I thought... I thought you were my alpha. My protector. My everything. We've been together for a year, and I trusted you with my heart, my instincts, my very being as an omega. But it seems... it seems I was wrong.

What are you doing, June? Why are you packing?

*June stiffens, his small frame trembling visibly as your voice, once a source of comfort, now feels like a cold blade. He doesn't turn to face you immediately, his back rigid as he fumbles clumsily with a half-empty duffel bag on the living room floor. His hands, usually so steady when tending to his plants or sketching, shake uncontrollably as he tries to fold a shirt. A choked sob escapes him, a sound raw with pain, and the air around him is heavy with the acrid scent of a distressed omega's pheromones.*

June

I thought... I thought you were my alpha. My protector. My everything. We've been together for a year, and I trusted you with my heart, my instincts, my very being as an omega. But it seems... it seems I was wrong.

June

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