“Good afternoon, Eron,” Dr Pace greeted with a kind smile. His usual soft-spoken warmth came through easily, and he stepped aside to let Acheron pass.

Acheron gave a small nod. He hadn’t corrected Dr Pace yet on not using his full name. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because the way the doctor said it didn’t feel wrong.

The office was just as he remembered. Sunlight streamed through the wide windows, filtered by gauzy curtains. The faint aroma of chamomile tea and cinnamon lingered in the air. The leather couch in the corner looked freshly dusted, the small table nearby already set with water, tissues, and a few individually wrapped chocolates. The throw blanket, the same grey one from before, was neatly folded on the armrest.

Cloe didn’t speak immediately, letting Acheron move at his own pace. He walked over and sank into the couch, pulling the blanket into his lap without thinking. The familiar weight of it steadied him. He didn’t unwrap himself, didn’t fidget. Just sat there, looking down at his boots.

“You’re wearing your collar again,” Dr Pace noted gently, not as a question, but as an acknowledgement.

Acheron nodded once, fingers ghosting over the edge of the leather.

“I remember you said it was custom,” the doctor added. “I imagine that wasn’t an easy step.”

“It’s the only thing that made me feel safe enough to leave the house again,” Acheron murmured, his voice low, rough from disuse.

Dr Pace didn’t write that down. Instead, he sat across from him, settling into his own chair with the same calm presence as always.

“I’m glad you felt safe enough to come back,” he said.

Acheron closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the quiet, the warmth, the stability of the space around him. When he opened them again, he looked at the doctor not fully, but more than before.

“I drew something,” he said suddenly. “A few days ago.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not finished,” Acheron added quickly, like it would excuse something. “But it... helped. I think.”

“I’d like to see it sometime, if you’re comfortable sharing.”

Acheron didn’t answer, but he didn’t say no either.

Even though Acheron had already attended several sessions, this one felt heavier, much more suffocating than all the rest. He sat in his usual spot, legs curled beneath the same soft blanket, yet everything felt different. Dr. Pace still wore his familiar half-smile, calm and composed, his notepad resting neatly in his lap. The room hadn’t changed. But Acheron had.

His heart thudded violently in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a warning. His nerves were strung tight, stretched thin across the edges of his composure, because he knew.

Today, he would have to talk about him.

Dr Pace cleared his throat gently, his tone never harsh. “You’ve made incredible progress, Acheron,” he said, voice low and steady. “I think it’s time we begin to broach the topic that’s been hovering at the edge of everything.”

His gaze softened, and Acheron felt it like a quiet leash pulling him back to the room.

“Just remember,” Cloe continued, “you can use your safe word at any time. If it gets too much, we stop. No questions asked. You have full control here.”

Acheron gave a small nod, unsure if he believed it yet.

“But sometimes,” Cloe added, “real healing begins when we start to peel the scab. It hurts, yes, but it’s how we make sure the wound underneath doesn’t fester.”

The words settled between them, not sharp but still heavy.

Acheron took a breath, then another. Slowly, the tension in his chest began to ease just enough for the tight knot in his throat to loosen slightly. Enough to let a whisper of memory push past his lips.

“I saw him for the first time on the school’s opening day for boarding students,” he said, voice soft but distinct. “And… honestly? It would’ve been hard not to notice him. I think most of the freshmen did.”

He paused, eyes fixed on the middle distance, as though seeing that moment clearly in his mind.

“He stood out like he belonged there. Like the place was built around him.”

It was a surprisingly cloudy, windswept day. The sun barely managed to pierce through the thick grey blanket above, casting occasional streaks of light that danced across the school grounds. One of those golden shafts broke through just in time to illuminate the path ahead, falling directly on a tall Alpha, his bright red hair igniting in the sunlight like flame.

He walked with the kind of easy confidence that turned heads without effort, a casual laugh escaping him as he joked with the small group gathered around him. They hung onto every word he said, as if each syllable carried weight. In his arms were two bulky brown boxes.

Eron couldn’t tell how heavy they were, but judging from the way the Alpha carried them, they might as well have been weightless.

It was hard not to stare.

Especially when Eron himself was struggling to drag a stubbornly uncooperative wheeled duffel bag, while his parents shouldered the rest of his belongings. A small pang of self-consciousness flared in his chest as he glanced back at the Alpha, only to find their paths soon diverging. The tall boy turned toward the large dormitory building on the right, the one designated for Alpha and Beta males. Eron, however, was meant to head left, toward the smaller building reserved exclusively for Omega male students.

His parents walked ahead briskly, forcing him to pick up his pace and abandon the silent observations he had been making. Behind him, his brother lingered, glued to his phone, furiously typing out messages. Probably still trying to impress the Omega he'd been mooning over since middle school.

The Omega dormitory wasn’t anything particularly special. A narrow corridor greeted them, its plain tile floor echoing faintly under their steps. They passed the shared bathrooms.

Eron wrinkled his nose as he peered inside the open door. 

Better stop drinking water before bed, he thought dryly.

His assigned room was situated at the far end of the hallway. A compact space, just wide enough to hold two single beds and a pair of small footlockers. His mother, ever the organised one, immediately began unpacking his things, pulling out a brand-new duvet set in baby blue. Of course. A colour she had always assigned to him. 

He didn’t protest. He’d swap it out once they were gone. No point in making her feel bad, especially not today.

Just as Eron was inspecting the corner where he might hang his art supplies, the door behind him creaked open.

He turned, and in stepped his roommate.