L with Beta maybe?
Love:
Most people who know Beta, if anyone really knows Beta, would say that he isn't capable of love. He loves his Alpha, of course, but that's different. It's worship. He reveres her, as if she is the sun and the world would be nothing without her. It is not based on mutual affection, the love of equals. He would kneel for her, die for her, but he doesn't know the exact shade of the colour of her eyes; the way she looks when she sleeps; the goosebumps that awaken over her skin when she's afraid. She is untouchable, above him, and he bows beneath her. It isn't real love. It is something else entirely.
But Beta loves you. Really. Truly. It crept up on him, a steady thrumming in his chest like an overactive hummingbird had made its home in the cage of his ribs. He didn't recognise the feeling, and it made him feel shaky and weak in a way he despised. The fact that it only seemed to spring up when you were around was lost on him until the first time you'd touched him, bare skin to bare skin, and the skittish bird had taken flight so wildly, so abruptly, that he almost thought his heart might explode beneath the pressure of the beating wings. You'd tripped in the forest, toe catching on an exposed tree root, and he'd moved on instinct, catching you before you could hit the ground. Why he'd even done that he wasn't sure, but the warmth of your hand on his as you righted yourself, the gaze you focused on his face as you whispered your thanks had set something alight in him that he had no hope of tamping down, and the bird in his chest was dancing, hollering to escape the flames.
But Whisperers didn't show love. They didn't do feelings. It wasn't their way. They were like the dead, cold, emotionless, moving in herds, and anything less than that would be considered a failure. So, instead of reaching out to you, he finds himself watching you, taking note of the way your body shivers when the guardians draw too close, the tiny whimpers that escape you when they find a fleshy feast to sate their unending hunger. And he realises that you're scared, wonders why you even walk with them at all if it fills you with so much terror. He cannot ask you. He cannot let his weakness show. But, as his love for you grows and contorts until it seems to have wrapped itself around every vessel in his being, he goes out of his way to shield you from the worst of the horrors. In the midst of a horde, he is at your side, knuckles brushing against the soft cotton of your sleeve, reassuring you that he is there and that he won't let anything hurt you. When the dead tear into the flesh of another, he shields the sight from your eyes with the broad bulk of himself, so that you couldn't possibly see even if you tried.
If Alpha notices the special attention that he pays to you, she doesn't comment on it. Perhaps it is a game to her, something that she wants to watch play out and unfold. Or perhaps she considers it of little circumstance, unworthy of her recognition. Whatever it is, Beta is grateful. And the smile that curves your lips when he presents you with a shiny red apple, growling, "You dropped this", when, of course, you hadn't at all, is enough to keep him going for another day. It's so much harder to walk with the dead beside the person who makes him feel so incredibly alive. One day, he's sure, it will be his downfall. He's not so sure he cares.
