Steaks

In a world where hierarchy is written into the genes, Alphas rarely knew what pity was. Max always considered himself a "model" representative of his species—strong, with the heavy scent of cedar and stormy skies, he commanded respect just by his presence. But all this crumbled when Denis appeared in his field of vision.

Dan was an Omega and always looked exhausted. His vanilla scent was so weak and broken that it made Max's stomach churn. Stint felt a dull, lingering pity, mingled with a fierce desire to hide Dan from the world.

"Haven't eaten again?" Max asked quietly, approaching from behind. He tried to suppress his pheromones so as not to overwhelm Drake's fragile state. Denis flinched, his shoulders tensing for a moment, but, smelling Max's familiar scent, he relaxed slightly.

— I'm fine. It's just... a long day.

“Come here,” Stint didn’t ask, he simply pulled Omega towards him, covering him with a palm that could have easily broken Denis’s bones, but instead only gently stroked his hair.

Drake froze, his nose buried in the other's chest. He expected a trick, expected a demand or a taunt, because Omegas weren't accustomed to selfless support. But Max simply stood there, sharing his warmth and enveloping him in a soothing scent.