Jackson lowered his gaze, gave a quiet "Mm," and accepted the small paper cup from Enola, taking a sip. The warmth of the soup was soothing, easing both his discomfort and the dull ache in his glands.
"It's very good," Jackson said simply, to which Enola's eyes brightened, inwardly celebrating as he noticed the favorability score reach 20.
He didn't notice the surprised look on the assistant's face in the front seat.
The car moved swiftly and smoothly, and when they reached the apartment complex, the driver took them directly to the underground parking lot. As Enola stepped out, he was surprised to see Jackson getting out as well.
"Do you live here too?" Enola asked.
Jackson nodded.
The assistant handed Jackson a few contracts, bid him farewell, and then gave Enola a quick wave. "Goodbye, Mr. Enola."
"Goodbye. Take care on your way back," Enola replied.
During the ride, Enola had casually chatted with the assistant, learning his name. As the assistant left, he couldn't help but glance back at Enola and Jackson, who somehow looked strangely well-matched standing side by side. This coincidence, he thought, seemed almost orchestrated. But considering that Mr. Enola was a married omega with a ring on his finger, it was likely just that—a coincidence. And besides, Mr. Enola was so kind-hearted and gentle, anyone who interacted with him would surely end up liking him.
Enola watched the car drive away, then turned to enter the elevator with Jackson. After pressing the button for the 25th floor, he looked over. "Which floor are you on?"
"Twenty-six."
Enola's eyes widened for a moment, then he smiled. "What a coincidence."
Just as he spoke, there was a loud "clang," followed by a jolt as the elevator suddenly stopped.
Enola steadied himself against the wall, looking anxiously at the now inactive buttons. He glanced at Jackson. "The elevator… I think it's broken."
He checked his phone, finding no signal, and scanned the elevator, noting, "I think there's an emergency call button."
Jackson, calm as ever, frowned slightly as the elevator halted. Following Enola's gaze, he reached for the button, which was positioned high for Enola, and pressed it. The button turned green, and after about thirty seconds, a voice came through the intercom, "We apologize for the inconvenience. Our maintenance team has already contacted the fire department, and the elevator should be open in approximately thirty minutes."
Hearing the estimated time, Enola sighed in relief, "Good, at least it's not too long."
As he turned back to Jackson, Enola noticed something unusual. Jackson's face was pale, his lips pressed tightly together, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, though his neck was flushed red.
"Are you alright?" Enola asked, concerned. "You don't look well."
Jackson seemed to snap back to himself, taking a deep breath and massaging his temples as he replied, though his voice was strained. "I'm fine."
He had a mild case of claustrophobia, not typically severe, but combined with his irritated glands and the confined space, he was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed.
Enola watched him closely, noting that Jackson's condition seemed to worsen, his breathing quickening and his brows furrowing in discomfort.
"Maybe you should sit down and rest for a bit. They said it's only about twenty more minutes," Enola suggested softly.
Jackson intended to refuse, but strangely, whenever Enola came closer, the burning sensation at the back of his neck intensified. He leaned back against the wall, slowly sliding down to the floor, pressing his fingers to his temples to resist the primal urge his alpha instincts were bringing out.
His susceptibility period had come early.
Dazed, with a parched throat, he found himself craving the scent and comfort of an omega's pheromones. This was the side of his alpha nature he often loathed, a nearly animalistic impulse that left him frustrated and tense.
His half-closed eyes caught sight of the beta's hand gently reaching out toward his forehead. Normally, Jackson despised being touched by others, and he raised a hand to brush it off.
"Don't move."
But, perhaps because of his susceptibility period, his movements were slower than usual, and Enola's cool hand had already touched his forehead. The contact was as gentle and soothing as Enola himself, carrying his distinct, delicate rose scent.
Jackson paused, realizing the burn at the back of his neck seemed to intensify, and he even found himself craving that jasmine-like fragrance that lingered around Enola.
Abruptly, he pushed Enola's hand away, his tone icy. "Stay back."
Enola seemed a bit flustered, biting his lip before apologizing softly, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to check if you had a fever."
Jackson could see the faint red mark on Enola's hand, where he'd pushed him away, and the embarrassed way his fingers were now clenched. Even with Jackson's sharp rejection, Enola maintained his gentle, good-natured expression. Despite his strikingly beautiful appearance, he was surprisingly considerate and careful.
An odd thought popped into Jackson's mind—easy to push around, like a soft little bun.
