Julien woke late the next morning, his sheets tangled, the echoes of heat still simmering faintly in his blood. The suppression blockers he had doubled last night dulled the sharpest edges, but his body remained restless, his skin prickling with phantom fire.
He sat at the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, hands dragging down his face. His scent clung faintly to the air despite the patches, sweetness twisted faintly sour by the bitterness of exhaustion.
He hated it.
Hated how weak it made him feel.
"Pathetic," he whispered under his breath.
But what lingered sharper than his own weakness was Damien's voice—low and rough, full of restraint that had cut straight through Julien's fear.
I won't. Not until you want me to.
Julien's heart squeezed. He pressed his palms harder to his eyes until the memory blurred. No. He couldn't afford to think about that. Damien was an alpha. And alphas—no matter how gentle their words—always wanted something in return.
---
By the time Julien reached school, his hoodie zipped tight to hide his trembling, he had convinced himself to act normal. Invisible. The way he always did.
But invisibility failed the moment he stepped into the classroom.
Damien was already there, leaned back in his chair like he owned the space, one hand draped casually over the desk. His dark eyes lifted immediately, locking onto Julien the second he entered.
Julien's chest tightened. He dropped his gaze instantly, sliding into his seat.
But he felt it. The weight of Damien's stare, heavy, unrelenting, like gravity itself had decided Julien was its only anchor.
---
The day crawled forward. Julien kept his sketchbook propped on his desk, pretending to take notes, his pencil dragging shapes that barely resembled words. Every time Damien shifted behind him, the scrape of his chair or the subtle swell of his pine-and-smoke scent, Julien's shoulders tensed tighter.
At lunch, he tried to escape quickly, cutting through the courtyard to eat alone. But a shadow fell across his table before he even opened his bento.
"Move over."
Damien didn't ask. He sat. The bench creaked under his weight, broad shoulders filling the space beside Julien.
Julien stiffened, clutching his chopsticks. "There are a dozen empty tables."
"I like this one," Damien said simply. He pulled out his phone but didn't look at it, his eyes fixed instead on Julien's face.
The audacity made Julien snap his head up, glare sharp. "Stop staring at me."
"No."
The blunt refusal left Julien speechless.
Damien's voice dropped, quiet but steady. "You weren't okay last night."
Julien's throat closed. Heat crawled up his neck, anger rising to mask the panic. "You followed me home like some creep. That's not okay either."
Damien didn't flinch. "Better than letting you collapse on your doorstep."
Julien slammed his chopsticks down, pulse spiking. "You think you get to decide what's better for me? You don't know me, Damien."
Something flickered across Damien's face at that—something sharp, wounded, then gone as quickly as it came. His gaze softened, though, in a way Julien hated even more.
"You're right," Damien said quietly. "I don't know everything about you. But I want to."
Julien's heart stuttered. He turned away, fumbling to pack his bento back into his bag. "Stop saying things like that."
"Why?"
"Because you don't mean them." His voice cracked.
The silence that followed was heavy. Julien braced for mockery, for laughter, for Damien to prove him right. But instead—
"I do," Damien said simply.
And Julien, to his horror, believed him.
---
That night, Julien lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment on loop.
I do.
Three words that felt heavier than any chain. He hated how they lodged in his chest, how his body's restless warmth responded to them, traitorous and yearning.
He buried his face in his pillow, muffling the frustrated sound tearing out of him. "I can't do this," he whispered into the dark.
He had built walls for a reason. Walls high and thick enough to keep everyone out, to keep himself safe. Damien was hammering at them with every look, every word, every unflinching step closer.
And Julien didn't know how much longer the walls would hold.
---
Two days later, it happened.
Practice for the school's cultural fair project kept Julien and Damien in the art room long after others had gone. Rain pattered against the tall windows, the scent of paint and paper filling the air.
Julien focused on his sketches, forcing his hands steady. But his scent betrayed him—sweetness curling sharper as the suppression patches faltered under the strain of another approaching wave.
Damien's jaw flexed. He had been pacing near the window, but now he froze, his head snapping toward Julien like a predator catching scent.
Julien stiffened. "Don't."
"I'm not doing anything," Damien said hoarsely. His fists clenched at his sides. "But you're…" He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. His voice dropped, strained. "Julien, your blockers aren't holding."
Julien's breath hitched. He turned sharply, stuffing his supplies into his bag. "Then I'll leave."
He stood too fast, his knees buckling. Damien caught his arm instantly, steadying him with a grip that was firm but careful.
Julien's heart hammered. Damien's heat pressed into his skin through that single touch, the alpha's restraint trembling like a bowstring pulled taut.
"Let go," Julien whispered.
"I will," Damien said, though his hand lingered, warm and grounding. His dark eyes searched Julien's face with something raw. "But not until I know you're steady."
Julien hated how the words soothed him. How the fire in his blood eased just slightly under Damien's steady presence.
He tore his arm free, shoving his bag strap higher on his shoulder. "You don't get to decide that."
Damien didn't stop him this time as Julien stormed out into the rain. But the weight of his gaze followed, heavy and unshakable.
---
Back home, Julien sat on his bed, drenched and shaking. He pressed his palms to his face, tears burning behind his eyes.
Why couldn't Damien just leave him alone? Why couldn't he stop himself from caring about those steady hands, that quiet voice, the promise of safety in a world that had only ever hurt him?
He curled into himself, chest aching.
Because deep down, Julien feared the truth he could no longer ignore:
His walls were cracking.
And Damien Santiago was the only one who saw what lay beyond them.