Adrian was exhausted. He'd been at the Hawthorne banquet late, and now, he was opening the coffee shop early. He had to switch shifts with his father to do the banquet at all, but it was good money, and Adrian knew they needed it. It wasn't a secret that the cafe was in trouble—at least, not to Adrian. Adrian was, after all, a partial owner. He knew his father was keeping it on the down low in other areas of their life, but Adrian had to know. 

The business had been in trouble one other time in Adrian's life that he knew of: when he was a teenager, and the cafe was mostly just a pipe dream of his hardworking, blue collar family. Had Adrian not done what he did then, the dream may not have become a reality at all. They may have been on the streets, even. 

But that was in the past, and now, he was scrambling to find other ways to keep the cafe open, since their original investment had long dried up. If that meant catering a few parties for the rich elite, whom Adrian knew due to going to school with most of them as a child, then that was just what Adrian was going to have to do. 

His parents sacrificed too much for him, growing up, keeping him in those private schools so he wouldn't continue to get bullied at the public ones. He'd sacrificed as a teenager to give back to them—but it wasn't enough. It never would be, to make up for what his parents did for him. So, he had dragged his sorry butt to work on a Saturday morning after working late into the night, and he had opened the shop. 

But all that wasn't what was bothering him anymore. What was bothering him was Callum Bruin, in the shop again, sitting in the corner seat he always liked to sit at, letting off a smell not that different from the sound of shuffling papers around a busy office. He was the only one in the cafe, in fact, after the morning rush had died down. Adrian didn't know what his deal was—why he seemed to care for the cafe so much. It wasn't just the convenience of being across the street from the office, because Callum didn't even need to be in the office. It was a Saturday. 

And yet, Callum was there, sitting in his usual spot with his usual coffee, going over some documents alone. He didn't have his usual entourage with him, but he did appear to be doing some kind of work. Adrian couldn't tell, being on the other side of the cafe, wiping down some coffee mugs. But his eyes kept drifting over to Callum because he couldn't help it. 

Callum was captivating. His strawberry blond hair, striking ocean blue eyes, and strong stature commanded every room he walked into. Adrian had spent a long time jealous of it—Callum was, in every sense of the word, an alpha. Where Adrian, mostly because of his name, was always assumed to be a beta. It wasn't that Adrian wanted to be known as an alpha. He preferred the life he had, simple and quaint and perfect for a beta. He didn't need the complications that came with being considered part of the “elite.” 

But still, that invisible pull that existed between him and Callum was ever present. It weighed on Adrian’s mind any time they were in the room together—that feeling that Callum didn't seem to feel. Two alphas being fated was almost unheard of, and yet, Adrian felt it. Always. Just like he was hyper aware of all the little things Callum sometimes carried with him. Scents that didn't belong, that got onto him from other sources—scents that Adrian wanted to smother with his own. 

And then there was that soft, subtle scene Adrian sometimes smelled. The one that was like fresh-baked brownies on a Sunday evening, like the purest sugarcane—that Adrian wanted to smother himself with in every sense of the word. The omega’s scent. 

Callum’s omega. 

It didn't make sense. Physically, Adrian could feel Callum’s everything. But he couldn't stand Callum's scent. It was everything Adrian hated about alphas and the whole system. And Callum never stopped putting it out. But sometimes, inexplicably, Adrian would smell that other scent, and it would almost make him want to go wild. It weaseled its way into Adrian's very being and messed with his head. He couldn't make sense of it. Why was he so drawn to the body of one, but the scent of another? Another that he didn't even know, because he'd never smelled anything like it anywhere other than when it was hanging around Callum Bruin like a perfume.    

Adrian had sunk into his thoughts, moving around the cafe, not unlike a ghost. That was why he hated working weekends. It was either dead, or everyone in the city decided it was time for a coffee. And, sure, the weekdays were like that too—but weekdays were much more predictable than the weekends. In fact, Adrian was so distracted that as he was moving around the cafe, he didn’t notice that a particular customer had stood, holding an empty coffee mug, and was moving in the opposite direction to place it on the counter. 

Adrian felt the collision before he registered it. Callum was not that much shorter than Adrian, so it was chest colliding with chest before Adrian could blink. The coffee mug shattered between them, glass tumbling to the floor like rose petals, and Callum hissed in pain, recoiling. Frenzied blue eyes looked up to meet Adrian’s forest green, and time skittered to a halt. 

