It was the second week of solitude, and somewhere between binging shows and the third food delivery in a single day, Kaiseng had gone stir-crazy. So when his phone chimed, he didn’t sigh or roll over and ignore it. He reached for it with more enthusiasm than he’d shown in days, fingers curling around the screen as he pulled it from the bedside table.

Bellamy: Adrian, Mai, and I are going out tonight. I know you’ve got the brace, but I’m sure you can still enjoy music, drinks, and friends right?

Four coworkers. Nothing intimate. Nothing loaded.

And Kaiseng needed something.

The first two weeks, he’d ignored Bellamy’s invitations entirely. It hadn’t been worth the effort—getting around in a boot, juggling a crutch, every movement a reminder to be careful. Healing had been slow, frustrating.

But now the boot was gone, traded in for a light brace that pulled tight around his ankle. He could walk without thinking about it. Mostly.

And the monotony was starting to itch.

He’d half-expected the quiet to be broken by Rian by now. A knock. A text. A violation of some sort. There had been no sign of him—and that absence unsettled him more than his presence ever had. The idea of Rian coming back only to leave gnawed at him. Maybe that was the point. A final disruption. A reminder that Kaiseng was still something broken enough to return to—and then discard.

Or maybe Rian didn’t love him the way he used to. Maybe all they needed was one last fuck. Or several. Enough to prove that nothing had really changed.

Kaiseng pushed himself out of bed before the thought could settle too deep. He sent a short reply asking for the time and location, then dropped the phone back onto the mattress.

He parked a block down, engine idling longer than necessary before he shut it off. He checked the address again.

He stepped out into the cold, the city loud in that muted way it got at night—traffic humming, voices spilling out of doorways, the glow of streetlights reflecting off wet pavement. A bigger city always felt like this. Too many people. Too many directions. 

“Kai!”

He looked up.

Bellamy stood near the entrance, already halfway toward him, a smile breaking across his face as he lifted a hand in a quick wave. He wasn’t in scrubs—no badge, no gloves tucked into his pocket. Just dark jeans, a jacket thrown on over a hoodie, hair a little messier than usual.

Kaiseng paused.

He’d never seen him like this before.

“Hey,” Kaiseng said as Bellamy reached him, the word coming easier than he expected.

Bellamy slowed to match his pace, hands slipping casually into his pockets as they turned toward the door. “Mai and Adrian are already inside,” he said. “We grabbed a room.”

The place didn’t look like much from the outside. A narrow entrance, neon sign buzzing faintly above the door, but inside it opened up into something quieter. A hostess station near the front. A hallway stretching back, doors lining either side, each marked with small placards and muffled sound bleeding through the walls.

Not a bar in the way Kaiseng was used to.

Bellamy caught his glance. “You’ve never been here before, huh?”

“No,” Kaiseng admitted.

“It’s a karaoke place,” Bellamy explained, almost apologetic. “They wanted something a little more exciting than a regular bar. It’s pretty popular.”

They slipped down the hallway, Bellamy knocking once before sliding the door open. Inside, the room was dimly lit—couches wrapping around low tables, screens glowing softly along one wall. Mai was already scrolling through a song list, while Adrian lingered near the corner with a drink in hand.

“Kai!” Mai grinned when she spotted him. “You made it.”

Kaiseng returned the smile, settling carefully onto the edge of the couch. The brace tugged faintly as he shifted.

Bellamy dropped down beside him. “Do you sing?”

Kaiseng shook his head, a small laugh following. “Not really.”

Adrian snorted. “Once you get a few drinks in you, everyone becomes a singer.”

Bellamy laughed, leaning back into the couch. “That’s a lie everyone says.”

“Give it twenty minutes,” Adrian added, raising his glass.

Mai had already queued something up, the opening notes spilling through the speakers as she bounced lightly on her heels. “I’m starting,” she announced. “No judging.” She didn’t wait for permission before grabbing the mic.

Kaiseng watched with mild amusement as she launched into the song—confident, off-key in places, but clearly having fun. 

Bellamy nudged a drink toward him. “Beer okay?”

