The days after I gave my statement to the police passed considerably faster than I expected. I spent most of Monday at home, half of it sleeping and the other half mindlessly watching television while my mom found increasingly transparent reasons to stay in the same room as me.

She had already taken time away from work, but that didn't stop her from suggesting she could take Tuesday off too, in case I needed more time before going back to work.

She would glance at me from the other end of the couch and change the channel.

Her work schedule was flexible enough that she could occasionally move things around, although I still didn’t want her doing it because of me. She worked as a makeup artist, mostly for television and news broadcasts, after leaving stripping a few years earlier when an old injury made performing increasingly difficult.

Cynthia had left not long after her.

Unlike my mom, she had actually missed dancing. Eventually, the two of them somehow managed to rearrange their lives. My mom found her way into makeup, Cynthia into Bella-Donna, and then, through both of them, I ended up there too.

Sometimes I wondered whether either woman knew how to make a major life decision without dragging the other one along somehow.

Around noon, Alex showed up carrying two bags filled with my favorite snacks. My mom came out of the kitchen and immediately started helping him unpack everything as if this had been coordinated beforehand.

“Did she call you?” I asked him.

Neither of them answered me.

I looked between them. Ever since I came home yesterday, the two of them had been acting like a bomb squad had been called in to deal with me and nobody wanted to make any sudden movements.

I had never missed having a father enough to feel there was a space somebody needed to fill. Mine died before I was born, and everything I knew about him came from my mom. He had been an older Alpha, apparently happy about the pregnancy at first, until drugs, gambling and paranoia convinced him that an Alpha couldn’t possibly have gotten a Beta pregnant and therefore I couldn’t possibly be his.

My mom never spoke about him with much anger. Maybe that was why I never learned how to hate a dead man I had never met.

Between her, Cynthia and eventually Alex, I had never exactly been short on people willing to interfere with my life anyway.

The problem was that two of them were currently in my living room pretending they had not coordinated an entire care package behind my back.

By Tuesday, my mom finally stopped watching me every time I stood up from the couch. I went back to the health center, and after that, the week returned to something resembling normal.

Work helped. There was always something waiting for me there, and by the time I got home each evening, I was tired enough not to spend much time thinking about the police, the restroom or whether somebody would eventually call me again.

By Friday, everything had mostly returned to normal.

I wasn’t scheduled at Bella-Donna that evening, but with Christmas only a few days away, we had decided to use the quieter nights to start cleaning everything we normally never had enough time to reach properly. The club would be closed over the holidays, and nobody wanted to come back afterward to several days’ worth of work waiting for us.

I offered to help.

It was around seven-thirty when I got off the subway in Downtown Manhattan. Usually, the walk from the station to the back of Bella-Donna took me about seven minutes, which made the fact that I was more than half an hour early somewhat difficult to explain.

By the time I reached the alley, Toscana was immediately to my left. I thought about stopping by only long enough to say hello. There was no reason I couldn’t. His coworkers had already seen me several times by now, and after the way some of them greeted me on Sunday, I doubted anybody would be particularly surprised.

Still, they were working. Geonsu was working. I kept walking toward Bella-Donna. A white rectangle of light stretched across the snow ahead of me. I slowed down and looked back.

Toscana’s kitchen door was almost completely open.

Metal struck against metal somewhere inside, followed by several voices talking over one another. I could have continued walking. Instead, I stood there for another few seconds before curiosity won and I headed toward the light.

The kitchen became louder the closer I got.

“Table nine! One pappardelle with boar, one Fiorentina and two branzino–”

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

I recognized Geonsu’s voice immediately. I stopped outside the doorway.

“Three minutes!”

The kitchen I had eaten in on Sunday barely resembled the one in front of me now. Every station was occupied. Pans moved on and off flames, somebody crossed behind another cook carrying several plates at once, and orders seemed to travel through the room faster than I could understand them.

Geonsu stood somewhere in the middle of it.

