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filthforfriends · 1 year

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Chapter 13

Alpha!Damiano Omegaverse

Read chapters 1-12 on my Masterlist!

TW: Contains r-word. Text will be in red.

The rest of the school had Friday off, but not the clubs and teams. Today was competition day and the transport van picked you up at 8:15 am. The yellow and blue uniform was sexless, a pair of loose trousers and a t-shirt. It was still chilly in the mornings, so you wore a long sleeve under it.

“You know, we won’t have a lot of time to do makeup when we get there.” commented Rosemary, as you climbed inside.

“I’m not wearing makeup,” you scoff. If any extracurricular wasn’t going to be part beauty pageant, it should be aerospace engineering.

“Oh…Well, everyone else will because they’ll be taping it.” Rosemary’s unfiltered honesty wasn’t unlike Thalia’s.

“What?” you exclaim in horror.

“Taping, not broadcasting,” clarifies Mx. Varela. “It's standard procedure to prevent cheating.”

“Oh, okay,” you sigh, senses still heightened. “So will there be photographers there?”

“Yes,” answers, an annoyed voice from behind you. 11th grader and alpha Bremen who was on the competitive team last year and this year was an alternate. Phrases such as “diversity hire” hang over your head like a dark cloud. The demographic specifications to qualify became progressively more intricate as extracurriculars sought to be more inclusive and fair.

It started as “Each team must have four competitive members and two alternates to participate in events.” Naturally, the entire team was comprised of seniors.

So things evolved to “Each team must have four (4) competitors and two (2) alternates, with each grade represented via at least one (1) team member, in order to participate in events.” Every competitive team that year was exclusively 11th and 12th years. It was a stupid oversight with an addendum drafted before the season was over. “The competitive team must include lowerclassmen.”

And that was all fine and good. For nearly a decade, the academic regulations of beta exclusive societies were identical to those with alphas and omegas. But last year something changed, a departure from B.E. societal standards. There was a controversial, new addendum, passed by no more than two votes.

“In applicable districts, alphas, betas, and omegas must all be represented for a team to qualify.”

So you had to prove yourself, and learned that genius is largely a self-perpetuating cycle. Bremen was so confident in his intelligence that he’d convinced other people too. At first, it seemed like he was just getting his ego stroked, because everyone agreed that he was one One of the Smart Ones. But then you’d watched him correctly solve a problem at grade level, throw down his pencil in victory, and sit back with a gratified smirk. “Oh course, Bremen's already done!” “I’d expect nothing less from a math whiz.” “Don’t you ever lose that edge, it's gonna serve you well.”

After the circle jerk was over, you looked to Mx. Varela. They had a weary, take-no-shit expression on, probably the only other person in the room that realized Bremen could burp and the masses would attribute it to his shining IQ.

“Refocus, please.” Mx. Varela looked to where you sat on the other side of the room, sneakily doing your engineering homework because you’d finished the worksheet. Your heart stopped at getting caught. It’s not like you wouldn’t do your homework in other classes as well, but this was a special case. The instructor was doing you a favor by offering five hours a week worth of credit for three hours worth of work.

“You realize you’re gonna have to speak to the rest of the team?” Mx. Varela snatches the paper off the table and checks your work with a raised eyebrow. They flip to the back side, then quickly to the front side once more.

“This is all correct. Did you do all this on your own?” The hidden accusation catches you off guard.

“I don’t need to cheat on 11th grade math! It’s literally what we’re learning right now with some basic reasoning.”

“Basic reasoning?” Your instructor is smiling in a way that reveals you’ve just screwed yourself. “You’re bored because you’ve got one of those minds that reads math instead of solving it.”

“I…guess. It feels like making inferences.” At this point Bremen and two other team members are staring. Mx. Varela holds up your finished assignment.

“If you want an answer key, just use this. We’ll move to more advanced practice now.” You hide a laugh behind your hand. The three sets of eyes boring into your profile kept the moment from feeling like victory.

Bremen had decided how he felt about you the second he realized your status. Fortunately, the other team members came to respect your intelligence in the last two weeks. Being liked is another goal entirely, and Mx Varela hadn’t set you up for success by calling your paper the answer sheet. Alpha friendships didn’t make you envious, because they were unachievable. However, seeing the easy comradery between the betas and alphas felt like standing on the other side of a glass wall. Ever the watcher, never the participant.

“Okay, a reminder,” Mx. Valera turns around from the passenger seat to address six grumpy teenagers.

“Y/n’s the only one that needs reminders,” murmurs Bremen.

“What the hell have I done to you?” you finally snap.

“Y/n, team, none of that. We go in as one unit, we succeed as one unit.” Your face burns and it feels like everyone inside the van stares at you. It's a small, stuffy space and there's no way to hide from view.

“Remember these are just the benchmark rounds. Today it's 280 points, so focus on meeting that score, and we’ll be good.”

“Basically impossible,” Sebastian murmurs. Mx. Valera sighs and takes a beat.

“Focusing on meeting benchmark scores rather than winning will not only guarantee us a place, but it’ll leave us much better prepared for more challenging competitions.” The resentment from that moment of injustice sat in your gut like a hot coal. Blood rushed in your ears, making it difficult to hear. You step out of the van with tunnel vision, being the first to stand in front of the Romero Public High flag. Next time you’ll wear Dami’s scarf.

“Want me to do your makeup?” offers Sommer, a 12th year alpha.

“Sure,” you respond, with a forced smile. It was an act of friendship, comradery between competing team members. You had no interest in being visually appealing to other alphas. However it seemed that everyone was made-up, and being the odd man out didn’t help your nerves nor your approachability.

“I didn’t know about all the politics when I joined. I was just trying to get the Aerospace 101 credit.” Sommor scoffs.

“The stuff we do is so much more advanced. Look down.” She applies something to your eyelid. The garish carpet pattern is a real eyesore.

“So when did you find out you were the affirmative action hire?” Sommer intends it to be more humorous than malicious, so you decide to laugh.

“Rosemary explained it to me.”

“It’s cool that you get Rose, because most of us don’t. She’s super smart though and that's what matters.” Something inside you twists. This supposed bonding moment felt treacherous to your only sort-of friend on the team. The whole interaction, Sommer’s monotone voice and flawless makeup, lacked a regard for anything but her own amusement. So badly you want to speak up and demand an ounce of authenticity, but you stay silent as she applies mascara.

“Look up.” Behind her, other teams filed into the arena in their brightly colored uniforms. “I’ve never marked anybody, but you must miss him. Damiano, right?”

“I’m fine on my own,” you shrug. It wasn’t a lie. Marked or not, you were happy to do things in the peace of your own company without Dami. However, in this particular moment, having someone that made you feel understood would be a great relief. If the event hadn’t been closed to the public, Dami would be sitting directly across the room, so whenever you looked up, he was in your line of sight.

“All non-essential personnel, please exit the arena. Competitive team members only.” As instructors herded the alternates out of the arena, a pattern became very apparent. Every single set of alternates contained an omega. A quick glance at the online rosters confirmed what you already knew: you were the only omega competing in the six teams.

