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Wriothesley would have ripped his womb out from his body if he could.

Taken his black gauntlets, metal surface glazed with frost, and torn into his skin. Even if his blood splattered all over the copper walls, and guts spilled onto the floor. Even if the damn thing wasn’t useless. He would have done so in a heartbeat.

It’s not like he hasn’t done so before. Smashed and smashed and smashed until he smelled copper. Saw red. Felt sticky to the touch. Heard the rushing sound of his heartbeat. Or screaming. Or both.

Die.

Burn in hell .

But Sigewinne would cry if he did. She would try to heal him, even if he screamed to the heavens for her not to. The nurse was too good a soul. She didn’t deserve to see the corpse of her friend, torn open and inside out like a rag doll.

That kind of sight haunted you forever. Wriothesley knew all too well.

So every few months, despite all the drugs in his system, his body would destroy him on his behalf. His belly would twist and tangle and threaten to never come lose. His skin would burn so, so hot. His body would feel so empty , but refuse anything to fill it. He’d throw up. He’d be locked up in a room, up in flames everyone could feel but not see.

He was an injured fawn, a neon sign, an easy target to be thrown to the dogs.

Back then, when he went by a different name, he used to pray. As everything hurt underneath his skin, he begged the gods to save him. The Cryo vision bestowed upon him by the gods would stare blankly back at him. Unable to cool the flames. Unable to soothe

He wanted to nest.

It’s not safe here .

He needed to nest.

It’s not safe here .

Why couldn’t he nest?

It’s not safe here.

Wriothesley would throw his blankets, his pillow, and coat into a pile. He’d strip the sheets in his dorm, and toss them in, for extra measure. His hands would constantly shake, itching to search for something he knew he could never find.

Once done, he’d sit on his pitiful throne at the corner of his room, thighs sticky and everything sopping. Even if his very soul was in agony, he did not dare sleep. Instead, he’d pierce the door with his steel-grey gaze. Instead, he’d wish he could pierce his womb by his own hand.

Curse the Archons. Curse the Heavenly Principles.

And most of all, curse being a sickly omega.
—

According to Sigewinne, a nest was a sacred space. One had to be allowed entrance by the omega who built it. Omegas learned to build them from a young age, the same way they learned safety from the world around them.

Wriothesley never learned how to build them. Either of them. Both.

Good parents taught their children such behaviors. He didn’t have such fortune to have parents, let alone good. Only monsters wearing human skin.

Not that he didn’t have the instinct. All omega children, even those as unlikely in appearance as Wriothesley himself, had the instinct to nest. It was omega nature. It was a deep seated urge to find comfort in smells, and build a fortress for oneself.

Fortress, heh. Perhaps that’s why he fit in so well in Meropide, he told her. No need to build nests if you had four metal walls and the depth of the sea to trap you.

“They’re not supposed to be traps,” Sigewinne had protested. “They’re supposed to help you build trust. Intimacy.”

It made Wriothesley laugh.

Trust? Intimacy?

What a joke.
—

Neuvillette is an interesting Alpha. Probably, the most interesting one Wriothesley has ever met.

The man stood tall, but did not look down on others. He wore long flowing robes, longer hair, and a simple title with a long list of responsibilities. Instead of a wooden gavel, he held a long staff, and oversaw every trial in Fontaine.

As Iudex, he was Wriothesley’s judge, jury, and executioner. Somehow, Wriothesley couldn’t bring himself to care.

He should have smelled like power, the bitter stench of arrogance only an Alpha could have. But no. Neuvillette smelled like the ocean breeze, seconds before a storm. And rainy days.

The Iudex smelled sad.

He remembered that was the first scent he caught of the Chief Justice of Fontaine. He was but a scrappy fourteen year old boy, with blood on his hands and the title murderer branded to his name. The gardes themselves have led him away in chains, as if afraid he would break them open.

“ Au revoir, Monsieur ,” he whispered, back then, when he wasn’t Wriothesley. “ Merci .”

It was a genuine thanks. The boy knew he committed a crime, a grave sin. He also knew the older man did right in abiding by the law. He wasn’t angry at him.

But Neuvillette never replied.

He just looked back at him with those distant eyes. Wriothesley remembered as they led him away, out into the damp grey of the heavy rain. That figure, standing tall and lonely, in the distance. Unlike any alpha he had ever met.
—

After his sentence, he heard from other inmates the Iudex did not speak for a long time.

After his sentence, Wriothesley enjoyed the scent of the ocean breeze on bad days, and of the rain.

Sometimes, when his heat felt close to killing him, he’d bury his nose in his sheets and try to remember the smell.
—

Life was hard in the Fortress, but he made it work.

Omega or not, Wriothesley worked hard. He was strong, sharp, and always observing. People quickly learned not to mess with the omega kid with dark hair and steel eyes. The Fortress knew he was pleasant with conversation, and always willing to make friends.

He also stayed on top of his scent blockers and Fortress-ordained suppressants. Most people who met the boy would have assumed he was a beta, or a particularly laid-back alpha.

There were whispers, though. Rumours of the boy that terrible case. The omega killer.

Interestingly enough, for an omega, no clothes or fabrics ever went missing during that particular time. Like all omegas did, he’d be away in the infirmary for a long period of time. But the infirmary workers would note, every time, that nothing was missing.

