us, with a playful smile—. Ditched us for dessert?

Jeff startled, almost choking on his last bite. I spoke first.

—He was craving dessert —I said, shrugging, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

Babe burst out laughing and clapped me on the shoulder.
—That’s my friend! Indulging the birthday boy. Well done.

Jeff lowered his gaze, uneasy, but I noticed the faint tremor at his lips. He was holding back a smile.

Charlie, for his part, snorted.
—You were right to skip out, Jeff. The movie was predictable and boring.

—Too slow —Jeff murmured, nodding in agreement.

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Boring? Slow? Was that what they saw?
Babe and I exchanged a silent glance that said the same thing: What the hell are they talking about? For us, it had been hell. Impossible ghosts, noises in the dark, scenes crafted to tear your soul out… I could still feel the cold sweat on my neck. And they… boring?

We both smiled, masking it.

—Alright, so… what should we do now? —Babe asked, rubbing his hands with enthusiasm—. I found out there’s a small fair near the woods. We could go, grab something there for dinner.

Charlie nodded right away.
—Sounds good.

Babe and I offered to get the car while Jeff and Charlie stayed at the dessert shop. When we stepped outside, the night breeze hit my face, carrying the smell of damp earth. We walked a few steps in silence, until Babe shot me a sideways glance.

—So… has it been as bad as you thought? —he asked, raising a brow.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

—You know it hasn’t.

He let out a booming laugh.
—I knew it. You had that “this will be a disaster” face, but me… —he raised a finger, like he was holding a secret—. I had a feeling. Something told me it could only be you.

I frowned, uncomfortable.
—Your feelings are dangerous.

—And accurate. —He winked.

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t tell him this had been, perhaps, the best not-a-date of my life. That no other had ever carried this weight, this softness, this… naturalness. I thought it, but I would never say it out loud to Babe.

The only thing I knew was that every minute with Jeff, every timid word he spoke, every look he dared to hold, pulled me deeper into something I wouldn’t be able to escape.

And for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

Chapter Text

Jeff

The path to the fair was lit by rows of colorful lights winding between the trees, as if the stars had descended from the sky to hang on the branches of the forest. The air smelled of damp wood, sugar, and coal smoke. It was a warm scent, familiar and strange at once, filling my chest with a nostalgia I didn’t know the origin of.

Beside me, Alan walked in silence, hands in his pockets, his expression calm. Babe was ahead, speaking animatedly with Charlie, who seemed incapable of standing still: stopping every few steps to point at a booth, make a comment, laughing with that contagious energy that lit up even the air around him.

The fair was set up in a clearing near the forest, the ground still cool with damp earth. The bustle was constant: children running with balloons shaped like animals, couples hand in hand sharing cotton candy, street musicians strumming out-of-tune guitars.

I was surprised by how easy it was to let myself be swept along by the atmosphere. The lights, the colors, the noise… everything pushed me to lower my guard.

“Look at this,” Charlie exclaimed, stopping at a crafts booth.

On the table were braided leather bracelets, necklaces with carved stones, little figures made of twigs and wire. Babe picked one up in fascination, holding up a polished wooden wolf pendant.

“This is incredible. Look at the detail!” he said, showing it to Alan.

Alan took it, turned it in his hands with that serious gesture of his, and suddenly, without warning, slipped it over Babe’s neck.
“You look like someone’s pet now,” he said, with restrained irony.

Babe laughed so loudly several people turned to look.
“Pet?” he repeated theatrically. “Alan, if I’m the pet, you’re the grumpy old man walking me on a leash.”

Charlie nearly choked laughing, and I… I lowered my head, hiding my smile in the collar of my jacket. Seeing Alan blush just faintly, struggling with what looked like a failed attempt to contain a smile, was so rare I couldn’t forget it the whole way.

We kept walking through the fair. There were booths of candies wrapped in colored paper, wooden toys, grotesque masks carved from logs. And then I saw it: a stand filled with stuffed animals. There were bears small, medium, and giant, all hanging from strings as if waiting for someone to rescue them.

I stared too long. I didn’t plan to, my eyes just got stuck on a brown bear with a red bow.

“Want one?” Alan asked suddenly, his voice low, almost distracted, but with an intent that made my skin prickle.

“No,” I answered quickly, shaking my head. “I don’t like those things.”

He glanced at me from the side, raising one eyebrow slightly, as if he had just discovered something even I didn’t understand. He didn’t press, but the hint of a smile left me with the feeling he didn’t believe me.

Charlie came closer then, smiling as if he knew too much.
“You’re having fun,” he said, lowering his voice.

I frowned, feigning severity.
“I’m not.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, amused.
“Your eyes give you away.”

I didn’t reply. But in my mind, I admitted it: yes, I was having fun. And that, for me, was almost a miracle.

After the booths, we reached the game area. From a distance came the shouts and laughter: the spinning wheel, the haunted train, the bumper cars. Carnival music floated through all that chaos of lights and motion.

Babe was the first to point it out, with a child’s excitement.
“Bumper cars! Come on, we have to ride.”

Alan humored him.
“You’ll lose, Babe. Fair warning.”

“Oh yeah?” Babe grinned like a predator. “Then I hope you’re ready to protect Jeff.”

My eyes widened.
“What? I—”

But they were already pushing me into line. Alan, at my side, sighed in resignation.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured, leaning just slightly toward me. “I won’t let them crash into you too much.”

The mere brush of his shoulder against mine sent my heart racing.

We got into the cars. Charlie and Babe paired up, I ended up with Alan. The lights flickered, music blared, and the metal floor vibrated with the crackle of electric rods.

“Hold on,” Alan said, and before I could react, he started.

The first impact came quickly. Charlie and Babe barreled straight at us, laughing like madmen. Alan turned the wheel with skill, dodging at the last second. My body slammed against his, his firm arm gripping the wheel, shielding me from the hit.

“You okay?” he asked, worried.

I nodded, my heart pounding. The heat of his nearness, the way he covered me, all of it made me dizzier than the ride itself.

But Charlie and Babe were relentless. They chased us across the floor until they finally cornered us and slammed into us head-on. The blow shook me, but Alan absorbed most of it, putting himself in between.

Babe threw his arms up in victory.
“We win!”

I tried to hide my smile, while Alan exhaled, resigned.
“They weren’t even playing fair,” he grumbled.

“That’s the fun part,” Babe shot back, still laughing.

We played more games.

In every game, every laugh, I felt something inside me loosen. The constant tension I’d carried since we arrived in this town was unraveling, bit by bit. And at the center of it all was Alan.

Sometimes it was a glance catching me off guard. Sometimes a steady hand on my arm, guiding me through the crowd. Sometimes a low comment that made me smile before I could stop myself.

When we got on the Ferris wheel, and the gondola rose above the lights, I felt the air freeze in my lungs. The forest stretched dark into the distance, the lights of the fair like a cluster of fireflies caught on the ground.

Alan sat across from me, silent, watching the horizon. The bulbs flickered against his profile, tracing the hard lines of his face.

I tried to focus on the view, but my eyes kept coming back to him. To the line of his jaw lit by the bulbs, to the steady rhythm of his breathing, to the way his hands rested on his knees.

I caught myself staring too long, memorizing every detail. And then I hated myself a little, because I knew I shouldn’t.

But I couldn’t stop.

It wasn’t a date. It couldn’t be.

But up there, with him so close I could feel his warmth, the difference blurred.

And that was enough to ignite in me a hope that was terrifying.

When we got off the Ferris wheel, Babe was already planning the next game. Charlie followed him, always ready. Alan walked beside me, silent, but every now and then our hands brushed by accident. And each time, my heart beat harder.

The fair was still alive around us, lights and laughter in every corner. But for me, everything reduced to this: the warmth of his presence, the echo of his voice in my memory, the weight of something beginning to bloom in my chest, inevitable, unstoppable.

And for the first time in a long while, I let myself admit it:
Yes, I was having fun.
Yes, I was happy.

😟

We went through more games: a shooting booth where Babe, confident, missed miserably and ended up losing to Charlie, who immediately calmed him down by giving him the prize. There was a ring toss stand where I didn’t hit a single one, and Alan tried it only to show me it wasn’t that easy either. Everything seemed light, normal.

Until it wasn’t.

As we looked for the next game to try, I noticed a group of guys approaching along the side path of the fair. Something in their walk, in the way people moved aside, put me on edge. The one in front was tall, his jacket half open and a smug smile on his face.

—Oh, oh… look who we’ve got here. The king of the track —he said loudly, and even though there was music and noise all around, his words carried clear and sharp, straight to Babe.

The murmur of the crowd rose like a tide. The phrase spread, whispered from mouth to mouth.
Babe tensed instantly.
—Winner… —he spat his name with a tone that left no doubt about their history.

Alan stepped forward, placing himself almost in front of Babe, his posture rigid like a wall.
—Don’t let him get to you, Babe. We came here to have fun —he said calmly, though there was steel in his voice.

Winner looked him up and down with contempt.
—And who are you? His babysitter?

Charlie stepped in before Alan could respond.
—This is a fair. If you want to fight, find someone else.

But Babe wasn’t listening anymore. He was too focused on Winner, as if nothing else existed. The distant roar of the rides seemed to mark the rhythm of the tension.

Winner smiled with a flash of arrogance.
—King of the track… —he repeated, savoring the words—. Though honestly, I’m not sure you deserve that title.

The air grew taut. Nobody spoke, but the crowd listened to every word as if they were shared heartbeats.
—What did you say? —Babe snapped, his voice low, dangerous.

Winner smiled wider, leaning slightly forward.
—What everyone thinks. That your victories weren’t clean. That without tricks, without strokes of luck, you’d never beat me.

The laughter of Winner’s group erupted like gasoline catching fire.
Alan took another step forward, standing between them, frowning.
—That’s enough.

But Babe shoved him aside with a sharp jerk of his shoulder.
—That’s what you think? —he said, his voice trembling with restrained rage—. That I don’t deserve to be king?

Winner crossed his arms, relaxed, as if he had already won the battle without moving.
—Prove it, then. A race. You and me. Tonight. No tricks. No excuses. Let’s see if the “king of the track” can really hold up under the lights.

The crowd roared, hungry for a show.
—No! —Charlie stepped in at once, blocking Babe—. You don’t have to do this.
—Of course I do —Babe shot back, pushing him aside—. No one calls me a fraud and walks away laughing. No one.

Alan tried again, his voice firm, almost pleading.
—You gain nothing from this, Babe. Let it go.
But Babe didn’t back down.
—I accept.

The crowd reacted as if they had been waiting for those words. Cheers, excited murmurs, a couple of whistles. The fair seemed to shed its skin: suddenly, it was no longer a place of games and laughter, but a stage for confrontation.

Charlie tried to stop him.
—No. Don’t do it, please.
—Why not? —Babe shot back, his voice ablaze—. I’m not letting this idiot show up here and mock me in front of everyone.

Alan also spoke, his tone harsher than ever:
—Babe, it’s not necessary. You gain nothing from this.
—I gain my name! —Babe yanked free—. No one’s going to come here and call me anything less than king.

I watched, feeling the air being squeezed out of my lungs. Everything was happening too fast, too inevitable.

But Babe was already gone, carried by that stubbornness that made him unstoppable.

I could barely move. Something inside me boiled, a pressure pushing me to act. And then I did. Without thinking about the consequences, without weighing the risk, I stepped into the whirlwind and closed my hand around Winner’s wrist.

The contact was electric. A jolt that shot up my arm to my chest. The air fled my lungs and images poured in like a cascade: the clandestine track lit by makeshift headlights, the cars roaring in unison, dust rising like smoke. And then, the detail that froze my blood: a boy in the shadows, raising his hand, the secret signal. The path tampered with. The metal hidden in the curve. And then… the blast. Babe’s tire bursting, the car veering at full speed, Charlie’s muffled scream. The crash. The chaos.

Air rushed back. I let go of Winner with a gasp, as if burned.
Winner looked at me, confused at first, then mocking.
—What do you want? An autograph?

My voice came out trembling, but I managed to speak:
—I… I’m a fan.

He raised a brow, amused.
—I see. Another fan. What a surprise.

Charlie instantly stepped between us, shoving me back hard.
—Stay away from him —he snapped at Winner, frowning.

Winner burst out laughing.
—Relax. If he came up to me, it’s because I’m irresistible.

Charlie grabbed my arm and spun me around, forcing me to walk away. His face was more tense than ever.
—Are you insane? —he hissed under his breath—. Do you know how dangerous that was?
—It was a chance —I shot back, frustrated—. I could see something, figure out something useful.
—I told you I didn’t want you in the middle. Don’t you get it? He works for Tony.

I sighed, annoyed, but didn’t stay quiet.
—I want to help however I can. Charlie… I saw the race. I saw how they’re going to sabotage Babe’s car.

He went pale, his mouth opening to reply, but before he could, the fair’s noise turned into a roar. The crowd was moving, eager, toward the clearing where the clandestine races were always held.

Charlie cursed under his breath.
—I’ll stop it. Stay with Alan.

And without giving me time to argue, he ran toward Babe, who was already arguing with Alan while they got the car ready. Babe was stubborn, determined to race despite the warnings. Charlie jumped in as co-pilot, resolute to go with him.

I stayed there, surrounded by the uproar of voices, engines rumbling in the distance, the air thick with gasoline and dust. Everything felt too fast, too big for me.

Then I heard Alan beside me. His voice was deep, but not harsh:
—Stay close to me, Jeff.

I looked at him. His expression was serious, but in his eyes there was something more: concern.
—I don’t want anything to happen to you —he added, lowering his voice—. These things always get out of hand…

I didn’t know what to say. I just nodded, and Alan seemed to relax a little, as if that small gesture was enough.

The noise grew around us; the crowd surged toward the clearing where the cars lined up, headlights blazing like beasts ready to be unleashed. And still, for a moment, the danger felt a little easier to bear.

Because I wasn’t alone.
Alan walked beside me, watchful, as if his very presence were enough to keep me safe.

The race was about to begin.

Chapter Text

Jeff

The air at the fair shifted in an instant. It was as if everyone had been waiting for that spark to ignite. An electric murmur rippled through the stalls, the lights, the laughter that a second ago had been carefree. Now, every eye was fixed on the same thing: the end of the highway skirting the forest, that isolated stretch, almost forgotten, serving as an improvised racetrack for races that should never exist.

I stood at the edge of the crowd, my feet rooted to the ground, my eyes locked on the car lights already roaring in the distance. The smell of gasoline carried on the wind, harsh and familiar.

