To new readers—welcome! This story underwent a significant revamp in August 2022, so you will find Ep. 1 to 24 prefaced with "Author's notes" to provide older readers with some context to the changes. Hope you will be sticking around to read the rest of it, and I'll see you in the next ep.

‘Blaise, there you are,’ Thalia says directly behind him.

He whirls around, grinning. His best friend flings her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug: ‘Congratulations! Quick, show us which is your piece—we’ve been scouring the room, and we can’t find it.’

‘Congratulations, Blaise,’ Rhea pipes up, beaming at him from beside Thalia.

‘Thanks, love.’ He gives her a quick hug.

‘Oliver’s running late,’ she says apologetically, catching his gaze sweeping behind her.

‘Oh, yes, he texted me,’ he replies a little too quickly and flushes: he might be the boyfriend, but she is Oliver’s childhood friend.

‘Never mind him,’ Thalia scoffs, looping her arm with Blaise’s. ‘Come on, show us around.’

They say goodbye to the classmates Blaise had been standing with, a few of them blushing when they meet Thalia’s eyes. People glance at them as they pass: hey, look, it’s Thalia Montgomery. Blimey, she is fit. Did you see her in the latest War of Thrones episode? Yeah, she’s Sasha, the one with the nude scene! Should we go say hi? I’ve heard she’s a bitch, my roommate was in a few of her classes. Theatre major? Well, I’m not surprised.

‘Nobody’s paying attention to the art,’ Blaise complains.

Thalia smirks. ‘Love, I am art.’

He groans, rolling his eyes, as Rhea laughs and says admiringly: ‘I love your outfit today. I think I’ve seen this top in Harrods?’

‘You are joking. As if the likes of us could afford anything from Harrods,’ Thalia scoffs. ‘No, babes, this is from Pretty Little Thing.’

‘Oh.’ Rhea frowns, puzzled.

Blaise and Thalia exchange amused glances: every once in a while, they are reminded of how minted Rhea and Oliver’s families are, how they grew up in a reality utterly detached from the masses until they met Blaise and Thalia two years ago at the pub on campus.

Two years, and they are abruptly here in Thalia and Blaise’s final year, at Blaise’s graduate showcase. He has taken Thalia and Rhea through the landscapes and the self-portraits, and they are coming to the final section, when one of the professors exclaims: ‘Blaise, I’ve been looking for you! You’ve sold a piece!’

‘I have?’ he asks, startled. ‘Which one?’

A piece they have to turn in for their graduate showcase is a freestyle response to the theme “Obsession”. Blaise submitted a sprawling painting on his beloved Gigantomakhia, a wildly popular book series inspired by Greek mythology: the hero Achilles wages an unforgiving war on the gods, who have ruled humanity cruelly for a thousand years.

Blaise painted a Grecian fresco, each section a dramatically important battle, threaded through with the development of Achilles and Patroclus’s romance. Like the ancient Greeks and most of the Gigantomakhia fandom, he loves Achilles and Patroclus’s love, and his painstakingly detailed retelling of their love story has his professor remarking bloody hell, this is all rather meta, isn’t it? This painting of their obsession with each other is very much a profession of your obsession with the book.

And someone has just bought his obsession for a thousand quid—a thousand quid more than he has ever earned from a painting.

He stares blankly at the bold red SOLD tag next to his artwork, as Thalia and Rhea hug him, oh wow! That’s brilliant, innit? Good job, love! Your first piece sold! But to whom? For a heartbeat, he thinks Oliver, but the professor points to a tall dark man standing in the corner, clutching a champagne flute. Blaise raises a hand in greeting, wondering where he has seen this bloke before.

‘Oh, hey, that’s the other Blaise!’ Thalia says. ‘Do you remember? I told you about him before, another student with your name. We took an Intro to English Lit class together in freshman year, I think he’s a lit major. Quiet bloke, keeps to himself.’

‘Other Blaise?’ he echoes, blinking. ‘Why—’

‘Congratulations, my little spitfire!’ Muscular arms wrap him in a warm embrace and Oliver’s alpha scent of musky sandalwood.

He spins around, beaming, pressing his lips against Oliver’s. ‘You’re late, you prat!’

‘Sorry, love, Father wanted a debrief on the call I took with the Kingstons,’ Oliver shrugs rather unapologetically, his arm snug around Blaise’s waist. ‘But this is your most important painting, is it? Although I’m rather partial to the self-portrait.’

He winks; Blaise blushes; and Thalia rolls her eyes.

‘Well, you’ll have to get the self-portrait. You’re too late,’ Rhea says. ‘This has been snapped up by Blaise Livingstone.’

‘Blaise Livingstone?’ Oliver repeats, astonished.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Oh, I’ve heard he’s an alpha,’ Thalia interjects. ‘But you can’t tell from the looks of him.’

They turn as a group to look towards the corner, but the man has disappeared. Blaise frowns: he would have rather liked to thank his first buyer—is he a Gigantomakhia fan too?

‘His parent’s a rather famous omega in society,’ Rhea says in a hushed tone. ‘Married four times to very wealthy, very old alpha widowers. They all settled the majority of their estates on him in their wills, some of them leaving their children destitute. He is the midst of at least two lawsuits from his stepchildren.’

‘Oh wow.’

‘He is an alpha, but why is he spending money on my omega?’ Oliver’s arm tightens around Blaise, sending a thrill down his spine.

‘Don’t be silly. He spent money on my work,’ Blaise laughs. ‘It’s up for sale! Besides, if he knew I was your friend …’ He raises his eyebrows at Thalia. ‘Bloke doesn’t have much time left to the end of the term to get the attention of the famous Thalia Montgomery.’

She scoffs. ‘Of all the alphas in that class, he was the one with the least interest in the omegas. Like I said, kept to himself. We only heard him speak when he had to present something. But go on, Rhea, how did his father hook so many alphas? I must learn from him.’

Blaise brings Oliver to the self-portraits. ‘It’s based on a selfie I took with the morning light, because I wanted these blue-grey colours, something not quite warm, but with the potential to be, you know?’

His boyfriend studies the chalk drawing. ‘Is that a hickey?’

‘Well, that was … the night after we …’ Blaise’s face is aflame.

‘Oh, darling,’ Oliver bursts into delighted laughter. ‘Darling, you are too sweet. Did that night mean that much to you? I must have this painting now. It will be absurd to allow anyone else to have this drawing of my mark on you.’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ Blaise mutters, but the alpha merely laughs, pulling him flush against his hard muscular body, and he lowers his head.

Their lips meet in a kiss, and it is sweet.