Chapter Text
Xeno Houston Wingfield was a prestigious omega scientist at NASA, a graduate of Aerospace Engineering from one of the nation's top universities, with multiple master's and doctoral degrees. He was a man completely dedicated to his work, with dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and an absolute coffee lover. If it were up to him, he would spend all day at work, practically live there. He loved science and would be thrilled to accelerate several of his projects, but there was something, or rather, someone, that unfailingly drew him back every evening: his dog... Stan. A beautiful Canis lupus familiaris, one of the most popular breeds in the world, a golden retriever, with blond fur and amber eyes.
How had they met? Well... To begin with, he never really wanted a dog. It was too much responsibility packaged in a ball of fur, and besides, he didn't have time for a dog since his work was his priority.
But life took unexpected turns.
It was late, around midnight.
The sky was covered in thick clouds, with no moon or stars, and the secondary road that cut through the suburban woods was a black line in the distance. The car's headlights cut through the silence with a constant hum, and inside the vehicle, Dr. Xeno drove alone. The music had stopped miles ago. He didn't need it. His mind was noisy enough as it was.
He was returning from a conference that had stretched into the early hours of the morning. Xeno was exhausted, drained, bored. He felt terrible; the smells around him were overwhelming. He had argued tirelessly with various government agents, foreign scientists, and bigwigs.
The rejection stung, clearly. Another of his projects had been rejected, labeled "too ambitious" and "potentially conflicting with foreigners." Empty words that reflected cowardice.
Too ambitious for an omega, they would have said.
Dr. Xeno Houston Wingfield wasn't used to losing, not by a long shot, but this had been... a damn international defeat, without a doubt. And that night, as he drove through a light drizzle, his knuckles gripped the steering wheel, his lips pressed tightly together, his thoughts swirling.
Too risky?
Unfeasible?
Who do they think they are to judge my projects when they don't even have the talent to understand them?
He pressed harder on the accelerator.
The outside world was blurry, a succession of shadows and distorted reflections. He wasn't really looking at it. His mind was still trapped in that cold room where they'd made him look like a rowdy lunatic for wanting to jump twenty years ahead in five.
He didn't quite realize when he'd arrived at his apartment complex. The building stood elegantly before him, like an architectural jewel reserved for a select few. And it was true; only people with influence, fame, or wealth lived there. Like millionaires, political figures, and renowned scientists.
He parked his car in the parking lot and went inside.
He didn't greet the receptionist, who was looking at him with a silly smile that was too suspicious for anyone, as if he knew something he didn't.
The elevator rose slowly, as if reluctant to take him. He took out his keys. When he opened the door, he expected the same silence as always. Not a single note out of place, everything clean, everything immaculate, everything lifeless.
Everything was empty, a cycle of frivolous order devoid of any warmth.
He expected to see the same tidy, frigid space as always, its faint scent permeating the entire apartment. The sofa without a speck of dust, the kitchen without a trace of a single footprint, the bed perfectly made. A methodical order that he thought would give him control over his life, which, after all, wasn't the case. No one was waiting for him, no one was hugging him. No one was comforting him after being rejected and humiliated at that conference.
He subtly stroked the back of his neck, his fingers trembling slightly, where there should have been a mark of rejection, but it was painfully absent from his milky skin.
There was no alpha.
No pups.
A family, which he should have had at his age.
But he didn't have one.
He was a successful man, of course, that was undeniable, making a living doing what he loved most in a respectable position as a NASA scientist. But an omega on the cusp of thirty, without having started a family, was looked at with pity, a look he didn't want.
Even so, after so much time, he wished that just once, for the first time, someone would be there to greet him, accompanied by small hands that would clutch his lab coat in welcome. As he entered, trying not to clumsily step on the toys scattered everywhere.
Although, no, there wasn't a trace of warmth or disorder in his life. Not even at that moment.
