Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You see, the heart was a funny, silly thing.

It held onto memories with a fierceness born out of a foolishness that came only out of love. With just a glimpse of something familiar, it could summon a person as vividly as if they were standing right before you, present and whole. In fact, the world was full of these quiet triggers, these little fragments of the past that refused to fade, the evidence of love always persisting.

Snow, for instance, always made him think of home. The cold bite of morning air, the weight of a shovel in his hands, the way his father would wake him every day without fail, calling him down to help clear the front steps before the sun had fully risen. He remembered the warmth that followed, too: the long, cozy evenings spent with his entire family gathered around the fireplace, the crackling flames painting the room in shades of amber and gold. Those nights were often a chance for him to practice his pyreball spells, carefully guiding little sparks of flame to catch the kindling just right, his father watching with quiet pride in his eyes.

Blue, as clear and endless as the vast sky, made him remember his mother's eyes. How they would crinkle at the corners whenever she smiled at him. That memory, in turn, branched out into others: afternoons spent lying in her lap while she carded her fingers gently through his hair, her voice soft as she hummed old lullabies, the scoldings she gave him when he left his toys scattered across the floor, her stern expression never quite hiding the fondness in her gaze.

Smells, though invisible and intangible, were no less powerful than colors or sights. They slipped in through the cracks of the present and pulled you backward with startling precision just as much. The scent of an approaching rainstorm, for instance, always brought him back to his father, to the steady, grounding presence of an alpha who made the world feel safe. Whenever he caught that particular fragrance in the air — the mix of damp earth and petrichor — Olruggio would feel a sense of protection, calm, and patience wash over him, as if nothing bad in the world could ever touch him. Almost as if his late father was near.

Freshly brewed coffee, on the other hand, conjured his mother without fail. His father once told him, with a soft smile that betrayed his years, that the simple appreciation of a good cup of coffee was what first made him smitten with her. From then on, the scent of roasted beans became inseparable from her memory, a gentle reminder of her presence even when he could not remember her face quite as well as before.

And then came Qifrey.

For all his differences from the other witches and all the ways he stood apart, he was something else entirely. When Olruggio looked at him, he never saw what the others did. He only saw home. A home crafted specially for him, as if the universe itself had looked upon his loss and decided to offer him a second chance, a gift wrapped in white hair and blue eyes.

How could he not? Qifrey's hair fell like fresh snowfall, pure and soft, and his eyes were the clearest, most stunning blue Olruggio had ever seen. And his scent, warm and comforting, like a stroll through familiar gardens, was the kind of smell that filled a kitchen on lazy mornings, reminded him of easy childhood days, of safety and contentment.

Back when Qifrey presented his secondary gender at thirteen, Olruggio had noticed something strange. The other children, even Alaira, who was the closest to them, would comment that his scent seemed oppressive and heavy, almost suffocating in a way. He watched Qifrey's face fall, saw the way he quietly began using scent-blocking patches against his skin, hiding that part of himself to avoid making others uncomfortable.

Olruggio remembered clearly how Qifrey had murmured, almost to himself, that he didn't want this to be another thing that set him apart from the others. Olruggio had wanted to speak up then and tell him the scent alone made him relax his shoulders, but he hadn't found the courage, hadn't known how to say it without revealing too much of feelings that even he, at the time, had not fully understood yet.

For his part, Olruggio had never expected to be anything other than a beta. The reason was simple, almost logical: he was not soft or nurturing like an omega was supposed to be. He lacked that instinctive bone of caregiving, often said things he didn't mean, and was too blunt, too rough around the edges. And as for being an alpha, well, he had none of the aggressiveness and the commanding presence that alphas were known for.

However, at the age of fourteen, a little late in the scheme of things, he was in his private workshop, stubbornly working on a particularly difficult spell of repetition under his Master's care, who was a beta.

That day, something felt wrong. The air grew too hot and the walls seemed to press in on him. His entire body screamed with a desperate, primal need to leave, to escape, to flee like a caged bird suddenly aware of its bars.

Thankfully, he was alone with her when it happened. She took one look at him and understood immediately. He could still remember the immense pity in her gaze, the quiet sorrow that told him she knew exactly what was happening.

For an entire week, she kept him secluded in the workshop, bringing food and water and all the other necessities he could possibly need. She created excuses to explain his absence, sent messages that he had been sent far away on an errand, and most importantly, kept a determined, persistent Qifrey from getting anywhere near the door.

When the worst of it had passed, she sat with him after a doctor came to explain what had happened, and laid out clearly the options before him.

"Olruggio, we need to talk about it," she started then, firmly albeit a little awkwardly. She had always commented that it was important to maintain a clear line between being a Master and being a parent. These kinds of talks were usually meant to come from one's parents — the first pack one would ever belong to.

Too bad he didn't have one anymore.

He smiled kindly at her, appreciating her clumsy attempts at breaching such a delicate topic, knowing she probably didn’t want to. "We don't have to talk about it, Master. I'm quite aware of how being an omega will complicate things."

The words hung in the air between them, turning the atmosphere heavy. Olruggio had always known, in the abstract way that children know things without truly understanding them, that most witches were not omegas. The ones who were, however, faced far more tribulations than everyone else.