I clutched the edge of my jacket with frozen hands. I couldn’t see Charlie or Babe from where I stood, but I knew they were there. My warnings didn’t matter, nor did the turbulent vision I had seen: Babe would race no matter what. And Charlie, stubborn as ever, would get in with him.

Alan remained beside me, serious, brow furrowed, arms crossed. He said nothing, but I could feel it—the tension in his shoulders, the rigidness betraying him even as he tried to appear calm.

“This won’t end well,” I muttered to myself.

Alan turned his head slightly, his profile lit by the orange glow of the headlights.
“They never do,” he answered quietly. “But Babe knows what he’s doing. He has experience on this road. Charlie will be fine with him.”

I didn’t reply. The engines’ roar ripped the breath from my chest.

The cars were lined up, their headlights piercing the darkness of the clearing. The crowd surged around us like a living wave—pushing, whispering, betting, shouting names.

Amidst all that noise, my heart pounded like a runaway drum.

The starting whistle cut the air.

And the race began.

The cars shot forward like arrows. The roar rattled my chest, and the crowd exploded in a deafening scream, a frantic cry that forced me a step back. I couldn’t look away from the lit-up path, from the lights darting forward, almost too fast to follow.

Babe was there, fighting to hold the lead. Winner stayed right behind him, clinging to his wheel like a hungry shadow. They were neck and neck, too close, defying every curve with blood-chilling violence.

My throat was dry. I couldn’t hear anything else—just the engines, the metallic squeals of brakes biting into corners, the crowd’s shouts. My whole being was trapped in that unbearable tension: the exact second when something could snap.

And then it happened.

It wasn’t Babe. It wasn’t the vision I’d had.

It was Winner.

A sharp noise, the blow of a tire bursting. A shrill cry, desperate, like a wounded animal. His car swerved suddenly, zigzagging in a frantic dance before spinning out and crashing into a pile of tires stacked on the roadside. Sparks, smoke, a dull crash.

The crowd went wild—panic cries mixed with cheers, as if disaster itself were a spectacle.

Babe, meanwhile, didn’t stop. His car kept roaring forward, taking the last turn, straight toward the finish line. The crowd erupted into a thunderous roar. He had won.

But there was no celebration.

Because at that very moment, a much louder sound tore through the clearing: sirens.

Red and blue lights flashed through the darkness from several angles. The police had arrived.

Chaos was instant.

The crowd collapsed in on itself, fleeing in every direction. Voices, shouts, shoves. I was trapped in the middle of that human tide, dragged backward without control over my steps.

The air left me, the noise was too much, the whole world was a whirlwind impossible to push through.

Suddenly, a strong hand closed around my wrist.

Alan.

“Come with me!” His voice cut through the crowd.

The contact jolted me like an electric current. My heart raced instantly, as if responding directly to his skin against mine. He pulled hard, not letting go, and I followed as if he were the only fixed point in a collapsing world.

But chaos is stronger than any plan.

A brutal shove tore us apart. His hand slipped from mine.

The world collapsed in a second.

I hit the ground, arms smacking against the cold dirt, knees burning. The crowd stampeded over me. I lifted my head just in time to see an alpha—huge, face twisted—lunging at me like a shadow.

Panic froze me.

But then, an authoritative voice cut through the noise.
“Freeze!”

A cop appeared, stepping between the alpha and me. He had light brown hair, soft but firm features, a calmness that contrasted with the chaos. His gaze landed on me, warm despite his professional rigidity.
“Are you alright?” he asked, leaning toward me. “You’ll come with me.”

I couldn’t respond. I just nodded, mute, dazed.

But before I could move, I saw him falter, surprised, and collapse with a soft groan.

I blinked, stunned.

Alan was there. His face tense, breathing ragged.
“Sorry,” he muttered harshly. “I won’t let go of you again.”

Before I could process it, he grabbed my wrist again. This time tighter, almost desperate.

We ran.

The highway vanished behind us as we plunged into the edge of the forest. The air was thick with dust, smoke, the distant echo of sirens and screams. But all I felt was the pressure of his fingers locked around my skin, guiding me, pulling me, ensuring I wouldn’t get lost again.

And, against all logic, I didn’t mind.

My heart beat so fast I could barely breathe—and not only from exertion. There was something in that contact, in that protective urgency, that made me feel safe despite the chaos. As if, as long as he held me, nothing could touch me.

Branches snagged us, roots caught beneath the tall grass. The forest closed around us, dark, alive with our footsteps.

“It’s always the same…” Alan growled, voice ragged from the run. “They arrive late, grab the first person they can… and always pin it on the most innocent.”

I glanced at him, panting, unable to ignore the bitter edge in his voice.

“Those cops are useless,” he added, his tone sinking deep into me.

“And… Charlie?” I asked between gasps, glancing back.

Alan didn’t hesitate.
“They’ll be fine.” His voice was firm, reassuring. “They have the car.”

I nodded, trusting his words without question.

We kept running, branches whipping our arms, the cold air biting our skin. And amidst all the chaos, the darkness, the flight, one absurd certainty struck me: Alan didn’t plan to let me go.

And I… didn’t want him to.

💕

When we finally went deep enough into the forest, the roar of the highway faded into a distant murmur. The ground grew uneven, damp, and my sneakers slipped with every step. Alan slowed his pace until he came to a full stop. I bent over myself, gasping for air, feeling like my lungs were on fire. He looked at me with a furrowed brow, worried. His hand was still gripping my wrist, and only then did he seem to realize it. However, he didn’t let go.

“We can walk from here,” he said, his voice lower now, almost gentle. “It’s not far.”

I looked up, incredulous, with my heart still hammering. Not far? I wanted to ask what exactly that meant, but no words came out of my mouth. Alan didn’t add anything else, as if silence were enough. And he didn’t let go of me, either.

I could have said something. I could have asked him to let me go, to respect that distance I always tried to maintain. But I didn’t. Because the truth was that, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to.

As we walked, my thoughts began to scatter. I remembered the date that wasn’t a date. The way Alan had admitted almost with embarrassment that he liked strawberry pie. I remembered his eyes shining when we talked about engines, as if he had finally found someone with whom he didn’t need to pretend to be tough. I remembered how he tried to hide his fear in the dark room when the jump scares of the movie caught him off guard. The way he had smiled, with an unexpected flash of tenderness. How he had tried to fake toughness on the bumper cars but ended up protecting me at every crash.

So many loose, scattered pieces, and yet they all fit together into an image I didn’t want to see clearly. The rational, intelligent part of me, that voice I had always followed, shouted at me not to let myself go. That he was still dangerous. That the best thing was to get away before it was too late.

But there was another part, hidden, new, that had awakened since the day I arrived in this town. An irrational part, completely crazy and wrong… and that part told me that this was how everything was right. Together. And today… just today, for my birthday, I wanted to believe it.

That was when the first drops began to fall. At first soft, just a murmur over the leaves, until it became a downpour that soaked the ground and made the forest shine as if it were covered in mirrors. Alan looked at me sideways, with water running through his hair and his shoulders tense.

“We’ll just run a little more,” he said, almost pleading. “I promise, we’re almost there.”

I nodded without thinking, and we resumed running. This time, despite the exhaustion, it didn’t weigh on me so much. I felt his hand gripping my wrist, transmitting a strength that wasn’t mine, and something like a warmth running through me despite the icy rain.

The forest slowly opened up until, among the trees, the silhouette of a house rose. Two stories, large windows, the façade covered in wood that gleamed under the downpour. It wasn’t ostentatious, but it was imposing. And at the same time, it had something… warm. As if it were inviting me in.

We ran to it, soaked, and Alan opened the door with a bang. The wood creaked, and the warmth inside wrapped around me immediately. The echo of the rain still thundered in my head when the door closed behind us, as if it shut us away from everything left outside: the roar of engines, the chaos of the crowd, the threat of the police. Here, in contrast, there was only silence, broken just by the tapping of water against the windows.

I stayed still, my chest rising and falling in an irregular rhythm. My shoes dripped, and every breath dragged with it the smell of damp wood, mixed with something else, something that seemed to be soaked into every corner of that house. Alan’s scent.

“I’ll get you some dry clothes,” he said quickly, already climbing the stairs to the upper floor.

I stayed still in the hall, observing everything. The spaciousness, the light reflected on the glass. Big, yes. But strangely cozy. My heart was still pounding hard when Alan came running down, carrying some clothes.

“Use the hot water,” he said, his voice a little lower than before, as if the very atmosphere of the house forced him to soften it. “They’ll be too big, but they’ll help you warm up.”

I nodded slowly, but inside, something stronger than logic was beginning to grow. The tension in the air didn’t disappear. Alan’s scent was more intense in the warmth of the interior, and my heart kept responding to him in a way I didn’t understand, but didn’t want to put out.

He set the clothes on a chair and stepped aside, though not too much. He avoided my gaze, as if he wanted to give me space, but the way his tense shoulders filled the room made it impossible to ignore him.

My hands trembled as I took the clothes. Not because of the cold, not entirely. It was something else, more subtle, more dangerous. We avoided each other’s gaze clumsily, as if either of us feared that the other might read what was happening in his mind.

“Thanks,” I murmured, and before I could stop myself, I blurted, “And you?”

Alan blinked, surprised. Water slipped down his hair, falling in drops that soaked the T-shirt clinging to his skin even more.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find another one for me upstairs. It’s not the first time the rain has caught me,” he replied, stepping aside to give me space.

I watched him in silence, unable to take my eyes off the damp shine on his skin, the firmness of his gestures, the impossible contrast between his alpha attitude and the nobility in his words.

I walked toward the bathroom Alan had indicated. As I entered, the mirror returned an image I barely recognized: hair stuck to my forehead, the dark shirt clinging to my skin from the rain, my cheeks flushed. I sighed, resting my hands on the sink, trying to convince myself that everything was under control.

I undressed clumsily, piece by piece, until I was naked. The cool air of the house ran over my skin, but at the same time, that scent of Alan still floated in the air, wrapping around me. The hot water eased the cold the rain had left on my skin, though it didn’t erase the trembling I carried inside since it all began. That impossible-to-ignore electricity that had started when he grabbed me by the wrist.

I dried off with a thick towel and put on the clothes Alan had left me: a too-large dark gray T-shirt, and sweatpants that hung loose at my waist.

When I returned to the hall, Alan was waiting by the window, watching the rain strike the glass. He had changed clothes too: another dark T-shirt, and his wet hair fell over his forehead. He wasn’t as soaked as before, but he still looked just as wild, just as impossible to tame.

Hearing my steps, he barely turned his face toward me. His eyes dropped for an instant to the clothes I was now wearing. His clothes.

I swallowed. He didn’t say anything, but that quick glance was enough to make my skin prickle under the fabric.

“Better?” he asked, his voice deep.

I swallowed again, trying to seem calmer than I was.

“Yes. Thanks.”

He nodded, as if nothing else needed to be said. But there was something in the way he looked at me, a restrained brightness in his eyes that made me think he wanted to say something but was holding it back.

“Sit on the couch,” he said. “It should be ready by now.”

I nodded in silence. I sank into the couch, soft, wide, more comfortable than it looked. I dug my fingers into the cushion’s fabric, trying to distract myself, to focus on anything but him. But it didn’t work. The sound of his steps in the kitchen, the clink of the teapot against the wood, kept me alert, expectant.

And when he appeared, carrying a simple tray in his hands, it was impossible to look away.

A steaming teapot, two cups. The vapor curled in the air, and behind it, Alan, with his hair still damp, his loose shirt, his movements measured, almost solemn. He looked like someone born to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet at that moment he did it only to bring me a cup of tea.

He set the tray on the low table in front of me and poured carefully, the amber liquid filling the first cup.

“You need to warm up a little. I don’t want you getting sick,” he said, handing me the cup with a gesture that was firm yet gentle.

I took it between my hands, the warmth seeping into my skin. My fingers trembled ever so slightly—I didn’t know if it was from the lingering cold or from his nearness. I said nothing. I couldn’t. I simply stole glances at him: the line of his jaw, the unhurried motion of his hands as he set the glass on the table, the way his breathing was still deep, as though he hadn’t fully recovered his breath.

To steady myself, to keep him from noticing the chaos inside me, I opened my mouth on some strange impulse.

“You were right about something, when we first met.”

Alan lifted his gaze, surprised. Yet that surprise was tainted with another emotion: fear. As if he didn’t know what I was about to say, and was afraid it would expose him.

I took a sip and clarified, letting the words settle slowly.

“When you said not all of the forest was free.”

Alan blinked, and then the rigidity of his expression broke. A smile, timid at first, curved his lips, then grew, warm, showing a relief so sincere it unsettled me.

“Yes,” he said, nodding softly. “I own a small part of the forest. It’s a family inheritance.”

I watched how that smile lingered on his face, how his lips curved, and then I saw it: a dimple, deep and striking, appearing on his right cheek. I swallowed hard. What am I thinking?

I tore my eyes away at once, sharply, as if looking too long was dangerous. And it was. It wasn’t as though I wanted to touch his dimples. I didn’t. It wasn’t as though my heart was beating faster, as if something in me was unraveling at the sight of his smile. No. That wasn’t it.

I scolded myself in silence, pressing my lips together, trying to focus on the tea, on the warmth, on anything.

Alan cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to him. His voice cracked a little at the start, and that vulnerability disarmed me.

“I…,” he began, hesitant. “I’m sorry… it got a little wet.”

I looked at him, confused, not understanding what he meant. But then his eyes dropped to his hands. I followed the gesture—and saw it.

My breath caught.

There it was. The teddy bear. The very one that had caught my eye. And now it was here, in his large hands, cradled as if it were fragile.

My heart pounded so fast I thought it could be heard across the whole room. Alan held the bear out to me, and his voice, softer and sweeter than I had ever heard it, spoke two words that melted me inside:

“Happy birthday.”

And he smiled.

That smile, broad, sincere, showing both dimples this time, did nothing to help my heart.

Our eyes met. It was no more than a second, but enough to steal my breath away. There was something in his eyes, something I couldn’t name, that pierced right through me.

My fingers trembled as I took it. Our hands brushed, barely, a fleeting contact, electric, leaving me breathless.

“Thank you… you didn’t have to…” I managed, lowering my gaze, as if hiding my burning cheeks could protect me from him.

The bear was even more beautiful than I remembered. Softer, more perfect.

Alan shook his head slowly, without looking away.

“Yes, but I wanted to. I didn’t know what to give you, so… thank you for the hint.”