Opening the door fully, he surveyed his apartment, dropping the project folder for the printout, his mouth agape in bewilderment. His perfectly tidy apartment... It was upside down.
The once gleaming floor was covered in dirt from one of the overturned flowerpots. The sofa, once dust-free, was now covered in muddy footprints. Papers were scattered across the floor, including his documents. The dining room chairs lay on the floor. One of the sofa cushions had been brutally ripped open. The curtain hung sagging to one side. A broken cup rested on the floor next to his overturned desk.
With his mouth agape and a nervous twitch in his eye, he surveyed the mess, horrified.
Who had done this? His mind instantly began to formulate various hypotheses. A burglar? No, that would be impossible; the building had impenetrable security measures. An animal? That was the most logical explanation. Perhaps a cheeky neighbor's cat had slipped in through an open window.
But his answer came immediately with a sharp pain in his knees.
Woof, woof, woof!— A golden ball of fur charged at her, sending her sprawling on her rear end.
With twitching ears and oversized paws, it knocked her back, its tail whipping like a propeller, startling Omega in the process. The puppy panted excitedly, trying to lick her face.
A dog, if she remembered correctly, a retriever breed she'd seen countless times on the streets. Chubby and clearly young, no more than three months old.
Her eyes met the dog's gaze with surprise and a touch of disdain.
That definitely wasn't there when he left.
The omega, as best he could, pushed the puppy aside and sat up, still stunned.
He surveyed the mess, then looked at the puppy. The little golden retriever was staring at him with the brightest eyes he'd seen in years, as if he'd just found the center of the universe. His reason for being.
He looked away.
On the dining room table, he saw an envelope. He opened it with his index finger, already suspecting its contents. It was a note. Handwritten, in his mother's elegant calligraphy:
"We're going on a trip to Europe for a while. We got him from a military adoption program, but we can't take care of him now. And you... Maybe you need some company." — Mom.
Xeno felt a muscle in his brow twitch. The one of contempt. He knew it well.
He didn't need it. He didn't want a dog.
He didn't want an animal in his life. Much less a dog. He wasn't a dog lover, he never had been. They were far too messy and noisy creatures for the concentration his work required. Besides, they had zero hygiene and little logical thinking. If he had considered having a pet before, he would have chosen a cat a thousand times over, as they were calmer and quieter animals.
But a dog? No way!
A dog was an inherently illogical thing, full of responsibility.
A dog was an inherently illogical thing, full of responsibility.
He didn't have time to take care of one, much less train it.
He brought his hand to the bridge of his nose, frustrated. Then he ran that same hand over his face, rubbing it anxiously. He took a deep breath. It was late. He was exhausted. His presentation had been met with lukewarm reviews, and now this. A dog. In his apartment. He'd made a complete mess of things.
He sat on the sofa, fussing at his loose strands of hair. What could he do? He could call someone, maybe his colleague who was a dog lover and had about five of them. He could call a vet clinic. He could lock him in the bathroom until morning.
The puppy whimpered softly beside him, as if afraid he'd said something wrong.
He looked at the dog again. The puppy was watching him with bright eyes full of concern, appreciation, and admiration. That look softened him a little. Sighing, he resigned himself.
He cursed his fragile side. His Omega Lake that softened with tenderness in the presence of children and animals.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to clear his mind by taking care of a puppy. After all, it would only be one night, right?
He picked up the puppy, its paws covered in dirt, soiling his white shirt, but he didn't care, at least not this time. He surveyed his messy apartment and glanced at the time on a hanging clock in the dining room. He would clean everything in the morning.
Sitting with the dog on his lap, he positioned it so its face was right in front of him.
"You're a walking disaster..." he said softly, looking him straight in the eyes. "Zero efficiency, limited motor coordination, questionable hygiene."
The puppy blinked and then licked his nose.
Xeno sighed again, exasperated
“Just one night, understand?” he warned, though that warning was more for himself.
He settled the puppy on his lap and began to stroke its back somewhat hesitantly.
