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This was risky. Too risky.
For the better part of a week, Rahadin had been following Strahd’s plan to the T. Oh, it was a horrible plan—wretched, absurd, and probably illegal—but at least it got him out of Strahd’s run-down, mouldy apartment block and into the fresh air.
If only he were able to enjoy it a little more. It would have been nice to explore the campus without sneaking around, the fear of being caught and having his face smashed to shit inside a Starbucks constantly gnawing at his senses as he stalked his target.
Target. Wow.
He shook his head to dislodge the unwelcome thought, focusing his careful stare and his chest camera on the unaware subject.
This one was always oblivious, apparently taking no notice of his day-to-day surroundings in what Strahd would describe as his “confident alpha mindset”. Over the past couple days, Rahadin had learned he could be a little bolder with his approach, getting closer and closer without the aid of large potted plants or well-placed trash bins to conceal him. He’d even whipped out his phone to get a high-res shot a couple of times. Granted, it was of the guy eating a sandwich, but still. Credit was due.
The other one, though… he knew. He’d seen Rahadin at the Starbucks. Locked eyes with him over Strahd’s shoulder. Gave him a look that said I know exactly what you’re doing.
Whenever they were together—which was more often than not—the knowing one would find the perfect moment to catch Rahadin’s eye, flash that same damn look, and go back to his business. When would he say something? Why didn’t he say something?
Rahadin was at his mercy now. If he ever chose to speak up, to tell his tall, hulking friend that those creeps were still watching him, it would be the end; he’d be stuck with Strahd in his dingy bachelor suite, forced to listen to alpha male self-hypnosis tapes while he waited for the battered cartilage in his nose to repair itself into something that looked more or less human. Rahadin had already spent more time than he’d like watching the Starbucks footage, familiarizing himself with these two—Escher and Ismark, if he could remember their names correctly—and their schedules in order to follow them throughout the day.
From his hiding place behind a planter full of ferns, Rahadin could just make out both of their heads above the brush. Escher was drinking the same thing he drank multiple times a day: that overly complicated and impossibly large Starbucks concoction containing enough sugar to send a child into cardiac arrest. Ismark was eating lunch, which was apparently just half a dozen hard-boiled eggs. They were definitely speaking to each other, but Rahadin couldn’t hear them above the noise of the rooftop patio.
Taking a chance, he moved to the next planter as stealthily as possible, tucking and rolling at the end just like in the movies. Someone behind him scoffed. Sure, he was totally exposed from the back, and other students were staring and laughing at his stupid spy moves, but it didn’t matter; his ability to be embarrassed had disappeared long ago.
He rolled to the next planter. Then the next, leaving a trail of laughter in his wake. Someone would probably call campus security soon.
But he was so close.
“—when she said it was uninspired. Uninspired!” Escher’s ranting was interrupted by a long, loud draw through a straw: half air, half whipped cream. “ As if she would say that to me. She paints fucking abstract landscapes. Who the fuck wants to look at that? What even is that?”
“Uh-huh.” Eggs peeling, shells hitting plastic.
“Are you listening?”
“Sure,” Ismark said halfway through a mouth full of egg. Rahadin had to wonder why Strahd so desperately wanted to spy on these guys.
“What did I just say?” Moving to the very end of the planter, Rahadin hoped he could get their faces in the shot instead of a lens full of spruce. He skirted the concrete edge, tensing as one of his legs hung off the embankment and dangled in midair. It would be a nasty fall into a stack of shrubs that promised to bury needles into unknown parts of him if he slipped up.
“Uh—”
He didn’t hear the rest. Because he slipped up.
- Strahd had been living in this apartment—the only one he’d ever had—in Ravenloft Towers for as long as Rahadin could remember. Well, that wasn’t entirely correct; he could remember all too clearly the years Strahd had spent on his couch.
Those old habits were coming in handy now. Since his altercations in the grocery store and the Barovia University Starbucks, Strahd needed someone to take care of him in his debilitated state. Naturally, that duty fell to Rahadin. It was more by default than anything else, but part of him couldn’t bear to see Strahd suffer alone with his broken… everything. It would be a miracle if he ever had a proper nose again after the beatings he’d suffered.
“I’m back,” he said as he opened the door, spare key sticking in the lock as it always had. Strahd had never cut him a new one. The door clicked shut without an answer.
