12:04 a.m.
The flicker of the overhead fluorescents was almost hypnotic—an erratic pulse in the otherwise steady glow. Ilyan barely noticed. He stood behind the register, still, as if part of the store's muted machinery.
His dull, golden eyes scanned the dim aisles without really seeing. His messy, dusty rose-pink hair hid the upper half of his face. The cracked tiles beneath his feet held the imprint of countless footsteps, a silent echo of lives intersecting here in fragments and moments.
Outside, the rain had stopped but left the street slick and shimmering. City lights fractured in puddles, scattering color like broken stained glass.
A woman, no older than 50, sat behind the counter, cradling a chipped mug of tea. Her hands wrapped around it like a small warmth against the night.
"You'll make someone a lovely housemate someday," she said, voice low, careful. It wasn't a question.
Ilyan's gaze flicked to her, then away. "I don't think that's true."
She smiled faintly, not offended—more like amused by the honesty. "Maybe not. But it's sweet of you to remember how I take it."
"You always drink it at eleven."
She exhaled softly. "I'm off at eleven."
"But you still drink it."
A soft laugh escaped her lips, unexpected in this quiet hour. "You really are the quiet type, huh?"
He said nothing.
Silence stretched between them.
The mug steamed slowly, the fragile thread of warmth mingling with the cool, stale air.
"Heading home after this?" she asked.
"I live a few blocks away," he said quietly.
Mina nodded. "Not too far, but far enough."
He didn't say more.
"Well… try not to forget to sleep, sweetheart."
He gave a silent nod in response. His eyes avoided hers.
"Seriously…" she whispered. "Just pretend I'm allowed to worry."
⸻
The bell jingled.
Heads turned.
Tall. Broad. Black coat heavy with rain, hands buried deep in pockets.
Cassian.
His presence filled the space without demanding it—quiet but impossible to ignore.
No entourage.
No fanfare.
Just a man stepping through the door like the city itself was holding its breath.
Mina wiped her hands on her skirt, eyes meeting Ilyan's briefly.
"I'll get going," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "That one doesn't look like he buys scratch-offs."
"Good night," Ilyan said softly.
A gentle wave.
Not quite affection. Not quite permission.
She slipped out.
The door clicked closed.
⸻
The blonde haired man moved toward the drink aisle.
He didn't look rushed.
He didn't look lost.
He looked like a man marking time.
The scent was faint but unmistakable—omega.
Cassian's eyes flicked toward the counter.
Ilyan stood there, still as a sculpture carved from dusk.
No nervous flutter.
No shy gaze.
Just quiet.
And that scent.
Arousal, low and steady.
Unfitting, subtle—but impossible to ignore.
Cassian cleared his throat and opened the cooler.
Grabbed a can at random.
⸻
"3.90," Ilyan said, voice level, calm.
Cassian placed the can on the counter.
Fingers brushed—brief, electric.
"I'll see you around," Cassian murmured, more to himself.
Ilyan blinked once.
No reply.
No reaction.
Just silence.
—
The air outside bit colder now, sharp at the collar. Rain had soaked into the shoulders of Cassian's coat and was drying slowly in the wind, leaving a scent of stone and stormwater. He walked with purpose but not urgency, one hand still wrapped around the drink can he hadn't opened.
He didn't look back.
Not toward the store, not toward the boy behind the counter.
But the omega's scent still clung to the inside of Cassian's mouth like a ghost. He wasn't used to that — to scents lingering when he hadn't asked them to. When they didn't burn bright and open, loud and clear.
This had been different. Subtle. Low like fog. Arousal, yes — or something close to it — but restrained. Controlled. Quiet.
And that boy hadn't looked at him the way omegas usually did.
Not submissive.
Not afraid.
Not even intrigued.
Just… watching. Like he'd catalogued Cassian and set him aside in his mind already.
Cassian's jaw tightened.
That didn't bother him, exactly. But it unsettled something. In a way he didn't like to name.
⸻
He turned down an alley shortcut that led to the back of a closed bakery. The scent of yeast and old flour lingered. Most of the city's sounds were muffled here — distant traffic, the low buzz of a neon sign that refused to fully die.
He paused under the overhang of a loading bay.
Leaned against the brick wall.
Opened the can.
Didn't drink it.
Instead, he pulled his phone from his coat pocket and opened a message thread.
Contact: Mikhail
Instalments done. Checked that place you mentioned, it's barely standing. Get in touch with the owner and make him an offer, I'll fix what I can.
There's an omega that's most definitely working illegally the night shifts|
He stared at the message for a moment, then deleted it before sending.