Omegas were seen as too soft, too vulnerable, too easily distracted by the pull of their biology. They were not taken seriously, not trusted with positions of power, and often found themselves sidelined, their ambitions quietly smothered under the weight of expectation and prejudice.

His Master's expression softened, and she reached out to place a hand over his. She was not a woman given to grand displays of emotion, but in that moment, her eyes held visible care that made his throat tighten.

"Listen to me carefully, Olruggio," she started, her voice gentle. "I have made sure that no one knows about this except for the doctor and myself. Your secret is safe. But now you have two paths before you, and I need you to think very carefully about which one you choose."

She paused, letting the information settle over him before continuing.

"The first option is to be honest. You can remain here, live openly as an omega, and face whatever comes your way. But I won't lie to you—it will be difficult. There will be those who will look down on you and who will dismiss your talents. You will have to fight twice as hard for half the recognition. But you will never have to hide who you are."

Olruggio listened in silence, his jaw tight.

"The second option," she went on, her voice dropping even quieter, "is that I can help you hide it. Thanks to the doctor's discretion and my own precautions, no one beyond this room needs to know the truth if you don’t wish for it. I can arrange for suppressants and for patches… for everything you would need to present yourself as a beta. You will only ever have to reveal your true designation to those you trust implicitly—because if I am being sincere with you, Olruggio, I know the world is not kind. It never has been, and it likely never will be. Not to people like you."

Her eyes met his, with clear sincerity in them.

"I am not telling you this to frighten you, but because I care about you, and I want you to have every chance to succeed. The choice is yours, and I will support you no matter what you decide. But I need you to understand the stakes before you choose which path you will follow."

Olruggio's mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions crashing against one another. He thought of all the years he had spent training and all the dreams he had carefully built for himself. Genius, they call him, filled with expectation. He thought of the way other witches looked at omegas, with barely concealed pity and condescension. He thought of Qifrey, of the white-haired boy with the sad eyes and the scent that felt like home, and wondered if this new truth about himself would push them further apart.

"How could I do that?" Olruggio finally asked, his voice so tiny it was barely able to be heard. "How could I possibly hide something like this?"

"There are suppressants you can take daily to keep your heats at bay," she explained, tone practical, almost as if this was any other lesson. "They are safe when used properly, and they are discreet. There are also scent patches you can wear to mask your natural fragrance, strong enough to fool even the most perceptive noses. With these, combined with careful behavior, I’m sure no one will suspect a thing."

She paused, a hint of a sad smile tugging at her lips. "It is not a perfect solution, and it comes with its own burdens. The suppressants can be tiring, and the constant vigilance required to maintain the facade can wear on a person. But it would give you the freedom to choose who knows the truth, rather than having it forced upon you."

Olruggio stared at his hands, feeling that this was too heavy a choice to be making at fourteen.

"I need time to think," he finally managed.

"Of course," she replied immediately, rising from her seat. She paused at the door, her hand resting on the frame, and looked back at him with a tenderness that made his chest ache. "Take all the time you need. But I should warn you that you don't have much of it."

Olruggio looked up, confused.

She chuckled softly. "I've kept that persistent friend of yours away from this door for an entire week now. I can only make up so many excuses before he breaks the door down himself."

A small, unexpected smile tugged at Olruggio's lips at the thought of Qifrey pacing outside, worried and frustrated, refusing to be turned away. The image was almost enough to make him forget about his sad little situation.

Almost.

"I'll think about it," he promised.

She nodded once, then slipped out the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

It was funny, in hindsight, how not even an hour later after his Master had left for the first time in a week, Qifrey immediately knocked on the window, hovering effortlessly with his sylph shoes like some kind of a dog that had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike, watching and biding his time.

Olruggio bit his lip, staring at the figure silhouetted against the fading afternoon light. His first instinct was to wave him away, but then his Master's words echoed in his mind: "You would only ever have to reveal your true designation to those you trust implicitly."

There was no one he trusted more than Qifrey. If he couldn't be honest with his best friend, then what was the point of any of it?

He crossed the room and unlatched the window, letting Qifrey tumble inside with all the grace of a startled cat, his sylph shoes flickering out as his feet touched the floor. His white hair was slightly windswept and his blue eye was wide and frantic as they swept over Olruggio from head to toe, cataloging every detail with desperate anxiety,

"Are you alright?" Qifrey demanded, his voice pitched higher than usual, tight with barely contained worry. He reached out, hands hovering uncertainly near Olruggio's shoulders as if afraid to touch but unable to stop himself from trying. "You've been gone for an entire week, Olruggio. An entire week! Your Master kept saying you were sent away on some errand, but I knew that was a lie. I thought something had happened to you. I thought—"

His words tumbled out in a rush and his scent — stars, his scent. It was thicker than usual, sharper and laced with something bitter and acrid that Olruggio had never associated with Qifrey before.

Worry.

It was pure, undiluted worry, radiating off him in waves so potent that Olruggio was almost overwhelmed.

He understood now why his Master had been so frustrated. If Qifrey had been smelling like this all week, even her nose, as weak as it could be for a beta, would have picked up on it.