Mx. Valera’s hand on your shoulder makes you jump several inches in the air. Some administrator is ordering them to go to the viewing room with everyone else. All the anxious voices blend together, but you get the jist.

“I had no idea that my colleagues would conduct themselves with such overt bias. I am sorry, y/n. It will be addressed.” This is where someone substitutes in on your behalf, so the stupid little omega can go be quiet in a corner with her brethren. Except no one does. There are just announcements upon announcements while you scan the arena for a single person like you. A judge, an administrator, the guy who hands out extra pencils, but you are the only omega in this giant room, which is suddenly a dangerous place to be.

“This can’t be happening,” you murmur. “Regulations, they wouldn’t…” The real trouble comes when the alphas realize you’re the only omega in the room. Hair up to show your mark is the first thing to do. It had just begun to scar. You rub the uneven skin just beside your scent gland.

“Y/n, hey –” Sommer snaps her fingers in front of your face and you bat her hand away without thinking. There's no telling who’s more surprised at your act of defensiveness. Rosemary points to the sheet in front of you. It’s the first prompt of the day. When you look back up to get your bearings, she puts a calculator in your hands. This, at least, you can do on autopilot, but it's hard to focus with your skin crawling.

Everytime you look up there's twice as many alphas staring as you’d anticipated. At first they’re just curious, then interested. They talk to each other in low tones, making sure that they’re not the only ones seeing this single, lone omega. The hum of their voices makes you clamp your hands over your ears. Rosemary has to pry them away and put a pencil in your hand, gesturing to the equations they’d come up with.

“God, she’s so slow today,” complains Sommer. You force yourself not to check, but possibility becomes the most terrifying of all. If you don’t look up now, how close could an alpha get before you finally do scan the surroundings? With such a crowded room, the answer is right on top of you. The answer is with its teeth to your neck.

The other three talk, but you just operate as a human calculator, solving whatever Rosemary hands your way. You remind yourself that your pheromones aren’t enticing to most of, if not all these alphas. You’re marked, but that matters significantly less as the only omega in sight. There isn’t a better option.

“Y/n? Y/n, these numbers are too big. It doesn’t make sense.” You’re going back over your work when a buzzer goes off.

“Pencils down, an administrator will come by to collect your work.”

“But I’m not done.” Even Rosemary’s gaze holds animosity. Sommer arranges the papers in the folder refusing to speak to or even look at you.

“Did you finish?” Mx. Valera asks. The silence is enough of an answer.

“Well that's fine, only half the teams finished.”

“So we’re in the bottom 50%? Y/n, what the fuck was that? Were you having a seizure?” You’d like to deliver a searing retort to put Sommer in her place, but the words get stuck as she intimidates you.

“Sommer, stop. How far did you get? I couldn’t see at the very end.” You wait for someone to answer, looking at Rosemary when the team remains silent. “Y/n?”

“Yes?” You’re backed up against the desk, trying to achieve some personal space, but everyone seems to be looming. “Where are the alternates?”

“How far did you get?”

“If I had like 30 seconds, I could’ve fixed the mistake. I'm sorry, I was just…”

“So to the very end?” There's hope in Mx. Valera’s eyes, but it doesn’t make you feel better. Even as a couple omega alternates scurry over to the bathroom, all eyes are on you. Figuring this is the safest time to break away from the group, you mutter an “excuse me” and grab your bag before heading towards the bathroom. Being the object of everyone’s attention is never a good feeling, but right now in particular, it makes your eyes and skin burn. An alpha shoulder checks you as he brushes by then laughs as you scramble not to eat shit on the cheaply carpeted floor. The message was clear: you are not supposed to be here.

I want my mommy is your first thought. Your second is no, I want my alpha. There was a district wide soccer tournament starting this evening, but Romero wasn’t playing until Sunday. That would make this weekend the first time Damiano had two days off in god knows how long. He did best with an occupied mind, but everyone needs rest, especially after such a rough patch. You’d be denying him that.

Of course, your mind goes exactly where he’d want it to. Dami in your kitchen four days ago, cooking some heavenly chicken dish. Where most alphas would simply say “make sure you eat a good meal and go to bed early. My omega’s health is important to me.” He asked nothing of you, cooking dinner and rubbing your back until you fell asleep at 8pm.

“I want you to know that you don’t need to be frightened, love. Things seemed pretty dire for a sec, but I’m doing so much better. I need you to know that I’m okay. I feel steady, so you can lean on me.” At the time, you were literally laying on his chest, not just hearing his words but sensing the vibration under his sternum as well. “I’m okay,” he repeats. “I’m okay.” And he was.

The tears on your cheeks evidenced how much you needed to hear those words out loud, because it took years for Thalia to be okay. Clio had yet to get there. You’d been bracing yourself, subconsciously. Damiano grasped both clenched fists, tendons straining, nails creating crescent shaped bruises as they dug into the meat of your hand. He unfurled them, kissing your palms, coaxing you to relax with the knowledge that he no longer needed a safety net. He was not a fall risk.

***

“Hey, baby,” he croaks. “Everything okay?” Fuck. Calling him was a horrible idea. You’re already wiping away tears. The warmth in his tone is such a stark contrast to the rest of this morning.

“Y/n? What’s going on?” You’d woken him up on essentially a weekend, when most weekends he had to get up early too. And what now? Damiano wasn’t allowed inside, no matter how hard you wished the rules to be otherwise. Piling guilt on to the rest of your emotional baggage was about to be the final straw.

“You’re scaring me. Say something.”

“Something,” you manage, in a shaky tone. Damiano had seen you cry in the past year more than anyone, but not these kinds of tears. He clears his throat and you can hear the rustle of bedsheets as he sits up.

“Okay, I’m awake. Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“This stupid fucking competition,” you sigh heavily, then choke. It's not quite a sob.

“Right, okay. How closed to the public is it? Like is there security?” He’s not joking, but you still laugh.

“Um…could you pick me up? It supposed to be over at 10 but the next round is uh…” you search for a clock or a directory, “Fuck I don’t remember. I feel like it's gonna be done way before then.”

“And it's the conference hall right by LHS?” You purposely bang your forehead on the wall.

“Fuck, your old school is gonna be here.” Maybe that's why they were staring. “How much do I smell like you?”

“Uh…enough? It's recognizable.”

“Okay, good,” you say with a sigh. Staring because you were Dami’s mate was something you could live with.

“They’re giving you a hard time.”

“I’m a zoo animal.” A five minute warning is announced and the panic tightens in your chest. “Time to go jump through some fiery hoops.”

“I’ll brush my teeth and leave. I’ll be there whenever you’re done, kitten.” You roll your eyes at the nickname. It had started out cute but now only one of you found it cute (it was Dami).

“Do your hair and stuff too, if you want.” Being seen by people from Laurel High, his old school, was going to be tough.

“I thought you liked the man bun!”

“I love the man bun, but I know looking your best –”

“Makes it easier to jump through fiery hoops?”

