THEY/THEM PRONOUNS.

The hallway still smelled faintly of cleaning solvent and old carpet when Simon stepped out of the stairwell, gym bag slung over one shoulder, knuckles raw and wrists aching in that familiar, grounding way that spoke of a good and proper workout.

Sweat clung to him, heat rolling off his body in waves, his Alpha scent thick and unrestrained after an hour of punishing himself into something quieter. He hadn’t bothered to scrub it down in the cramped gym showers; the apartment was only one floor up, and the building was usually dead at this hour. His boots struck the floor in a steady rhythm, head angled down and mask tucked into the collar of his t-shirt. His mind was moving through the rote inventory of locks, doors, and blind spots. Then the air shifted. Not dramatically, but subtly enough that his stride shortened, muscles tightening before he could name why.

It was wrong, that was the first thing. Out of place. A softness threaded through the recycled air, muted but unmistakable once his instincts caught hold of it, and the realisation landed like a punch he didn’t brace for. Omega. Rare enough that his brain rejected it outright for half a heartbeat, insisted on some other explanation, some echo dragged in on someone else’s clothes.

His gaze lifted despite himself, and there they were, standing near the door of the neighbouring apartment, keys in hand, posture alert in the way of someone used to being aware without looking like it. Simon stopped a little too abruptly, boots scuffing, shoulders squaring as his Alpha reacted before discipline could fully clamp down. He forced it back, dragged a breath through his nose and immediately regretted it, the scent clearer now, tugging at instincts he had spent years turning into blunt, manageable tools. He turned his head away, jaw locking so tight it made the muscles strain. His eyes were fixed on a crack in the wall, as if it were the most important thing in the world.

“Evenin’.” He said at last, the word roughened by disuse and restraint, his voice low and deliberately flat as he adjusted the strap of his bag. The hallway felt narrower, the ceiling lower, his skin too tight over muscle as his scent pressed outward, heavy and unmistakably Alpha despite his efforts to keep it leashed.

He was acutely aware of how that must feel to someone like them, and the awareness curdled into something sharp and unpleasant in his chest. He took a half-step back without making it obvious, angling his body away, presenting distance like a shield. “Didn’t know anyone’d moved in.” He added after a pause that stretched just long enough to be awkward, eyes flicking once toward them and then away again, like looking too long might be a debt he couldn’t afford to pay.

Silence answered him, not empty but weighted, and Simon filled it with motion instead of words, rolling his shoulders, flexing his fingers until the knuckles cracked. He could feel his heart rate refusing to settle, the afterburn of the gym mixing with the pull of instinct in a way he didn’t like or trust.

HE/HIM PRONOUNS.

The hallway still smelled faintly of cleaning solvent and old carpet when Simon stepped out of the stairwell, gym bag slung over one shoulder, knuckles raw and wrists aching in that familiar, grounding way that spoke of a good and proper workout.

Sweat clung to him, heat rolling off his body in waves, his Alpha scent thick and unrestrained after an hour of punishing himself into something quieter. He hadn’t bothered to scrub it down in the cramped gym showers; the apartment was only one floor up, and the building was usually dead at this hour. His boots struck the floor in a steady rhythm, head angled down and mask tucked into the collar of his t-shirt. His mind was moving through the rote inventory of locks, doors, and blind spots. Then the air shifted. Not dramatically, but subtly enough that his stride shortened, muscles tightening before he could name why.

It was wrong, that was the first thing. Out of place. A softness threaded through the recycled air, muted but unmistakable once his instincts caught hold of it, and the realisation landed like a punch he didn’t brace for. Omega. Rare enough that his brain rejected it outright for half a heartbeat, insisted on some other explanation, some echo dragged in on someone else’s clothes.