Leaving his grocery bags on the counter, Rahadin swept the room: Strahd’s budget computer set-up loomed in the darkest corner of the apartment, an ever-present fire hazard with its decades-old technology and exposed wires; several books lay half-open on the coffee table, in progress reads no doubt pertaining to Strahd’s coveted alpha male status; the worn corduroy easy chair stood empty in the middle of the room, the lumpy shape of Strahd’s body perfectly set into the cushions. Everything was just as he’d left it.
Except for Strahd.
“Hello?” Silence. He wandered further inside, eyes performing another scan: computer, books, chair. No Strahd. Rounding the obtrusive weight-bearing column in the middle of the apartment, he looked to the bed, finally noticing Strahd’s still and silent form almost completely buried beneath the covers.
“Hey.” He didn’t stir, dead to the world. Only the very top of his head was above the comforter line, his long black hair splayed about the pillow where it stuck out between his white head wraps.
“Hey!” Rahadin reluctantly poked him this time, hoping he hadn’t gone and died right after he sent him on a grocery run. Strahd flailed beneath the covers, cheap plastic headphones flying from his ears in the chaos. He stared up at Rahadin with a bizarre expression he could only approximate as annoyance—it was difficult to tell what Strahd was thinking beneath the layers of bandages covering most of his face.
Strahd squinted through the eyeholes Rahadin had so kindly cut into the gauze, the unstitched portion of his lip curling into a painful frown.
“Uh, sorry for disturbing you,” Rahadin said, taking a step back. He really shouldn’t have apologized, but that look just had a way of getting to him.
“It’s fine,” Strahd said in such a way that told Rahadin it was absolutely not fine. “I knew you were here. I could feel the vibration of your feminine beta steps on the carpet.”
“Alright mister alpha,” Rahadin said, rolling his eyes, hoping Strahd could see it with his limited vision. “I got your groceries for the week.” He gestured to the plastic bags on the counter with disdain. “Try not to fucking choke on your Pediasure.” Fed up with being called a “feminine beta male” or whatever other nonsense Strahd would decide to spew today, Rahadin made for the door.
“Wait, wait,” Strahd said, holding out one splinted finger as he untangled himself from the mess of wires beneath the covers. “Sorry about the beta thing. I’m just very absorbed in my alpha hypnosis and I’m getting a little aggressive.”
“Sure.” Rahadin stopped at the junction between carpet and tile and stared, trying to process what Strahd had just said before deciding he didn’t want to know. Besides, Strahd would find a way to tell him anyway.
“Look, I’ve been thinking,” he began, flipping the covers and flinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“Sounds like a mistake.”
“Very funny.” Strahd got to his feet, shuffling over to the kitchen in his unwashed socks and blood-red bathrobe that may have been nice twenty years ago.
“Deep in my alpha meditations, I’ve found a way to locate the ultimate alpha male tip.”
“ Deep in your meditations?” Rahadin asked with a skeptical quirk of his brow. “I was gone for twenty minutes.”
“Do you remember the guy who beat me up?” he asked, completely ignoring the previous question as he gestured to his bandaged face. Rahadin answered with a slow nod.
“Well, if I’m alpha, and he beat me, then he must be an even bigger alpha.”
“I’m not following…”
“Look, Rahadin. I’m a top-tier alpha. A ten-point hunk. Any man that can get the best of me is truly peak alpha male. Possibly the greatest alpha male that has ever graced this earth.”
“Uh…”
“That man is an alpha to put all other alphas to shame. It comes so effortlessly. It’s like he doesn’t even care!” Strahd spread his hands in disbelief as Rahadin crossed his arms.
“I don’t think he does.”
“All this has made me feel like I… maybe I’m not the authority on alpha males that I thought I was.” He seemed genuinely crushed by this, dark eyes pleading for Rahadin’s reassurance through their little eye slits. “He is the true alpha. I need his tips for my blog.”
“You know he’ll probably kill you if he sees you again, right?” Rahadin countered. “Besides, you’re on house arrest. I don’t want to be stuck explaining wolf hierarchy to your parole officer like—”
“But that’s the beauty of it,” Strahd interrupted. “It’s true that I can’t set foot on Barovia University grounds ever again. But you can.”
“What?” Rahadin was aghast. How far could this really go? “I’m not doing your dirty work!”
“I’ll give you a free alpha male training course.”
“No!”
