Today was the eve of the sync commencement, a holiday for non-syncers and an exciting experience for those who will be syncing. If you have a partner that is.

The trouble was two things. First, he was butt ugly, considering he had a face full of burn scars, which didn't end at the edge of his collar. It spread across a majority of his right side. Additionally, a detail, he personally had always thought made him look offputting, his void-black eyes. They were biologicially intended for improved vision in low lighting settings, but honestly, they just made him look more creepily. He didn't like mirrors for a reason. He wouldn't go further into his deteriorating metabolism and the roundness around his midsection.

Second, he'd selected the purple flag. Which as he quickly found out was the more passive of the pair. From the brief and extremely stressful times he'd attempted to mingle in the mess halls, orange was the pursuer. A detail his genetically enhanced vision seemed keen to pick up on. Those who held purple often tended to be the more … fairer of the selections. Although biological gender markers didn't have much use in the grand scheme of the sync, considering the Alpha hormones would override any of their biology as did the Omega hormones, there was an abundance of women amongst the purple ribbon wearing individuals.

He didn't have the disposable income to spend credits on a ribbon of all things, so it was probably for the best that he didn't prance around presenting as an omega. Yngvir had goaded him at his selection for at least the rest of that first day for him to know that he'd probably made the wrong decision.

By now, he should have been settling into a comfortable suite with his sync pair, chatting up, perhaps indulging in some alcohol for once, getting to know each other for the week to come.

The pain of having to shamelessly throw himself out there made him wish he could chuck the vial down the trash chute. He's sure some individuals did. Or pawn them off. Once you have a vial, there was no commitment to following through. Maybe he'd just not take it.

It would be so easy to just let the vial fall into the recycler with the dirty rags from his shift. But, what if this is his only chance to experience the sync. Would he be able to live with not knowing what it was like to sync at all?

He shook his head and squared his shoulders. Today was the last day before the sync commencement. Whether or not he found someone today, he needed to do this. For himself. To know, rather than not to know.

He drew a deep breath then wearing the only other set of clothing he had in his wardrobe--a plain brown canvas collared jacket and a simple heather grey thermal, and his soft grey sweat slacks, he exited his chambers and headed to the mess halls.

Yngvir had already begun the pre-commencement festivities the moment the 2 cycle selection period had ended. The two of them would be staying in the upper decks, closest to the observation panels in a luxurious sync suite with a hot tub. One of the many perks of syncing was access to the sync suites, which were created to ensure maximum success rate during sync. Loaded with pheromone emitting air regulators, real food, sustenance, access to clean water and a private bathing room. He'd only heard about them, and never saw even the doors that led to that part of the station.

He sighed. It was probably too late to find any good suites anyways. It was the last day. He'd heard the suites were snatched up within the first day or two. Not every sync pair was quick enough to snag one.

Definitely not him.

The mess hall was quieter than in the middle of the week when desperation was at its highest. Now all that remained were the Betas who were just spending their off-shifts as usual, and the last of the sync who'd not found a pair. At least it would be easier to find someone now. Someone desperate enough to pair with him.

Anxiety riding up his spine, he made a rash decision to indulge in a sweet pasarine. Not exactly alcohol, but the chemical content reduced levels of stress, which was a decent facsimile. The taste was first sweet, like yams, then turned into a bitterness that forced one to take another sip, repeatedly. He stood by the edge of the mess hall, just watching for flashes of orange, but very few were in sight today.

Then across the room, he spotted a familiar face. Someone from the janitor ranks. He doused his embarrassment in pasarine, and made his way to her. She turned to him, just as he was about to tap her shoulder and she startled away at the sight of him. He tried to twist his desire to frown into a smile, to salvage the situation, but he could already see her discomfort at his presence. She had a quiet voice when she spoke, "Hi, Hemlock… right? Yngvir's roommate?"

He nodded, majorly surprised she knew his name. "You're Denne right? You work in upper observation deck areas?"

She nodded, peering around him, looking for exits. He stepped back and her shoulders visibly lowered. He knew what the answer would be, but he chanced it anyways. Maybe two Omegas could spend time together. The rules of the sync weren't 100% clear. "Would you be interested in spending the sync with me?"

Her face froze and she laughed nervously through a stiff smile. "Sorry, I wasn't selected for the sync this year."

Her response was like a salve. She wasn't rejecting him because he was undesirable. She just wasn't in the sync this time. He smiled and nodded. "Thanks for letting me know. Have a nice break." He muttered as he shuffled off back to his corner.

He nursed his drink for a few more sips when he caught Denne leaving the mess hall, on the arm of a short spindly fellow. In her hand, she dangled an orange vial to the man and even from his far distance, his eyesight caught the excited smiled as the man pulled out a purple vial. His stomach twisted in a way that even the pasarine couldn't help. He slugged the rest down his throat and picked the closest exit.

As he stumbled down the corridor, he didn't pay much heed which way he was going, only that when he finally stopped, he was in his work sector. He folded his good leg under him and sat at the edge of the platform, between the glass and the walkway, letting his bad leg hang. He paused, peering out the glass, towards the ports that stretched beyond the corridor, and curved away from the ship for optimal reentry and exit. 

There was once a time when he fantasized about being a pilot. To be able to hold the blitzer in his hands and defend his ship from assailants, or be able to locate planets with just his mind. He still thought about it, even though he knew there would never be a chance he'd be allowed on an Odyssian in his state.

One can always dream.