"Mhmm." Neville’s head drooped against Grayson’s shoulder. "S’fine. Has a bed. Bathroom works."

"That’s not..." Grayson trailed off and decided not to ask the drunken person.

Grayson already expected that since Neville was an orphan and had just started earning his wage, he would have a lot of items in his house. But taking a sweeping gaze at the items in this place, it didn’t seem to be like any he had seen on the market. Some were a newer version of something he only saw in the antique shops.

Who was Neville really?

Grayson crossed to the bed in large strides and lowered Neville onto the bed carefully. Neville groaned at the sudden cold wind after Grayson let him go. His head started pounding; the pleasant pheromones were thinning out.

"Easy," Grayson murmured. His hand lingered on Neville’s shoulder, steadying him. "Let me get your shoes."

Neville made a vague noise of protest, but Grayson was already kneeling—actually kneeling—to untie his work shoes.

Vaguely seeing Grayson’s current position, Neville felt it was absurd and quickly said, "You don’t have to."

Grayson had already set the shoes aside neatly and straightened. "Do you want anything else?"

"No—"

Another pause, there was a long silence this time.

Before Neville could say anything, Grayson grabbed the coat that had slipped off Neville earlier. Before he could even take it, Neville hurriedly grabbed his hand—in the end, he only managed to grab Grayson’s wrist because of dizziness.

"Don’t take that," Neville mumbled. "Tomorrow. Give it to you, after I wash it."

Grayson something complicated crossed his face, but still nodded, "Okay."

Neville seemed to have caught that complicated expression on his face and wanted to retort.

He didn’t need charity or pity; if he didn’t want to leave his coat to him, then don’t! He didn’t need to make that kind of expression!

But his tongue felt thick in his mouth, and his eyes were getting heavier by the second. In the end, all he could manage was to glare at Grayson. But the bed called to him with the irresistible pull of alcohol and exhaustion.

He let himself sink into the mattress, curling on his side. Grayson grabbed the blanket to cover him fully since the coat couldn’t. But the coat slipped off his shoulders, and Neville had to tug it back up with clumsy fingers.

"Neville."

He cracked one eye open. From this angle, drunk and horizontal, Grayson looked almost otherworldly—too perfect, too beautiful to be entirely human.

"Sleep well," Grayson said softly. "I’ll see you Monday."

"Mmkay." Neville’s eyes drifted shut again.

Footsteps retreated toward the door. Neville heard it fading away, then his alcohol-soaked brain caught up with the situation.

Grayson was leaving. He was walking out the door.

His body moved before he could stop himself. Neville sat up—too fast, making his head spin—and lunged across the small space between bed and Grayson.

"Wait—"

His hand shot out, fingers closing around Grayson’s wrist. Grayson turned, and surprise was clearly written on his face. Neville used that momentum to tug him back.

Right back onto the bed.

"Neville, what—"

Grayson caught himself on his forearms, hovering over Neville to avoid crushing him, silver eyes gone wide with shock.

Up close, Neville could see everything. Grayson looked good. Unfairly good. And he was right there, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from Grayson’s skin, could smell his concentrated fresh water pheromones.

Grayson’s gaze dropped to Neville’s face, then lower. His pupils dilated, and Neville watched his throat work as he swallowed hard.

"You’re drunk," Grayson said, but his voice had gone rough. "You don’t know what you’re doing." 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Neville probably didn’t. The alcohol affected his brain functions, leaving only instinct and impulsiveness. He could feel sweat beading on his temples, could feel the flush burning across his cheeks. His ocean pheromones leaked out unbidden, filling the small space with the scent of deep water and salt air.

Grayson’s pupils blew wider, "I should go."

But Grayson didn’t move; Neville’s pheromones were preventing him from doing so. He stayed frozen there, poised above Neville, helpless against morals and desires.

"You’ll regret this," Grayson said in a low, deep voice.

"Maybe." Neville reached up and cupped Grayson’s face between both palms.

"But right now, I don’t care."

He pulled Grayson down.

Their lips met, and time seemed to slow down.

For a heartbeat, Grayson held still. Then he gave in.

Neville’s technique was terrible, unpracticed, and clumsy, but Grayson groaned against his mouth like he had just tasted something divine.

He knew he was making another mistake, but every single time, he couldn’t reject Neville’s advances.

His hand came up to cradle the back of Neville’s head, fingers threading through hazel-brown hair, and he kissed back deep. He angled Neville’s head for better access, deepened the kiss, and swept his tongue along the seam of Neville’s lips in a silent request for entry.

Neville opened for him without thinking. The taste of Grayson’s pheromones flooded his senses with an undercurrent of something wilder.

He couldn’t think of anything except the weight of Grayson above him, the slide of his lips, the clever stroke of his tongue. Heat pooled low, drenching his behind, a natural reaction for omegas that he had never experienced before. The inexplicable desire and attraction that he had been ignoring suddenly roared to life.

Grayson pulled back first, breathing hard. His eyes had gone molten, his usual careful control cracking at the edges.

"Neville—"

"Shh." Neville pressed a finger to his lips, giggling. When had he started giggling? "S’okay. Everything’s okay."

"You’re going to forget me tomorrow," Grayson said with a bitter smile.

"Probably." Neville’s eyes were already drifting shut again, exhaustion and alcohol catching up with him in a rush. "But ’s’fine."

A startled laugh escaped Grayson, warm and genuine. "It’s fine?"

"Mhmm. ’s’okay. You’re pretty. Very pretty. Stupidly pretty." Neville yawned hugely, not bothering to cover his mouth.

"Neville—"

"Nighty~"

And just like that, Neville drifted into a deep sleep. His hands fell away from Grayson’s face, landing limply on the mattress. His breathing evened out, deep and slow.

Grayson stared down at him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his expression. Then, very carefully, he extracted himself from the bed and stood up.

He pulled the thin blanket up over Neville’s sleeping form, then added his coat on top for extra warmth. His fingers lingered on the edge of the fabric, and he shook his head with a soft, incredulous laugh.

"What am I doing?" he murmured to the empty room.