Page 14 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)

ten

Vespera

The October afternoon light slanted through the tall windows of Studio B, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floor.

Midterms were finally over, leaving behind a campus-wide sense of exhausted relief mixed with anxiety about grades.

I should have been in my dorm room catching up on sleep, but instead I'd volunteered to help Stephanie with her lighting design project for Professor McGraw's technical theater class.

I sorted through the colored transparencies spread across the work table, finding the one she needed. The theater felt peaceful at this hour, empty except for us and the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. It was the first time in weeks I'd felt truly relaxed on campus.

"How's this look?" Stephanie asked, flipping the switch to test her lighting setup.

The stage transformed under a warm amber wash, creating an intimate, almost magical atmosphere. "Beautiful," I said honestly. "It feels like sunset on a summer evening."

"That's exactly what I was going for." She climbed down from the ladder, satisfaction evident in her expression.

"Professor McGraw wants us to create 'emotional landscapes' with light alone.

I'm designing for that Tennessee Williamson piece—you know, the one about memory and longing.

" She snapped her fingers, the title obviously escaping her.

"The Glass Menagerie," I supplied. "Perfect for this lighting approach."

We worked together in comfortable silence, Stephanie adjusting her design while I organized equipment and took notes for her documentation. This was the collaborative creative work I'd dreamed about when applying to Northwood.

"You know," Stephanie said, pausing in her work, "you should consider taking some tech classes. You have a good eye for this stuff."

"I don't have room in my schedule," I replied, though the suggestion was tempting. "Every credit hour has to count toward my major requirements if I want to graduate on time."

"The joys of scholarship life," she said sympathetically. "No room for exploration, just survival."

The studio door opened, interrupting our conversation. Robbie entered carrying a stack of sheet music, his black hair catching the amber light.

"Sorry I'm late," he called. "Voice lesson ran over." He paused, admiring Stephanie's work. "Wow, this lighting is gorgeous."

"Thanks," Stephanie beamed. "We were just discussing tech classes. Vespera has a good eye for design."

"She does," Robbie agreed, setting his music on the piano bench. "Though on scholarship, every credit hour has to count toward graduation requirements."

I appreciated that they understood my situation without pity. Our friendship had deepened beyond our initial alliance against the pack's harassment. We'd found common ground in our love of theater and our determination to succeed.

"What are you working on?" I asked, nodding toward his sheet music.

"Sondheim," he replied with a grimace. "Professor Vance assigned 'Being Alive' for my midterm. Says I need to work on 'emotional vulnerability.'"

"That's a beautiful song," Stephanie said. "Those contradictions about wanting connection while fearing it."

"Exactly why it's challenging," Robbie admitted. "Male Omegas aren't encouraged to explore vulnerability. We're supposed to be quietly competent and unobtrusive."

I heard the frustration beneath his casual tone. "Want to work on it together? Sometimes it helps to have an audience while you're figuring out a piece."

"Actually, that would be great." Robbie moved to the piano, running his fingers over the keys. "I keep getting caught up in the technical execution and losing the emotional through-line."

As he began playing the opening chords, I settled into a theater seat to listen. Stephanie adjusted her lights but kept an ear on Robbie's performance.

His voice was beautiful—clear and controlled, with an expressiveness many singers worked years to develop. But I could hear what Professor Vance meant. Robbie performed the notes perfectly while holding back the feelings.

"Stop," I said gently after he finished the first verse. "You're protecting yourself from the song."

"What do you mean?"

"You're singing about the fear of being hurt, but you're not letting yourself actually feel vulnerable while you sing it. The audience needs to see that fear, not just hear about it."

Robbie's expression tightened. "Easy to say. Harder to do when showing vulnerability usually gets you attacked."

The comment hung in the air, heavy with unspoken understanding. All three of us knew exactly what he meant.

"But that's what makes the song powerful," Stephanie said, looking up from her light board. "It's about the courage to be open despite the risk."

"Try it again," I suggested. "But this time, think about someone specific. Someone whose opinion matters to you but who might not accept who you really are."

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."

It was a perfect example of their psychological manipulation—the cruelty disguised as academic discussion, the threats wrapped in intellectual language. Even if I reported this conversation, they'd claim it was a misunderstood scholarly debate.

But this time, I was prepared.

My phone had been recording since the moment they entered the studio, the app Stephanie had installed running discreetly in the background. Every slur, every threat, every calculated cruelty was being captured.

"You're right," I said calmly, pulling out my phone and stopping the recording. "Just a conversation. One that I'm sure the Dean of Students will find very interesting when I submit it as evidence of the hostile environment scholarship Omegas face on this campus."

The change in their expressions was immediate. Corvus's analytical mask slipped, revealing genuine surprise, while Dorian's face flushed with anger.

"You recorded us without consent," Corvus said, his voice sharp. "That's illegal."

"Actually," Stephanie interjected with satisfaction, "New York is a one-party consent state for audio recordings. As long as one person in the conversation knows it's being recorded, which Vespera did, it's completely legal."

"Plus," Robbie added, his voice steady now, "this is a university facility. There's no expectation of privacy, and the student handbook explicitly states that discriminatory harassment based on designation is grounds for disciplinary action up to and including expulsion."

I felt a surge of pride at how quickly my friends rallied to support the strategy. We'd discussed this possibility during our planning sessions, but seeing it work in practice was incredibly satisfying.

"This isn't over," Oakley said, his voice low and threatening.

"You're right," I replied, meeting his gaze steadily.

"It's not. Because this recording is going into a file with all the other documentation we've been collecting.

Every threat, every slur, every instance of harassment.

We're building a case that even the Ashworth family's influence won't be able to dismiss. "

For a long moment, the two Alphas stood frozen, clearly recalculating their approach in light of this new development. Then Corvus straightened, his composure returning.

"Interesting strategy," he said coolly. "Though I wonder if you've considered all the potential consequences of escalating this situation."

Without another word, both Alphas turned and left the studio, their exit somehow managing to seem both dignified and threatening.

The silence that followed felt almost oppressive. Then Stephanie let out a shaky breath.

"Holy shit," she said. "Did that actually just happen? Did we actually stand up to them?"

"We did," I said, though my hands were trembling as I saved the recording to our shared evidence folder. "And we got it all documented."

"The look on their faces when you pulled out the phone," Robbie said with grim satisfaction. "They're so used to operating without consequences that they didn't even consider we might be recording them."

"This is just the beginning," I warned. "They're going to escalate now. Try to find ways to retaliate that can't be traced back to them."

"Let them try," Stephanie said fiercely. "We're not the same scared kids who arrived here at the beginning of the semester. We're organized now. We have evidence. And we have each other."

We were still outnumbered and facing opponents with vastly more resources. But for the first time, I believed we might actually fight back effectively.

"So," Robbie said, returning to the piano bench, "shall we get back to work? I think I'm feeling a lot more emotionally vulnerable now."

Despite everything, I laughed. "I think we all are. But maybe that's not such a bad thing."

As he began playing "Being Alive" again, I watched Stephanie return to her lighting work. The amber glow transformed the space, making the future seem a little less frightening.