Saturday and Sunday were a blur of society meetings and club events where River had to focus all of his energy on avoiding the same few questions about his new scent, and the new partner that was expected to come along with it.

In pockets of time between lending himself to anyone who had asked him for help that weekend, he squeezed in a few pages of required reading. Finishing the chapters he was supposed to have read by Monday kept him up into the early hours of the deadline day.

Come morning, the reasonable hours, he had overslept.

He still had plenty of time to make it to his afternoon lecture, so he dressed in a white top, a chunky cream and blue cardigan, and blue jeans decorated with floral patches, then packed a tote bag with his laptop, sketchpad, pencils, a water bottle, and his phone, and headed out to draw the campus greenery.

He was alone in wanting to enjoy the crisp almost-spring air, everyone else was hurrying with their jackets tucked tight. There was frost on the grass and a sparkle to the leaves that he couldn't capture with just pencil and paper, but he tried. He had to try as hard as the plants were, straining to grow and bloom. He had so much adoration for the sprouts that cracked into the cold first. After the long, dark winter he needed to see spring's arrival as soon as possible. Summer was nice, autumn lovely, but River and winter did not get along. He didn't want to be trapped indoors, he didn't like the trees stripped, and if there was one thing worse than being wet - it was being wet and cold.

The chill of winter was still present, and when his fingers were fumbling with numbness, he packed away his pencils and headed inside for his lecture.

×

Their professor was late, bustling in with arms full of a laptop, a ring of keys, and a stack of papers. River hesitated, letting the rush of students file in before him.

“Didn’t take you for a truant.”

River jumped and spun, hands jerking to his chest like a scandalised lady of a bygone era. His senses hadn’t caught the approach of an alpha - something his body was supposed to instinctively warn him of - because this particular alpha’s scent had become his, indistinguishable.

Leaning against the wall a few feet behind him, Elliott looked utterly at ease. A tight black tee stretched over his arms and chest just enough to be a silent brag, hinting at a single flex bursting the seams. Not a bad thing for those with eyes, River could confess inside his head. Gold winked at him from a thin chain around his neck, and River would bet all his brass jewellery it was real. Fitted black trousers, a black belt and black and white trainers sealed Elliott’s monochrome look. River suddenly felt far too colourful in his flower patches and fluffy two-toned cardigan.

Elliott watched him with a dull expression, but intense blue eyes, darker in shade than River had ever seen on another person. They searched him for something, scanning his face, sliding over his body. River blinked back, knowing he didn’t have nearly the same power in his stare.

Elliott finally cracked a smirk. “You’ll wear my scent but you won’t answer me?” he murmured, looming in just a little, just enough to still look amicable. His voice was deep, a slight huskiness giving his words a threatening edge.

River had never wished to shrink before, he was already small enough, but the urge to scurry away like a mouse overtook him.

“Um-” He swallowed. His mouth was so dry it could have crackled. “I missed what you said,” he admitted with an awkward laugh. “You surprised me!” He threw a hand out, pretending to smack. The attempt at a teasing tone fell flat, but hopefully only Elliott noticed. Passers-by could still think they were a happy couple having a pleasant conversation between classes, exactly as their scents suggested.

“You didn’t make it to this morning’s lecture,” he said, as though River wasn’t aware. “And you missed Thursday, too.” He tutted at him, but there was a teasing gleam in his eye.

“You noticed?” Two words that fell out of River’s mouth without any pre-approval from his brain.

Elliott’s laugh was more like a single huff of air. “Don’t get the wrong idea.” He looked away, over River’s head and down the corridor. “You’re wearing my scent, I’d be stupid not to keep an eye out.”

“You think I’d date someone while I have your scent mark?” It was River’s turn to huff.

He dropped his eyes to him again. “I think you’re a weak little omega that can’t say no.”

River’s mouth popped open, but before he could gather himself to disagree Elliott had stalked away. He watched his wide back weave through crowds of betas a foot shorter than him. Who was a truant now?

And, more importantly, how dare he call him little? And weak? River pressed his lips together, suppressing his frustration as best he could. Of course, people thought those things about omegas but they didn’t outright say them to their faces. He had been wrong about him. Elliott wasn’t gentlemanly and classy, he was rude and arrogant. River squeezed the strap of his tote bag tight and pushed off from the wall.

