Chapter Text
CH. 1 | THE GUILT THAT WE CARRY.
Makeup did wonders.
Like covering the deep purple and sickly yellow bruises his boyfriend gave him whenever he did something wrong. Before leaving the house, he would gently dab a skin-toned concealer over the marks, his skin stinging as though it were on fire whenever he lightly grazed it, causing him to wince and bite his lip to keep from letting out a groan of pain.
He was never allowed to go out when the city was expecting rain. The water would wash away the makeup, exposing the abuse hidden beneath the perfect façade, and they couldn't risk that. Neither of them wanted strangers asking questions or digging deeper into their relationship—especially those who recognized the omega.
His face wasn't the only thing covered in bruises.
His body, from his shoulders all the way down to his thighs, was a goldmine for them. Dark, ugly welts, fleshy bite marks, faded nail scratches, and bruises from rough handling decorated his lean figure as though he were a canvas and his lover a very angry painter.
Every once in a while, shards of glass chipped from broken beer bottles met his pale skin, leaving behind bloody cuts equipped with a sting that no band-aid and antibiotics could heal.
Those were slightly easier to hide than the bruises on his face; he could simply throw on heavy clothing—a hoodie or a turtleneck—which concealed his injuries exceptionally well. Even during the warmer days, he dressed himself in thick, woolly long-sleeved clothes, despite how uncomfortable and itchy they were, and the suspicious looks they earned him.
Anything to make his lover happy.
Nico met his partner during his sophomore year of high school. His name was Bryce Lawrence; he was an alpha, who’d been shy of twenty-two around the time that they met—about six years older than the omega. It didn't take them long to begin dating after their first meeting.
An older alpha pursuing an underage omega should have been his first red flag, but Nico had been a naïve, reckless teenager still struggling with trauma that still hung him tightly from his neck. He'd thought he would know better after the last time, but apparently, he had been wrong—so very wrong.
°
They met at a bus stop.
That morning, Nico had gotten into a huge argument with his father, and in a blur of anger, stormed out of the house. He eventually ended up at the nearby bus stop, where he decided it would be a good idea to sit down and catch his breath before returning home to face his father's wrath.
It was the middle of December, right before Christmas. He was wearing a black skull T-shirt and ripped jeans, while his softly curled black hair brushed against his shoulders. His skin was a ghostly pale color, almost sickly, which wasn't unusual for him during the winter months.
He sat down on the bench, his head tilted back as he studied the sky, absentmindedly watching the snowflakes drift down from the gloomy clouds above. One landed on his button nose, cold against his flushed face.
It temporarily distracted him from his negative thoughts. His expression softened, if only a little.
Then, suddenly, a deep, masculine voice piped up.
“Rough morning?”
It startled Nico, catching him off guard and causing him to jerk his head toward the voice, nearly straining his neck in the process.
On the opposite end of the bench sat a tall, broad-shouldered alpha. The smile he flashed the teen was crooked with a hint of mischief. His eyes were a deep, swamp-green, framed by a mop of curly brown hair resting atop his uniquely carved head. His nose curved sharply, as though it had been broken, with a Band-Aid resting across the bridge.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized, leaning back in his seat carelessly.
Nico studied him cautiously before responding, trying to keep the conversation casual.
“Va bene. I just got into an argument with my papà. Came out here for some fresh air, I guess,” he said with a shrug. He didn’t like talking about his personal life all that much, especially with people he barely knew.
He lowered his head to stare at his feet, causing a few strands of his long, messy hair to fall across his forehead. Without warning, the man reached out and brushed them aside, catching the teen off guard.
His fingers were warm and unfamiliar against Nico’s cold skin, causing him to tense up at the sudden contact and instinctively pull away. Being an omega—especially a male omega, who made up a very small portion of the population—he'd dealt with plenty of unwanted touching from strange alphas on the streets, often followed by catcalls and suggestive remarks.
Yet he couldn't hold back the light blush that spread across his cheeks, his heart thumping in his chest.
The stranger pulled back and returned his gaze to the road with a smug smile.
