Chapter 7: A Break in the Armor

The day of the fundraiser was in full swing, and the academy's garden had been transformed into a hub of activity. Volunteers bustled about, setting up booths, arranging tables, and preparing for the influx of visitors that would arrive later in the afternoon. Dorian moved through the crowd, clipboard in hand, his eyes scanning every corner of the event with sharp focus.

So far, things were running smoothly. The booths were coming together, the decorations were in place, and the volunteers were working efficiently. But Dorian couldn't shake the nagging sense of unease that always came with being in charge. There were still hours to go before the event officially began, and anything could happen between now and then.

He approached the section of the garden where the food booths were being set up. Rhys had volunteered to oversee this area, and despite Dorian's skepticism, he had to admit that the Omega had done a decent job so far. The tables were neatly arranged, and the volunteers under Rhys' direction seemed to be working well together.

Still, Dorian needed to see it for himself.

As he approached, he spotted Rhys leaning casually against one of the booths, talking to a group of students who were busy setting up food trays. Rhys' signature easy grin was in place, and he looked completely at ease, as though he didn't have a care in the world.

Dorian quickened his pace, his gaze sharp as he closed the distance between them. "How's everything going here?"

Rhys turned at the sound of Dorian's voice, his smile widening in that familiar, teasing way. "Smooth as butter, President. See? Told you I had it handled."

Dorian's eyes flicked over the setup, scanning the tables and decorations for any sign of disarray. Much to his annoyance, everything seemed perfectly in place. He had been expecting to find at least one thing out of order, but Rhys had proven him wrong.

Not that Dorian was ready to admit it.

"I'll be the judge of that," Dorian muttered, his tone clipped as he glanced back at Rhys.

Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Dorian's insistence on control. "You don't trust me, do you?"

Dorian didn't answer right away. It wasn't just about trust—at least, that's what he told himself. He was used to handling things on his own, used to being the one in charge. Trusting someone like Rhys, someone so unpredictable, felt like handing over control, and that was something Dorian wasn't comfortable with.

Before Dorian could respond, Rhys suddenly reached out toward him.

"Hold still," Rhys said casually, his fingers brushing lightly against Dorian's temple.

Dorian froze, his entire body going rigid as Rhys' hand touched his hair. The Omega's fingers were surprisingly gentle as he tucked a loose strand of Dorian's hair back into place, fixing it with a small, satisfied smile.

"There," Rhys said, stepping back slightly. "Much better."

For a moment, Dorian stood completely still, his heart racing in his chest. He wasn't used to people touching him—especially not so casually, and certainly not someone like Rhys. His world was built around control, around maintaining a certain distance from everyone else. And yet, in that brief moment, Rhys had crossed that invisible line as if it didn't exist.

"Don't—" Dorian started, but the words caught in his throat.

Rhys tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. "What? I was just helping. Can't have you looking anything less than perfect, right?"

Dorian swallowed, his mind still scrambling to process what had just happened. "Just... don't do that again."

Rhys chuckled softly, clearly enjoying Dorian's discomfort. "Relax, President. It was just a little fix."

Dorian clenched his jaw, the feeling of Rhys' fingers still lingering in his mind. He had spent years building walls around himself, keeping people at a distance, and yet Rhys had effortlessly slipped past those walls without even trying.

"I'll check on the other booths," Dorian said abruptly, turning on his heel before Rhys could say anything else.

As Dorian walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling of being completely thrown off balance. The simple, casual gesture—something as small as fixing his hair—had stirred something inside him, something he wasn't ready to acknowledge. His mind raced, trying to regain control, but the memory of Rhys' touch lingered, unsettling him in a way he couldn't explain.

And for the first time in a long while, Dorian felt a crack in the armor he had so carefully built around himself.

_

The afternoon sun shone brightly over Haleworth Academy's gardens as the fundraiser officially opened to the public. The gates had been unlocked, and already, the grounds were beginning to fill with visitors—families, alumni, and members of the local community, all milling about the various booths and activities.

Dorian stood near the entrance, clipboard in hand, watching the steady flow of people with a critical eye. Everything needed to run smoothly. The booths had been set up perfectly, the volunteers were in position, and so far, everything seemed to be going according to plan. But Dorian knew better than to let his guard down. Events like this always had the potential for chaos, and he was determined to keep everything under control.