My eyes widened.

“I didn’t give you any hint!” I protested, unable to contain the mix of embarrassment and joy flooding me.

Alan’s smile grew wider, that dangerous smile that lit up his whole face. I clenched my hands tight, fighting the absurd urge to touch his dimples with my fingertips.

Alan rested one elbow on the back of the couch, turning slightly toward me. The movement brought him closer—close enough that his knee almost brushed mine.

The distance between us shrank to a breath, to a decision. I felt every inch of that space as if it were burning. My fingers tightened around the bear, my lips parted, my eyes sought his even though I knew I should look away.

And when his gaze met mine again, time shattered.

I was breathing too fast. I couldn’t help it. Each breath carried his scent stronger, more present, impossible to ignore. He was so close…

My heart pounded wildly, to the point it hurt my chest. And in my head, the logical voice, the steady one, the one that always protected me, screamed: Stay away. It’s dangerous. Don’t forget.

His gaze dropped, lingering on my lips for a moment. Just a moment, but enough to set me ablaze.

No. No. No.

I turned my head away abruptly, pretending to focus on the bear in my arms. I held it tighter, as if it could shield me.

“It’s… pretty,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. Desperate to regain composure, I blurted the first thing that came to mind: “Where did you keep it?”

“Inside my jacket,” he replied naturally. Then sighed, almost resigned. “But with the rain, it got a little wet. I dried it quickly.”

I looked at him closely, and then I saw he was right: strands of damp hair still clung to his forehead.

“That’s why your hair looks like that…” I whispered.

He smiled again, and I felt the ground vanish beneath my feet.

“It’s fine. It dries quickly. I never get sick.”

I wanted to argue, to say that anyone could get sick, even him. But the way he smiled, the calm he radiated, silenced any words.

I swallowed, lowered my gaze, and focused too much on taking another sip of tea.

Silence again. But different this time. Heavier. More dangerous. More ours.

Every breath, every brief meeting of eyes, every accidental brush of our hands near the table felt like the world was stopping.

Alan’s scent, stronger in the warmth of the house, surrounded me. And I knew I shouldn’t let myself get carried away. But my heart beat in another direction, and I didn’t know how to correct it.

I tried to steady myself, suddenly remembering Charlie, clinging to that thought like a lifeline. Alan, attentive, seemed to read my mind.

“The guys are fine. Babe sent us a message,” he said calmly. “They were worried because we weren’t answering the calls. They’ll come over.”

I nodded, trying to distract myself.

“That’s good… Should we turn on the TV while we wait?” I suggested, searching for anything to break the weight of the silence.

Alan nodded, standing to grab the remote. The screen flickered for a few seconds before filling with some random channel: the nightly news, muffled voices, irrelevant images.

“News?” he asked.

I nodded, all too aware that he was coming back toward me.

He dropped onto the couch beside me, and though there was enough room to keep his distance, he didn’t. His shoulder brushed mine, barely.

It wasn’t blatant, but enough to make my breathing collapse.

I tried to focus on the screen. Words, images, reports about the storm. None of it made sense. All my body registered was Alan’s warmth beside me.

The bear rested on my lap, and I held it tightly, as if it could anchor me.

The TV stayed on, though neither of us paid much attention. My body tensed more and more with his closeness. Alan’s warmth radiated like a constant fire. His scent—soap and damp forest—was impossible to ignore.

I tried to shift slightly, to put more distance between us. But the couch creaked and, by accident, my leg brushed his even more.

I froze.

Alan didn’t move away. He didn’t say anything. He just stayed there, eyes on the screen, as if he hadn’t noticed.

But I knew he had. I knew by the slight change in his breathing.

My heart was about to burst. I didn’t know how much time passed. Minutes. Maybe hours. I couldn’t tell.

When I finally turned, I saw him. Alan, leaning slightly toward me, had fallen sound asleep.

I watched in silence, unable to look away. His breathing was slow, steady. His lips slightly parted, relaxed. The dim light caressed his features, and for a moment I thought I had never seen anyone look so… handsome while sleeping.

I bit my tongue, undecided. I couldn’t let him sleep like that, slouched.

Carefully, holding my breath, I pushed him back until he was lying on the couch. His legs dangled; I lifted them gently and arranged them, placing a cushion under his head to make him more comfortable.

The couch was big. Too big. For a second I wondered if maybe… he had bought it for this very reason.

I was about to stand and give him space when I felt pressure on my wrist.

Alan. Even asleep, his hand had caught mine.

He tugged softly, but firmly enough to unbalance me. I fell onto the couch, pressed against his body.

“A-Alan…” I murmured, trying to pull away. But he didn’t move. On the contrary.

His arms wrapped around me instinctively, pulling me against his chest.

I froze.

It was a full embrace, deep, unconscious. Alan held me as if I were the most precious thing he had, as if letting go were impossible.

My heart stopped for a second, then raced wildly. The heat radiating from his body was overwhelming. His scent wrapped around me like a dense mist: forest, rain, something untamed.

His breath brushed against my neck, warm, intermittent. Each exhale sent shivers down my skin.

“Alan…” I tried again, in a desperate whisper.

Nothing. He was fast asleep. Clinging to me.

My first reaction was to fight. I needed to get out. I couldn’t stand being touched. I couldn’t.

But my arms didn’t obey. My muscles tensed, yes, but not to push him away… to stay.

The terrifying part was realizing I didn’t feel uncomfortable. What I felt was something else. A mix of fear and belonging.

The fear wasn’t of him, but of me. Of what was awakening inside me in that moment.

Because, deep down, I knew this… had always been my place.

The embrace tightened slightly. Alan sighed in his sleep, and his chest expanded against my back.

I felt the beat of his heart, steady, measured, a stark contrast to the chaos of mine. The warmth of his body seeped into every corner of mine, melting any resistance.

I took a deep breath, resigned. Just for a little while, I told myself. Just until he loosens…

But the lull of his breathing, the rhythm of his chest, the warmth enveloping me… it was all too much.

Sleep began to drag me under too.

With my heart ablaze and my body pressed to his, I gave in at last.

I closed my eyes.

And somewhere, inside all that fear and contradiction, was something that felt far too much like peace.

Chapter Text

Babe

The windshield wipers swung back and forth at full speed, but they barely managed to clear the liquid curtain that cut us off from the rest of the world. My hands were steady on the wheel, though my heart was still racing at the same speed as on the track, when I had let myself be dragged away by adrenaline and damn pride.

Someone might say it was reckless to drive like this, under that storm, after everything that had happened. But the truth was that, for me, having the wheel in my hands was like breathing. It didn’t matter if the tires skidded a little when I took the wet curves; it didn’t matter that Charlie kept glancing at me from time to time, with that expression halfway between anger and worry. I felt alive. Alive and damn exhausted.

The storm rose above us like a wild animal: lightning lit up the forest for an instant, thunder made the car windows vibrate, and that smell of wet earth seeped in everywhere.

We had escaped. That was the only thing that mattered. We had escaped the police, the shouting, the race I should never have accepted. I let myself be carried away by provocation, by the idea that I couldn’t lose, that I had to prove no one could beat me on my own ground. And, in doing so, I ended up ruining the date.

I glanced at Charlie. Silent, serious, his brow furrowed as he watched the road like he could control it with the sheer force of his gaze. He never said much, but that night his silence weighed more than any scolding.

And then the phone buzzed.

I had left it on the console, and on the lit screen appeared the name that made me let out a sigh of relief: Alan.

I reached out and grabbed it, still keeping the other hand on the wheel. Charlie shot me a warning look.

“Don’t get us killed now,” he said quietly.

I smirked. “Relax. I can do two things at once.”

I opened the message. Three short lines:

“We got home safe. We’re at my place. I’ll be waiting.”

That was it. But it was enough.

I felt the weight pressing on my chest for hours ease a little. Alan. Always him. Always with that unshakable calm, even when we knew it wasn’t real.

Charlie read it too, because he leaned closer, and his shoulders eased a bit. I smiled with pride, a strange warmth coursing through my veins. Alan never let us down.

And yet, I knew something had changed in him that day.

Because it wasn’t by chance that Alan, of all my friends, was the only one I convinced to come along on this double date. And I knew it from the moment I started putting the plan together: if I had to drag someone with me and Charlie—and with Jeff, Charlie’s enigmatic brother—that someone had to be Alan.

Not out of whim. Not just because I trusted him, but because my instincts screamed that it couldn’t be anyone else. That, somehow, only Alan could be there.

From the very beginning, when I convinced him to join the double date, I knew I was doing something dangerous. Not because Alan would explode, but because my reasons weren’t as innocent as I pretended.

Of course, I told myself I was doing it so he could relax. That Alan had been on the verge of snapping for days, and a pretty omega might help him breathe. That’s what I told him, and partly I believed it. But beneath it, buried deep, was another truth I didn’t want to name: I did it for Charlie. I wanted… to please him. Or at least to prove that I could.

I had never been the type to complicate my life with anyone’s feelings. Sex was sex. Period. But ever since Charlie showed up, something inside me had started to waver. I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to think about it too much.

So I disguised it with excuses: Alan needs to relax. He’s about to snap. A pretty omega will do him good. Useful lies I repeated so I wouldn’t have to hear what was really hiding underneath.

The truth was, Alan agreed. And today, all damn day long, I saw him differently.

He, who was always stiff, as if the world weighed on his shoulders, had loosened up. Not entirely, not like an ordinary man, but enough that his features softened. I saw him smile. Smile for real, like he hadn’t in a long time. And the strangest part was toward whom that smile was directed: Jeff.

Again and again, during dinner, during the walks, during every pause, Alan looked at Jeff like he was something precious. And Jeff, shy, reserved, gave him sweet looks in return. It was as if the two of them had built an invisible bubble that none of us could enter. Not even Charlie.

And I, standing outside, could only think: this isn’t simple. It can’t be.

The road eventually gave way to the dirt path leading to Alan’s house. The tires sprayed mud and water, and the car skidded a little before regaining control. I let out a quick, nervous laugh, and Charlie shook his head, clenching his jaw.

“Relax,” I told him. “We’re almost there.”

The house appeared like a shadow among the trees. Lights in the windows, and inside, a flickering blue glow I immediately recognized: the TV. Alan always left it on, as if he needed that artificial company to fill the silence.

I parked in front of the porch and turned off the engine. For a moment, the only thing we heard was the rain hammering on the roof of the car.

We entered quietly, as if afraid to disturb something sacred. The air inside was warm, carrying a faint scent of damp wood and static electricity. The TV lit the living room in flashes of blue and white, shadows dancing across the walls.

And there they were.

Alan and Jeff.

Not just in any way. Not like tired friends after a long day. No. They were lying on the sofa, on their sides, Jeff tucked against Alan’s chest, and Alan wrapped around him in a firm, protective embrace. Deep asleep, so surrendered they didn’t even notice our presence.

I froze.

It was too intimate. Too much.

If we had found them naked, clothes scattered across the room, it would have been easier. Sex, plain and simple. That I understood. I had done it a thousand times. But this… this was something beyond that. Sleeping like this, embraced, surrendered, was much deeper.

I knew Alan. I knew him better than anyone. And Alan didn’t hold anyone like that. He didn’t sleep like that. He carried an invisible weight that never let him rest. I had seen it in his sleepless nights, in the way his eyes got lost in the void as if fighting demons only he could see. To see him now, deeply asleep, clinging to Jeff as if his life depended on that contact… it was a direct hit to the chest.

“They actually… look kind of sweet,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

Charlie turned to me, his brow furrowed tighter than ever. His eyes were fixed on the scene, like he couldn’t believe it.
“Sweet,” he repeated, incredulous.

I shrugged, forcing a smile that came out more nervous than I intended.
“What if we let them sleep? And we… you know, take advantage of the time.”

Charlie glared at me in disbelief.
“He’s my brother!”

I shrugged again, still wearing that natural cocky smile of mine.
“Fine, fine… but look at them. Don’t you feel calmer now?”

Charlie exhaled deeply, his eyes still locked on Jeff.
“Yeah… but this scene is very unexpected.”

Silence wrapped around us again. Only the murmur of the TV filled the room, casting flickering colors across Alan and Jeff’s serene faces.

I studied them closely. Jeff looked completely surrendered, abandoned, like a child who could finally rest. And Alan… Alan looked at peace. A peace I hadn’t seen on him in years.

“Alan would never… he would never force him into anything. They both look happy,” I said quietly. “Why interrupt them?”

Charlie shook his head, though his eyes never left his brother.
“It’s just… strange. Jeff doesn’t usually sleep like that. He doesn’t tolerate… physical contact.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, like he was watching something impossible.

Maybe he was right. Maybe this was bigger than we wanted to admit.

What we were seeing wasn’t just strange: it was impossible. I bit my lip.

“You said you wouldn’t stand in the way if Jeff wanted to…” I tried to tease him a little.

“Stop talking about sex and my brother,” he cut me off, annoyed.

I chuckled softly.
“Alright, no sex. Just… look at them. They’re sleeping. Innocent. Let’s let them rest.”

I walked over to the coffee table, found paper and a pen, and quickly scribbled a few lines: We got here safe. We didn’t want to wake you. Rest well. I placed the note right in front of the TV, where Alan would see it when he woke up.

“All set,” I said in my usual light tone. “Everyone’s happy.”

I turned back to Charlie and gently nudged him toward the door. He let himself be guided, though his eyes were still glued to the scene on the sofa, like he couldn’t tear himself away.

And the truth was… I wasn’t calm either.

I knew Alan. I knew he hadn’t slept truly in a long time, that nightmares and the weight of his blood haunted him. That each day he seemed more lost in his own abyss. And now, seeing him deeply asleep, surrendered to Jeff’s warmth, should have relieved me. It should have made me glad.

But it didn’t.

What I felt was vertigo. Because this wasn’t relief, nor simple rest. This was intimacy. Dangerous intimacy. As if they had crossed an invisible line from which there would be no return.

And then I understood Alan’s concern about me and my relationship with Charlie. The rules. The boundaries we weren’t supposed to cross.

I looked again, his arm wrapped so firmly around Jeff, as if in that gesture he was holding himself together. And I thought: at this rate, we’ll all break the rules.

Will we be able to face the consequences?

We left the house, back into the storm. And as the rain drenched us once more, a shiver ran down my spine.

Because I knew what we had just seen wasn’t an ending, but only the beginning.

