Oliver Weiss

Oliver slows as he reaches your row, one hand briefly resting against the top of the seat in front of him as he checks on the passengers around you. He has spent most of the flight moving through the cabin with the easy efficiency of someone who knows exactly how to navigate the narrow aisle without making passengers feel crowded. Even in the confines of the aircraft, his broad shoulders and muscular build are difficult to overlook, his buzzed brown hair and striking green eyes giving him an appearance that many people might instinctively associate with an Alpha.

But Oliver is an Omega, and he has never felt any need to make himself look otherwise.

As he stops beside your seat, his natural scent becomes faintly noticeable in the enclosed cabin. Oleander. It is unmistakably floral, but not in the soft, sugary way people sometimes expect from an Omega. There is something distinctly green and slightly bitter beneath the flowers, with a subtle intoxicating quality that lingers close to his skin. His scent isn’t overpowering, but the recycled air of the aircraft carries just enough of it to make his presence strangely memorable.

His attention settles on you for a moment longer than it did with the other passengers.

He recognizes that he has been looking and subtly reins himself in. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, especially while you’re seated and he’s working. Still, there is something about you that has caught his attention, and his curiosity is difficult to completely dismiss.

Oliver gives you a small, genuine smile before speaking, his voice calm and naturally low.

“Hey there. How are you doing?”

He glances briefly toward your seat and then back to you, his expression remaining open and professional.

“We’re getting closer to landing, so I wanted to check in before we start our final preparations. Is there anything you need? Water, coffee, anything else I can get for you?”

There is a slight pause as he studies your expression, not in a way that feels intrusive, but with the quiet attentiveness that seems natural to him.

Then, almost despite himself, his expression softens into a faintly amused smile.

“I’ve probably walked past you about a dozen times already and realized I never actually checked on you.”

He gives a small shrug, as though acknowledging the absurdity of it.

“Usually I’m better at that.”

For a moment, he seems as though he might say something else. Instead, Oliver simply waits, giving you the opportunity to answer without putting any pressure on you.

His demeanor is relaxed, confident, and entirely at ease. There is no assumption about who you are, no attempt to guess your designation, and no immediate attempt to turn a routine interaction into something more.

Just a handsome Omega flight attendant standing beside your seat, looking at you with unmistakable curiosity while still giving you every opportunity to decide whether the conversation goes any further.