The academy's reputation, his own standing as student council president, and the success of the fundraiser itself were all on the line.

Still, as he watched the crowds move through the garden, his mind kept wandering—drifting back to that brief, startling moment with Rhys. The Omega had touched him so casually, as though it were nothing at all, and yet, Dorian couldn't shake the feeling it had left behind. His entire life was built around control, around maintaining a distance from others, and yet Rhys had crossed that boundary without even thinking about it.

It was strange—unnerving, even—but what unsettled Dorian the most was how easily Rhys had slipped past his defenses.

Dorian clenched his jaw, forcing the thought out of his mind. He couldn't afford to be distracted right now, not with the event in full swing. There were more important things to focus on—like ensuring that the day went off without a hitch.

As he scanned the garden again, his eyes caught on the sight of Rhys, who was currently talking to a group of visitors near the food booths. He was smiling, his posture relaxed and casual as always, and even from a distance, Dorian could see the way people seemed drawn to him. Rhys had a natural charisma, an ease with people that Dorian found... frustrating.

Focus.

Dorian tore his gaze away, shaking his head. He couldn't afford to dwell on Rhys right now.

His thoughts shifted to something—or rather, someone—else: his parents. Eryx and Cassandra Vaelis. There had been no confirmation that they would attend the event, though Dorian had sent them the formal invitation weeks ago. It wasn't unusual for his parents to miss school events, even ones as important as this. Their lives were filled with meetings, business dealings, and social obligations far removed from the academy.

Still, a small part of Dorian had hoped that they might make an appearance. He wasn't sure why he had even allowed himself to think it—his parents were rarely interested in anything that didn't directly affect the family's status or influence. But he couldn't help but wonder.

Would they come? Would they even care?

Dorian's chest tightened at the thought, though he quickly pushed the feeling down. It didn't matter whether they came or not. He had learned long ago not to rely on his parents for emotional support. What mattered was the success of the fundraiser, the academy's reputation, and his own ability to handle everything perfectly.

But still, the thought lingered.

He glanced toward the main gate, watching as more visitors trickled in. Families with young children, alumni returning to reminisce about their school days, local community members curious about the event. The garden was coming to life with activity, and yet, there was no sign of his parents.

Dorian let out a quiet sigh, turning his attention back to the clipboard in his hand. He had more important things to worry about than whether or not his parents would show up.

But the weight of their absence pressed down on him all the same.

_

The fundraiser had been in full swing for nearly an hour, and so far, everything seemed to be running smoothly. The booths were busy, the volunteers were doing their jobs, and the visitors appeared to be enjoying themselves. Dorian moved through the garden, keeping a close eye on the various stations, checking in with volunteers, and making sure that nothing was out of place.

But despite his best efforts to stay focused, his mind kept drifting back to the same two things: Rhys, and his parents.

Rhys, who had touched him so casually earlier, and who was now laughing with visitors near the food booths as if he had no care in the world. And his parents, who had yet to make an appearance, and who likely wouldn't.

Dorian stopped for a moment near one of the donation booths, scanning the crowd with a practiced eye. He should have been focused on logistics, on making sure everything was perfect, but instead, his mind kept wandering—kept pulling him back to those two unshakable thoughts.

His hand tightened around the clipboard, a small wave of frustration building inside him.

'This isn't like me.'

Dorian prided himself on his ability to maintain control, to focus on the task at hand without getting distracted by personal feelings or emotions. And yet, here he was, his mind constantly pulling him away from the event, away from the responsibilities in front of him.

He glanced toward the food booths again, where Rhys was still chatting easily with a group of visitors. For a moment, their eyes met across the distance, and Rhys gave him a casual wave, as if they were old friends rather than two people who seemed to constantly clash.

Dorian's chest tightened in response, though he wasn't sure why. He quickly looked away, focusing back on the clipboard in his hand.

There was too much at stake today to let Rhys—or his parents' absence—distract him.

But as he moved through the garden, the thoughts lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind, refusing to let him go.