Did the kid even nest?
—

To be quite honest, Wriothesley wasn’t too surprised to earn the title of Administrator. The previous man in charge was, speaking respectfully, a cruel and cowardly bastard. On the other hand, Wriothesley wielded the power of words and reason. He was happy to challenge the chaos, and with enough coupons and charisma, brought about order.

What he didn’t expect, however, was to be requested to be granted title of Duke.

“Do you know how insane you sound, Monsieur Neuvillette?” asked Wriothesley, dumbfounded.

He placed both hands on his desk, as he stared back into those crystal blue eyes. Wriothesley was a lot older now, a lot more aware. He had built a vast networks and a well-known reputation. At least, he could build something else, if not a nest.

But a royal title? That made no sense. He was a murderer and a criminal, and worst of all, an omega. Even betas with titles were rare in the Palais Mermonia, but omegas?

“Perhaps, yes,” replied the judge. His voice rumbled gently. Rolling thunder in the distance, just before rain. “But I assure you, my reasons are not unfounded.”

“Oh?” The new Fortress Administrator raised an eyebrow in amusement. “What could I, a lowly omega orphan and criminal, have done to deserve such a title?”

“You have provided protection and held responsibility to your people.” The Iudex’s words flowed like river water. “You ensure equality and fairness, and give chances to the weak and the vulnerable.”

Wriothesley scoffed. “They’re not my people.”

“And yet you treat them as such.”

“Fontaine will think you’re crazy,” the Fortress administrator almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. “To see an omega criminal as your equal.”

“Let the people think as such,” said Neuvillette, almost sharply. Almost. But then his tone softened. “Omegas are not any less than any other person in the court of Fontaine, as are criminals or anyone else. That includes you, Wriothesley.”

Wriothesley said nothing. He observed the Chief Justice in front of him. Tried to see a hint of malice. Of lust. Of something to prove to him that Neuvillette was just like any other alpha.

Internally, he also tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. But no matter how much Wriothesley tried to fit things together, it didn’t work. It didn’t make sense for the Iudex to make this lowly nobody omega into a duke. There was no power exchange, no partnership benefits, nothing that he was aware of.

A part of him still feared the worst. Kept waiting for the monster to burst from the judge’s skin, and tear into him.

But it didn’t. Neuvillette was still Neuvillette. Which meant everything and nothing at all.

Wriothesley sighed. He stood up from his desk, and stretched his limbs.

“Do you want some tea, Monsieur?”
—

During the worst of his adolescent heats spent in the Fortress, Wriothesley couldn’t stomach anything. He’d press himself against the corner of his dormitory, vision blurry and weak.

Suppressants barely worked. Scent blockers, thank the Archons, were decent enough at covering the nauseating stench of pain, fear.

“You need to at least drink,” Sigewinne would coax so gently. She’d hold a bottle of Pure Water close to him. “Or you’ll faint.”

Fever-addled, the boy would only whimper and growl at her. He’d bare his fangs weakly, gaze disoriented and cheeks flushed.

“How about some tea?” She’d suggest kindly, as if the omega did not threaten to bite her fingers off. “Can you at least try that?”

“O… okay,” he’d finally rasped in response.

He managed to keep a few sips of Earl Grey down for the rest of the night.
—

There was a reason he kept all kinds of tea in his office. Darjeeling. Oolong. Green. Ceylon. Orange Pekoe.

And Earl Grey. Always Earl Grey. Steeped for five minutes and cooled in a little glass tea cup with a chip on the edge. No milk. Two sugars.

Tea smelled good. Smelled different. Calm, soothing, like the hug of a mother that never belonged to him. No matter how bittersweet the taste, hot tea never hurt him.

Sometimes, he’d cup his hands around the mug he’s holding. Sometimes, he’d forget he wasn’t such a terrible person.
—

There was also a reason why Wriothesley kept many spare cups.

Every time Neuvillette left his office, he always took the used teacup. He’d place it near his bed, and remember rainy ocean days.

Every time Wriothesley took the Iudex’s cup, he felt like a terrible person.
—

Time passed. Wriothesley grew up more. Grew out of lanky limbs, and into a strong, muscular body with hips a bit too slim for a healthy omega’s.

The scar under his eye never faded. It was okay. Some scars never did. The same way medicines don’t work sometimes. Or that sickly omegas just never got better.

Wriothesley was born a sickly omega. But Sigewinne insisted many of his issues came from trauma. It might have been normal for a sickly omega to not have a heat partner.

It wasn’t normal for a sickly omega to not nest. Not to seek comfort. Safety.

“You should try, your Grace,” said Sigewinne, during a check up. “We don’t know if these new medicines can help with the pain all the time.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I can’t, Sigewinne,” said Wriothesley. “I just can’t nest. I tried.”
—

Wriothesley remembered being eight years old when he first tried to nest.

Even then, as strong as the instinct was, he wasn’t good at it. Clothes and toys and towels were strewn about in a haphazard way. It was messy but cozy, and his all his all his all-

“(-)!” He heard his old name called. “ What are you doing ?”

His foster mother. A beta monster woman with a smile that never quite reached her eyes. She towered over him, at that moment, over his attempt at a nest.

Before he could protest, hands reached over and began to take things apart.

No! He cried out. Nonononono!

It was so wrong. He felt so violated. He didn’t let her in. Why was she in his nest? Why was she destroying it? He was vaguely aware of his crying, begging her not to take his nest away.

“ Silly (-) ,” clucked his foster mother, still smiling. “ It’s just a mess on the floor. You don’t need to learn how to nest right now .”
—

In hindsight, the child should have known a red flag when it was staring at him in the face.