"Qifrey," Olruggio said, reaching out to catch one of his fluttering hands. "Hey, I'm fine. I promise. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"A little tired?" Qifrey's eyes narrowed, suspicious. "You disappeared for a week without telling anyone, and you expect me to believe you were just a little tired?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous," Olruggio admitted, a tired smile tugging at his lips. "But I'm telling you the truth. I'm fine. Nothing bad happened to me."

Qifrey searched his face, that blue eye boring into him with an intensity that made Olruggio want to look away. He held his ground, meeting that gaze steadily, and after a long moment, some of the tension in Qifrey's shoulders seemed to ease. His scent softened, the bitter edge dulling slightly, though the worry never fully faded.

"You swear it?" Qifrey asked quietly.

"I swear it," Olruggio replied, nodding.

To that, Qifrey seemed to deflate completely. He pulled his hand free from Olruggio's grasp and ran it through his hair, a nervous habit Olruggio had always found endearing. "I was so worried," he muttered, almost to himself. "I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you."

Olruggio felt a warmth bloom in his chest, something soft and aching he didn't quite have the words for. "You don't have to worry about me," he said gently. "I'm tougher than I look."

His friend let out a huff of laughter, the first genuine sound of amusement he had made since entering the room.

"I know you are, but I worry anyway."

They settled into a more comfortable silence, Qifrey finally allowing himself to sit on the edge of Olruggio's bed while Olruggio laid on the bed, letting himself relax for the first time in what felt like ages.

But then Qifrey tilted his head, his nose twitching slightly, a curious expression crossing his face.

"Olruggio," he said slowly, "something smells unbelievably good in here. Did one of you cook something while I was waiting outside?"

Olruggio felt his cheeks flood with heat, a deep crimson that crept up from his neck to the tips of his ears. He shook his head, forcing a nonchalance he didn't feel.

"No, nothing. You must be imagining things."

Qifrey frowned, clearly unconvinced, but he didn't press further. Instead, he simply shrugged, his gaze drifting around the room as if to reassure himself that everything was in its proper place.

Olruggio watched him, his mind churning. He had made a decision, he realized.

The moment Qifrey had knocked on the window, the moment he had let him in, he had already chosen. He couldn't hide this from Qifrey. Not when his scent was so potent and Qifrey would inevitably figure it out on his own, given time. And more than that, he didn't want to hide it. Not from him. Never from him.

"I need to tell you something."

The witch’s head snapped up, alert immediately. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Olruggio assured him quickly. "It's just... about this past week. The reason I was gone… It wasn't because I was suddenly sent away on an errand."

Qifrey's expression shifted, confusion and concern mingling together. "Then what happened?"

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Please, he thought, desperately, please don’t let this change anything.

"I presented," he said simply. " It happened while I was working here. My Master kept me isolated because I needed time to recover, and because she knew you would be... worried."

Qifrey's eyes went wide. "You presented? But that means—"

"I'm an omega," Olruggio said, the words falling from his lips like stones dropped into still water. It still felt hard to believe. "I presented as an omega."

The silence that followed was so deafening he could hear his own heartbeat loud in his ears.

Olruggio watched Qifrey's face, searching for any sign of disgust or pity, any hint of the disdain he had seen in other witches when they spoke of omegas. But there was none of that, only a simple surprise.

"Oh, did it hurt?" Qifrey asked, his brow furrowing with genuine concern. "I heard first heats can be painful."

Olruggio stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. Out of everything Qifrey could have asked, that was what he chose to focus on?

"It hurt a little bit," Olruggio finally managed, his voice cracking slightly. "It was mostly uncomfortable, though. Like my entire body was on fire and I couldn't do anything about it. But my Master made sure I had everything I needed, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been."

Qifrey's expression softened with sympathy, but he didn't press for more details. Instead, he simply nodded, filing the information away.

"Are you... are you not bothered by it?" Olruggio pressed, the question escaping before he could stop it. "By what I am now?"

Qifrey scrunched his nose in confusion, tilting his head like a perplexed puppy. His white hair fell across his forehead, and his blue eye blinked at Olruggio with such genuine bewilderment that it was almost comical.

"Why would I be bothered by it? You're still Olly. Nothing about that has changed." He paused, his expression softening. "You weren't bothered when I presented as an alpha, were you?"

"No," Olruggio admitted quickly. "Of course not."

"Exactly," Qifrey said, nodding as if that settled everything. "So why would this be any different? Why would I care about something that doesn't change who you are?"

Olruggio felt his throat tighten, a swell of emotion rising up that he couldn't quite suppress. It was nice to know that, despite everything, he had at least Qifrey around. It would make the world more bearable.

"You have a point," Olruggio agreed, a laugh escaping him easier than before, lighter than he had felt in days. "It's kind of stupid to think this changes anything, right?"

"Yeah," Qifrey agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Witches can be awfully dumb about a lot of stuff."

"You're not wrong about that."

Olruggio opened his mouth to continue, but before he could form the words, the door creaked open. His Master stepped inside, her expression shifting from surprise to something like resignation when she spotted Qifrey perched on the edge of the bed.