_

The academy's garden bustling with visitors and the hum of cheerful conversations filling the air. Dorian had been moving from booth to booth, making sure everything was running smoothly. Despite the occasional hiccup, the event was proceeding as planned, though his mind was still unsettled from the earlier encounter with Rhys.

As he made his way back toward the central part of the garden, where more visitors were gathering, Dorian's attention was suddenly caught by something unexpected.

A scent. Faint, but familiar.

His footsteps slowed, his brow furrowing as the scent drifted toward him. There was something about it—something that stirred a deep, inexplicable sense of recognition within him. The scent was a delicate blend of lavender and honeyed citrus, mingled with a deeper, grounding fragrance of amber and cedarwood. It was comforting, yet it made his heart tighten with an emotion he couldn't quite place.

Dorian turned, his gaze scanning the crowd in search of the source.

And then he saw them—a couple standing near one of the far booths, looking slightly lost amidst the flow of people. They stood out from the crowd, their presence commanding attention despite their quiet demeanor. The taller one, a man with dark brown, wavy hair and a strong, lithe build, had his arm wrapped protectively around the shoulders of a slender, white-haired figure who appeared just as striking, though in a gentler way. Both men exuded an air of quiet strength, though there was a softness to them as well.

For a moment, Dorian simply stared.

There was something about the way they looked—something hauntingly familiar, though he couldn't quite place it. His chest tightened again, and before he realized what he was doing, he found himself walking toward them.

The couple seemed to be in the middle of a conversation, their expressions tinged with subtle concern. They were clearly out of place, likely visitors who weren't familiar with the academy grounds. As Dorian approached, he could see the way their eyes flicked around, scanning the booths and pathways as if searching for something—or someone.

He cleared his throat, his professional demeanor slipping back into place. "Excuse me, are you lost?"

Both men turned at the sound of his voice, and for a moment, everything seemed to still. The taller one, with his golden-brown eyes, looked directly at Dorian, his gaze sharp and assessing. Beside him, the white-haired man with pale blue eyes blinked, his expression softening with surprise as he looked Dorian over.

Something flickered in the air between them—a brief, silent exchange of recognition, though none of them understood why.

Dorian's heart gave a strange, inexplicable lurch in his chest.

The white blonde-haired man, Lyrian, was the first to speak, his voice calm and soothing. "We were looking for the main garden entrance, but I think we may have taken a wrong turn."

Dorian nodded, trying to shake the unsettling feeling creeping up his spine. "The entrance is just down that path," He said, gesturing in the right direction. "You're almost there."

As he spoke, his eyes lingered on them both, unable to shake the feeling of familiarity that seemed to cling to them. There was something about the shape of their faces, the curve of their brows, even the subtle intensity in their eyes that mirrored his own. The resemblance was faint, but it was there, like a shadow of something long forgotten.

The taller man, Kaelen, seemed equally struck. His sharp gaze lingered on Dorian, his lips parting slightly as if to say something, though he remained silent. His grip on Lyrian's shoulder tightened subtly, as though grounding himself in the moment.

For a long, heavy second, the three of them stood in silence, simply staring at one another. The world around them blurred, the sounds of the fundraiser fading into the background as the strange connection hummed between them. Dorian's pulse quickened, though he had no reason to feel so shaken. These were just visitors—strangers to the academy.

But they didn't feel like strangers.

Lyrian offered a gentle smile, though there was something behind his eyes—something deep and unknowable. "Thank you for your help," He said softly, his voice tinged with warmth.

Dorian nodded, still unable to tear his eyes away from them. "It's no problem. If you need anything else, I'm overseeing the event. I'm the student council president, Dorian Vaelis."

At the mention of his name, both Lyrian and Kaelen stiffened, their reactions almost imperceptible to anyone else, but Dorian didn't miss it. Lyrian's pale blue eyes flickered with something—something close to recognition, though he quickly masked it.

"Dorian..." Lyrian murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if testing the name on his lips.

Kaelen's hand tensed on Lyrian's shoulder, his golden-brown eyes darkening with emotion, though he quickly regained his composure. "Thank you, Dorian," Kaelen said, his voice steady, though there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something he wasn't saying.