“Exactly.” A two minute warning sounds. “Okay I have to go, I love you.”

“I love you too. Go be a rocket scientist!” You steel yourself before walking back to the podium. Purposefully, you veer by Laurel High School. When they stare you bite back like you’ve wanted to all day.

“Do I know you?”

“Jesus christ,” Bremen murmurs as he walks past you, He shakes his head in distaste, commiserating with the Laurel High competitors through mutual eye rolling and scoffs at your behavior. What an annoying, upetty omega. He would side with your competitors before having an ounce of respect.

“Have fun watching me compete,” you sneer.

“You know, you think that people don’t like you because you’re an omega. Actually, people don’t like you because you’re a bitch.” It's so hateful that you’re caught off guard. LHS “ooh” and “ah” at your expense. After all, there's no better entertainment than watching an omega be put in their place. Sommer grabs you by your arm and hauls you over to the Romero flag.

“Ignore them. I like the fact that you’re a bitch.” But I don’t want to be a bitch at all. Was that the only option if you stood up for yourself? Of course you also acted on the offensive and what else did that make you if not bitch? Did Damiano think of you as a bitch, in the pseudo-affectionate way Sommer did? That thought felt the same as guilt, a tear-wrenching, yanking sensation from inside your ribcage. What a swell time to have a personality crisis.

Mx. Valera comes to wish you luck before the second prompt is handed out. They’re pissed on your behalf, which is a nice sentiment, but doesn't solve anything in the here and now. The best strategy is to stay with the team, because at least Rosemary won’t let an pissed off alpha corner you. In that case, all you could hope for is that taunts don’t become retribution for merely existing in their space.

“Why do we leave at 10 if the competition is gonna finish at like 9:40?”

“It’s so all the teams can meet. We call it Nerd Conference,” Rosemary explains, as the papers are handed out, face down.

“You call it Nerd Conference,” mumbles a usually silent Sebastian, the forth team member. Thank god you’d called Damiano. Maybe the omegas would be treated like real team members, but more likely they’d be huddled in a corner while the betas and alphas enjoyed some comradery. If a team placed poorly, their alphas would want to take it out on something, and that something would be you.

“Begin.” They’re staring at me because I smell like Dami. They’re staring at me because they recognize his pheromones. These are the phrases you kept chanting to reduce the compulsion to look up every five seconds. At first it worked, but then fear won over and you have to focus everything on keeping the numbers straight. Mathematically, it was a surprisingly difficult problem for so early in the competition. Doable, but you needed a second sheet of paper.

“At least two of the teams are stuck,” narrated Rosemary as you handed the calculations to Sommer. While implementing the numbers, you checked your work over her shoulder. Something raises the hair on the back of your neck and makes you whip around. It’s just an administrator, doing his rounds to prevent cheating, but your heart rate still goes sky high. It dawns on you that there is no way to avoid being followed out of the building. All you can do is get to Damiano, or rather get in his line of sight. The AD2 part of him would welcome a challenge.

“How long until this is over?” You keep looking at the doors, convincing yourself he is on the other side and all you have to do is calculate the fucking trajectory of the capsule release to get to him.

“Six minutes and 49 seconds,” answers Rosemary. “Here.” As she passes the paper back, you become aware that the timer is the only thing keeping these alphas at their station. When it goes off, they’ll be free to roam, and temporarily, you’ll be the only omega in sight. One versus 35 alphas and betas that think you don’t belong here.

“Any teams still stuck?”

“Yes.”

“Is Laurel High one of them?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Damn it.”

“Are you stuck?”

“No,” you shove the calculations across the desk. You should be done with your part of the prompt, and now there's nothing to occupy your mind except feeling like prey. LHS is watching you with self-satisfied smirks, convinced you’ll fail again. Other alphas are curious how you’re holding up, and each so clearly took pleasure in watching you squirm. The question becomes how many of them are marked or mated, which is what you’re trying to discern when Rosemary announces the team is finished. There's 17.9 seconds on the clock and you all huddle, checking each of your calculations.

“The numbers make sense,” Sommer breathes in a sigh of relief.

“So can I go?” She snatches your wrist and holds it forcefully.

“Wait or we’ll get disqualified,” she orders, using her alpha temperament to force compliance. You stare at the carpet until the timer buzzes.

“Now can I go?”

“Go where? They haven’t scored us yet.” The other teams have relaxed, some people even checking their phones after stepping away from the desk.

“Bye.” When Sommer doesn’t stop you, it's clear that the actual competition is over. You’ll skip the feeding frenzy and make minimal eye contact while heading to the exit.

“Nice job omega!” It's unclear whether the words are genuine, but the tone is certainly condescending. Someone laughs and your face heats up. You looked like a child in comparison to all the other competitors. Plain faced and anxious, you were the one cropped out of photographs. Or worse, included so the publication didn’t get attacked by Equalitarians.

In the lobby, are parents of children who lived more locally, early to pick up. Damiano is in the parking lot, if he’s here yet, so you keep your eyes on the window next to the exit. If you can make it out that door, you’ll be free. You’re so focused that Damiano has to physically step in your path to gain your attention. His concern is thinly veiled as he takes your backpack, so beautiful you can’t believe he’s yours. Dami would know to get done up, he wouldn’t have made this mistake. Maybe that's why they were staring. Clearly, he’d marked you, but how had someone so average looking managed that?

“Baby, c’mere,” he whispered. You’d just stood there pathetically, arms limp at your sides until Damiano’s beauty brought you to tears. Even as he hugged you, you were frozen.

“I think it’s incredibly brave, what you’re doing,” compliments an omegan father next to you.

“Uh, thanks.” You wipe the tears on your sleeves and notice all the black smudges from forgotten mascara. “Oh fuck, do I look like a racoon?”

“No,” Dami answers in a hushed voice with a tight smile. His eyes keep darting to just below the right side of your face. He says the perfect pleasantry with the perfect gesture and steers you out of the door. The cold morning air is refreshing and a bit painful on your wet cheeks. You can’t help but compulsively check behind you every couple seconds.

“Don’t worry about being followed. I’m here now.” Damiano’s hand finds yours on the way to the car. You’d expected a barrage of questions about your well being, but he was contemplative, probably struggling to calibrate his reaction.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Don't apologize. I’m glad you did.” He squeezes your hand and falls silent again. He wasn’t angry, but there was something plaguing him.

“Are you okay?” Damiano stops walking and winces with his eyes squeezed closed.

“Am I okay?” he repeats under his breath, shaking his head. “I should have been the first one to ask that.”

“I’ll be fine as soon as we get out of here.” Behind you is the repeated click of the door opening as people filter out.

“Y/n! Y/n!” Sommer’s hurried footsteps come up from behind. You steel yourself to face her, but end up looking at Dami’s back as he steps in front.

“Jesus fucking christ Dam, I’m not gonna hurt her. We’re on the same team!” You wrap an arm around Dami and lean into his side. You didn’t need to puff out your chest and prove to everyone that you were strong despite being an omega. He was your strength.