But he was a child. It was probably because she was a beta, he tried to reason with himself. Anxiously, pressed up as far away as he could against other orphaned souls like him in their shared dormitory.

There was no way someone could be so awful, right?
—

He thought it was a one time thing.

Of course, he was a stupid kid who didn’t know better. Poor bastard.

They’d always barge into his room when he tried to nest. They’d take away all the things, call his attempt at sanctuary a mess, and deem it unnecessary.

And they’d always smile at him while doing so. They’d smile at him while entering his space. They’d smile at him through the doorway when they left him, sniveling and whimpering in an empty corner.

Exposed. Vulnerable. Unsafe.
—

“Why do you keep that door locked all the time, Wriothesley?” A little floating fairy with white-hair asked him, the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide.

Paimon was her name. She came with a blonde Traveller with a solemn expression and an air to her that Wriothesley knew wasn’t quite normal.

They were peas in a pod. A package deal. Always there to ask blunt questions, but without a hint of malice. Against all odds, Wriothesley liked them. They were interesting.

His gaze flickered momentarily to the door at the corner of his office. And then, he looked back at the petite fairy and her friend.

“Why do you want to come in?” is all he asked in return.
—

His first heat came when he was twelve years old.

Early pubescent heats were supposed to be only fractions of the real thing. An omega’s gateway into adulthood. Into their bodies. Into sense and sexuality.

But Wriothesley didn’t feel any sense of need. Or want. He didn’t feel that burning desire that other children whispered about in their spare time, dirty secrets to giggle about between bathroom stalls or in room corners.

No. He only felt pain. He’d keel over from how much his small belly would cramp up. Science books said he was supposed to be wet down there , but he was painfully dry. Later in life, he’d learn that even that occurrence would be inconsistent.

He felt afraid. So afraid. His stomach would turn into ice with every sound, every footstep, every creak of the floorboards.

He was going to die, out alone in the wilderness. No alpha to care for him.

He used to cry. Cry and cry and cry.

The monsters tried to shove suppressants down his throat when he got sick. They held him down, forced open his jaw, and then clamp it shut when he tried to vomit.

They also tried to shove him with the other kids when he got like that. Insisted it was for his own good to be around other omegas. Healthy omega kids who could make decent nests that don’t look like dirty laundry strewn about. Saved more money on group nests, they said.

He threw punches at the older kids who would try to lean too close. If not, he’d bite. Snap his jaws at anyone who tried to touch his burning skin. Even if they were friendly.

Eventually, he stopped crying.

He learned how to fight, instead.
—

One of the first major changes Wriothesley established as administrator of the Fortress of Meropide was granting private chambers for omegas to spend their heat period in.

“I don’t understand,” said one of the head guards. He was an older beta, with deep lines on his face and a deeper scowl. “There’s a group nest chamber already, your Grace. We ensure no violence happens there.”

Wriothesley’s eyes turned from steel to ice.

“If I, hypothetically speaking,” said the man slowly. “Stripped you naked and threw you to the dogs to devour, and for anyone to watch. Would it matter if the dogs were not violent?”

Each word caused the temperature to drop. The only thing colder than his polite tone was his gaze.

The head garde swallowed.

“N-No, sir.”

“Good. So now that we see eye to eye,” said Wriothesley. His words suddenly rang out light and pleasant, a dramatic shift. “Let’s have those rooms ready in a business day, shall we?”
—

“I commend you, Wriothesley,” said Neuvillette, a few months later. “For making changes to benefit the vulnerable.”

They sat at Neuvillette’s office this time, on those rich green velvet couches. The room smelled of mint and rainwater and sea air. Their cups clinked at their saucers. Palais Mermonia tea cups were fine China and bone thin.

Wriothesley sipped his tea. The smell of peppermint warmed the surface of his Cryo-hardened heart. Though barely.

“Of course, Monsieur Neuvillette,” he said. “If I didn’t, who would?”
—

If he didn’t, who would?

If he didn’t, who would?

If he didn’t, who would?

If he didn’t-

blood dripped down his fists.

 The world tasted of metal.

dead naked bodies scattered like lumitoile in a box
—

Though known to be friendly, Wriothesley didn’t like many people. Didn’t trust them. People have proven, time and time again, to be self-serving.

He liked Neuvillette, though.

Every single time, the judge played fair. Neuvillette watched, he learned, he listened, and he gave his advice. He gave grieving people their space to cry, and let people share laughter in peace.

Contrary to popular belief, Neuvillette also was a good conversationist. Wriothesley never had a dull moment with the judge. He especially liked to tease the other man and his aversion to sauce-less food.

But most of all, Neuvillette watched over the vulnerable, like the young, the Melusines, and omegas. He protected them. Made sure they were safe. Maybe, just maybe, Wriothesley felt safe with him too, too.

Wriothesley was sure he’d be a good alpha.

Too bad he was a sickly, no-good omega.
—

He also liked the Champion Duelist, Clorinde, though platonically. They also had interesting conversations in his office, or at the Fortress Cafeteria. Over tea, of course, and some dainty conch madeleines she brought from the overworld.

Once upon a time, she was interested in him. Wriothesley declined. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a catch. Clorinde was beautiful, sultry, and wicked strong.

She did, however, want pups in the future. Wriothesley didn’t. Couldn’t. Even a growth the size of a peanut in his womb would have killed him. He’d wager a million Coupons on dying first before an embryo dared take.

