Author's note (3 Aug): MAJOR edit to this episode! Ahh I'm really enjoying writing Blaise and Hector's dialogue in this rewrite. Hope you are liking it too!

Blaise frowns, cocking his head. ‘My scent? But—’

But he does not have a scent: there is something wrong with his scent gland, probably connected to his lack of heats, that is what the doctors said, the ones Mother brought him to in his childhood. Just a few more reasons why he is an imperfect omega. People would look at him in disbelief, you’re omega? Blimey, thought you must be beta, look at the size of you!

He glares at Hector. ‘There’s no need to be so bloody petty, mate.’

The alpha blinks, bemused. ‘Petty? How am I being petty? I thought you would have been fine with me pointing it out, considering you said it earlier.’

‘You said thanks for pointing it out, and you’re trying to turn it into some sort of joke now? Yes, I know I don’t have a scent, I’ve only lived with it my whole life,’ Blaise rolls his eyes. ‘How did you figure it out—that I’m omega? People usually only realise when they see my sex on a form or something.’

‘No, I’m not—I’m not trying to make fun of you,’ Hector shakes his head, his brows knitted. ‘I swear. I … I really can smell you. Just now, you were embarrassed for me, weren’t you? You felt awkward having to tell me that you can smell me—that’s how I could tell you weren’t joking—and when you brought up Brigitte … well,’ he bites his bottom lip. ‘You smelled vinegary, that’s how jealousy usually smells.’

Blaise’s mouth opens, closes, he tries again, sucking in a sharp breath. Jealous? No, focus, not the point right now. In any case, he is not bloody jealous of baseless rumours in a gossip rag.

‘But … my whole life, no one has been able to detect a scent. The doctors told me. I’m scentless to everyone else. I don’t …’ He shakes his head, baffled. ‘I don’t get it.’

Hector’s dark eyes are steady, and his tone quiet. ‘Well, you’re the first person who has ever told me I have a problem with controlling my scent. Isn’t that curious?’

Blaise blinks, but he is unable to look away from Hector, thoughts swirling in a maelstrom, screaming impossible, impossible, not even Oliver could smell anything! Impossible. He tears his gaze away, shaking his head, sees the keys in his hands: he should have finished locking up and left the shop twenty minutes ago. Not here, sinking deeper and deeper into bewilderment caused by bloody Hector.

Oh, he is a most exasperating muddler.

So, Hector Westbrook knows he is omega, has always known if he can truly catch Blaise’s scent, as he claims. There is a vague sense of relenting: well, of course Hector should know. Why shouldn’t he? And the sense of it makes him queasy.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his bristly head: ‘Does it matter then? That I’m omega. You said your manager is careful about such things, didn’t you?’

‘No, you’re not in the industry, so it’s all right,’ Hector says quickly. ‘There are politics about being seen with so-and-so, it affects how the fans see us, especially in the lead-up to a premiere. Fans are such fickle creatures.’

Blaise snorts. ‘Hey, hey, I’m a fan, and I’ve proven to be a hardcore one, haven’t I?’

‘Present company excepted,’ Hector replies with a slight nod.

He shakes his head, raising the flap and coming out from behind the counter. ‘Well, come on then, didn’t you say something about dinner? Oh, should we be worried about the paps? Do we need to go out the back? Wait, did you drive or something?’

‘No, I don’t drive. I’m a terrible driver,’ Hector admits. ‘John—my manager—doesn’t trust me behind the wheel, so he hired a … well, chauffer. Is there any way that doesn’t make me sound like a twat?’

‘Nope.’

‘Piss off. Well, we can eat somewhere nearby … I’ve never been in this neighbourhood before. What’s your favourite spot? And you don’t need to worry about the paps, I didn’t see any.’

‘Good, mustn’t be seen with me, yeah?’

Hector frowns. ‘Why?’

He shoots him a withering look. ‘Mate, I hardly think walking around with the likes of me would do your wholesome heartthrob-next-door image any good.’

‘You mean your tattoos? Oh no, my dear, they would only be more intrigued: who is the mysterious scary-looking bloke with Hector Westbrook? What do his tattoos mean? Is that the sign of the devil? Is Hector Westbrook in a—dun, dun—cult?’ The alpha claps his hands to his cheeks in mock horror. ‘Bloody hell, we wouldn’t be able to get them off you if they should see you.’

Blaise bursts into laughter, pulling the door open and gesturing for Hector to step out. ‘Moments like this, I remember you’re an actor. You lot just have to be so bloody dramatic all the time. You should have seen Thalia that one time she lost an earring.’

Hector leans against the glass display window, watching as he locks and arms the door. ‘So … you think I’m a heartthrob, do you?’

‘Oh, fuck off, mate,’ Blaise scoffs. ‘I already said so when we first met! I told you, you would be good-looking, didn’t I?’

‘Yeah, but … it’s different hearing it when you’ve actually seen my face.’

Blaise stuffs the keys in his pockets, looking up. There is an odd note in Hector’s voice, like the vibration of deep bass, reverberating somewhere cavernous, but he is looking up and down the street, and Blaise cannot catch sight of his eyes.

He is asking: ‘Well, where are we going for dinner?’

Blaise hesitates, but when Hector looks back at him, his smile is blithe and his gaze unreadable.

You don’t need to be jealous of Brigitte Martin—she is nothing to me. That’s what he said earlier, but why? It doesn’t matter to Blaise whom Hector Westbrook is dating; it doesn’t matter to Hector Westbrook what Blaise thinks of his girlfriends. For fuck’s sake, they have only known each other two weeks.

Hector’s smile falters slightly. ‘Blaise?’ There is a hint of worry in his voice.

Oh shit. What does his emotions smell like right now? He huffs a laugh of disbelief. That is not a question he ever thought applicable to himself.

Passing a hand over his flushed face, he mutters: ‘Sorry, mate, I … I don’t know how to control my scent. It has never been a problem. I—’

‘It’s all right,’ the alpha interjects. ‘I don’t mind it, and I can be polite, I promise. I will pretend not to notice unless you say you want me to.’

Blaise groans. ‘You know that does nothing to make me feel better, right?’

‘Oops, sorry! Let me pay for dinner to make it up to you.’ Hector’s grin is bright and sharp.

He rolls his eyes, starting to walk down the street. ‘You mean like you were supposed to anyway? How do you feel about pizza?’