Mira glanced towards the windows. The group had gathered beside one of the large panes of glass, several of them peering inside. At first, she assumed they were simply curious about the students working in the studio, but she then noticed where their actual attention was fixed.
On Acheron.
Her expression hardened; she gave them a long, pointed glare that would have made most people uncomfortable enough to move along. Apparently, these people either didn't notice or didn't care. One of them, a blond Alpha with his hair pulled into a messy top knot, stepped away from the group. He pushed open the studio door and walked inside, the others following behind him in a noisy cluster.
Their laughter echoed through the relatively small room; a few students even looked up from their work. Mira's fingers curled slightly around the piece of clay in her hand.
The group didn't bother looking around; they walked straight towards Acheron. The blond Alpha stopped beside his table, close enough that Acheron would have to lean back to create any real distance between them. He seemed to regard personal space as nothing more than a suggestion.
Acheron didn't look up immediately. He was still holding his pencil over his sketchbook, carefully shading a small section of the drawing. Not because he hadn't noticed them; of course he had. He had noticed them the moment they entered the studio. He had simply hoped they would pass by; perhaps they would get bored, or perhaps they had only been curious about the art students and would eventually leave.
Unfortunately, they seemed rather determined to make themselves his problem.
Especially the Alpha standing to his right, he could smell his pheromones; they had been present almost from the moment the group entered the studio, spreading through the air in a heavy, deliberate cloud.
An Alpha trying very hard to make sure everyone knew he was an Alpha.
Under normal circumstances, Acheron's body might have reacted to it. Now, he could only smell it. His damaged gland no longer responded the way it once had. For perhaps the first time, Acheron found himself thinking that there was at least one small advantage to what had happened to him.
The thought was immediately followed by a dull ache in his chest. Acheron tried to push the feeling away; he slowly lifted his head.
He studied the faces surrounding him; none of them looked familiar. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if they were from his high school. Maybe they were people he had encountered through the circles of students he used to spend time with before everything had changed. There were plenty of faces he had once seen regularly without ever knowing their names.
He didn't recognise a single one.
His gaze returned to the blond Alpha who was grinning widely. Not a friendly smile at all. There was something smug about it, as though he already knew something Acheron didn't.
Acheron's eyes narrowed when he noticed the Alpha's grin disappear. It happened so quickly that, for a second, Acheron wondered if he had imagined it.
The Alpha's expression had gone completely blank; he stood there staring at him. It felt almost like he had finally found exactly what he had been looking for. Acheron's fingers tightened around his pencil; something about that look made the pleasant warmth of the studio feel suddenly very far away.
"That's a shame," he muttered. "Hadeon mentioned how addictive your pheromones were. I was really looking forward to it."
A horrible, icy shiver travelled down Acheron's spine.
That name.
That fucking name.
He had never expected to hear it again. Especially not here. Not at his university. Not surrounded by people who had nothing to do with the life he had tried so desperately to rebuild. Acheron's fingers curled into a tight fist beneath the table. He pressed his nails into his palm, trying to give himself something else to focus on.
Don't react.
Don't let them see.
But his hands had already begun to tremble.
The blond Alpha didn't take his eyes off him. He had seen Acheron's photographs floating around the internet. He had seen \textit{that} video too. From those alone, he had known the Omega was beautiful.
In person, however, Acheron was something else entirely. There was a fragility to him that photographs and videos could never quite capture. The slightness of his frame. The pale softness of his features. The way his oversized clothes seemed to swallow him. Even the way he held himself made him look as though one harsh movement might send him retreating into himself.
The Alpha understood Hadeon's obsession now. It suddenly made perfect sense.
"Heard you used to party pretty hard," he continued casually. "You're welcome to come with us anytime."
One of the other members laughed. Another stepped closer and took an exaggerated sniff, tapping the side of his nose with one finger.
"We have everything you need."
Acheron flinched, his stomach twisting in on itself.
How do they know so much about me?
His shoulder tightened until it began to ache. His hands beneath the table were shaking harder now, his fingers no longer completely under his control.
The blond Alpha noticed; of course he did. Something resembling satisfaction flickered across his face; he had been watching for any reactions.
"I see..." He leaned down, invading Acheron's space even further. "You seemed to enjoy playing the victim."
Acheron's eyes widened.
"What do you mean?" The words slipped out before he could stop them.
"He mentioned that you enjoyed gaining attention." The Alpha smiled and released another wave of pheromones. This time there was nothing curious or flirtatious about them. They were far more aggressive and territorial, even. A deliberate attempt to make Acheron feel his presence.
