Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even on his days off, Mingyu likes to spend time at Carat Bakery and Cafe, the bakery where he works. Sometimes, he drops by to chat with Seungkwan, the beta owner and his friend, or one of the part-timers. On other days, he brings his sketchbook and draws the cakes and pastries behind the display case, or customers as they step up to the till to place their order. The bakery is his preferred place to work. He’d choose murmured conversation and whirring machinery over the clanging and rattling of the plumbing in his apartment any day. As a plus, the Internet connection doesn’t drop every few hours like it does at home.

Today, Mingyu occupies a table for two by the window. A sweating cup of iced coffee sits on his right, accompanied by a flaky butter croissant. The croissant is fresh out of the oven and untouched—Seungkwan dropped it off just a minute earlier—and faint curls of steam rise from its glossy golden-brown exterior.

Mingyu’s fingertips rest on his laptop keys. He has been working on refining the curriculum for the beginner cooking class he will be teaching two weeks from now, but he has lost his train of thought. It’s hard to concentrate when he knows people are looking in his direction and whispering about him.

Two girls are giggling in the corner opposite him. Which wouldn’t be a problem, if they weren’t giggling at him. They shoot him coy looks when they think he isn’t paying attention, but whenever he glances up, they blush and hide behind their hands and nudge each other with their shoulders.

Mingyu knows all the regulars that frequent Carat, if not by name, then definitely by face. But he doesn’t recognise these two. Judging by their sizes, they’re probably omegas. They’re tiny slips of things. Mingyu had seen them walk in, and he guesses that they barely come up to his chest. Despite the autumn chill starting to creep in, they’re both wearing off-the-shoulder sundresses that reveal their slender shoulders and graceful collarbones—the kind that an alpha would want to mark up.

They’re both pretty. Intimidatingly so.

He’s sure the attention they’re giving him is positive. He can always tell when it isn’t based on the curl of the lips alone, which can express anything from surprise to pity to mean amusement. So he should be pleased that he, out of all the other alphas in the cafe, is on the receiving end of this attention, but he isn’t.

“Okay, fine!” one of the girls—the brunette—bursts out. She sets both palms on the table and pushes herself to standing. Smoothing down the front of her dress, she tips up her chin, and makes her way over.

Their eyes meet. She smiles. Mingyu offers a wobbly smile back and then averts his gaze. He busies himself by guzzling down his iced coffee. Even though he isn’t the one doing the approaching, he is nervous, and being nervous always makes him thirsty.

She stops in front of his table. “Hi,” she says, “I hope I’m not distracting you from your work…”

Mingyu has no choice but to look up. “That’s alright. I was feeling a little stuck, anyway.”

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She clasps her hands behind her and sways in place, the skirt of her dress fluttering with the motion. Sweet and demure. Mingyu can probably learn a thing or two from her.

“So, this is my first time here. There are so many pastries to choose from. It’s kind of overwhelming. Do you have any recommendations?”

Mingyu hums, tapping his chin as he considers. “A croissant, for sure. This bakery is known for their croissants, and a fresh batch came out of the oven just a few minutes ago. I’d also recommend anything from the Autumn Collection. It’s limited edition for the season…”

Mingyu spent dozens of hours designing the fall menu, creating and perfecting recipes for a collection of sweet potato brioche, chestnut and honey mousse cakes, persimmon macarons, and maple lattes. He is proud of the resulting confectionery, and he still glows when he remembers the wide-eyed expression on Seungkwan’s face when he tasted the chestnut and honey mousse cake.

“Oh my god, Mingyu, this is unreal,” Seungkwan had said. “My tastebuds are having a religious experience.”

So maybe Mingyu blabs a little too much about their autumn desserts: their flavour profiles, the textures, the ingredients. Details that the girl probably doesn’t even care about.

For the first thirty seconds, she seems all too happy to listen, smiling and nodding along with every word he says. Then her expression changes. Her full brows draw together, furrowing in the middle. Her small nose scrunches, delicate nostrils flaring as she sniffs. She cocks her head.

“... the filling is sweet potato and brown sugar. It’ll pair really nicely with the roasted green tea latte…” Mingyu trails off.

He can see the question written all over her face. Just ask, he thinks. Over the years, he learns that it is more painful to ignore the elephant in the room. And by ‘elephant’, Mingyu means himself. At six-foot-one and nudging a hundred seventy pounds, he stands as tall and broad as any alpha—if not tall er and broad er. For most men, that isn’t a problem, except… 

“That sounds amazing. I think I’ll order that, then.” She draws her lower lip between her teeth and worries at it. “Um—I’m sorry if this sounds really forward, but are you an omega?”

Mingyu forces himself to smile, but it feels fake and stiff. “Yeah, I am.”

A pink blush makes its way up her cheeks. “Oh. I thought…”

“That I was an alpha?” Mingyu finishes for her.

She hides her face in her hands and makes a mortified noise. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice muffled through her fingers.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I get that a lot.”

He doesn’t know for whom he feels more embarrassed: the girl who took a risk and approached him, or himself, the “alpha” who turns heads, right up until people get close enough and realise that this “perfectly sculpted alpha”—someone else’s words, not his—is, in fact, an omega. People talk about it when they think he is out of earshot, what a waste it is for Mingyu to be an omega, or how they feel sorry for any omega who looks like him.

Not so perfectly sculpted, after all. Far from it.

Some people say that personality isn’t indicative of a person’s secondary gender. They say it’s rude to assume that just because someone is gentle and caring, that they’re an omega. Likewise, it’s judgmental to assume that just because someone is assertive, that they’re an alpha. Of course there are moments in an omega’s life when they’re assertive and aggressive. It’s ignorant and insensitive to say that alpha don’t have the same capacity to nurture as omegas do.

But stereotypes about secondary genders are stereotypes for a reason. And for Mingyu, it’s obvious from a fairly young age that he will present as an omega.

In elementary school, Mingyu is popular. He’s warm and friendly and gets along with everyone in his class. Like most kids, he likes yelling and running around the neighbourhood with his friends. And, as both of his parents are aware, he gets into plenty of mischief. He enjoys playing sports even though he often wipes out—through no one’s fault but his own—when his feet become tangled. The result of this is that he often comes home with his knees banged up and bloodied (which is a sight that frightens him so much that it makes his lower lip wobble with held-back tears). He likes all the subjects in school, even math, which gives him the most grief. He lights up with shy pride when praised for his work, but everyone—alphas, betas, and omegas alike—loves compliments.

So it isn’t any of those things that give it away.

What worries his parents is this:

He doesn’t step on ants with the rest of his friends, and even though he’s scared of spiders, he still cries when his father kills one. Most parents have to actively teach their child empathy, how to share and how to care. But Mingyu is soft-hearted from the beginning.

He doesn’t fight back when he’s teased. Takes it all with a small pout or a half-hearted smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

He likes cute things, and taking care of them. Stuffed animals, puppies, kittens. Doesn’t grow out of it.

He prefers to be in the kitchen with his mom, as opposed to building and fixing things with his dad. Mingyu loves helping with meals, and baking, especially.

He doesn’t complain when he’s ordered to help with chores around the house. In fact, there isn’t even a need for his parents to issue an order: a simple request will do. He enjoys cooking and cleaning and sewing—traditionally omega activities.

It’s his mom, Jihyo, who worries the most. She knows what it means to be an omega, even in a decade that has reaped the benefits of a dozen omegas’ rights movements that took place over the past half-century.

Plus Mingyu is a boy. Male omegas aren’t rare, per se, but sometimes people still look at them like they’re not-right.

People are always talking about nature versus nurture. Jihyo makes some desperate and misguided attempts at nurturing an alpha.

She signs Mingyu up for taekwondo and soccer. Kicks Mingyu out of the kitchen. Urges him to go spend more time with his dad, doing whatever it is alphas should do, even though Mingyu is truly a mama’s boy. She doesn’t ask him to do any chores, refusing even when Mingyu wants to help. She finds herself in the odd position of racing against him: who will get to the chores first?

When Mingyu enters high school, she picks his courses for him. Woodwork instead of sewing, gym instead of foods class.

Mingyu shoots up like a weed. Between one week and the next, it appears to Jihyo’s eyes that he grows an inch. Thanks to his taekwondo class, he puts on the wiry muscle of a teenage boy. A teenage alpha. This eases the worry in Jihyo’s chest, makes her feel like she is doing something right and that all will be well. Both she and Mingyu just have to keep doing what they are doing.

It takes Mingyu years before he realises what his mom is trying to do. Once he does, he finds it overbearing at best. At worst, he finds it downright infuriating. She is part of the problem, part of the majority who perpetuate secondary gender roles and stereotypes. Why must omegas be soft and gentle? Why shouldn’t alphas clean and cook?

There is no shame in being an omega.

But anyway, the way he has been growing, it’s more likely that he will present an alpha.

A few weeks after Mingyu turns sixteen, he jolts awake in the middle of the night, heart racing and overheated. His shirt sticks to his torso with sweat. His bangs are plastered to his temple. Even his sheets are soaked through. There is a throbbing need between his legs. Immediately, he knows he has presented.

He reaches into his pajama bottoms to ease the ache there. Instead of finding the base of his sex swollen with a knot, he fingers swipe through a slippery fluid. The consistency is odd. It doesn’t feel like sweat. For a few seconds, his foggy and half-asleep brain can’t make sense of it.

The gears of his brain creak to life, each tooth shifting and clicking into place.

Mingyu’s stomach sinks like a stone.

A tiny voice in the back of his head taunts him, reminding him of his own words: There’s no shame in being an omega.

It isn’t sweat that has soaked through his blankets and sheets.

It’s slick.

He assures himself that it won’t be so bad. He focuses on the good parts. He likes housekeeping and sewing and cooking, so it isn’t a problem that his alpha will expect him to do these things. He likes the idea of being taken care of and protected. He loves children. Definitely wants his own one day.

He has seen alphas courting omegas, even male ones. It makes him giddy, the thought of an alpha courting him. Being offered little gifts, taken out on dates. He thinks about an alpha walking or driving him home and scenting him, brief and shy.

But a combination of genetics and years of sports has made him tall and sturdy. He’s large for an alpha. For an omega? He’s abnormal. In a society that values uniformity and believes that omegas should be soft and waifish, Mingyu finds himself relegated to the sidelines. Big, gormless, and unwanted.

Mingyu arrives forty-five minutes early to the neighbourhood community centre. He’ll be teaching an eight-week long beginner’s course, with sessions held once a week on Thursdays at four. 

The receptionist at the front desk is occupied on the phone, but she flashes him a smile, which he returns with a wave and a mouthed hello . He slips behind her desk and into the supply room, where the photocopiers are located.

He dumps his backpack onto a nearby table and sets down a container of sweets—matcha macarons with mango buttercream—with more care. It’s his treat for the class today, his way of trying to win over his students via their stomachs. From his backpack, he digs out a plastic sleeve containing handouts for the day’s class. The photocopier whirs and rumbles to life, spitting out copies of the eight-week program outline, basic hygiene and kitchen safety, beginner cooking tips, and today’s recipes: spicy cucumber salad and stir-fried potatoes—simple banchan to accompany any meal.

Mingyu holds the container of macarons and stack of handouts in two careful hands as he makes his way to one of the two kitchens in the community centre. He unlocks the door and enters, flicking on the lights. The kitchen has eight cooking stations, complete with two burners and an oven each. Two industrial refrigerators are pressed up against the left wall, alongside shelves of vegetables, spices, and other pantry goods. At the back, the kitchen connects to a small office, which is where Mingyu drops off his backpack and sheds his jacket.

First classes are always nerve-wracking. He usually avoids drawing attention to himself, but now he has to stand up in front of a group. All those eyes on him, watching and judging. Trying to figure out his secondary gender. Struggling to reconcile his scent and occupation with his stature.

He hopes he won’t get tongue-tied and say or do something stupid. The first class he ever taught, he did both: stuttering on his name during his introduction, and then forgetting to put the lid on the food processor during the demonstration. When he hit ‘pulse’, onion chunks exploded out, scattering across the counter, landing in his hair, catching him in the eye. Even after rinsing, he had spent the next ten minutes crying from one eye.

He also worries that his students won’t like him or the menu he selected for the course. Or that the batter will turn out soggy instead of crisp, or that he’ll overbeat the egg whites, or he’ll overwork the dough for the hand-pulled noodles, even though these won’t come up until weeks from now. 

Mingyu shakes his head to clear the negative thoughts from his mind. Gives himself two quick smacks on the cheeks to energise himself. Everything will be fine, he tells himself. He has been teaching classes for three years now—ever since he finished his diploma in baking and pastry arts—and cooking for far longer.

Before students begin to filter in, Mingyu checks to make sure that each station has a complete set of knives, cookware, and pantry items. A peek into the refrigerators assures him that the ingredients required for today’s recipe are still there.

His heart rate begins to ramp up as the clock ticks closer to the start of class. He fusses with the handouts, reads the class roster once again, as though he hadn’t already memorized all the names a week ago. Any moment now, students will begin to filter in. As he thinks that, two knocks sound at the door.

“Excuse me, is this the beginner cooking class with Kim Mingyu?” The voice is deep and rich, honey-smooth.

“Hi, yes, that’s me—I’m Mingyu.” He turns around, a welcoming smile stretching across his face. His smile falters for a fraction of a second when he sets eyes upon the man. He swallows.

It’s impossible not to notice how attractive the owner of the voice is. Narrow, monolidded eyes set beneath straight brows. An angled jawline, strong chin. The pout of his lower lip softens out features sharp enough to whet a knife against. His hair is the colour of red wine and carefully styled with gel; the sweep of his bangs curls at the temple. His shoulders fill out a starched white shirt, which in turn is tucked into grey trousers that make his legs seem a mile long. Tiny waist. Mingyu can probably get his overlarge hands around it—not that he’ll ever do that.

They’re outside scenting range, but Mingyu can tell from the way the man holds himself as he strides across the kitchen, that he is an alpha. Shoulders straight, chin tipped slightly upwards. He isn’t a brick wall of muscle the way some alphas are, but he has a muscular leanness to him, and his presence takes up as much room as someone much larger than him.

Mingyu, intimidated, finds himself shrinking a little. He has to make a conscious effort to open up his body. He meets the man halfway, extending his hand, which the man takes. The man’s hands are cold and smooth, fingers long and slender in Mingyu’s grubby grip.

“Hi, I’m Wonwoo.” The man’s face transforms when he smiles, entire face brightening. His nose scrunches. His eyes turn into crescent moons that catch the fluorescent lights of the kitchen classroom.

And his grin: so wide and brilliant that Mingyu averts his eyes a fraction, fearing he might go blind. It’s like looking into the sun. 

