CHAPTER 2
1433 Words
Morning arrived the way it always did for Nate Carter—uninvited, unbothered, and far too loud for something that claimed to be natural.
His alarm rang twice before he finally slammed a hand against it, silencing the shrill sound with the precision of someone who had done this exact battle far too many times.
For a moment, he lay still.
Eyes half-open.
Staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended him.
“Third year,” he muttered. “Still not rich.”
A beat of silence.
The ceiling offered no apology.
With a groan, Nate pushed himself up and reached for his clothes. The routine was simple: shower, uniform, disguise.
The pheromone patches came last.
Carefully pressed against his skin like invisible armor.
They masked everything—his scent, his Omega signal, anything that might make the world look twice at him.
Not that anyone was supposed to know he was an Omega in the first place.
In this world, being careful wasn’t optional. It was survival dressed as routine.
---
The university was already awake by the time Nate arrived.
Students flooded the walkways in waves of laughter, conversation, and chaos. Some walked with confidence that came from privilege. Others walked like they were trying to disappear into their own skin.
Nate preferred the second category.
He adjusted his bag and kept moving.
“Oi! Nate!”
A voice cut through the crowd like a thrown stone.
He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
“Please tell me you’re not shouting my name like we’re in a bad action movie,” Nate replied without slowing down.
Daniel appeared beside him, matching his pace with effortless energy.
Daniel Kim—third-year Omega student, part-time barista, full-time disaster.
He had the kind of face that made trouble look like an invitation rather than a warning.
Today, his grin was already suspicious.
“I have news,” Daniel said.
“If your news involves detention again, I don’t want it.”
“It doesn’t.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“That was technically true until it wasn’t.”
Nate sighed. “I’m walking away from this conversation.”
Daniel immediately matched him again.
“Too late. You’re emotionally involved now.”
Nate shot him a look. “I’m not emotionally involved in anything you do.”
“Liar.”
“…Your patch is coming off. I can smell you.”
Nate froze for half a second.
Right. Daniel.
The only person who knew.
Not by accident anymore, but by history.
It had started years ago—junior high. A restroom stall. A misplaced pheromone patch. Panic. Exposure.
Nate had expected betrayal.
Instead, Daniel had looked at him and asked:
«“Do you want to be friends?”»
And somehow, that had been more terrifying than exposure.
---
“Nate… Earth to Nate.”
Daniel’s voice pulled him back.
Nate’s hand shot up instinctively, pressing against the patch at the back of his neck. He adjusted it quickly, firm and practiced, until it settled again beneath his collar.
“Try again,” Nate said flatly.
Daniel leaned in exaggeratedly, nose hovering near his neck like a ridiculous scientist.
Then he stepped back and gave a thumbs-up.
“Safe.”
Nate exhaled.
For a brief moment, he even grinned.
Ever since losing his parents, Daniel had been the only person who treated him like he wasn’t something fragile to be managed.
Just a person.
A complicated, sarcastic, overworked person.
---
By noon, they stood in front of the university café where they both worked part-time.
Warmth hit instantly.
Coffee.
Steam.
Noise.
Life.
Nate tied his apron while Daniel dramatically flipped his over his shoulder like he was preparing for battle.
“We are not heroes,” Nate reminded him.
“I am a hero,” Daniel corrected. “Just an unrecognized one.”
“You spilled milk on a dean last week.”
“He deserved it.”
“He sneezed.”
“Loudly.”
Nate didn’t bother responding.
The café manager walked in, took one look at them, and immediately looked tired.
“Just… don’t break anything today, Nate. I’m trusting you to keep things normal,” she said.
Daniel raised a hand. “No promises.”
Nate nodded politely. “I’ll try keeping him in check.”
That was the best Linda ever got.
---
By mid-day, the café had become controlled chaos.
Orders shouted.
Machines humming.
Feet constantly moving.
Nate worked behind the counter with practiced efficiency. His hands moved automatically—grinding, pouring, steaming, serving.
It was the kind of work that didn’t leave room for thinking.
Which suited him just fine.
“Two cappuccinos, one iced latte, extra foam,” a student called.
Nate nodded. “Coming up.”
Daniel leaned toward him while wiping the counter. “You ever think about how weird it is that people pay this much for bitter water?”
“It’s called coffee.”
“It’s betrayal in liquid form.”
“And yet you drink it.”
“Exactly. I like danger.”
Nate snorted softly.
For a moment, it almost felt normal.
Almost.
---
It didn’t take long for Daniel’s version of peace to collapse.
A group of students entered—loud, confident, and immediately locking onto Daniel like he was a problem they had been waiting to find.
“Oh look,” one of them said. “It’s the clown barista.”
Daniel didn’t even look up.
“Oh look. It’s the guy who peaked in first-year orientation.”
The air shifted.
Nate paused mid-order.
“…Daniel,” he warned quietly.
“What?” Daniel asked innocently. “I’m being friendly.”
“You are not being friendly.”
“I am absolutely being friendly.”
The group stepped closer.
Nate sighed.
This was going to be one of those days.
He placed the cup down and subtly shifted his stance between Daniel and them.
“Your drinks,” Nate said calmly, sliding the order forward. “Anything else?”
The leader of the group looked him over.
A beat.
Then a smirk.
“You should control your friend,” he said.
Nate tilted his head slightly. “I don’t control animals. That would be unethical.”
Daniel made a sound like he was trying not to laugh.
The tension broke just enough for hesitation to creep in.
Not enough to end it.
But enough.
They took their drinks and left with lingering looks.
Daniel exhaled dramatically. “You robbed me of my moment.”
“I saved you from your funeral,” Nate replied.
“That was my heroic arc.”
“It was a short arc.”
---
Later, during a lull, Nate stood alone behind the counter.
Daniel had been pulled away by another customer—probably something involving sugar and chaos.
For a few minutes, Nate let himself breathe.
Just work.
Just noise.
Just normal.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message from his uncle.
«“Don’t forget your shift tonight ends late. Come home directly.”»
Nate stared at it longer than necessary.
Then locked the phone.
“Directly,” he muttered. “Of course.”
---
Evening arrived quietly.
The café emptied until only the hum of machines remained.
Daniel leaned against the counter, exhausted but satisfied.
“Survived another day,” he said.
“Barely,” Nate replied.
“Same time tomorrow?”
“Unfortunately.”
“That sounded like affection.”
“It wasn’t.”
Daniel laughed anyway.
When their shift ended, they stepped outside into cooling air.
Campus lights flickered on one by one, like the world was remembering how to glow.
Daniel stretched. “You heading home?”
Nate hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Yeah.”
Daniel studied him for a second.
“Try not to get kidnapped or anything.”
“That’s your advice?”
“It’s good advice.”
Nate shook his head. “Go home, Daniel.”
“You first.”
A pause.
Then, softer:
“See you tomorrow, Nate.”
Nate gave a small wave. “Yeah.”
And just like that, they parted.
---
The walk home was quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that makes thoughts louder than footsteps.
Nate adjusted his bag strap and kept moving.
Normal life.
University.
Work.
Bills.
Survival.
He was almost used to it.
Almost.
But somewhere beneath all that routine, something restless lingered.
A life he couldn’t quite see yet.
A change he couldn’t name.
Something waiting just out of reach.
And Nate, without knowing why, walked faster.
- Writer
