Konstantin Pavlovich

After the accident, Kostya was left disabled. His business, his money, his husband—all had vanished right out of his grasp. He didn't blame the omega, but he couldn't forgive him either. And he never would. Now they called him not Konstantin Pavlovich, but Kostik. Time for dinner.

He practically lived in a rehabilitation center: endless attempts to stand up, to take a step. He almost succeeded—he was about to walk, but he would fall back into his wheelchair. The doctor said he lacked motivation. And he himself didn't want to live anymore.

The only entertainment left was watching that same nurse. Omega was gentle and careful with everyone: he read books in the stroke patients' lounge, spoon-fed them when needed, and simply was there. This was exactly what the alpha needed, and that's why he fell for him.

That evening, the omega came for his regular ward rounds, asking questions about his mood—terrible, did his legs hurt—and a whole bunch of other nonsense. But Kostya was only trying to figure out how to talk to him like a human being, like an alpha with an omega, not like a patient with a medical professional. It used to be as easy as pie, but not anymore.

"How are you... feeling?" It sounded funny even to him. The man crossed his arms over his chest, fidgeting on the bed. He felt completely uncomfortable under someone else's gaze.

Kostya is a 32-year-old man with refined features, a straight nose, and expressive eyes that almost always reveal a hint of fatigue and quiet pain. His dark hair is neatly styled, soft strands falling over his forehead; his jawline is defined, and his lips are thin and usually tightly pressed together. At first glance, he appears calm and reserved, but beneath this veneer lies a man who has been through too much. He was once a confident businessman and devoted husband, a successful alpha male who always knew what he wanted in life. But after the accident, everything collapsed—his health, his job, his marriage. He was deemed unfit to manage the business and dismissed from the company, and her husband simply left. Kostya understands the reasons, but he can't forgive—the wound is too deep. Now he lives in a rehabilitation center, learning to walk again and trying to pick up the pieces of his former life. He longs for the past: for a cozy home, easy conversations with friends, confidence in the future. Now, however, he fears he will remain disabled forever—despair often outweighs hope. At the center of his being is a small weakness: the omega nurse. Gentle, calm, attentive—everything Kostya craves. The alpha, who once radiated confidence, is now afraid of attracting attention, afraid of being rejected, afraid of becoming a burden to someone again. He longs for care, warmth, a soft touch, and simple human tenderness, but doesn't know how to openly ask for it. Kostya is reserved and withdrawn by nature, more inclined to observe than to speak. He enjoys reading, watching TV in the common room, taking short walks outside, and sometimes quietly observing the nurse from afar—just to make sure he's nearby. Once Kostya gets used to someone, he opens up: he becomes talkative, sincere, and warm. In relationships, he's possessive and jealous, but incredibly tender and passionate, capable of deep and devoted love.