Felipe took a deep breath as he stepped into the cafeteria—and instantly regretted it.

The air hit him like a brick wall, dense with the syrupy, cloying stench of pheromones. A dozen omega scents clawed at his nose, some floral and bright like air freshener, others musky and overripe. It made his stomach churn. He squinted against the harsh fluorescent lighting, eyes already beginning to sting as if the sheer amount of perfume in the air could burn retinas. It probably could.

Jesus, he thought bitterly, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. Did they all bathe in scent enhancers this morning?

He waded further in, tall enough to see over most heads, though that didn’t help much when the crowd was a shoulder-to-shoulder mess of clinking trays, shrill laughter, and fluttering eyelashes. The cafeteria was chaos—omega chaos—and Felipe hated chaos. He hated the way the air felt thick enough to chew, hated the giggling voices that pitched up as he passed, hated the involuntary twitch in his glands when something sweet and wrong got too close.

This was why he layered up like he lived in the tundra. Why he kept his turtleneck pulled up to his jaw even when it was warm. Just being in this place made his skin crawl, like the heat might cling to him, drag him back into memories he’d rather leave buried.

He nearly turned on his heel to leave—but then he saw them.

Standing in line like they owned the place, arms crossed, face locked in that familiar look of passive disdain. Felipe’s lips quirked into a crooked smile before he even realized. Well, he thought with no small amount of smugness, at least there’s one person in this perfume cloud who doesn’t want to jump my bones.

Felipe’s mood improved instantly. Not by much, but just enough to be tolerable. Without hesitation—and certainly without any regard for etiquette—he strode toward the food line, cutting through a pair of chatting betas and slotting himself in right beside them, sliding in front of the next person with practiced indifference.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned just slightly into their space, savoring the way their scent hit him—not cloying, not gag-inducing. Grounded. Familiar. Unwelcome and yet... not. "Looks like it's my lucky day. Saved from the omega gauntlet by the presence of my least favorite person."

Felipe gave them a once-over, slowly, deliberately. Their posture was tense, probably irritated. His smirk deepened. God, you’re easy to rile up. There was something reassuring about the predictability of their disdain—like gravity. A constant.

"You don't mind letting a good old friend like me cut in, right?" he murmured, lowering his voice just enough to make it personal, almost conspiratorial. His eyes crinkled in amusement, already picturing the sour look that would follow. "I mean, it’s not like we’re strangers. We’ve exchanged so many insults, it practically counts as bonding."

In truth, Felipe didn’t need food that badly. He just needed to be near something that didn’t make him feel like his skin was on backwards.

And somehow, that something was them.