The days flew by since I gave my statement to the police. Sunday, I stayed home all day, half of it sleeping and the other half mindlessly watching TV. My mom insisted on keeping me company, threatening to take the day off and stay home until I felt rested. She even recommended taking Monday off for both our sakes.

My mother is currently working as a make-up artist at a studio where different shows and news broadcasts are televised. She had to give up working as an exotic dancer 3 years ago, after an old injury made her feel unsafe on the stage. She was not sad about it, given her now age of 43, she wanted to cut ties to that work field even longer ago. Her best friend, Cynthia, wished to keep on working but even for her, the club became an unsafe world and with my mom leaving, she didn’t know what to do from there.

Cynthia left the industry as well, telling us she didn’t regret a thing, but deep down we knew she wanted to keep on dancing. My mother got lucky getting selected as a make-up artist and through someone working there, she established connections in the burlesque club for her best friend. Cynthia was ecstatic; now her ability to dance and the time and effort she put into her costumes was going to be more appreciated. Both were fulfilled in life in their own way. The fact that their love for each other didn’t fade when their careers split, but got more deepened and meaningful, relying on one another and even getting me the part-time job to keep being closer to one another meant the world to my mom.

My Beta mom, who got pregnant by her older Alpha boyfriend 23 years ago, was unsure what the future would hold for them as their financial situation was not perfect, but also not unreasonable for a child to be cared for. He kept on insisting and reassured her that everything would be fine and he was delighted to have the child. By some dark twist of fate, his behavior changed as more time got by and he started to tell my mother that she must have cheated on him, as to his knowledge, Alphas and Betas could not reproduce. He swore up and down the child was not his. I guess his mind was consumed by too many drugs to remember that my mother was a woman first, a Beta second. Yes, drugs. He started to gamble and do drugs, as my mother worked as a hostess and at a convenience store, day shift and night shift, 7 months pregnant. By chance or luck, he died of an overdose before he could spend even more of her money and stress her out even more. However, after his death, my mom had no one to rely on and no way out of the pregnancy.

After she had me, she tried hard to keep us afloat and provide me every and anything I needed. However, as I turned 4 and then 5 years old, my poor mother realized her effort was futile, the income too low. For the sake of my education and future, my mother decided to become an exotic dancer. The shifts were hard, but the payoff was great. At least, that’s what she keeps on telling me if I ever ask her about her past. She smiles and squeezes my hand. She was able to pay for a sitter, school supplies, rent, utilities, extra tutoring and even my tuition. She never let me see the exhaustion or the hurt. For that and even if she offered me less, she deserves the world.

Reminiscing about the past, the day passed and Monday came. My work at the health center, same as always, passed by in a second, and soon Friday approached.

7:30 pm, walking to the club after getting off the subway in downtown Manhattan. I don’t have work today, but we want to deep clean as good as possible to open after Christmas stress free. Usually, it takes me 7 minutes from the station to the door at the back of the building. Unconsciously I found myself going over 30 minutes earlies than planned and walking faster as I approached the alley. The thought of dropping by and saying a quick “hello” to him crossed my mind, but something kept me from doing so. I could not make my brain picture the scene, but my desire to see him increased as close as my steps got to the end of the alley. I had enough time to kill, and his coworkers didn’t seem to mind my presence in the kitchen last time, however, they were on the clock, so my distraction might not have been welcomed. I wanted to keep on moving to the right, heading towards the club, when a white light caught my eye, reflecting in the snow. I turned my head to the left and saw the kitchen door almost wide open. Clinking of metal on metal could be heard, as well as some voices. Intrigued by the way he would be working under stress and blinded by my desire to at least see his dimples, I approached the door. Getting closer, the conversations got louder and clearer. Someone unidentifiable to me was talking loudly.

“Table 9! Table 9: one Pappardelle with boar, one Fiorentina and two Branzino al...”

“Yes! I already called the ticket! How long on that sea bass, Miranda?”

That voice, it was Geonsu. Geonsu was answering and giving orders, while moving with precision around the kitchen.

“3 minutes!” who I believe to be Miranda, responded.

“Marlo, I need… uhm… I… hold on.” Geonsu mumbled.

“What? What do you need? It’s not like you to stutter! Tell me what…”

“Marlo, get the sides and shut up!”