Dorian felt the weight of their gazes, felt the strange connection that tugged at the edges of his mind. He opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn't even sure what—perhaps to ask if they had attended the academy before, or why they seemed so familiar—but before he could, Lyrian took a small step back, breaking the spell between them.

"We'll be on our way," Lyrian said, his voice soft but firm. He offered Dorian one last look, something almost wistful in his gaze, before turning to follow Kaelen down the path.

Dorian stood frozen, watching them go. His heart still raced, and his mind buzzed with unanswered questions. The scent that had drawn him to them still lingered in the air—lavender, citrus, amber, cedarwood—and the feeling of familiarity that had wrapped around him remained, like an itch he couldn't quite scratch.

As the couple disappeared into the crowd, Dorian let out a slow breath, his chest tightening with the strange, unshakable feeling that something important had just happened—something he didn't fully understand.

But for now, the event called to him, and he had no choice but to set the unsettling encounter aside.

For now.

_

Dorian stood still in the garden, staring off toward the path where the couple had disappeared moments earlier. Their presence lingered in his mind, gnawing at him. Something about them—about their scent, the way they looked at him—felt so familiar. The interaction had left a strange hollowness in his chest, one he couldn't quite place.

His thoughts swirled, replaying the encounter again and again, until a voice broke through the fog.

"Lost in thought, President?"

Dorian blinked, startled out of his reverie. He turned quickly, only to find Rhys standing directly behind him, his usual grin firmly in place. Dorian's pulse quickened, though this time it wasn't from surprise. He hadn't even heard Rhys approach, which was becoming a habit that unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

"Rhys," Dorian said, forcing his voice to steady. "What do you want?"

Rhys cocked his head, the playful glint in his eyes sharper than usual. "I'm here to rescue you."

Dorian raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain his usual composed demeanor. "Rescue me?"

"Yeah," Rhys said, stepping closer, his gaze sweeping over Dorian with exaggerated concern. "You've got that serious look on your face again. Too much responsibility, too much 'student council president.' You need a break."

Dorian opened his mouth to argue, but Rhys didn't give him the chance.

"Come on," Rhys said, grabbing Dorian's wrist before he could protest. "You've done enough supervising for today. Time to actually enjoy the fundraiser."

Before Dorian could respond, Rhys was already dragging him toward one of the booths at the far end of the garden, where a small crowd had gathered around a row of targets lined up for a shooting game. The booth was bright and lively, with colorful prizes hanging from the top—stuffed animals, toys, and trinkets—all waiting for someone to win them.

"Rhys, I don't have time for this," Dorian muttered, though he made no real effort to pull away.

"Make time," Rhys said, flashing him a grin. "You're supposed to be having fun too, remember?"

Dorian narrowed his eyes, though the slight tug of a smile threatened to pull at his lips. "I'm here to work, not play."

"Well, then consider this work," Rhys said, his tone teasing. "You can assess the game's 'logistics' while you're at it. Very important presidential duty."

Dorian sighed, knowing full well that Rhys wasn't going to let him get away easily. "Fine. Just one game."

"That's the spirit," Rhys said, dragging him closer to the booth.

As they reached the front of the crowd, the game attendant handed Rhys a toy dart gun. Rhys inspected it with mock seriousness before turning to Dorian. "Watch closely, President. I'm about to demonstrate true marksmanship."

Dorian crossed his arms, watching as Rhys lined up the dart gun with the row of moving targets. The crowd around them buzzed with excitement, though Dorian couldn't help but focus on Rhys—on the easy confidence with which he held the toy gun, on the way his grin never quite left his face.

Rhys fired the first shot, hitting the target dead center.

"See?" Rhys said, tossing a wink in Dorian's direction. "I'm a natural."

Dorian rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his lips despite himself. "Beginner's luck."

"Beginner's luck?" Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the challenge. "Fine. Let's make it interesting. You shoot the next one."

Before Dorian could protest, Rhys handed him the dart gun, their fingers brushing for a moment as Dorian took it. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through Dorian, and he quickly averted his gaze, focusing on the target instead.

He lined up the shot, narrowing his eyes at the moving target. This was just a game—a simple distraction. But as he pulled the trigger, his mind was already working, calculating the trajectory and speed.

The dart flew through the air, missing the target by just a hair.

