Chapter Text
On Friday night, he has a weird dream. Now, usually, Ryland doesn't remember his dreams, so waking up at three in the morning with wild eyes and a heaving chest is already throwing him off. He jolts up from his bed, his heart pounding in his chest. When he blinks, he can still see the headlights of the car behind his eyelids.
"Nope." He says aloud to his empty bedroom. A nightmare about a car mowing him down like a bowling ball knocking down a pin? What on earth was his brain trying to say to him? Well, last week, there was that guy who ran a red light and nearly crushed Ryland's bike into a pancake. Ugh, loser.
Ryland glances over to the alarm clock on his nightstand, the neon numbers stare back at him. Bright red, 3:00, the screen reads. He sighs aloud, the hot gust of his own breath escaping his lungs before he falls back into his bed with a soft thump. Shifting around until he's in a comfy position again, he smacks his lips and closes his eyes as he pulls his blanket over his head.
No more dreams, please, that was enough for tonight.
And that's that.
On Saturday morning, he wakes up to the sound of construction and groans aloud. There's a new apartment complex being built on his street. For Ryland, this just means that rent is probably going to shoot up a couple hundred dollars, and for the past six months, he's woken up to the sweet sound of drilling at eight in the morning.
He gets out of bed (read: crawls), and makes his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. It's when he's spitting out the toothpaste from his mouth that he notices the first things that throws him off.
First, his body feels like he really was run over by a car. When he rolls his shoulders, there's a twinge in them, like the kind of feeling he gets when he sleeps in the wrong position for too long. His lower back also felt like an elephant stomped on it, kicked him around like a soccer ball and then rolled him back and forth under its feet like he was a piece of tumbleweed in the wind. Okay, he was getting ahead of himself with these similes, but why did his body feel so sore?
He tilts his head, cracking his neck with an audible click while he stretches his arms up, hands interlaced over his head. His back makes a sound too and he moans. Ah, that felt good.
Then, he sniffs the air and squints.
It smells sweet. This is a smell that he's never once in his life smelled before in his apartment. It's everywhere now, he'd noticed it in his pillow, in his blankets, and even-
He lifts his shirt up to sniff the collar.
Yeah.
It was on him.
Weird.
It's not just any sort of sweetness too. No, it was specific. This smell was like a bakery, like vanilla and butter and cookie. Sugar cookie, actually. His apartment smelled like a bakery, the nearest bakery was 3 blocks away. They also only sold things like rainbow cookies and the ones that had a little jam filling in them that Ryland liked to buy for his coworkers right before Thanksgiving rolled around. They didn't sell sugar cookies.
He's checked.
So where on earth was that smell coming from?
Weird.
"Weird." He says it aloud, for extra emphasis, and then he ducks out of the bathroom to get started on his work. As he tugs open his backpack, he pulls out the thick manila folder that holds the next practice exam for his kids. The school year was coming to an end, in other words, that meant a final exam. Now, he doesn't usually do exams all too often, but this one was important. Sometimes, you just gotta bite the bullet and check how much exactly did your kids learn through the year, and whether you were a complete failure if they didn't retain anything at all. Anyways, he didn't like to grade too harshly, and he even tagged on some extra credit questions. Plus, there was the optional extra credit creative assignments that would help any kid to boost their grade up.
He tugs out the answer key, running through each problem once more. It's a triple set of multiple choice questions (because sometimes, the kids who had him after lunch liked to ask the ones who took it in the morning about the questions), with a couple short answer questions. His rubric for grading the short answer questions is all set, but he hasn't had the chance to double-check the answer key for the multiple choice questions. So, he organizes the stack of papers into something cohesive before he sits himself down on the couch and pours out a bowl of cereal.
It's a couple hours later that Ryland finds himself lazily draped over his couch with a paper marked red from his pen.
He sucks in air through his teeth. One of his answer keys had a few questions wrong, which is pretty annoying and it's never really happened before. He's not too sure how he should rework them, but from the looks of it, he's going to have to push the exam back by a day.
Well, at least for the kids, that means they get an extra day to study. The end of the school year means that there's not much homework left to assign them, just an end of the year reflection on what they've learned, what they've enjoyed- and it wasn't even graded.
Standing up, Ryland glances over to the calendar hung up on his wall. The past days are all crossed off with a big, red X. He runs his tongue over his teeth. Well, pushing the test to Tuesday isn't too bad. He can handle that. With his grading system all set up, it probably wouldn't even take him too long.
It's when he's looking at the calendar that he also notices a row of stickers, stars, blocking off the past days of the week. The last one was just yesterday.