"I thought I told you to stay away," she said, though there was no real heat in her voice, only visible defeat.

Qifrey had the decency to look slightly abashed. "You did. But I was worried."

"Clearly," she replied dryly. She turned to Olruggio, her gaze softening. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Olruggio admitted. "A lot better, actually."

She nodded, then glanced pointedly at Qifrey.

"I need to speak with Olruggio alone for a moment. Would you mind giving us some privacy?"

Qifrey's expression flickered with a brief flash of reluctance he quickly masked. He didn't want to leave, that much was obvious. His scent, which had mellowed during their conversation, sharpened again with a hint of protective anxiety. But he was nothing if not respectful, and after a moment's hesitation, he rose to his feet.

"Of course," he said smoothly, though his eyes lingered on Olruggio. "I'll be right outside if you need anything."

Before he could leave, however, Olruggio called out, stopping him at the window. "Thank you for coming. It meant a lot."

Qifrey's smile was soft, genuine. "Always, Olly."

And then, with a flourish that was entirely unnecessary, he leaped out the window, his sylph shoes catching him mid-air as he soared upward. The door was right there, he could have used it like a normal person, but of course, Qifrey opted for the dramatic exit.

Olruggio watched him go, a fond smile tugging at his lips, until the white-haired figure disappeared from view.

His Master let out a long, slow breath, moving to sit in the chair Qifrey had vacated. "He's persistent, I'll give him that."

"He's just worried," Olruggio said.

"I know. That's what makes it so difficult." She studied him for a long moment, her eyes assessing his form. "You told him, then?"

Olruggio nodded. "I couldn't keep it from him. He would have figured it out eventually anyway."

"You really are lucky, you know," she said, her voice carrying that familiar note of amusement. "Having such a thoughtful friend."

"Lucky," Olruggio repeated flatly. "Yes, I feel sooooo lucky right now."

At his tone, her amusement faded, replaced by something more serious. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, and fixed him with a steady gaze.

"Have you made a decision?"

He nodded slowly. "I have."

His Master waited, patient as always.

"I'm going to take the suppressants and wear the patches."

His Master didn't look surprised. If anything, she looked relieved, although she was careful to hide it, her expression remaining carefully neutral.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, voice gentle but probing. "Can I ask what made you settle on this decision?”

“I'm sure," he said slowly, choosing his words with care. "And the reason is... right now, I'm powerless."

His fingers curled into the blanket, clenching until the fabric bit into his palms and the blood drained from his knuckles. He couldn't look away from them.

"I don't have a family to protect me," Olruggio continued, his voice growing smaller as he spoke. He knew it was the truth, but it still hurt to say it out loud. "I don't have a pack to fall back on if things go wrong. Being known as a genius is all well and good, but I know that title won't hold up for long against the weight of being an omega. People will see my designation before they see my work and they'll dismiss my achievements as flukes, or worse, assume I only got where I am because someone took pity on me."

Olruggio paused, relaxing his hands and looking at her.

"I don't want that. I don't want to spend my whole life fighting an uphill battle just to be taken seriously. I want to earn my place through my own merit, through the spells I create and the work I do. I want to have enough recognition, enough money and enough experience to stand on my own two feet before I ever let the world see this side of me."

When he finished, she let out a slow breath, something like pride flickering in her eyes.

"I’m glad you thought thoroughly about this, kiddo. That's remarkably mature of you," she said quietly. "Most people your age wouldn't think that far ahead.”

She leaned toward him, her eyes steady and unflinching against his. "But I need you to understand something, Olruggio. You will always have me. Whatever you choose, whatever the world throws at you… I will do anything, anything, to keep you safe. Do you understand?"

Olruggio felt a warmth spread through his chest, feeling unbelievably thankful for having her at his side. "Thank you, Master. For… for everything, really."

She waved a hand dismissively, but he could see the emotion she was trying to hide. "Enough of that. We have work to do. I'll need to contact the doctor to arrange everything for you. It will take a few days to get everything in order, but in the meantime, I want you to rest and recover fully. No sneaking off to practice any spells or to meet that unruly pup, understood?"

Olruggio opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a sharp look.

"I mean it. You've been through an ordeal, and your body needs time to adjust. The suppressants will be even harder on you if you're already exhausted. So you're going to rest, eat properly, and let yourself heal. That's an order."

"Yes, Master," Olruggio said, a grimace barely concealed beneath his words at the thought of being trapped there for another week.

"Good." She rose from her seat, pausing at the door. "I'll send Qifrey back in on my way out. I have a feeling he's been hovering outside the entire time we've been talking."

Olruggio chuckled. "Probably."

"Try not to let him exhaust you too much," she added, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I noticed he has a tendency to fuss."

"I know. I've gotten used to it,” he replied, with a little bit too much fondness.

She shook her head, but she was smiling as she left the room.

If a few minutes later Qifrey did come back with the unmistakable guilty face of a man who had definitely been eavesdropping, Olruggio took enough pity on him to not pry.

.