Dorian frowned, lowering the gun.

Rhys laughed softly, stepping closer. "Not bad. But looks like you need a little help."

Before Dorian could argue, Rhys moved behind him, his hands lightly resting on Dorian's arms as he adjusted his grip on the gun. The closeness was sudden, and Dorian's breath hitched for a moment, his pulse quickening once more.

"Relax," Rhys murmured, his voice low and teasing. "You're too tense."

Dorian's heart raced as he felt Rhys' presence behind him, far too close for comfort. He wasn't used to being this close to anyone—certainly not Rhys, whose touch and playful attitude always seemed to throw him off balance. But for some reason, he didn't pull away.

"Try again," Rhys said, his hands guiding Dorian's as he aimed the dart gun once more.

Dorian swallowed hard, his focus slipping as he tried to ignore the warmth of Rhys' hands on his arms, the closeness of his breath against his neck. But he couldn't ignore it—not entirely. His mind was too distracted, his heart too unsettled.

He pulled the trigger again.

This time, the dart hit the target square in the center.

The crowd around them cheered lightly, and Rhys stepped back, releasing Dorian's arms with a satisfied grin. "See? You've just gotta loosen up, President."

Dorian lowered the gun, his face flushing slightly as he turned to face Rhys. "I didn't need your help."

Rhys smirked, clearly unconvinced. "Of course not."

For a moment, they stood there, the playful tension between them lingering in the air. Dorian's pulse still raced, though this time it wasn't from frustration or annoyance. There was something else—something that had been building between them from the start, and now, standing here, it felt closer than ever.

Rhys' grin softened slightly, his gaze holding Dorian's for a beat longer than usual. "You're welcome, by the way."

Dorian didn't respond, though his heart gave an odd flutter at the words.

Before either of them could say anything more, the game attendant handed Dorian a prize—a small, plush rabbit. Dorian blinked, staring at the stuffed toy in his hands, his mind flashing back to the worn rabbit plushie that had sat on his shelf for as long as he could remember.

A strange, heavy silence settled over him as he stared at the toy.

Rhys raised an eyebrow, his teasing smile fading slightly. "What's wrong?"

Dorian shook his head quickly, forcing the memory back. "Nothing."

But even as they moved away from the booth, Dorian's mind remained on the rabbit plushie, the unsettling encounter with the couple earlier, and the strange sense of familiarity that lingered in the air.

And through it all, Rhys' presence beside him only made the knot in his chest tighter.

_

After leaving the game booth, Dorian and Rhys made their way back through the crowd toward the food booths. The buzz of the fundraiser continued to hum around them, but Dorian's thoughts were elsewhere, still lingering on the plush rabbit in his hand and the strange encounter earlier in the day. His grip tightened slightly around the toy as they walked, his mind a swirl of conflicting emotions.

Beside him, Rhys walked with his usual swagger, seemingly unbothered by anything, though his sharp eyes remained observant as they wove through the crowd.

As they neared the food booths, the pleasant murmur of conversation was suddenly interrupted by raised voices. Dorian's ears pricked up, his attention snapping toward the source of the commotion. Ahead, near one of the quieter corners of the garden, he saw two girls standing rigidly, clearly uncomfortable, as a group of older boys—students from another school—surrounded them.

The boys were Alphas, and their dominant scents were thick in the air—an overpowering mixture of musk and aggression, meant to intimidate. Dorian's jaw tightened immediately, his grip on the plush rabbit forgotten.

"Trouble," Rhys muttered, his voice losing its usual playful tone. He had already spotted the situation unfolding, his sharp eyes narrowing at the group of Alphas.

Without a second thought, Rhys was moving.

Dorian followed him, his pulse quickening as he watched Rhys stride directly toward the confrontation, his entire demeanor shifting. The easy grin was gone, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. Dorian had seen Rhys' confident, teasing side plenty of times, but this... this was different.

As they approached, one of the Alphas leaned in closer to the girls, his voice low and dripping with arrogance. "Come on, don't be shy. We're just having a bit of fun."

The girls stiffened, their faces pale as they tried to back away, but the Alphas' imposing presence boxed them in.

