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Summary
“Morning Team.”
There’s a string of groans, someone curses; and it feels like he’d interrupted something, but the first call comes in; and there’s no time to piece together the conversation that was happening beforehand. Even if there’s a low pang of ill placed rejection sticking to the inside of his throat.
Yeah, great day.
Baby steps. Robert breathes harshly through his noise and regrets it when the entire office floods his senses; swallows a mouthful of bile and snips back at Invisigal, bitches at Flambae, and sends Golem to un-fuck someone's fuck up. Tries not to choke on his instincts and lets both his knees go numb.
Robert's always been a Omega, it's not a point of pride, it's not a point of contention. He just is.
After putting Shroud back behind bars, Robert returns to his new post coma normal: pretending nothing is wrong, orbiting the Z-Team, pretending the group of unruly Alpha's aren't his pack. Pushing himself past his already stretched thin limits.Robert's body demands a break.
And it's going to get one, whether he wants it or not.
The Z-Team do their best to pick up the pieces in the aftermath, in their own way.