They settled on being friends instead. It worked well in their favour, and she was kind to indulge Wriothesley in sampling all his favorite teas.

“Have you ever thought of having an alpha?” asked Clorinde once.

Cup of Earl Grey on his desk, Wriothesley sat there, staring at the liquid that condensed on the cheap ceramic rim. He let the steam of the hot tea touch his skin, just barely. He didn’t let himself think of the smell of rain, and the sea.

“Nah,” chortled Wriothesley. He shrugged his shoulders. “What’s the point? Can’t have pups. Can’t mate. Can’t even nest.”

It went without saying. The hell kind of alpha would want me? I’m a bad omega.
—

Sex, Wriothesley learned, was a horribly painful experience.

He wished he didn’t know.

But it wasn’t his choice.
—

“Hey (-), don’t you think it’s strange?” he recalled one of the boys whispering to him. A blonde omega boy with a little mole on his right cheek. “The way they talk to us.”

It was an open house day at the orphanage. Wriothesley never liked open house day. Too many people. Too many peering eyes and overwhelming scents and names of people he can’t be bothered to remember.

Wriothesley didn’t like the way these people looked at them. The glint in their eyes reminded him of book descriptions of vultures. Always circling around. Hungry, but in a way that made his skin crawl.

“ No one really talked to me ,” replied Wriothesley. “ So I don’t know .”

It was true. Men. Women. Years of people passing by him. At the ripe age of fourteen, Wriothesley was one of the oldest in the orphanage now. They’d ask him questions, and he'd respond. Just barely. He’d watch the way they’d flare out their nostrils, scenting him as they spoke. But then they’d twist their faces in disgust.

Underneath all the drugs and scent patches, he probably smelled sickly. Or disgusting. Same difference really.

“ A man talked to me. Said I was pretty, ” said the boy. “ He asked me how old I was, and I said I just turned eleven. He seemed really happy about that. ”

Wriothesley’s eyes quickly shifted towards the corner to the man the kid was referring to. He was a tall, older, lean alpha a receding hairline. He was talking to their foster parents, all of them gleeful.

His gut twisted. Something felt wrong.

He had seen this man before. In the last open house, right? He adopted the twins. Their foster parents said they moved to Mondstadt. Even got them a puppy.

Why was this man back?

No need to panic, Wriothesley tried to delude reason with himself. There’s no way they’re terrible people, right?

Right?

wrong

—

Shortly after that, the blonde omega boy got adopted. Moved to Natlan, they said. His new parents loved him and treated him well.

But Wriothesley remembered something unsettling. That the kid was a scaredy cat. He was scared of dragons, even those in the picture books.

Come to think of it, the twins he knew were allergic to dogs.

He listened a lot more. Fashioned ears out of his unruly black hair, in a childish attempt to seek information.

“ …got me a new liver… ”

“ absolutely exquisite… ”

“ Below thirteen… best for… ”

Little by little, the cogs in the machine of his mind began to turn.
—

He followed that man a few days after the blonde boy was adopted. Snuck out of the building and into the night. Crept slowly, slowly, slowly in the shadows, just a hair away from the man.

The teenager followed the alpha, just north of the city of the Court of Fontaine. Sharp grey eyes watched as the man entered a little hut, surrounded by tall grass and flowers.

No children. Not a peep. Not a sound.

A growing sense of foreboding settled in his stomach. The teenager also remembered catching the scent of something off. Something really foul, almost rotten. Metallic.

His nose followed the trail to a large green box at the back of the cottage.
—

Wriothesley remembered his hands trembling so hard as he opened the box.

Rightfully so.
—

“Do you ever have regrets, Monsieur?” Wriothesley asked Neuvillette once.

He had been newly appointed as Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. And he stood tall. He watched, as the Iudex stared at him with that ocean deep expression he could never understand.

“I can’t say I have,” replied Neuvillette quietly.

Wriothesley laughed. It was not a happy sound.

“Lucky you.”
—

He remembered vomiting upon taking in the contents of that box. The stench of rot. Decay. Old blood. The naked, mutilated bodies. On the surface lay the remains of one blonde boy with vacant eyes.

“ I knew I smelled something disgusting .”

It was the last thing he remembered hearing before the unspeakable happened.
—

Rage, Wriothesley assumed for the longest time, was supposed to be burning hot. Like his skin during a heat. Like the flicker of orange flames.

But no. It was ice cold. Glacial.

He felt his very heart grow cold from fear to rage as his legs were pried apart. It was all he could feel. Even when he was turned inside out and torn open like a rag doll.

pleasepleasestopstopithurtsstophurtingme

Back then, when he was a poor orphaned bastard with a different name, he thought he didn’t need to build a nest. There was a nest inside his body, inside his heart, where he could feel safe.

Or so he thought.
—

“ Bad omega! ” he remembered the alpha hissing. “ You reek. ”

Bad omega. He was a bad omega.

Somewhere, somehow, the fear turned into anger. He was so angry . His vision turned into frost and nothingness. The overwhelming smell of blood and other vile things still haunted his dreams at night.

He was a bad person, too.
—

“Yes, your Honor, I killed them,” teenage Wriothesley told them, a day later. “All of them.”

“Why did you do it?” The Iudex asked, on behalf of all of Fontaine.

“If I didn’t, Monsieur, who would?”
—

His hands were bound in shackles. His fists, limbs, and legs were wrapped in gauze. White and red painted his thighs. Red painted his skin. Not all of it his.