“Yeah.” Kaiseng took it, holding the glass loosely before taking a measured sip. His attention drifted between the music and the room, easing into something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

The song ended in cheers and laughter. Mai bowed dramatically before shoving the other mic into Adrian’s hands. “Duet time!” she sang, slightly off-key, before downing the rest of her drink.

Adrian groaned but lifted the mic anyway.

“You sure you don’t sing?” Bellamy asked again, quieter this time.

Kaiseng shook his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “I like listening.”

Bellamy nodded, lips curving. “We’ll see if you change your mind before the night’s over.”

Kaiseng didn’t answer. 

But his mind did change.

Alcohol helped.

Controlled smiles softened into something genuine. Languid. Listening turned into participating.

“You’re actually not bad,” Kaiseng said as he came to stand beside Bellamy.

Adrian barked a laugh from the couch, one arm draped around Mai’s shoulders. “Bellamy was forced into voice lessons,” he said. “Along with piano—and, uh, what’s that thing? The giant violin?”

“Cello,” Bellamy answered quietly, glancing up at Kaiseng. Color crept into his cheeks, warmth settling there.

“Hm?” Kaiseng leaned closer, tilting his head. The music swelled again—Mai singing something she clearly didn’t know the words to—and he shook his head slightly. “What was that?”

Bellamy shifted just enough to close the space between them. His breath brushed Kaiseng’s cheek as he repeated, softly, near his ear. “Cello.”

It wasn’t the word itself. It wasn’t even the tone.

It was the closeness.

Kaiseng turned his head just enough to look at him, lips curving. “So,” he said lightly, “you’re good with your fingers?”

Bellamy didn’t look away. Hazel eyes held his, steady despite the noise around them. “My mouth, too,” he replied, just as quietly. “If we’re going by my lessons.”

He shouldn't be doing this. The realization hit Kaiseng the instant the door clicked shut behind them, sealing them into this dimly lit apartment where the city's glow seeped through the parted curtains. It wasn’t fair to Bellamy—this half-step into something that he couldn’t offer.

And yet.

Kaiseng's fingers threaded through the omega's warm blond strands, deliberate and steadying, while his other hand clenched the couch cushion beneath him. Bellamy knelt between his spread thighs, mouth working with focused intent—his tongue dragging along the sensitive vein on the underside of Kaiseng's cock, saliva spilling down to slick over his tightening balls.

The room's shadows danced softly, the faint hum of traffic outside underscoring the wet sounds filling the space. Kaiseng's muscles tensed, thighs clamping instinctively as Bellamy swallowed him deeper, that hot throat constricting around his length. A low breath escaped Kaiseng, his head falling back against the cushions. He drew in sharply, Bellamy's pheromones flooding his lungs—rich and inviting, a heady mix of sweetness and need that clawed at his instincts.

Gently but firmly, Kaiseng cupped the back of Bellamy's head and eased him off, watching those lips pull away swollen and shiny, flushed from the effort. "Stick out your tongue," he murmured, voice gravelly as he fisted his throbbing cock.

Bellamy obeyed, pink muscle extended, eyes locked upward with a mix of submission and hunger. Kaiseng pumped himself faster, the pressure building until he shattered—thick spurts of cum erupting across that waiting tongue, some landing on the surface of his cheek. Bellamy drew it in, swallowing with a soft hum, then reached up with delicate fingers to scoop the stray drops from his skin, sucking them clean without breaking eye contact.

Those same fingers curled around Kaiseng's spent shaft again, guiding it as Bellamy leaned forward. His tongue lapped broadly over the tip, chasing every lingering bead of release, the flat press sending aftershocks through Kaiseng's cock. "You're such a good boy, Bellamy," Kaiseng rasped, the words slipping out unbidden. His body betrayed any restraint, cock remaining at full hardness under the attention, need stirring anew. Their scents intertwined in the air, a perfect, intoxicating blend. He hadn't imagined their compatibility being like this, but it pulled him under.