Sliding into a seat at the back of the lecture theatre, he realised that this wasn’t even a module he shared with the alpha. Elliott had no reason to be lurking about, waiting to scare and insult him. He scowled at his laptop as he jabbed in his login. The scent would fade, and everything would return to normal soon enough. He'd had his fun at bowling, and that was all he wanted.

His focus needed to be on his education for the next few hours. Then, it was competition time.

×

Fencing went about as well as River had anticipated.

He was only asked to participate in the foil matches, and he wondered, swishing it around, if it was because it appeared much lighter than the sabre and épée. Yet another omega stereotype: that they were all incapable of lifting heavy things. River was, but he didn’t like that the club captain, Reed, would assume that because of his being an omega. He didn’t complain, Reed had other things to be worrying about with the other clubs filing into the hall.

The protective gear was loose, but River consoled himself that the matches would be over quickly. He was only there to make numbers, and the only instructions he had been given were to jab forwards and duck to the sides. His opponent had to hit him straight for points. He wasn’t expected to earn any.

His first opponent, a dominant beta, was visibly startled at the sight of an omega stepping onto the piste, and gave their coach an uncertain look before pulling on their mask. River followed their lead and took a wobbly version of the stance that he had been shown fifteen minutes before.

The coach of a third club acted as referee and signalled them to begin.

His opponent was hesitant to fight aggressively, which was fine - running down the clock with less prodding for River couldn’t be a bad thing - but still took the first point. River was jerky and unco-ordinated, but not nervous. He wasn’t there to be good, no one was expecting him to win, he just had to participate. There was plenty that he took part in that he had no skill for, sometimes not even any interest in, he just enjoyed the social side and being able to help his friends.

Another point to his opponent. And another. And the timer rang out.

River pulled his mask off and grinned. His opponent did the same, pink-cheeked. When they stepped forward to shake hands, the beta ducked back as though River were taking another jab.

“Don’t want to get my scent on you,” they choked out.

River was suddenly pink-cheeked, too. “Ah, of course.” A handshake wouldn’t transfer much, it was perfectly acceptable for there to be small points of physical contact between submissives and dominants. It was Elliott’s scent that scared the fencer out of touching him directly.

River had almost forgotten about the alpha fog following him about. The fencing club had been gracious enough to not say anything about it when he arrived.

They shook their gloved hands instead.

His second and third matches mirrored the first, and he was all too glad to pull his mask off for the final time. He watched the rest of the team compete from the fold-out chairs lining the room and let a submissive beta from another school chatter to him about strategies he was never going to use.

River’s uni won first place. His position on the table was dead last. He smiled at the leader board.

The three teams staggered to the changing rooms, cheering or jeering, and he slipped into a stall to change into daisy-embroidered shorts and cream sweater. He was glad he’d packed the lighter option for after the matches - he’d gotten surprisingly sweaty for a participant that barely moved.

Weaving through the chatting competitors back out in the hall, he searched for someone to take his used uniform off his hands. He had done his best to fold it, but the padded lining wasn’t easy to crease, and it had turned into more of a bundle in his arms.

“We’re just working out who’s driving who for dinner,” Reed, the captain of River’s university club, told him as he collected the sweaty material. “Would you be comfortable in a car that has a dominant? We haven’t got enough subs to fill one car.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, I was just going to head home.”

A round of complaints sprung up from the team.

“You have to come, River, you’re practically the guest of honour,” Reed chuckled. “We literally couldn’t have competed without you taking that slot.”

A deep voice called out, “Careful, man, his alpha might not like you getting too pushy.”

River’s red face returned.

Reed's matched. “Oh, sorry, do you need to ask for p-”

“I can go where I like!” River yelped.

Fencers from all three schools were staring at him, concern creasing their features. They looked to Reed, suspicious, calculating how likely it was that he would be hassling an omega.

“Th-thank you for your concern, Reed,” River added, as loudly as his suddenly-dry throat would allow. “I’m perfectly comfortable to ride in a car with a dominant but it’s very considerate of you to check.”

The spectators relaxed, reassured that the omega wasn’t being bothered by a dominant.

“Okay," Reed croaked. "Let’s head out then.”