“We’re about to leave Sommer.” She rolls her eyes, breathless from excitement.

“I just wanted to say that you don’t need to be sad about messing up or whatever because we broke 300! We got second place.” Damiano smiles with pride, jostling you so you’d take a moment to celebrate.

“I wasn’t upset because of the score. It’s a science club and they still treat omegas like they’re inferior. Nobody wanted me there!” The smile falls from Damiano’s face as you turn to him. “Can we just go?” He nods, unlocking his car and leaning over to put your bag in the backseat. While he’s doing so, Bremen rushes out of the building, scanning the parking lot for someone.

“Valera is looking for you,” he yells.

“Bremen, I already said I’d find her, go be obsessed with someone else.” He bristles.

“Whatever. An administrator told me to find her. I guess they’re worried that if y/n crosses the street without someone holding her hand she’ll forget to look both ways and get hit by a car,” he laughs. Apparently his view of Damiano was blocked. You put a hand on your alpha’s back so he doesn’t react right away. Sommor looks at you and Dami, then back at Bremen with wide eyes.

“Can you just shut up for once,” she prompts, gesturing at him to stop talking. Bremen’s easily wounded ego is hurt by Sommor siding with someone else. If only he knew she was trying to help him.

“You’re the one who came up with the diversity hire jokes! She solves one problem correctly –”

“‘Diversity hire?’” Damiano growls, straightening up. Sommer shrinks back and Bremen looks cornered. Two alphas against one should have an obvious outcome, but Dami is stronger than them and he’s also really fucking scary when he wants to be.

“It really makes you that insecure that she’s more intelligent than you.”

“She’s not –” Bremen starts, then promptly closes his mouth.

“She’s not what?” Dami stalks towards him like a lion hunting antelope. Taking a step back would be admitting subservience. Bremen hasn’t caved in yet, but it's a matter of seconds.

“You think her safety is a joke. I take her safety very seriously,” he snarls. “If you ever were to compromise –”

“I would never,” Bremen shakes his head, taking two steps backwards.

“I know, because I know what a jealous alpha looks like.” He glances at Sommor for confirmation and she nods her head.

“Brem, you – he wanted to make the new omega on the team his mate.” Damiano hums, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“It’s pathetic that you’re taking it out on her.” Pathetic was a pretty brutal insult from one alpha to another. “If you have an issue with the fact that she belongs to someone, you’re gonna take it up with me.” He’s almost whispering. “Do you have an issue with the fact that I chose her to be my omega?”

“No,” Bremen whispers, shaking his head.

“Do you take issue with me marking her?”

“No.”

“And when I make her my mate, will that be a problem?”

“No.” Damiano turns on heel, and walks back to you. His face is still contorted with anger. What you don’t expect is his fingers along your neckline. He pulls the necklaces you still put on every morning out of your shirt.

“Do you see these? They’re mine and I knew she’d be wearing them because she wears them everyday, even though I’ve never asked her to. Do you understand? You are nothing to her,” he spits. Damiano opens your door and you sit down, shell shocked by the turn of events for several minutes.

“Uh, sorry.” Dami looks sheepish and his hand is hesitant as it takes yours. “My territorialism…I could have handled that better.” You shake your head, bringing his palm to your cheek. He takes it back only to turn off the highway and into a residential area.

“That's my childhood home.” He points to a one story brown house that sits up against the woods. “The people that live there now have like a dozen cats. We moved when I was 11 and again when I was 15.”

“Big backyard,” you guess.

“Exactly,” he smiles. “And this is Blue Creek Park. It's a little nature preserve, but people outside the neighborhood don’t come here because it’s on the other side of the freeway.” The gravel crunches below the tires as Dami pulls into a small parking lot of only five spaces. “Sandro and I did a few legally questionable things here as kids.” He parks the car and turns towards you. The keys jingle as Damiano drops them in an empty cup holder. Isabella had color-coded them some time ago. The brightly colored rubber borders were dirty.

“Y/n, why were you crying?” You keep looking at the cupholders. Dami puts a finger under your chin and raises your gaze to his. Keeping your shit together was hard with all that affection and empathy directed your way.

“Why did that man say you were brave?”

“It’s stupid, I don’t want to talk about it.” You look back down. A drop from your last latte had fallen, staining the tan-colored hard plastic.

“Well, you’d never let me get away with that.”

“Not wanting to talk about something?”

“Yeah, you always make me face it, even if I don’t want to.”

“Sounds like I’m a pretty shitty girlfriend,” you mutter and curl into a ball in the passenger seat. Damiano is coming to recognize this body language as overwhelmed to the point of defensiveness.

“What? No, that wasn’t the implication, kitten.” God damn it.

“Don’t call me that.”

“We’re not leaving until you tell me why you called me crying because you’ve never done that before.”

“And maybe I’ll never do it again!” Damiano’s leg starts bouncing. He probably knows they’re just words, but the prospect of not being allowed to protect you is anxiety-inducing. Threatening him, this whole interaction was miles away from the point.

“Ugh!” You get out of the car with your arms crossed.

“A walk in the crisp spring morning, what a pleasant idea,” he exclaims, locking the car.

“I’m not mad at you and I don’t want you to think that I am because you’re the only person that doesn’t suck, except you do kinda suck for forcing the issue,” you announce in exasperation. Damiano nods, taking a second to process your words.

“Let me show you my favorite place to blow up illegal fireworks when I was 13.”

“Does it bother you that I’m equally as close to being 13 as I am to being your age?”

“Ooh, ouch,” he cringes. “Still not distracted though. Also put on your coat.” He holds the garment up for you and zips it. The gesture is so tender your eyes water.

“Show me the scene of the crime.” You take his hand in yours, and that satisfied Dami for now. Meanwhile, you’re spiraling. Bringing up the age difference could never be just a joke to him. And what had he done to deserve that? Wake up three hours early, rush across the city, and defend you despite just getting cleared by the collegiate board. Then he’d shown you a piece of his personal history and you’d acted just as immature as opponents of this relationship predicted you would. Either in whispered voices and furtive glances or gossiped in private spaces. If the competition’s alphas had witnessed this behavior, their value judgments would be completely just.

“I’m sure all the moss has grown back now, but…” He leads you around the backside of a two story rock face. In a clearing is a pathetic little fire pit.

“You know that joke about the omega who makes a nest they’re really proud of, but to their alpha it’s just a pile of blankets. The alpha can see how important it is and compliments them, pretending to be impressed anyway?”

“Yeah?” You take a long look at the scorched mark on the ground and then at Dami.

“Dear, I think this is a very nice pile of blankets.” He bursts out laughing, the wonderful, crowing, grinning wide laugh that fills up a whole room.

“Okay, okay, fair enough,” he pants, leading you up the incline. Twice Damiano has to pause to bend over and cackle. By the time you take a seat on a flat spot at the top, the sharp clawed insecurity is almost forgotten. He looks around the park from this high point in silence. No, Dami hadn’t always been easy, but he loved you the way you’d secretly hoped to be loved. In your whole life, he was the only one that made you the priority and he did it without asking. Never did you ache for more attention or validation. It was remarkable to be at the center of such an exquisite universe.