“Hi, I’m Mingyu,” Mingyu says, feeling dumbstruck. 

Wonwoo laughs. “Yeah, you mentioned that.”

“O-oh, right. I did.”

Now that they’re standing closer together, Mingyu notes that he is taller than the other man by an inch or two. He also notices Wonwoo’s alpha scent. Winter pine, sharp and fresh. Like inhaling crisp morning air after the first snowfall of the season.

Wonwoo is making his own appraisal of Mingyu, sweeping his gaze down Mingyu’s body and then back up again. When their eyes meet, a slow smile grows across the alpha’s lips.

Heat prickles beneath Mingyu’s skin. He wonders what Wonwoo thinks of him, this tall and broad omega who takes up more space than any omega should.

Made shy, Mingyu withdraws his hand from Wonwoo’s; he should have done that sooner, anyway. It isn’t proper for a handshake to go on for that long. He curls his fingers into a loose fist, which he holds close to his stomach in a protective gesture.

“Um,” Mingyu starts, “are you here for the cooking lessons by any chance?” He remembers that the community centre hired a new program director recently. Could that be Wonwoo? Mingyu is pretty sure that the new director’s name is Wonshik and not Wonwoo, but it’s more likely for Wonwoo to be a director scoping out his new workplace than it is for Wonwoo to be an alpha interested in learning how to cook.

To his surprise, Wonwoo answers, “Yeah, I am.” The alpha runs a hand through his hair. Tucks his chin into his chest and says, sheepish, “I, uh—kind of made my nephew cry with my cooking. He wouldn’t look at me for the rest of the night.”

Mingyu barks out a laugh—too loud. He cuts himself off by clearing his throat and pressing a fist to his mouth, though his lips still twitch at the corners with amusement. “Wow. How did you manage that?”

“I made him hotteoks, but I got sugar mixed up with salt.”

“That’s actually a pretty common mistake.”

“I’ll bet. Sugar and salt literally look the same,” Wonwoo says. Then he coughs lightly. “I also didn’t realize you were supposed to level off measuring cups, so I may have dumped in twice as much as I should have.”

Mingyu winces. “Yeah, that’s a little…” 

“It honestly wasn’t even that bad?” But Wonwoo says it like a question, not a statement. “It just ended up being a little salty, but sweet and salty is a thing, right?”

“Yeah, it definitely can be,” Mingyu assures, but not in the case of hotteoks , he doesn’t add, with their gooey filling of brown sugar, cinnamon, and peanuts. 

“Anyway, my little sister—my nephew’s mom—signed me up for these cooking lessons.” Wonwoo spreads his hands. “So, here I am.”

“It’s not too late for a full refund.” Quickly, Mingyu amends, “I mean—not that I don’t want you here, because I do, but if you were forced into this…”

Wonwoo hums and gives an easy shrug with one shoulder. His eyes are still on Mingyu, and he’s still wearing that lopsided smile. “I think it might be fun.”

For some reason, those words make Mingyu’s face burn. It’s ridiculous; there’s nothing remotely suggestive about them. Mingyu tells himself that he’s not going to be one of those omegas, the kind who trips over themselves when placed under the spotlight of an attractive alpha’s regard. Plus the last thing he wants to do is make Wonwoo uncomfortable.

From behind them, a voice pipes up, “Excuse me, is this the beginner cooking class?” It’s a welcome distraction for Mingyu, who gives a short bow in Wonwoo’s direction and excuses himself to greet the new student. 

After introductions are made and macarons are passed out, Mingyu invites everyone to come up to the demonstration kitchen. Six omegas, plus one alpha, crowd around his station as he explains the day’s recipe and ingredients, as well as the tools they’ll be using. He first shows them how to sharpen a knife (“A dull knife is a dangerous one,” he lectures), before moving on to demonstrate basic knife skills. He shows them how to hold a knife (“Like shaking a hand”), with the other hand curled into a claw, blade resting against the knuckle of the middle finger. The cucumber salad requires thin, even slices, so Mingyu reminds everyone to make a sawing motion as they cut, not to just push downward. He flicks his gaze up to make sure that everyone is still following along.

His eyes land on Wonwoo, who is scribbling away on a pocket-sized notebook, occasionally looking up to study what Mingyu is doing. 

He’s actually taking notes, Mingyu realizes with wonder, even though he had prepared handouts to be used as reference during cooking time, as well as at home. It reminds him that he needs to work hard, too, so that the course will be worthwhile for everyone. 

After the demonstration, it’s the students’ turn to try their hand at cooking. Students chatter between themselves as they pick their ingredients from the refrigerator and pantry. They return to their stations, where they slip on their aprons and get started chopping vegetables. 

During this time, Mingyu circulates the room to ensure that everyone has what they need. As he visits each station, he makes some small talk to get to know his students better. Most of the omegas are his age or younger, though there is one woman—Mina Myoui—in her early-forties who, in her words, is “just starting to learn how to be an omega” after putting aside traditional duties and obligations in favour of advancing her career and climbing to the top of an advertising company. 

Eventually, he weaves his way over to Wonwoo. 

The alpha is hesitating, knife poised over the chopping board. He’s alternating between shooting surreptitious glances at his neighbour’s station and looking down at his own cutting board. A tiny wrinkle appears between his brows as he frowns. He reminds Mingyu of a lost and clueless primary school student who tries to figure out what to do by observing their classmates.

Mingyu approaches him. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m not sure. My cucumber looks a little different from everyone else’s. Is that normal? Are there different kinds of cucumbers?” Wonwoo asks.  

Mingyu looks down at the unevenly sliced vegetable rounds on Wonwoo’s cutting board. He screws up his face trying to hold back his laughter, and fails. An ugly giggle-snort bursts from between his pressed lips. “Oh, Wonwoo. That’s—” He has to cut himself off to take a breath and collect himself.

“Not a cucumber, I’m guessing,” Wonwoo says.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing. It’s rude of me.” Mingyu tries to say it with a straight face, but he can feel the corners of his lips twitching. 

“I can’t believe I don’t know what a cucumber looks like,” Wonwoo says morosely. “I was expecting more of myself.”

That has a fresh round of giggles rising in Mingyu. He tamps it down by sheer force of will.

Stop it. It’s not that funny, he scolds himself, squishing his cheeks between his palms, fingers covering his eyes. For one thing, it’s rude to laugh at honest beginner mistakes. It’s a blow to the confidence, and depending on the person, it might scare them off from taking risks or pursuing the skill altogether. He’s a professional. It’s his job to help and correct the mistakes of aspiring chefs—and without disparaging them.

No one appreciates being laughed at, especially not alphas. Mingyu has seen alphas strike omegas for less. It doesn’t matter that Mingyu is laughing not because Wonwoo’s mistake is stupid, but because it’s adorable. To make matters worse, Mingyu isn’t the only omega laughing. His outburst attracted the attention of other omegas, who titter and giggle.

He doesn’t know what kind of alpha Wonwoo is yet. While Wonwoo has been polite and respectful for far, that can change at the drop of a dime. Fewer things are more fragile than an alpha’s pride. All Wonwoo has to do is complain to the program director and Mingyu will be out of a job.

That thought sobers him up quickly. He peeks at Wonwoo from between his fingers. Instead of being confronted by a stony expression, he finds Wonwoo watching him, a crooked little smile adorning his lips. A hint of embarrassment swirls in his alpha scent, but there’s no anger.

Relief loosens the breath lodged in Mingyu’s throat. He fans himself with flapping heads to cool his cheeks. He does it with such vigour that he ends up smacking himself on the nose. He flinches and lets out a small ack!

Wonwoo chuckles. “You all right?”

“Yes,” Mingyu says. “I’m really sorry for laughing, Wonwoo. It’s a common mistake.”

“Judging by your reaction, I don’t think it is,” Wonwoo says wryly.

“They’re both green and similarly shaped. This variety of zucchini in particular is long and slender, so it’s easy to mix the two up, especially if you’re a complete beginner to cooking and haven’t done much grocery shopping in the past.”

“I appreciate you trying to make me feel better.”

“I’m serious!” Mingyu says. “It probably didn’t help that I stored the zucchini and cucumbers right beside each other.”

Wonwoo hums. “Alright. I’ll take your word for it.”

“Please do.” Mingu realises then, that he has braced his forearms on the countertop and is leaning towards Wonwoo, back arched and face tipped up. Open and smiling. It’s a blatantly flirtatious posture, one he has seen omegas approach alphas with before. When did he even get into this position? He clears his throat, drawing away to stand upright. “I’ll go grab some cucumbers for you,” he says, scurrying off without waiting for a response. 

The rest of the hour passes without further incident. As they finish up, students begin to taste test their side dishes, as well those of others. Appreciative hums and sounds of delight fill the room. They marvel at how fresh and flavourful the ingredients taste, wondering how something so simple and familiar could taste this good. A sense of pride and accomplishment fills Mingyu. With students like this, he feels excited about how these next seven weeks will go. 

With roughly ten minutes left in class, it’s time to clean up. Students pack away their food in the containers they brought with them, perhaps to eat with their dinner tonight, Mingyu thinks hopefully. Scraps are thrown in the organics bin; stovetops and countertops are wiped down. Dishes and pans are rinsed, and Mingyu flits from station to station to help with the dishwasher. 

“Bye Mingyu!” a trio of omegas grin and wave as they leave.

Mingyu says bye and makes a shallow bow to each student as they leave. Wonwoo is the last to depart. “Thanks for the lesson today,” he says, as if Mingyu were doing him a favour and this was not a job he was being paid to do. “I know you might find this hard to believe, but I actually learned a lot.”

Mingyu laughs. “I think you did really well today.”

Wonwoo smiles. “I’ll see you next week?”

“Next week,” Mingyu confirms. 

Chapter Text

“How are the cooking classes going?” Seungkwan asks. 

They’re both on the morning shift today. It’s just after six. The bakery won’t be open until seven. Seungkwan is preparing buns and pastries for the oven, glazing them with honey and warm cream. Mingyu is slicing fresh croissants for breakfast sandwiches.

“Pretty good, but we’ve also only had two classes, so things could still go either way.” They’re in their honeymoon phase, or so to speak. The classes promise something new and exciting, a welcome change of pace to lives that are often stuck in routine. Everyone is still getting to know each other, and every session is an opportunity to form new friendships. Students are still eager to learn new skills and open to feedback. However, as the weeks pass and the novelty wears off, the initial rush fades and motivation dwindles. Mingyu has seen it before, attendance rates dropping after the first few classes. Friendships form, but cliques clash just as easily. Familiarity breeds contempt, and all that. After all, when he taught an intermediate cooking program last fall, it hadn’t been until the third class that an omega started antagonizing him. 

The omega took issue with everything Mingyu did, from the way he held a whisk to the way he pleated his dumplings. She complained that the recipes were too easy, or too time-consuming, or that Mingyu didn’t do things the way her mom had taught her, and Mingyu had to swallow down the retort, “If you like the way your mom cooks so much, why don’t you just learn from her?” One time, he cracked an egg over the frying pan but accidentally broke the yolk, and she had said snidely, “They’ll let anyone be a cooking instructor these days.” At some point, she got bored of insulting his cooking skills and started using her phone or talking to her friend during demonstrations. And Mingyu, who had never been a confrontational person, did not know what else to do but continue with his explanation over her chatter. 

“Everyone seems nice so far,” Mingyu says. “Some of them are a bit slow to get started and get distracted while cooking, though. They can be a little chatty.”

Seungkwan chuckles. “What are they, high schoolers?”

“Most are in their early to mid-twenties, but there are two students in their thirties and forties. There are three friends who decided to take classes together, and they’re, well… Distracted by the alpha in the class.”

Both of Seungkwan's brows rise. "Really? An alpha taking cooking classes? That's pretty rare. When's the last time you had one in your class?"

Mingyu hums as he thinks. "I'd say about two years ago? She came with her omega mate." He still remembers the way one would burst out laughing whenever the other made a mistake, and the way they held a spoon to each other's lips to taste for seasoning. At the end of the course, they baked a chocolate cake for him as a thank-you. They used multi-coloured frosting to paint a character—apparently, it was supposed to be him—and while the result was visually horrifying, the cake itself was moist and decadent. 

"How's the alpha in your class this year? Wait, what’s his name?"

“Wonwoo, and he’s pretty bad,” Mingyu says, laughing when he recalls Wonwoo’s mishaps in the kitchen. “He didn’t know the difference between a zucchini and a cucumber, and he just learned how to make a rolled omelette last week. We also made a beef and vegetable stir-fry that week and he burned his garlic instantly because the oil was too hot, and then he overcrowded the pan, so the meat ended up steaming instead of searing. But he’s trying his best. I think he genuinely wants to learn. I like him.” He can’t help but add that last part in, though he keeps his tone light. Hopes that Seungkwan will interpret it as a casual comment and let it slip past his radar. 

Seungkwan sends a mischievous, sidelong glance his way. “Is he cute?”

“Seungkwan!” Mingyu scolds, cheeks warming traitorously. 

Seungkwan laughs. “What? You said he was distracting.”

“I said other people find him distracting, not me ,” Mingyu emphasizes. He butters the croissants, careful not to crush the flaky pastry, then fills each croissant with sharp cheddar cheese, bacon, and scrambled egg. But Seungkwan has known him for far too long, and much too well; knows that if he lets the silence stretch, Mingyu will spill every word on his mind. Grudgingly, Mingyu admits, “Yes, he’s cute.”

"Ooohhh…." Seungkwan says, obnoxiously drawing out the syllable. He bumps hips with Mingyu and grins.

“Seungkwan—don’t,” Mingyu warns. “Not every alpha is a potential mate. Yes, he’s cute, but he’s just a student. Nothing’s going to happen between us.”

Mingyu won’t deny that he is intrigued by the alpha.  

Wonwoo is always one of the first to arrive to class. Without fail, he greets Mingyu with a smile when he enters the room, and thanks him personally for each lesson. He’s quiet, but by virtue that he is an alpha among omegas, doing traditionally omega things, that alone makes him stand out. 

Mingyu finds himself watching Wonwoo from afar. The more he learns about the alpha, the more curious he becomes. 

From overheard conversation, Mingyu learns that Wonwoo is twenty-eight years old—two years older than Mingyu—and a software engineer at Pledis, a tech giant. Single, but “not particularly looking for a relationship right now”, which are the words he used to turn down an invitation to a mixer. This prompts synchronized, disappointed aww’s from the omegas who invited him, and even makes Mingyu feel a little deflated, which he quickly shakes himself out of. Young, successful, criminally handsome, and kind–Wonwoo is the kind of alpha Mingyu doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hell with.

