There were not a lot of places V liked more than the quaint coffee shop on the corner of Clementine Street. Aptly named Unpoisoned Apple, it looked out of place surrounded by modern buildings and tall skyscrapers, but that's exactly what made it appealing. In the street littered with fast-paced lives and a never-ending climb on the corporate ladder, every now and then the cafe doors would open and let out a hint of cinnamon, maybe vanilla, and V's favorite aroma—coffee, mixed with a cacophony of alpha, beta, and omega scents.
Still, V decided, nothing could beat the warm and content pheromones his alpha friend—scratch that, best friend—in front of him was unconsciously letting out.
It smelled like a warm cup of cocoa on a rainy day, and even though V had been more than familiar with this scent for 15 years, he couldn't help but envelop himself in it. It also wasn't the first time he thought that Caoli was a genius for starting her own coffee shop, her pheromones were so in harmony with the place, she seemed like a fixture that came when the property was bought.
"I'm proud of you." It was nothing but a mumble, really. But the owner slash barista brewing coffee beans still managed to hear it. Brown hair tied up in a bun as curves littered her short stature.
"You said that a hundred times already," she replied without looking up. Although her tone was nonchalant, the small smile on her face betrayed her feelings.
Alphas were known to be BIG and STRONG but not Caoli, oh no. Strong—maybe, but only big in heart and brain. The rest of her was cuddly and soft.
"But I am!" V lightly slammed his hand on the countertop. "You're so young but you built all of this from the ground up by yourself," he gestured to the cafe that was neither too packed nor too empty. "And you're getting married next month. TO THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE!" He slammed his hand again for good measure.
"Be careful with that counter, Omega, or you'll never be allowed in here again." Caoli clicked her tongue at him but they both knew she was kidding. There was too much history, too much trust, too much love between them for Caoli to remove V from this safe space.
V groaned but nonetheless stopped hitting the innocent hardwood top. "Come on, Caoli. You're winning!" She rolled her eyes at his exclamation, not bothering to listen any longer. “Who stood every time they fell? You. Who fought hard every time they struggled? You. Who said ‘fuck them gender roles’ when their dumbass beta potential boyfriend was too wimp to confess? You!”
At that, both of them laughed, mostly to themselves, but also to all the memories, and the sufferings, and the dark nights huddled with each other whispering ‘it’s gonna be okay’ and ‘you’re safe’ and ‘i’m here.’
"Yeah, fuck them gender roles." Breathy, almost a whisper, but the bride-to-be said it.
V quietly grinned but said nothing more, content in knowing that his friend was happy. If she was happy, he was happy.
This is enough, he thought to himself. She finding love is enough for both of us.
Not that he would ever admit it to his friend though. Gods, no. There was enough material to tease each other for a lifetime; this one, he would keep for himself.
It was a reprieve that was as painful as it was satisfying. Seven failed relationships over the years made V do some overdue introspection.
Why?
What was wrong?
Why did it never last?
Was it them?
Why?
Was he bound to never find a mate?
Never get married?
Grow old alone?
Why?
Was it him?
Why?
Was he a bad person?
Was he a bad omega?
Was he not worthy of love?
Of anything?
Why?
Was it his fault?
Bad person?
Why?
Bad omega?
Not worthy?
Bad?
Him?
Why?
He found himself asking these questions over and over again three days after his last relationship went down the drain. They lasted for 11 months, 16 days, and 7 hours, but instead of feeling sad, he just felt confused. He pondered over these questions on the bed, while showering, or nursing a beer, sometimes even while he’s being knotted by a semi-decent Alpha he couldn’t remember the name of.
Up till now, watching his favorite person make the best coffee, he found himself slipping into this pattern of self-reproach.
Oh well, he thought one uneventful day, raising his hands in surrender. There’s no use thinking too much about this. He was never one to use his brains too much anyway.
Leaning forward over the counter, his mouth moved to ask before he could stop it, “Do you think I can’t find a mate because I’m a horrible person?” This was probably not a conversation they should have in a public place, but he was also never one to have much shame.
“You’re not a horrible person,” Caoli replied without so much as blinking. “And a mate is made, not found. If it was, everyone would be dropping by the adoption shelter and getting married.”
“Then why do I keep getting heartbroken? Do they not love me? Do I not love them?”
Caoli carefully settled the lid on a freshly made macchiato, making it look like all the other takeout orders, if not for the number 5 written on the side. “It’s not because of them or you not loving each other. It’s because you’re in love with the idea of love.”
V balked, confusion clearly written on his furrowed brows and slightly open mouth.
Carefully putting the cup on the counter, she continued, “You have this sort of notion in your head about what’s love supposed to be or how you’re supposed to act. I honestly don’t know where you got it from. By the time you realize that the relationship isn’t living up to your expectations, either you or your partner has gotten too tired or fallen out.”
V had nothing to say. It wasn’t like it was completely false—he knew what he wanted and he always gave it his best, but it wasn’t completely true either. Some of his relationships ended because he caught them cheating, or went long-distance, or was too much of a momma’s boy.
“But what about the perfect mates? The happy ending? Was that all a lie?” He knew that arguing with Caoli was a losing battle but he felt like if he didn’t, the voice in his head would never stop.
“I think you watched too much TV as a child.” And just like that, the conversation was over.
She turned around to do something, probably another coffee, but V was too in his head to care. The warmth from the coffee cup was a welcome, though. He was slowly moving it to his lips, savoring the recent revelation in his mouth.
It wasn’t until someone harshly grabbed his wrist that he was pulled from his stupor.
V snapped his head towards the source before his mind could process what was happening, reflexes choosing fight over flight from the unfamiliar touch. The cells in his brain didn’t even finish whatever commands it was sending before it went haywire, eyes locked on the beautiful intruder.
Good lord, he’s divine.
Sharp chiseled jaw as if it can cut through anything was below a high but small nose. Soft, full lips and equally soft, dark eyes paired with full, untamed brows. Hair darker than charcoal cascaded lightly past the shoulders. His face was neither that of a man or a woman. Or maybe it was of both. Although, the protruding Adam's apple was definitely of a man's.
The bell from the door clinked and a gush of wind flew in perfect timing as V inhaled a breath from shock.
Sandalwood and the summer sun of youth spent running by the river.
Alpha.
V didn’t know how long he stared at the piercing glare: hours, minutes, less than a heartbeat. He was snapped out of his daze by another tug at his coffee-holding hand.
“Let go.” The voice was deep but not too masculine, matching the androgynous face. “That’s not yours.”
V felt the familiar boil rising from his stomach, threatening to spill from his mouth in the bile of curses and profanities. Still, he had enough awareness to remember that they were in his best friend’s place of business, so he tried to push it down. He was still trying, albeit barely, as he forced the most level voice he could. “Excuse me, sir, can you take your fuc—your hand off me first?”
“Coffee.” No movement. “Down.”
He felt it again, the boil hotter, sharper. “Let me go first.” V tried to tug his wrist back but the man did not budge.
“Down,” the man repeated as if he was cursed to speak no more than 10 words in a lifetime.
This did not go well with the V. No, it did not. The boiling heat was now on his chest, consuming his lungs and creeping up his throat.
“Omega,” the voice dipped deeper, a hint of Command, alpha voice leaking.
Oh. Hell. No.
Something inside of him snapped. Probably the last tendrils of his control.
It’s going down.
This was lovely!! Keep up the good work!
I'm flattered. Thank you!