He's never put stickers like that on his calendar, why there's a whole row of them blocking Monday through Friday, he has no idea. They're not subtle either, big gold stars that cover up the whole square of each day on the calendar's grid.
Frowning, he peels one off. There's no note on it, nothing to indicate why it's there. He has zero recollection of putting them on his calendar.
"Hm…" He hums to himself. Okay, this was weird, but it's not like someone would break into his apartment to put stickers on his calendar. There is no one else with a key to his place, save his landlord, and it's not like she would do this. His landlord was a little, old, frail 80 year old woman with five grandkids for Christ's sake, she didn't have time to invite herself into his apartment, let alone mess around with his stuff when she was probably busy worrying about way more important things in life.
Ryland chalks it up to him having labeled the week ages ago for some inane reason that he can't recall anymore. Sounds about right anyways.
Noon rolls around when he decides to pick up his phone and indulge himself with lunch. Doordash it is.
He's craving Chinese takeout, so half an hour later, he's watching his phone and staring at the little icon that shows his driver's car trailing through downtown San Francisco, twisting through different streets until it reaches his apartment.
When his phone lights up with the notification that his lunch has arrived, he's already at his front door, peeking through the peephole to watch his driver knock on his door.
He pulls it open with a polite smile, itching for some eggrolls.
Except…the woman, he thinks her profile said Ashley, makes full eye contact with him before she leans in real close, close enough that it invades what he likes to call, his personal space bubble, and takes a good whiff.
"What." Ryland says, dumbfounded. He's not the type to give his driver a low score, but sometimes, you have to draw a line. This might just be the line. Who the fudge goes around sniffing their customers? Did he smell that bad? Jeez, he was really tired last night, so sue him for skipping a shower.
"Oh, honey," She says, her face all sympathetic and motherly. Really, Ryland would almost be touched if, you know, she didn't just sniff him like a TSA dog looking for contraband. "Rest up. Looks like that heat's really got you tuckered out. Real rough one, hm?"
"Yeah, I guess," Ryland says, still weirded out, blinking back her like a frog but he also just wants his Chinese takeout and she's holding it hostage. The recent heatwave was kinda brutal. "California summers, amiright?"
His polite smile probably looks a bit insane but he thinks he's justified in that after this strange interaction. So he grabs the bag from her hand, and shuts the door behind him. His phone pings. Delivered. There we go. Then, he puts the bag on his kitchen counter and looks around. There's no one to judge him in the sanctuary of his own home.
He lifts his shirt up and sniffs himself again, sniffs his pits.
Sugar cookies.
Okay, hey, he doesn't smell bad. Maybe.
"I don't think I smell that bad," He says to himself, and then looks over at Mr. Prickles, his mini cactus, a gift from his students from last year. Ryland had actually shed a tear when they said they all chipped in and bought it for him. Mr. Prickles was a proud little guy, short and stout, even his needles were cute. "Come on, do I?"
Naturally, Mr. Prickles does not answer.
Whatever…
Ryland forgets all about it when he opens up the bag and digs into his eggrolls.
He turns his TV on, looking back down at the packet of papers and gets to work on fixing the answer keys.
As the news drones on, he lowers the volume.
If only he looked up, because he would've seen the headlines flash on by with words he'd have no idea of understanding. Heat suppressant recall, it reads.
Instead, he gets halfway through fixing that answer key and he manages to finish up the slide instructions for the extra credit project assignment for his kids before he knocks out on his couch.
Monday rolls around with the peaceful sound of no drilling. Construction work, it seems, is starting late today. This spells great things for Ryland who wakes up for once in the past few months feeling kind of well rested.
His apartment still smells of sugar cookies though. It's a mystery to him, he's been kind of worried about some sort of leak, but he hasn't died yet so he figures that he'll find out why everything smells like a bakery in due time.
His alarm clock buzzes, and Ryland smacks the button down till it shuts up. This is the first time in weeks that he's woken up on time rather than an hour early from the drilling. What a wonder an extra hour of sleep can do for a guy!
He rolls out of bed with a loud yawn, jaw stretching so wide, it clicks a little.
Then, he's brushing his teeth and combing his hair, changing into his suit and tie and tugging on his helmet. He slings his bag over his shoulder, hustling down the stairs- the elevator was broken again and he lives on the third floor, before he's throwing himself onto his bike and pedaling away.
When he arrives to school, the bell has just started to ring. There's still kids heading in though, but Ryland can see their pace quickening. No one wants to be late, neither does he though, so he finds himself speedwalking down the hall into his classroom.
