The door clicked shut behind him. Neville leaned against the cool wall, chest rising and falling unevenly as he tried to collect himself. His body felt wrong—
Just stress, he reasoned, it's got to be stress.
[Ahhh!! Host, that was just—! So sweet, so unbelievably sweet, host! I'm getting cavities from all this sweetness! (/∇＼*)｡o○♡] Shelly squealed, zipping around like a chaotic firework.
'Shelly,' Neville called out with exhaustion. 'A little quiet, please.'
[Host, I'm crying tears of joy! (╥﹏╥) That was so beautiful!] Shelly reeled in the memory of Grayson personally holding Neville's hand. [The way he just reached out and held your hand! Did you see the look in his eyes?! ♡〜٩( ╹▿╹ )۶〜♡]
Neville ignored Shelly and pushed himself forward, but his limp leg felt like it had turned into jelly. The hallway in front of him seemed to stretch and shimmer, like a heat haze off a desert road, as if the hallway itself was tilting under his feet. His mind was spinning in circles uncontrollably, recalling the fight that happened this morning.
'Get a grip,' he hissed to himself, his voice tight. 'It's over. Don't think about it.'
But his body betrayed him. His hand trembled as he braced against the wall, breath coming short. Heat pricked the corners of his eyes, traitorous and wet. This omega body felt like it was made of water, leaking at the smallest crack of emotion.
Fragile. Too damn fragile.
Damn it, he thought, forcing himself to stand straight. You've handled worse. You've literally died before. Get. It. Together.
Somehow, the thought wasn't comforting.
[Host? H-Host?!] Shelly, who had been happily narrating a hundred cheesy romance tropes, suddenly shrieked. [What's going on? Your stress levels are spiking!]
"I—" Neville felt something stuck in his throat.
He could feel it now—the cold sweat, the uncontrollable flashes of memory, the irrational fear. He swallowed hard, jaw tight. He couldn't deny the evidence.
'…I think I developed some kind of PTSD.' The admission was cold, clinical, the only way he could say it without choking.
[Oh no! Oh no, what do we do?! Host, what do we do?!] Shelly spun in frantic circles, uselessly flipping through her massive databanks. [I'll look up treatments—meditation, therapy, calming teas—!]
'Don't bother,' Neville shut his eyes and cut her off, his tone sharp and dismissive. 'It's nothing. Give it a few days. It'll pass.'
Shelly didn't listen and finally chimed in triumphantly.
[Host, I found something! Other omegas with mental-related issues that caused pheromone instability usually rely on pheromones from someone highly compatible with them.] She continued. [They'll ask to smell that person's pheromones. Of course, this only works if neither already has a partner. If they do, it's usually recommended to get marked. No more problems—aside from relationship drama, of course.]
Shelly laughed, blinking with an obnoxiously cheerful face. [A healthy mate makes a healthy mind! I've got to quote you on that one, host. Hehe.]
'Fascinating,' Neville said, his smile tight and utterly devoid of humor. 'And since that's not an option, what's the plan?'
[Right! Practical solutions!] Shelly swiveled midair, going back to her findings. [First option: if you're fine with random hookups, you could try that. But—huge risk. If you run into some jerk who decides to mark you and tie you down… game over. Not advisable.]
'Next.' Neville pressed.
[Next option: go to the Pheromone Gene Bank.] She announced cheerfully. [Register your pheromones, get matched by compatibility score. The hospital can act as a safe zone for 'transacting' pheromones if you can't stand each other. How cool is that?]
Neville stopped walking. A vein pulsed in his temple. 'Shelly. Are you serious right now? The gene bank? Registration is the one thing I absolutely cannot do. It's a death sentence, remember? Or did that part of my file get deleted with your common sense?'
[Eep! My bad, my bad!] Shelly flinched. [I'm just reading it all out, not filtering for your unique situation, host.]
Shelly waved her hands apologetically, then brightened. [Oh—but there is a special System-recommended option. Honestly, it's the best and most effective one.]
'Let me guess,' Neville sighed, already rubbing his forehead. 'It's going to be something insane.'
[Remember how we talked about using your… omega traits… to your advantage?] Shelly asked, her voice suddenly cautious.
A cold knot formed in Neville's stomach. 'Are you suggesting I try to climb into my boss's bed again? Because I believe we already established that that was a terrible idea.'
[Well… you're not entirely off the mark,] she wishy-washy said. [But it's less 'climbing' but… close enough.]
'What the hell does that even mean?' Neville's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
Shelly made a cutesy "uwu" face, glancing side to side nervously. [You don't have to climb into his bed. You just need to get close enough to smell his pheromones.]
Neville stared into the space where she hovered, his expression frozen in disbelief.
'You've got to be kidding me,' he practically growled at her. 'Your grand, system-approved solution is for me to go sniffing my boss like some kind of addict? Is that a joke?'
[Nope, host,] Shelly said innocently. [When you differentiated as an omega, you automatically become 100% compatible with the target. So if you've got problems, the nearest and most effective solution will always be your target.]
'You… it was the system, wasn't it?' Neville's voice was dangerously low. 'You did this! You tampered with my body. You made me differentiate into an omega!'
[I did not,] Shelly calmly stated. [When the system pulled you here, the system searched for the most compatible person for the target. That was you. You have 100% spiritual compatibility with the target, and the target just happened to be an alpha. Your physical form adapted to match him. That's why you ended up an omega. Cause and effect.]
'The fu—' Neville choked on the curse, his eyes widening in horrified realization, pieces clicking into place. 'Wait. You mean… the whole point of this… is for me to become his partner? Grayson's partner? Grayson's mate?!'
[Uhhh… pretty much, yeah.] Shelly admitted awkwardly.
'So that's why!' Neville clutched his head like the sky had collapsed. 'No wonder you were so damn eager to shove me into his bed! No. No way. Absolutely not. There has to be another way!'
He tugged at his hair. 'He's my BOSS, goddamnit! I wanted to be his friend, not— not bed friends!'
[What's the problem, Host?] Shelly asked, blinking in confusion. [He is genetically ideal, financially stable, and aesthetically pleasing. He's basically a premium life partner.]
'The problem?!' Neville nearly exploded. 'I am not losing my chastity to a man! Not my first time, anyway!'
[Query,] Shelly interjected smoothly. [Accessing your memory files… You have a log from years ago stating, and I quote, 'I'm not even sure I like women.']
'That's not the point!' Neville's face burned red.
"The point is how! I'm supposed to be the one in charge! In the front! Do you honestly think a guy like him—' he gestured wildly at nothing, '—with that face and that figure, is just going to lie back and let me top him even once? Can you even imagine him agreeing to that?!'
Shelly went quiet for a moment. A tiny loading icon spun beside her as she rendered Grayson's full-body profile from her database and nodded seriously. [Yeah. You'll have to sit that one out.]
'…What do you mean sit that one out—NO! I said No! I refuse!' Neville snapped, throwing his hands in the air. 'It doesn't matter if we're only 50% compatible, or 10%! I'll find someone else. I'll find a partner who'll let me do it my way! Doesn't matter the gender—I'll hit the bars, I'll find hookups, and get what I want!'
Shelly watched her host's unhinged tirade and gave him a pitying look. Then she shook her shell figure and gave out a weary sigh. [...Right. Good luck with that, host.]