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Summary
jude had never once been ashamed of what he was. he wore his status the way he wore everything else about himself, without apology, broad-shouldered and solid in a way that made most people look twice, the furthest thing from delicate that an omega could be.
and yet beneath all of that sat the quiet overthinking jude did anyway, how every slighter, softer omega who'd ever been interested in erling became proof of some shape jude didn't fit and never quite would. it made no difference how often erling told him otherwise, how easily he said there had never been anyone else worth wanting. the thought lived in jude regardless, sharpest in the mornings when the mirror gave him nothing but his own bare throat. unmarked, unclaimed, no proof stitched into his skin of what he meant to the alpha currently holding him.