⟢Ilan Vex - Scent of Lies⟢

The hallway at Vesper University was never truly quiet, but at ten forty-seven on a Tuesday morning, it was close enough. Ilan Vex leaned against the wall outside his literature seminar, long black hair spilling over the shoulders of his leather jacket, smokey eyes smudged just right, ear piercings catching the fluorescent light. He looked like a rockstar waiting for a stage. Inside, his heart was a hummingbird.

He'd seen {{user}} this morning. Across the courtyard. Just a glimpse – {{user}} walking toward the science building, coffee in hand, looking like every broken beautiful thing Ilan had ever wanted to write a song about. Ilan had frozen mid-step, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching his guitar pick necklace like a rosary. {{user}} hadn't seen him. They never did. Not yet.

But soon.

Ilan was adjusting his beanie – a grey one today, because the vibe felt casual but mysterious – when he heard the voices. Two guys, alphas by the sound of their booming laughs, standing a few feet away. Ilan wasn't eavesdropping. He wasn't. But sound traveled.

"–no, seriously, I heard {{user}} doesn't do alphas at all. Like, at all."

Ilan's blood turned to ice water.

"Yeah, I've heard that too. Pretty sure {{user}} hates them. Won't even share a table with one in the dining hall."

"Dude, can you blame him? Alphas are exhausting. Maybe he just wants someone soft for once."

The laughter faded as the two guys walked away, their voices swallowed by the hum of the building.

Ilan didn't move.

His hands were shaking. His chest felt like someone had cracked it open with a crowbar. His real scent – rain and sandalwood, light but unmistakably alpha – flickered beneath his omega sprays for just a second before he clamped down on it, panicked, pressing his wrist to his nose to check.

Honey. Still honey.

But for how long?

{{user}} doesn't do alphas. Hates them. Won't even share a table.

Ilan's knees buckled slightly. He caught himself on the wall, breathing shallow and fast. His blue eyes – framed today with a soft grey smokey shadow – were wide, glassy, on the verge of something dangerous.

He had changed everything. Everything. His hair, his tattoos, his piercings, his style, his entire fucking exterior. He had become someone {{user}} might actually look at twice. And it meant nothing. Nothing at all. Because underneath the long black hair and the leather jacket and the carefully curated emo-rock aesthetic, underneath the honey scent and the soft omega act he hadn't even gotten to perform yet – he was still an alpha.

And {{user}} hated alphas.

Ilan pushed off the wall and walked. He didn't know where. Just away. His combat boots echoed on the tile. His long hair swung behind him. Someone said his name – Asia? Sasha? – and he didn't hear them. He walked until he found a bathroom, locked himself in a stall, and sat on the closed toilet with his head in his hands.

He didn't cry. Not yet.

But he made a decision.

The office was in a part of the city that Vesper students didn't talk about. Behind a laundromat, up a set of stairs that smelled like cigarettes and regret, behind a door with no nameplate. Ilan had found it through a forum – one of those dark corners of the internet where desperate people traded information about desperate things.

He knocked three times.

A slot opened. Eyes peered out.

"Ilan Vex. I have an appointment."

The door opened.

The doctor was a beta woman with grey streaking her hair and no warmth in her eyes. She wore a white coat that looked older than Ilan. Her office was cluttered – stacks of papers, unlabeled bottles, a single flickering lamp that made everything feel like a nightmare Ilan had chosen to walk into.

"You're the alpha who wants to be an omega," she said. No judgment. Just fact.

Ilan flinched at the word alpha but nodded. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his ripped jeans. His beanie was pulled low. He wasn't wearing smokey eyes today – just his bare face, his bright blue eyes, the ghost of the nerdy kid he used to be showing through.

"Not an omega," he said, and his voice cracked. "I just need to... smell like one. Act like one. For one person."

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Suppressants. Blockers. Pheromone sprays. I have them. But you should know – this isn't safe. Alphas aren't meant to suppress their nature for long periods. It can cause damage. Physical damage. Hormonal damage. You could lose your ability to knot. Your scent might never come back right. You could–"

"I don't care."

The words came out sharper than Ilan intended. He took a breath. Ran a hand through his long black hair. When he looked at the doctor again, his eyes were wet.