“I think I’ve always loved you without knowing it,” you murmur. Damiano’s big, soulful eyes fixate on you. It’s a rarity to see him stunned.

“Like, before we met I must’ve…I don’t know.” You search the branches for a bird’s nest and, and move along before things get emotional. “We should just go home and sleep until lunch.”

“I…You said the competition acted like omegas were inferior. They treated you like you were stupid, they must have been horrible.” His voice is buckling with emotion.

“They didn’t treat me like I was stupid, exactly. I just felt so othered and fucking terrified. I’m never doing that again. Mx. Valera might be in the right, but it doesn’t matter if no ones on their side.” Finally, your voice breaks. “I was so scared. I was so, so scared and they enjoyed it. I was suffering and all these alphas loved it, relished it,” you cry against the rough fabric of Dami’s jacket. “They were waiting for me to fuck up and guess what? I did! I proved all of them right!”

“You didn’t prove them right. Each team had at least one omega, so clearly there is just as much variation in the intellect of –”

“No they didn’t!” You force the words out. “I was the only one in all six teams and I spent the whole first round so terrified that one of them was gonna lunge at me that I could barely think. Thats why I fucked up!”

“Woah, woah, wait. Y/n, my love, what – that's not –” He tries to get a view of your face and you permit it, flushed cheeks cupped in his hands. “Teams aren’t allowed to compete without an omega. I know, I looked, I –” Damiano and probably Isabella had found the rule book online, then combed through it to confirm that the event was safe. He was truly your guardian angel.

“They were all alternates. Only competitors are allowed in the arena so I…” The whole moment was too revealing and you curl into a ball again, this time with your head in Damiano’s lap. At least you can sob without worrying what horrendous shapes your face is making.

“There were no other omegas competing. Against betas and alphas you were the only one?”

“I was the only omega in the whole fucking room! Not an administrator or judge or teacher or janitor or person with extra batteries for the calculators. No one!” you howl against his sweatpants. “And everyone knew to wear makeup and do their hair except me so I looked ugly and that's probably why all the people from Laurel High were staring like I was a polar bear in a plastic enclosure.”

“Y/n, no.” Hey starts combing your hair back with his hands.

“They were just waiting for me to fail. I was an object for them to toy with for amusement. It’s not just that they didn’t want me there. It’s like –” Damiano’s hand strokes your exposed cheek.

“They didn’t really see you as a person, but you finished that shitty competition anyway.” Now that the words are out the tears should stop, but they don’t. Damiano gets an arm underneath your waist so he can hold you, rocking back and forth.

“I’m…infuriated.” It's apparent in his tone of voice. “I hate that I wasn’t there and that you felt unsafe without me. I’m so sorry.”

“It was closed to the public.”

“But they didn’t follow the regulations to keep you safe!” You flip over and look up at Damiano, lifting a hand to his angular face. He catches it and kisses each knuckle, staring into the distance and scowling. It’s clear he’s taking the competition’s lapses in judgment very personally, even as personally as you. The moisture from the moss had wet your outfit in patches, probably stained the white polyester green.

“Can we go home now? I want to get this off my body.” You sit up and Damiano nods, expression tortured. He’s looking off to the right again, towards your mark.

“I put my hair up so they’d see.” His face becomes pained, rather than pleased. “When I was nervous I’d touch the scar and it helped.”

“It's irritated. You were probably rubbing it to self soothe.”

“Oh…” You feel sheepish, even as Dami helps you off the ground.

“Also there's makeup on your face, love. Don’t you remember putting it on?” He brushes your under eye with the pad of his thumb. Reflexively, you raise a hand to your complexion, as if you’d be able to feel the black pigment staining your face.

“Sommor?” You nod and he rolls his eyes. “I thought it looked...”

“What?”

“Tacky. She’s always been that way.” That comment literally stops you in your tracks

“Oh my god, you slept with her.” It's a horrifying realization and even worse was Dami not rebuking it. He just cringes with his shoulders raised up to his ears. It's also kind of hilarious considering how agro he was towards her today.

“Sorry,” he squeaks. “It was a long time ago.”

“Like over a year?” He squints one eye while counting on his fingers.

“You have to think about it!?” It really sucked that he’d slept with one of your teammates, but he also didn’t do anything wrong. Damiano had never squirmed like this before, so teasing is plenty of retribution.

“Nevermind, I don’t want to know,” you dismiss, dramatically walking past him.

“Definitely a year! I didn’t even mean to have sex with her. Her friend Maia, was the one I was going after, but she hooked up with someone else that night, so,” he shrugs.

“Well thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” you reply with heavy sarcasm.

“I actually have no earthly idea why I told you that.” You begin walking backwards, facing Dami.

“I’m just impressed that you remember their names.” He throws his head back and groans in mortification.

“I’m never gonna live this down.”

“Did you do an every letter of the alphabet challenge? Does Xiema have something to tell me?”

“No,” he says forcefully. “I made sure not to sleep with any of your friends.”

“How romantic! And I thought chivalry was dead.” He jogs a few steps to catch up.

“You’re taking this kinda well.”

“Logically, you had to get good at it somewhere. In the future, please tell me so I have a couple zingers prepared.”

“That sounds super fair.” He throws an arm over your shoulders and brings you in for a kiss on the temple. “Christ, I wish I was as funny as you.”

“You are funny!” Some of your favorite moments were rolling around in Dami’s bed cackling, until you got side cramps.

“I know I’m funny, but you’re so quick witted. Whenever I see you humble some alpha, I’m happy to be on your good side.” So Damiano’s funny, but you’re funny and mean? He phrased it like a compliment, so you’re left contemplating what such a compliment said about your personality. Sliding into the car seats, your mind is occupied until Dami speaks.

“Oh man, someone’s gonna have to teach you how to drive pretty soon,” he ponders, buckling his seatbelt. “Poor bastard.” Damiano brakes at the stop sign and finds you staring at him. “No! Absolutely not.” You continue the silent stare, smirking. “Oh, fuck me.” Damiano rests his head on the steering wheel upon realizing his fate. “I am the poor bastard. God damn it, this is what I get for being a cradle robber.” Wow. Yep, that did feel like shit. But you’d started the age jokes, which meant you had to take them too.

“Well if I show up to practice with any inexplicable injuries,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, “I can just tell them it's from almost dying in a car crash. After seeing how you handled Okoro’s team, I’m sure they won’t question it.” he chuckles. That had to be excessive, but one glance at Dami reveals that he’s not intentionally punishing you. He never intentionally punished you, but it did happen the other way around. Dami actually thinks this is flattery, and being confronted with the realities of his perception is beyond jarring. Liking this part of your character doesn’t change the fact that Damiano sees you as a bitch, too.

“Hey, stop, stop, stop.” Stop what? “You’re doing it again.” He pulls your hand from your neck and laces your fingers together so you can’t rub the scar subconsciously. “The proximity to your scent gland makes me really nervous, kit – love.” Kit wasn’t so bad. Foxes had kits.

