BANG.
The door slammed open with a theatrical crack, and the quiet spell shattered like glass.
Aviv stepped in like he owned the place, and maybe, in some glittering, parallel universe, he did. All long lines and purposeful elegance, he moved with the practised ease of someone who had always been too loud to disappear, too magnetic to ignore.
He was unmistakably late. But there was no shame in his stride, only a warm grin that curled across his lips like it had been painted there by charm itself.
He wore black from throat to toe, but there was nothing simple about it.
The draped silk of his shirt clung to him like a whisper, folding open at the chest in a soft plunge that revealed a delicate gold necklace. Its pendant caught the overhead lights as he moved. His trousers were sharply tailored, cinched at the waist with a crocodile leather belt, the gold buckle gleaming like a statement. They swept down to polished shoes that didn't even bother to scuff.
He brought with him the scent of expensive cologne and wind-swept summer, subtle but teasing, a hint of florals beneath a warm, spiced base.
The finishing touch was the collar. A custom Omega model, inlaid with fine diamonds. It gleamed at his throat like a dare. Aside from that and his leaner build and long-legged grace, there was little else that marked him clearly as Omega. His presence crackles; it is imposing and electric like a wolf wrapped in silk.
He might be an Omega, yes, but he carried himself with Alpha confidence.
"Oh boy, sorry for being late. Traffic is insane at this time," Aviv said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh as he slipped into a vacant seat. His eyes sparkled as he greeted the people around him, bright as lightning, as if he were here to pierce the storm.
"Welcome, Aviv," Trudy said, a fond lilt in her voice. "Don't worry, I never expect you to be on time anymore."
Aviv flushed instantly, red blooming high on his cheeks. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered, ducking his head like a guilty schoolboy.
"Just teasing, hun." She winked. "Anyway, let's move on to the sharing portion. How about you start for us, Viv?"
"Um... okay." He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. "Hi, I'm Aviv. Viv. Or simply V." His eyes landed on Acheron and lingered, a polite introduction. "My drug of choice was any hallucinogen." A beat of silence. "I'm currently two and a half years sober."
The room burst into applause, warm and genuine.
"Thank you," Aviv said, grinning through it. "Anyway, I'm working on a composition for my final recital at the end of the year, which is either going to be a triumph or the death of me." He gave a theatrical sigh before continuing with more exasperation than despair. "My parents also set me up on two blind dates. Both were complete disasters."
A few people laughed, the kind of knowing, tired laughter that came with experience.
"Your standards are just too high," someone called out, an Alpha sitting across the circle, 80% joking and 20% still upset from being rejected one too many times.
Aviv didn't even flinch. He just snorted and offered a lazy smirk in return.
"I hope the composition goes well," Trudy said, gently steering the conversation back with a practised ease. "Maybe you'll share it with us when it's ready."
"Only if you clap louder than that," Aviv teased, twirling the lollipop he'd picked up like a baton between his fingers.
The group chuckled again. Something they seem to do often around Aviv.
The next few minutes passed with quiet, murmur of stories, updates and confessions stitched together by the thread of shared survival.
A teenage girl spoke next. She looked no older than sixteen, her Omega scent faint under layers of deodorant and her government-issued collar. Her hands trembled slightly as she held her knees, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It started with a few classmates passing around pills," she said. "They said it would help with concentration for studying. Everyone was doing it. I'd just failed two mock exams and thought… maybe it'd help." She paused, swallowing hard. "I didn't know how addictive they were. Not really. I thought I could stop whenever I wanted."
Her fingers twisted in the hem of her sweatshirt. "I'm lucky. My parents noticed early. They helped me… before it got worse."
The group offered a wave of nods, murmurs of support. No one judged her, not here.
After her, an older Alpha stood with effort. He was thin in a way that didn't speak of choice, his cheeks sunken, beard overgrown and patchy; he had stopped caring weeks ago. His hands shook as he clutched a paper cup, water sloshing with each tremble.
His voice cracked with his first words. "I uh… I relapsed."