Acheron's damaged gland remained frustratingly silent. His body might not be responding to the pheromones, but his mind did. His pulse hammered against his ribs.
"You know what I've learned these past few days?" The Alpha didn't wait for an answer. "He isn't exactly the monster everyone makes him out to be."
Acheron's breath caught. For a moment, his surroundings disappeared; the music faded along with the scraping of sculpting tools and conversations around them. All of it blurred beneath the sudden roar in his ears.
Hadeon.
His voice.
His hands.
The smell of the club, the feel of the leather couch beneath him.
Acheron's fingers dug harder into his palm.
"Hey." Aviv finally moved. He stepped between them and reached out, firmly taking hold of the Alpha's shoulder and pulling him away from Acheron's table.
"Back up." The words were quiet, but there was nothing gentle about them.
Aviv's expression had changed completely. Just a moment ago, he had been lounging comfortably in the beanbag, teasing his brother and laughing at Acheron's ruined pencil. Now he stood rigidly between Acheron and the group; a faint crease appeared between his eyebrows.
Some part of him felt ashamed that it had taken him this long to react. He had been shocked so by how brazen they were. He had thought that maybe one of them would have made a stupid comment or ask an intrusive question. He hadn't expected them to walk straight into the studio and deliberately corner Acheron.
The blond Alpha lifted both hands.
"Easy." He took several steps backwards, an amused smile returning to his face.
His eyes moved over Aviv's body.
Wow, another extremely good-looking Omega.
For a fleeting moment, his attention lingered. Remembering why he was here, he looked back at Acheron.
"Funny, isn't it?" His smile sharpened. "Everyone believes you. Is making people feel sorry for you an innate skill?"
Acheron's chest tightened.
Mira moved before Acheron could respond. Her chair scraped sharply against the floor as she stood; she planted herself directly in front of Acheron, placing her body between him and the group.
"He isn't interested in talking to you." Her voice was firm enough that several of the surrounding students stopped working.
"This doesn't concern you." The blond Alpha's smile disappeared.
"Neither does it to you."
Mira held her position. The room seemed to hold its breath; even the music suddenly sounded too soft.
The Alpha stared at her.
Mira stared right back.
For the first time since they had entered the studio, the group wasn't laughing. Aviv moved to stand beside Mira, deliberately using his body to block the group's view of Acheron.
Barrett was the next to rise. The usually quiet Alpha said nothing. He simply stepped towards the group and released a controlled wave of threatening pheromones. He kept the range tight; there was no reason to make the other Omegas in the studio uncomfortable. Whatever warning he wanted to send was meant for the people standing in front of him and no one else.
The atmosphere changed instantly; the blond Alpha's eyes narrowed. For the first time since entering the studio, he seemed to realise that he had pushed far enough.
Still, he didn't rush to leave.
He walked towards the glass door at an almost leisurely pace, his friends following behind him. He opened it and held it there, allowing the others to file out first. One by one, they disappeared into the hallway.
The blond Alpha stepped outside but stopped just at the threshold. He turned his head and looked back into the studio.
"Oh, by the way..." His eyes settled on Acheron. "Hadeon says soon, my love."
The Alpha laughed as he finally disappeared through the doorway; the glass door swung shut behind him.
Silence filled the studio. For several seconds, no one moved. The music continued playing softly in the background, almost absurdly peaceful after what had just happened.
Aviv turned.
Acheron was shaking.
My love.
Hadeon's voice seemed to whisper the words directly into his ear, even though the man wasn't anywhere near him. The memory of that voice sent another tremor through his body. His shoulders drew tightly toward his ears as he curled in on himself, trembling in his chair.
His breathing had become shallow.
His eyes darted around the table, searching for something he couldn't seem to find. Then, suddenly, his hand moved frantically toward his pockets.
"Where is it..." His fingers found nothing. "Where is it?"
He checked another pocket but found nothing. His movements became increasingly frantic as his shaking worsened, making it even harder for him to find whatever he was looking for.
Aviv immediately understood.
"Hey." He reached into his jacket pocket. "It's okay. I have some."
He pulled out a green lollipop and held it out. Without thinking, Acheron snatched it from his hand. His fingers fumbled with the wrapper several times before he finally managed to tear it open. He pushed the candy into his mouth and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.
The familiar sweetness spread across his tongue.
He focused on that taste. The sharp sweetness that is all too familiar. It was something he could control. He held onto the thought, allowing its crisp sweetness to push everything else into the background.