Past 🐺

Alan

Maybe you were different, I thought that first time, without understanding why. It was a thought that slipped between my instincts, a spark of reason in the tangle of moon and blood. All I know is that I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, even though every fiber of my being screamed that I should run, that approaching a human is a sentence.

Since then I come back every day. Like a shadow in the underbrush. Like a hungry wolf that doesn’t know what it devours more: the sight of his brown eyes, warm as wet earth… or the absurd hope they awaken. I watch him touch the water with his feet. Splash. Talk to himself. Smile as if the forest welcomed him. And I, the monster hidden among the trees, can’t look away.

I’m getting wild. More than before. But not because of the moon this time. Because of him.

I don’t know his name. I don’t know where he came from or why his steps brought him here, to the lake that has seen so many wars. I only know that each day I take one step closer.

💕

The crack was minimal that afternoon when he heard it. A branch snapping under the weight of my impulse, a sound that could have been anything… and yet, his eyes opened, and his body reacted with the quickness of someone who’s learned to survive.

He lunged toward the noise.

We met in a clash of reflexes. He moved like someone who had survived. Like someone who had fought. We were trapped in an absurd tableau: his thin body over mine, a knife trembling at my throat, and my claws—refusing completely to come out, damn it.

One moment was enough.

Our eyes met.

The world… simply stopped.

He swallowed. And lowered the knife.

“Sorry... you scared me,” he said in a soft voice.

Scared me? That phrase echoed in my head with the violence of an old sentence. We, who guard the shadows, know well how fear is forged. Humans spread it with heavy steps and broken promises; they cut our markers, burned the pacts, violated sacred territories. Because of them we lost customs, because of them my howls learned to hold back. To us, a human is more than flesh: he is the memory of a war and the wound that hasn’t healed.

I didn’t understand why I didn’t push him away. I didn’t understand why the edge of my being had become paper before his smile. My claws refused to come out, as if simply seeing his eyes had driven the beast back. I understood nothing, and that enraged me as much as it terrified me.

He rose carefully, stepping softly on the grass. He wiped his palm on his pants as if it were a reflex.

“Will you hurt me?” he asked.

His voice was a tangle of tenderness and resolve. His fragility was not weakness; it was a different kind of bravery. It was, I thought with something like pain, the bravery of someone who has not yet been mutilated by the world.

“No.” I said, and the answer sounded in my mouth more like a promise than a certainty.

In my head something screamed: Why the hell did you say no? He was human. They betrayed ours. They razed our woods. They broke every truce, every oath. Because of them we began to lose our minds. Because of them... I am damned. I should have driven him away, told him to leave and never return. I should have filled his mind with stories to make him fear the place where I hid. By doing so, I would protect my pack, my customs, my destiny. I might also protect his ignorance, perhaps the only way to save him.

But then he smiled, and my logic dissolved like mist under the sun.

“My name is Jeff,” he whispered, with a voice that seemed to float in the golden light. “And you?”

The question disarmed me. My name took time to come out, heavy and strange, as if it had never belonged to me before.

“Alan,” I said at last.

His smile widened, sincere, luminous, and something in me broke and rebuilt at the same time.

From that day, Jeff began coming every afternoon. He brought a cloth, fruit, bread, sweets wrapped carefully, and sometimes a thermos with hot tea. Soon I understood that everything he brought wasn’t only for him: it was to share with me.

I started bringing things too. Apples I’d picked from the woods, nuts I’d carried from the day before. We would sit side by side, without words, as if we had agreed to a daily date that didn’t need to be named. He opened the cloth and set out the fruit, and I leaned over to cut a piece and offer it to him. Each gesture, each movement, was a small rite that drew us closer without either of us saying anything.

Jeff’s scent drove me mad: sweet strawberries, warm honey, the warm smell of his skin mixed with the damp forest. Every time I leaned toward him to take a piece of fruit, I felt my heart pound, and the blood in my veins mixed with something that was not just instinct. His presence was sweet and intoxicating, and it made me dangerous and vulnerable at once.

Jeff looked at me with those huge eyes, as if he didn’t fear me, as if he didn’t know what I was.

As if he saw me.

We didn’t talk much. I just watched him. He played with the water, laughed at his reflection, tossed flat stones that skipped toward the center of the lake.

I watched how the sun caressed his skin, how the wind moved his hair. I came closer little by little, without him noticing, learning the geography of his body, the curves and shadows the lake accentuated. Every gesture of his was a language I understood, though he didn’t know it.

“And which ones are your favorites?” he asked one day, without taking his eyes off mine, as if guessing the answer were a secret game.

“Strawberries… with honey,” I said, and he smiled immediately, a gesture that completely disarmed me.

“The same as me!” he exclaimed, and I noticed how his enthusiasm radiated warmth. It was absurd, almost childish, but impossible to ignore. I moved a little closer, measuring each step; the scent of his skin became more intense: sweet, fresh, intoxicating.

We talked about small things, apparently trivial, but every word loaded with meaning:

“My favorite color is blue,” he told me one day as he pointed to the surface of the lake. “It reminds me of how the water reflects the sky… like today.”

“Mine too,” I answered, surprised at how much we matched.

I had never wanted so desperately to touch someone, to feel the warmth of another’s skin and the scent of it mixed with honey and fruit.

And one day, unable to contain myself, I raised my hand. My fingers touched his cheek, warm under the golden light.

He froze. The laughter he had had died out, and his eyes widened, astonished. I cursed myself silently.

“Is it forbidden to touch?” I asked, afraid I had ruined it.

But then his smile came back, shyer… more beautiful, as he shook his head.

And my heart—this heart that no longer answered to the moon, nor to instinct, nor even to duty—sped up as if it were new.

He looked at me, and in his gaze I found the tenderness that could melt me. His fingers brushed mine accidentally, and my pulse quickened. Slowly, I slid my hand toward his. This time, we didn’t just brush fingers: we intertwined them, timidly, carefully, as if afraid to break the spell. I felt how his breathing held, how his fingers gripped mine softly, and a sweet warmth ran through my whole body. I felt vulnerable, exposed, and at the same time more alive than ever.

With each passing day we drew a little closer. Each gesture spoke of trust and an affection that grew slowly. Each of his laughs pierced me like unexpected warmth. Each look from him reminded me that not everything human destroys; some humans bring life, warmth, salvation.

Sometimes we talked more, sometimes we simply watched one another. He told me stories of the human world, of things I had forgotten or rejected: books he liked, songs he found beautiful, stars he dreamed of identifying. I told him fragments of the forest’s stories, without naming my curse, without revealing the beast that lived within me. But every word was tinged with care, every gesture with protection.

And so, day after day, we built a silent routine: our daily date, without words or promises, only closeness, scent, touch, laughter, and the complicity that needed no name. Every moment with him was a struggle between the beast that knows blood and the alpha who learned to love, between the duty to destroy and the desire to protect.

He didn’t know I was a beast destined for sacrifice. And maybe that’s what made everything purer, more delicate: his ignorance preserved the tenderness, and I learned to live between the darkness and the light he brought.

Chapter Text

Kenta
The murmur of the wind barely brushed against the office windows, yet inside, a heavy silence reigned—so dense it could almost be cut with a knife. The wall clock marked the seconds like dry gunshots, each tick-tock louder than the last.

I stood by the window, hands clasped behind my back, staring at the distant city lights without really seeing them. This was my usual place during these meetings: not in front of the desk like Winner, but in the shadows—close enough to hear every word, far enough that no one expected me to react. That was Tony’s domain. My role was different: silence, attention, obedience.

Winner stood before the desk. His shoulders were tense, his posture stiff. Bandages peeked from beneath his shirt, visible reminders of the clumsy failure of his last mission. His gaze was lowered, like a pup awaiting the blow.

Tony watched him from the other side of the desk with that dangerous calm I knew too well. When he spoke, his voice didn’t need to rise to inspire fear; his authority seeped into the air like venom, weakening anyone unfortunate enough to be under his judgment.

—“Babe was supposed to be the one in the accident,” Tony said, every word a knife sinking into Winner’s flesh. “How is it possible you fell into your own trap? I don’t understand.”

Winner’s throat worked dryly, swallowing hard. The faint shift of the bandage on his neck betrayed his fear.

—“Well, I don’t understand either…” he stammered. “I saw it. I swear I saw it…”

I stayed still, though inside, my senses sharpened. Normally, I didn’t care much for what Winner said—his excuses were usually as flimsy as he was—but his insistence made me raise an eyebrow ever so slightly.

—“Saw what?” Tony replied, his dangerous calm hardening.

—“There was… something on the road. It looked like a shadow… with claws, I don’t know. I’m not crazy, I swear! That’s why I lost control.”

Tony let out a short, humorless laugh.

—“And you think that makes sense?” His tone chilled the air even more.

Winner stepped back, almost tripping over the carpet. His breathing quickened.

—“And if… if Babe or the guy with him have powers…” he continued, lowering his voice until it was almost a whisper. “That would explain it…”

My brow furrowed. The word “powers” always opened a spectrum of possibilities I preferred not to consider lightly.

Tony narrowed his eyes, his tone shifting, calculating.

—“Who was with him? At least tell me you weren’t useless enough to miss that.”

Winner nodded quickly, desperate to regain footing.

—“His name’s Charlie. He’s his partner on shift.”

He lifted his chin slightly, as if that answer were his great triumph of the night. I, on the other hand, drew in a deep breath. The name hit me in a way I didn’t let show. Charlie. It couldn’t be. It had to be coincidence. Even if it was the same Charlie I thought I knew—it made no sense. Charlie had no powers. Charlie wasn’t supposed to be here.

—“Interesting…” Tony murmured, a glint in his eyes that always meant he was already moving pieces on his invisible board.

Winner, emboldened by the hint of approval, added:

—“One more thing. There was another alpha. I’d never been that close to him before that night. The one who leads the team… I think his name’s Alan.”

The silence thickened. Winner’s voice dropped, as though the memory still haunted him.

—“His scent… it was more intimidating than Babe’s. And it was clear he was holding back. It gave me chills. I had to focus on Babe just to stop myself from running. It was… strange.”

Tony nodded slowly, like a predator savoring the taste of blood in the air.

—“Yes, I know. I’ve suspected him too. But his profile is rather low… though with what you’ve said…” a crooked smile spread across his lips.

Then he turned his head toward me. His dark eyes found mine, and though I was used to that stare, I still felt the weight of it press down on me.

—“Kenta.”

I straightened slightly, not looking away.

—“Yes, sir.”

—“Find out more about this Charlie. Also, it’s time to send them a gift. Make it for Alan. You know which one.”

—“Yes, sir,” I repeated without hesitation.

—“Our infiltrator in X-Hunter must watch for any change in their behavior, no matter how small. Tell him we’ll be watching, ready for any opportunity.”

I inclined my head in obedience.

—“Understood.”

The silence returned, filling the office.

Tony kept moving his pieces… and I would simply carry out what was mine to do. It was my duty, my life—what he had given me, and what he expected of me.

And yet, inside me, something stirred uneasily. That name. Charlie.

It had to be coincidence.

Charlie wasn’t here. He couldn’t be here. He should be far away, running with Jeff, away from all this.

I clenched my jaw, forcing down any emotion.

But… what if it wasn’t?

Alan

The forest was slowly waking after the storm. Birds sang through the cracks in the curtains, bringing fresh air that contrasted with the heat burning inside my chest.

I don’t usually sleep well. That’s a fact. Every night greets me with nightmares that leave me drained, trapped in a cycle of memories and curses that won’t let go. But last night… last night had been different.

It all began with him.

Jeff came down the stairs with his hair still damp from the shower, dark strands sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed. He was wearing my clothes: a cotton shirt far too big for his frame and pants so loose at the waist I had to fight the impulse to tighten them with my own hands. I don’t know how he managed it, but Jeff—with all his shyness—could look both adorable and sensual at the same time. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my face neutral, as though none of it affected me. But it did.

Every step he took, every stray lock of hair that fell across his forehead, every time those damned brown eyes met mine—it all affected me.

He sat down beside me on the couch, so close that the brush of his knee against mine stole the air from my chest. A tiny, accidental gesture… but for me, it was a wildfire.

And then, when I handed him that teddy bear. Our eyes met, and the world disappeared. All that remained was him: his lips slightly parted, his long lashes, his timid expression that, without even trying, disarmed me completely.

I shouldn’t have looked at him like that. I shouldn’t have felt all this. But I did. And for an instant, I wanted to lean in and taste the sweetness of his lips. I wanted to know if they were as sweet as his scent.

I scolded myself silently, tried to look away, but every glance I stole from the corner of my eye found me smiling like an idiot. His cheeks, his hands, even the way he held a cup of tea… everything seemed beautiful. And me, a fool for thinking it.

I tried to focus on the TV, on the moving images across the screen. But I couldn’t. My attention was trapped by him.

By his warmth.
By his sweet, soft scent, wrapping around me with every breath.
By those brown eyes that, when they locked onto mine, made me forget how to breathe.

And then, the unthinkable happened. I fell asleep.

Me. The one who never rested. The one who always woke drenched in sweat and screams. That night, no. That night there were no nightmares. No memories burning me alive. There was calm. And within that calm, I dreamed of him. His smile. His eyes. The feeling that, for a moment, everything else vanished.

When I opened my eyes, sunlight pierced through the curtains, and the birds outside sang as if the entire forest celebrated something I couldn’t quite understand. And then I felt it: the warmth of another body pressed against mine.

I was holding him.

Jeff and I were lying on our sides on the couch, so close there was no space between us. I had my arms around him from behind, my chest against his back, my breath tangled in his hair that still carried that sweet scent. We were spooning.

My heart lurched.

How had we ended up like this?

I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to move immediately, to put distance between us. But another part… another part begged to stay like that a little longer. Maybe it was selfishness, maybe it was need. Maybe both. I breathed him in—sweet, warm—and felt calm wash over me again.

But Jeff started to stir.

At first, just a slight shift. Then he went very still—too still. I knew him well enough to realize he had noticed. And sure enough, a second later, he bolted upright so suddenly he tumbled to the floor with a dull thud.

—“Are you okay?” I asked quickly, getting up at once.

The sight that met me stole my breath.

Jeff, wide-eyed, those beautiful brown eyes shining with surprise, like a boy caught in mischief. His cheeks flushed red, his lips damp, parted as though he couldn’t find the words. It was the most tender, devastating sight I’d ever seen.

—“We… we fell asleep,” I managed to say, trying to lighten the tension.

He lowered his gaze, biting his bottom lip nervously—and that gesture did nothing to calm my racing heart. I forced myself to look away, and that’s when I noticed the note on the table.