He told the Court of every detail. How he bashed their heads in with his fists. They clawedslashedbitfought him back, but he kept going. The Chief Justice stared at him with an unreadable expression as he spoke.

His hands were bound in shackles. His heart remained calm as the blue glow of Indemnitium flashed.

According to the judgement of the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale, he was guilty. But according to the broken nest?heart? trust inside him, he was absolved of guilt.

“Guilty ,” Iudex Neuvillette’s voice boomed.

His hands were bound in shackles. He was a bad omega, and a worse person. He was going to prison.

He was free.
—

After that incident, Wriothesley changed his name. Received his Vision. Rewrote his life.

After that incident, he stopped trying to nest. There was no point in one.
—

In spite of everything that happened, though, Neuvillette was kind to him.

He hated to think what the alpha wanted with him.

During Wriothesley’s first month of his sentence, he recalled receiving a large and heavy package. The only one he ever received. Glass bottles of water. And an anonymous letter in neat writing that hoped he was well.

“Anonymous”. Ridiculous. It smelled of the shore and the outside of one’s window during a thunderstorm.

The contents made Wriothesley laugh derisively as he threw the bottles as hard as he could against the wall. The smashing sounds of the glass alerted the gardes and the warden.

As punishment, he didn’t eat that day. Not that Wriothesley could, anyways. The new medication the Fortress nurses prescribed messed up his cycle.

Damn heats. Damn alphas.
—

Years went on. Neuvillette was still kind.

Against all odds, they built a foundation of trust. Friendship, even.

Some days their small talk turned into professional talk. Then those professional chats turned into business talk. Then their business conversations turned into personal talk.

A raindrop into a puddle, to a steam, then to a river. Then back into the ocean.

Against all odds, Wriothesley grew to like Neuvillette.

Damn alphas.
—

"Your Grace, a reminder that your heat is going to start soon," said Sigewinne.

It was a Wednesday evening. Wriothesley had to bother to check the time as Neuvillette was going to arrive the following morning for a meeting. Business affairs between the Palais Mermonia and the Fortress, as per usual.

Lip curled in irritation, Wriothesley sighed. Heats. Always there to ruin things.

“Many thanks, Sigewinne,” he replied. “I should be able to hold out until Monday next week, right?”

“Sunday at the earliest, your Grace.”

The Duke cursed under his breath. He pinched the corners of his lips into a smile. He thanked his Melusine friend for her troubles, and resumed the ever boring paperwork. He was going to suffer for the next week, so best to file the leave now.

At least he’d be alone in his room in Meropide, away from everyone.
—

The next morning, Neuvillette brought a dark blue scarf under one arm.

“Cold out?” asked Wriothesley lightly as he poured the Iudex a cup of Earl Grey tea.

Neuvillette shook his head and dropped the scarf on his lap. “One of the Melusines, Veleda, dropped it in a hurry while I was on my way here. I’m merely bringing it back to her once our meeting is done.”

“How chivalrous.”

The other man sighed. “I’m just doing my duty.”

Wriothesley swore Neuvillette’s gaze softened, though only for a split second. He always wondered what the judge had on his mind. Like the sea, Neuvillette always had so much beneath the surface.

But never mind that for now. There was business to talk about. Grin on his face, Wriothesley sipped his tea as Neuvillette and he went through a stack of papers.
—

Halfway through the report discussion, Wriothesley felt a cramp start to form in his belly. It was a tiny one, and he’d experienced worse, but still. Irritating.

“Are you okay, Wriothesley?”

“Hm?”

“I…” Concern etched on his face, Neuvillette stared at him from across the table. “Pardon me. You seemed to be uncomfortable.”

At first, Wriothesley didn’t respond. It was tempting to toss manners out the window. Tell the Chief Justice that his omegan organs were absolutely useless. That every few months he curled up and wished he was dead.

That, however, would be needlessly dramatic. Neuvillette was a handsome and capable alpha and the very Iudex of Fontaine. He didn’t have the time to waste on an omegan former convict. Even if they were on good terms.

“Just a headache, Monsieur,” he waved it off. “Don’t worry about it.”
—

An hour after that, Neuvillette needed to leave the Fortress. Some sort of emergency diplomatic issue.

The Fortress administrator felt a sense of relief. His skin was feeling a bit warmer than usual. The cramps still stabbed at his guts. At least he could spend the rest of the day curled up in his heat chamber. No need to fake anything.

“Thank you for your time, and for the tea.” The alpha Iudex said, as Wriothesley walked him back to the Fortress entrance.

“Don’t mention it,” responded Wriothesley. “Always happy to share a kettle.”

“Wriothesley.”

“Yeah? What?”

The Iudex stopped in his tracks, and looked at him. It was the kind of look so deep, it was like having his soul examined. Given eternal judgment. He smelled strange too. Concern was always a weird scent.

Wriothesley almost felt the urge to bow his neck in submission. Almost.

Instead, he bared his teeth, just a little. A warning for the alpha. It didn’t help that another sharp twist of his gut chose to make its entrance that moment.

“Ah,” said Neuvillette. He backed off. “My deepest apologies. I was… concerned.”

“Duly noted,” replied Wriothesley. He rubbed the back of his neck with one arm. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it.”

He knew Neuvillette didn’t mean any harm. It wasn’t Neuvillette’s fault he was concerned. Wriothesley wanted the alpha to leave him alone. But he’d also feel like throwing a tantrum if he left.