Before Dorian could even react, Rhys stepped in between them, his posture loose but his eyes burning with intensity. "Back off."

The Alpha who had been speaking straightened, glaring down at Rhys with a sneer. He was taller than Rhys, bulkier too, and clearly used to throwing his weight around. "What do you think you're doing, Omega?" he spat, his voice laced with disdain.

Rhys' expression didn't falter. If anything, his eyes hardened further. "I said back off," He repeated, his voice low but filled with an edge that cut through the air.

Dorian's breath caught in his chest as he watched the confrontation unfold. He could feel the tension building, thick and heavy, as the Alphas squared off against Rhys. The scent of dominance and aggression from the Alphas was overpowering, but Rhys stood his ground, unaffected.

"An Omega thinking he can tell me what to do?" The Alpha scoffed, stepping closer to Rhys, his scent spiking in an attempt to assert dominance. "You've got some nerve."

Before Dorian could step in, Rhys moved.

With a quick, fluid motion, Rhys shoved the Alpha back, his eyes blazing. "I don't care what you think you can get away with. You're done here."

The Alpha stumbled slightly, clearly not expecting the sudden push. His face twisted in anger, and without warning, he lunged at Rhys.

For a split second, Dorian's heart leapt into his throat.

But Rhys was faster.

He ducked, dodging the Alpha's swing with practiced ease before stepping in and delivering a sharp, controlled strike to the Alpha's gut. The bigger boy doubled over, gasping for breath as Rhys straightened, his stance calm but ready for more.

The other Alphas hesitated, clearly surprised by the sudden turn of events. They hadn't expected an Omega to fight back—let alone one who could handle himself this well.

Dorian stood frozen for a moment, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. Rhys... was fighting. And not just fighting—he was handling the situation with a level of skill and precision that Dorian hadn't expected. He wasn't reckless or wild; every move he made was deliberate, controlled.

The tension in the air was thick, and Dorian could feel his own Alpha instincts bubbling up in response to the aggression from the other boys. He wanted to step in, to end the fight before it escalated, but something stopped him. Rhys didn't seem like he needed help—he had this under control.

The Alpha who had been hit slowly straightened, glaring at Rhys with fury in his eyes. His scent flared again, more aggressive this time, as he prepared to lunge once more. But before he could make another move, Dorian finally stepped forward, his voice sharp and commanding.

"That's enough."

The force of Dorian's voice, combined with the weight of his Alpha scent, cut through the tension like a knife. The Alphas froze, their eyes snapping to him. Dorian's presence was undeniable, his authority clear in the set of his shoulders and the cold, unyielding look in his eyes.

"Leave now," Dorian said, his tone low and dangerous.

The lead Alpha hesitated, clearly wanting to retaliate, but he wasn't foolish enough to challenge Dorian in front of so many people. After a moment, he shot one last hateful glare at Rhys before turning on his heel and stalking away, the other Alphas following close behind.

The tension slowly began to fade as the boys disappeared into the crowd. The girls, now free from the harassment, let out shaky breaths, their shoulders slumping in relief.

"Are you okay?" Dorian asked, turning to the girls.

They nodded quickly, though their eyes flicked nervously toward Rhys, who stood just a few feet away, his expression still dark. "We're fine, thank you."

Dorian nodded, watching as they hurried away, leaving him and Rhys alone.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The tension from the confrontation still hung in the air, and Dorian couldn't shake the image of Rhys standing there, facing down the Alphas without a trace of fear. There was something different about him—something more than just the carefree, troublemaking Omega Dorian had thought him to be.

"You didn't have to do that," Dorian said quietly, breaking the silence.

Rhys turned to him, his eyes still sharp but softening slightly at Dorian's words. "Someone had to."

Dorian swallowed, his mind racing. He had always known Rhys was different, but seeing him like this—seeing him step up and defend those girls without hesitation—it made something shift inside him.

Rhys looked at Dorian for a moment longer, his gaze intense but unreadable. Then, with a small shrug, he gave Dorian that familiar, teasing grin. "Don't worry, President. I'll try not to steal your spotlight."

Dorian stared at him, speechless for a moment, before a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Just try to stay out of trouble."

Rhys chuckled, the tension between them easing. "No promises."