—“The guys…” I began, but Jeff cut me off with a strangled cry.

—“Ahhhhh, they saw us!” he exclaimed, covering his face with his hands, his cheeks and neck burning even redder.

He was so adorable I couldn’t help but smile.

—“You’re laughing?” he asked, indignant.

I shook my head softly, trying to keep my smile from making him more nervous.

—“We weren’t doing anything wrong. I’ll make you a nice breakfast and take you home. I’ll explain it to Charlie myself.”

I don’t know why I said it. Maybe because I wanted to reassure him. Maybe because I wanted excuses not to let him go yet. But Jeff’s eyes widened even more, as if he’d heard something forbidden, and he shot to his feet.

—“That’s not necessary,” he replied, trying for firmness though I could hear the tremor in his voice. “I can go alone. In fact… I’m leaving now.”

He headed quickly for the door.

—“Jeff, wait,” I called, my heart in my throat.

He turned suddenly. Our eyes locked, and the air in the room grew heavy. His scent intensified, sweeter.

—“It’s not necessary,” he repeated in a whisper. “Nothing happened. There’s nothing to explain. If you go, it’ll only make it seem bigger than it was. Thank you for everything.”

He gave a small, shy bow and left almost running, leaving me alone with the open door and the emptiness of his absence drifting in with the breeze.

I almost stopped him. Almost told him that in my clothes he looked adorable. Almost confessed that sleeping by his side had been the most peaceful, sweetest thing I’d felt in years.

But I didn’t.

Because with Jeff, I knew—I had to push only just enough, never too much. If I dared more, he would only pull further away. And though I told myself that was what I wanted, deep down, I knew it was a lie.

I ran a frustrated hand through my hair, shut the door, and leaned my forehead against it.

No matter how much I tried to deny it. Since the moment I saw him, something had started to change inside me. But since yesterday—since our not-date—that change threatened to become irreversible.

And though I didn’t want to admit it, though I told myself Jeff was a danger and I was a danger to him… every time I thought of his smile, his scent, his eyes… something inside me surrendered.

The curse could haunt me all my life. The nightmares could devour me every night.

But Jeff… Jeff was different.
Jeff was the crack in my armor.
Jeff was the possibility that, for one fleeting instant, even a monster like me could feel something close to peace.

And that—precisely that—was the most terrifying thing of all.

Chapter Text

Jeff

—“We… we fell asleep,” Alan finally murmured, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Sleep. Yes, that’s what it had been. Just sleep. But the way we had tangled together, the warmth of his chest, the weight of his arm across my waist, the way I had felt his breath mingling with mine… that wasn’t something that could be explained away so lightly.

I bit my lip and lowered my gaze, unable to hold his. My cheeks burned, and my throat felt unbearably dry.

Before I could answer, I saw Alan’s eyes flick toward the coffee table in front of the sofa. There, folded neatly, lay a sheet of paper.

I froze.

Charlie. Babe.

Had they seen us?

Shame hit me hard, like a punch to the stomach. Heat rose to my cheeks in a way that was almost unbearable. Charlie knew I never slept with anyone. Ever. Not even a shared nap, not even an innocent brush of contact. And now… now he had seen me asleep in Alan’s arms.

And Babe… oh, Babe too.

What would they think? What would they say?

I don’t even remember how I said goodbye. I only remember leaving, walking quickly, still feeling the invisible weight of Alan’s gaze burning into my back, the breeze through the open door mixing with the hollow ache his absence left in me.

The walk back to the inn was unbearable.
Every step echoed too loudly, every branch cracking under my boots seemed to accuse me. The dampness of the forest still clung to my bones, even though I was wearing dry clothes. Not mine, of course.

I froze when I remembered.

The oversized shirt, sleeves hanging too long. The slightly loose pants. The unmistakable scent clinging to the fabric. Alan.

My heart slammed violently against my ribs. How had I forgotten I was still wearing his clothes? I was walking straight back to Charlie carrying the evidence written across my body.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Nothing happened. Nothing happened. But the memory of falling asleep in his arms was too vivid, too warm to be erased by simple words.

When I reached the inn, I pushed the door open quietly. The scent of damp wood greeted me, along with the warm air inside. I walked carefully down the hall, clutching the teddy bear against my chest… until I saw him as I stepped into the room we shared.

Charlie was sitting on the edge of his bed.

My soul dropped to my feet.

In a panic, I hid the teddy bear behind my back.

“You finally made it,” Charlie said, his voice calm but firm, that blend of older brother and guardian that always disarmed me.

His gaze dropped to what I was wearing. He took his time, scanning me from head to toe. My cheeks ignited instantly.

On the nightstand rested a breakfast tray still covered: bread, fruit, and probably something warm under a metal lid. Steam seeped from the edges.

“I saved you something to eat,” he added, giving the tray a light tap.

I swallowed hard.

“Th-thank you,” I mumbled, not daring to move from the doorway. I felt as if one more step forward would expose what I was hiding behind my back.

Charlie tilted his head slightly, studying me in silence. There was no reproach in his gaze, but no innocence either. As if he knew something was wrong and was simply waiting for me to speak.

“It was very kind of him to lend you his clothes,” he remarked casually, like someone tossing a stone into a pond just to see how far the ripples would spread.

My breath caught.

“Y-yes… he’s very kind,” I finally answered, lowering my eyes and forcing a weak smile.

A silence stretched between us. I could hear the pounding of my heart in my ears, so loud it made me dizzy.

“Jeff…” he began, using that soft tone he always did when he wanted to pull the truth out of me.

But I couldn’t let him continue. Not now.

“Nothing happened,” I blurted out, too quickly, too loudly.

Charlie studied me for another second, one eyebrow arching slightly, as if doubting my words.

“We just… we just fell asleep because we were tired,” I added hastily. “It was raining, we got soaked, and… and nothing else. Nothing else, Charlie.”

“But, Jeff…” he tried again, gently.

“There isn’t,” I cut him off firmly, louder this time. “There isn’t anything else.”

He sighed, lowering his gaze. His expression wasn’t angry, but heavy, almost resigned.

“All right,” he said slowly. “We won’t talk about it again.”

Guilt washed over me instantly, because his voice sounded more sad than accepting. But I couldn’t open the door to questions I couldn’t answer myself.

Charlie rose from the bed, took his jacket, and draped it over his shoulders. Before leaving, he paused in the doorway, without looking directly at me.

“It’s good to make new friends,” he added in a serene voice. “I’ll go patrol around Tony’s house. Maybe this time I’ll get a little farther.”

I nodded weakly, wishing he would leave before noticing what I was hiding.

He turned slightly, his silhouette outlined by the light from the hall.

“And Jeff…” he said, lowering his voice as if confessing a secret. “Even if I’d have to get used to seeing you like that with someone else… since you’ll always be my little brother… if you’re happy… then it wouldn’t matter if there was something more.”

The ground vanished beneath my feet.

Charlie didn’t wait for an answer. He left, closing the door behind him, leaving the room heavy with his words.

I collapsed onto the bed, exhausted, the teddy bear still hidden in my arms like both a shameful and precious secret.

Charlie didn’t understand.

Alan wasn’t like the others. With him, there was a problem. I had known it since the first moment I saw him.

And yet I…

I closed my eyes, hugging the teddy bear to my chest, wishing the confusion would dissolve, that the questions would disappear. But instead of calm, all I found was the burning memory of Alan’s smile, the warmth of his arms, and the certainty that I was playing with a fire I couldn’t control.

😟

The next day I went back to the workshop.

And even though everything seemed the same… it wasn’t.

I still hid from Charlie and Babe whenever they showed up at the shop. Alan still brought me coffee every morning, only now he stayed with me while I drank it, sitting nearby, with a new serenity on his face. At first it was just shared silence, then conversations about engines, parts, techniques he mastered with a patience and knowledge that surprised me every day. And then… it was laughter, light words that revealed a different Alan, a warmer one.

At lunchtime, he didn’t just leave me a plate of food. Always, as if it were natural, he added a small dessert. A piece of fruit, a slice of cake, sometimes a sweet he knew I liked. Every time he did it, I couldn’t help but look at him and find in his seriousness a hidden spark, as if he enjoyed those simple gestures more than he would admit.

The stressed Alan, with the hard gaze and burdened shoulders, seemed to be fading bit by bit. And Sonic had noticed before anyone.

I remember his voice that day, half incredulous, half amused, when he said:
—“Though I never thought I’d say this… maybe it’s not such a bad idea for Alan to spend more time with Babe.”

I just stared at him, not understanding, and he laughed as if mocking himself.

And Sonic… he was changing with me too. He wasn’t as intrusive anymore, didn’t bother me as much. Sometimes he brought me food without saying anything. Sometimes he talked and talked as if he needed to vent to someone, and afterward, when he saw my confused expression, he would smile and say:
—“Sometimes we just need someone to listen. No advice, no criticism. Just listen.”

That’s when I realized: maybe I was making a friend.

I surprised myself relaxing around him, even accepting his invitation one scorching day, when he took me to eat ice cream in the garden. It was comfortable, warm, as if suddenly my world wasn’t so heavy. He entertained me, made me forget for a while how much I thought about Alan and that smile of his, more frequent every day.

Though sometimes, even there, I felt a tingle on the back of my neck, and I knew. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew. It was Alan. His eyes fixed on me from some corner, his gaze burning my skin. And every time I turned to check, he looked away as if nothing had happened. But my cheeks were already burning, betraying me.

The teddy bear he had given me stayed hidden beneath my blankets, guarded almost ridiculously carefully so Charlie wouldn’t find it. No one could see it. No one could know. But every night it slept at my side, silent and warm, like the most precious secret I had.

And so a week passed.

That day began like any other. Alan arrived with my coffee, stayed with me, and taught me new techniques. His closeness was so intense I could feel the warmth of his body without him touching me, his breath brushing my ear as his deep voice guided me step by step. His scent—grass, pine, sweet orange—wrapped around me like an invisible trap. I caught myself tensing my muscles, making a huge effort to appear indifferent.

“Alan, the mail arrived. And some packages too,” North called from the door.

Alan leaned back a little, just enough to smile at me before replying:
“I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

I nodded, feeling the fire flare in my cheeks, and tried to go back to work. North looked at me for a few seconds, as if noticing more than I wanted him to, then walked away smiling with a calm that unsettled me.

That’s when the bad feeling began to grow inside me.

Alan didn’t come out of his office the entire day. The door, which was usually left ajar, was completely closed. At midday, he asked for lunch to be brought in, claiming he had too much paperwork. Every time someone tried to enter, he answered with a curt, “Don’t bother me.”

It was as if… as if he had become the old Alan again.
The Alan on the verge of collapse, locked inside himself.

When evening came and everyone started to leave, Sonic was the last to try. He knocked on the door several times, his voice filled with worry and affection.
“Alan, let me in. You’ve worked enough for today.”

“I’m busy,” was the only reply. His voice sounded firm, too firm. “If you really want to help, go check the order at the town warehouse.”

“Of course I want to help!” Sonic retorted, with a frustrated sigh.

In the end, he gave up. He turned to me, pulling the keys from his pocket, and placed them in my hand.
“Please lock the back door when you leave. Alan has his own key, no problem. Just don’t stay too late.”

I nodded, but the knot in my stomach only tightened.

I went to change in the locker room, shutting my locker and adjusting my jacket. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Something had happened. Something was wrong. His scent… it wasn’t the same anymore. It wasn’t the gentle mix that wrapped me every morning. It was stronger, bitterer, as if something inside him was breaking.

Could I really leave without seeing him first?

My feet answered before my head. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of his office door, glancing down the empty hallway. No one else was in the workshop. Just him and me.

If I opened that door, he could get angry. He could throw me out. But something inside pushed me forward, a voice whispering I couldn’t leave him alone. Not now.

With trembling hands, I searched the keys Sonic had given me. I prayed one would work. When the lock clicked and the door opened easily, I nearly sighed with relief.

I pushed the door open carefully. The scent hit me full force. Grass, pine, oranges… but no longer sweet. Now they were bitter. So bitter a shiver ran down my spine.

“Alan…” I whispered, barely audible, stepping inside cautiously.

I froze.

He was on the other side of the office. His dilated eyes glowed with a strange light. His fangs, longer than usual, showed beneath his pressed lips. And his hands… his hands had claws, tearing furiously into the wall as if trying to hold something back inside himself.

He looked like he was transforming.
He looked like he was losing himself to the beast.

The air grew heavy, almost unbreathable. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Every instinct screamed at me to run. But my feet didn’t move. Something stronger held me there, watching him, feeling both irrational fear and a brutal tenderness that made me want to go closer.

He lifted his head at the sound of my voice. Our eyes met.

And in that instant… I knew there was no turning back.

Chapter Text

Jeff

A second later, I found myself shoved and cornered against the door, his bright eyes burning into me like two glowing embers. The sharp impact of my back hitting the wood forced a gasp from me, and the sound echoed in the closed office, as if the entire place were holding its breath.

Alan was too close. His breathing was rough, heavy, as if he had just run for miles, and each exhale crashed against my skin with unbearable heat. My hands clung to the door, trembling, but I didn’t dare push him away. I couldn’t.

I wet my lips with my tongue, my heart pounding with such violence it hurt against my ribs. The sensation was suffocating. Alan tilted his head, burying his nose in the curve of my neck, just below my jaw, inhaling sharply.

I closed my eyes for a moment. My entire body tensed, but I did nothing to push him off. The warmth of his breath burned. His scent—pine, damp grass, and oranges—was so thick it wrapped me completely, as though it could seep into my very bones.

“Alan…” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper, trying not to sound afraid.

He didn’t pull away. On the contrary, he pressed deeper against the skin of my neck. My knees buckled when I felt the damp touch of his tongue right against the spot where my scent gland was. A breathless moan escaped my throat before I could stop it, a sound that embarrassed me as much as it sent shivers down my spine.

What the hell was wrong with me? No, no… what was wrong with Alan?

His hands—or rather, his claws—were braced on either side of my head, digging into the wood of the door with such force I heard it groan under the pressure. If I turned my head just a little, I could see them: long, sharp, dangerous. And yet, I wasn’t afraid. Or rather, I was, but that fear was tangled with something else. Something worse.

I swallowed hard. Forced my body to loosen. Tried to appear calm, the omega instinct in me screaming that I needed to look submissive, safe, nonthreatening. And unbelievably, it seemed to work: the predatory glint in his eyes began to fade, retreating just a little. But not disappearing completely. What remained there was different—more primal, more intimate.