“I like the pet names, but kitten just doesn’t feel right anymore. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“It just doesn’t fit.” He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand.

“That’s fine, I can just say something else.” A healthy person was not meant to contain this much self-loathing at one time. You bring your legs to your chest and rest your face on your kneecaps.

“Something else you wanna –” Dami’s phone rings. He curses under his breath instead of reading the contact name immediately.

“Who’s parents?”

“Your dad,” he groans, hitting ANSWER. “Good morning, Kevin. How are you doing on this beautiful day?” It’s a miracle how genuine he sounds.

“Is y/n with you?”

“Yes she is. Safe and sound. We’re headed home right now.”

“She was supposed to be in the van with the rest of the team. That was the plan.”

“I’m so sorry if you were unsure of her whereabouts. I assumed –”

“We figured she was with you, since one of her teammates told the coach as much. That girl got in the van with everyone else like normal.” Normal was one of your father’s favorite words (and concepts).

“I know who you’re talking about, her name is Sommar.” There's a long silence, as your father recovers from Damiano not taking the bait.

“Why isn’t y/n answering her phone?” You strain to grab your bag from the backseat.

“I believe she still has it turned off from the competition, but I’ll have her turn it on right now.” You nod. Lacking patience, you turn the backpack upside down, dumping all your shit out on the floor. Damiano begins to laugh at the strawberry four chapsticks with peeling labels and hoarders collection of empty water bottles, but covers it with a cough.

“Bring her straight home. Y/n needs to discuss this behavior and the consequences with her family.” You shake your head vigorously and Damiano places a hand on your leg.

“Can you please elaborate for me?” Kevin releases a long, irritated sigh.

“Look, we really appreciate times you might have provided some type of protection,” that was an insulting amount of qualifiers, “but y/n needs to preserve her resilience.” All you had been today was resilient and Dami seems to think the same as he squeezes your thigh to pacify your anxiety. “A year ago she would never have called a boyfriend to come pick her up because she was upset about getting second place.”

“Y/n is not upset about getting second place. The way she was treated today –”

“And do you think that is helped by being the only one with a chauffeur? Being seen as having special privileges, being different from everyone else, that's not gonna make anything easier. Disagreements are normal. It happens in the adult world all the time and you have to resolve them, not run away. I think –”

“‘I’m gonna have to pause you right there, Kevin.” Dami actually pulls over as he speaks. “Lots of kids were picked up by their parents or perhaps even partners. I don’t know for sure, because we didn’t hang around long. What I do know, for a fact, is that the only person questioning y/n’s resilience right now is you.”

“Be that as it mm – Olivia, it’s fine.” Your father holds the phone away from his ear while speaking to your mother. “I’ve got a handle on it…well, alright.” His voice is faint, but you can still hear how begrudging his concession is.

“Dami, darling, you’re on speakerphone with the both of us.” Since coming home to a gourmet dinner and clean kitchen on Monday, your mother had grown quite fond of Damiano.

“Olivia, how are you this morning?” This time the warmth isn’t manufactured.

“I’m quite well and happy to hear that our girl is being taken care of.” Kevin huffs in disagreement. “Of course, taking the van with everybody else would have been better.”

“Normally that’d stand to reason, but y/n isn’t like everyone else, and her teammates remind her regularly. Today the competition broke multiple regulations by having y/n as the only omega in a room – actually, calling that arena a room isn’t accurate. It's the size of a skating rink. In a space of over 40 people, at least 25 alphas, most of them single, she was the only omega.”

“Oh my god. Kevin!”

“I feel deeply uncomfortable with any actions that might discourage y/n from repeating this behavior, whether overt or subliminal. Discipline is out of the question, since this was an issue of safety and y/n couldn’t have reacted more appropriately.” Your eyebrows must be in your hairline and it wasn’t just Dami’s eloquence. He was using his alpha authoritarianism to instruct your father on how to raise his daughter.

“Well that's a little dramatic.”

“In a state of flight, fawn, or freeze, an omega isn’t going to choose the best plan of action, but the easiest. They’re already battling sensory overwhelm, so I need to be her path of least resistance. When y/n goes “I think I might be in danger. What the hell can I do?’” Swearing in front of Kevin, even if just for emphasis, was a ballsy move. It seemed like Dami was too impassioned to care, both hands gesticulating as if he was speaking to your parents in person.

“I need her to think ‘I’ll call my alpha,’ not ‘I could call Damiano, but last time I did someone got mad at me.’ Because then she isn’t going to call me. She’s gonna choose the option that won’t keep her as safe,” he’s bordering on hysterical. Anxiety that concerned your well-being seemed to escalate and escalate out of Dami’s control. You put a hand on his leg, trying to ground him. He merely glances in your direction, but in that glance you can see all the scenarios he came up with on the drive over. Revenge raped. Alpha’s getting carried away and seriously injuring you by accident because they don’t yet know their own strength.

“Or maybe she’ll choose an option that won’t keep her safe at all.” You grab one of his hands and squeeze so he’ll focus on reality. “And if something happened to her because of that I would literally never forgive anyone –”

“Dami! Dami, I’m okay.” You undo your seatbelt and climb into his lap. “I’m fine. Hey, look at me. I’m fine.” He doesn’t want to meet your eyes initially, caught up in all the horrors of his mind. You force him to, knowing that your healthy contenance will soothe his panic.

“Y/n?” rings your mother's worried voice.

“Hi, mom. We pulled over a while ago, by the way.” Damiano looks at you, with his jaw in your right hand, nails of your left in his undercut. Your lower body is still on the center console, so he pulls you fully onto his lap, sitting sideways.

“Oh, well that's good.” If they think Dami is on the verge of a breakdown, your parents will interrupt today’s plans, which must be avoided at all costs. A weekend together was your reward for trying to “take space,” as Jay begrudgingly requested. It still struck you as a strange and damn near counterintuitive request for a new alpha-omega couple. Bonding was encouraged by society, and if there was a concern, it was over a lack of connection, not a surplus.

“I know Clio isn’t particularly fond of Damiano, but I think they could bond over worrying about things that are never going to happen.”

“It’s my job to worry about you.” He kisses you lightly (so the gesture doesn’t make a sound) but slow.

“And we do so appreciate your help today. Um…y/n, when will we see you next? Tomorrow?” Your father is grumbling in the background. Holding the phone away from her ear, but not nearly far enough for her words to be indistinguishable, your mother hisses at him. “I wouldn’t dream of separating them right now and if you ever went to the Support Meetings you’d understand why that’d be cruel.”

“You’ll see her tomorrow and y/n will keep you updated on our whereabouts via text now that her phone is on,” Damiano answers. “We’re gonna go to the game tonight.”

“I’ll be amusing myself by eating my weight in junk food and screaming random sports terminology.”

“She does it so confidently that nobody figures it out before our break,” he responds fondly.

“And you’ll be meeting friends there?” When your mother asks, the sentiment isn’t so accosting.