“Yes, chef!”

Every now and then someone would scream “Behind!” or “Hot!” or “Plate!”, short commands that were understood by the whole room. The dishes were being picked up and were flying out of the kitchen. After around 10 minutes of watching them, the atmosphere calmed down. Geonsu was sitting further back, closer to the door, so I banger rather hard on it, enough for him to hear through the sound of metal and ceramic plates being picked up and put down. He must have heard me, as the second he finished washing his hands, he turned around and locked eyes with me.

His vision was focused and his hands were wiping on a kitchen towel. After experiencing the whole kitchen running around, however coordinated and well executed, I felt like I was intruding and felt ashamed to bother him. But it was too late now, as he was standing in front of me in the door frame, looking down at me. The kitchen smelled of multiple types of food I could not distinguish, but he smelled of cooked butter and oil, mostly olive, rich and savory particles clinging onto him. The scent of garlic and shallots were settled into the cuffs of his chef jacket and lingered on his hands, as if his intense hand washing did nothing to cover it. Moreover, his torso, bare forearms and hands gave out heat. I felt his heated-up body and light sweat flow towards me, and saw it turn into steam from the outside cold. His pheromones, however, were nowhere to be felt.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he smiled, seeming pleased and happy, so I had no choice but to smile back.

“Hi, I hope I am not bothering anyone. I saw the door open and got curious.”

Before we could exchange any other words, someone called out to him and, standing at a reasonable distance, spoke.

“Geon, you still not gonna swap the 26^th with me? Please!”

“Call my hyung and I might reconsider.” Geonsu answered.

I was not very confident in my Korean skills, I knew Mandarin and some Japanese; however, I knew the term of address when talking to older people or elders. The man responded.

“I’ll start calling you ggondae. Happy?”

I busted out laughing, not expecting that reply. I quickly tried to keep it down, putting my hand over my mouth the moment Geonsu’s head snapped back to look at me when he heard my laugh, but I couldn’t help it. I turned around, my shoulders shaking up and down and leaning back and forth form the laugh. Geonsu must have turned toward the man, because I heard him speak.

“Yes, I will. Let’s talk later.”

“Okay! Thanks, man!”

The man stepped away, but I was still turned with the back to Geonsu, almost fully composed. I wanted to turn to him again, but I saw the light almost fully go out in the snow, and Geonsu now standing in front of me. He walked out the door frame, engulfing the light almost fully with his body and stepped outside. He leaned, keeping distance, and tugged at the furry ear flaps of my ushanka (a thick fur hat, usually connected to Russians, with ear flaps that covers the sides of face and hides the forehead), talking softly and smiling.

“You found that funny, huh? It’ not nice to laugh at your elders!”

As soon as he finished speaking, he let go and took a step back. He had not initiated such a direct form of contact before. He never touched my body directly, nor did he this time, but the heat emanating from his left hand, tugging at the ear flaps, made me shiver. It was an indirect touch, and to me at least, very welcomed. I think he thought that the move he made was too much or inappropriate; not being able to read my mind though, his face got serious.

“I… I’m sorry. That was too much…”

Before he could finish, I interrupted him. I didn’t want to come over as someone who was asking him to touch me more, but I wanted to make sure there was no misunderstanding: the interaction was welcomed, and preferably to be repeated.

“Why apologize for an interaction we both don’t mind?” I said the sentence rather casually, dismissive, not to make it too obvious.

“Yes… I… Did you eat? Would you like something?”

“I ate. I have to help clean up the club now anyway, so I don’t have time right now.”

“How long are you cleaning?”

“It might take an hour. Why?”

“I am here until 11. Do you understand what I mean?” he tilted his head and looked at me, then crosses his arms and looked at his feet, avoiding my gaze.

“Yes.”

After I answered, neither of us looked at the other. After a minute of silence, I walked past him and went towards the club backdoor entrance, not saying a word. I felt like there was no need to say anything more, the message was understood. Not only that, but I felt myself getting a little exited hearing him ask so indirectly and pitiful for me to come back, so much that I let go of a slight pheromone wave unknowingly. Until now, no matter how few words we exchanged, he was always direct and pointed in his questions. This time, he hesitated.