“Marco, I need—” His eyes moved toward the doorway and stopped. “Uhm…”

“What?” somebody called. “What do you need? It’s not like you to stutter. Tell me what—”

Geonsu looked away from me. “Marco, get the sides and shut up.”

“Yes, chef!”

I stayed near the doorway, far enough outside that nobody had to move around me. Every few seconds somebody called behind, hot or corner, and gradually I started understanding the rhythm of it. What had looked chaotic when I first arrived wasn’t chaotic at all. Everybody seemed to know where everybody else was going before they got there.

Geonsu was different too.

He didn’t hesitate when he spoke to anyone else. He checked plates before they left, sent one back without apologizing for it and moved between the stations with the same certainty I had noticed when he cooked for me, except there was nothing easygoing about him now. He barely stood still long enough for me to follow what he was doing.

I had only intended to look inside for a moment. Nearly twenty minutes passed.

Eventually, the rush thinned. Fewer plates crowded the counter and the voices around the kitchen lowered with it. Geonsu washed his hands at the sink, dried them against a kitchen towel and looked toward the doorway again.

He came over almost immediately.

Standing in front of me, he carried the kitchen with him. Cooked butter and olive oil had settled into his chef jacket, with garlic and shallots lingering closer to his hands despite how thoroughly I had just watched him wash them. Heat still came from his bare forearms and neck, meeting the December air between us.

Just like Sunday, I couldn’t smell his pheromones at all.

“Hey.” His entire face softened into a smile. “What are you doing here?”

I smiled back before I could help it.

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

Before we could exchange any other words, someone called out to him. “Geon, you still not gonna swap the 26th with me? Please!”

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

“Boomer…” the man responded.

I burst out laughing, not expecting that reply. I quickly tried to keep it down, putting my hand over my mouth the moment Geonsu’s head turned to look at me. 

I couldn’t help it. I turned around, my shoulders shaking up and down. 

“Yes, I will. Let’s talk later,” Geonsu told him.

“Okay! Thanks, man!”

The man stepped away, but I still had my back to Geonsu, trying to compose myself. I was about to turn around when the rectangle of light across the snow almost disappeared beneath a shadow.

Geonsu had stepped into the doorway behind me. He stepped out of the doorway, blocking almost all of the light with his body. 

He leaned, keeping distance, and tugged at the furry ear flaps of my ushanka, talking softly and smiling.

“You found that funny, huh?”

His fingers brushed close to my cheek as he tugged once more, warmth lingering there even after he let go. I shivered. As soon as he finished speaking, he let go and took a step back. 

“I… I’m sorry. That was too much…”

Before he could finish, I interrupted him. “Why apologize for an interaction we both don’t mind?” I said.

“Yes… I…” His hands clenched briefly at his sides before he glanced back into the kitchen. “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 slightly. When I didn't answer immediately, his eyes dropped toward the snow and his arms folded across his chest. 

I did understand. It just took me a moment to realize he was asking me to come back without actually asking.

“You want me to wait for you?”

His eyes lifted again. “Only if you want to.”

I smiled. “I can wait.”

His arms loosened immediately. “Yeah?” His dimples appeared before he looked back toward the kitchen. “Then I’ll see you later.”

Someone called his name from inside, but he took one step backward before stopping. “Don’t wait outside, though. Come in when you’re done.”

“Okay.”

He still didn’t move. I raised my eyebrows. Geonsu finally turned around and disappeared back into the kitchen.

I headed into Bella-Donna and started cleaning.

There was enough to do that I shouldn’t have had much time to think about anything else. I still couldn’t tell whether Geonsu was flirting with me.

The problem was that I had no idea what he was like with other people. He was charming, but charming didn’t necessarily mean anything. I had seen him with Nari and briefly with his coworkers, neither of which helped me understand him.

By the time I looked at the clock again, it was only nine-thirty and almost everything we had planned to do was already finished. I had been cleaning with considerably more enthusiasm than necessary.