It started again when Adrian heard the soft melody of glass on hardwood, and Callum blinked his gaze to the floor. Adrian gasped, pulling air into his lungs faster than the moment itself had passed. “Sh—Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

Callum clutched his right hand, looking down at the long slit that was slowly oozing red. Adrian watched him bite down on his bottom lip, and tried not to imagine rubies glinting in moonlight, straddled and unwound—

“You’re hurt,” Adrian said instead, his hands rushing to cup Callum’s. 

Callum flapped his free hand at Adrian. “Don’t worry about it.” His voice was rough around the edges, like he was trying to pass it off when in reality it stung. “I was just on my way to—”

“At least let me help you bandage that up! You can’t go walking around the city with an open wound,” Adrian insisted, no stranger to the electricity buzzing up his arm. For a moment, he thought of Bently—and everything he said, about wanting to forget about whatever this feeling was between him and Callum—but then Callum looked up at him with that disarming gaze, and everything short-circuited again. 

This close, Adrian could sense Callum’s pheromones on hyperdrive. But there was something else, something buried underneath, that really got Adrian’s blood rushing. The scent of freshly polished leather didn’t do it for Adrian—but the promise of something deeper? 

Adrian shook the thought away. 

“I suppose… you’re right. I could use a bandage.” Callum leaned back on his heels, his oxfords squeaking on the flooring. “And I should help you clean up this mess.

“Don’t worry about the mess,” Adrian insisted, “I wasn’t paying attention; it was my fault.” 

“I’m afraid I wasn’t watching either,” Callum said, waving his locked phone as if that were the true culprit. He finally pulled his hands from Adrian’s embrace, and the noise of the cafe finally reached Adrian again. 

There were no more customers, because Callum was probably the only person who would be at a coffee shop at that time on a Saturday, but the rush would probably kick in soon. Thankfully, Winter would be there any moment to help prepare for it. Adrian looked down at the floor, where the scattered glass had made quite a mess, then back up at Callum. “Wait right here, I’ll be back.” 

Adrian rushed to back of house and grabbed a few things: a wet floor sign, the dustpan and broom, and the first aid kit. He balanced it all precariously in his hands, moving as fast as he was able to considering the circumstances. Callum had stepped back from the mess and was glaring down at it, almost like it offended him, clutching his bleeding hand. 

Adrian set the sign out first, over the shattered glass to make sure no one came inside to immediately hurt themselves on it. He then set the broom and dust pan aside, and set the first aid kit on the table behind Callum. He turned Callum around and sat him down on top of the table. 

Callum huffed, resisting Adrian’s pressure on his shoulders, and tried to smack Adrian’s hands away. “I am perfectly capable of—”

“Just let me,” Adrian insisted. He wasn’t sure if it was something in his voice or the fact that he was standing up to Callum for the first time, but Callum stopped short of protesting further. He gulped, looking up into Adrian’s eyes with wide ocean blue, and Adrian picked up Callum’s injured hand. 

Adrian had never noticed before, but Callum’s skin was soft. It wasn’t like Adrian’s at all, which was rough and calloused from years of manual labor. Callum’s fingers felt like satin—slick, slender, and delicate. Callum didn’t protest further, instead gazing up at Adrian while he secured what he needed from the first aid kit and went to work on the injury. 

Callum let out a soft curse when Adrian brought the disinfectant to his open wound, but didn’t complain further. It seemed like the sort of thing that would get the Bruin heir into a tizzy, but to Adrian’s surprise, Callum stayed remarkably still. Adrian dotted at the wound with the cotton ball, then smothered it with soothing ointment, pressed gauze into the blood, and slowly—achingly—wrapped the bandage around it to keep it in place. 

At some point, Callum stopped breathing. 

Adrian had, too. 

As Adrian tucked the edge of the bandage into place, they each raised their eyes to look at each other at the same time. Adrian gulped. Callum’s lips parted, like he was about to say something. The air in the room hitched. 

“Adrian? Where’s the broom? I knocked over something in the kitchen when I came in.” Winter’s voice carried through the whole cafe—empty as it was—and Adrian and Callum jumped away from each other like teenagers getting caught at a sleep-away camp. Adrian cleared his throat, and Callum rubbed the back of his neck with his uninjured hand. 

“I have it, Winter! We had a break out here. I’ll be finished with it soon,” Adrian called back, but when he turned his attention to Callum, the other man was already in motion. 

Callum reached down to grab what appeared to be his work bag—awkwardly, with his nondominant hand—and pulled it onto his shoulder. He started to rush away, but paused. “Thank you.” 

With only those words exchanged, Callum was gone.