I walked inside the club and started to clean up. I was deep in thought, my hands were moving on autopilot, rushing. I wanted to know what he was thinking about our earlier interaction. He was charming, but I couldn’t put my finger on whether he was flirting with me or being friendly. I didn’t know how he interacted with his friends or other people, so I didn’t know. 9:30 was approaching, and after all the cleaning necessary was done, I found myself anxious at the thought of going back to the kitchen door to visit him so soon after departing.

After saying goodbye and wishing happy holidays to my coworkers, I walked slowly towards the door. As I was walking towards their door, 3 people were out, smoking. Geonsu was not one of them. It looked like only one was a cook, since the other two were wearing server attire. The cook saw me approaching and spoke first.

“Oh, hello there! Come over here. Wanna smoke with us? Geonsu is a bit busy right now. See?”

She pointed her finger through the open door, inviting me closer to take a look. I looked inside and saw him talk to someone dressed in better attire than the two servers next to me. He seemed to be angry, because at first I didn’t recognize his tone and voice.

“Stop, stop! Stop sending out plates! Which table is this for?”

“Twelve. They have been waiting 43 minutes, man. Let’s bring it out…”

“No. Look at this... I’m not sending this out.” Geonsu turned to the station behind him and his voice got louder. “Did you do this?”

“Yes, chef.”

“I don’t care if twelve waits for an hour! Put shit like this on the plate again and I’m sending you home.” He turned back to the man he previously talked to and spoke. “Send it like this, Gabriel, and it’s gonna be sent back. Wait 10 minutes.”

“Fine.”

“Fire another sea bass!”

“Yes!”

I never heard him scream or seen him frown so much, this side of him was new to me. The way he managed the situation and took control impressed me. And what’s more, he seemed to take pride and put his heart into his work, not accepting half assed results. He was intense. I didn’t want to bother him, especially now, seeing that the chaos did not fully dissipate, so I took out a cigarette as well and stepped back from the door.

“Are you here to see Geonsu?” one of the servers asked. He had beautiful, soft, mid-length, blond hair and a clean face, with a pointy nose and soft blue eyes. His jaw was well shaped, and he looked skinnier than me. He wore some mascara, and his cheeks were flushed.

“Yes... I am waiting for him.”

“Well, you don’t seem to be taking pheromone suppressants, so I don’t know if he will like you being here. The kitchen staff takes suppressants, so their smell and taste are not swayed. You will disrupt the kitchen.”

His tone was not pleasant, so I figured rather quickly he did not like me. Even though we met for the first time, he seemed to have a problem with my presence. Since he could identify my pheromones, and by his built, I would say he was an Omega, like me.

“That’s not how suppressants work. If you take them, even if others around you don’t, you cannot sense them. The medication affects only you.” I answered. His eyes got bigger and he smirked at me. I didn’t want to disrupt the work of the kitchen anyway, but he was wrong about the medicine.

“Ray, shut up! No one minds it. But it would be best to wait a bit longer, until things calm down in there. No worries, Geonsu is always quick to resolve it.” 

Ray stubbed his cigarette and mumbled something while going inside. The other server followed him. He walked to the front of the kitchen and spoke loudly.

“Geonsuuu! Is this mine? Table 7?”

“Yes.”

“Ohh, this looks amazing. Did you do this one, Geoni?” he smiled bright.

“You hear that, Gabriel. You did the chicken well.”

Geonsu said dismissively and turned his back to the front of the kitchen, working on something else. Ray’s mouth opened a bit, then he closed it and stomped out. So that’s how it is? He likes Geonsu. Well, we are not dating, so his hate towards me is unwarranted.

“Come sit down. My name is Amara. I am 28 years old” She patted the bench she was sitting on and smiled lightly.

“My name is Kento, I am 23.”

I turned to her now completely watching her left profile. Her braids were up in a colorful scarf, and her lips were beautifully painted. She didn’t seem to wear any other make-up. As to her clothes, I couldn’t see more than the chef jacket allowed me to, but she wore heeled shoes and gold jewelry. Her hands were not showing any scars like Geonsu’s, and her fingers were long and clean. She smelled like lemons, flour, vanilla and almond extract. She had a smear of flour on her neck. The fact she mentioned him immediately made me believe Geonsu talked about me. I believe this was a subtle way of letting me know.

"So, how in Geonsu treating you?"