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Changbin finished tying his sneakers, sat back in his kitchen chair and sighed, his body protesting from such a simple movement. It had been too long since he’d gone on a run; to be fair, it’d been too long since he had done anything even remotely good for his mind or his body. For weeks, all he’d managed to do was keep himself alive and afloat, and even that was debatable, judging by the number of showers he’s taken in that time (which he could count on one hand) and his kitchen wastebasket, which was currently overflowing in gelato and take out containers.
Relationships were hard, that was a universal fact. Relationships that in hindsight appeared doomed from the start were even harder, so when Changbin’s now-ex told him that he’d wanted to see other people, Changbin had had no choice but to respect his decision, no matter how much it felt like the very breath was being punched out of his lungs to do so. It had been the only relationship he’d ever been in, having presented late as an omega right before his twenty-third birthday after being convinced for years that it was never going to happen. He’d been so overwhelmed by presenting that Changbin had latched onto the first alpha to show him any sort of affection, and jumped directly into a relationship before he even knew what he was doing. He understood now that it hadn’t been healthy for him, but he’d gone from growing up expecting to be an alpha to accepting that he was a beta, then to the sudden reality of being an omega that he hadn’t been in the correct mindset for a long time.
Exercising was something Changbin and his ex had always done together, but it had also been a part of Changbin’s life even before then, so when he woke up that morning and decided he was done mourning, he thought a jog was just what he needed to get back into the swing of things. Baby steps seemed better than trying to jump back into his routine feet first. He didn’t want to hurt himself; he was tired of hurting. Besides, there was something about that day that told Changbin he was done feeling sorry for himself. The world was waiting for him, and he was finally ready to embrace whatever the universe wanted to throw at him headfirst.
When he stepped outside, Changbin’s body, on autopilot, pointed him in the direction of the usual route he and his partner used to take, but just peering off in that direction made his chest pang with old, and faded, but still deep-seated hurt, so instead Changbin took off in the opposite direction, one foot decisively in front of the other. It was a beautifully crisp spring morning, and it was time to forge a new path.
Changbin was about two-thirds of the way through his first lap when he caught wind of a singularly wonderful scent. At first, it smelled like cinnamon rolls baking fresh in the oven, but as the scent overtook him, Changbin realized that there was a depth to it that he could not quite pinpoint, let alone describe. Still, it was incredible, the most addicting scent he had ever encountered, and he could not help but take deep lungfuls of it as he slowed to a walk. It led him directly to a pretty beige awning rustling gently in the early morning breeze, the picture window underneath it boasting in delicate, curling font, “Jiniret’s Patisserie,” complete with a drawing of an adorable, cartoonish ferret holding a croissant in both paws painted to one side. Having only ever driven on this particular street before, Changbin had never even noticed there was a patisserie shoppe on it before that day.
The shoppe was not open yet, but Changbin caught the attention of someone inside. He had only a scant moment to take in the tall, willowy build and longish hair piled high in a messy bun before the person was opening the door.
“Hello,” greeted the most beautiful omega Changbin had ever spoken to in his life, of which he was perfectly certain. Large, brown eyes Changbin could’ve happily fallen into and a generous mouth that was currently pulled back in an apologetic grimace, but Changbin could easily imagine what it looked like with a smile. “Sorry, but we're not open yet.” His voice was sweet, and mellifluous, exactly what Changbin expected, or hoped. Or dreamed, if he’d known of this creature before that day. Changbin was instantly smitten.
“Oh, yes, I know,” Changbin waved his hands in front of himself apologetically. “I just–I have to tell you. Whatever it is you're baking in there, it smells wonderful.”
“Oh, thank you, but,” the pretty man blushed, red traveling down his flushed cheeks to disappear into the collar of his crisp and professional white button-down shirt, covered by a simple dark gray apron. He glanced back at the empty glass cases behind him, Changbin's gaze following. “I haven't actually started baking yet.”
“Oh. You haven’t?” Changbin asked, puzzled, before the weight of the man's words sank into him, and his eyes widened in disbelief. Did he mean to say that Changbin had been pulled in by this fellow omega's sweet cinnamon bun scent this entire time? His mouth fell open in shock, before he had the decency to snap it shut. “I-I’m so sorry,” he stammered, at a rare loss for words, feeling embarrassment sink all the way down his body to his toes. He wanted to melt into the floor. “I promise I’m not usually this uncouth, but– well–”
“If it’s any consolation,” the man jumped in to say, cutting Changbin off from babbling further and digging his hole any deeper, a small mercy. “You smell amazing, too. If the rosewater scent is you, after all.”
Changbin snapped his mouth shut, blinking. The blush on the man’s skin only deepened, but his eyes remained steady as he reached a hand out. “My name is Hyunjin.”
“C-changbin,” Changbin stammered. Hyunjin’s hand was soft and large, perfectly encapsulating Changbin’s. The spark that lit between them erased all shame, and all doubt, from Changbin’s mind. He was meant to come there, he’d never been more certain of anything in his life.
“Hello, Changbin.” Hyunjin smiled, softly. “Would you like to come inside? I imagine we have a lot to talk about.”