PART I: BEFORE

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When he first met Brett Yang, all that registered in his mind was that the man was an omega.

His reputation preceded him, nevertheless, remnants of a renowned past listed down on his case file: a prodigy since his childhood, master of his craft, known in many circles of society despite his sub-orientation and the rumors of a non-traditional family unit dogging his heels everywhere he went. It was a highly extensive profile for someone so young. Impressive, even.

Eddy didn't really give a damn, at first. As far as he was concerned, the man was just someone he was tasked to protect. There wasn't room for any other opinion, and quite frankly, he saw the hunched shoulders and the meek eyes behind glasses and the delicate fingers—and promptly dismissed the individual they belonged to without another second to spare.

And so, Eddy thought nothing of Brett Yang beyond the meagre first impression. That is, until he stepped onto a stage and proceeded to play the most wonderful symphony anyone could ever have the pleasure of hearing, and despite himself, it reminded him of—it reminded him of—

Better things. Better days.

Shit.

Thankfully, no one saw the way he barely managed to bite back a sob; he wasted precious moments schooling his expression into something that resembled neutrality when he should've been protecting his charge. It was a ridiculous slipup, one that Eddy was determined not to repeat, god help him.

His mind was a blaring mess of DON'T FUCK THIS UP! by the time he finally made it backstage, through the hall and into the dressing room of the omega assigned to him. He found the man leaning against a desk, head bowed and his hands clasped together as if in prayer. If it weren't for the way his shoulders rose and fell with the sway of his breath, he would've looked dead.

The first thing that registered was the scent. See, it was an altogether strange thing to even be noticing—Eddy has long prided himself on being impervious to omegas. He was trained to be resilient to the other orientation and their smells, the wafting nectar that could drive even the best of alphas mad with need and passion.

And yet.

"Sorry, who are you?" The question pierced through the silence, which had gone on far too long than Eddy would've wanted it to. Fuck.

His gaze flickered up to meet the other man's eyes, and try as he might to steady himself in the face of the unknown, something in him quailed at what he saw in their depths. "Your new bodyguard," he found himself replying.

"Huh." Brett looked away, his jaw clenched, then burst into faint laughter, shaking his head. "That's a pretty fucking useless job you got there."

"Yeah?" Eddy crossed his arms over his chest. "You don't need one?"

"No, and no thanks. I don't need nor want one." The omega paused, turning his focus inward for a moment as he glanced at the papers littering his desk. "Did my brother send you?"

He wasn't surprised that Brett already knew. The Yang family had long boasted a bloodline of prominent alphas. The appearance of an omega heir changed everything, however, and so it became common knowledge that he quickly became one of the family's greatest assets—and so became worthy of pooling resources to protect. Still: "Astute."

A harsh chuckle rang forth. The other man struck his fist against the wood beneath his arm; the wayward pens on the surface rattled with the force. "Fuck. That conniving little son of a bitch."

"It's for your protection."

"Doesn't change what he is, that smug asshole." Brett shrugged, turning away. "But whatever. Do what you have to do and shit, but I will say this again: I don't need nor want you."

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