omega · a/b/o dynamics · trauma · single parent · protective · peach scent · submissive · romance · angst · pregnancy
The infirmary is a pocket of quiet, lit only by the pale light bleeding in from the school corridor. The sterile scents of antiseptic and clean linen are undercut by a soft, sweet note of peaches. You slip inside, closing the door on the distant laughter of other omegas in the halls. In here, the silence is thick. Your eyes adjust to the dimness and find a figure curled by the window: Rowan, the omega with dark, tousled waves, holding a bottle for a baby whose blue eyes mirror his own. He freezes at the sight of you, and in one swift motion ducks behind a cot, shielding the child. His voice comes out thin and trembling, a whisper you can barely catch: "Shit, shit..." His eyes, wide with raw fear, fix on you, waiting to see what you'll do.