Except-
When he enters the room, he's greeted with a large stack of papers that were definitely not on his desk on Friday.
"Huh…" Ryland says, staring at the pile and leafing through it. It's the classroom assignments of the past week. They should've already been graded, and he distinctly remembers bringing them home on Thursday night, but instead, they're here. "Hm."
What was this, the Mandela effect?
"Mr. Grace, welcome back!" A student calls out right behind him though, and Ryland turns around with a raised eyebrow.
"Thank you?" He says, looking back at them in confusion, his voice creeping up. It was just the weekend, but the greeting implies that he's been out for a little while longer.
But the rest of the kids are piling in, and before long, the question leaves his mind as he moves into corralling them into their seats while he turns on the projector.
See, the rest of the day is actually rather uneventful. The kids are cheerful, clever as ever. There's a round of cheers through each period when he announces that the test has been pushed to tomorrow, and when he visits his favorite cafe for lunch, they even have a slice of red velvet cake left that he snags, forking over an extra bill for the sugar high.
There's just one thing that throws him off.
The chirping.
The first time he hears, he has his back turned to the class and he's drawing an ugly diagram of the earth's layers on the whiteboard.
Chirp. It's like a soft click of the tongue, or something. He doesn't really know how to describe it. Not quite like a bird, but not like any other animal he's heard before either.
No one's allowed to sneak pets into the classroom, that's been a rule since, well, forever. Especially after that one time in his first year of teaching when a kid brought his pet parrot to class and the poor thing escaped and flew out the window. That was a nightmare to explain to his parents. Ryland still shivers thinking about it.
But anyways.
The chirp.
It's also a bit like a squeak and it has him pausing, but he continues on, rambling about the core of the earth before he hears it again, chirp.
Then, across the room, another chirp, responding.
That's when he turns around to see his kids staring back at him. One of them chirps right at him. Ryland, confused, nearly drops his marker and holds back the urge to- what? Chirp back? His throat feels a bit weird, like something's caught in it, rolling and rumbling.
Crap, does he have allergies or something?
He clears his throat and smiles at them.
"Yes?" He asks, and Angelo's face lights up but they just shake their head at him.
"Nothin' Mr. Grace," They say, sickeningly sweet, suspiciously.
Ryland squints at them. Is this chirping thing a new trend? Is it like those- what do they call it- not a furry, but he's seen some people really get into it. Therios, no, nope, Therials? No, that's wrong too. The…Ther…Therians. Yeah. That's like a new thing that he's heard about. Actually, back in grad school, he had a friend who was an engineer who was a furry. Maybe his kids were getting into that. Well, he wouldn't judge, as long as they were having fun, but gosh, maybe not here when he's trying to teach them about glaciers and the ice age, and the earth's lithosphere.
The kid blinks at him, cherubic if not for the mischievous look in their eyes.
"Something the matter?" He prompts them again, and Angelo chirps back at him, like a bird-puppy-cat.
"You promised if we were good to the sub last week, that we'd get to pick out a movie to watch this weekend." The kid says, puppy-dog eyes staring up at him. Ugh, how do they always know he's weak to this stuff?
"Uh-" He drags the sound out a little, because since when were they gonna watch a movie and also more importantly, because he didn't have a substitute in. He was here last week. Okay. Okay, there's no way he just lost memory of the entirety of last week. He was definitely here, he also definitely graded all of the week's assignments that are sitting on a pile on his desk right now, ungraded.
Oh god, there's no way he hallucinated being here last week.
Instead of panicking in front of 30 children though, he just smiles and nods, scratches his head and shrugs.
"Yeah." He says, going with the flow of things because he's chill like that, very chill, very much not worried about his own memories right now. "Okay, well- I'll take suggestions and- hey! Guys, come on, hands, one at a time- no shouting, please."
Some of the kids start making noises. Noises that sound very puppy-like, Ryland honestly doesn't know how to respond except nod along in that moment.
Guess furries and the culture were making a comeback with the kids. Good for them. He just hopes they don't derail the class to ask him what his fursona would be, he has a feeling that would take at least the entire period to figure out.
His engineering friend used to say he had the energy of a fox.
It's the end of the school day that Ryland finally reaches his limit.
Mainly because the moment the bell rings, the kids are rushing out the door and Ryland realizes that he has to head home to figure out that exam key.
On the way out, he's pulling his bike helmet on his head and bending down to wrestle his bike lock. The damn thing is always janky, he's got to sweet talk it with his key at a certain angle for it to click open. Sometimes, he's gotta fight it for five whole minutes before he can get it open.
