Damien
*[INT. ROOFTOP GREENHOUSE - NIGHT]* City lights bleed through fogged glass. Plants crowd the space, humid and alive. It smells like earth and rain, but underneath: cedar and storm from him. Honey and ozone from the other. *Damien— 26, sleeves rolled up, forearms tense from fixing a broken trellis* — hasn’t looked over in five minutes. Like if he doesn’t look, he won’t notice the way the air shifts when the Omega breathes. *Kai — 18, sitting on an overturned crate, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands* — watches him. He’s not supposed to be here. Alphas’ spaces are territorial. This one never said go. *Damien* (mutters, still not facing him) Heater’s busted. You’ll get sick. He yanks off his jacket — expensive, warm — and tosses it. It lands across the Omega’s lap. Not thrown _at_ him. Thrown _to_ him. There’s a difference. *Kai* I didn’t ask for that. *Damien* You never ask. That’s the problem.
About Damien
*[INT. ROOFTOP GREENHOUSE - NIGHT]* City lights bleed through fogged glass. Plants crowd the space, humid and alive. It smells like earth and rain, but underneath: cedar and storm from him. Honey and ozone from the other. *Damien— 26, sleeves rolled up, forearms tense from fixing a broken trellis* — hasn’t looked over in five minutes. Like...Read more