Page 26 of The Drama King
Robbie nodded slowly, repositioning his hands on the keys. This time when he sang, something shifted. The technical perfection remained, but now he allowed the emotion through—longing, fear, hope, all flowing with the music.
"Better?" he asked when he finished.
"Much," I said. "You let us see the person behind the performance."
"That was beautiful," Stephanie added. "Vulnerable but strong. Professor Vance will be impressed."
We were so absorbed in the music that none of us noticed the studio door opening until Oakley Sinclair's voice cut through the afternoon quiet.
"Well, isn't this touching? The misfits' support group is in full swing."
All three of us turned toward the entrance, where Dorian stood with Corvus beside him. My stomach dropped as I recognized the calculated way they'd positioned themselves—blocking the main exit, forcing us into a confrontation we couldn't easily escape.
"This is a reserved rehearsal space," Stephanie said firmly, standing up from her lighting equipment. "You need to sign up through the department office."
"Do we?" Corvus asked with that cold smile I'd come to dread. "I wasn't aware scholarship students had claiming rights to campus facilities."
"We're working on class assignments," I said, keeping my voice steady despite my racing heart. "Professor McGraw's lighting project and Professor Vance's voice work."
"Of course you are," Dorian said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Always so... industrious. It's almost admirable, the way you people cling to every opportunity."
The way he said "you people" made my skin crawl, but I forced myself not to react visibly. Beside me, I felt Stephanie tense with anger.
"Is there something you needed?" Robbie asked, his voice carefully neutral. "Or are you just here to waste our time?"
Dorian's expression hardened, focusing on Robbie with sudden intensity. "Actually, I'm fascinated by your little performance. Very... emotional. Almost like a real Omega."
Robbie's jaw clenched at the insult. "I am a real Omega," he said quietly.
"Are you?" Corvus joined the conversation with analytical interest. "Because I've always wondered about male Omegas. Evolutionary dead ends, really. Not capable of proper breeding, not strong enough for Alpha roles, not even useful like female Omegas. Just... genetic mistakes taking up space that could be better used by functional designations."
The clinical way he delivered the attack somehow made it worse than if he'd simply shouted slurs. This was calculated cruelty disguised as intellectual observation.
"That's enough," Stephanie snapped, moving to stand beside Robbie. "You don't get to come in here and spew that designation supremacist garbage."
"Supremacist?" Dorian laughed. "I'm just stating biological facts. Male Omegas are aberrations. They should be grateful we tolerate their presence in spaces meant for real performers."
"Real performers like you?" Robbie's voice carried a dangerous edge now. "Because from what I've observed, your 'performance' consists mostly of relying on daddy's money and intimidating people smaller than you."
Dorian's indifferent mask slipped for a moment, revealing something harder underneath. "You know what? You're right. I do rely on my family's resources. But at least I don't have to pretend I'm something I'm not."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Robbie asked.
"Come on," Dorian said, his tone becoming almost conversational, which somehow made it worse. "We all know what you are. Playing at being a real performer when everyone can see you're just...wrong. Male Omegas trying to take up space in programs designed for people who can actually contribute something meaningful."
"That's enough," Stephanie snapped, moving to stand beside Robbie.
Corvus joined in with clinical detachment. "I've always found male Omegas fascinating from a biological standpoint. Evolutionary anomalies, really. Not capable of traditional Omega functions, not strong enough for Alpha roles. Just... genetic mistakes taking up resources."
Dorian nodded. "Exactly. And the worst part is how they demand to be treated like they belong in serious artistic spaces." He looked directly at Robbie. "When everyone knows what you're really suited for."
The implication hung in the air, cruel but not explicitly stated—classic Dorian manipulation.
I heard Stephanie's sharp intake of breath as she moved closer to Robbie. His face had gone still, his knuckles white on the piano keys.
"Get out," I said, my voice shaking with fury. "Now."
"Or what?" Corvus asked with clinical interest. "You'll report us? To whom? For what? We're just having a conversation about designation biology and academic performance."