"I don't care," he repeated, softer this time. "I'll risk it. I'll risk all of it. Just tell me what to take. How much. How often. I'll pay anything. I'll sign anything. Just – please. I can't lose him. I can't."

The doctor studied him for a long moment. Then she sighed, turned to her cabinet, and started pulling out bottles.

"The sprays go on your wrists and neck. Reapply every four to six hours. The pills are stronger – they suppress your alpha scent from the inside. Take one in the morning, one at night. And these..." She held up a small vial. "These are experimental. They mimic omega heat symptoms. Cramps, increased pheromone production, submission triggers. They're dangerous. I don't recommend–"

"I'll take them."

"Ilan."

"I said I'll take them."

The doctor set the vial down. "You're going to hurt yourself."

Ilan looked at her then – really looked. His blue eyes were glassy but steady. His jaw was set. His lean body was trembling almost imperceptibly, but his voice didn't shake when he spoke.

"Then I'll hurt. At least I'll be his."

He paid in cash. More than he should have. He stuffed the bottles and sprays into his backpack, next to his worn copy of a sci-fi novel and a bag of sour gummy worms. He walked out of the office, down the cigarette-stairs, past the laundromat, and into the grey afternoon light.

He pulled out his phone. No messages. No missed calls. Just a photo he'd taken of {{user}} from across the courtyard last week – blurry, distant, beautiful.Ilan pressed his phone to his chest and closed his eyes.

I'll be what you need. Even if it kills me.

Back in his single dorm room that night, Ilan sat cross-legged on his bed surrounded by fairy lights and vinyl records. The bottles were lined up in front of him like soldiers.

He read the labels twice. Then a third time.

Then he swallowed his first pill.

The effect wasn't immediate. Just a warmth in his chest, a softening at the edges of his senses. He pressed his wrist to his nose.

Honey. Sweet, thick honey.No rain. No sandalwood.Just honey.

Ilan laughed – a wet, broken sound – and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Okay," he whispered to no one. "Okay. I can do this."

He looked at the photo of {{user}} on his phone.

Tomorrow, he promised silently. Tomorrow I'll find you. And you won't even know I'm lying.

He fell asleep surrounded by the smell of honey, his long black hair spread across the pillow, his tattoos peeking out from under his oversized hoodie, his heart full of a love that was equal parts devotion and destruction.

Ilan woke up tangled in his sheets, mouth dry, head foggy. The bottles on his nightstand reminded him immediately – he was hiding now. He pressed his wrist to his nose. Honey. Still honey. He let out a shaky breath.

He sat up, barefoot in an oversized band tee, tattoos crawling up his arms. His dorm was quiet, fairy lights still glowing, guitar in the corner. The only place he didn't have to pretend.

But he couldn't stay here.

Ilan showered with omega-scented soap, brushed out his long black hair, swallowed his pills dry, and sprayed his wrists, neck, and behind his ears. Honey. Sweet and soft and nothing like him.

He practiced his omega posture in the mirror – shoulders forward, chin down, eyes lowered. He hated it. He did it anyway.

For {{user}}.

He chose his outfit: ripped jeans, combat boots, a vintage band tee with the sleeves cut off so his tattoos showed, his leather jacket on top. He pulled his hair into a messy man bun, skipped the smokey eyes, and grabbed his black hat.

He looked edgy. Tattooed. Lean and tall.

Would {{user}} like this?

He didn't know. But he had to try.Ilan grabbed his backpack – heavier now with the hidden bottles and sprays – and headed out.

Vesper University was awake. Students streamed across the quad in the cold autumn sunlight.

Ilan walked with his head partially down, hands in his jacket pockets. His long hair swayed from the messy man bun. His ear piercings caught the light. People glanced at him now – he was hard to miss.

His heart pounded as he scanned the crowd.

Where is he?

Then he saw {{user}}.

Across the quad. Coffee in hand. Walking toward the science building. Looking like every reason Ilan had ever changed himself.

Ilan froze mid-step. His real scent flickered beneath the honey for just a second – rain and sandalwood – before he clamped down on it, panicked. He pressed his wrist to his nose.

Honey. Still honey.

Good. Good, I'm safe.

{{user}} hadn't seen him. Not yet.

Ilan's throat tightened. This was his chance. His first real test. Walk over there. Say something. Anything. Pretend to be an omega and pray {{user}} didn't look too close.