But he can’t help being charmed by Wonwoo’s earnest efforts to learn how to cook. He meticulously measures out spices, insists on knowing what, exactly, “a pinch” is. He listens and pays careful attention to lessons. Sometimes, their eyes meet during a demonstration, and a sliver of a smile cracks across Wonwoo’s face. Mingyu smiles back, cheeks feeling a little flushed from having been caught looking. Unlike most alphas, Wonwoo accepts help and guidance from Mingyu and the other omegas without bristling. He laughs at his own mistakes, throwing his head back with his mirth, eyes and nose alike scrunching up. It’s hard not to be drawn into that quiet warmth.

Mingyu likes the way Wonwoo speaks: voice low, calm, and articulate. He likes how Wonwoo has a kind word to say to everyone, how he compliments Mingyu for the recipes they make in class and the extra treats he brings.

Wonwoo is a big fan of those extra treats. He's partial to the brown sugar and butter tarts, which Mingyu brings to their fourth session. "I could eat twenty of these," he claims, to which Mingyu responds with a laugh, "You'd get sick after the first three."

"I doubt it," Wonwoo says. "If I could eat these every day for the rest of my life, I would die a happy alpha."

It's silly, but Mingyu finds himself thinking, That's it? That's all it takes to make him happy? I could do that.

“You can have the rest.” They’re the last ones in the room after the day's lesson. Everyone else has left, a few students taking an extra treat for the road home. Even then, there are a half-dozen tarts left over. 

“Really?”

“Mh-hmm,” Mingyu says. “I made too much and I won’t be able to finish it all by myself, anyway.”

“So I would be doing you a favour.”

Mingyu laughs, “You would.”

“Then I would be happy to help,” Wonwoo says. He reaches into the container for another tart, breaking it in half and popping it into his mouth. He makes a pleased sound as he chews. “You could open a bakery.”

“I work at my friend’s bakery and cafe, actually. I developed most of the recipes there.”

“Really? I’ll have to visit, then. What’s it called?”

“Carat Bakery and Cafe.”

Wonwoo pulls out his phone. “Is that spelled c-a-r-r-o-t, or…”

Mingyu laughs again, and oh god, he’s not turning into a laugh track around Wonwoo, is he? “No, not carrot. C-a-r-a-t.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess it wouldn’t make much sense to name a bakery after a vegetable.” Wonwoo’s thumb swipes across his phone, perhaps looking up the location. “Hm, it’s not too far from my work. What days do you work?”

“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday. I’m usually there an hour before the shop opens, until an hour after closing. Except on Mondays. I finish early at 1 PM on Mondays.”

Wonwoo whistles lowly. “Long hours.”

“I guess so. It’s standard for a bakery, and I’m pretty involved, so…” In all honesty, as much as he loves his job, there are days when he feels tired down to his bones. There’s not much choice for an omega like him, though. Without an alpha to support him, he needs all the hours he can get. Even then, all he has to show for it is a dinky little apartment, subsidized for single omegas. He doesn’t say any of these things outloud. No alpha likes an omega who complains and asks for more than their station merits.

“And then you teach here on Thursdays. Tell me you have at least Sunday off.”

“Er, technically, yes, but sometimes I need to plan lessons, and I usually end up going into the bakery to do some prep for Monday.”

“You work so hard,” Wonwoo says, and Mingyu feels the praise heat up the tips of his ears. “I’m sorry for keeping you tonight; you probably want to go home and have dinner.” Wonwoo had been leaning against the countertop, but he pushes himself to standing now.

Mingyu shakes his head emphatically. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.” He tries not to feel disappointed. He doesn’t want to go home, would be happy chatting with Wonwoo for the rest of the night. Maybe he said something wrong, or he’s a boring conversationalist—he’s never been good at talking to alphas—or maybe the conversation has simply run its natural course. Either way, he takes his cue from Wonwoo that it’s time to leave. “I’ll see you next Thursday?”

“Definitely.”

Mingyu doesn’t actually think Wonwoo will drop by the bakery. More likely than not, the alpha was saying he would visit just to be nice. That’s what Mingyu tells himself in the dark morning hours as he preps for the bakery’s opening. And yet his ears perk up every time he hears the bell above the front door jingle, announcing the arrival of a customer. It takes a concentrated effort of will to keep himself from running out of the kitchen to check if the customer happens to be Wonwoo. He won’t stoop so low; won’t embarrass himself in this way. Seungkwan’s working cash, and will never let Mingyu escape with his dignity if he sees Mingyu constantly checking. 

But Mingyu is only human, is only an omega who is maybe falling for an alpha, so his resolve weakens as the minutes tick by. He cannot help but peer out from the kitchens at every opportunity he gets. Surreptitiously, of course. Just when Seungkwan’s back is turned. Just when he has to pass by the door connecting the kitchen with the store front. Then, he’ll let himself peek out. 

There’s no sign of Wonwoo all Friday and Saturday, though. Or maybe Wonwoo did drop by, and Mingyu hadn’t noticed. He’s often in the back, baking tray after tray of pastries, scones, cookies, and breads. It would be easy to miss Wonwoo, even if he did come.

Seungkwan pokes his head into the kitchen. “Mingyu,” he calls. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Mingyu straightens. He's been folded over a cake for the past ten minutes, meticulously piping out flower petals in various shades of blue, white, and indigo for a custom order. He sets down the piping bag. "Who is it?"

"Not sure. He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask," Seungkwan replies. As Mingyu passes by him, he adds with a sly look, "He's a hottie, though."

Mingyu can physically feel his heart perk up in his chest. Stop it, he scolds himself. He wipes his hands on his apron and ducks through the swinging doors. Sweeps his eyes over the cafe, which is packed for the morning rush. 

“Hi, Mingyu.”

Mingyu jerks around, a smile already spreading across his face. Wonwoo had been in his blindspot, standing by the shelf of packaged teas and coffees. “Wonwoo! What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo holds up two bags, one in each hand. “It’s my turn to bring something for treat day at work. I thought I’d spare everyone my baking and just buy something instead.”

“You could definitely bake now. It’s not so different from cooking a regular meal.”

“Maybe,” Wonwoo allows. “My colleagues would be upset, though. I’ve been talking about your baking nonstop for the past couple of weeks, so they made me promise to bring some for treat day.” 

Mingyu melts like heated butter. Warmth fills his chest and overflows, spilling across his cheeks. He wrings his fingers, a nervous habit he’s never been able to kick. "You talk about my baking?" It's almost embarrassing how soft his voice goes.

Wonwoo huffs out a laugh. "You make good tarts, okay?"

Mingyu rolls his lower lip between his teeth. "Okay."

A moment of quiet passes between them. Behind them, the muted bustle of the cafe: the coffee grinder whirring, mugs being set down on wooden tables, spoons clinking, murmured conversation, employees calling out orders. Mingyu can hear the pulse in his skull. Wonwoo looks good today, dressed in a off-white polo and tan trousers. His waist is cinched in with a leather belt, emphasising the breadth of his shoulders. Meanwhile, Mingyu has been at work for the past three hours, sweating from the heat of the ovens, hair limp against his forehead, face probably powdered with flour. 

“I should probably let you get back to work.” Wonwoo’s voice tugs Mingyu out of his stupid. “I just wanted to say hi. Sorry for bothering you while you’re so busy.”

"It's okay. Thanks for saying hi."

'Thanks for saying hi' ?

Mingyu wants to smack himself. Did he really just thank Wonwoo for saying hi? How whipped can a person be?

But Wonwoo flashes him a lopsided grin. "M-hm. I'll see you in class?"

"Thursday," Mingyu confirms.

The grin still plays on Wonwoo's lips. "Okay. Have a good one."

Once the morning rush eases, Seungkwan slinks into the kitchen and drapes himself over the counter. He props a chin onto her elbow and watches Mingyu, a shit-eating grin adorning his face. Waiting for Mingyu to acknowledge him, which Mingyu refuses to do. Instead, he focuses on filling donuts with raspberry jelly with a certain determination. 

Not one to give up easily, Seungkwan asks, "Was that the alpha from your cooking class?"

"Yeah, that was him."

"He came to see you."

"He came to buy pastries for treat day at work," Mingyu corrects. He has been telling himself that ever since Wonwoo left over an hour ago. Trying not to let his eager heart read between the lines and misinterpret.

"Uh-huh," Seungkwan says. "You know, while he was paying, he kept craning his neck, trying to look into the kitchens, so I asked him if he was looking for someone. And he did this shy little laugh and was like, 'Yeah, I was wondering if Kim Mingyu worked here?'"

Mingyu knows exactly what Seungkwan means when she says ' shy little laugh '. He can picture it in his head.

"Maybe he's into you," Seungkwan says.

Mingyu blows out a stream of air. Tamps down the irritation rising. He knows Seungkwan means well. The annoyance is directed more at himself. “Not every alpha who shows me an ounce of kindness is interested in me.” He’s saying the words to Seungkwan as much as he’s saying them to himself. 

Seungkwan raises both hands in acquiescence. “Fair enough.”

Wonwoo shows up the next day, and then the day after that. After three days in a row, Seungkwan shoves Mingyu out the kitchen and to the front, saying, “You’re on cash in the mornings from now on.” Mingyu puts up a half-hearted fight, but they both know it’s where he wants to be. He finds himself looking forward to each day at work, all for that two-minute interaction with Wonwoo. They don’t even say much to each other. Just a simple greeting, an exchange of smiles; their fingers brush when Mingyu hands Wonwoo his americano. All of it leaves Mingyu feeling bubbly for the rest of the morning.

“Mingyu,” Mina calls, waving to catch his attention. 

Mingyu pulls his eyes away from Wonwoo’s station. He starts over to Mina, eager for a distraction.

“I feel like I did this the way you showed us to, but I don’t understand why all the pieces are different sizes. Can you show me again?”

“Sure.” Mingyu plucks an onion from the basket, giving it a toss and catching it again. He slides a knife free from the block, using the tip to point out the root and the top of the onion. “First, cut off the top—not the root—then cut in half length-wise.” He gives half the onion to Mina so that she can follow along. He peels the onion and reminds her how to hold it, where to make the cuts. 

Mingyu controls the knife from muscle memory alone, making swift and precise downward cuts away from his body. The sharp edge of the knife taps rhythmically against the cutting board. Despite his best efforts, his attention is elsewhere.

At his station, Wonwoo is being crowded by three omegas. As Mingyu watches, one of the omegas bumps Wonwoo aside with her hip to take over his cutting board. Wonwoo is excruciatingly slow with a knife. Speed isn't important, but precision is, and Wonwoo isn't very precise, either. So Mingyu understands why she feels the need to step in and help—he has to resist the urge to guide Wonwoo's hands, too—but still. He doesn't like it. And the reason is less because Wonwoo needs to do it himself in order to learn, and more because Mingyu doesn't like it when other omegas get too close to Wonwoo.

Jealousy curls inside him, settling low in his stomach and refusing to budge.

"Oh! Oh my god," Mina says.

Dark red droplets are splattered across the cutting board. Mingyu blinks. It takes a split second for the pain to register.

"Shoot," he mutters, dropping the knife. He moves quickly to the sink, turning on the tap and letting water run over his skin. The water turns pink with his blood. After soaping up his hands and rinsing, he shuts off the tap. The wound oozes out dark and fat droplets of red.

It's a deep cut—he can see the pink insides—and Mingyu isn't that great with blood. From the drawer, he grabs a clean tea towel and wraps it over his finger, squeezing down tight. He can feel his heartbeat throbbing hotly in his finger.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. 

Mina waves away his apology. “Don’t be sorry. Is there a first aid kit somewhere?”

“I can handle it; you keep going.”

“Are you sure?” Mina frets. He can smell the concern wafting around her.

Mingyu gives her a reassuring smile. “Yes. I know it looks bad, but it’s not. Could you do me a big favour and put the cutting board and knife in the sink up front? You’ll also have to wipe down your area with disinfecting wipes and get a new cutting board from the storage closet.”

“No problem, I can do that.”

“Thank you. Sorry again.” Clutching his hand to his chest, Mingyu strides to the office where the first aid kit is located. 

In the privacy of the office, he allows himself to swear, “Dammit, you’re so damn—” A growl rumbles in his throat. He’s hot under the collar with frustration. His embarrassment bothers him more than the cut. Telling a student to watch him dice an onion with correct technique, only to screw it up? Getting distracted with a knife in hand is a mistake he has never made before. He’s a cooking instructor for god’s sake. How did he mess up dicing an onion?

Spiraling in his self-deprecating reprimands, he doesn't realise that Wonwoo has followed him there until he hears that characteristic deep voice from behind him.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Mingyu looks up to offer Wonwoo a brief smile; it’s no more than a tight press of his lips, feels stiff and fake even to himself. "I'm fine. I just cut myself," he says, turning his attention back to the first aid kit. He flips it open, rooting through the contents for a bandaid and ointment. His embarrassment is further sharpened by the fact that the reason for his distraction has come to check in on him. 

Wonwoo's shadow falls over him, bringing with it the musk of alpha pheromones. It's instinct for Mingyu's breathing to turn short and shallow. Too much of Wonwoo's scent makes him slow and clumsy and stupid, and he feels he is too much of these three things already.

"Here, I’ll help." Wonwoo plucks the alcohol wipe from Mingyu, tearing open the packet. "Let's see."

Mingyu lets go of the death grip he has on his finger, letting the tea towel fall aside. The bleeding seems to have stopped.

Wonwoo tsks softly at the sight. "How did this happen, hm?" He takes Mingyu's hand in his own, cradling it in the cup of his palm.

"I was distracted," Mingyu mumbles, keeping his eyes downcast. The contrast between their hands is striking: Wonwoo's pale and elegant fingers against his stockier ones. He has always been self-conscious about his build, but this is new: being self-conscious about his hands. Not for the first time, he wishes he were a small and slender omega.

"Something on your mind?"

The question has heat rushing all the way up to the tips of Mingyu's ears. He reins in his scent tightly to keep the tinge of embarrassment from seeping through. Luckily, he is saved from answering when Wonwoo swipes the alcohol pad over the cut.

Mingyu hisses at the sting.

Wonwoo makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. “Sorry.” He’s letting off comforting alpha pheromones, soothing the jagged edges of Mingyu’s hurt. It works. The accident doesn’t seem so upsetting anymore. The tension in Mingyu’s shoulders bleeds away. His breathing eases. 

Next, Wonwoo applies an ointment to the cut. His hands are so gentle it makes Mingyu's heart ache, makes him wonder where else that gentleness might extend to. Alphas don't touch Mingyu like he's a delicate thing. Well, alphas don't tend to touch him, period, taking one look at him before swiftly moving on.