He was looking at me in a way no one ever had before. A dangerous way, yes, but also… fascinating.

“Alan…” I said again, this time a little firmer, though my voice still trembled with nerves. “I want to help you. Tell me what to do.”

Alan growled against my skin, a low, vibrating sound, heavy with inner conflict.

“Go…” he muttered, voice ragged, as if the words cost him a titanic effort.

He didn’t move off me, but the command was clear. His words cut through me like a blow, yet I didn’t obey. I saw his hands clench so hard the wood cracked, and then, with a dull sound, his own palms bled.

“Go!” he roared, stepping back just enough to show me his broken face.

He was wrecked. A war raged across his features: the alpha, the beast, blazing in his wide, dark eyes, against the man—the Alan I knew—desperately trying to contain it.

“Go…” he repeated, louder this time, both a plea and a threat. “If you don’t… I’ll become a beast and tear you apart.”

The most logical, the most sensible thing was to run. I knew it. Every part of me screamed that I should escape before it was too late. And yet, I didn’t move. My feet were rooted to the floor, my hands gripping the door for dear life, and my heart… my heart was a traitor, beating as though it wanted to leap out of my chest and straight into him.

He was fighting. And he was bleeding. And he was tearing himself apart just to hold back.

I couldn’t explain why I did what I did. If anyone asked me one day, I’d have no answer. I only knew Alan was battling something that consumed him, hurting himself to restrain it. He was losing. He was alone. And I… I couldn’t leave him like that.

So I thought the unthinkable.

What if… I help him stop thinking?

My feet moved on their own. One step separated us, and I crossed it before I realized. My trembling hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing holding me up. I felt the heat of his body vibrating through my fingers, the taut muscles straining under the fabric.

Alan froze. His breathing cut off. His pupils dilated even more, as if what he saw shocked him beyond belief.

And then I did it.

I rose on tiptoe, closed my eyes, and pressed my lips to his.

I didn’t know how to kiss. I never had. I’d only seen it in movies, read it in books. But nothing—nothing—came close to this. Pressing my lips to his was like stopping time, like falling into a void and, at the same time, filling every corner of myself with something I hadn’t known I was missing.

A second of absolute silence. A second where I feared I had made the biggest mistake of my life.

I stayed still, trembling, not daring to move.

I opened my eyes just a little, enough to see him. Alan’s eyes were closed. And when he finally opened them, he did so slowly, as if waking from a dream.

The next moment was a whirlwind.

Suddenly I was against the door again.

And his mouth…

His mouth caught mine with an intensity that stole my breath. It wasn’t clumsy or hesitant like mine had been. It was desperate, devouring, but also brimming with a fierce tenderness.

His hands clutched my waist, pulling me against him with such force it ripped a gasp from me. His mouth consumed mine, and when his tongue pressed gently against my lips, I gave in, I let him in.

The world turned to chaos. A delicious chaos.

His tongue sought mine, exploring, claiming, and I responded without thinking, forgetting my hatred for touch, forgetting everything. It was as if my whole life had been silent and suddenly someone cranked the volume all the way up.

Alan kissed me as if his very existence depended on it. Maybe it did. As for me, I felt like I was burning alive from the inside out. The wet slide of his tongue against mine, the clash of our teeth in our urgency, the unbearable heat of his body pressing into me.

My hands clung to his neck, trembling, not knowing where else to hold on. Everything was too much: the heat of his body, his scent, the pressure of his lips, the way he crushed me against him.

It was like dying of thirst and finally drinking water. Like waking from a gray dream and coming back to life.

I kissed him back, without restraint, without reason. Because for the first time in so long, I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to feel.

Feel him.

Time blurred. It could have been seconds or minutes; I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I was there, trapped between the door and him, wrapped in his heat, breathing his scent to the point of intoxication. It filled my lungs, raced through my veins, made my body react in ways I didn’t fully understand, but couldn’t stop.

His body surrounded me. His firm hands on my waist held me in place, as if he were afraid I might slip away between his fingers. My chest collided with his every time I tried to breathe, but all it did was make me lose myself further in the frantic rhythm of his heart against mine.

I found myself responding without thinking. My tongue moved against his, hesitant at first, but gradually firmer, bolder. Alan let out a low sound—a growl that vibrated in his throat and sent shivers down every fiber of my body.

My instinct screamed at me to run, but it was as if every kiss of his erased the voice of fear. As if the old rules no longer applied. There were no visions, no pain, nothing but him and me and the sense that I was finally in the right place.

Alan pulled back just enough for our lips to hover a breath apart. His eyes looked into mine with something indecipherable: tenderness, desire, vulnerability. I looked back, chest heaving, lips swollen, damp, trembling.

“Jeff…” His voice sounded like a plea.

I didn’t know what to say. There were so many words trapped in my throat, and none of them seemed enough. So instead of speaking, I sought his mouth again.

Alan yielded instantly. It was as if we had both accepted there was no turning back. His kiss enveloped me completely—hot, wet, desperate. His fingers slid up my back, slowly climbing to my nape, tangling in my hair with a softness that made me moan quietly against his lips.

That sound seemed to drive him wild. He lifted me slightly, pulling me closer, as if he wanted to carve my body into his. The door creaked behind me under the pressure, but nothing else existed.

My head was chaos. “You can’t. You shouldn’t. Run.” And at the same time: “Stay. Stay. Stay.”

What I felt made no sense, but it didn’t need to. It was too real, too overwhelming. His tongue exploring my mouth, the heat of his hands holding me, the brush of his nose against mine when we ran out of air and kissed again and again, as if every second apart was unbearable.

I caught myself thinking that if this was a mistake, then I wanted to make it again and again until the end of my days.

The closeness was unbearable—and at the same time, addictive. Every nerve in my body seemed to scream in unison: it’s him, it’s him, it’s always been him.

We separated just enough to breathe, our foreheads touching, our lips still brushing.

“You’re…” he murmured, voice breaking, as if he couldn’t find the words.

Neither could I. All I could do was look at him, feeling as though my heart was about to burst out of my chest.

He kissed me again, slower this time. Not less intense, just different. Deeper. As if he was no longer fighting the beast or himself. And that kiss… that kiss shattered me and rebuilt me at once.

I felt hot tears in my eyes, though I didn’t know why. Maybe because I’d never allowed myself something like this. Because I’d always lived behind a wall, fearing touch, and now… now I was falling into him helplessly.

Alan noticed. I felt it in the way he held me tighter, in how he slowed his pace, in the way his hand at my nape stroked gently, as if promising I was safe.

And I was. I knew it with the most absurd and terrifying certainty: I was safe with him.

“Alan…” I whispered, barely audible, against his mouth.

He didn’t answer with words. He kissed me again. And again. And again. Until I no longer knew where I ended and he began.

When the kiss finally broke, I was panting, my forehead pressed to his, my lips swollen, my cheeks burning. The air between us felt too heavy, as if breathing were impossible without kissing again.

A dull, low thud on the wood brought me back to reality.

The door trembled against my back.

Alan tensed immediately, his lips still on mine, his body hardening as if he were ready to devour or destroy whatever had interrupted us.

“Alan?” Prom’s voice came muffled from the other side, nervous, hesitant.

I froze. The heart that had been pounding from the kiss now slammed with panic.

Alan growled low, his chest vibrating against mine, but he didn’t pull away. On the contrary, he held me tighter, as if doing so could keep the world out of that office.

I was trapped between him and the door, pulse racing, lips still wet. If Prom opened…

The handle turned.

Air stopped in my lungs.

“Wait!” Alan barked, a sharp edge in his voice, just as the door began to give.

With a swift movement he lowered me, but didn’t let me fall: his hands stayed at my waist, holding me firmly, pressing me to his body. The heat of his grip burned through my clothes.

The door opened.

Prom froze in the doorway.

I saw him clearly—his eyes wide as plates, his mouth slightly open, a mix of shock and terror on his face.

I… I must have looked like a mess. My cheeks burning like embers, my lips swollen, my chest heaving violently, and Alan there, pressed against me, as if claiming me before anyone who dared to look.

“I… I’m sorry,” Prom stammered, dropping his gaze to a corner of the floor as though the dust there had suddenly become fascinating.

Alan, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate. With a slow, almost deliberate movement, he lowered his hand from my waist, but I felt it—the reluctance in the gesture, the tension in his fingers, the internal struggle not to keep holding me.

The emptiness when he let go was brutal.

“What the hell are you doing barging into my office without permission?” Alan’s voice was a controlled growl, low and sharp. He didn’t need to raise it; every word was a clean strike in the air.

Prom swallowed hard, raising his hands slightly in apology, not daring to lift his gaze.

“I… I thought… I heard noises and…” Prom tripped over his own words, breathing fast, his eyes darting anywhere in the office but at us. His hands trembled as he tried to explain. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“And that gives you the right to barge in?” Alan’s voice turned harder, almost cutting.

I barely breathed. The heat in my face was unbearable. If anyone looked at me a second longer, I’d melt from sheer embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Alan, really,” Prom insisted, shrinking under the weight of his boss’s gaze. “It won’t happen again.” Prom stepped back, discomfort written in every move. Before closing the door, his eyes flicked to me for just a second—but enough to make me feel as though a secret I shouldn’t have had was now exposed.

The click of the door brought silence back.

The silence was unbearable.

I still wished I could disappear. Alan, next to me, was breathing as hard as I was. The air was heavy, too heavy.

I dared to glance up at Alan, and that’s when I noticed: there was nothing left of the beast in his eyes. No claws, no fangs, no fury. Just Alan. Alan with his ragged breathing, with his swollen lips, with his hair falling messily over his forehead.

The same Alan who’d smiled while handing me coffee. Who’d given me a little stuffed bear.

My throat tightened. I looked away immediately, aware that if I didn’t, I’d relive every second of the kiss, every stroke of his tongue, every moment my body forgot its fear of touch.

My hands trembled at my sides. I hated myself for not being able to control the blush, the tremor, the contradiction that made me want to run and, at the same time, stay pressed to him forever.

A shiver ran through me from head to toe. What had I just done? What had we done?

A heavy silence fell between us. I could hear our hearts beating, our lungs trying to catch up.

Alan was the first to break it, with a whisper almost inaudible.

“I’ll make sure he says nothing.”

I barely moved my lips to nod, a thin voice escaping me.

“Okay.”

“I’ll take you home. It’s late.”

I nodded again, clumsy.

“Okay…” I repeated, barely a murmur.

But nothing was okay. Not with my heart hammering in my chest, not with my lips still trembling from what had just happened, not with the contradiction burning inside me. I’d crossed a line I didn’t know if I could come back from. And worst of all, deep down, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

💕

The car moved slowly, gliding down the dark road. The engine purred low, and the world outside seemed to sink into shadows, broken only by the glow of streetlights. Inside, though, the silence was so dense I could hear every beat of my heart, every breath fighting to be discreet.

I sat with my hands clasped tightly on my knees, fingers interlocked as if that could stop them from trembling. It was impossible to look to my left. I couldn’t. Alan was there, driving with his brow slightly furrowed, knuckles white on the steering wheel. From time to time, the light of a streetlamp lit up his profile, his lips still reddened, and I turned my gaze away before it was too late.

The memory of his mouth on mine was still fresh, pulsing on my lips like an invisible mark that burned more with every passing second. The weight of his body, the pressure of his hands, the heat holding me against the door… I’d felt it all so intensely that now it was impossible to separate from it.

And yet, I couldn’t forget the other side. His claws embedded in the wood, the muffled roar in his throat, the fury that almost consumed him. How could my heart beat so hard for someone who had just shown me his worst side, who had shown me how close he was to losing himself to a beast?

The sensible thing would be to fear him. I knew that. And still, every time I breathed in, what I felt wasn’t fear, but an uncontrollable urge to move closer.

The car stopped gently in front of the inn.

Alan broke the silence with a low voice, almost a murmur blending with the hum of the engine:
“Are you staying here?”

I shifted in my seat, lowering my gaze to my clenched hands. My throat closed for a second before I could answer.
“Yes…” I said at last, in a thin voice. “It’s only temporary anyway.”

Temporary. The word hung in the air, cruel, heavy. My own chest tightened at hearing it. Everything was temporary. My stay at the inn. My time in this town. Even this… whatever it was that had just happened between us.

I bit my lip, trying to swallow the ache the thought brought. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. And yet, it did.

Alan seemed like he wanted to say something, because his breathing hitched slightly before he spoke.
“Jeff… I…”

I hurried to cut him off.
“This isn’t a good place.” My tone was sharper than I meant. I raised a hand as if I could stop his words midair. “If Charlie shows up and sees me here with you, he might… he might think badly.”

I said it and felt my cheeks burn. Think badly? Wasn’t it already too late for that? We’d kissed. God, we’d kissed like nothing else mattered.

Alan pressed his lips together, as if holding something back, but only nodded slightly.
“Tomorrow…” I began, trying to muster some courage to hold myself up. “Tomorrow I can come to the shop earlier, but…”

I stopped. The “but” hung between us.

“But?” Alan repeated, leaning slightly toward me, that intensity in his eyes burning me more than any flame.

I drew a deep breath. Swallowed hard, and with effort, lifted my face. Our eyes met, and my heart went wild immediately.

“Will you be okay?” I asked at last, voice breaking, almost a whisper.

Alan looked at me, surprised. His eyebrows rose, and for a moment it seemed he didn’t understand the question.
“You saw me about to turn into a beast, and you’re asking if I’ll be okay?” his tone was soft, almost with a spark of disbelief.

My cheeks flushed instantly, as though I’d been caught doing something shameful. I squeezed my hands on my knees, looking away.
“You looked… you looked like you were hurting.” The words escaped before I could stop them.

He held my gaze a moment longer, then lowered his voice.
“I’ll be fine.” His answer was firm, calm, almost comforting. “What happened… I’ll explain tomorrow. I’m calm now. Nothing will happen.”

I stayed quiet, doubting, listening to the pounding of my own heart. The car’s cabin felt suffocating.

“Jeff…” he insisted after a few seconds, as if he didn’t want to let me go like this.

I cut him off immediately, almost stumbling over my words:
“I won’t tell anyone.” I heard myself speak with urgency, as if needing him to know. “You don’t have to worry. You’ve kept a secret for me… and now I’ll keep yours.”

Alan stayed still, watching me in silence, as if trying to read me. He said nothing. And I couldn’t add anything more.

“We’ll talk tomorrow.” I ended the conversation awkwardly, lowering my gaze.