Silence descended like a shroud. His next breath came out as a sob.
"My Omega took the kids," he choked out. "Left yesterday. I don't blame him. I...I never helped. Not really. Didn't contribute to the bills. Didn't help with homework. I was just there. Always just taking."
His sobbing deepened, spilling over uncontrollably. "I depended on him for everything. I thought...I thought he'd always forgive me."
He rocked slightly, hands covering his face, his entire body wrecked with grief. "I'll do better," he gasped between hiccups. "I swear, I'll become a better Alpha. I just...I want them back. I want them to come home."
The two people beside him, both older Betas, gently patted his back, their faces turned down. They offered no words. They didn't need to; they had lost family, too.
Trudy let him cry. The room held its breath, heavy with mourning. When the Alpha finally quieted, Trudy leaned forward.
"Thank you for being brave enough to share," she said softly. "That pain you're feeling… that's real. You're still here, and that means you still have a chance."
Those words felt weightless in the silence that followed. Words couldn't fill the space left by a family that had walked away. Words didn't always reach the shattered parts. No one else moved. No one else spoke. It seemed like everyone who needed to had already found their voice.
"Hi."
The single word was soft. Almost too soft to be noticed, it broke the silence like a ripple on glass. Acheron hadn't meant to speak. He startled himself with the sound of his own voice.
"Hi," he repeated, a little louder. "I'm Acheron. Or Eron, if that's easier."
All eyes shifted toward him, but he didn't look up. His gaze stayed locked on his hands, clenched together in his lap, pale and tense.
"My drug of choice is… um… heroin."
A sharp breath hissed in from someone across the room, quiet but unmistakable. Such a hard drug. Such a young face.
Trudy didn't miss a beat. Her eyes flicked toward the source of the sound, silencing any reaction with a single, level glance. The air settled again.
"I started using it in high school, with a group of friends." Acheron continued. "It wasn't peer pressure or anything like that. I just… I don't know. I guess I was bored."
He hated how stupid it sounded, how small that reason felt next to everyone else's tragedies, but it was the truth. Now that the words had started, they wouldn't stop.
"I thought it would be something fun. Something temporary, then it stopped being fun. But I couldn't stop."He inhaled through his nose, voice tightening.
"I've been clean for two months and a week." A pause. "But… I'm struggling." The last word came out raw, like the edge of a blade. It hung in the air, suspended in the weight of honesty. For a moment, no one said anything. No one needed to.
Because the struggle was a language that everyone here spoke fluently.
Trudy's expression softened. She didn't smile, but her eyes glimmered with quiet pride, the kind reserved for those who dared to speak when it was hardest.
"Thank you, Acheron," she said gently, her voice a steady balm in the thick air. "That kind of honesty takes courage. Especially when you feel like your reasons don't 'measure up' to everyone else's."
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady on him. "But addiction doesn't care why it starts. It doesn't need a grand tragedy or a dramatic spiral. Sometimes, it's as simple as a moment. A single decision. One that snowballs before you even realise what's happening."
A few people nodded while others shifted, quietly moved.
"That struggling," she continued, "means you're still here. Still fighting. That's not weakness, Acheron. That's the work. Recovery isn't a straight line; it's jagged and messy, and sometimes it hurts like hell."
A breath passed. She let the moment pass.
"But you spoke. You showed up, and for today, that's enough."
She gave a small, affirming nod, then looked around the room. "Anyone else want to echo that?"
A low chorus of "Thanks for sharing, Acheron," moved around the room, soft and genuine. One or two people clapped quietly.
Trudy stood up from her seat, the rustle of her skirt the only sound in the silent room. Her steps were soft but purposeful as she crossed the space toward Acheron. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, but surprisingly weighty, chip. Gold print glinted beneath the overhead lights—The First Step.
She placed it gently in his palm, curling his fingers around it like it was something precious. Her other hand came up to rub his back, slow and steady.
"I'm proud of you," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.
Eron didn't know what to say. The chip felt heavier than it should, like it held all the weight of his pain and the hope pressing against it. He swallowed hard.