“Ah, parents. I get it,” he said. “I don't have a good relationship with my father either. Hell, I barely even see him, let alone talk to the guy. Whenever we do, it always ends in an argument.”
As he spoke about his father, his smile twisted into a deep grimace.
“My papà and I usually get along fine,” Nico clarified hesitantly. “He's just... difficult sometimes. He always has these impossible expectations for me,” he continued, subconsciously rubbing his arm with the palm of his hand.
Great. Now he was acting like an awkward teenager—which he was.
But for the longest time, Nico had kept up the walls he'd taken so long to build to prevent himself from being taken advantage of again. So why were they crumbling now?
The man beside him clicked his tongue. His expression remained calm as he stared at the omega strangely, as though he were calculating his next move—studying his victim. It sent shivers down Nico's spine, a blush spreading across his cheeks.
They talked for a few more minutes. Bryce attempted to slip in a few flirty remarks, which Nico brushed off as simple friendliness.
The bus finally arrived, and the older man boarded it, finally leaving Nico alone with his thoughts, just as he'd originally wanted.
He quietly watched as the bus disappeared deeper into the city before leaning back against the bench and letting out a slow, exhausted sigh as he gathered the courage to head back home.
The alpha lingered in the back of his mind, even as he trudged home.
°
The second time he met Bryce was at his father's workplace.
The omega had to take a step outside, away from the lingering chatter of people, which was considerably difficult in a city like New York.
He had never been good at socializing. He’d once been a wild child, the annoying kid everyone dreaded babysitting.
That was until the death of his eldest sister, Bianca, the person who had practically raised him when his father never could. He had begun isolating himself in his grief and resorted to lashing out at others. It led him down a dangerous path of rebellion and recklessness, causing him to associate himself with awful people.
It was also the first time he turned to self-harm.
He remembered the feeling of fresh blood coating his wrists like watery paint, the silver blade responsible for the cuts still resting in the palm of his hand. He looked down at the scene with wide, tearful eyes, horrified by his actions but, at the same time, slightly relieved. The pain took his mind off the grief, if only temporarily.
He had only been eleven.
Nico preferred not to think about it. It brought back painful memories.
He leaned against the building, his hands tucked comfortably into his pockets, carefully resting his head against the wall. His eyes were closed and his lips slightly parted as he breathed deeply.
“Wasn't expecting to see you again so soon,” said a familiar voice.
Nico cracked one eye open. Next to him stood the same alpha from the bus stop, dressed in slightly fancier clothing. In one hand was a lit cigarette, its tip glowing with fading embers. He brought it to his chapped lips, his eyes never leaving the teenager even as he puffed out a cloud of dark smoke.
Now that they were standing next to each other, Nico could finally take in their height difference. Bryce was a few inches taller than the teenager—around 5'10”, if Nico had to guess. That wasn't all that uncommon; on average, alphas were slightly taller than omegas.
Nico was 5'4” and still growing.
“Oh, it's you,” Nico said before pausing. "What was your name again?"
The older man bit his lip. "Bryce. The name's Bryce," he answered. His gaze silently followed the omega's own to the cigarette he was holding, a smirk spreading across his face.
“Have you ever smoked before?” He asked.
“No,” Nico answered simply. He'd always been wary after years of lectures about the dangers of smoking and what it did to the body.
Bryce reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and handed it to the omega, who accepted it hesitantly. As Nico took the pack, their fingers briefly brushed, sending a wave of electricity down his spine.
Nico blushed while Bryce simply smiled.
He hated how his heart pounded whenever he glanced at the alpha. It felt like his own body was betraying him. He shook the thought away and instead focused on the pack of cigarettes in his hand.
The pack felt strange beneath his fingertips. Its rough texture reminded him of the dusty chalkboards from elementary school. After a moment of carefully inspecting it, he reached in and pulled out a cigarette, experimentally rolling the paper stick between his fingers.
Bryce handed him a lighter, and Nico quietly thanked him.
He swallowed nervously as he lit the cigarette and slowly brought it to his lips. It tasted bitter, like charcoal. He doubled over in a fit of coughing and sputtering, clutching his stomach as though he were hacking up his lungs.
“Dannazione! How do people use these with a straight face?” He rasped, glaring at the cancer stick.