I said goodbye to everyone, wished them happy holidays and put my coat back on.

Walking toward Toscana felt stranger the second time.

Earlier, I could tell myself I had seen the open door and gotten curious. This time, I was going there because Geonsu had asked me to come back.

Three people were standing outside smoking when I approached. Two were dressed like servers. The woman closest to the kitchen wore a chef jacket and recognized me before I had the chance to decide whether I should wait somewhere else.

“Oh, hello there.” She moved slightly and gestured me closer with her cigarette. “Come over. You smoke?”

“Sometimes.”

“Geonsu’s busy right now.” She pointed through the open door. “See?”

The fact that she already knew who I was there for registered somewhere in the back of my mind. I stepped closer and looked inside.

Geonsu was standing at the pass with a man I hadn't seen before. The man's clothes were considerably nicer than anything worn inside the kitchen, but whatever they were discussing didn't seem particularly pleasant.

“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! If you put something like this on my pass again tonight, I’m sending you home. Do it again.” He turned back to the man he previously talked to and spoke. “Wait another 10 minutes.”

“Okay…”

I stayed where I was.

I had heard him raise his voice earlier, but not like this. Geonsu didn’t stumble over a single word now. He barely seemed aware of anything beyond the plate in front of him and whatever was happening at the stations around it.

I looked at the woman beside me. “Can I have one?”

She held out the pack.

“Are you here to see Geonsu?”

I looked toward one of the servers.

He was considerably slimmer than me, with soft blond hair that fell almost to his shoulders and mascara darkening his lashes. The cold had turned his cheeks pink beneath otherwise pale skin. He was watching me with an expression that didn’t quite match the harmlessness of the question.

“Um… yes. I’m waiting for him.”

His eyes moved over me briefly before returning to my face. “You don’t take suppressants?”

I paused. “No.”

“Kitchen staff does.” He took another drag from his cigarette. “Pheromones interfere with smell and taste. Geonsu probably won’t want you standing around the kitchen like that.”

I looked at him properly this time. Beneath the cigarette smoke, I could make out his pheromones now that I was paying attention. Omega. He was not taking any either. 

“If they’re taking suppressants, mine shouldn’t interfere with anything.”

His brows lifted.

“That’s the point of taking them,” I added.

“Ray, leave him alone.” The woman in the chef jacket beside us hadn’t even looked up from her cigarette.

Ray turned toward her. “I’m just saying—”

“And I’m telling you nobody cares.” She finally looked at him before nodding toward the kitchen. “He should wait until they get through this, though.”

Her attention moved to me and the edge of her mouth pulled upward. “Geonsu won’t be long.”

Something about the way she said his name made me look at her for another second. Ray crushed his cigarette beneath his shoe and went inside without another word. The other server followed him.

Ray’s voice carried through the open door.

“Geonsuuu. Is this mine? Table seven?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, this looks amazing.” There was a pause. “Did you do this one, Geoni?”

Geonsu barely looked up. “You hear that, Marco? Chicken’s good.”

Someone farther inside laughed. Ray stood there for a moment with the plate in his hands before turning around and disappearing toward the dining room.

“Come sit down.” The woman beside me patted the empty space on the bench. “I’m Amara.”

“Kento.”

Up close, I recognized her from Sunday. Her braids were wrapped up beneath a colorful scarf, gold jewelry catching against her ears and neck. Her lipstick was immaculate despite however many hours she had already spent in the kitchen, although a streak of flour along the side of her neck had apparently escaped her attention. She smelled faintly of vanilla and something nutty beneath the cigarette smoke.

“Pastry,” she said, noticing me looking toward her chef jacket. “And… I’m also Geonsu's best friend.”

There it was.

I turned more fully toward her. “What did he tell you?”

“He said you’re an acquaintance.” She looked toward the open kitchen door and then back at me. “And then told everyone to drop it, which obviously made nobody curious at all.”