After his first heat, all the suppressants were enough to keep him at bay. They worked like a charm, dulling the edges of his biology until he could almost forget what he was. For years, they kept that part of him locked away in a neat little box he rarely had to open. He went through his days as a beta, worked hard on his commissions and slowly but surely, Olruggio started building a reputation for himself.

That was, of course, before Qifrey left at nineteen without looking back.

One day his best friend was there and the next day, he wasn't. No notes or explanation were given. He didn’t even say goodbye. There was just an empty space where Qifrey used to be. Nothing more and nothing less.

It took him three days after that to realize what was happening to him. A blur of time passed of Olruggio ignoring the growing heat under his skin, the restless itch that crawled through his veins and the way his body seemed to ache with a need he refused to acknowledge. He told himself it was just a fever and exhaustion from overworking on the commissions that were finally starting to come his way. He was finally creating a name for himself, and that required sacrifice. He could push through a little discomfort.

But it wasn't none of that. He was going into heat.

The realization knocked the breath from his lungs, after all, he had been living as a beta for so long he had stopped preparing for this possibility. There was no nest in his room and no soft clothes or comfort blankets to make time pass quickly. No supplies. Nothing an omega in heat was supposed to have.

The first day, he spent curled up on his sorry excuse of a bed — a thin mattress with threadbare sheets and a single flat pillow that offered no comfort at all.

With nothing prepared, he took one too many sleeping pills, swallowing them dry because he couldn't muster the energy to get water, just to try to sleep the heat off. It worked, mostly. For a day and a half, he drifted in a haze of drugged unconsciousness.

But then he woke up.

His throat was parched, his mouth dry as sandpaper, and the heat was there, an unbearable need for something growing inside of him. He forced himself to his feet, despite his body screaming at him to curl back into a ball and never move again, to scavenge a few scraps of food he had stashed away and drink a little water. It would never satisfy his body needs but would keep him alive for a little while longer.

Olruggio, for obvious reasons, wouldn't leave his room. Couldn't. The thought of stepping outside and letting anyone see him like this was simply unbearable. Not only would it crumble everything he had worked so hard to build, but it also felt profoundly unsafe. Between that and starvation, he would rather not eat for an entire week.

He sank back onto the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, and let the first sob crawl out of his throat, a wet, ugly and helpless thing. The sound echoed off the bare walls and naturally, no one came.

With no warning, the feeling hit him like a sword waiting for the right moment to gut him.

Betrayal.

Overwhelming, all-consuming, soul-crushing betrayal. It flooded every corner of him, his lungs, his stomach, the hollow behind his ribs, until he couldn't tell where the feeling ended and where he began. It was all he was now. A raw nerve being poked for far too long. An open wound ready to bleed.

You have been abandoned, his inner omega seemed to whisper, a voice sad and impossibly helpless. Your alpha doesn't need you. He left you. He left you without a word, not caring what it would do to you.

His hands flew to his ears, pressing hard, trying to push the words out. But they were already inside him, burrowed into the marrow, ingrained deep in his blood.

You are alone again. You have no one and he left you.

Olruggio, or the logic part of his brain struggling to stay strong, knew it was just the heat talking. The desperate primal part of his biology that didn't understand he didn’t even have an alpha at all. Furthermore, Qifrey had his reasons for leaving. It wasn't personal or because of him.

His heart broke a little more nonetheless, and the voice didn't stop.

He left you. He didn’t even say goodbye.

With no avail, he pressed his palms against his ears harder, trying to block out the sound.

You couldn't save anyone from Ghodrey. You couldn't even save yourself. All those years of training, all those spells, and you still ended up here. Alone. Weak. No one would want a faulty omega like you.

"Stop," he choked out. The word came out thin, like glass breaking in his throat. "That's not—that's not true."

But it kept going, a relentless tide of anguish that swept over him again and again. The heat made it worse, amplifying every emotion, twisting every rational thought into something sharp and painful, making him second guess every little memory he had with his friend all these years, because truly, did he even know Qifrey at all?

He left you. He chose to leave you. He didn't even care enough to tell you why.

Olruggio curled tighter into himself, his body shaking with sobs he couldn't contain anymore. The heat burned through him, relentless and cruel, but it was nothing compared to the knowing feeling deep inside his chest. He had never felt so alone. So completely, utterly forgotten.

Qifrey cares about me, I know. He stayed up all night with me a million times before. He always came running when I got hurt. 

He was just bored.

That was real. It had to be real. You don't do that for someone you don't—

Cherish? Is that what you think that was?

Yes, of course! He cares about me, I know. He calls me Olly.

It didn’t mean anything, it's just a name, you dumb fool.

He had known the suppressants would fail eventually. He had known this day might come. But he had never imagined it would be like this, alone in a cold room with nothing but scraps for food and memories only he treasured, his body crying out for someone who wasn't there, someone who will never be there, someone who had chosen to leave him behind.

The heat lasted for three more days. He drifted in and out of consciousness, too weak to do anything but endure and weep and weep and weep quietly when he had enough consciousness to stay awake.

Please come back, he would often think, delirious and at his body’s mercy. Please. I'll do anything. I'll be better. I'll be enough this time. Just—

When the last wave of it finally subsided, he was a heap amidst the ruined linens of his bed. Every muscle in his body screamed, his eyes were swollen slits, and his throat felt flayed, scraped raw by the one word he'd howled into the void until it was a broken whisper. His heart, of course, was simply gone — shattered into pieces so fine they could never be put back together.