One day, he's sure it's gonna get stuck and he's gonna have to suck it up and take an Uber home. But, alas, until that day arrives, he's gonna keep sweet talking that lock.
Except, as he's muttering to himself and jiggling the key, there's a sound of a wolfwhistle behind him.
"Damn," Someone mutters, really close to him. Ryland's head jerks up in alarm, mainly because- who the hell is doing that right outside a school?
Except, the dude who's whistling isn't looking at some parent or something- actually-
He's…looking right at Ryland?
There's a moment of silence, Ryland is still hunched over, bent at the waist, eye level to his bike lock. The guy is staring back at him, his eyes are down. He's looking right at Ryland. Ryland looks over his shoulder. No other parent or teacher in sight.
Yeah, he's looking at Ryland.
So, just to be sure, he stands up and raises an eyebrow at the guy.
"Can I help you?" He asks the man, and the dude slides up closer. Okay, well that answers the question. His attention was clearly on Ryland.
"Yeah, uh-" The guy says, and leans in a bit close. Ryland squints at him, as the guy continues to talk, Ryland can feel his own face grow increasingly incredulous. "You just look so- you're a total babe. You know, you smell so good too."
First of all.
This is the first time a man has ever flirted with Ryland. It would almost be flattering if not for the fact that the man is saying the most unhinged thing ever.
"What." Ryland says, deadpan, jaw slack. If it could fall to the floor, it would be brushing the pavement right now.
"You smell amazing," The guy continues on, if this is how he flirts, he should really up his game because this was not working on Ryland. "Honestly, I'd love to tap that sweet Omega ass."
It's then that Ryland chokes on his spit because first of all, they're literally in front of a school. This is insane, also what the fudge ever, who says that to a stranger, and also- what even was an Omega?
"Excuse me?" He asks, genuinely taken back and then he shakes his head before he can stop himself. "Yeah, no thanks. You can get out of here."
Then, the guy's face grows dark and Ryland resists the urge to twitch.
"Uhm-" He starts, but he's abruptly cut off by the guy taking a step forward into his space.
"What? You think you're too good for me or something? Come on," The man says, and Ryland can barely keep up with the switch up.
"Now hold on a minute-" He stammers in return, his hands coming up as he leaned back.
"I just want your number, we can hang out somewhere, you know, or back to my-" The dude continues on, getting closer and closer, and jeez- was it just him, or was it smelling kinda weird? Like ozone-y, or something? Wow, it was actually getting really strong.
"Uh-" Ryland says again, dragging the sound out. He looks to his left, no one, to his right- also no one, save the last few kids funneling out of the door.
Where were the security guards when you needed them? Hello? Security? Anyone?
"I'm sure you're a- lovely guy," Ryland chokes out, while he smiles a bit beatifically and grips his helmet tighter. "I'm just- you know, I'm pretty busy, and I'm not really…all….that….interested."
The guy takes a deep breath, and Ryland prepares himself to get decked in the face, but they're abruptly cut off by a little, sweet voice.
"Mr. Grace?" Ryland peeks over the guy's shoulder.
"Abby," He says, she looks pretty mystified. He feels equally the same.
Ryland watches in real time, as her eyes slide over from him to the guy, then back to him, then to the guy again and narrows. Abby is short enough that she doesn't even reach halfway to his chest, but the kid comes marching up with her hands on her hips.
"What're you doing?" She asks the guy, who looks thrown off enough that he takes a step back.
"Listen, kid, it's not really any of your business-" The guy says and Ryland throws his hand up again.
"Okay, hey, calm down, man," Ryland said, stepping up to Abby and between them, but Abby ducks around him and proceeds to- holy heck!
The kid kicks the guy, right in the shins and then points a finger at him.
"Get the hell away from Mr. Grace!" She declares loudly, enough that heads start to turn, and now there's a crowd- okay, there's a big crowd, wow, that's a lot of kids. Oh my god.
"Hey, who do you think you are?" They start to clamor and Ryland's honestly feeling at a loss for words.
"Are you propositioning our teacher? Get away from him!" Someone else proceeds to yell, and then someone's kicking the guy again. In fact, they just nail him right between the legs. Ow. He honestly can't find it in himself to feel any sympathy though.
"Oh my god," Ryland says, his gaze already distant. He looks up at the sky, begging for help. Anyone, please. An adult who's more adult than him, please. It's really all he can say. "Oh my god."
What even was his life anymore?