Immediately, he frowned, annoyed with himself for even entertaining such an idea. He murmured, "It's not a fever. It's my susceptibility period."
Susceptibility period…
Enola's ears turned red, and he glanced down as he recognized the scent of sandalwood growing stronger, filling the small elevator. So, it was his susceptibility period—no wonder he had been so averse to being touched.
But what a coincidence.
Enola took a few steps back, quietly waiting for the rescue team to arrive. However, after only ten minutes, Jackson's condition deteriorated further; his face paled, his brow furrowing as veins stood out on his forehead, and faint traces of blood seeped from his clenched fist.
"Sir?" Enola called softly.
Jackson forced himself to focus on the voice, lifting his gaze to see Enola kneeling in front of him, his beautiful face filled with worry.
"Sir, if you don't get some relief during your susceptibility period, it could damage your glands," Enola murmured. "I can help you."
Gland damage could lead to insanity for both alphas and omegas. The only options were an inhibitor or an omega's pheromones.
Jackson's voice was hoarse. "Do you have an inhibitor?"
Enola hesitated, reaching to the back of his neck. A rich, rose fragrance gradually filled the space, intertwining with Jackson's sandalwood scent.
"You're… an omega?" Jackson asked, momentarily surprised.
Seeing the usually composed Jackson slightly dazed, Enola smiled gently, his tension easing. "Yes."
Enola moved a bit closer, brushing his hair aside to reveal the delicate curve of his neck.
From the corner of his eye, Jackson noticed the fair, soft skin on the back of Enola's neck, where a small, faintly blushed spot seemed to invite his touch.
Jackson quickly looked away, frowning as he heard Enola ask with a slight smile, "Do I not look like one?"
Look like what…?
An omega?
Jackson thought about it. Enola didn't resemble the spoiled, coddled image usually associated with omegas. Instead, he was gentle, considerate, and had a naturally calming demeanor. Plus, his tall, slender figure and refined features defied the stereotypically "cute" look of most omegas.
"Not really," Jackson replied.
The mingling of their scents provided some relief to Jackson's susceptibility period, but there was a peculiar chemistry between the two pheromones that caused him to frown again, as though something wasn't quite right.
He looked up at Enola, who seemed flustered, his face slightly flushed, and ears red as he gazed downward in silence.
"How are you feeling?" Jackson asked.
Startled by the question, Enola lifted his head, his eyes rimmed red, lips parted slightly. "Huh? I-I'm… I feel a bit warm."
Jackson's expression became somewhat unreadable. "You're… in heat."
"…"
The atmosphere in the elevator grew tense and oddly charged.
An alpha in susceptibility and an omega in heat together—it could only lead to intimacy, comfort, or even marking.
"I…" Enola stood up, quickly pressing the emergency button again. After a pause, the voice returned, "Hello, we apologize—"
A bit dizzy, Enola only vaguely registered that an emergency had caused a delay in the rescue. Leaning against the elevator wall, he tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, but the confined air was thick with sandalwood and rose. The scent, for him, was nearly incendiary.
His knees went weak, and he stumbled slightly with a soft "Ah."
Instead of hitting the ground, he found himself in Jackson's firm grip.
"Are you alright?" Jackson's deep, resonant voice sounded close to his ear. Enola blinked, lifting his gaze, his red-tinted eyes meeting Jackson's as he whispered, "Sir, I… I'm not in the best condition myself. I might make things harder for you, so please… keep your distance."
Remembering Jackson's earlier warning, Enola tried to keep his distance, though his own state was worsening. His neck was flushed, his eyelids heavy as he leaned back, still managing a polite, apologetic smile. "Sorry for being so much trouble."
Jackson watched him, oddly reminded of Enola's earlier words about how an alpha could suffer gland damage from a susceptibility period. The same was true for omegas, and potentially worse.
Just as Jackson was about to say something, Enola pulled out an omega inhibitor patch from his pocket, tearing it open and preparing to apply it. "This should cover the pheromones for a bit."
"Your susceptibility has just stabilized; if my scent disrupts it, that wouldn't be good," he murmured.
But the patch would only worsen Enola's heat.
Expressionless, Jackson took the patch from him. "Hmm?" Enola blinked, watching as Jackson took a pen from his briefcase, pricking his thumb until a drop of pheromone-laden blood seeped out.
Raising his hand toward Enola, Jackson said, "No need to thank me. Consider it repayment for the soup."