He didn't move for a long time, opting to lay there, drowning in the sound of his own hoarse voice, a testimony that proved he'd called out again and again for someone who wasn't coming. And… Well, he'd always known Qifrey wasn't his. He knew the man was destined to leave The Grand Hall.

Olruggio had convinced himself that he was his best friend. Now, he was being consumed by the one thing he'd never allowed himself to feel: doubt. He didn't want to think ill of their friendship at all, but what else was there to think, there in the silence, except that he had gotten left behind?

.

After that disastrous heat, Olruggio started taking stronger suppressants. He doubled the dosage, switched to patches that were twice as potent, and wore them constantly, even in the shower, even when his skin turned red and raw and unbearably itchy from the constant adhesive. The only exception was his own room, when he went to sleep. But there was almost no one who visited him there.

It was exhausting, but it was necessary. He couldn't bear the thought of going through another heat like that and certainly couldn't afford to be feeling like dying again.

That was why it took him completely by surprise when Alaira, another alpha he had confided in about his true nature, came into his room one afternoon and immediately wrinkled her nose. Her expression shifted, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the space with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.

"Olruggio," she said slowly, her voice carrying a strange care he hadn't heard before. "Did something happen? Are you okay?"

"Yes? I've just been working for the last few days." He blinked at her, confused.

She stepped closer, and before he could react, she reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. The gesture was gentle, almost maternal, but there was a strain in her expression that made him uneasy. She was hovering — that was the only word for it. Hovering over him like he was some pup that needed to be protected.

"Alaira, what’s gotten into you?" he asked, pulling back slightly. "You're acting strange."

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked around the room again, her nose twitching as if she could smell something unpleasant. Her hand remained on his shoulder, warm and steady, but her grip was careful, almost tentative.

After that, Alaira started visiting almost every day. She would appear at his door with food in her hands and concern in her eyes, always bringing warm meals, fresh bread and soft blankets that she insisted he should keep.

It was, frankly, driving him a little bit mad.

"Alaira," he said, finally setting down his pen after an entire week of this nonsense, "what is this really about? You've been coming here like I'm bedridden."

She looked conflicted, but eventually sighed in defeat, staring at with just pure concern in her eyes.

"Your room," she finally said, her voice quiet. "It smells like..."

He waited patiently for her to find the right words.

She hesitated, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks. "It smells like a miserable omega," she admitted, looking almost embarrassed. "Like someone who hasn't been properly cared for in a long time. And it’s…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "It's making my instincts flare. I can't help it."

"Oh," was all he could answer at first, shame filling him from the inside out, hot and suffocating. He'd thought he'd been hiding it so well, but apparently he had been wrong. However, alongside that shame, something else flickered, small and unexpected: a faint, fragile warmth that she felt the need to care for him at all, almost like he was part of her pack.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight.

"If that's all this is," he said slowly, testing the words, "then you can keep coming back."

The strained concern that had been pulling at her features for days melted away, replaced by something bright and open, which may have been relief, but also genuine happiness. Her eyes lit up, and a smile broke across her face so wide it crinkled the corners of her eyes.

"Really?" she asked, and her voice came out almost breathless, like she'd been holding it in. "You mean it?"

“Aye, aye. Not a single fool says no to free food, after all.”

.

It was morning when Qifrey came back, like he never left at all.

The witch stood in the doorway with sunlight spilling over his shoulders, travel-worn but composed, and announced he was staying this time, with a practiced smile Olruggio had seen one too many times.

Olruggio couldn't help but think that was a lie.

That night he dreamed of the day Qifrey left.

In his dream Olruggio heard Qifrey laughing as he walked back to his bedroom. He saw the man sitting on the bed, a real smile for once, curled on his lips.

Olruggio rushed forward but by the time he reached him, Qifrey had already faded from view.

.

Even if Qifrey's atelier was the place he had felt the most safe in since leaving his hometown — probably the safest he had ever felt anywhere, if he was being honest with himself — it was, in the end, still Qifrey's atelier. Not his. It would never be his.

Despite what his inner omega wanted, what it craved with a desperate, aching need that never quite went away no matter how many suppressants he took, Olruggio was a man who knew where he stood. He had always been realistic about his place in the world. Qifrey wasn't his alpha, wasn't his partner, wasn't his mate. They were only friends and that was all they would ever be.

He was lucky, really, that Qifrey even considered him a friend after so many years gone.

The girls weren't his apprentices either, no matter how many times they called him Master even when he told them repeatedly not to. They were Qifrey's students and Qifrey's responsibility. Olruggio was just the Watchful Eye, someone who was meant to remain detached and impartial, never supposed to get attached to one’s apprentices in the first place.

He didn't have a pack. He didn't have a home. He didn't have a mate. He had never had any of those things, not really, and he had long since made peace with that fact. Olruggio wasn't delusional enough to think his role as a Watchful Eye meant he was meant to be part of Qifrey's little family. In fact, the usual closeness he had with them was already too much, considering how the others in his line of work operated.