Mingyu peeks at Wonwoo from beneath his lashes. The alpha's own eyes are downcast, attention focused solely on the cut. Mingyu takes the opportunity to study Wonwoo's features, eyes following the slope of his nose, the defined angle of his jaw. Lingering on the cupid's bow of his lips.

This is what it must be like, Mingyu thinks, to be taken care of by an alpha.

It's nice.

He'll let himself indulge for now, but he reminds himself that this is not something he should get used to.

Wonwoo shifts slightly and Mingyu immediately fastens his attention to the ceiling.

"There you go," Wonwoo says, smoothing a thumb over the applied bandage.

"Thank you," Mingyu says.

"M-hm. Anytime." Wonwoo's lips twitch at the corners. "Though I hope you won't take that as an invitation to cut yourself again. I'd rather not see you hurt."

Mingyu laughs. "I'll be careful," he promises. He thinks that is the end of it, but Wonwoo makes no indication of moving away, continues to cradle Mingyu’s hand in his own. The heat had never quite left Mingyu’s cheeks, and now it’s stoked into a blaze. 

Don’t read into it. Don’t read into it. Don’t read into it.

“Um,” Mingyu says. His voice is shaking. 

Wonwoo withdraws his hand with a jerk. “Sorry. Uh—should we head back?”

Mingyu swallows and nods. Doesn’t trust himself to speak.

He is floating for the rest of the day. The omega inside him sings and preens, basking under the alpha's attention, no matter how meagre. For a handful of minutes, Wonwoo had been his. Wonwoo had noticed that he was injured, and followed him to the office. Wonwoo had dressed his wound and touched him with tenderness. Mingyu tells himself it doesn't mean anything; that's just the kind of alpha Wonwoo is. He would have done the same for anyone.

It's still fun to pretend, though.

Later that night, Mingyu replays the moment in his head. He remembers Wonwoo's scent: pine and winter, a promise of warmth and comfort on a cold day. He can still feel the phantom sensation of Wonwoo's fingers brushing against his own. Wonwoo had held Mingyu's hand with such care, as if fearing he might cause further harm. Mingyu thinks about what it might feel like, to have that gentle hand sliding into his pants. Nudging his thighs apart to delve into that secret place of his.

Mingyu brings himself to completion like that, Wonwoo's name on his tongue. Afterwards, he lies curled up on his side. Post-orgasm clarity leaves him feeling subdued and heavy with guilt. What would Wonwoo think if he knew that he featured in Mingyu's fantasies? Would he still treat Mingyu the same way?

There had been one alpha in Mingyu's past who had been nice to him. It made him think that, perhaps, he had a chance. So he had flirted a little to test the waters. It has been years since then, but it still embarrasses him to think of the rejection, delivered swiftly and decisively: "I don't want you to get the wrong idea, Mingyu. You're cute and all, but you're not really my type." There had been no more kind smiles after that, no more aimless small talk. The alpha had a myriad of excuses to duck out of conversations. Gotta use the washroom, gotta make a phone call, gotta catch the bus. At some point, he tired of the excuses and stopped acknowledging Mingyu’s presence at all. 

Mingyu flops onto his back. Throws a forearm over his eyes and exhales an explosive sigh. He has known Wonwoo for exactly four weeks. They’ve reached the halfway point of the course. Just four sessions left. On one hand, he wants more time with Wonwoo. On the other hand, it’ll be easier on his heart if they go their separate ways before he gets too invested. He just needs to keep his distance.

Chapter Text

"Oh, shit!" A usually deep voice, gone high with surprise. It's followed by more yelping and shouting from other students.

Mingyu turns around to find wild flames leaping from the pan, flickering and flapping like pennants on a windy day. He reacts immediately, sprinting for the fire extinguisher that hangs by the door. The fire is on the far side of the class, at Wonwoo's station.

“Get out of my way!” Mingyu shouts at a pair of omegas who stand frozen in shock. He nearly bowls them over in his haste, knocking one girl into the counter with his shoulder as he shoves past. She cries out in pain.

Wonwoo gawps wide-eyed at the wall of flame. Then he looks down at his hand, in which he is conveniently holding a glass of water. His eyes return to the fire. Mingyu can practically see the gears grinding and clicking in his head.

There's only five meters between him and the fire, but it may as well be five miles for how slowly his body moves and how leaden his limbs feel. It's like he's treading through water, floating in a way that is simultaneously heavy and weightless.

He knows exactly what Wonwoo is thinking, what solution he has come up with.

"No!" Mingyu lunges, knocking the glass from Wonwoo's hand. It shatters across the floor with a splintering noise. Shards fly everywhere, their razor-sharp edges glinting in the light. Mingyu plants one foot in front of him, feels more than he hears the crunching of glass beneath his shoe. He yanks the pin. Points the nozzle at the base of the fire and squeezes the lever, releasing dry chemical powder in a pressurised stream: ffssshhhh . Great plumes of smoke billow outwards. Mingyu squints against the clouds of white. Holds his breath in his lungs to avoid breathing in the fumes. Wonwoo doesn't exercise the same caution, and Mingyu can hear him coughing and hacking at a distance.

In less than ten seconds, the fire has been smothered. Mingyu lowers the extinguisher, panting. The thudding of his heart is starting to slow now that the fire has been extinguished. He turns to Wonwoo, who is wearing a pained expression, lips pressed together in a thin line. 

"You can't put out a grease fire with water," Mingyu says.

It takes several minutes and several words of reassurance for the shock to wear off. "Everything's fine. I'll get this cleaned up," he tells the students, shooing them away. "Please go back to your stations and mind your stoves before this entire place goes up in flames."

After some tittering and offers of help–which Mingyu declines–students return to their stations. He and Wonwoo are left in relative privacy.

Wonwoo shuffles up beside him. He's fumbling with his hands. "I'm so sorry." He doesn’t just look embarrassed, he smells embarrassed, too. The alpha isn’t reining in his scent, letting Mingyu know how apologetic he is. It’s kind of sweet. Not a lot of alphas will do that for someone they barely know. Especially if that someone is an omega. 

"It's okay. It happens," Mingyu tells him.

“Really? There’s been a fire in your class before?”

“Er, no. This is the first time. I mean, it happens in theory, in kitchens in general. That’s why we have fire extinguishers. Just in case.”

“Oh god, I’m the first?”

“It’s okay,” Mingyu says again. “It could have been worse. You could have dumped water over the fire."

Wonwoo groans with mortification and slaps a hand over his face, dragging it down. His voice is muffled when he says, “I swear I’m not usually this stupid. I know you can’t put out grease fires with water. I just—I wasn’t thinking. I panicked.”

“Anyone would panic in that situation.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Well, they only hire the best here,” Mingyu jokes.

Wonwoo huffs out a laugh at that. “You must think I’m an idiot,” he says, as if Mingyu’s opinion of him matters. 

“I’ve never thought that at all.” 

Wonwoo makes a dubious sound, still smelling upset.

“Honestly, Wonwoo, I think it’s great that you’re here and trying at all. It’s not really something alphas do, you know? And um—” It’s really dreamy. Attractive. Boyfriend material. It shows that Wonwoo would treat his omega right. Now it’s Mingyu’s turn to be flustered. He stammers out, “It’s, um, I, ah—admire you for it, actually.”

Wonwoo blinks at him. “Oh.” A shy smile curves on his lips. A light dusting of pink diffuses across his cheeks. “Thank you.”

It puts a funny feeling in Mingyu’s stomach, to have that smile directed at him. His throat has gone dry, and it clicks audibly when he swallows. He diverts his attention to the broken glass littering the floor. “I better get this cleaned up before someone hurts themself.”

“I got it,” Wonwoo says immediately. Before Mingyu can respond, Wonwoo is making his way over to the closet where all the cleaning supplies are stored.

"There's a glass disposal bin on the bottom shelf of the cleaning closet," Mingyu tells Wonwoo when the alpha returns. "Just sweep everything into a plastic bag and dump it in there."

"Okay."

Trusting Wonwoo to properly dispose of the glass, Mingyu deals with the residue left behind by the fire extinguisher. He mixes up a solution of warm water and baking soda. He dunks a cloth into the liquid, wiping down the counters. All food at Wonwoo's station will have to be thrown out: his attempts at fried chicken; the carrots, and red and green cabbage for the coleslaw. The open containers of breading, seasoning, and condiments will have to go, too.

A glance at the clock tells Mingyu that there probably won't be enough time for Wonwoo to attempt a second batch—Wonwoo isn't exactly the fastest cook in the kitchen. That makes Mingyu feel more sulky than it should. The best part of a cooking class is being able to enjoy a meal after an hour and a half of hard work. It's important for beginner chefs to leave each class with a sense of accomplishment. Success breeds more success; the happier a beginner chef is with their meal, the more likely they are to cook on their own and try out new recipes.

Plus Mingyu likes seeing Wonwoo eat: cheeks plump with food, eyes widening in surprise when he realises that he has cooked something edible—something that actually tastes good.

Mingyu gathers all the foodstuff to be thrown into the organic waste can. He winces at seeing all those ingredients hit the bottom of the garbage. He's thrown back to the not-so-distant days when he tricked his stomach into feeling full with watered-down soups, stews, and rice porridge. He might have been able to save the produce by washing it with vinegar and water. Even if they’re no longer suitable for use in the kitchen classroom, he could have brought them home for personal use. Too late now, he tells himself.

"I'm sorry, Wonwoo," Mingyu says after they have finished cleaning the station and the counters have returned to their gleaming state. "I don't think there's enough time for you to prep and fry up a second batch." There are only fifteen minutes left in the class. Most people have finished cooking at this point and are beginning to wash dishes and wipe down their area.

"Don't apologise. It's not your fault. I'm the one who should be sorry."

"Normally I wouldn't mind staying a bit later so you have time to try again, but I need to go shopping tonight. I have to restock the kitchen for tomorrow’s lessons," Mingyu explains. Usually, he’s only responsible for his own classes, but the other cooking instructor had fallen ill and had asked him for a favour. He doesn’t mind, though. He likes grocery shopping and looks forward to the sales, which start on Thursday of each week. He even spent yesterday evening flipping through all the local grocery fliers and clipping coupons. 

"Do you need help with the groceries?" Wonwoo asks.

“I can manage on my own. Plus, grocery shopping isn’t exactly a fun way to spend a Thursday night,” Mingyu says. 

"I don't mind. I feel bad about setting the kitchen on fire, so I'd like to make it up to you."

Mingyu shakes his head. "Like I said, it's okay. Accidents happen in the kitchen. Nothing was damaged, no one was hurt, so it's not a big deal. Thank you for asking, though."

"Still," Wonwoo presses, "it would make me feel better if I could help you out in return. You take the bus here, right?”

“Wait, you know I bus?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “I saw you at the bus stop. It can't be easy carrying groceries with you if you have to transit. I can give you a ride."

Mingyu bites down on his lower lip, considering. He has a driver's license, but no car. Insurance is twice as expensive for omegas as it is for alphas and betas. The reasoning behind this is that omegas are worse at driving than other secondary genders. In actuality, alphas cause the most accidents because they drive more, and tend to make more dangerous decisions. Insurance companies justify the difference in rates by saying that omegas are involved in slightly—the keyword here being 'slightly'—more accidents per kilometer. It's just another way the world is unfair to omegas.

He isn't given a car to use for work, so he has to lug a bunch of bags onto transit, along with a fabric shopping trolley that makes him look like a stereotypical Asian granny. He could get groceries delivered, but it’s never as good as picking out the ingredients himself. Plus, he finds inspiration as he walks through the aisles of the grocery store.

But Wonwoo is right—it's inconvenient. Accepting a ride would save him at least an hour of his time. No bus detours. No time wasted walking from the bus stop to his apartment. He could kill two birds with one stone and even get his own grocery shopping done while he's at it.

And then there's the little fact that he gets to spend more time with Wonwoo, something that is equal parts thrilling and nerve-wracking.

"Okay," Mingyu relents. "Thank you. I would appreciate that. "

They share the fried chicken and coleslaw that Mingyu made for the demo to tide them over, and then they’re off.

Wonwoo's car smells like him: crisp pine and the winter's first snow. Underneath, the scent of the leather interior is subtle, an earthy musk that reminds him of rustic cabins in the countryside. Not that Mingyu has ever been to a rustic cabin in the country. He doesn't exactly have the luxury of taking time off from work, and he certainly doesn't have savings to spare on a cabin rental.

But he thinks this is what it would smell like.

It's dizzying, being in an enclosed space with Wonwoo. The interior is roomy—Mingyu can even stretch his overlong legs out—but it still somehow feels too intimate. Wonwoo sits less than a foot away from him, close enough to touch if he reaches out, and it's enough to set his heart thumping and his mind racing.

"Seatbelt?" Wonwoo prompts.

"Oh—right, yes." Mingyu scrambles to buckle on his seatbelt, yanking so hard that the mechanism locks and he has to release the strap before pulling again. He doesn't usually forget to put on his seatbelt, he's not a kid, Mingyu wants to tell Wonwoo. It's just that this whole thing feels surreal enough to make him forget ingrained habits. The alpha pheromones aren't helping, either.

"All set?"

"Yep," Mingyu says.

Wonwoo throws an arm across the back of Mingyu's seat, craning his neck over his shoulder as he pulls out of the parking spot. Mingyu sits stiffly with his spine straight, knees together, and hands clasped on his thighs, like a good little church boy sitting on the pews. The back of his neck prickles with the phantom heat radiating from Wonwoo’s arm. He throws up a quick word of thanks to whichever god dropped this opportunity onto his lap.

There's no traffic at this time of night, which is why Mingyu prefers to go shopping at this time—the buses are less cramped. He peeks at Wonwoo out of the corner of his eyes as they cruise smoothly down sparse streets. The alpha has rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing the pale and corded length of his forearms. The black plated band of an expensive-looking watch wraps around his wrist. City lights glint off the silver case and bezel. Mingyu’s eyes flicker to the Mercedes emblem branded into the steering wheel. He takes in the sleek car interior, with its polished dials and digital display.

Suddenly, he feels frumpy in his worn jeans and plaid button-up. He picks at the distressed hole at his knee.

Wonwoo breaks the silence. "Would you believe me if I said it's been a couple years since I've gone grocery shopping?"

"Really?"

"M-hm. I have someone who drops by once a week to clean my apartment. She goes grocery shopping for me and prepares meals for the week ahead, as well," Wonwoo says.

"Oh, wow. You're the only person I know who has a personal chef."