There was no reason to flag the guy.
Not yet.
Just a quiet, cold-eyed omega in a midnight shop.
Anyone with a brain would know no guardian would allow an omega a job at a rundown place at such ungodly hours. Unless of course, it was a case of abuse or illegal hiring.
Cassian didn't believe in coincidence. But not everything deserved a red marker. Specially not an omega in need of money.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and ran a hand through his damp hair.
The truth was, he didn't want to forget the pink haired omega.
Didn't want him reduced to a note in someone's file.
That boy had looked at him like he saw through him. And didn't much care what he found.
Cassian wasn't used to that.
⸻
He exhaled through his nose.
Started walking again, this time slower.
Toward nothing in particular.
Toward morning.
Toward the itch under his skin that the male had left behind.
⸻
The store's door jingled again.
A woman pushed a stroller, exhaustion etched into every line of her face.
She moved slowly, whispering soothing words to a sleeping child wrapped in blankets.
Ilyan watched her from his post.
She gathered formula, diapers, instant coffee.
At the register, her eyes barely met his.
She blinked, attempting to get rid of the awkward silence.
"Baby's teething."
A faint, silent nod is what her words received in response.
She left quietly.
⸻
Later, a young man in a hoodie burst in, energy too bright for this hour.
"Got any energy drinks?" he asked, loud and impatient.
Ilyan pointed wordlessly.
The man grabbed two cans, tossed one toward him.
"On me," he grinned.
Ilyan's face was unreadable.
The man shrugged and left, flashing a peace sign.
⸻
As the night deepened, the store emptied.
Ilyan wiped down counters with methodical care.
His eyes drifted toward the window.
Outside, the city pulsed with unseen life.
⸻
3:40 a.m.
Ilyan's apartment was a few blocks from the store.
The door creaked softly as he unlocked it.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of dust and forgotten things.
Shoes neatly aligned by the door.
A small, cluttered room with books piled against the walls.
A struggling plant leaned toward the window, yearning for light.
He moved to the kitchenette, pouring water into a chipped mug.
Condensed breath curled in soft spirals, the low hum of the broken heater filling the silence of the apartment.
Sitting by the window, he stared out at the quiet street.
The city breathed in shadows.
Another night.
12:04 a.m.
The flicker of the overhead fluorescents was almost hypnotic—an erratic pulse in the otherwise steady glow. Ilyan barely noticed. He stood behind the register, still, as if part of the store's muted machinery.
His dull, golden eyes scanned the dim aisles without really seeing. His messy, dusty rose-pink hair hid the upper half of his face. The cracked tiles beneath his feet held the imprint of countless footsteps, a silent echo of lives intersecting here in fragments and moments.
Outside, the rain had stopped but left the street slick and shimmering. City lights fractured in puddles, scattering color like broken stained glass.
A woman, no older than 50, sat behind the counter, cradling a chipped mug of tea. Her hands wrapped around it like a small warmth against the night.
"You'll make someone a lovely housemate someday," she said, voice low, careful. It wasn't a question.
Ilyan's gaze flicked to her, then away. "I don't think that's true."
She smiled faintly, not offended—more like amused by the honesty. "Maybe not. But it's sweet of you to remember how I take it."
"You always drink it at eleven."
She exhaled softly. "I'm off at eleven."
"But you still drink it."
A soft laugh escaped her lips, unexpected in this quiet hour. "You really are the quiet type, huh?"
He said nothing.
Silence stretched between them.
The mug steamed slowly, the fragile thread of warmth mingling with the cool, stale air.
"Heading home after this?" she asked.
"I live a few blocks away," he said quietly.
Mina nodded. "Not too far, but far enough."
He didn't say more.
"Well… try not to forget to sleep, sweetheart."
He gave a silent nod in response. His eyes avoided hers.
"Seriously…" she whispered. "Just pretend I'm allowed to worry."
⸻
The bell jingled.
Heads turned.
Tall. Broad. Black coat heavy with rain, hands buried deep in pockets.
Cassian.
His presence filled the space without demanding it—quiet but impossible to ignore.
No entourage.
No fanfare.
Just a man stepping through the door like the city itself was holding its breath.
Mina wiped her hands on her skirt, eyes meeting Ilyan's briefly.
"I'll get going," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "That one doesn't look like he buys scratch-offs."
"Good night," Ilyan said softly.
A gentle wave.
Not quite affection. Not quite permission.
She slipped out.
The door clicked closed.
⸻
The blonde haired man moved toward the drink aisle.