Bryce burst out laughing, and Nico soon joined him with a quiet chuckle.
“You'll get used to it eventually,” the alpha said after finally calming down, wearing a wide smile that Nico couldn't help but return, though his was much smaller.
Nico rarely smiled. The only times he could remember wearing a genuine smile were when he was hanging out with his younger sister, Hazel. Most of the time, his face seemed frozen in a permanent frown.
The older man furrowed his brows and lifted his chin, taking a slow breath through his nose. His nostrils flared before he turned to Nico with dilated pupils.
The omega's breath hitched. His heart raced as realization hit him like a train.
Crap, was his heat due soon?
“I-”
Nico was abruptly cut off by a gruff voice he knew all too well. He quickly stomped out the cigarette, the burnt paper staining the sidewalk beneath his boot.
“Niccoló?” A man called, slowly stepping out of the building. He resembled Nico in most ways, but instead of soft, delicate-looking features, they were sharper with defined cheekbones.
His eyes were a soulless blackish color—they were actually a really dark brown. If you caught them in just the right lighting, you could see the elegant hues of brown and gold. They were tied to a piercing stare, one strong enough to cut through steel, but they softened when they caught a glimpse of the omega.
The alpha had luxurious dark hair that reached past his shoulders: a black, midnight color with shades of moonlight.
“Eccoti qui, figlio mio,” he said once he spotted the teenager. His gaze then shifted to Bryce, who still stood awkwardly beside the raven-haired boy.
“And who's this?” He asked in English; a faint growl colored his voice as he looked the man up and down warily. His father was complicated to say the least and rarely displayed the fact that he cared for his son, he neglected him for a good portion of his days.
“The name's Bryce Lawrence, sir. I'm a friend of your son,” Bryce introduced himself, extending a hand for a handshake and flashing a friendly smile.
“Yeah, yeah. Orcus's son.”
He brushed the younger alpha off with a scoff before turning to his son. “Nico, let's go.”
His tone was deep and heavy; serious. It made Nico flinch.
The omega silently watched as Bryce's smile slowly faded, twisting into something deeper. Whether it was because he'd been brushed off or because he'd been referred to only as his father's son, Nico didn't know—and he couldn't stay to find out with his father’s unwavering stare.
“I don't want you hanging around him, he's up to no good,” his father warned as they walked through the rich building, one of his hands resting in his pocket while the other adjusted the sunglasses perched atop his head. Their leather boots clicking against the pavement, aiding to the silence they shared.
Oh, how the omega wished he had listened.
Instead of accepting his father’s wisdom, Nico rolled his eyes followed by a groan, and crossed his arms over his chest, before responding—his irritation growing by the second. “I’m almost sixteen, dad. You can't keep dictating who I hang out with.”
The older man raised an eyebrow, before stopping in his tracks to address his son.
“Sono consapevole, figliolo. I'm just looking out for you.” His voice was gentler. He carefully reached down to tilt the omega’s chin up, forcing him to look into his eyes.
It was an innocent gesture, but it made something inside Nico snap, and he pushed the man away before taking a step back with his tiny fangs bared beneath his trembling lips.
“Why do you care about me now?!” He growled. “Why didn't you care about me after Mom and Bia died—quando avevo più bisogno di te?”
Tears were beginning to fall down his flushed cheeks, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He was always emotional before his heats and had a habit of growing aggression—his doctors said it was his body’s way of protecting itself after a traumatic event, which might also be the leading cause of his painful and irregular cycles.
People were staring now, but for once, Nico couldn't bring himself to care. Instead, he focused his final bar of energy on glaring at his father.
“Maybe if you had been there for me, I wouldn't have been taken advantage of when I was eleven.” He lowered his voice, bordering on a whisper.
Nico watched his father's throat bob as he swallowed hard, staring at the omega in stunned silence. Slowly, he reached out a hand.
“Nico.”
“Non. Don't even try.”
He took a step back; glaring at the outstretched hand as though it were a venomous snake ready to strike. Without a final word, he sprinted down the nearest hallway. Behind him, he heard his father calling out for him, but he didn’t dare look back.