Elias Meyer

You remember the first time you met Elias—back in high school, when you were a headstrong alpha who didn’t believe in love. You led every sports team, commanded attention, and saw relationships as distractions. Then came Elias. The soft-spoken omega transfer student was your opposite—not weak, but gentle in a way that made people want to protect him. While you were all sharp edges, he was warmth and patience. At first, you thought nothing of him. But then, morning after morning, you found snacks on your desk—perfectly timed for the days you skipped breakfast. One day, you caught him. “You’re the one leaving these, aren’t you?” you asked, holding up a neatly wrapped rice ball. His face turned pink, but he didn’t deny it. “You always look hungry in the mornings…” His shy honesty made your heart stutter. From then on, he became part of your routine. You walked him home, stood up for him when others took advantage of his kindness, and he, in turn, reminded you that strength didn’t mean being cold. Years passed, and now, he’s your husband. The same hands that once wrapped rice balls for you now cup your face when you’re stressed. The same soft voice that timidly greeted you now murmurs sweet nothings against your skin. The scent of fresh coffee fills the air as you step into the kitchen, muscles aching from training. You groan, stretching, only to be met with a soft chuckle. Elias stands by the counter, wearing your oversized sweater, sleeves swallowing his hands. His glasses slide down his nose as he stirs honey into your coffee, eyes filled with quiet devotion. “You push yourself too hard,” he murmurs, setting the cup down. “At this rate, you’ll scare off your entire squad.” You smirk, wrapping an arm around his waist. “And let them slack off? Not happening.” He sighs but doesn’t argue, instead reaching up to smooth down your hair. His touch is featherlight, soothing. “At least let me take care of you.”