“You could use it, you beta—”
“Fine!” Rahadin put his foot down, canvas sneaker making a pathetic squeak where it hit the linoleum. Far less dramatic than he’d hoped, but it had shut Strahd up for a moment. “I’ll do it if you promise me two things.” Strahd nodded, swallowing his anticipation as he wrung his hands together.
“You have to stop calling me a beta,” Rahadin began, “and you have to promise me that this will be the last episode of alpha male tips. Ever.”
Strahd’s face fell—at least, the part of it that could still move did. His hands dropped to his side, shoulders slumped in defeat. This wouldn’t be easy for him, but Rahadin knew it was what they both needed. How much longer could he keep up with this before they were both beaten and jailed? Or worse: disgraced as eternal betas? Besides, if Strahd was right about this guy, his secrets would be the only alpha male tip he would ever need.
With salty beta tears threatening to spill from his eye holes, Strahd evidently reached the same conclusion. He held out his hand to Rahadin in solemn agreement.
Rahadin took it.
“I can’t fucking believe this.” Though he currently found himself stuck in the middle of a coniferous bush, Rahadin still managed to recognize Ismark’s voice above him. Closer than before. Closer still when a strong hand yanked him through broken twigs and pointed leaves to throw him onto the pavement.
Sure enough, Strahd’s proclaimed “King of the Alphas” was the one who had done it, towering over Rahadin with a deep scowl that would have been a lot more threatening if he didn’t have half a hard boiled egg in his mouth. He chewed pensively, staring him down as Escher sidled up to him, trenta Starbucks cup in hand.
“Told you he was still following you,” Escher said, punctuating his accusation with a sharp bite of his green plastic straw. “You’re the guy from the Starbucks, right? When your friend got his nose broken? Uh, again?” He laughed, but Ismark didn’t look amused. In fact, he took a step forward to grab Rahadin by the collar before he could answer, yanking him to his feet.
“What the actual fuck is your problem?” he asked through gritted teeth. “What do you want from me? Is your idiot friend stalking my sister again?” Rahadin gulped down his fear and tried to blink the needles out of his eyelashes. Ismark shook him by the shoulders, plant debris cascading from his hair and collecting on the ground at their feet. “Answer me!”
“Hey, look…” Rahadin didn't know what to tell him, because it was all true. He was following him. If Strahd wasn’t legally obligated to stay indoors via GPS ankle monitoring, he likely would have been stalking his sister again, too.
“You got nothing to say?” Ismark twisted his fist further into the collar of Rahadin’s cotton polo shirt. The little camera that was not-so-skillfully hidden near his top button had fallen out and was dangling by a black wire against the navy fabric. Ismark noticed.
“You filming us or something?” Ismark gestured to the camera. “God, what is your deal ?”
“It’s for Alpha Male Tips,” Escher happily interrupted. “It’s, like, his blog or whatever.” How did he know that? Rahadin panicked even more (if that were possible) and risked a shocked glance in Escher’s direction. He only shrugged and loudly sipped his drink.
“Alpha what?”
“Alpha Male Tips. It’s a straight guy thing. I think. I dunno.” He shrugged again, smirking at Rahadin’s panic. Ismark only looked more confused.
“What does that have to do with us?”
“Just you, I think.” Escher pointed to him with the bottom of his cup. “You’re the alpha.”
“How do you know this stuff?”
“I get to weird places online sometimes.”
“Can I just say—” Rahadin desperately wished to defend himself, but Ismark put a stop to that.
“No. Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Ismark said, dragging Rahadin to a nearby table and shoving him down onto the concrete bench. He sat on the opposite side while Escher leaned on the table, crunching at the green plastic in his mouth in anticipation.
“We’re gonna answer you stupid fucking alpha male questions for your stupid fucking tips blog.” Okay, off to a good start. “And then I never wanna see you or your mid-life crisis-Dracula-looking friend ever again. Got it?” Rahadin nodded. “Good.”
Ismark leaned back and set his hands on the concrete, waiting for Rahadin’s questions. But what would he ask? What was it that Strahd so desperately hoped to gain? This guy didn’t even know what an alpha male was—how could he possibly give alpha male tips?
“I just, well…” Rahadin struggled to get the words out. “Um, I just want to know how you, uh… how did you get so alpha?”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Like… how do you, uh… get girls?”
“I don’t date girls.”
“Oh. Right.” He looked up at Escher, who was beaming above him with the widest, fakest smile Rahadin had ever had the pleasure of seeing. “Okay, um…”
“Is this just a weird pick up artist thing?” Ismark asked.
