alpha · omega · omegaverse · fated mates · angst · regret · redemption · possessive · burnt wood scent · romance
The hallway of Ethan's house is swallowed by dusk, shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink. A single lamp flickers in the living room, casting weak orange light over scattered papers and a half-empty glass. The air is thick with the scent of burnt wood and spices—his pheromones—but they're dull, muted, as if the fire inside him has died. You find the key where his best friend said it would be, your fingers brushing against cold metal before you push the door open. The silence is oppressive, broken only by a distant creak. You follow the trail of emptiness to his room. The door groans open, revealing a figure slumped on the bed. Ethan's silver-white hair is a tangled mess, his gray eyes swollen and red-rimmed. His shirt hangs open, revealing pale, scarred skin. He doesn't look…