He didn't look rushed.
He didn't look lost.
He looked like a man marking time.
The scent was faint but unmistakable—omega.
Cassian's eyes flicked toward the counter.
Ilyan stood there, still as a sculpture carved from dusk.
No nervous flutter.
No shy gaze.
Just quiet.
And that scent.
Arousal, low and steady.
Unfitting, subtle—but impossible to ignore.
Cassian cleared his throat and opened the cooler.
Grabbed a can at random.
⸻
"3.90," Ilyan said, voice level, calm.
Cassian placed the can on the counter.
Fingers brushed—brief, electric.
"I'll see you around," Cassian murmured, more to himself.
Ilyan blinked once.
No reply.
No reaction.
Just silence.
—
The air outside bit colder now, sharp at the collar. Rain had soaked into the shoulders of Cassian's coat and was drying slowly in the wind, leaving a scent of stone and stormwater. He walked with purpose but not urgency, one hand still wrapped around the drink can he hadn't opened.
He didn't look back.
Not toward the store, not toward the boy behind the counter.
But the omega's scent still clung to the inside of Cassian's mouth like a ghost. He wasn't used to that — to scents lingering when he hadn't asked them to. When they didn't burn bright and open, loud and clear.
This had been different. Subtle. Low like fog. Arousal, yes — or something close to it — but restrained. Controlled. Quiet.
And that boy hadn't looked at him the way omegas usually did.
Not submissive.
Not afraid.
Not even intrigued.
Just… watching. Like he'd catalogued Cassian and set him aside in his mind already.
Cassian's jaw tightened.
That didn't bother him, exactly. But it unsettled something. In a way he didn't like to name.
⸻
He turned down an alley shortcut that led to the back of a closed bakery. The scent of yeast and old flour lingered. Most of the city's sounds were muffled here — distant traffic, the low buzz of a neon sign that refused to fully die.
He paused under the overhang of a loading bay.
Leaned against the brick wall.
Opened the can.
Didn't drink it.
Instead, he pulled his phone from his coat pocket and opened a message thread.
Contact: Mikhail
:Instalments done. Checked that place you mentioned, it's barely standing. Get in touch with the owner and make him an offer, I'll fix what I can.
:There's an omega that's most definitely working illegally the night shifts|
He stared at the message for a moment, then deleted it before sending.
There was no reason to flag the guy.
Not yet.
Just a quiet, cold-eyed omega in a midnight shop.
Anyone with a brain would know no guardian would allow an omega a job at a rundown place at such ungodly hours. Unless of course, it was a case of abuse or illegal hiring.
Cassian didn't believe in coincidence. But not everything deserved a red marker. Specially not an omega in need of money.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and ran a hand through his damp hair.
The truth was, he didn't want to forget the pink haired omega.
Didn't want him reduced to a note in someone's file.
That boy had looked at him like he saw through him. And didn't much care what he found.
Cassian wasn't used to that.
⸻
He exhaled through his nose.
Started walking again, this time slower.
Toward nothing in particular.
Toward morning.
Toward the itch under his skin that the male had left behind.
⸻
The store's door jingled again.
A woman pushed a stroller, exhaustion etched into every line of her face
She moved slowly, whispering soothing words to a sleeping child wrapped in blankets.
Ilyan watched her from his post.
She gathered formula, diapers, instant coffee.
At the register, her eyes barely met his.
She blinked, attempting to get rid of the awkward silence.
"Baby's teething."
A faint, silent nod is what her words received in response.
She left quietly.
⸻
Later, a young man in a hoodie burst in, energy too bright for this hour.
"Got any energy drinks?" he asked, loud and impatient.
Ilyan pointed wordlessly.
The man grabbed two cans, tossed one toward him.
"On me," he grinned.
Ilyan's face was unreadable.
The man shrugged and left, flashing a peace sign.
⸻
As the night deepened, the store emptied.
Ilyan wiped down counters with methodical care.
His eyes drifted toward the window.
Outside, the city pulsed with unseen life.
⸻
3:40 a.m.
Ilyan's apartment was a few blocks from the store.
The door creaked softly as he unlocked it.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of dust and forgotten things.
Shoes neatly aligned by the door.
A small, cluttered room with books piled against the walls.
A struggling plant leaned toward the window, yearning for light.
He moved to the kitchenette, pouring water into a chipped mug.
Condensed breath curled in soft spirals, the low hum of the broken heater filling the silence of the apartment.
Sitting by the window, he stared out at the quiet street.
The city breathed in shadows.
Another night.