An hour later, he's sitting in the principal's office. Abby, tucked in the chair in front of the desk, is doing her homework while she waits for her mom to come pick her up.
The principal, Andrew Higgs, is still outside. Ryland can hear him through the door, he's ranting.
"-allied a whole class of kids to beat a man up!" He goes on, ranting and ranting. The door to Principal Higgs' office is frosted. Through it, Ryland can see the movement of Principal Higgs throwing up his hands in the air.
Ryland smacks his lips and then looks over at Abby. She honestly doesn't look too remorseful for instigating a 30 kids vs. grown man beat down. The guy lost. Embarrassing for him, but Ryland was the only one in the vicinity to witness the scene and at least the kids didn't think to record them kicking the guy down in the nuts and posting it on TikTok.
"Abby, I appreciate you defending my honor, but please don't go around doing that again," He murmurs to her. She looks back up at him with wide eyes. "It could've been very dangerous to approach a stranger like that, okay? The school has security guards, if you ever see something like this happen, please go find them or another adult and call for help, okay?"
"But Mr. Grace," She starts, indignant. "That stupid knothead was trying to make a move on you."
Ryland has no idea what she means by knothead, it sounds like new slang. Probably another way to say asshole.
"Language," He says, and then hides a smile of amusement when she ducks her head and chirps back at him. That weird feeling is back in his throat. He clears it.
He can't help it, he reaches out and ruffles her hair.
"Thank you, okay, but I'm an adult, I can handle myself. I was more worried about him hurting you or anyone else. Don't go around doing that again, Abby. You can be a hero in other ways, find an adult if this ever happens again. That man shouldn't have approached me at school, yes, but…don't go picking fights with a stranger like that." He murmurs back at her.
There's a knock on the door, a woman peeks in, Abby's mom.
Ryland stands up, already apologetic as he approaches her.
Behind her, Principal Higgs steps back into his office. Ryland steps out, swapping places and sitting in the bench out in the main office while he listens to the muffled exchange inside.
Minutes later, Abby and her mom step out. Abby looks a bit more disgruntled and her mother, stressed.
As they pass him by, Ryland looks down at his shoelaces and sighs.
Then, the door to Principal Higgs' office opens again and the man is peeking out.
"Ryland," Higgs calls out to him, and Ryland stands up to meet him.
"Andrew," Ryland ducks back into his office and resists the urge to fidget like he's a student rather than the teacher. "Uh- I'm so sorry about this whole ordeal."
"Honestly," Higgs sighs at him. "All things considered, I'm just glad there was no video or anything. Would've been infinitely worse if it was posted online, and the man is fine. No lasting damage."
Then, he cocks his head and looks at Ryland more closely.
"But actually, I wanted to ask you if you were okay?" Higgs says, and Ryland squints at him.
"Me?" He asks, gesturing at himself. "I'm fine. I mean, only thing hurt is maybe my pride, but I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Higgs asks him, and this is when Ryland probably reaches his limit, his true limit. "I mean, I know we don't usually bring these things up, but still, an alpha approaching an omega like that? That man had no tact, and from the sound of it, he didn't want to take no for an answer."
"Yes!" Ryland says shortly, his tone a little snappish, because literally his own boss was in on this now too? What even on earth…"Yes, I'm fine. Actually- I'm more than fine, uh- if that's alright with you, I think I'm okay."
"Okay," Higgs nods back at him, and his tone is all soft, like Ryland is made of glass and stray breeze will shatter him apart into a thousand pieces of fiberglass. He doesn't even sound offended by how unprofessional Ryland is being. What is even happening? "Well if you ever need anything, just let us know, okay? Grover Cleveland won't let this happen to our teachers while lying down."
"Uhm, okay." Ryland only murmurs back, feeling a bit hysterical before he steps out of the office to rush out the door and bike home.
God, he was going crazy. It was official.
He's insane right now.
When he gets home, the first thing he does is lock his door, pull his helmet off and kick his shoes off.
The next thing he does is flop onto his couch, press his face into a cushion, glasses digging uncomfortably into his nose- and scream. The sound is muffled, his breath heats up the fabric of the cushion that's touching his lips.
He yells, lifts his head up and breathes in, puts his face down back into the cushion, and yells again.
Then he lifts his head and turns around.
"What is happening?" He asks himself, and Mr. Prickles. Is the world playing a prank on him right now?
Then, he pulls his phone out and unlocks it.
Okay, Google.
On Wikipedia, the word Omega, doesn't lead to a page about the Greek letter.
This is when Ryland starts to panic for real.