I couldn't argue with that.
The morning light was pale and grey through my window, heavy clouds promising rain later. I padded to the kitchen to check for the morning's delivery — Min-jun had been leaving food around six in the morning, early enough that I never saw him, late enough that the food was still warm when I woke.
Today's containers held kongnamul-guk and several side dishes, with a note that read:Soybean sprout soup is good for hangovers and fatigue. I know you're not hungover, but the principle is the same. Please eat. — Min-jun
I smiled despite myself and put the containers in the refrigerator for later.
As I stood in my tiny kitchen, staring at the walls that had been my entire world for three days, something shifted inside me. The apartment felt smaller than usual. Suffocating. The air was stale despite the window I'd cracked open, and my body ached from spending too much time curled in my nest.
I needed to get out.
Not far. Not for long. Just... out. Fresh air. A change of scenery. Something other than these four walls and the constant hum of the refrigerator and the weight of my own thoughts pressing down on me.
That's a good idea, my omega encouraged gently.We've been hiding too long. A small walk would help.
"Just a short one," I said out loud, already moving toward my bedroom to find clothes. "Just around the block. Maybe grab something to eat somewhere."
Small steps, she agreed.This is a small step.
I showered, dressed in comfortable clothes that hid my mark, and stepped outside for the first time in three days.
The fresh air hit me like a revelation — cool and damp with the promise of rain, carrying the scent of the city and the distant hint of autumn. I'd forgotten what it felt like to breathe air that wasn't recycled through my apartment's ancient ventilation system. My lungs expanded greedily, drinking in the newness of it.
The walk was slow. My legs were still weak, my body still fighting the soul sickness, and I had to stop twice to catch my breath. But it felt good to move. To see the sky above me and feel the breeze on my face and remember that there was a world beyond my apartment walls.
I wandered without any real destination, letting my feet carry me where they wanted. Past the convenience store where I'd run into Tae-min — I averted my eyes from that one — and down a side street I didn't usually take. The neighborhood was quiet this early in the morning, most people still asleep or already at work, and I found myself relaxing slightly in the solitude.
A small restaurant caught my eye. Nothing fancy — just a tiny place tucked between a laundromat and a flower shop, with a handwritten menu in the window and the smell of homecooking drifting through the cracked door. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten yet this morning.
Food, my omega suggested hopefully.In a real place. With real people.
"One step at a time," I muttered, but I was already pushing through the door. The restaurant was cozy inside — maybe ten tables, most of them empty at this hour. Warm lighting, mismatched chairs, the clatter of pots from a kitchen I couldn't see. It reminded me of the places my mother used to take me when I was young, before everything fell apart.
"Table for one?" the hostess asked with a friendly smile, her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, a notepad clutched in her hand.
"Yes, please," I managed, my voice rusty from disuse.
She led me to a small table near the window, where I could watch the street outside while I waited for my food. The menu was simple — traditional Korean dishes, nothing fancy, everything made with care. I ordered the doenjang-jjigae, remembering my mother making it on cold days when I was young, and settled back to wait.
The restaurant was quiet. A few other customers scattered around — an elderly couple sharing breakfast in comfortable silence, a young woman typing furiously on a laptop, a man in a business suit scrolling through his phone while he ate.
Normal people living normal lives.
I'd almost forgotten what that looked like.
The food arrived quickly, steaming and fragrant, and I dug in with an appetite that surprised me. The soup was good — not as good as Min-jun's, my traitor brain supplied, but solid and comforting. The kind of meal that settled into your bones and made you feel human again.
I was halfway through my bowl when the bell above the door chimed. I didn't look up at first. Why would I? People came and went from restaurants all the time. It had nothing to do with me.
Then a scent hit me.
Forest and cedar.
Rich and warm and achingly familiar, wrapping around me like a blanket I hadn't asked for. My head snapped up, my heart already racing, and I found myself staring directly into the eyes of Min-jun.
He was frozen in the doorway, his expression cycling through shock and hope and desperate longing. He was dressed casually — jeans and a soft sweater that looked like it would be heaven to touch — and his dark hair was slightly disheveled, like he'd run his hands through it too many times.
Alpha, my omega breathed.Pack. OURS.