If Wriothesley was a healthy, normal omega, maybe he wouldn’t be so goddamn difficult. Yet here he was, showing signs of pre-heat, unable to say goodbye properly.

“Please don’t apologise.” Neuvillette waved a hand and shook his head. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I will take my leave now.”

In silence, Wriothesley watched as the judge turned his back and walked away. The footsteps echoed in his mind.
—

Wriothesley returned to his office.

His eyes landed on a dark blue scarf. His nose picked up the faint scent of rainwater, and waves crashing into the shore.

A sharp spike of pain ripped through his guts. It didn’t help his head hurt a little.

His hands itched. The smell was so nice. Maybe he could put it in his bed and-

No. No. There was work to do. Wriothesley couldn’t.
—

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch .

Wriothesley tried to write. Black ink pooled on the surface of the white papers. He looked at the loops and the crossed T’s. He tried very hard to ignore the scarf sitting on the sofa.

It smelled like raindrops against window panes.

He read through pages. A page. A paragraph. A line. He read the line over and over and over. He couldn’t remember what it was.

It smelled like the ocean.

Scritch. Scratch.

Wriothesley’s head throbbed. He stared hard at the writing on the reports in front of him. It was all gibberish.

It smelled so bothersome.

“Shit.”

The Fortress administrator released a heavy breath. He couldn’t focus. Not with the scarf there. He had to get rid of it.

It smelled good.
—

“Tell Sigewinne I have a quick errand to run at the Palais Mermonia. I’ll be back soon.”
—

In fairness, Sigewinne said his heat wasn’t supposed to start until Sunday.

He was also stupid for believing his body would do what it was supposed to.
—

Wriothesley was fine when he entered the Palais. His head still hurt, and so did his belly, but it was fine. Normal.

It smelled like people. Like parchment. Like typewriter keys. Like alphas and betas and melusines and work.

If he focused enough, he could smell the sea. The rain.

“His Honor is currently at the Court of Fontaine,” chirruped one of the Melusines, Flo, inside. “But you can go ahead and return the item, your Grace.”

He was fine when he entered Neuvillette’s office. His skin was too warm, but that was normal too.

He was fine. At least, until he caught the strongest scent hidden behind a door. A closet.

Then, he wasn’t.
—

Everything became a blur. Wriothesley wasn’t sure what happened, but suddenly everything became too hot and his brain whited out.

Curiosity killed the cat, he guessed.

Neuvillette. Everything inside smelled of Neuvillette. The vast blue of the open sea. The endless torrential downpour.

A sharp pain. Too too sharp. Burst in his belly.

Wriothesley buried himself in the sea, fully expecting to drown.
—

Hot.

So hot.

Everything burned.

Hurthurthurthurt-

—

“Wriothesley?”

He came to. Buried in heavy fabrics and light silks and soft cottons. All of it smelled of rain and the sea.

painpainpain

An alpha standing over him.

Wriothesley started screaming. Growling. Snarling. Saying awful things. He wasn’t sure. The logical part of himself buried six feet under his fever and the haze.

He just didn’t want Neuvillette to hurt him.
—

“Wriothesley, please,” He was vaguely aware of Neuvillette whispering. Soothing him. Smelling of concern and worry and rain and sea. “I won’t hurt you.”

liaryourealiarwhyamiinpainalphaalpha-

He blinked, and blinked. And blinked again. His surroundings became clearer as he did so. Wriothesley briefly, suddenly, became aware of all the clothes that wrap around him. The shades of ceruleans and whites and navy blues.

All of them Neuvillette’s.

Frozen. Wriothesley was frozen in place. Everything hurt. He wanted to flee. Wanted to nest. Wanted to fight. Wanted to crawl deep inside all of the clothes and expire. Wanted Neuvillette to hold him tight. The fever was killing him. The room was filled with the smell of sea salt air and sadness.

In a haze, Wriothesley stared at the alpha in front of him. Neuvillete stood there, so close yet terrifyingly far away. 

“You need to nest, Wriothesley,” said Neuvillette slowly.

Wriothesley bared his teeth. Awful memories flashed before his eyes in no particular order. Every single time someone came into his space. Every single time leering eyes and monster hands reached in and tore things apart.

I want to nest.

“Why?” He asked, words slurred slightly. “So you can take it away from me?”

“But why…” asked the judge. His eyebrows pinched in worry. “Would I take your nest away from you?”

Tears filled Wriothesley’s eyes, against his will. He hated this. He hated his body. His mind. He didn’t want to nest. He needed to nest. Everything hurthurthurt-

His gaze switched from Neuvillette to the door, and then back to Neuvillette again.

“Oh, Monsieur,” Wriothesley barked out a hollow laugh. “Why indeed?”

—

It took years for Neuvillette to say something. Or maybe a couple of minutes. Wriothesley didn’t know. He never knew, during his heat.

“You keep looking at the door.”

Not a sound uttered, Wriothesley looked into those ocean eyes. Sharp cramps shoot up his spine. His instincts haywire. There was an alpha here. Why wasn’t the alpha trying to help him? Didn’t this alpha know he was an omega in heat? Did he just want him to die, alone?

Watching, waiting, Wriothesley waited for the monster to come out of this man’s skin. To invade his space. To reach inside his heart and break the last remnants of the nest there.

But there was no monster. Just Neuvillette. His beautiful, sad Monsieur Neuvillette.

Another spark of pain blossomed, deep in Wriothesley’s lower back. He wanted to bury himself in these clothes. He didn’t want to nest. He wanted Neuvillette to stay. He wanted Neuvillette to go.