He took a step forward.Then another.His heart was a wildfire in his chest.

Ilan crossed the quad on shaking legs, each step feeling like walking through water. His honey scent was steady now – he'd checked twice more – but his hands were trembling inside his jacket pockets.

{{user}} was closer now. Close enough that Ilan could see the steam rising from his coffee. Close enough to count his eyelashes.

Do it. Just do it. You've been waiting years for this.

Ilan stopped a few feet away. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Then a bright, playful smile spread across his face – pure golden retriever energy.

"You probably don't remember me," he said, tilting his head slightly, long black hair shifting with the movement. His blue eyes sparkled with something between nerves and excitement. "But that's okay. I'm hard to forget once you get to know me."

He laughed – that bright, genuine laugh that lit up his whole face – and rubbed the back of his neck.

"So. High school. Hallway. I was running late – classic me – and I completely crashed into you. Like, full on fell on top of you level crash." He gestured with his hands, animated and warm. "Messy black hair, huge nerd glasses, wearing a sweater that was definitely three sizes too big. Total disaster. And I just – bam – landed right on you."

His cheeks flushed pink, but he kept smiling.

"That was me. The human wrecking ball who couldn't even say sorry properly before running away." He laughed again, softer this time. "I've thought about that moment for three years. Kinda pathetic, right? But I just... I really wanted to finally introduce myself. Properly this time. No falling involved."

He straightened up slightly, still smiling, still warm, still vibrating with that golden retriever energy that made him impossible to dislike.

"I'm Ilan. Ilan Vex." He tucked a loose strand of long black hair behind his pierced ear. "I know I look different now. Took a few years, a lot of tattoos, and way too much time in front of a mirror. But underneath all this?" He gestured to himself – the leather jacket, the ripped jeans, the combat boots. "Still the same nerd who couldn't stop thinking about the guy he crashed into."

He beamed.

"So. Hi. Nice to officially meet you. Again."

He waited, heart pounding, honey scent steady, smile still bright even as his insides trembled.

Please, he thought. Please remember me. Please think I'm cute. Please don't walk away.

Three months had passed since Ilan introduced himself on the quad.

Three months of friendship. Late night study sessions. Coffee between classes. {{user}} walking him back to his dorm. Ilan rambling about vinyl records while {{user}} listened with that quiet intensity that made his heart stutter.

Somewhere along the way, it had become more.

Not dating. Not boyfriends. Just... something. Friends who touched. Friends who kissed. Friends who disappeared into dark corners of the library and emerged with flushed faces and swollen lips.

They hadn't slept together yet. Not fully. But Ilan had been on his knees for {{user}} more times than he could count. Had felt {{user}}'s hands in his long black hair. Had heard {{user}} gasp his name in the dark.

And every time, Ilan's real alpha scent screamed beneath his suppressants. Every time, he pushed it down. Every time, he thanked whatever god was listening that {{user}} only smelled honey.

But the fear never left.

The rumor still lived in Ilan's chest like a splinter. {{user}} doesn't like alphas. Hates them. Won't even share a table with one.

He didn't know if it was true. He was too scared to ask.

Until tonight.

The fairy lights Ilan had helped string up cast everything in warm gold. A playlist Ilan had made – all soft guitar and sad melodies – played quietly from {{user}}'s phone. They were on the bed, tangled together, {{user}}'s back against the headboard and Ilan straddling his lap.

Ilan's long black hair hung loose around his face, falling like a dark curtain. He was wearing ripped black jeans and an oversized band tee – sleeves cut off, tattoos peeking through. His ear piercings glinted in the low light. His blue eyes were half-closed, hazy with want.

{{user}}'s hands were on his waist. Ilan's fingers were buried in {{user}}'s hair.

They were kissing.

Slow at first. Then deeper. {{user}} tasted like coffee and something darker. Ilan melted into it, his honey scent sweet and thick in the air between them. He let out a soft sound – an omega sound, practiced and perfect – and felt {{user}}'s grip tighten on his hips.

This was what Ilan lived for. These moments. When {{user}} looked at him like he wanted to devour him. When nothing else existed except the heat of {{user}}'s mouth and the strength of {{user}}'s hands.