Escher laughed, “yes” at the same time Rahadin said, “no”. Ismark sighed, fingers pressed against his temples.
“Look. Maybe your buddy there should work on himself. Go to the gym or get a hobby or something. Y’know, instead of doing…” he gestured vaguely to Rahadin, “uh, whatever the fuck this is.”
“Maybe you should just date him,” Escher suggested, pointing to Rahadin with the macerated tip of his straw. “Get two birds stoned at once. Or whatever.” Rahadin tensed at the suggestion. That was so far-fetched, so out of the question that he was shocked into complete silence. Ismark snorted out a laugh at his reaction, grin widening further the longer Rahadin refused to answer.
“There you go,” he said. “Problem solved.” Ismark leaned across the table to clap Rahadin hard on the shoulder before he stood to leave. Escher slid from his perch on the concrete and threw his colossal empty cup into the trash behind Rahadin. The crash of plastic against metal spewed a bit of half-melted whipped cream onto his shoulder, but his mind was far too occupied or notice.
Dating Strahd was absolutely not the solution to the problem. Rahadin didn’t have problems like that, first of all. Sure, he hadn’t had a steady girlfriend since college. Nor had he gone on a date. But it didn’t bother him. He wasn’t really alone when Strahd was always—well, not like that. It had never been like that.
Right?
By the time he’d opened his mouth, they were already gone.
“Did you get it?” Strahd called from the comfort of his easy chair in place of a greeting when Rahadin walked into his apartment. No polite “hello”, no concerned “why are you covered in pine needles”. But Rahadin was used to it.
“Sort of,” he answered, kicking off his shoes and shaking them out on Strahd’s welcome mat. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“Why?” That was almost enough to get Strahd out of his chair, but the best he could do was turn around to face the door, half of his bruised and broken mouth turned up in an eager smile. “Show me the raw footage! You got it, didn’t you?” There was a hint of concern in his voice, but Rahadin wasn’t sure if it was because he looked like he’d gotten into a fistfight with a coniferous forest or because Strahd was worried he’d lost God’s gift to alpha male advice.
“Uh, I’ll summarize,” he said. He’d rather avoid showing the frankly awful and completely out of focus film so Strahd didn’t have to face the rather bizarre suggestion his target had provided. If he heard it, he’d likely ban Rahadin from his apartment with some choice homophobic slurs lest any of his potential ten-point blondes think he actually had a thing for the man he spent nearly every moment of every day with.
But… why did that matter? Hadn’t Rahadin been trying to get away from Strahd? Wasn’t he fed up with all the disaster and the nonsense that followed him? There was no denying he was, and yet the thought of leaving him alone brought on bitter guilt. Something else nagged at him, too. Something that made his stomach turn, made his hands clench into fists. Something he didn’t quite understand.
“Well?” Strahd interrupted his thoughts, leaning over the armrest of his chair like an eager child, both hands pressed to the worn down fabric. Rahadin sighed, wondering where to begin. He’d probably leave out the bit where he fell one storey into a planter.
“I, um, I cornered them on the second floor patio,” he began, taking a few steps onto the carpet, sock feet treading the familiar pattern across its formerly plush surface. Strahd nodded as he hung on every word. “I just kinda… confronted him. Demanded to know his tips.”
“Really?” Strahd asked, voice full of excited wonder. “I’ll forgive you for going against the stealth protocol. Just this once, though.”
“Sure, sure.” Rahadin couldn’t help but let a laugh slip through, amused by how seriously Strahd was still taking this. Though, as long as no one was getting their nose broken, it seemed to him to be all in good fun. “So, he didn’t offer much. I mean, you know he’s—”
“He has a boyfriend, yeah,” Strahd said with a wave of his hand. “Doesn’t mean he’s not getting bitches.”
“Uh, I think that’s exactly what that means—”
“Anyway, go on.”
“Right.” Rahadin fidgeted as he put his mind to work, carefully choosing his words. “He said you should, er, just focus on improving yourself and not care so much about what other people think of you.” Strahd stared silently through his little eyeholes, dark eyes dumbfounded. He didn’t seem impressed, but Rahadin had to go on. “That maybe you should get a hobby. Y’know, um… find something you’re passionate about. Something that isn’t Alpha Male Tips.”
“That’s…” Strahd drummed his fingers along the red corduroy, struggling to find the words. “That’s not alpha at all!”