To begin with, none of the Watchful Eyes, as far as he knew, had ever been an omega. It was considered too much trouble, the heats and the emotions that could interfere with the job. The majority were betas, steady and reliable, and only a few were alphas, chosen for their strength and their ability to command respect. Omegas were simply not suited for the role, or so the thinking went.

That, and he knew the others in his line of work barely interacted with the other occupants of the ateliers, maintaining a professional detachment Olruggio had never quite been able to achieve. The fact that he still reached out to the girls sometimes, that he joined them for meals and listened to their stories and was genuinely friends with their Qifrey, their Master, was already considered more than a little unusual. Something that had only been allowed to happen because Beldaruit had enough power and influence to make it so.

So no, Olruggio couldn't make a home there, no matter how much his omega whined for it. No matter how desperately it yearned for the warmth of a pack, the safety of a nest, the comfort of belonging somewhere.

He had to remember his place.

At least he wasn't abandoned, he told himself a million times, with no humor in his tone. He had never been wanted like that in the first place.

The girls had no idea he was an omega. He and Qifrey had agreed it was better that way, and Olruggio had never once questioned their choice. The girls were sharp, sometimes alarmingly so, but they were still children. It was all too easy to imagine one of them accidentally letting his secret slip to the wrong person, letting everything go south faster than anyone could prepare for. For everyone's safety, it was simpler if they never found out.

Because of that, he never scented them the way Qifrey did. When they hugged him — and they did, often, especially Tetia and Richeh, who for some reason loved to clamber all over him — he made sure to keep it brief, never letting his scent glands anywhere near them or their clothes, afraid any scent could stick, even with the patches on.

Now, although he had a nest, a small, pathetic thing made of a few pillows and blankets he had scavenged over the years, the only one who had ever seen it was Brushbuddy. The little creature had taken to curling up in it during the cold nights, finding it soft and warm and comfortable, and Olruggio had never had the heart to shoo him away. It was nice, in a way, to have something living in that space with him.

He never got anything from the girls for his nest. Nothing they had touched, nothing they had worn, nothing that carried their scent. And he certainly never took anything from Qifrey. That would have been too much and too close to admitting something he wasn't ready to quite face yet. He couldn't let himself build a pack from scraps and wishes, letting himself pretend that he belonged somewhere he clearly didn't, even when he deeply wished so.

He was not part of the pack.

And he had to be okay with that. He had to accept it.

Even if his nest looked painfully blank with only his scent alone, and it broke his heart a little more every single day.

Of course, for someone who had never been quite in tune with his body's needs, Olruggio couldn't possibly have known any of this would have repercussions. How could he? He'd spent so long ignoring the ache in his chest, the way his instincts screamed at him to reach out, to gather, to claim — that he'd forgotten how to listen at all.

Calling a place home when you always feel the need to be on edge and when you never quite let yourself settle because settling would mean believing you belong, well, that takes its toll, secondary genders or not.

The heart remembers what the mind tries to forget.

.

The only reason he allowed Qifrey to come with him at all to the medical spire was because he already knew what Sinocia would say. She had said it many times before, with that same frustrated tone and a look of mild exasperation.

He had probably just fainted from stress and overworking himself. That was all. It was always that.

Still, it irritated him how close Qifrey insisted on staying. The man was practically glued to his side, hovering like a mother hen. His alpha instincts seemed to be triggering for reasons Olruggio couldn't quite understand, and it was making everything more complicated than it needed to be.

He even saw Qifrey contain a growl when someone stepped too close to them in the waiting room. The sound was low, barely audible, but Olruggio caught it nonetheless. It was absurd. They were just waiting to be called for a checkup, surrounded by other patients and medical staff, and Qifrey was acting like they were in imminent danger.

The girls had come together too, which certainly only made things worse for his friend. They were clustered around them, chattering and asking questions, their small bodies pressed close in a way that certainly made Qifrey's protective instincts flare even more. Olruggio could feel the tension radiating off him and could smell the sharp edge of something possessive in his scent.

"Qifrey," Olruggio said for what felt like the hundredth time, his voice tight with frustration. "I told you. You didn't need to come. She's going to say the same thing she always says: that my health is atrocious because I stay up all night working and that I don't eat properly. There's nothing new about this."

Qifrey's expression was stubborn, his blue eye fixed on Olruggio with an intensity that made his skin prickle. "And I told you I wasn't going to let you come alone. You fainted, Olruggio. Did you really think I would just stay behind and wait for news?"

"I would have been fine. I've fainted before. It's not a big deal."

"It isn't a big deal, he says!" Qifrey's voice rose slightly, and he seemed to catch himself, taking a breath to steady his tone.

Olruggio opened his mouth to argue back, but before he could get a word out, Ermile appeared in the doorway.

"Sinocia is ready to see you now," she announced, her gaze sweeping over the group. "She said you can bring one person in with you, but the girls will need to stay out here. They can wait in the play area with me, if they'd like."

The girls groaned in unison, their faces falling with theatrical disappointment. But she was already ushering them away, distracting them with promises of toys and books. Before Olruggio or Qifrey could protest, he found himself being led into the examination room with the other witch still hovering at his side.