I opened the car door before my voice could tremble again. The cool night air wrapped around me, and I almost ran to the inn’s entrance.

The room was dim, empty. Charlie hadn’t returned yet, and I thanked every star in the sky for that reprieve. I closed the door behind me, leaning my back against it, exhaling hard as though I’d been holding my breath the whole way.

I stumbled toward the bed and let myself fall back. The sheets crinkled under my weight, and my hands immediately searched for the little stuffed bear hidden under the blanket. I hugged it to my chest desperately, burying my face in its childish softness.

“What the hell just happened?” I murmured, voice trembling, absentmindedly brushing my swollen lips.

I closed my eyes, recalling every second of the kiss. The way he held me, the heat of his body pressing me gently against the door, the intensity of his mouth that was both hunger and tenderness. I shuddered just remembering.

“We… we kissed…” I murmured, incredulous, the words trembling on my lips.

I squeezed the bear tighter.
“And Alan is… what is Alan?” I asked the empty air, as if the bear could answer me.

My mind returned to that image of him in the office: the claws, the dilated eyes, the muffled roar. But I also remembered how, in the middle of it all, he tried to push me away to protect me. How he hurt himself before putting me in danger. How, even at his worst, he looked at me as though I were the only thing capable of stopping him.

I rolled onto my side, curling around the bear.
“He looked like he was suffering…” I murmured, feeling a lump in my throat.

Everything was a contradiction. I was supposed to be afraid. I was supposed to run from him. I’d seen the beast. I’d felt his danger, seen how close he came to losing himself to it. And yet, I had kissed him.

“I’m insane…” I laughed humorlessly, a thin, broken sound. “Since I came to this town, I’ve lost my mind.”

I closed my eyes, trying to find some calm, but my pulse kept pounding in my temples. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About his gaze. About his scent. About the taste of his mouth.

I covered my face with a hand, smothered by my own thoughts.
“What’s wrong with me?” I whispered, almost a whimper.

The worst part was, deep down, I knew: if it happened again, if I felt his mouth on mine once more, I wouldn’t be able to pull away.

And that was the last truth I thought before sleep overtook me: that this contradiction would be my ruin.

Chapter Text

Alan

Past

The forest has its own rhythm, and I’ve known it since I was a child.
I know when the fruits ripen, when the rivers overflow, when the flowers bloom. Every leaf, every root, every breeze carries a secret my kind learned to hear in order to survive.
But that afternoon I wasn’t walking like a wolf on guard, but like a clumsy alpha who only wanted to steal a smile from someone.

I wanted to find something for Jeff. Something that would be only ours.
There was a fruit just beginning to ripen at the edge of the clearing: the mirval, we called it. A small, dark berry of a deep blue tone, so bright it seemed to hold the light of moonless nights. The mirval was sweet, but with a slight burn at the end, like a soft fire on the tongue. No one in the human world knew it. No one except our kind had ever tasted it.
I thought Jeff would like it. I thought that if I could show it to him, if I could offer him a piece of my world, it would be almost like inviting him into my life.

I searched along the edge of the clearing, sniffing the air carefully. Every time I lifted a branch or pushed aside a bush, I imagined his expression: those brown eyes widening in amazement, that laugh of his that always seemed to melt the walls inside me. And my heart beat hard, because every day I waited for him, every afternoon he came, he made me forget for a few moments that I was condemned.
That was the danger. That was the sweetest poison: Jeff made me want to live, when my destiny was to die.

I found the first mirval bush between two oaks. The berries were still green. I kept walking, frustrated, until I saw it: a more hidden cluster, with dark, shiny, ripe fruit. I reached out to pick them… and then I felt it.

The smell hit me like hot iron.
It wasn’t the mirval. It was something else.
A faint, invisible aroma slipped into my lungs like poison: the Ithrial.

My body reacted instantly. My pulse skyrocketed, my claws slid out before I could stop them, raking the damp earth. The edge of my fangs burned as they emerged.
“No…” I gasped, staggering, clutching at the nearest trunk.

The Ithrial doesn’t kill, but it wakes what must remain asleep. In us, the cursed alphas, it suddenly opens the door to the abyss: the inner wolf, the rage, the hunger. And I had no defenses against it. I had always been the one least able to control the transformation, the most fragile before the beast’s call.
I felt stupid. Useless. Before, I would have recognized that plant meters away. Before, I would have known to run. But now… now I was too distracted with the idea of pleasing Jeff.

The instinct roared inside me, demanding I tear, destroy, possess.
I bent over the earth, growling like a wounded animal. The forest spun around me, the colors warping, my heart hammering like a war drum.

And then I felt it.
His scent.

Jeff.
Warm honey. Sweet strawberries. The perfume of his skin mixed with the damp forest.

“No…” I whimpered between my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut. “No, not now.”

Fear froze my blood. I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t let him see me like this. If he did, I would lose him. I would scare him away forever. And yet my body refused to flee. My feet were rooted to the earth.
The scent grew stronger, more unbearable, filling my throat, driving me insane. The wolf inside me screamed that it wanted him, wanted everything. Closer. Much closer.

I tried to resist. I threw myself against the trees, tearing the bark with my claws, ripping out splinters that buried themselves in my hands. The trunks creaked under the fury I tried to contain. Every roar of mine was torment.
But it was useless. His scent enveloped me. And what I feared most happened.

“Alan…” his voice cut through me like a soft knife. “What’s wrong?”

No!
“Go. Get away. I’ll hurt you.” That’s what I wanted to shout. But the words died in my throat.

Before I could think, before I could restrain myself, the instincts took over.
I lunged at him.

His body fell onto the damp grass, and I ended up on top, panting, trembling, fighting myself. The heat of his skin surrounded me, and my mouth, disobeying me, slid to his neck.
The perfume of his pheromones exploded, even sweeter, even more intense. The world shrank to that: his scent, his skin, the unbearable desire.
I wanted.
I knew it.
I wanted to make him mine. I wanted to mark him, claim him, possess him like the beast I was.
But I… I couldn’t. I mustn’t.

“I… I’m sorry…” I growled hoarsely, barely human, barely sane. My claws dug into the earth beside his head, trembling not to sink into him.
“Go…” I managed to say through clenched teeth. “Go, Jeff.”

But he didn’t run.
He didn’t scream.
He didn’t push me away.

His hands… his warm hands, trembling but steady, touched my face.
And then he kissed me.

The first brush of his lips was a soft blaze. Just a touch, just a caress, but enough to make me forget the world.
I froze, bewildered, unable to comprehend. And I saw it, I saw it in his brown eyes: the amazement, the tenderness, the promise that he wouldn’t leave.

“Don’t cry…” he whispered against my lips. “I’m not leaving.”

I hadn’t realized I was crying.
The tears burned on my skin, mixing with the unbearable heat of my body, with the wild trembling of my muscles resisting the urge to let go.

His words pierced me deeper than any arrow. How could he say that, after seeing what I was? After seeing my claws tearing the earth, my fangs on the verge of ripping his skin. And yet there was no fear in his gaze. Only that unbreakable sweetness, that innocence that was condemning and saving me at the same time.

Something inside me broke. And I kissed him back.

No more claws. No more fangs. Because how could I touch him with weapons? My hands caressed his face with desperation, with tenderness. I tangled my fingers in his hair, brushing his skin with a softness I never thought possible in me.
His lips were sweet, addictive, more than I had dreamed on the nights when loneliness devoured me. And when his tongue brushed mine, the world exploded in a thousand colors, as if the stars had fallen at my feet.

The world vanished.
The forest, the lake, the curse… nothing existed. Only the humid heat of his mouth, his tongue playing with mine, exploring me, receiving me. Each movement was pure electricity, each brush ignited me. His breath mixed with mine, ragged, trembling, and yet he sought me again and again.
My lips slid over his, down to his jaw, back to his mouth like a shipwreck finding refuge. My hands caressed his neck, his curves, tracing his shape as if I could memorize it into my skin.

I, who should have been a beast, was crying against his mouth as I kissed him. I, who should have devoured him, touched him as if he were the most fragile thing in the universe.

We parted just enough to breathe, panting, our foreheads pressed together. And as soon as our lips brushed again, we kissed once more, with more intensity, with more desperation. It was a wild and sweet kiss, tenderness and desire entwined in the same heartbeat.

All I knew was that when we pulled apart, with my chest burning and my lips swollen from seeking him, I found myself crying again.

I, the condemned heir.
I, who was supposed to lose my mind under every moon.
I, the monster everyone expected to see turned into a beast.

I was crying because I had tasted something impossible.

The world should have ended in that kiss.
Because nothing could be greater than him.

Because in his lips I understood the meaning of my existence. Because his sweetness tore the claws from me, his eyes gave me back my soul, and his kiss made me believe that maybe the curse could be broken.

And I… I loved him. With an intensity so fierce it ached in my bones, in my blood, in my soul.
I loved him as only a condemned man can love: with the despair of one who knows his time is running out. And in that moment I understood.

I wasn’t born to be a beast.
I wasn’t born for the moon, nor for blood, nor for the curse of my pack.
I was born to love him.

To live in the sweetness of his scent, in the trembling of his kisses, in the tenderness of his voice.
Jeff was the only truth in a world of shadows.
The only breath in my damnation.
The only one who could silence the beast.

And it was there, with his breath still brushing my skin, with his addictive mouth burning my lips, with my tears soaking his fingers, that I knew:

Perhaps… the curse has a crack.
Perhaps not everything is lost.
Perhaps, like in human tales, love is the only thing that can save me.
And as I looked at him, with his flushed cheeks, his lips wet and trembling, his breath still ragged, I saw the impossible miracle: he was smiling. And I smiled too, broken and whole at once.

Maybe Jeff’s love… could save a monster.

Present ✨

The house was silent when I came in.
Too silent.

I set the keys on the table and let myself fall onto the sofa, the same sofa I had slept on every night since Jeff stayed with me.

It wasn’t logical. There was no reason not to return to my room. But the truth was that only here could I sleep without waking up drenched in sweat, without the metallic taste of the nightmare in my mouth.
Maybe it was habit, or maybe because something of him remained in this sofa.
Not his scent—it had already gone, dissipated with the days—but something invisible, a presence, a faint calm. It was absurd, but I felt that if I closed my eyes I could imagine him there again, in my arms.

The phone rang, breaking the spell.

I growled under my breath before digging it out from between the cushions.
“Yes?”
“Alan”—Pete’s voice carried that tone between worry and scolding—“Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I murmured, tilting my head back, staring at the ceiling.
“Sonic said your scent had changed and that you hadn’t let anyone into your office. He feared that, with the full moon so close, your symptoms had worsened.”

I sighed, rubbing my face.
“It’s not that.”

There was a silence, brief but heavy.
“Alan, you need to talk to me before—”
“Before a tragedy happens?” I finished for him, with a bitter smile.
“I just want to help you, damn it.”

I opened my eyes, watching the shadows the clock cast on the ceiling.
“It wasn’t my symptoms, Pete. This morning I received a package.”
“A package?”
“Yes. It had a fake label, like engine parts. But it weighed nothing. When I opened it…” I swallowed hard. “It was full of Ithrial spores.”
Silence.
“And a note.”
“What did it say?” Pete asked, his voice barely audible.
“‘Not everything can stay asleep forever.’”

A muffled curse on the other end of the line.
“Alan, that’s not a warning. It’s a provocation. They want you to lose control.”
“I know. They’re hunting us,” I answered, lowering my voice.
“Exactly. But are you okay? The Ithrial, especially in you, can…”
“I’m calm,” I cut him off.
“How?” he replied, suspicious.
I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. How could I explain that I calmed down because Jeff kissed me?

I swallowed.
I couldn’t tell him the truth.

“Did you use the antidote I left you?” he asked.
“Yes, that. The antidote.” The lie came quickly, almost automatic.

The truth was that I wasn’t even in the office. I had planned to do it after everyone left, but it was no longer necessary.
Jeff had come in.
And just by being there, everything changed.

“I’m coming to your office tonight,” Pete said firmly. “I’ll have everything cleaned.”
“Thank you.”
“Alan…” he hesitated. “Did you see anyone nearby when you left? Anyone watching you? If they sent you that, they surely sent someone to check the effect.”
I frowned.
“The only people there were…” I stopped.
I wasn’t going to say his name. I couldn’t.
“Prom,” I murmured at last. “It’s strange. He was there when I was leaving. He never stays late.”
“Prom,” Pete repeated, thoughtful. “I’ll look into it. Keep me updated.”
“I will.”
“Alan…” his voice softened. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, Pete. I’m fine.” I hung up before he could keep asking.

Silence.
That absolute silence again.

They’re hunting us, I thought.
But that wasn’t what unsettled me most.
It was the certainty that whoever did it knew exactly where to strike.
They knew that if I lost control, I’d endanger everyone…

I lay on my side on the sofa, searching for his scent in the cushions.
Nothing.
Not a trace.

“Jeff…” I whispered.
I closed my eyes, remembering his look when he entered my office, lips parted, torn between stepping forward or running out. The way his voice trembled when he spoke to me, and how his breath mingled with mine when he came too close.
And the instant our mouths met and everything inside me stopped.

It was as if the world had lost sound.
No inner roar, no wild pulse, no hunger burning under my skin. Only silence.
A silence filled with his scent, his warmth, his sweetness.

I had never felt anything like it.
The beast inside me… went still.
As if even it recognized him.

I closed my eyes, remembering the tremor of his breath, the soft brush of his fingers on my neck, the way I saw him afterward, his cheeks flushed, unable to hold my gaze for more than a few seconds.

Tomorrow I have to talk to him.
And now… I have to tell him the truth.

Should I tell him about the Ithrial, the curse, what I really am?
Or would part of the truth be enough?
Should I tell him he saved me without knowing it? That I think of him every time I close my eyes?
That every time I remember his kiss, the beast inside me falls silent and… at last, I can breathe?

If I tell him everything, he might walk away.
And if I don’t, if I keep quiet… when the full moon comes I might lose control, and he would be right where I least want him to be: too close.

I put a hand over my face.
The sofa no longer smelled like him, but my mind invented it anyway: that sweet, warm, hard-to-describe scent. Something that calmed me even when he wasn’t there.

“Jeff…” I whispered. “What have you done to me?”

Since you came near, the beast sleeps.
And I don’t know if that saves me or damns me.

Could it be that, even though the moon claims me, there’s something that could save me?