Bellamy rose fluidly, popping the button on his pants and shoving them down along with his briefs, kicking them aside. He planted one knee on the couch beside Kaiseng's hip, straddling him without fully settling, his arousal evident in the glistening trail of slick already marking his inner thighs. Kaiseng's palms skimmed upward, tracing the lean muscles of those thighs, feeling the tremor in them as Bellamy hovered.

The blunt head of Kaiseng's cock nudged against the omega's entrance, nudging the slick hole just enough to tease. Bellamy sank down slowly, inch by inch, that welcoming heat enveloping him in a vise of velvet warmth. Kaiseng's hands gripped tighter, guiding the descent as Bellamy's breath hitched, their bodies aligning in a rhythm that blurred the line between want and necessity, fading into the haze of shared need.

***

Kaiseng woke to quiet. He reached out without thinking. The space beside him was empty. Cool.

For a moment, disappointment flared—automatic, irrational—before something else cut through it.

Smell.

Coffee. Butter. Something savory and warm.

Kaiseng pushed himself upright, the brace on his ankle pulling faintly as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He tugged on a pair of sweatpants and made his way toward the kitchen.

Bellamy stood at the stove with his back to him, shirtless. A pan sizzled quietly, the sound gentle and domestic. Sunlight crept in through the open curtains, catching in his hair and painting the room in soft gold—softening the hickeys and bite marks scattered across his back and shoulders.

“You’re awake,” Bellamy said without turning. His voice was easy. Unforced.

Kaiseng leaned against the island. “I thought you left.”

Bellamy glanced back, one brow lifting slightly. “And miss my chance to show off my domestic skills?” He turned back to the stove, then added, softer, “I figured you’d need to eat.”

Kaiseng watched him plate the food with quiet care, the movements unhurried. Familiar in a way that unsettled him.

“We’re just friends,” Kaiseng said suddenly—reflexive, defensive. “Still.”

Bellamy didn’t flinch. He set the plate down and slid it across the counter, hazel eyes lifting to meet his. “I know.”

That, somehow, made something tight in his chest loosen—and ache all the same.

“It’s not you,” he said, feeling the need to smooth it over even though Bellamy hadn’t asked for it. “I’ve… bonded. I can’t be that alpha for you.” He swallowed. “Not like that.”

“Kai.” Bellamy’s voice was gentle, steady. “I promise I didn’t expect anything.” A pause, then a small smile. “I’m just glad to be here.” He leaned over the counter, stole a strip of bacon from the plate, and grinned. “So—are you going to make this weird,” he said lightly, “or are we going to enjoy what it is instead of worrying about what it isn’t?”

It had been a long time since anything had felt this uncomplicated. Longer still since Kaiseng had let himself be wanted without being needed.

Bellamy nudged the plate closer before turning away to grab his own, settling onto the stool beside him.

Kaiseng’s hand closed around the edge of the seat. He tugged Bellamy closer before he could think better of it. “Thank you,” he said quietly, the words barely more than a breath. He leaned in, nose brushing the warm skin of Bellamy’s neck before his lips followed—subtle, unassuming. A press of presence rather than possession. He let his scent linger there anyway.

Selfish, maybe. Intentionally scent marking him.

Bellamy huffed a quiet laugh, shoulders easing as he tilted his head just enough to allow it. “Careful there,” he said, tone light, teasing. “You’re going to give someone ideas.”

Kaiseng pulled back, but the warmth stayed.

He was grateful—for moments like this, for people like Bellamy. Even in a society that insisted secondary genders didn’t dictate everything. Where suppressants and blockers were normalized, mandated even, it never truly erased the lines people drew.

Omegas still searched for their ideal alphas. Alphas did the same, with more freedom—betas an acceptable alternative. Betas often stayed with betas. And bonding complicated everything.

Once bonded, it was worse than divorce. Biological. Permanent. Scents rarely aligned again. Children outside the bond were almost impossible—the body rejected what wasn’t meant for it. So most people avoided the bonded who stood alone.

But Bellamy didn’t seem to flinch at the truth.

Maybe because he truly didn’t expect anything more from this. Maybe because he understood the boundaries without needing them spelled out. Or maybe because he was simply kind that way.

Whatever the reason, Kaiseng felt less alone.

And for now, that was enough.