“It’s actually cheaper than eating out for every single meal. Healthier, too.” They stop at a red light. Wonwoo turns his head a fraction to grin at Mingyu. "Don't tell her this, but I think you're the better cook."

Mingyu laughs, a shy pleasure welling up in his chest. "Looks like I can keep my job, then."

"You're good. I could eat your cooking every day."

I would cook for you, Mingyu almost blurts out. Every day. He presses his lips together to save himself the embarrassment. He has no doubt that Wonwoo is often propositioned in this way, as well as others. The omegas clamouring for his attention during cooking lessons is evidence of that: they offer him their own creations, holding morsels of food in their fingers for Wonwoo to eat. Mingyu doesn't want to be another face in the crowd, even though he already sort of is.

Instead, Mingyu says, "You'll be as good as me by the time the course is over."

Wonwoo snorts. "Unlikely, but it's sweet of you to say so."

Just walking through the doors of the supermarket together is enough to make Mingyu giddy. Wonwoo turns heads, attracts lingering eyes. Even under the harsh fluorescent lights, he looks model-stunning. Normally, Mingyu shrinks under all the attention, but tonight, he can’t help but feel a little smug. An alpha and omega going grocery shopping together. People will naturally assume they’re together. While Mingyu knows that his relationship with Wonwoo is nothing of the sort, it’s still fun to pretend. 

The first stop is the produce section. Wonwoo pushes the cart—had insisted on it, nudging Mingyu’s hands aside to take over. Wanting to be useful and helpful. It’s a very alpha gesture. Predictably, Mingyu has a very omega reaction to it, feeling pleased and taken care of. 

"What do you think about soy glazed potatoes and grilled beef ribs for next week?" Mingyu asks.

"It sounds delicious."

"You should let me know if there's anything you want to learn how to make."

"Honestly, I've liked everything we made so far."

Mingyu hums, happy with the indirect praise. He hauls up a ten pound bag of potatoes and dumps it into the cart. Again, he is grateful for Wonwoo's help. This would have been a pain in the ass to drag around.

“What other recipes have you planned for us? Am I allowed to ask?”

“There’s not much time left in the course,” Mingyu says thoughtfully, more to himself than anything. He’s happy with the breadth of skills and recipes they’ve covered so far. Knife safety and techniques, simple side dishes on day one; stir-frying proteins and vegetables; they learned about how to build flavourful sauces and boil noodles perfectly; they just learned to bread and deep-fry chicken today. He wants most of the meals to be quick, practical, and simple—recipes that students can add to their repetoires—but he also wants to encourage them to try things they wouldn’t normally make. “I think dumplings could be fun. Most people won’t bother to make their own dumplings, but it’s not that hard, and it tastes way better. It’s also a lot cheaper than buying frozen. I also want to do a dessert day where we learn about plating and presentation. For the last session, I usually have students pick their own recipe and bring their own ingredients, and then we all have dinner together and try each other’s food. Like a potluck.”

“That actually sounds like a lot of fun. I’m looking forward to it.”

Mingyu doesn’t care if Wonwoo is saying that to humour him. He grins anyway.

Wonwoo trails after him as he lumbers about to pick up garlic, onions, and green onions. He also bags carrots, cabbage, and chayote squash for a simple stir-fry. The Ambroisia apples look fresh today, red and crisp, and are on sale. He chooses five for himself—snacks for the upcoming week.

Usually, he likes to take his time and check out all the produce, just in case he gets inspired, but he abides by his premade list this time. Mostly. "I'll try to be fast," he tells Wonwoo.

"Take your time. There's no need to rush. I don't have any plans for the rest of the night, anyway."

"You underestimate how much time I can spend at a grocery store."

"The store doesn't close until ten, so you have a couple of hours." Wonwoo checks his watch. "Three hours and forty minutes, to be exact."

Mingyu laughs. "You don't really want to spend that much time here."

"I don't mind. It's kind of fun."

Mingyu raises a brow. "You haven't been to a grocery store in years, but now you're saying it's kind of fun?"

Wonwoo shrugs. A small smile plays on his lips, one that shows a sliver of his teeth. "The company makes a difference."

"O-oh," Mingyu stammers, whirling around to hide the alarming blush crawling its way up his cheeks. He tromps off in the direction of the bakery, even though he doesn't need any baked goods. It's just to give himself something to do. Behind him, Wonwoo chuckles, soft and low.

Now that he's in the bakery section, Mingyu has no choice but to look. He studies the loaves of bread, though his brain isn't quite able to process the sight, and all he sees are blurs of wheat-brown.

The company makes a difference.

How else is Mingyu supposed to interpret that than: I hate grocery shopping, but it's fun when I'm with you.

Mingyu moves onto the cookies. He picks up a pack of chocolate chip cookies, stares at it, and then sets it down again.

Wonwoo had visited him at the cafe. Not just once, but multiple times. He had followed Mingyu into the office when he had cut himself. Had gently and carefully applied ointment and a bandaid to the wound. He had insisted on giving Mingyu a ride to the supermarket, even though Mingyu told him several times that it wasn't necessary.

And now Wonwoo is saying he doesn't mind spending hours at the grocery store with him.

A grocery store! 

Maybe Wonwoo is simply being friendly. Maybe he feels more guilty for starting a fire than Mingyu thought. 

But maybe, he's flirting.

Mingyu gives both of his cheeks a light smack. Squeezes his eyes shut and tries to dispel the thoughts. Don't. Don't do this to yourself.

Except he can already feel his hopes starting to rise.

Wonwoo is endlessly patient while Mingyu hems and haws over what cut of beef to buy. "This is cheaper, but this is more tender and fatty," he says, weighing a tray of meat in each hand.

"Is this for the class, or yourself?"

"Myself."

"You should get the one that tastes better."

After more consideration, Mingyu agrees. He's in a good mood tonight, and that makes him more inclined to spend money. "You're right. I should spoil myself once in a while," he says.

Mingyu chatters as they make their way around the grocery store. He teaches Wonwoo how to tell if the fish are fresh or not, what a good price for chicken breast is—Wonwoo has no concept of how cheap or expensive something should be. It occurs to him that Wonwoo might not even care, but that thought is banished when the alpha asks him about the difference between types of noodles, if it would be a sin to use lo mein noodles in an Italian pasta dish. Mingyu feels happy and indulged.

They talk about other things, too. Their conversation drifts to plans for the weekend, what they usually do for fun. Wonwoo doesn't have a lot of free time, but when he does, he spends it lifting weights in the gym or playing video games. That leads into conversation about their favourite books and movies.

Mingyu learns that Wonwoo is a horror movie buff. The alpha is the type to pick apart plot holes and character motivations, though he's willing to give leeway for the sake of entertainment. Mingyu admits that he is simultaneously terrified and delighted by horror movies: screaming and cowering at every jump scare, checking behind the shower curtain when using the bathroom, washing his face with one eye open, just in case.

Wonwoo laughs at this. Maintains eye contact when he murmurs, "That's cute," and if Mingyu were bolder, he would have asked Wonwoo out on a movie date.

Mingyu knows he's walking with a slight bounce to his step. He can't help himself. Two of his favourite things—grocery shopping and Wonwoo—in one night. It's a lot for his heart to handle.

He doesn't use up the entire three hours and forty minutes, but he comes close.

Now that all the aisles of the supermarket have been exhausted and their cart is full, they line up to pay. There are only two lanes open: an express lane for customers with less than fifteen items, and a regular checkout. They queue up behind a woman whose cart is overflowing with soda, various chips and snacks, and paper plates and cups.

It'll be a bit of a wait, but Mingyu doesn't mind. He doesn't think Wonwoo minds either, judging by the smile the alpha gives him when Mingyu peeks over.

One moment, Mingyu is flying. Next, all the strings are cut and he goes plummeting.

"Hey, look," a man behind them says. "I didn't know they made omegas that big."

"Right? I thought he was an alpha for a second.” A female voice.

Mingyu's face turns bright red. He doesn't have to turn around to know that they're talking about him. His shoulders curl inwards. He stops breathing, as though he might be able to escape further comments if he just holds himself still enough, makes himself small enough.

It's nothing he hasn't heard before. He'd like to say that it has lost its sting over the years, but it hasn't. The words cut him all the same. He feels the hurt in his stomach and chest, and it's made even worse by the fact that the alpha he has a crush on is standing right beside him.

Wonwoo is as quiet as a sentinel. Mingyu hopes he didn't hear the two, but they're not exactly trying to be quiet.

Part of him wants to glance in Wonwoo's direction, check to see if the alpha agrees. He doesn't know what would be worse: a tiny smirk of amusement-agreement on Wonwoo's face, or an expression of pity. Both would hurt more than the comment itself, so Mingyu keeps his eyes fixed to the ground, fists clenching knuckle-white around the cart handle.

"You think they're together?"

"I doubt it," the man says. "I'd never date an omega bigger than me."

A part of Mingyu wants to whip around and snarl at them. But he's never been good at defending himself or snapping a witty comeback, not even against other omegas, and his brain has conveniently stopped working. A bigger part of him just wants to go home. The queue for the cashier can't move fast enough. Beside him, Wonwoo shifts.

And then he feels a hand sliding into the back pocket of his jeans. Cupping his ass, possessive and proprietary.

"Ignore them, babe," Wonwoo says loudly. "Some omegas have no choice but to put down others to make themselves seem more desirable. Otherwise, no alpha would look twice at them." He leans in, nuzzling his nose against Mingyu's neck. Offering comfort. He whispers, "Play along."

Mingyu swallows hard. His skin tingles where Wonwoo had breathed over it. "Um," he says, voice trembling. He turns his head, pressing his nose to Wonwoo's temple for a brief second before retreating. Wonwoo is radiating soothing alpha pheromones—an attempt to smooth out the jagged edges of Mingyu's humiliation.

It only serves to make Mingyu feel even more pathetic.

His hands shake as he places the items on the conveyer belt. Wonwoo helps him. The two omegas have stopped talking, but their eyes continue to bore holes into him. The skin on the back of his neck feels tight under their scrutiny. He goes through the process of interacting with the cashier on autopilot: Hi, how are you? I'm doing well, thank you. No, I don't need any bags; I've brought my own. Can I pay with credit, please? Thank you, have a good night.

Wonwoo had filled the cart with their bags while Mingyu was paying. Mingyu begins pushing the cart towards the exit before Wonwoo can get to it. He’s aware of Wonwoo following a step behind him. The automatic sliding doors open up to a cool night, the breeze a balm on Mingyu’s burning cheeks. 

They load up Wonwoo’s back trunk. After returning the shopping cart to its corral, Mingyu ducks into the passenger seat. Neither he nor Wonwoo have said a word since leaving the supermarket. A strained and awkward silence weighs over them, hot and heavy as a woollen blanket. He knows he should thank Wonwoo for defending him, but the words stick in his throat. In truth, he doesn't know whether or not he feels thankful. All he knows is that he feels ashamed, and it's probably evident in his scent despite his efforts to tamp down his pheromones. He wishes Wonwoo hadn’t seen this side of him, hadn’t heard the kinds of comments that are often directed his way.

Wonwoo starts the engine. He pulls out of the parking lot and follows the route back to the community center so Mingyu can drop off the haul. Quiet persists. Mingyu gazes out the window, watching street lamps and building lights flash by in blurring ribbons of colour.

"Hey," Wonwoo starts, "I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable earlier."

Mingyu shakes his head. "You didn't," he says.

"Are you sure?"

"It was an uncomfortable situation, but you made it better," Mingyu says. "Thank you for standing up for me. You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah, I did. No one should speak to you like that, and you shouldn't have to listen to it," Wonwoo says. He keeps his eyes focused on the road ahead of him. "It's shitty omega posturing and it's rude as fuck." He all but spits out the last word, scent sharpening with anger.

Some omegas disparage others to make themselves seem more attractive, and to establish hierarchy. It diverts attention away from their own flaws, while highlighting the shortcomings of others. It’s a ploy to stir up artificial desire and show influence, and oftentimes, it works. It makes meek omegas like Mingyu retreat with their tails between their legs, and to alphas, an omega’s flaws are as important as their assets.

A wan smile twitches on Mingyu's lips. "Thanks."

"I'm serious," Wonwoo says. "It's a pathetic attempt to raise their ego while dragging someone else down. Anyone who resorts to that is an idiot."

"Wonwoo. It's fine. I'm kind of used to it, honestly."

"I wish you weren't." Wonwoo sounds pained when he says it. "Mingyu—any alpha would be lucky to call you theirs."

"Thanks. That's really nice of you to say." He aims for a light tone, but falls short. His voice sounds flat even to his own ears.

"I'm not just saying that to make you feel better," Wonwoo says. “I mean it. You’re cute and kind and funny, and a damn good cook. Anyone who can’t see past your height is a shallow asshole not worth your time.”

“Okay, Wonwoo, I get it,” he says, annoyance seeping through. 

He regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Wonwoo is only trying to comfort him. If Mingyu were in a different state of mind, he would be flattered to see Wonwoo getting angry on his behalf. But he has heard all these empty platitudes before, mostly from well-meaning family and friends. If any alpha would be lucky to have him, then how come no one's ever asked him out on a date? At this point, the words just sound patronising. Pitying. And he still has enough pride that he doesn't want Wonwoo to be kind to him out of pity.

Wonwoo draws in a breath, opens his mouth like he might say more. Then he presses his lips together. "Sorry. I just wanted you to know."

For a lack of anything better to say, Mingyu settles on, "Thanks. I appreciate it." Thanks, thanks, thanks. He sounds like a broken record, but not a thankful one. He shifts, angling his knees toward the door. He leans back against the headrest and has to resist the urge to thunk his head against it. His throat feels like there’s a stone lodged in it and his nose prickles, an indication of oncoming tears.

Fuck. Now he feels like a grade-A asshole. Wonwoo has been nothing but kind to him since they first met, and especially so tonight. And Mingyu repays him by being mean and bitter. Wonwoo doesn't know how much of a sore spot his size is, and he deserves better than what Mingyu just gave him. If Wonwoo had been intrigued by him before, his interest has probably evaporated now. No one likes a mean and bitter and insecure omega.

They arrive at the community center a few minutes later. Mingyu leaps out of the car. He is thankful for the full dark that has fallen, using the cover of shadow to swipe his hand across his eyes. 

The back truck pops open. Mingyu grabs as many bags as he can, hanging them along his forearm like giant bracelets. He just wants to get this over with. Sadly, he doesn’t have enough hands for the sack of potatoes.

Wonwoo hurries over. “Wait, let me help.” He reaches for the few remaining bags.

“Oh, those are actually mine, not for class,” Mingyu says.

Wonwoo lets go. “Oh, er, how about the potatoes?” 