He whimpered quietly. Wriothesley didn’t know what he wanted.

The man grabbed the Chief Justice’s hand. He hated himself for it. But Wriothesley needed to be near the seashore, the smell of rain. For once in his life, something comforted him. Like every time in his life, he hated himself for it.

Tired. He was so fucking tired.

“Would it help you, Wriothesley,” asked Neuvillette. Slowly, carefully, as if he was making a final judgment. “If I watched the door for you as you build your nest?”

If Neuvillette… watched the door?

The omega inside himself froze. An alpha was offering… to watch the door for him?

Raindrops fall inside. Not from the sky. They dripped down Wriothesley’s chin. Onto the coats and the shirts. Back into the sea.

Wriothesley nodded.
—

After that, colors and lines and pictures go back into blurs. Wriothesley vaguely recalled wrapping all of the alpha’s clothes over himself. Lost in an endless ocean of heat and fever, he drifted in and out.

Jolts of icy fear would run up his spine, sometimes. He’d sit up, eyes wide but barely seeing, waiting for the monsters to tower over him. To take away the clothes for his nest. To hurt him.

Every single time, however, Wriothesley only saw long white hair. A tall back turned. Patiently and carefully guarding the door.

He smelled the ocean. The waves kissing the shoreline.

And he heard the gentle taps on the window. The sound of rain.
—

On the fourth day, Wriothesley came to.

He released an audible groan as he slowly moved his body. Thick black hair stuck to his forehead and neck. The pain in his belly finally dwindled into a mild ache.

“Ah. You’re awake.”

Neuvillette sat on a chair, just by his bedside. No robes on, just his white shirt, rolled up to the elbows. The Iudex’s legs were crossed. A book sat, open faced, on his lap. Once again, there was nothing but that unreadable expression on his face.

Groggily, Wriothesley blinked and let his eyes take in every spot of the room. The room smelled of sweat, aching, and the smell of rainstorms at the beach.

Quietly, Neuvillette watched him. Wriothesley stared back at him. The Iudex looked ravishing, he couldn’t help but think. A truly handsome alpha.

It was strange for Wriothesley to see him without his judge’s robes. Where did they go-

Eyes wide, he suddenly looked down and saw blue robes on his person. Come to think of it, there were blue and white clothes all around him. On him. Under him. The closet floor was an explosion of mess.

It slowly dawned upon him whose clothes these were. What Wriothesley had done.

Red flushed all over Wriothesley’s face. Did he say anything terrible during his heat fever? Or strange? Most likely. Thank the archons he wasn’t the type of omega to spread his legs and beg.

Both men did not speak for a while. Wriothesley didn’t even know where to begin. Hey, I’m sorry I went into heat in your closet and nested with all of your clothes? Or, yes, I’m a sickly omega and I truly apologise for the stench ?

Instead, what came out of his mouth was, “you have a big closet.”

That got Neuvillette to smile a little. “It came with the Palais Mermonia. According to the customs, the Iudex needs several sets of clean robes for good presentation.”

“Well, too bad they’re all ruined now,” chuckled Wriothesley. “My deepest apologies, Monsieur, for the mess. You did not need to waste your time or space for me.”

“I do not consider this a waste of time.” Neuvillette replied gently. “Nor do I consider your needs a waste of space.”

The omega said nothing. It was more polite than laughing. Or snorting. Or worse, cussing the Iudex out. Same thing, really.

Must he be so gentle? So good? So kind? Wriothesley didn’t deserve it. Archons knew he was too shit of an omega to deserve it.

Damn alpha.

“Pardon me for the invasive question, Wriothesley,” said Neuvillette. “But how long do your heats usually last?”

This time, Wriothesley snorted. Neuvillete, invasive? When it was he who had invaded the judge’s closet in his quarters? A bit too late to apologize for intrusions here.

“Usually a week. A little less, if I’m lucky.”

“I see.”

Silence stretched out between them. Wriothesley wished he could curl up and disappear behind copper walls, beneath the ocean waves.But no. Here he was, lying down on the floor of a closet, covered in an alpha’s clothes that he wasn’t even mated to. Pathetic.

There was so much to say. Yet nothing to say.

“I’ve made you tea,” Neuvillette’s voice cut into the tension like a hydro blade. “Earl Grey. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.”
—

Neuvillette left the walk-in closet, but didn’t quite close the door. A crack of faint light streamed in, a different change from the overwhelming scent of sickness and the sea rain.

Wriothesley thought it was strange to see Neuvillette without his grand robes swishing behind him.

Though stranger still was the fact that the alpha bothered watching him.

A dull ache bloomed in his lower belly. The omega winced as he closed his eyes. He released the breath he did not know he held.

Embarrassing. How embarrassing it was for Wriothesley to burst into Neuvillette’s closet. To bury himself in the Iudex’s clothes during his heat.

He might as well have put up a large sign in louder letters: Take me! Love me! Mate this stupid, defective, sickly omega!

Or, even worse: I trust you! You’re safe!

Wriothesley laughed to himself. It was so much easier to laugh. Otherwise, he would have cried.
—

Moments later, Neuvillette walked in with a pot of steaming hot tea and two fancy China teacups. Faint scents of Earl Grey wafted in.

Too tired to move, Wriothesley simply lay down and watched as the Iudex poured tea into a cup for him. A part of him wanted to grab the pot and pour it himself. Another part of him, the omegan part of him, wanted Neuvillette to continue this. Continue caring for him.