“Don’t get used to it.”
The puppy looked at him and licked his hand; the scientist’s eyes softened with tenderness.
“And neither should you, Xeno…” he added, more quietly.
Without realizing it, he had forgotten that rejected project that night, the mocking glances in the room, and the frustration he had felt all day.
He slept soundly on the sofa with the blond dog on his chest, a small blanket covering them both.
Unbeknownst to him, with the arrival of this little dog, his family had already begun to take shape.
And the next morning, the dog was there, gazing at him with appreciation and tenderness, his tail wagging vigorously. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to have some company for a few days while his parents were away.
"What's your name, little biological weapon?" he asked, as if the dog were going to answer him.
Perhaps the loneliness was already getting to him; in his right mind, he would never speak to a dog as if it were going to respond.
He stood in front of the stove, cooking his lunch. His parents hadn't mentioned the golden retriever's name; the dog was lying on the floor, still drowsy.
"You look like you could be called Military, Soldier, or Warrior," Xeno muttered as he turned the stove down to low heat. "Despite being a golden retriever, you seem more serious. I've met some, and they're balls of destructive energy." He glanced sideways at the dog, who wasn't paying him the slightest attention. "Although you did wreck my apartment," he muttered irritably. "We should give you a temporary name."
Xeno began listing a variety of names, several of them scientific, like Newton, Lawrence, Moscovium, Nickel, Hooke, and others. The puppy completely ignored them until he finally uttered a name that seemed to please him.
"Stan."
The puppy sat up and barked, wagging his tail slightly.
Xeno smiled broadly at the dog's approval. Stan it would be, then.
Big mistake.
Giving it a name would have been the first big step in growing fond of it.
Without realizing it, the dog's stay stretched into a week. His parents still hadn't returned from their trip, and he had already researched everything involved in having a dog—and when I say everything, I mean absolutely everything. He had checked his vaccination record, verifying all his shots. He had bought nutritional supplements at veterinary clinics, as well as parasite medication. He had gone to pet stores, impulsively buying premium food, food bowls, and a dog bed. He had even bought meat and eggs specifically for his diet. In short, just the essentials.
Several things had happened during that week of living together.
Although Stan was a relatively calm dog, he was a glutton; he loved to eat. Typical of any dog.
Stan also followed him around the apartment like a golden shadow, banishing any negative thoughts or stress with his presence.
One of those nights, he found him sleeping on top of one of his lab coats, which the dog had taken down from his bed to lie down on. He simply let him sleep.
The weeks turned into a month. Stan already had a blanket and a dog bed next to Xeno's desk, keeping the white-haired dog company during his sleepless nights. And without Xeno even mentioning it, a variety of toys were organized by color, texture, and size.
The month passed again, completing a term. Stan now had his own collar, made of fine black leather, adorned with a beautiful pure platinum tag, engraved with his name, address, and Xeno's phone number. All written in elegant calligraphy.
The term turned into a semester. Stan was bigger, calmer, and with that, his needs had grown. Xeno had gotten him a black harness that fit his body perfectly without restricting his movement. And from then on, the occasional walks began, which both Stan and Xeno loved.
The semester finally turned into a year.
Xeno had grown completely attached to the dog.
The apartment is just as clean and tidy, but warmer. There are small paw prints on the carpet, a framed photo of Stan discreetly placed on a high shelf, and a larger dog bed tucked away in a corner of the home lab.
Xeno no longer says “one more night.” He doesn’t even think about it anymore.
One ordinary afternoon, while working at his desk, Stan sleeps peacefully nearby.
He looks up, observes him for a moment, and without any apparent emotion, simply murmurs:
“You’re lucky. I never planned this. But here you are.”
He certainly hadn’t foreseen this; it was only supposed to be one night, and it ended up being more than a year.
But he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
If his parents ever knocked on his head door to take the dog away, Xeno wouldn’t let them.