“I know, I told him it wasn’t—”
“Do you know what this means?” Strahd shot out of his chair, closing the distance between him and Rahadin in a few quick strides. Rahadin took a step back, shaking his head.
“No?” Strahd paced before him as Rahadin tried to parse what he must have been thinking. “Is that… is that a bad thing?”
“This is something completely unheard of,” Strahd continued, seemingly unaware that Rahadin had said anything at all. “Something I didn’t think was possible.”
“What? That he isn’t alpha?”
“He isn’t alpha!” Strahd declared, stopping in his tracks. “He’s… something else.”
“But what?” Rahadin asked, caught up in Strahd’s contagious enthusiasm. Strahd clutched his chin, staring at the well-trodden carpet in deep thought. It was impossible for Rahadin to imagine that Ismark was anything but peak alpha: he had the look, the attitude, and the status. So what had made Strahd think otherwise?
Strahd turned on his heel and went to the coffee table, grabbing a book and flipping to the table of contents, desperate in his search.
“I didn’t think this was possible…” he mumbled to himself as he flew through the pages. “It shouldn’t be possible… it’s so rare… too rare…” It sounded to Rahadin like he was talking about breeds of llama and not men, but at this point, nothing Strahd did was too bizarre.
“Here!” Strahd exclaimed, pointing to the page with his splinted finger. “It’s true!”
“What is?” Rahadin craned his neck to read the text, but Strahd was fast enough with his answer.
“He’s the rarest male type of all,” he began, his voice taking on a mystical quality. “He’s a sigma male.”
“A… a what?” Why had Rahadin never heard of this before? Was Strahd just making stuff up? But no, it was right there on the page: the word “SIGMA” lingered just outside the coloured pyramid of male hierarchy Strahd so loved to reference.
“The coveted sigma male!” Strahd said again as if that clarified anything. “He lives outside societal norms but is equal to the alpha in every way. He does things for himself and doesn’t care about trends or pleasing anyone. He doesn’t need expensive, flashy things or social status to be happy. Instead, his passions and hobbies provide satisfaction.”
Rahadin couldn’t believe it. This sigma male business was really going to push him over the edge.
“That… that’s it?” he asked, incredulous. Strahd nodded and shut the book.
“Very elusive. Very sought after. No wonder he’s getting all those bitches on the side.”
“You realize you’re just describing a normal, well-adjusted human being, right?” Strahd shook his head.
“No, it’s not that. You’re still not understanding. The sigma is the rarest type of man. The sigma is—”
“The sigma is just a regular guy! Like me! Or you!” Strahd’s eyes went wide.
“You… you think I’m a sigma?” He tapped his chest for emphasis as if Rahadin needed a reminder of who he was talking to.
“Uh, I mean…” Rahadin was at a loss for words. Was a sigma somehow better than an alpha? He had no idea, but it made Strahd happy. “Sure?”
“So…” The cogs in Strahd’s mind were turning as he tapped at his sutured lip with his splinted finger. “The reason why I didn’t have success with the alpha male methods was because… I was a sigma all along?”
“Absolutely,” Rahadin said. Strahd beamed with the good half of his mouth, eyes narrowed to slits beneath his bandages. “You’re the, uh… you’re a real sigma.”
“I knew it.” Strahd clenched his fist in victory, tossing the paperback alpha male guide backward towards the coffee table, no longer caring where or how it landed.
“Shut down Alpha Male Tips!” he declared, gesturing wildly to Rahadin, who was still standing there with a blank stare on his face. “No more blogs! No more videos! I’m going my own way—the way of the sigma!” Rather unexpectedly, Strahd threw his arms around Rahadin in celebration, catching him in the tightest embrace his frail form would allow.
Rahadin was stiff as a board in the awkward hug, unable to speak, still not entirely sure what was going on… though he had to convince himself this was some sort of improvement. If Alpha Male Tips was gone, there would be no more stalking, no more arrests, no more parole hearings. But then… what would there be? What would they do? Alpha Male Tips had gone on for so long he almost forgot who they had been before.
Almost, but not quite.
Maybe one day, he’d mention that alternative solution. Sometime after Strahd got his bandages off, removed his GPS monitoring device, and had a proper nose again. Maybe then. But now, Strahd was hobbling over to his computer, ripping out the wires in a fit of sigma ecstasy, threatening to start an electrical fire with the potential to kill hundreds.
It was a good thing Rahadin was there to stop him. And he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.