"Slightly terrifying?"
"Okay, very terrifying. In the best way." He reaches out, slowly enough that I could stop him, and takes my hand. "Is this okay?"
A nod. His hand is warm, callused from tech work, human. Not possessive, not claiming, just... holding.
"I like you." Simply. "I know you're dealing with massive trauma and literal biological rejection and we've only known each other a week, but I really like you, Vespera."
"I'm dying." Because he deserves honesty. "The rejection is killing me. I might not make it through the program."
"I know."
"And you still—"
"I still like you. Whether it's six weeks or six days or whatever we get." His hand squeezes mine. "No pressure. No expectations. Just... this. Whatever you're comfortable with."
Leaning into him happens, letting my head rest on his shoulder. He smells like sawdust and Thai food and safety. "This is nice."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
We stay like that, reading lines, his thumb tracing patterns on my hand. It's the calmest I've felt in weeks. The marks still throb, the fever still burns, my body still craves its mates. But for right now, in this moment, I can pretend I'm just a theater student with a crush on a sweet boy who brings her coffee.
My phone buzzes. Unknown number.
You can't run forever.
Delete it immediately, but my hands shake. Ben notices.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Spam."
But the peace is shattered. I can feel it in the way the bonds pulse differently, like they're getting closer. The way my body temperature spikes for no reason. The way I catch phantom scents of sandalwood and cedar and mint on the wind.
"Walk me home?" Even though my dorm is literally next door.
"Always."
At my door, he hesitates. "Vespera?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever happens, whatever you're running from... you don't have to face it alone. Not anymore."
If only that were true.
A kiss to his cheek, quick and light, and I slip inside before I can see his reaction. Through the door, his soft voice carries: "Goodnight, evening star."
Collapsing on my bed happens fully clothed. Tomorrow is another eighteen-hour day. Tomorrow I have to pretend I'm getting better, not worse. Tomorrow I have to be Medea and fight off death and ignore the feeling that predators are circling.
But I'm so tired. And the marks hurt so much. And somewhere, three Alphas are planning something I can't stop.
My phone buzzes again. This time it's Ben:Sweet dreams. Can't wait to be destroyed by you on stage tomorrow.
Despite everything, I smile. Because for one week, I got to feel normal. Got to flirt with a nice boy. Got to be just Vespera, not an omega rejecting her mates.
Whatever happens next, I had this week.