“Those are for class. If you don’t mind…”

Wonwoo scoops them up in one arm. Together, they enter the community center. Mingyu had been hoping for a moment alone here to gather himself, but with Wonwoo close behind him, he has no such luck. They lapse back into a stifling silence. Mingyu makes quick work storing all the foodstuffs. Wonwoo hovers around him, walking to the pantry when Mingyu walks to the pantry, then walking to the fridge when Mingy walks to the fridge. Giving the impression that he’s on the verge of saying something, though he never does. It’s really sweet. Mingyu feels himself softening already.

To his apartment, it’s thirty minutes by bus, but twelve minutes by car. Wonwoo pulls up in a visitor parking spot. 

Mingyu unbuckles his seatbelt. "Thanks again for tonight. You saved me a lot of time and hassle. It usually takes me an hour to bus around."

"It's no problem. I'm glad I could help."

Mingyu cracks the passenger door open and sets one foot outside. Pauses. He doesn't want the night to end like this: him feeling guilty, Wonwoo quiet with his own thoughts, perhaps thinking that Mingyu had been jilted by his interference and his words.

Taking a breath, Mingyu asks, "Um—would you like to come up for a drink? I have tea, coffee, or milk."

Wonwoo accepts the olive branch with a smile. "Tea would be good."

This time, Wonwoo grabs the bags from the back trunk before Mingyu can get to it, leaving Mingyu to carry a carton of eggs. If the air between them didn't feel stretched taut, Mingyu might have teased him for it, nudging with an elbow and grinning, Big, strong alpha.

Mingyu lives in government-subsidized housing for single omegas. Wonwoo signs in at the front desk, leaving his name, phone number, and drivers license on a clipboard. They take a rickety and rattling elevator up to the third floor, and not for the first time, Mingyu wonders if the flickering lights of the cabin will finally snuff out.

The walls are cramped—there isn't even enough room for Mingyu to stretch his arms out—and the carpet lining the hallways are of cheap, synthetic material and stained. In his tailored shirt and slacks, Wonwoo looks out of place within the confines of the building. The watch wrapped around his wrist is probably three or four times Mingyu’s monthly rent.

Normally, Mingyu doesn't think twice about inviting his friends over. But it's different when it's Wonwoo, and he finds himself hesitating at the door for a brief second, before pushing it open. He hits the lights, toeing off his shoes and then bending to pick them up and place it on a low shoe rack.

"Thanks for inviting me in," Wonwoo says. 

"Sure," Mingyu says. "Let's go to the kitchen." He sets the eggs down on the kitchen counter and goes to fill up the electric tea kettle at the sink. He sets it to boil while he unpacks the groceries. Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices Wonwoo peering around.

It's not much, Mingyu resists saying. There's no reason for him to be embarrassed, even if his apartment is little more than a shoebox. The kitchen is dated with its cheap formica countertops and ceramic flooring. A folding table that seats two is pressed into a corner created by a wall and the fridge. The living room consists of a sagging couch, wooden coffee table, and a 32-inch TV that sits on a stand that also doubles as extra storage. There's a short hallway off to the side, leading to the bedroom, bathroom, and a linen closet.

Mingyu has made efforts to turn this shabby apartment into a home. He sewed the sofa throw and cushion covers himself, shades of caramel to match the olive-coloured couch. Fake sunflowers—his favourite—sit in a vase atop the coffee table. On the wall behind the TV are pictures of his friends and family, and photographs of everyday objects that he took himself with a borrowed camera.

He's always been proud of his little apartment—not a lot of omegas can live on their own—so he hates himself for worrying about what Wonwoo thinks.

He places the cabbage, carrots, and squash in the vegetable crisper and slides the drawer shut. At the same time, the kettle beeps to let him know that the water has boiled.

"What kind of tea would you like?" Mingyu opens up the cabinet where he keeps a small selection of teas and coffees. "I have herbal, oolong, or green tea."

"Oolong is good."

Mingyu bustles about, taking out two mugs which he rinses under the sink. He drops a sachet of oolong into one mug, and a herbal sachet for himself. He turns around with a steaming cup in each hand, and finds Wonwoo studying the fridge. He follows Wonwoo's line of sight, landing on a brochure for omega comfort services.

Heat comes rushing back to his face with a vengeance. Fuck. He forgot he had put that there. "Here's your tea," he says, too loud in the quiet of the apartment.

Wonwoo tears his gaze away from the brochure and accepts the mug with a smile and a thank you. It's a small mercy that Wonwoo doesn't comment on the brochure.

Most omegas don't have to resort to hiring a comfort alpha to keep them company during their heats. Most omegas have no problem attracting an alpha, especially when their pheromones are sweeter and more seductive in the days leading up to heat. He wants to babble that the brochure is just something his overprotective mom gave him—heats are harder to endure alone now that he's past his prime. He just forgot to throw it away. He's not actually considering hiring one. Probably can't afford it, either.

He wants to say something to dispel the tension. But what is there to say in a situation like this? His mind remains blank, unable to focus on anything other than sharp humiliation. In the end, he says nothing. It's a night for embarrassments, he supposes. He feels beaten and flayed open, his greatest insecurities on bright-neon display for Wonwoo.

The alpha leaves some fifteen minutes later, after frowning at some message that had come through on his phone. Mingyu washes up for bed and crawls beneath his blanket. He buries his face into his pillow, wishing he could be as small as he feels.

Chapter Text

In the coming days, Mingyu continues to replay the events of Thursday night in his head. He remembers the hand on his ass, a deep voice calling him 'babe'. He curses himself for not seizing the opportunity to scent Wonwoo properly; he had barely touched his nose to Wonwoo's temple before skittering away. Wonwoo had left his pheromones on Mingyu, a barely-there claiming scent. Once Mingyu had overcome the worst of his mortification, these things fuelled his fantasies–both romantic and sexual ones.

He also wonders, if perhaps, Wonwoo had truly meant it when he called Mingyu "cute and kind and funny". Wonwoo had said to him that any alpha would be lucky to call him theirs. Did Wonwoo include himself in that pool of alphas?

It makes him cringe now, recalling how coldly he had treated Wonwoo that night. While he had invited the alpha up for tea, they hadn't made any conversation. Mingyu had been too mired up in his own hurt to play a friendly host. Wonwoo had seemed distracted by something on his phone, or maybe he was pretending to be occupied so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness. Wonwoo had drained his cup within minutes, departing with a, "Sorry, Mingyu. I have to go. Have a good night and sweet dreams," to which Mingyu lamely responded, "Thanks. You too."

Mingyu puppy-whines every time he thinks about it, burying his face in his palms. Now Wonwoo is going to think he isn't interested, which couldn't be further from the truth. He wants to set things straight, clear the air between them, but the problem is that—

“I haven’t seen your alpha around lately. Is that why you’ve been pouting for the last couple of days?”

Mingyu addresses Seungkwan’s first comment, but not the second one. “He’s not my alpha.”

“I think he wants to be,” Seungkwan says. “You should see the way he looks at you.”

Heat climbs up Mingyu’s neck. He wants to ask, How? How does he look at me?, but he knows Seungkwan will tease him for it, and although it has been four days since the grocery store incident, he is still feeling fragile enough that even good-natured ribbing from his friend is apt to upset him.

Seungkwan elaborates, “He melts like butter when he’s around you, and he wears the biggest, gooiest smile. It’s kind of embarrassing to look at, honestly.”

Mingyu huffs. He gives the cinnamon roll dough he’s working a hard knead. “You’re exaggerating.” 

“I’m not. You just never look at him, that’s why you don’t notice. I swear to god, you two take turns looking at each other while the other isn’t looking.”

Mingyu makes a dubious noise. Wonwoo looks at him, too? He doubts it. Wonwoo is so far out of his league, they’re not even playing the same game. 

Seungkwan falls quiet for a moment, focusing on putting the finishing touches on a fruit tart. "Did something happen between you two?"

Mingyu sighs. "I think I scared him off."

"Mingyu. You can barely scare a five year old. I find it hard to believe that you can scare off a fully grown alpha."

"I got mad at him for something stupid."

Seungkwan raises a brow. "You don't get mad very easily, so if you did, I doubt it was for something stupid."

"It was," Mingyu insists. "He was just trying to make me feel better, but… I don't know. I got embarrassed and defensive and told him to knock it off. I left things awkward between us and he hasn't been coming to see me, and we only have four more classes together—" He struggles for words. He's worried about losing the main source of connection between them. Worried that once the course draws to a close, Wonwoo will just walk out of Mingyu's life, leaving a Wonwoo-shaped hole in his heart. It's dramatic, Mingyu realises. He's known Wonwoo for only a handful of weeks, but that's all the time it has taken for him to fall head-over-heels.

“Woah, okay, back up. Explain from the beginning.”

Mingyu tells Seungkwan everything that happened, even recounts what the two omegas said, word for word. He and Seungkwan go back over a decade, so while it isn’t painfully embarrassing to retell the incident, it still stings. 

“Oh my god, first of all, fuck those omegas,” Seungkwan says. “Secondly, Wonwoo is so into you. Without a doubt. He went grocery shopping with you for three fucking hours, like are you kidding me? That was a date! Probably not my first choice for a date spot, mind you, but the man just wanted to spend time with you. And the way he defended you against those omegas?” 

Seungkwan grabs him by the shoulder and shakes him like a ragdoll. Mingyu lets himself be shaken. “You gotta see it, right? A blind man could see it. A crush that size, you could see it from the moon.”

Mingyu hums thoughtfully. Hearing it said out loud like that… “Then why hasn’t he been coming here lately? He used to come here almost every day.”

“Hum. I don’t know about that, but you know what they say about assuming. Makes an ass out of you and me, and all that. Maybe he thought you needed some space? Maybe he’s really busy at work? Or he’s sick? Who knows. But you shouldn’t try to talk yourself out of your feelings for each other. Ask him on Thursday. Don’t try to fill in the blanks on your own.”

“What if he’s just not interested in me anymore? I mean, assuming he was interested at all in the first place…”

“Then I kill him,” Seungkwan says matter-of-factly, and Mingyu laughs. 

Thursday rolls around. 

It’s been a full week since Mingyu has seen Wonwoo, so it makes him irrationally nervous for class. He barely slept the night before, running dialogues through his head. Should he bring up the grocery store incident, apologize again? No, that happened a week ago; that would be weird. Wonwoo has probably forgotten about it already, the way people barely spend thirty seconds thinking about an embarrassment that isn’t theirs. Maybe he should ask Wonwoo where he’s been? That’s a normal question that expresses a normal amount of concern, right?

He frets about it all day. Arrives an hour early to the community centre, so he can fret about it some more. He fusses over the set up of the stations, making sure all the equipment is in place, that the tools are perfectly aligned, and the aprons are smoothed out. Then he plants himself on his stool, reading the notes for today’s lesson one more time. 

“You look like you’re in the middle of having a crisis,” a deep voice says. 

Mingyu shoots up from his stool so abruptly that he nearly knocks it over. He grabs and steadies it before it topples to the ground. “Oh, Wonwoo!” Startled, his voice comes out too loud. He clears his throat and says at a moderate volume, “Hi. You’re here early.” A glance at the clock on the wall tells him that there are fifteen minutes before class starts. It’s the earliest Wonwoo has ever arrived. 

“I managed to leave work on time for once.” 

Cautiously, Mingyu asks, “Have things been busy?”

Wonwoo blows out a sigh, running a hand through his hair and ruffling. “God, have they ever.”

Wonwoo is dressed casually today, in a crewneck sweater and joggers. He’s wearing glasses. Thin and round metal frames perch on his nose. Mingyu hadn’t known that Wonwoo needed glasses. It’s the most casual he has ever seen the alpha, and he looks all the more attractive for it, relaxed and inviting. But upon closer inspection, Mingyu realizes that Wonwoo looks tired. Dark bags bruise his undereyes. His skin seems duller than usual.

“Want to take a seat?” Mingyu asks.

“I’m good,” Wonwoo says, instead choosing to lean against the counter, a few inches away from him. 

“Did something happen?”

“There was a security breach at work. It was pretty bad. Leaked personal data, legal liabilities, company reputation potentially at stake, et cetera. I’ve been in the office all week, patching systems and running tests.” 

The explanation lifts a weight off Mingyu’s shoulder. So Wonwoo hadn’t been avoiding him. “Is everything okay now?”

“Yeah, we got it under control.”

Mingyu hesitates for a moment before saying, “I was worried when you didn’t show up to the cafe for a while.”

Wonwoo smiles at him. “Did you miss me?”

Mingyu lights up. His eyes drop to his feet. He plays with the hem of his shirt. “Yes. I mean, I kind of got used to seeing you every day at the cafe, and then you stopped coming…”

“I’m sorry. I missed you, too.”

Mingyu’s heart wobbles.

“I wanted to come see you, but things were so crazy for a while. I even used the nap room and stayed overnight. That was a first. It kind of reminded me of my first hackathon, but with more showers, thankfully.” Wonwoo leans in to bump his shoulder against Mingyu’s. Mingyu fills his lungs with the alpha’s winter pine scent as the space between them shrinks. “I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay?”

Seungkwan is right, Mingyu notices. Wonwoo does smile a lot. His eyes are curved into half-moons and the top row of his pearly whites are on striking display.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting,” Mingyu says. 

And just like that, things return to normal again between them. As promised, Wonwoo shows up at Carat Bakery the next morning and orders his usual americano. Mingyu slides the drink across the counter. Wonwoo reaches for it, cool fingers landing butterfly-soft overtop Mingyu’s own. The touch lingers. 

Wonwoo arrives early to class again the following week. “Any plans for this weekend?”

“I work on Saturdays. I usually do chores and prepare my meals for the week on Sunday. Maybe I’ll watch a movie or read a book. That’s about it. How about you?”

“Nothing special. Catch up on some sleep. Maybe put a few hours into a video game I’ve been playing. Plan something for my mom’s birthday.”

“Oh, is it her birthday, soon?” 

“Yeah, the week after next. I, uh—” Wonwoo rubs his neck. “I was thinking about inviting my parents over for dinner. A fancy one. Three courses. That I would make. Maybe five, if I can manage it.”

It says a lot about how Wonwoo has grown as a chef, that he's even entertaining the idea of making a multi-course meal for his parents. He moves with more confidence in the kitchen now, and it only serves to make him more attractive. Most alphas can’t cook at all; they think it's an omega's job.

"Wow, that's great!" Mingyu says earnestly. "What are you thinking about making?"

"My mom's a fan of Italian. I found a thirty-minute gnocchi recipe that looks simple enough, even for me."

"Are you going to make it from scratch, or are you going to buy premade gnocchi?"