But it wasn't as if this hadn't been a plan on their part to give him some company. And indeed, it worked.
Over time, Xeno's routine had changed.
Not abruptly, of course. It was a quiet, almost imperceptible change that crept into his meticulous schedules and priority lists. It all started with the constant presence of Stan, the puppy his parents had left him "for a few days."
Now, two years later, Stan had become an integral part of his daily life.
Xeno woke up half an hour earlier than usual, adjusting his biological clock with surgical precision. The morning walk with Stan was short, structured, but consistent. The dog followed him without pulling on the leash, attentive, obedient, and strangely disciplined for a golden retriever.
He congratulated himself on having raised and trained him so efficiently.
Sometimes, Xeno watched him curiously while he waited for him to finish sniffing a lamppost. Too well-behaved for his kind, she thought. He almost looks like he's been trained for tactical operations. And then she smiled slightly, ironically.
Too adorable for that. Although his kind was also used in the police and military
After each walk, he would make coffee, tidy his desk, and review the research schedule. Stan would lie down nearby, silent, as if he knew exactly how much space he could occupy without being a nuisance. He was an ideal dog. Quiet, attentive, he never destroyed anything. He didn't bark for no reason. He didn't disrupt routines. He fit in perfectly.
Until one of his projects was approved.
One of his most ambitious designs, rejected for years, had finally been funded. Xeno took it as an undeniable sign that he had to dedicate himself to it wholeheartedly. He locked himself in his lab for days. His world became formulas, simulations, tests, redesigns. Stan, though patient, began to spend more time alone.
Aware that he couldn't leave him unattended, Xeno made a practical decision: he hired a dog walker.
A young, alpha, foreign student whom he had met via email years ago, asking about how to build a homemade rocket. His name: Senku Ishigami.
He said he was paying for his studies and rent, and coincidentally, he was studying the same degree Xeno had graduated with.
Xeno hadn't expected to run into him again, but it had been a pleasant surprise when he recognized him.
"Is your dog named Stan?" Senku asked the first time he saw him, raising an eyebrow with a mocking smile. "Like Stanley Snyder?"
Xeno glanced at him sideways.
"Who's that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Senku looked at him as if he were joking.
"You're one of NASA's top scientists, who often works with the Special Forces... and you still don't know who he is?" he questioned incredulously.
Xeno shook his head.
"I'm not interested."
Senku didn't insist, he fastened the harness securely and took Stan for a walk alongside other dogs, some of Stan's breed.
Xeno laughed as he watched the dogs get in the way and nearly chase poor Senku more than once.
He adjusted his purple tie. He grabbed his briefcase and headed in the opposite direction, looking for his car.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw him, walking on the other side of the street from his apartment building. Tall, with an athletic build. Neatly styled light blond hair, revealing his handsome face. Long eyelashes, sharp amber eyes. He wore a serious and stoic expression. He seemed unfazed.
He was dressed in a white shirt that hugged his chest and dark blue jeans that clung to him. Xeno could have sworn a button might pop off at any moment.
All his features screamed "Alpha."
A blush crept across his cheeks as a familiar warmth settled in his chest.
He was very attractive.
Before him stood a small, slender, white dog with slightly long fur. Refined, neat, and with an elegant gait, its chin held high, a large black "X" etched on its forehead. The dog's attitude and body language clearly stated: "I am superior to all of you. I am in charge here."
The scientist watched them for a moment until they disappeared from sight around the corner.
Xeno didn't move. He didn't sigh. He didn't say a word.
He simply watched them leave.
Who was he? He had never seen him around here before.
His phone vibrated, pulling him from his reverie. He checked the time, quickly got into his car, and started driving to work, his hands slightly trembling and his heart beating softly, unable to get that alpha out of his mind.
Illogical.
She shook her head, as if trying to dispel certain memories.
She needed to concentrate.
There was a lot to do today.
She didn't think she'd ever see him again.