“You’re a good alpha.”

The words left Wriothesley’s lips. Not quite feverish, but somewhat like the morning after. Heavy. Exhausted.

For a second, Neuvillette stopped. His face unreadable once again. But then, as if nothing happened, the man set down the tea pot.

He approached Wriothesley, but stopped a few steps before the clothes scattered about. Like an invisible barrier blocked Neuvillette from entering.

Then, he knelt down and held the teacup towards Wriothesley’s lips.

A gasp left Wriothesley as his eyes widened. He couldn’t help but lurch back at such an intimate gesture. Feeding and watering an omega during a heat was something only good alphas did for their mates.

He wasn’t a good enough omega for that.

“Please, Wriothesley,” coaxed Neuvillette, when he tried to take the cup and saucer for himself. “Allow me.”

“You can’t!” The omega protested. “You can’t do that.”

How could Neuvillette do this? Hadn’t he already done so much for Wriothesley? Neuvillette fought for his reputation, his position, and his title. He tolerated his jokes, entertained him when he wanted a companion to have tea with.

And now, Neuvillette let him barge into his closet and stink up all of his clothes. He guarded the door when Wriothesley was afraid. He made him tea, like such an unbelievably kind and good alpha.

Like he was Wriothesley’s alpha

Pitter patter. Pitter patter. The sound of rainfall permeated the room.

“Why not?” Neuvillette asked.

A familiar smell of sadness hit Wriothesley’s nostrils.

Dumbfounded, Wriothesley stared at the alpha. He couldn’t let Neuvillette do this. He wouldn’t. Even if his very body, his very soul, cried out to Neuvillette to keep going, to love him, to care for him, to make him feel safe .

“You do understand, Monsieur, that you are an alpha,” hissed Wriothesley. His outburst almost knocked over the teacup. Brown liquid sloshed over and dripped onto the mess below. “You can’t just do something like this. You’re supposed to save this sappy shit for the one you choose.”

“But I have chosen, haven’t I?” Neuvillette pointed out. He calmly held the saucer. That’s why I’m doing this.”

Unable to speak, Wriothesley shook his head at the alpha.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. This man was one of the most important and powerful people in Fontaine. The land trusted him with their life. Surely there were many an omega more beautiful, more healthy, that could love Neuvillette so much better.

“I don’t understand,” said Wriothesley. He gestured to the room around them. “I don’t. You see this shit? You want to deal with that for the rest of your life? I’m a sickly omega. A criminal. Been messed up even before I was sentenced. You really want that?”

Neuvillette nodded slowly. “That, I am fine with.”

Crazy. Ridiculous.

“I can’t carry children, Neuvillette. And sex is too painful, it’s out of the question. ” Wriothesley’s eyes began to sting. His pride hurt even more. “Can’t have pups. Can’t mate. You really want an omega like that?”

“An omega’s value is not based on their ability to have pups, or to service their partners sexually. They have innate values as much as any other person does,” said Neuvillette. Too kindly, too gently. Damn alpha. “Why should you be any different?”

“I can’t even nest.” Wriothesley’s voice cracked.

“Little by little, you can learn,” replied Neuvillette, the good alpha he was. “You can take as long as you want, Wriothesley. Besides, why should a nest matter to me? They are supposed to be for your comfort and happiness. I do not have too many clothes, but they are yours, should you want them. And if you do not want to nest, I can help you watch the door.”

Damn alpha. 

Damn alpha.

Damn good alpha.

“I don’t understand,” repeated Wriothesley. He could have said it until his vocal chords tore to shreds, and his eyes melted away into nothingness. “I don’t understand you, Neuvillette. I’m not a good omega. I’m not even a good person .”

Neuvillette looked at him. For once, the Iudex looked so fond, and so, so sad.

“Because I love you,” said Neuvillette softly. Once again, he held up the teacup saucer close to Wriothesley’s face. “And I believe you are a good person. So, please, rest. Build your nest. I’ll ensure no one will hurt you.”

Ultimately, it was the genuineness that broke Wriothesley. He cried and cried. He let Neuvillette inside his space. He let the other man caress his hair. Scent him. Give him kisses on his head, his cheeks, his lips.

And most of all, he let himself drink from the teacup Neuvillette held out for him. Every single time. Like a good omega should.

—

Outside the Palais Mermonia, the dark grey on the sky gave way to a vast expanse of bright blue that could only rival the expanse of the sea below. Scents of damp pavement and wet earth lingered. Children and adults alike came out of their homes to enjoy the sun as it peeked out from the escaping clouds. Their footsteps echoed, their chatter louder.

Inside the grandness of the Palais Mermonia, on the floor of a closet room, the very Chief Justice of Fontaine sat on the floor. Surrounded by his crumpled clothes, and the powerful smells of black tea, winter chill, and mint. 

In the middle of the closet room, sat the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. Ever so restlessly, the sickly omega twisted up shirts and balled up robes in a manner that would have made any boutique owner weep. He picked up fabrics and towels and pillows, placed them in places. Then, he’d wrinkle his nose, and snatch the items to place them somewhere else.

The alpha courting him would smile at his antics, though he wouldn’t say anything. He’d just ask if the omega was alright. If he needed to eat, or drink tea. Other than that, he’d watch the door, ready to growl at any intruder to hurt his omega.

Little by little, Wriothesley built his nest.

And for once in his life, he felt safe.