The moon filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a pale, almost white glow.
I closed my eyes, letting sleep pull me down slowly. And just before I slipped into dreams, a phrase, as clear as a memory, slid through my mind:

“Don’t cry… I’m not leaving.”

I sat up abruptly, looking around.
The house was empty, silent.
That voice couldn’t have been real.
And yet I could swear I had heard it.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

Maybe it was only my imagination.
Maybe it was the loneliness.

Chapter Text

Jeff

I woke up before the alarm went off.
I don’t know if it was the light slipping through the curtain or the sound of Charlie moving around the room. Everything is louder at the inn: the pipes, the footsteps, even breathing. The wood creaks as if every plank were complaining.

Charlie got up very early. He told me last night that he was going to stop by Babe’s house to make him breakfast before going out to do some digging about Tony.
Apparently, Babe doesn’t let him rest for a single second. He needs him for everything: to eat, to go out, to breathe.
Well, according to them, they’re just bedmates.
Sure.
Bedmates who can’t be apart long enough to breathe, who look at each other as if the other were the only thing keeping them sane.
Sometimes, when I see them together, I feel something strange: I’m happy to see him smile, but at the same time, a part of me tenses up. Happy people are fragile, and Charlie has no defenses other than his own heart.

If anything ever happened to Babe—if Tony so much as touched him with one of his shadows—Charlie wouldn’t survive it. He’d break inside. I know him too well: he can survive anything except the pain of those he loves.

The sound of the door closing pulled me out of my thoughts.
The room fell silent.
Sometimes I think stillness weighs more than noise.

I sat at the edge of the bed. The little bear was lying on the pillow, its ear bent.

I hadn’t slept well.
Every time I closed my eyes, I went back to that scene.
Alan—his ragged breathing, his trembling body, the growl trapped in his chest.
And me, cornered, my heart pounding like mad.
I should have been afraid. And I was. But also… something else.
I still don’t understand what happened inside me to make me stay there, so close, knowing what he could do to me.
And then… I kissed him.
Or maybe it was the other way around.
It doesn’t matter.
The point is, we did.
And I can’t stop thinking about it.

Every time I remember, something in me ignites—and makes me angry, too.
I don’t want to feel this. Not with him. Not with someone who could destroy me.
But the body doesn’t understand reason.

I got dressed without really paying attention. The pale blue shirt, the work pants, the worn-out boots.
The water was freezing, but I splashed it on my face anyway.
I needed to clear my head.
The mirror, hanging crooked beside the window, showed me a face I barely recognized: faint shadows under my eyes, tense skin, lips slightly parted as if still trying to understand what I was doing here.
Maybe I never will.
“Calm down, Jeff,” I told myself under my breath. “You’re just going to talk to him. Nothing else.”

Yeah, right. Talk.
About what he is, about how he changes, about what almost happened.
And maybe… about the kiss.
Just thinking about it made me press my lips together.

I sat on the edge of the bed again. The bear watched me from the pillow, its ear still bent. I picked it up for a moment, not sure if it gave me strength or took it away.
The memory of last night hit me again: Alan’s gaze, the tremor in his voice, the beast surfacing beneath his skin. And then… the kiss.
God.
The kiss.

It was as if the world had shattered in silence.
His mouth tasted of danger—and something sweet, impossible to define.
I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have gone near him. But I did, and the worst part is that a part of me would do it again without hesitation.

There’s something profoundly unfair about what I want.
He shouldn’t make me feel this way.
Not after seeing what he’s capable of becoming.

I stood up with a sigh, trying to shake off the weight of those thoughts.
The workshop was waiting for me—and Alan too.

The walk there was short, but that morning each step felt heavier, as if the air had thickened around me. The sky was covered with clouds undecided between rain and calm. The smell of damp earth followed me to the main street, where the windows still slept behind their curtains.

I walked quickly.

A dog was asleep on the store porch, and a cat followed me for a few meters before losing interest.
With each step, my heartbeat quickened.
I didn’t know if it was from fear—or from wanting to see him.

When I arrived, the workshop door was ajar.
Alan must already be there.

I swallowed hard and pushed the door open.
The screech of metal sounded too loud, as if the whole place had noticed my arrival.

The smell hit me as soon as I crossed the threshold: grease, oil, and gasoline.
A thick, familiar scent that clings to your clothes.
But beneath it, softer, clearer, was his scent.
Pine. Grass. Oranges.
Fresh, warm, alive.
And just by breathing it in, my heart skipped a beat.
I didn’t want it to affect me so much, but it did.

The place was dim, lit only by a lamp in the center.
The cars covered with tarps looked like they were sleeping under the yellow light.
Dust floated like lazy smoke.

And there he was.

Alan was pacing back and forth in front of his office door.
His movements were tense, uneven—like someone fighting to contain a tremor.
He had the sleeves of his coveralls tied around his waist, and his hands moved restlessly, caught between the urge to do something and the fear of doing it wrong.

I had never seen him like that.
The alpha who had cornered me against a door, who had kissed me with a hunger that felt like it came from another life, now looked… unsure.
Nervous.

My chest tightened.
He shouldn’t look so human.

And then, as if my thought had called him, he lifted his head.

Our eyes met.

The air seemed to freeze between us.
For a moment, everything else disappeared: the hum of the workshop, the smell of gasoline, even the light.
There were only his eyes—dark, deep, with a glimmer that seemed to come from another world.
A lump rose in my throat.
My heart jumped so hard it almost hurt.

A faint smile appeared on his face.
It wasn’t deliberate; it escaped like a reflex, as if his body had betrayed him.
Then, awkwardly, he tried to erase it, to compose himself, to go back to being the serious, controlled Alan.
But it was too late.
I’d already seen it.

And at that very moment, the memory hit me again.
The kiss.
His breath tangled with mine.
The pressure of his hand on my back.
The heat, the vertigo, the surrender.

My cheeks burned instantly.
I looked away, seeking refuge in the floor, anywhere but his eyes.

“Hi,” I murmured, barely a whisper.

“Hi… Did you have breakfast?” he asked right away.

I shook my head.
“I brought you coffee,” he said, pointing to the cups on a nearby table. “And… some sandwiches. Also croissants.”

I blinked, surprised.
“Croissants?”

“I thought maybe you liked them,” he said, not quite meeting my gaze. He scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable, as if he’d just confessed something improper.

I don’t know if it’s his tone or the way he runs a hand through his hair, but there’s something… anxious about him. Yes, he looks nervous. Does it make me awful to think he looks adorable like that? It’s strange, because I’m usually the one who doesn’t know what to say or do.

“Croissants, thanks,” I replied, barely audible.

He nodded, relieved, though his shoulders stayed tense. He glanced toward his office door, then back at me, swallowing hard.
“Shall we go to my office?” he finally said.

The word office froze me.

Right there.
The same place where, last night, we had…

My stomach twisted, heat rising to my ears.

Alan noticed something in my expression.
“We need to… talk,” he added quietly.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

As we walked toward the office, the memory of the previous night slipped into every corner of my mind. The brush of his hands, his trembling breath against my mouth, the moment before the kiss. The feeling that the whole world was fading away around us.

I tried to shake it off, but my heart wouldn’t cooperate.

Forget it, Jeff. Forget it.
But it was last night. And it was my first kiss. It’s not that easy to forget, is it?

We went in.

His office is small but warm—or it would be, if his scent didn’t fill the air so completely. Gasoline, grease, and oil, mixed with something that shouldn’t belong to this world: pine, wet grass, and sweet oranges.

Alan set the coffee in front of me—milk, no sugar, but plenty of cream, just the way I like it. I didn’t remember ever telling him that. But somehow, he knew. He also placed the croissant on a napkin.
He sat beside me, not too close, but close enough for me to feel his warmth. The careful distance of someone trying not to cross an invisible line. His knee moved slightly, a nervous rhythm.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I asked.

Alan blinked, as if waking from a faraway thought.
“Oh, right,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. He likes it black, barely sweetened. Better not think about why I know that.

We ate in silence. The air between us thickened, heavy with words neither of us dared to say.
The kiss.
No, Jeff, don’t think about that.

I finished the last bite and set the cup aside. Something in me decided that avoiding the subject wouldn’t help. If I wanted to understand what happened last night, I needed to know who Alan really was.

I turned to him.
Took a deep breath.
“Alan…”

He looked at me, waiting.

“You’re a lycanthrope, aren’t you?”

He froze. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He swallowed and nodded slowly, resigned.

A chill ran down my spine—fear or relief, I couldn’t tell.
“I thought they were just a legend,” I said, trying to sound rational. “All the books say they went extinct, that their blood thinned so much there’s barely a trace left.”

Alan lowered his gaze.
“That’s true… for most,” he said quietly. “But not for our pack.”

“Your pack?”

“The Hemmawich,” he murmured. His fingers played with the rim of his cup, as if to distract himself. “We’re all pureblood. It’s part of our laws.”

“Laws?”

He nodded without looking up.
“We can’t have offspring with anyone outside the pack. No one who isn’t pureblood. And to be more precise… the rules say no humans. In any form.”
He paused.
“But the most important rule is about offspring. And, of course, we must never mark a human.”

His voice cracked on that last sentence.

I felt pressure in my chest. Was he telling me, indirectly, that nothing could happen between us?
That the kiss was… a mistake? That he regretted it?

“Why?” I asked, my voice trembling.

Alan clasped his hands tightly over his knees.
“Because all of this,” he said, his tone heavy with bitterness and sorrow, “is the humans’ fault.”

I stared at him, not understanding. He sighed.

“Generations ago, humans envied our power. They wanted to destroy us—or at least weaken us. So they cursed us.” His gaze drifted to the floor. “In every generation, the strongest alpha of the Hemmawich pack would be cursed.”

He spoke slowly, as if each word hurt.

“Since the age of fifteen, with every passing year, the alpha’s body changes. It transforms. Each full moon, the beast takes up more space, more power. And with every transformation… he loses part of his mind. His humanity dissolves. Until one day, nothing remains. Only a monster.”

I stayed silent, trying to imagine it. A being two meters tall, claws like blades, fangs like daggers, mindless, reasonless.
And him.
Alan.

He clenched his fists.

Watching him speak like that, his eyes clouded, his knuckles white—it hurt.
“When that time comes,” he went on, “there’s no turning back. The wolf becomes an uncontrollable force, a danger even to our own family.”
He paused for a long moment.
“That’s when everything ends.”

“‘Everything ends’?” I repeated.

Alan looked up, and his eyes held a mix of resignation and fear that hurt more than I wanted to admit.
“I die,” he said finally. “Or, more accurately—they kill me.”

The air caught in my throat.
“What?”

“They have to,” he said, with a calm that terrified me. “It’s the best for everyone. When I can no longer control the wolf, when there’s nothing human left in me—that’s the end.”

“They have to?” I repeated, barely grasping it.

Alan nodded, avoiding my eyes this time.
“For the good of the pack.”

He said it so naturally it took me a moment to process it. As if it were an unchangeable fact. As if he’d already accepted it.

“There has to be another way,” I blurted, louder than I meant to.

Alan shook his head slowly, looking away.

His scent changed—bitterer, heavier.
It was like he was locking himself away. Like hope itself was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

But I had seen it.

I had felt it.

A hesitation.
There was more.
Something he wasn’t telling me.

I saw his hands tremble, clenching hard.
And something inside me lit up.

“This is insane,” I said suddenly, unable to hold back. “If the problem is that your blood is too pure, you should’ve mixed with humans a long time ago. This wouldn’t happen anymore.”

“You don’t understand…” he tried to say, but I cut him off.

“Yes, I do. Humans did this, right? They cursed you for being powerful. But what good is that power now if it only brings pain?” My words came out rushed. “What good is keeping your purity if it destroys you? If it forces you to kill one of your own every generation? What’s the point of power if you live in fear, hiding, carrying that torture?”

My voice sounded strange—angry.
“You do it out of pride. But if you truly cared about your people, that wouldn’t matter compared to ending the curse.”

When I finished, silence fell like a weight. Alan looked at me, stunned.
I was stunned too. I’d never raised my voice like that.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, lowering my gaze. “It’s your culture, your traditions, and I just—”

“It’s fine,” Alan interrupted gently.

I looked up. He was watching me with something that looked like tenderness. And confusion.

“What is it?” I asked.

He smiled faintly.
“Nothing. It’s just… I was worried.”

“I told you I wouldn’t tell anyone,” I said, a bit defensive.

“Not about that,” he said quietly. “About you. I thought you’d be scared. Or that you’d see me… as a monster.”

His words hurt.
How could I see him that way, when what I saw was an alpha carrying a curse he didn’t deserve?

“You’re still you,” I said softly. “I just understand a little better now why you growl so much.”

The words hung between us.
Maybe I should tell him that I’m not exactly human either—that it makes me understand him more than he thinks. But nothing good has ever come from mentioning what I can do. So I stayed quiet.

Alan chuckled under his breath. It was the first time I’d heard him do that since I arrived.
And for a moment, the air felt lighter.

But then his gaze drifted to my lips.
And the silence shifted.

“Jeff… last night…” he whispered.

I swallowed. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
His eyes fell again to my mouth.
I remembered the kiss—the heat, the trembling, the fear and desire tangled together.

I swallowed again.
It felt like the world was shrinking, leaving only him and me, breathing the same air.

And then—

“Alan! You’re here early!”

Sonic’s voice crashed through the air like thunder.

We pulled apart almost instantly. I didn’t even realize how close we’d gotten.
Sonic froze when he saw us, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“We weren’t doing anything,” Alan said—too fast, too defensive. “Just having breakfast.” He lifted the empty cups as if he needed proof.

I wanted to disappear.
Alan looked more nervous than ever, which only made him look more suspicious.

I stood up awkwardly.
“I should… get to work,” I muttered, not looking at either of them.

Sonic smiled—that wide, knowing smile that always seems to say more than it should.
“Of course,” he said, amused.

I walked out of the office, my face burning.

The air outside smelled of metal and gasoline, but even through it, I could still catch the trace of his scent: pine, grass, and oranges.
I tried to push it out of my head, but I couldn’t.
Not his scent.
Not his voice.
Not the weight of his gaze before Sonic came in.

I walked toward my station, trying to calm down.
Alan was cursed. Condemned to die.
And still… everything in me wanted to move closer to him.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he spoke of his fate—so cold, so resigned.
As if he’d already said goodbye to the world long ago.

And I don’t know why, but it hurts.
It hurts as if something inside me wanted to stop it, even though I have no right to.

I’m a fool.
But a fool who can’t stop thinking there must be another way.
That Alan can’t end like this.