“Yeah, tons of people, plus I think y/n is inviting…”

“Gia and Xiema, if I can convince Xia to come. They’ll also be joining in on the junk food and heckling, of course.”

“Yeah, focusing on the actual game is too mainstream.”

“Only cool kids undermine the integrity of events because they’re too lazy to learn the rules.”

“You know the rules! You’re just hellbent on creating chaos to distract the opposing team.”

“I guess you know to ignore the random voice screaming ‘SPIKE IT’ as you’re trying to make a goal.” Dami is doing what you’ve donned The Possessed Seagull Laugh, bent over and leaning against you.

“Damiano, I’m sorry for raising such a heathen. I really tried my best,” your mother adds to the banter.

“Don’t apologize, she’s probably helped our point margins this season.”

“Help? I am solely responsible for your success.”

“Your humility is one of my favorite things about you, dear.”

“Oh yeah? That and the banshee screams at 10:00 AM right?”

“I especially enjoy the expressions of the opposing team at the end of the game when they realize the crazy woman in the stands is my omega.”

“Okay, okay, so it sounds like you guys have some great plans tonight,” she laughs. It’s been so long since you heard your mother’s laugh.

“Y/n, call me if you need someone to talk to before I see you tomorrow. I love you, be safe.”

“Love you too, bye!” Instead of getting back on the road, Damiano holds you for a minute with a hand up the back of your shirt. His face is pressed into your neck and you know he wants to be scented, but that’d make focusing on driving difficult. So he’s tiding himself over by admiring your mark. He thought you’d be upset at the scarring since it branded you as his for the near future. Who else am I going to spend my future with? you’d asked. Dami got a funny look and worked three dark and very visible hickies into your neck and shoulder that you were plagued with concealing from your father. At school you wore them proudly. Secretly, he’d wait around corners and watch you walk to class. Alphas did a double take and you never noticed.

Of course, his inner pessimist made Dami also ponder that If anything were to happen to him, or god forbid the relationship, the discolored skin would remain. The next alpha would have to bite through the scar tissue if they marked that side. It’d be much harder to get their teeth in, Damiano still guarding you from a world away.

“What are you thinking about?” He sits upright with that same strange expression.

“Oh, just toxic alpha stuff that would annoy you.” He pats your ass with finality. “Let's go home, hmm?” You climb back across the center console with his help. “And sorry for…freaking out on the phone call with your parents. I – Jay, I’ll talk to Jay about managing that.”

“It’s alright.” Wearing a genuine smile, you squeeze his leg, then keep your hands to yourself. Possessiveness and arousal were extremely close for alpha’s and you weren’t feeling up for the usual raucous lovemaking. The most accurate adjective was fragile and it was awful. You avoided fragility at all costs, especially the perception of it.

“I think I’m gonna quit the AE club. I can’t go through that again, it isn’t worth it.”

“Understandable.”

“All of the alphas are friends with each other and all the betas are friends with the alphas, but nobody except Rosemary is friends with me. I act like I don’t give a shit, obviously, but it kinda hurts a lot, I guess.”

“I won’t tell,” he whispers.

“Thalia says it feels like everybody has the 10th edition of a social handbook that she only has the first edition of. AE club is like that.”

“Alphas do relate to each other differently than omegas, that's not on you.”

“They just want to keep me on the outside and what's worse is – is that the other teams hated me because I’m an omega, but they hate my personality.”

“Baby, you said they’d accepted you!”

“As a human calculator, but I didn’t realize before today that – that it's different.” you get choked up and stop talking.

“Baby, I can’t imagine what you dealt with today. Rosemary and Sommar like you and I bet that –”

“Sommor likes that I make her look good as team captain. It’s self-serving.” Damiano pauses in thought before answering.

“Okay, that’s fair.” You appreciate his honesty, but hearing that Sommar actually did want to be your friend and she just had a weird way of showing it might have been better. Even if it was a lie. Suddenly, the fact that Dami had slept with her and didn’t tell you for two weeks, knowing she was on the team, is upsetting.

“Maybe she’s not so bad. She could have publicly humiliated me with the fact that you’d slept together and I’d be completely unprepared.” Her enduring loyalty to Dami was worse.“How many other people do you have keeping your secrets from me?”

“Woah!” You roll your eyes at his reaction. “A second ago you were fine with this.”

“I was fine with you fucking someone else before we met. Keeping it from me? Not okay. If I hadn’t put two and two together, would you have told me yourself? Or would you have waited for Sommor to do it?

“I would have told you.”

“When?”

“Today! I wasn’t sure that it was the right Sommar until I saw her. We spent about half an hour alone together, in the woods, at night. I didn’t know her last name.”

“Even if you weren’t sure, you should have told me.”

“If I told you every time there was a possibility that someone interacting with you had been a past hookup, you’d think I was a piece of shit. If we’re being completely honest, I wasn’t sober every time either, so some of them I don’t really remember. Okay? It’s embarrassing,” he confesses. It’s not as if you can argue with his experience, so you fall silent.

“I’m really sorry that you’ll be dealing with this baggage for the rest of high school. If I could go back, I’d change so much, but I’m stuck with this shit.” Looking at your hands, unsure how to respond, the tension thickens. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I don’t know what to say! It feels like Sommor was keeping this secret out of continued loyalty to you and you were allowing it. I can see that's not how it was, but it still makes me insecure as fuck.”

“I wouldn’t do that, y/n, I swear.”

“God that whole fucking competition made me insecure. I can’t tell if I’m what's wrong or if it's bias or both. Today was such a mind fuck, I hated it.” You fix your gaze out the window, watching the other cars on the freeway. “I don’t even know why I bring it up, it's so rudimentary in comparison to what you deal with.”

“Y/n, no. You get to have problems that aren’t medical emergencies.”

“They’re superficial and petty.”

“I don’t give a fuck. If they’re affecting you, I want to know. If they’re not, I still want to know what you’re thinking.” He pauses to inhale. “Also nothing about today has been superficial, It’s real, heavy stuff. I need to know how you’re doing, ideally before anyone else.”

“Okay,” you agree, too bashful to meet his eyes. Luckily Damiano has a great sense of humor.

“I want to know if you have a particularly good cup of coffee and if you subsequently have a good shi –”

“Ew! Stop talking!”

“The role of digestive health is not to be underestimated!” he insists, jokingly. Then Dami’s tone becomes slightly serious.

“I guess I never told you this, but I used to get the worst upset stomachs. We went to a gastroenterologist who tested for celiac and lactose intolerance, then another that checked for inflammation, not a fun experience I’ll have you know. Everything was negative. They couldn’t figure it out until a nurse suggested that it's from anxiety. At first I couldn’t accept that it was all in my head.”

“Baby, has this been going on and you were hiding it?”

“No,” he smiles. “When I’m with you, I never get stomach aches. It happened almost immediately. When I was trying to keep my distance some days I’d feel so sick, but I’d just tell myself, ‘make it till the end of the 6th block.’ Then I’d hug you and the rush of oxytocin would… I’d be okay. My body remembered how to regulate.”