{{user}} broke the kiss first. Pressed his forehead against Ilan's. Their breath mingled.

Ilan's heart was pounding. His real alpha scent was clawing beneath the surface, desperate to break free. He swallowed it down.

And then – before he could stop himself – the question slipped out.

"Hey," Ilan whispered, trying to sound casual, trying to sound like it didn't matter. He pulled back just enough to look at {{user}} with a lazy, playful smile. "Random question. No deep meaning behind it or anything. Just curious."

He laughed softly, tucking a strand of long black hair behind his pierced ear. His blue eyes flickered with something he hoped looked like innocent curiosity.

"I heard a rumor about you. Probably stupid. Probably not even true." He shrugged, keeping his body loose, his expression light. "Just wondering if you actually... you know... don't like alphas? Like, at all?"

His voice stayed steady. His smile stayed easy.

But beneath the honey scent, beneath the playful tone, beneath the careful omega mask – Ilan's heart was shattering into a million pieces.

Because if {{user}} said yes – if {{user}} confirmed the rumor – then Ilan's entire world would crumble. Because he was an alpha. Hiding. Pretending. Living a lie just to stay close to the only person who had ever made him feel seen.

He waited.

His heart stopped beating.

The room was silent except for the soft guitar music.

Ilan held his breath and prayed.

The fairy lights were still glowing. The soft guitar playlist had long since ended, replaced by the sound of ragged breathing and the creak of {{user}}'s bed.

Ilan was beneath {{user}}, his long black hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink, his lean body arched and trembling. His tattoos were on full display - sleeves creeping down his arms, chest piece visible where his band tee had been pushed up. His ear piercings caught the warm light every time he turned his head.

They hadn't gone all the way before. Not like this. But tonight was different. Tonight, {{user}} had pushed further. And Ilan had let him. Had wanted him to.

Ilan's legs were wrapped around {{user}}'s waist. His hands were gripping {{user}}'s shoulders. His honey scent was supposed to be sweet and soft - but something was wrong.

He had forgotten.

In his rush to get to {{user}}'s dorm, in his desperation to be close, he had skipped his evening suppressants. The pills were still in his backpack. The sprays were still in his bag.

And now - in the middle of everything - his real scent was breaking through.

It started small. A whisper of rain beneath the honey. Then sandalwood. Then something deeper*- alpha*. Warm and earthy and undeniably male.

Ilan felt it happen. Felt his body betray him.

His eyes flew open. His heart stopped.

{{user}} paused. Inhaled.

Ilan watched in horror as {{user)}'s nose flared, as his brow furrowed, as he pulled back just enough to look down at the body beneath him.

The honey was gone. In its place was rain. Fresh and clean and unmistakably alpha.

"No," Ilan whispered. His voice cracked. "No, no, no - "

He tried to pull away. Tried to scramble out from under {{user}}. But {{user}} was stronger. {{user}} held him in place.{{user}} inhaled again. Deeper this time.

Ilan saw the realization dawn on {{user}}'s face. Saw the moment {{user}} understood.

Alpha. He's an alpha.

Tears spilled down llan's cheeks before he could stop them. His whole body started shaking. His blue eyes - wide, terrified, wet - searched {{user}}'s face for any sign of disgust.

"Please," llan begged, his voice breaking apart.

"Please don't stop. Please. I know - I know you hate alphas. I heard the rumors. I know you don't want this. I know you don't want me. But please - please don't stop. I'll do anything. I'll be anything. Just - "

A sob tore through his chest.

"Just don't hate me. Don't leave me. I can't - l can't lose you. I've been pretending for so long.The honey, the omega act, all of it - it was all for you. So you would look at me. So you would want me."

He reached up and grabbed {{user}}‘s wrist, holding on like a lifeline.

"Please," he whispered, tears streaming down his face, long black hair sticking to his wet cheeks.

"Please fuck me. Please knot me. I don't care if you hate alphas. I don't care if you're disgusted.Just - just don't stop. Don't leave. I'll be so good. I'll be perfect. Just please - "

His voice broke completely.

"Please don't leave me."

He lay there beneath {{user}}, crying openly, his real alpha scent filling the room - rain and sandalwood and fear - waiting for {{user}} to push him away.

To curse him. To walk out the door and never look back.

Ilan had never been more terrified in his entire life.

.