"I was thinking about making it from scratch."

"Wow," Mingyu says, and the adoration he feels must be blatant on his face because Wonwoo laughs and ducks his head and says, "Please don't look so impressed yet. I might end up burning all of them."

"I doubt it," Mingyu says. "You've improved so much."

"Yes, that's why I almost set the building on fire two weeks ago."

Mingyu laughs. "That was two weeks ago. Trust me, you've gotten better since then. You redeemed yourself last week. Your ribs and potatoes turned out perfectly."

"Only because you were beside me the entire time, telling me what to do."

"Not true," Mingyu protests. He knows this because he makes a conscious effort to minimise the amount of time he spends at Wonwoo's station. As an instructor, he isn't supposed to pick favourites; he's supposed to split his time among everyone who needs it. So he wouldn't spend the entire hour at Wonwoo's station, no matter how much he wanted to. Maybe, just maybe, he might have spent a little more time with Wonwoo compared to usual. He can’t help that he missed the alpha. Still, Wonwoo did most of the heavy lifting. Mingyu just bossed him around a little.

"Okay," Wonwoo relents. He's grinning, the kind of smile that reveals the top row of his teeth and makes Mingyu's tummy flip. "Maybe you weren't there the entire time, but you were there for the most important parts."

"It was still mostly you." It's not that he wants to get the last word in; he just wants to give Wonwoo credit where credit is due. "Anyway, you said you were thinking about a multi-course meal, right? What else are you going to make?"

"Bruschetta and meatballs for an appetizer, and either tiramisu or panna cotta for dessert, I think."

"That sounds amazing. Lucky mom."

"Any chance you'd be willing to be my guinea pig?"

"What?" Mingyu says with a laugh. "What do you mean by that?”

Wonwoo waves a hand around vaguely. He avoids eye contact and there's a nervous edge to his scent, which is quickly tamped down. Mingyu might not have noticed it if he weren't in the habit of paying such close attention to Wonwoo. "I mean, would you be willing to try out what I make and give me your honest opinion?"

So that's why he's nervous. Mingyu understands. It's hard to subject yourself to criticism. "Sure," he agrees. "I'd love to. I'm really excited."

"Are you free next Sunday?”

"Yes."

"You could come over for dinner," Wonwoo says.

Mingyu gapes, wondering if he has heard correctly. An alpha inviting him to dinner? And not just dinner at a restaurant, but at their house? Mingyu drops his gaze, blinking rapidly. Heat prickles at the base of his neck, crawling up his throat and cheeks. His voice shakes when he clarifies, "Dinner? At your house?"

Like a date? a small part of him questions.

"Yeah. I cook. You critique. We'll order takeout if my attempts at cooking are a bust." When Mingyu takes a second too long to respond, Wonwoo says, "Or I can just drop off a container at your place."

Mingyu, not wanting to lose his chance, blurts out, "Your house."

"Great," Wonwoo says. He plucks his phone out of his pants pocket. "Can I have your number?"

"My number?" Mingyu squeaks.

"Yeah. So I can send you my address and you can text me when you arrive. I'll buzz you up."

"R-right." Mingyu rattles off his digits. A moment later, his phone vibrates against his thigh.

"Just texted you," Wonwoo says. "Will you be okay getting to my place? I can come pick you up or arrange for a taxi for you."

"I'll be okay," Mingyu says. It's already too much, Wonwoo inviting him over and cooking for him. "I'm excited."

Wonwoo smiles at him. "Yeah, me too."

"Should I bring anything?"

"Only yourself."

"Oh, wow, er," Mingyu stumbles. "Are you sure? I'd feel bad. I could bring drinks or something?"

Wonwoo waves away the offer. "I'll take care of it." When Mingyu opens his mouth to protest, Wonwoo speaks over him, "Really. I want to. It'll be my treat. Just bring your appetite."

For the entirety of the class, Mingyu cannot stop grinning like a loon. It's so hard to focus. During the demo, he has three-quarters of his mind on Wonwoo. He cannot help the way his eyes are pulled in Wonwoo's direction as if magnetized by the alpha. And every time, he finds that Wonwoo is already watching him. Of course he is, you idiot, Mingyu scolds himself, You're teaching a lesson. Where else would he be looking?

Mingyu's overeager heart is undeterred by this rationalization. His happiness makes him trip over his words more so than usual, and by the time his demonstration is complete, he wonders if even half of what he said made sense.

The next Sunday after work, Mingyu rushes home to prepare for his not-date with Wonwoo. Well, he rushes as much as he can. In between bus detours and an unexpected car accident, it takes him almost an hour to get home. That leaves him with about an hour to get ready. Wonwoo is expecting him at 7 PM.

He strips out of his work clothes and drops them into the laundry basket. Without waiting for the water to warm, he ducks beneath the shower. A full-body shiver travels down the length of his spine as the cold spray strikes him. He shampoos twice and scrubs his skin, making sure to hit every nook and cranny.

Mingyu pats moisturiser into his cheeks and works lotion into his skin. After blowdrying, he rubs some product between his palms and ruffles his fingers through his hair to give it a tousled look.

It's not a date , Mingyu reminds himself as he stands in front of his closet. He's naked save for his boxers. He had picked an outfit yesterday, but now it feels lacking. His whole closet feels lacking, consisting primarily of baggy jeans, solid t-shirts, and plain sweaters and hoodies. 

After ten minutes of hemming and hawing, tossing aside shirts and sweaters, Mingyu concludes that the outfit he had picked out last night was the best thing in his closet, after all. 

He pulls his brightest and whitest shirt overhead, layering an oversized ruby-coloured cardigan on top. He steps into beige pants, then completes the look with a simple tote bag that he slings over one shoulder. He turns this way and that in front of the mirror, fluffing his hair once last time. Gives his reflection a big grin, which looks tremulous even to his own eyes. 

He inhales, cheeks puffing up, then exhales in a short breath. “Okay, Kim Mingyu, you’ve got this…”

Mingyu has to check the address twice to make sure he’s in the right place. Wonwoo’s apartment is in the heart of downtown, where the streets are free of litter and the pavement is uncracked. Mingyu cranes his head to look up at the highrise. The building is new, sleek, and imposing, windows with their mirror-like finish reflecting the city lights.

He half thinks that he’s going to be kicked out by the concierge, but he makes it to Wonwoo’s door without incident. He stops there, clutching a container of tarts to his chest. They’re brown sugar and butter—the same tarts Wonwoo had claimed he could eat twenty of. He hadn’t wanted to show up empty-handed. 

Yet again, he pulls out his phone to check his hair in the front-facing camera. He hadn't been able to sleep much last night, mind racing with nervous excitement, and he looks a little tired around the eyes. Well, there’s not much he can do now. After brushing his bangs out, he rings the doorbell.

"Be right there!" Wonwoo's muted shout comes from behind the door, followed by a thunk . "Ow, godammit."

Mingyu blinks, alarmed. 

Wonwoo yanks the door open. "Mingyu, hey," he says, breathless. He looks harried, a light flush riding high on his cheekbones. His usual carefully styled bangs fall across his forehead. The tip of his nose is dusted with flour, as is his shirt. His sleeves have been shoved carelessly up his forearms. The first several buttons of his dress shirt have been undone, revealing the long column of his throat. Mingyu can't help it: his eyes sweep downward, following the vee of exposed skin. Lingering on the separation of his pec muscles.

"Come in, come in," Wonwoo says, stepping aside to let him enter. "God, is it seven o' clock already?"

"Almost. Just five minutes to." Mingyu slides off his shoes. "Is everything alright? I heard you swearing from outside."

Wonwoo groans. "I'm running a bit behind. A lot behind. Everything took three times longer than I thought it would. Those damn potatoes took forever to cool down, and then the pasta dough wouldn’t come together…"

Mingyu winces in sympathy. "Yeah, everything always takes a bit longer the first time you try making it. I don't mind waiting, though. I’m in no rush. I'm free for the night."

"Yeah, but I mind," Wonwoo says with a huff. "I was hoping to have everything set by the time you arrived. My kitchen is a mess. I look like a mess. I haven't even showered yet."

Mingyu isn't able to make eye contact when he says, "I think you look good."

"And I'm hungry as hell," Wonwoo says. He scrubs a hand over his face. "Sorry. I'm a little frazzled and grumpy right now. I get that way when I haven't eaten."

"Oh, I made some tarts for you." Mingyu offers the container with both hands. "They're the butter ones you liked."

Wonwoo takes the container with a blinding grin. "Kim Mingyu, I could kiss you right now."

Heat rushes to Mingyu's face. Please do , he doesn't say.

Wonwoo peels open the lid, takes out a tart, and demolishes it within two bites. It does something to Mingyu, seeing the alpha he likes devour something he created with care.

"God, I needed that," Wonwoo says once he's done chewing. "Sorry you had to hear me complain."

"I don't mind at all," Mingyu assures him. He likes it in fact, seeing the side of Wonwoo that gets frustrated and flustered. It makes him seem more human and less like some dream that Mingyu conjured up.

"Anyway, let’s go to the kitchen." Wonwoo guides them down the entryway and to the kitchen, beckoning for Mingyu to follow.

Wonwoo's kitchen and dining room alone are almost the size of Mingyu's entire apartment. Pristine, state-of-the-art equipment. White granite countertops contrast with charcoal grey cabinets. The double sink and gas stove top gleam chrome. At the centre of the kitchen is an island surrounded by upholstered bar stools. It's a magazine-worthy room, ruined only by the unwashed pots and dishes piled high in the sink and strewn across the island, and food splatters splashed across the counters.

"Take a seat," Wonwoo says, pulling out a stool for Mingyu. He shoves aside a cutting board to make room for the container of treats. "I'm almost done. I'm just waiting for the meatballs to finish."

"It smells really good in here," Mingyu says. Cream and butter and sage; caramelised meat. It sets his mouth watering.

"God, if it tastes even half as good as it smells, I would be happy," Wonwoo says.

The oven goes off with a ding. Wonwoo slips his hands into a pair of mitts to take out the meatballs.

Wonwoo blows out a breath, shoulders rising and falling as he does so. "Okay, I think that's it. I just need to set the table. Wait, I haven’t even offered you anything to drink yet. Do you want something to drink? Coffee, tea, orange juice?"

Mingyu laughs. “Wonwoo, it’s okay. I can drink something once we start eating. Just set the table. Or better yet, how about you go shower and do whatever you need to do, and I can set the table for us.” When Wonwoo opens his mouth to protest, Mingyu says, “Please, can I help you? It would make me feel better.”

Wonwoo relents. “Thank you. I would appreciate that. I’m going to jump into the shower, then. I’ll be quick.”

“Take your time,” Mingyu says, already opening drawers and cabinets to examine their contents. 

Setting the table takes no time at all: first a plate, then a neatly folded cloth napkin, a shallow bowl on top. Forks, knives, and spoons on either side of the plate, a drinking glass within reach. Once that task is done, he takes a look at the pots and pans piled on the counter. Soaking them will make them easier to wash later. He scrapes out the residue and piles the dishes into the sink to soak in hot, soapy water. 

Mingyu hears the blowdryer going in the washroom. Some five minutes later, Wonwoo emerges from the bathroom, looking refreshed. The flour-covered, sauce-stained shirt and pants have been replaced with a cream sweater and dark trousers. 

Wonwoo comes up behind him. Puts a hand on Mingyu’s hip, nudging him away. “You are not allowed to do dishes tonight. Go take a seat. Let’s eat.” 

Mingyu slides into a chair, bouncing slightly with his excitement as Wonwoo sets down a spread of food. First, the bruschetta: rounds of toasted french bread topped with diced tomatoes and a drizzle of balsamic. 

“Hey, your knife work has gotten pretty good!” Mingyu notices. The tomatoes have been diced into neat, uniform cubes. 

“Thanks,” Wonwoo says lightly, but Mingyu can smell it in his scent that he’s proud of himself. 

There’s a salad of seasonal greens, topped with strawberries, roasted beets, candied walnuts, and feta. Plump meatballs steep in a bath of tomato sauce and herbs. Wonwoo sets down the gnocchi last, pan-seared to a golden brown and sitting in a butter sauce.

“There’s also tiramisu in the fridge for dessert.”

“Wow, this is amazing. Everything looks and smells really good,” Mingyu enthuses.

“Let’s just hope it tastes okay, too,” Wonwoo says, taking a seat opposite Mingyu. He gestures a hand over the food. “Please, go ahead.”

Mingyu doesn’t need to be prompted twice. He reaches for a slice of bruschetta first, taking a crunch out of it. Wonwoo is watching him expectantly, awaiting his reaction.

Flavour bursts across Mingyu tongue. The garlic, olive oil, and salt meld perfectly with the sweetness of the tomatoes. “Mmm!” Mingyu hums his delight. The ingredients are fresh and high-quality, and he can tell. “This is so good!”

“Really? Here, try the meatballs.” Wonwoo pierces a meatball with his fork and puts it on Mingyu’s plate. “I hope they’re cooked all the way through.”

Mingyu splits the meatball in half with his fork. “Yep, they’re cooked.” He pops it into his mouth, swaying side to side in his chair as he chews. The meatballs are juicy, tender, and packed with flavour. A blend of oregano, thyme, rosemary, and basil dance on his tongue. The meatballs are truly delicious, made even better by the fact that Wonwoo cooked them for him, and he tells the alpha as such. 

Wonwoo sighs in relief, as though letting go of the breath he had been holding. “Thank god.” He finally starts eating himself, taking a bite out of a meatball. “Wow. This is not half-bad.” 

“You’re being hard on yourself. It’s better than that. Probably better than what I could make.”

“You’re sweet, but we both know that’s not true.”

“I would just follow a recipe, too. It wouldn’t turn out that differently.”

Wonwoo sniffs, but doesn’t further argue, so Mingyu takes that as a win.

“Oh, right, I bought wine for us.” Wonwoo wipes his mouth and stands, making his way over the fridge. He takes out a bottle of wine and two wine glasses from the cupboard. “Do you drink?”

“Very rarely, but I’ll have a glass tonight.”

“I’m not really a wine drinker, but the person at the store said Soave would pair with pretty much anything rich and creamy. Not sure if it’s true, but I didn’t know any better.” Wonwoo pops open the cork, pouring out three fingers worth in each glass. “Cheers?”

“Cheers,” Mingyu says, clinking his glass against Wonwoo’s. They both tip their heads back for a sip.

“Hm,” Wonwoo intones. “I think expensive wines are wasted on me.”

Mingyu laughs. “Was it expensive?”

“Well, it’s more than what I would normally spend on alcohol,” Wonwoo says. He reaches for the gnocchi, holding the bowl near Mingyu’s plate as though to serve him. “Gnocchi?”

