Chapter Text
Shane Hollander liked the quiet.
It was a fragile kind of quiet, the sort that lived in the spaces between sounds rather than the absence of them entirely: the hum of the refrigerator, the distant traffic muffled by Ottawa’s early winter chill, the soft creak of the building settling into itself at night. It was predictable, familiar. Safe.
His apartment wasn’t large, but it was his. That mattered more than anything.
The walls were lined with small, practical things: a rack for his hockey sticks near the door, neatly arranged skates drying on a mat, a shelf filled with children’s drawings, messy crayon figures labelled Coach Shane! in uneven handwriting. The couch had a blanket permanently draped over one side, and there were always at least two empty cans of ginger ale somewhere within reach.
It smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and something warmer underneath, something that was simply him.
Shane liked it that way.
He wasn’t like most omegas, and he had learned early that the world noticed.
Being male already made him rare enough to draw attention, the kind that lingered too long or came with expectations he didn’t want to meet. Add in the fact that he was built from years of skating, training, falling, getting back up - broad shoulders, strong thighs - and people didn’t quite know where to place him.
Too soft to be an alpha.
Too strong to be what they thought an omega should be.
He didn’t mind, not anymore.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
Most days, his world was simple: the rink, the kids, the cold air that burned his lungs in the best way, and the laughter that echoed off the boards when one of his students finally managed to stay upright for more than three seconds.
He loved teaching.
Children didn’t look at him and see something strange or rare. They saw Coach Shane, the one who tied their skates, who told them it was okay to fall, who celebrated every tiny victory like it was a championship goal.
It was enough.
It had to be.
“Morning, dear.”
Shane looked up from his phone as the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. Mrs. Tyler stood inside, bundled in a coat that seemed far too heavy for the mild weather, her gray hair tucked neatly beneath a knitted hat.
“Morning, Mrs. Tyler.” he said, stepping in beside her.
She smelled like nothing, as all betas did, a neutral absence that Shane had always found oddly comforting.
“Off to the rink again?” she asked, pressing the button for the ground floor.
“Yeah. Early class today.”
“Those children are lucky,” she said warmly. “Not everyone has the patience for that sort of thing.”
Shane smiled, a little shy, ducking his head. “They’re good kids.”
There was a pause as the elevator began its slow descent, the cables humming faintly above them.
“Oh!” Mrs. Tyler perked up suddenly, turning toward him. “I nearly forgot… you’re getting a new neighbour.”
Shane blinked. “Really?”
“Yes, the apartment on your right. It’s been empty far too long, if you ask me. Not good for a building to have empty spaces… makes it feel lonely.” She patted his arm lightly. “Young man, from what I hear.”
Something small and hopeful flickered in Shane’s chest.
“Oh,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “That’s… good.”
“Moving in within the next few days, I believe. Perhaps you’ll finally have someone your age nearby.”
Maybe, Shane thought.
Maybe someone quiet.
Someone who didn’t blast music through the walls at midnight, or stomp around like they were trying to break through the floor. Someone easy to talk to. Someone normal.
A beta, ideally.
Someone who wouldn’t look at him like…
He pushed the thought away.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’d be nice.”
The first thing Shane noticed a few days later was the smell.
It hit him the moment he stepped out of the elevator, subtle at first, barely there … like the ghost of something rich and warm lingering in the air.
He paused, frowning slightly.
Chocolate?
That was… new.
He glanced down the hallway, expecting to see a box, maybe groceries left outside someone’s door, but there was nothing. Just the same three apartments, the same quiet corridor, the same soft lighting.
He shrugged it off.
Maybe Mrs. Tyler had taken up baking.
The thought made him smile faintly as he unlocked his door and stepped inside.
The second time, it wasn’t so easy to ignore.
It was stronger, deeper, not just chocolate now, but something darker beneath it. Musk. Heat. Something that curled low in his stomach and made his breath catch before he even realized why.
Shane froze just inside his apartment, his hand still on the doorknob.
“Oh…” he whispered.
His body reacted before his mind could catch up, a slow, involuntary warmth spreading through him, a tightening low in his abdomen that made his knees feel just a little unsteady.
No.
No, no, no…
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe.
That wasn’t chocolate.
That was…
“Alpha.” he said under his breath, the word tight and disbelieving.
His new neighbour was an alpha.
Of course he was.
Because apparently Shane couldn’t have one simple, normal thing without it turning complicated.
He pressed his forehead briefly against the cool wood of the door, eyes squeezing shut.
It wasn’t even that strong, he told himself.
He could handle this.
He had handled worse.
Still, the scent lingered, wrapping around him, seeping into the space like it belonged there, like it was trying to claim something.
Shane pushed himself away from the door and moved quickly through his apartment, opening a window, letting the cold air rush in.
“Get a grip.” he muttered to himself.
It was just a neighbour.
Just an alpha.
It didn’t mean anything.
Ilya Rozanov liked new beginnings.
New cities, new streets, new people. It all carried a kind of electricity that he thrived on, a constant hum of possibility just beneath the surface.
Ottawa was colder than Boston, quieter too, but it had its charm. Clean lines, wide streets, a sense of order that made everything feel… manageable.
Temporary, but manageable.
He leaned back against the wall of his new apartment, one box still unopened at his feet, a cigarette resting loosely between his fingers as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke toward the open window.
“Not bad.” he murmured to himself.
The job was good, better than good, actually. The law firm had a reputation, the kind that opened doors, and Ilya had never been one to shy away from opportunities.
Or distractions.
A faint scent brushed against his senses, so soft at first he almost missed it.
He stilled.
Then inhaled again, deeper this time.
Citrus.
Not the sharp, artificial kind… something warmer, sweeter, edged with a brightness that made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
“Orange…” he said slowly, his accent curling around the word.
His lips curved.
Omega.
Close. Very close.
The realization sent a spark of interest through him, quick and bright.
“Well,” he said, pushing himself off the wall, flicking ash out the window. “That is lucky.”
He didn’t even bother trying to ignore it.
Why would he?
The scent was strong enough that it drifted into his bedroom, into the hallway, wrapping around him in a way that felt almost deliberate. Inviting.
Or maybe that was just how his instincts chose to interpret it.
Either way, he was curious.
And Ilya Rozanov had never been good at ignoring curiosity.
The hallway was quiet when he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
The scent grew stronger immediately, guiding him without effort to the apartment on his left.
He paused in front of the door, tilting his head slightly.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Definitely here.”
For a moment, he simply stood there, taking it in the warmth of it, the softness, the way it settled somewhere deep in his chest in a way that felt… different.
Not unpleasant.
Just unexpected.
He raised his hand and knocked. Once. Twice.
He waited.
Nothing.
Ilya frowned faintly, glancing down the hallway as if the omega might suddenly appear out of nowhere.
“Out.” he guessed.
A shame.
He had been looking forward to seeing who smelled like that.
Still, there was no rush.
He smirked to himself, slipping his hands into his pockets as he turned back toward his own apartment.
“Next time, solnyshko,” he said under his breath.
The door across the hall remained closed, silent, unaware. For now.