Sinocia was already there, her familiar face creased with barely hidden annoyance at seeing him again. She had been his doctor for years, and she was the only fellow omega he trusted with the truth about his secondary gender. She had to be, after all, she ran his exams, checked his suppressant levels and monitored his health. There was no hiding from her.

"Olruggio," she said, her voice gentle but probing. "It's been less than half a month since your last visit. This is unusual for you. What happened?"

Olruggio shrugged, settling onto the bed.

"I fainted. Probably from stress and overworking. I only came here because he," he pointed with his thumb at the alpha at his side, "couldn't settle."

“And I’m glad he did. That isn’t normal, no matter how many times it happens,” Sinocia said, disapprovingly, before letting her eyes scan him with that sharp, clinical gaze that always made him feel like she could see right through him. "Let me take a look at you.”

She began her routine examination, checking his pulse, his temperature, the dilation of his pupils. Olruggio endured it in silence, used to the process by now. But then her eyes zeroed in on his wrist, where the edge of his scent patch was peeling slightly, revealing a strip of red, irritated skin beneath.

Sinocia was quiet for a moment, her eyes meeting his with a knowing look. Then she glanced at Qifrey, who was standing against the wall with his arms crossed, his expression full of worry.

"May I remove it?" she asked, her voice low. "I need to see what's underneath."

Olruggio hesitated, despite everything.

"Go ahead," he said, his voice showing how hesitant he was feeling. "I don’t see why not."

Sinocia reached out and carefully peeled the patch away from his skin. The adhesive tugged at his irritated flesh, and he winced slightly as it came off. But it was nothing compared to the look on her face when his scent hit the air.

She grimaced immediately, her nose wrinkling with an instinctive reaction she couldn't quite suppress. At his side, Olruggio heard Qifrey make a sound that was certainly a sharp intake of breath, followed by the unmistakable rustle of fabric as he covered his nose and mouth with his sleeves.

"Alright," Olruggio said, forcing a weak laugh. "I can't smell that bad, can I?"

Immediately, the joke died on his throat, because Sinocia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight, encompassing hug.

Olruggio froze, while his mind struggled to process what was happening. In all the years he had been coming to her, she had never once touched him like this, careful to never cross the boundary of what was professionally acceptable.

As he sat there, stiff, he could feel her trembling slightly against him. The seconds stretched on, awkward and bewildering, until finally his brain caught up with his body.

"Uh," he managed, his voice strangled. "Sinocia? What... what are you doing?"

She pulled back abruptly, her face flushed with embarrassment. Her eyes were wide, almost panicked, and she stepped away from him like he had burned her.

"Oh! I don’t know what came over me," she said quickly, her voice unsteady. "I'm so sorry, Olruggio. I don't know why I did that. I just—I couldn't help it."

She moved to the window, her hands fumbling with the latch as she threw it open. Fresh air rushed into the room, cool and crisp, and she took a deep breath of it like a drowning woman surfacing for air.

Qifrey was still standing almost painfully still, his hand now pressed firmly over his nose. His eyes were fixed on Sinocia, narrowed with something he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

"Sinocia," Qifrey said, his voice muffled behind the hand he had pressed against his mouth, as though the words themselves were something he was hesitant to let fully escape. "Why does he smell like that? I’ve never smelled anything like this before."

Olruggio blinked, confusion spreading across his face, because the truth of the matter was that one could never truly perceive the full depth of their own scent precisely. It was a familiar constant, a background hum that went unnoticed until someone else pointed it out.

"What do you mean by that, Qifrey?" he asked, a crease forming between his brows. "What's wrong with it?"

Sinocia turned back to face them, her expression pained. She crossed the room slowly, her steps measured, and reached out to take Olruggio's hands in hers. Her grip was gentle, almost reverent, and when she spoke, her voice was soft with a tenderness he had never heard from her before. It made his skin prickle with unease.

“Olruggio," she said, her words measured and precise, as if she were selecting each one with the utmost care, turning them over in her mind before allowing them to leave her lips. "Omegas are known for letting their emotions pass through to their scents far more readily than alphas do. This becomes especially true, however, when something of great magnitude touches their lives."

She paused then, her eyes searching his face with an intensity that made him want to look away, that made his skin prickle with the uncomfortable sensation of being laid bare, of having secrets he did not even know he carried pulled into the light. When she continued, her voice dropped even lower, barely above a whisper, yet somehow it filled the entire room, impossible to be ignored.

"There is one particular scent," she went on, her gaze never leaving his, "a specific quality that lingers in the air around one when they have endured something that fractures them at their core. They smell a certain way after a breakup, after a divorce, after… after a partner has died. When an omega has lost someone from their pack, that loss leaves its mark upon them, seeps into their pores and clings to their very breath, and to those who know how to recognize it, the scent is unmistakable."

Olruggio's heart stopped. It was as though the world had tilted beneath his feet, and for one dizzying moment, he forgot how to breathe.

"You smell," Sinocia went on, her voice now so soft it was almost lost to the air between them, "like an abandoned omega.”