“Damiiiii,” you whine, emotional. “Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Because ‘you cured my psychosomatic IBS’ is a creepy thing to say.”

“Creepy isn’t the word I would use.”

“And how the fuck am I supoosed to lead into that? Give me one way to lead in that isn’t gross.”

“I –” you begin to say, but end up stumped. “Okay I see your point.”

“Thank you.” You spend the rest of the car ride in comfortable silence. Or rather, Damiano spends the rest of the car ride in comfortable silence and you are left alone with your thoughts. So far today, that has proven a very bad position to occupy.

Yeah, Dami found your behavior at games funny, but he must also find it annoying. Why hasn't he mentioned that you were embarrassing him? Surely these quirks will stop being amusing when the novelty wears off. If your personality isn’t interesting, then what is it besides contrary? You’d made a joke about the integrity of the event, as if sports wasn’t an integral part of Dami’s life and identity. It helped him manage his symptoms, but you always made everyone aware that you were above taking matches seriously. He didn’t hold himself superior to anything in your life.

Damiano sighs upon putting the car in park. He should have kept talking to you, because now you have an expression like your soul has been crushed under someone’s boot. He has a close enough relationship with self loathing to know what it looks like.

Dami gets out of the car and walks around the hood. The sound of the driver’s side door closing makes you look up for the first time in several minutes. Slowly, you unbuckle your seatbelt, unsure if he intends to do the gentlemanly thing and open the door. Damiano does, but he crouches down to sit on the driveway as soon as you swing your legs out. It's the same gesture as earlier this week, which means this wasn’t out of convenience. Damiano was purposefully positioning himself lower than you, as a rare act of submission. If you couldn’t confide in him as your alpha, maybe you’d talk to Dam, your friend.

“Give me both hands and look at me,” he requests, as softly as he’s able. You extend your hands and gaze out from under your lashes.

“Will you keep looking at me?” You nod, already wanting to divert your eyes away from such intensity. “Do you promise?” He’s never asked you to promise this before.

“Um, yes.”

“When I decided that we could enter a relationship, I knew I was dating a 15 year old. I never expected the maturity level of dating someone my own age, but you’re very good at pretending. I’m not gonna lie, it's convenient.” He takes a deep breath and you realize you hadn’t inhaled since Dami began speaking. “But if I have to watch another second of you hating yourself for acting 15 because you are 15, my heart is gonna break, love.” You’re shaking and your face feels hot, but are too stunned to cry. “You get to be 15. You get to rant about your social life. You get to be a pain in the ass omega and you’ll still be owed unconditional love and protection from me, your alpha.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whisper.

“Too bad, I want you to be my burden.”

“But you’ll resent me,” you whimper, feeling the scalding hot tears run down your face and snot from your nose. It must have been a great look, especially from Dami’s angle.

“No. I’ll be fulfilled.” You shake your head and holding eye contact is hell. “Why would I ask for something that would create problems in our relationship? I’m not about to sabotage this.” He’s right, it doesn’t make sense. “Y/n, you’re used to caring for other people and you’re really good at it, but this isn’t a one-sided relationship. Just like you help me deal with my pain, I’m going to do the same. Sometimes that's gonna be difficult for you because this is new, but I’m going to insist anyway.”

Finally you break eye contact, staring at the clouded sky as mascara drips. You try to cover your face, but Damiano won’t give you back use of your hands. He’s not giving you space to hide, not a single inch.

“Look at me.” You shake your head. “Y/n, look at me,” he demands. With a hint of resentment, your gaze finds his.

“Give me your burden.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” You try to put a wall up.

“You’ve had to bear this all by yourself, but now you’re not alone. You are not alone.”

“We’re in a relationship for fucks sake I know that –”

“Y/n listen to me. You are not alone. Be emotional, be inconvenient, be 15.”

“As opposed to what?” you challenge, because that was easier. “What have I been this whole time, huh? What are you talking about?”

“You are not alone,” he repeats, patiently.

“No shit! There's this crazy man that won’t let me use my hands.”

“You are not alone. Y/n is not alone.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about!?” Even as you try to dismiss the whole thing, you gasp for air and taste snot. After wiping that on your arm indignantly, you try to steel yourself and end up with a sob.

“You are not alone. You are not alone.”

“Uh! Stop saying that!”

“Y/n is not alone. She is not alone. You are not alone. You are not alone.” A different version of you would have fought it out for another 30 seconds at least, and maybe even managed to control her emotions. This version of y/n knew how good it would feel to cave and fall into her alpha’s loving arms.

“I feel so fucking fragile,” you confess, knees aching as they collide with asphalt. Damiano holds you in a way that could squeeze a thousand broken pieces together. He picks you up off the ground and kicks the car door closed.

“Got your phone, love?” You nod, annoyed by the strands of hair stuck to your face as the skin becomes tacky. Who knew that your body would remember every tear you didn’t cry and demand that the debt be paid in full? It was brutal, but a relief. As Dami opens the door, you try to convince yourself that his parents seeing you as a hot mess doesn’t matter after the entire neighborhood just witnessed the mental breakdown.

“Hey, I made you some snacks to bring back to your room,” is the first thing you hear Matteo say. He pushes a tray full of food and drinks into Damiano’s hands, probably worried about you fainting again.

“Thank you so much.” You hug him, not because that's the routine, but because it feels right. “I’m sorry for ruining your whole morning.”

“No, no, I heard about – well let's not talk about that now. Are you okay?” Typically you’d respond affirmatively, regardless of if the house was burning down. Today you try to come up with an honest statement.

“It feels like everyone thinks I’m a bitch.”

“Well, I certainly –”

“False! Entirely false! Nobody thinks that, baby.”

“Bremen literally told me that nobody likes me because I’m a bitch.” You glance over your shoulder and see Damiano turning red from anger. It's a good thing he’s holding the tray so he can’t go straight to his phone.

“Sommar agreed with him, but said that being a bitch is a good thing.”

“Next time I see that little shit stain I’m gonna break him in half and then –” Matteo interrupts Dami’s enraged muttering.

“If you were an alpha they would have called those leadership qualities and recommended you seek out management positions in the workplace.” Matteo’s words reframe your entire perception of today and beyond. “Something possesses people at high school competitions to act so heinously. Ignore it if you can, or even listen to music. That always helps Dam.

“Well I’m quitting the AE team, anyway.”

“Oh, really? I read that… “ He shifts his gaze onto his son behind you, searching for a signal of some sort. “I read that you got second place.”

“She kicked ass,” he announces proudly. If Dami had been in the arena, he’d have seen that you were a quivering mess.

“But it kicked right back,” you joke, looking down the hall longingly.“It’s such an injustice that you have to change.” Matteo opens his mouth to speak further, but sees the exhaustion in your eyes and stops. “A conversation for another time,” he says, with finality, and turns towards the kitchen. The gesture allows you to politely walk away.

Notes: A throwback to when I originally started posting in that this isn't not proofread.

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