Trudy gave him one last pat and turned back to the group. "That will be all for today," she said, voice smooth but warm. "Travel safely, everyone."
With that, Eron's first DAA meeting came to an end, along with the beginning of something new. His first real step toward healing.
After the meeting, Aviv had insisted on a detour, one that led them to a small, cosy coffee shop nestled right next to the rented hall that hosted their meetings. The windows were steamed slightly from the afternoon rush, casting a haze across the rows of pastries behind the glass counter. Inside, the scent of fresh-ground beans mingled with cinnamon and vanilla.
They sat at a corner table, half-shielded from view by a tall bookshelf stuffed with mismatched novels and board games. Acheron cupped a cinnamon cappuccino between both hands, the lingering warmth seeping into his palms.
"I love the Lollipop," Aviv said, his voice lilting with fondness, "but their coffee is just dreadful." He sipped from a sugar-loaded creation topped with whipped cream and too many sprinkles. His ice-blue eyes narrowed, utterly pleased with himself, before flicking back to Acheron with purpose.
"Trudy assigned me to be your sponsor," he said, no hesitation, no awkward shuffle. "But I wanted to ask if you're okay with that. If you're willing."
Acheron blinked at him, a little surprised. The question felt oddly respectful, even intimate. He nodded slowly, a small smile playing on his lips.
Aviv leaned in slightly, a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. "There are a few reasons I think I'd be good for you, but one of the best is that we're the only two male Omegas in the group. We gotta stick together."
Acheron giggled. "We minorities should stay united."
Their laughter was soft, but it lightened the air. Eron clutched his coffee closer, letting the warmth anchor him in this strange, unfamiliar peace.
Aviv reached into his sleek black shoulder bag and pulled out a chunky notebook, more like a diary, stuffed with colour-coded chaos. The pages were filled with scribbles, stickers, post-its, and entire paragraphs written in wildly different inks. It looked alive.
"Here is my number. Call me whenever for whatever. We do live quite a distance from each other. This will cause us to not be able to meet up often, but once a week is mandatory."
He dug into the bag again, pulling out a rainbow bouquet of pens and highlighters.
"I'm pretty horrible with phones and tech, so I use this. It's how I stay sane," Aviv said, flipping to the current week and then onto the next. "My schedule's chaotic. I'm still a student, so every week is different. Of course, I'll work around your schedule too. And when we meet at Lollipop, we'll grab coffee like a little ritual. Is that okay?"
"Yeah," Acheron nodded, voice steady. "All good with me. You're really organised."
Aviv chuckled. "I grew up with terrifyingly punctual parents. You'd think that would've rubbed off, but..." he gestured to himself, dramatically sipping from his sugar bomb. "It's the one thing they failed to instil."
Despite the comment, his affection for them shone through. Even under the weight of rules, his upbringing hadn't broken something soft inside him.
They scheduled their next meet-up in vivid green ink. Aviv floated the idea of an activity and debated between a hike and an escape room. Acheron, with a snort and no hesitation, chose the escape room. Physical activity was not his style, despite being surprisingly good at it.
"I am not going into nature unless nature comes with Wi-Fi and indoor plumbing," he joked.
Aviv howled. "Come on, fresh air is good for you." He laughed at Eron's expression but didn't press further.
Eventually, Aviv had to dash, already late for another appointment, judging by the way he leapt up and slung his bag over one shoulder with practised grace.
"I'll text you!" he called over his shoulder, voice trailing out the door.
That left Acheron alone, seated by the window. He checked his phone; his mother had messaged back that they were still fifteen minutes away.
Enough time to enjoy the peace, he leaned back in his chair, cradling the coffee as it cooled in his hands, still comforting. His eyes dropped to the chip still resting on the edge of the table. Picking it up, he turned it over between his fingers, tracing the engraved letters like they might vanish if he blinked.
The First Step.
A swell began to rise in his chest, slow but steady. Strange and new and almost frightening.
But he let it come.
It wasn't joy. Not quite.
It was more like pride.