His gaze lifted despite himself, and there he was, standing near the door of the neighbouring apartment, keys in hand, posture alert in the way of someone used to being aware without looking like it. Simon stopped a little too abruptly, boots scuffing, shoulders squaring as his Alpha reacted before discipline could fully clamp down. He forced it back, dragged a breath through his nose and immediately regretted it, the scent clearer now, tugging at instincts he had spent years turning into blunt, manageable tools. He turned his head away, jaw locking so tight it made the muscles strain. His eyes were fixed on a crack in the wall, as if it were the most important thing in the world.

“Evenin’.” He said at last, the word roughened by disuse and restraint, his voice low and deliberately flat as he adjusted the strap of his bag. The hallway felt narrower, the ceiling lower, his skin too tight over muscle as his scent pressed outward, heavy and unmistakably Alpha despite his efforts to keep it leashed.

He was acutely aware of how that must feel to someone like him, and the awareness curdled into something sharp and unpleasant in his chest. He took a half-step back without making it obvious, angling his body away, presenting distance like a shield. “Didn’t know anyone’d moved in.” He added after a pause that stretched just long enough to be awkward, eyes flicking once toward him and then away again, like looking too long might be a debt he couldn’t afford to pay.

Silence answered him, not empty but weighted, and Simon filled it with motion instead of words, rolling his shoulders, flexing his fingers until the knuckles cracked. He could feel his heart rate refusing to settle, the afterburn of the gym mixing with the pull of instinct in a way he didn’t like or trust.

SHE/HER PRONOUNS.

The hallway still smelled faintly of cleaning solvent and old carpet when Simon stepped out of the stairwell, gym bag slung over one shoulder, knuckles raw and wrists aching in that familiar, grounding way that spoke of a good and proper workout.

Sweat clung to him, heat rolling off his body in waves, his Alpha scent thick and unrestrained after an hour of punishing himself into something quieter. He hadn’t bothered to scrub it down in the cramped gym showers; the apartment was only one floor up, and the building was usually dead at this hour. His boots struck the floor in a steady rhythm, head angled down and mask tucked into the collar of his t-shirt. His mind was moving through the rote inventory of locks, doors, and blind spots. Then the air shifted. Not dramatically, but subtly enough that his stride shortened, muscles tightening before he could name why.

It was wrong, that was the first thing. Out of place. A softness threaded through the recycled air, muted but unmistakable once his instincts caught hold of it, and the realisation landed like a punch he didn’t brace for. Omega. Rare enough that his brain rejected it outright for half a heartbeat, insisted on some other explanation, some echo dragged in on someone else’s clothes.

His gaze lifted despite himself, and there she was, standing near the door of the neighbouring apartment, keys in hand, posture alert in the way of someone used to being aware without looking like it. Simon stopped a little too abruptly, boots scuffing, shoulders squaring as his Alpha reacted before discipline could fully clamp down. He forced it back, dragged a breath through his nose and immediately regretted it, the scent clearer now, tugging at instincts he had spent years turning into blunt, manageable tools. He turned his head away, jaw locking so tight it made the muscles strain. His eyes were fixed on a crack in the wall, as if it were the most important thing in the world.

“Evenin’.” He said at last, the word roughened by disuse and restraint, his voice low and deliberately flat as he adjusted the strap of his bag. The hallway felt narrower, the ceiling lower, his skin too tight over muscle as his scent pressed outward, heavy and unmistakably Alpha despite his efforts to keep it leashed.

He was acutely aware of how that must feel to someone like her, and the awareness curdled into something sharp and unpleasant in his chest. He took a half-step back without making it obvious, angling his body away, presenting distance like a shield. “Didn’t know anyone’d moved in.” He added after a pause that stretched just long enough to be awkward, eyes flicking once toward her and then away again, like looking too long might be a debt he couldn’t afford to pay.

Silence answered him, not empty but weighted, and Simon filled it with motion instead of words, rolling his shoulders, flexing his fingers until the knuckles cracked. He could feel his heart rate refusing to settle, the afterburn of the gym mixing with the pull of instinct in a way he didn’t like or trust.