His breathing remained uneven, each breath catching slightly in his chest, but gradually, painfully slowly, it began to settle. His shoulders loosened by the smallest amount. The trembling didn't disappear completely, but it became less violent, less overwhelming.
Green apple.
He focused on that alone.
Aviv stayed beside him without saying anything. He watched Acheron's trembling hands, the sweat beginning to bead along his forehead and gather at his temples.
Barrett remained by the studio door. His posture was relaxed now, but his attention wasn't. He kept his eyes on the pathway outside, making sure the group didn't return and that no one unwanted approached the studio.
Mira stood awkwardly beside her table. Her attention split between Acheron and Aviv; her expression was uncertain. She clearly wanted to help but had no idea what she could possibly do. Her eyes met Aviv's; he gave her a small shake of his head. Not because she had done anything wrong; there simply wasn't anything she needed to do.
Mira hesitated for another moment before quietly returning to her sculpture. She sat down behind her table and stared at the half-finished mass of clay; she didn't immediately touch it. Her eyes remained fixed on the sculpture for several seconds before she finally picked up her tool and continued working.
The soft scrape of metal against clay returned to the room. Slowly, the studio began to breathe again.
Acheron remained still, the lollipop resting between his lips as he concentrated on each slow, measured breath. He stayed that way for several minutes, waiting for the trembling to ease before finally straightening in his chair.
His gaze fell to his sketchbook. The unfinished drawing stared back at him, its incomplete lines suddenly seeming almost accusing. He reached for his pencil and wrapped his fingers around it.
They shook.
Acheron frowned and tried again, tightening his grip as though he could simply force his hand to obey. The pencil wobbled between his fingers, its graphite tip tapping lightly against the paper.
He couldn't draw.
His hand simply wouldn't stop trembling.
Acheron's shoulders slumped. He stared down at the pencil for a long moment, frustration slowly pushing the lingering fear aside. He had managed to calm his breathing. He had managed to steady himself enough to sit upright again.
But his hands still wouldn't listen.
"Want to try working with clay?" Mira's voice was gentle when she noticed the way Acheron was staring at his trembling hand.
"Can I?" Acheron looked up; the question came out quieter than he intended, almost shy.
"Of course." Mira stood and walked over to the supply shelves. She returned a moment later carrying a fresh clump of clay and a clean set of sculpting tools.
She placed them carefully in front of Acheron.
"Here." She gave him an encouraging smile before returning to her own seat.
Acheron stared at the clay for a moment before hesitantly reaching out and touching it with the tips of his fingers.
It was cold. Much colder than he had expected.
The dampness clung to his skin, and for a moment, he thought he might dislike the sensation. Instead, curiosity won out. He pressed his fingers deeper into the clay, watching with quiet fascination as it yielded beneath the pressure. It was soft and pliable, changing shape beneath his touch with almost no resistance.
He pinched a small section between his fingers and pulled.
The clay stretched slowly, forming a thin strand before finally giving way. He watched as it folded back onto itself, the pieces merging together as though they had never been separated.
He pressed his fingers into it again.
He squeezed it, then stretched it again. There was something strangely soothing about the resistance. The clay didn't demand anything from him. It didn't need to become something immediately. He could simply touch it. Shape it how he likes or change his mind.
Acheron rolled the clay between his palms, watching as the uneven lump slowly became smoother beneath his hands. He felt no pressure to master anything; there was no expectation. No one was waiting for him to produce something beautiful.
For the first time since the students had entered the studio, his mind wasn't replaying their words. He was simply thinking about clay.
After a few minutes, Acheron looked up at Aviv, who was still beside him.
"I really need to go to a meeting." The words were barely above a whisper.
"Okay, there is one this evening." Aviv's expression softened. He was quietly relieved that Acheron had come to that conclusion himself. He wouldn't have to coax him into going or drag him there when he wasn't ready.
Acheron gave him a faint smile before looking down again. His fingers continued to knead the clay; the trembling in his hands had almost completely stopped by now.
There is still a sharp, burning sensation lingering around his gland. Acheron instinctively raised a hand towards his neck before stopping himself.
He can't focus on that now; he pushed the worry away. Instead, he focused on the clay beneath his fingers.
He had no idea what he was making and, for once, that didn't bother him. Maybe that was the point. He didn't need to know what something was supposed to become before he allowed himself to begin.
Acheron looked down at the shapeless piece of clay in his hands.
A tiny smile appeared on his lips.
Then he tried again.