“Oh, yes please,” Mingyu says, holding up his bowl so that Wonwoo can spoon in some pasta.

“I’m kind of worried about these, to be honest,” Wonwoo says. 

“Sounds like you’ve been worrying all day.”

“I truly have.” Wonwoo takes a bite of the gnocchi, and Mingyu follows his lead.

Mingyu chews, and chews, and chews. The pasta sticks and clings to his teeth, gummy. He chews a bit more. Swallows. It’s a little hard going down his throat. But the flavour of browned butter and sage is there.

“Oh god.” Wonwoo puts his hands on his face and groans. “I’ve never had gnocchi before, but this can’t be it. These are awful. It’s practically flour-flavoured chewing gum.”

Mingyu can’t help but laugh at the comparison.

“I can’t make you eat this. Let’s order takeout.” Wonwoo reaches across the table for Mingyu’s bowl.

Mingyu wraps a protective arm around his bowl, shielding it from Wonwoo. “Wonwoo, it’s fine! It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be. The sauce is quite good, actually.” To further prove his point, Mingyu pierces several gnocchi with his fork and stuffs them in his mouth all at once. 

“I don’t understand what happened. They’re supposed to be soft and pillowy. They look soft and pillowy. Why are they so dense and chewy? This is like eating half-hardened glue.” The pout in Wonwoo’s voice is audible. He pushes the gnocchi around in his bowl, smashing it with his fork. It is far too cute for Mingyu’s heart to handle. 

“That’s why this is a test run, right? We can figure out what happened, and make it perfect for your mom’s birthday.”

“But I wanted it to be perfect tonight ,” Wonwoo grumbles. “Please stop eating it. Let’s just get takeout.”

“And waste perfectly good food?”

“Mingyu, please —this is hardly fit for human consumption.”

“Maybe the gnocchi could be better,” Mingyu allows, “but the bruschetta and meatballs are amazing, and I’ll bet the salad is, too. Plus you said there was tiramisu, right? There’s plenty of good food. There’s no need to order more.”

“But those are just appetizers, not an entree…”

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu says, “this is the first time someone has ever cooked for me. I want to enjoy it. I am enjoying it. I promise.”

“This is the first time anyone’s cooked for you?”

Mingyu flushes at his accidental confession. “I mean, uh—” He waves a vague hand around. Stammers out a few false starts. “Well, yeah, I mean, aside from my mom, obviously. I work as a baker and cooking instructor, and I’m an omega, so I guess it just makes sense for me to do the cooking?” And it’s partially true, he thinks. The full truth is that there has just never been anyone in his life who would do such a thing for him.

“Hm.” A tiny, disgruntled rumble vibrates in Wonwoo’s throat. Finally, he relents. “Well. Alright, then.”

Mingyu swiftly changes topic, asking about the recipe Wonwoo used. Wonwoo pulls out his phone to show Mingyu, saying that he followed the instructions as closely as possible, but had to keep adding more flour because the dough was as sticky as wet cement. Mingyu thinks he might know the culprit, and asks Wonwoo what kind of potatoes he used. 

“Uh, the little red ones?”

“Yep, there’s the problem.”

“What? Potatoes are potatoes, aren’t they?”

“Waxy potatoes like red ones are low in starch and high in moisture, so you end up with sticky dough that needs more flour in order to bind,” Mingyu explains. “That’s how you end up with tough, chewy dumplings. You want high starch, low moisture potatoes, like Russet potatoes. But if you over-boil the potatoes, they'll absorb too much water and even Russet potatoes won’t save you.”

“Er… It says boil until ‘fork-tender’. Does that mean I can stick a fork in it, or does that mean the potatoes are about to fall apart?”

“You should be able to stick a fork in it easily. But if it breaks apart and crumbles, it probably means you went too far.”

“But I’m supposed to break it apart to mash it.” 

“Uh, yes. It should mash smoothly.” 

Mingyu can practically see the big question marks revolving around Wonwoo’s head. He laughs, finding himself charmed all over again by Wonwoo’s earnest efforts to understand and improve as a cook. “It sounds contradictory, I know. I’ll show you after.”

Eventually, they move away from the topic of food. Wonwoo’s mood improves as the night goes on. Conversation flows, as does the wine. Mingyu, who appreciates a good wine now and then, drinks more than he normally would. Even Wonwoo, who prefers beers, concedes that the wine is growing on him, each subsequent glass tasting better than the one before it.

Their feet meet under the dining table. “Sorry,” Wonwoo says, but he doesn’t move away. Just continues talking about the new intern at work who says sorry and beats himself up for every inconsequential thing that barely registers as a blip on Wonwoo’s radar. “He makes one tiny mistake and acts like he needs to commit seppuku to redeem his honour.” Wonwoo shakes his head, amused. 

“Reminds me of a certain someone I know when he’s in the kitchen,” Mingyu teases.

Wonwoo huffs out a laugh. “You got me there.”

They jump from one topic of conversation to the next. Their friends and families and coworkers. What they were like in high school, if these were always the careers they imagined for themselves when they were younger. The new movie releases they’re looking forward to, to the shows they enjoyed as a child. Mingyu has never considered himself to be a particularly good conversationalist, but it feels easy with Wonwoo, who leans forward and nods, as though hanging onto every single one of his words. 

Mingyu feels warm, happy, and flushed, and not just because of the alcohol. Wonwoo brings out tiramisu, a lightly sweetened and airy dessert that more than makes up for the gnocchi. Good food, good company. Mingyu feels overfull, heart and stomach both.

After dinner and dessert, Wonwoo leads them out to the balcony. On a glass table, he sets down a new bottle of dessert wine and two glasses with a clink.

Cautiously, Mingyu steps up to the railing, curling his fingers around the cool metal.

Wonwoo lives near the top of the high-rise building. Mingyu keeps his eyes fixed to the skyline, though the knowledge that there are more than hundred feet between him and the ground has his belly clenching. A chilly night breeze brushes over Mingyu's cheeks as he tips his face up. Stars are splashed against the velvet ink of the night sky. This high up, the bustle of the city and sounds of traffic are muted. It's quiet and intimate, and the view is stunning, made even better because he has an alpha to share it with.

Clutching the railing, Mingyu risks peering over the railing at the streets below. Immediately, he regrets it. His stomach swoops. His heart shoots up his throat. A little sound of fright escapes him and he retreats several steps backwards, knees wobbling all the while. He stumbles into Wonwoo, who is standing behind him.

Wonwoo steadies him with both hands on his hips. "Careful." His voice is low and deep, rumbling with amusement, in Mingyu's ear.

Mingyu turns his head a fraction of a degree and finds Wonwoo smiling at him, sweet and close-lipped, his face inches away. Mingyu's heart, which is already in panic-mode, gives out right there. It shivers and quakes in its death throes. He can feel Wonwoo's hands on him, hot as a brand through his cardigan. It would be so easy to sway forward and press his lips against Wonwoo's. Mingy thinks that, just maybe, the kiss might even be welcome.

"Scared of heights?" Wonwoo asks.

Mingyu, whose brain has ceased to function, just nods.

Wonwoo coos, the kind of sound an alpha might make to comfort their omega. "Should we just sit inside?"

"It's okay. As long as I don't look down, I'll be fine."

Wonwoo gives his hips a squeeze. Doesn't let go immediately. "Alright. Let me know if it's too much." After a beat, he drops his hands, but his phantom touch lingers. He moves to flick on the outdoor space heater, allowing them to enjoy the view even on a cold autumn night.

Mingyu's heart pounds a drumbeat in his chest. He thinks he might be going crazy. Wonwoo hasn't stopped smiling at him all night—a far cry from the cold and austere alpha Mingyu believed him to be at first glance. He smells happy, too. If Mingyu weren't already tipsy because of the wine, Wonwoo's pleased alpha scent would have done it for him. Wonwoo has got to be interested in him. All the signs are there. It feels like the ball is in Mingyu’s court, and that Wonwoo is waiting for Mingyu’s play. But Mingyu has always been painfully shy, even to his own frustration, and a coward to boot. He feels paralyzed by his lack of experience. Can’t wrap his head around the idea that Wonwoo might be interested in him. 

Wonwoo takes a seat on the patio chair and pours each of them a glass of dessert wine. 

Mingyu joins him on the chair beside him. He sinks into the cushion, leaning his head against the high-back. “It’s so nice and quiet up here,” he comments.

“Yeah, it’s peaceful,” Wonwoo agrees. “Sometimes it feels a little too quiet, though.” 

They lapse into silence, broken only by the breeze whistling between buildings and the distant sounds of traffic. 

Wonwoo speaks first. “I really enjoyed your company tonight.”

“I had a lot of fun, too. I know you weren’t happy with the way the gnocchi turned out, but the sauce was good, and everything else was delicious.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Wonwoo says. “I’ll do better next time.”

Mingyu’s heart perks up. “Next time?” he asks before he can help himself. And then he remembers that tonight was supposed to be a test run for Wonwoo’s mom’s birthday. He hurries to correct himself, but Wonwoo beats him to it.

“Yeah. You said you had fun, right? We should do it again.” 

Oh jeez. Mingyu has to know. The question has been dancing on his tongue all night, desperate to make itself heard. “Wonwoo,” he starts, can hear the tremble in his own voice. “I don’t know if I’m reading this all wrong, but tonight… It sort of felt like a date?” His voice goes small, barely there by the time his tone lifts with the question. 

“I wanted it to be a date, but if you don’t feel the same way, a dinner between friends is good, too.”

“I want it to be a date,” Mingyu blurts out. The next confession topples out of him. “I want next time to be a date, too.”

A slow grin spreads across Wonwoo’s face. His alpha scent turns warm and pleased. “Me too. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one. I… I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night. May I?”

"Okay," Mingyu says. "Yes, please."

Wonwoo shakes his head and chuckles. "'Yes, please'? God, you are adorable." He leans forward, reaching up to rest his fingertips on Mingyu's jaw, a feather-light touch that has Mingyu burning. Wonwoo closes the remaining, pressing his lip to the corner of Mingyu's mouth.

The kiss lasts for a second. Wonwoo pulls away, putting a few inches between them. Mingyu covers his face with his hands and giggles, flopping back against his chair. He knows he's acting completely embarrassing, but he can't help it. The last time he had been kissed was back in college. At a party, some drunk alpha, detecting Mingyu's pre-heat scent and hoping for sex, had grabbed his chin and forced a kiss on him that tasted of vodka. It hadn't been soft and chaste and innocent like this. It hadn't been a promise of something more, the way this kiss was.

Wonwoo laughs lowly. He closes his fingers around Mingyu's wrists, gently tugging his hands away. "Okay. Now I need one more."

Their mouths meet in full this time, Wonwoo taking Mingyu's lower lip between his. The alpha applies a pressure so gentle that it makes Mingyu's heart ache, but doesn't push for more. When they part, they're both smiling. Their smiles split into grins, and then they’re both laughing, shy and delighted. 

Monday morning, Mingyu's stuck in the kitchen. He uses the word 'stuck' because for the first time since he started working at Carat, he doesn't want to be in the kitchen. Even though Wonwoo is supposed to pick him up at the end of his shift, Mingyu still wants to be out front so that each customer is in full view as they enter the store. Just in case Wonwoo pops in early.

He had texted Wonwoo when he woke up this morning. When he had checked his messages during his break at half past ten, Wonwoo had yet to open his message. It could be that Wonwoo is still asleep in bed, but part of Mingyu is worried that he had dreamt all of last night up.

Mingyu hadn’t left Wonwoo’s apartment until past midnight last night, and only at the alpha’s insistence. He hadn’t wanted the night to end, and he still cursed himself for the face-splitting yawn that interrupted Wonwoo and caused tears to spring to his eyes. 

“Tired?” Wonwoo had asked.

“A little,” Mingyu admitted. “I’m used to going to bed early and waking up early because I work morning shifts at Carat.”

“What time do you usually wake up?”

“Around 4:30.”

Wonwoo checked his watch. “Jesus, it’s 12:10 now. You should have told me to shut up.”

“I like hearing you talk.”

“We should get you home. I might end up keeping you here all night if you don’t leave now.” 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Wonwoo brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen across Mingyu’s forehead. “You need to sleep. You have to be up in a few hours.”

“I guess so,” Mingyu admitted grudgingly. “You have work tomorrow too, right?”

“No, they gave me a day off to make up for all the overtime I did a while ago,” Wonwoo said. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes!”

“What time do you get off work tomorrow?”

“I get off at one.”

“Just in time for lunch. How about I pick you up from work and we go grab lunch together?”

With plans for the next day made, Wonwoo had dropped Mingyu off at his apartment. Had walked him all the way to his door and kissed him on his cheek goodnight. 

Part of Mingyu is worried that Wonwoo will wake up clear-headed this morning, and realise that maybe, he's not so into Mingyu, after all. He worries that after his shift, he'll sit at his spot by the window, waiting for an alpha that has no intention of showing up. He had fretted over it while decorating cakes and pastries and preparing dough to be baked later in the day, how he might end up sitting by the window for hours and hours, scanning each person as they walked by. What if he ended up waiting until the bakery was due to close? No—he wouldn't let it get to that point. He wasn't that pathetic.

Mingyu's anxiousness and impatience causes the spiteful day to crawl forward at a snail's pace. The end of his shift can't come soon enough.

As soon as the clock strikes one, Mingyu washes his hands, ducks out of his apron, and heads to the staff room at the back. He takes his backpack into the washroom, where he changes into a fresh t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He applies a fresh click of deodorant to his underarms. Works a dime-sized amount of product into his hair, fluffing it back to life after it had wilted in the kitchen's heat.

He gives his reflection an encouraging smile. Swinging his backpack over his shoulder, he heads out.

Wonwoo is already there, seated at a table for two in the back. He sips at a black iced coffee, his other hand busy scrolling through his phone. As though sensing Mingyu's attention on him, he looks up, and his face breaks into a smile.

Wonwoo stands, striding over to greet Mingyu. "Hey, you." He winds an arm around Mingyu's waist and leans in to swipe his nose against the angle of Mingyu's jaw. It's a chaste greeting, but one that is unmistakably reserved for two people who are dating.

It eases the knot of anxiety in Mingyu's chest, the knowledge that Wonwoo is still interested in him in this way. Mingyu returns the gesture, nudging Wonwoo's jaw with his nose. Inhaling the winter pine scent of him.

Behind him, he hears Seungkwan gasp, "Holy shit," which causes him to laugh.

"Ready to go?" Wonwoo asks.

"Yeah."

Wonwoo's hand is still on his waist when he leads them out.