Si-won was still vibrating with indignation thirty-seven minutes after the disaster, which he had already mentally labeled The Cinnamon Incident. The whipped cream stain on the counter had been wiped clean. The influencer had moved on to taking thirst traps by the window. The playlist had looped back to a remix of something vaguely BTS-adjacent, and even Baek Nari, their resident Beta and gossip archivist, had stopped pretending not to live-text the entire ordeal into a group chat called "Unbonded and Unbothered".
But Jang Si-won was deeply, cosmically bothered.
Bothered in the way only a pink-haired Omega with a skincare obsession, audition anxiety, and a spreadsheet titled "Boyfriends, Ranked by Net Worth could be".
He didn't just feel things. He catalogued them in scented layers. Bitterness over foam? Top note. Heat shimmer of rejection? Mid note. Embarrassment? Always base.
His apron was too short, his mesh top too clingy, and the gloss on his mouth had long since faded. He wore rings on three fingers, but only when he felt powerful. Today he wore none. His hair curled softly against his cheeks in a way that made people underestimate him. Big mistake. Si-won was not fragile. He was complicated. Flavored like candy, but sharp as cut glass when provoked.
"I wasn't leaking pheromones," he hissed, reorganizing the syrup bottles for the fourth time. "It was ambient branding. Aesthetic expression. Like scent but strategic."
"You're still leaking, sweetie," Nari called from the espresso bar, blowing a heart into her foam art without looking up. "And I bet it smells like you want to climb that Alpha like a jungle gym."
"It's strawberry milk."
"It's thirst milk."
"It's nuanced."
"It's horny."
Si-won popped the cap off the vanilla syrup hard enough to send a dot of sugar arcing onto his collarbone. He didn't wipe it. Maybe Min-jae would see it. Maybe he would come over and lick it. Maybe he would judge him silently, then press him against the fridge until the pheromone collision short-circuited the thermostat.
Kang Min-jae was still seated in the back corner, exactly where he had installed himself like a glitch in the simulation. Hoodie off and shoulders relaxed. Black T-shirt stretched across his chest like sin printed in 100 percent cotton.
His pheromones were everywhere now, soaking into the vents and threading under tables. Cinnamon, static, caffeine, code. The exact formula that made Si-won's brain misfire. It wasn't fair. Alphas weren't supposed to look like programming majors who moonlighted as underwear models. He probably didn't even know what he looked like. That was the worst part. He probably just rolled out of bed, grabbed the cleanest shirt, and walked directly into Si-won's emotional circuitry like a malfunctioning patch update.
And now he was staring again. Over the top of his laptop. Blank expression. Same unreadable focus as when he walked in. Like he was running diagnostics. Or studying a vulnerability.
Si-won tried to focus on restocking cups. But his hands were shaking. Because every time Min-jae looked up, just for a second, just with that cold precision, something in Si-won bloomed. Something warm. Something traitorous. Something that wanted to be handled.
"You're spiraling," Nari said, setting down a matcha with a cinnamon stick balanced across the rim like a tiny sword. "And you're leaking pheromones like a rookie Omega at their first compatibility mixer. Even me, as Beta, can just feel it."
"I am not in heat," Si-won muttered. "I am in character."
"Your character wants to be railed on the prep table."
"He does not."
"He's wearing mesh and dripping syrup."
Si-won looked down. The sugar droplet had melted against his collarbone. His pheromones were peaking now, high and sweet and reckless. The kind of scent that invited noses and fingers and bite marks. The kind that lingered on napkins. The kind that begged for trouble.
He froze. Because Min-jae was standing. He was walking toward him. Slowly. Casually. As if the air between them wasn't saturated with scent and suggestion. He stopped at the counter. No warning. No expression. Just leaned in. Close enough for Si-won to see the cinnamon flecks at the edge of his lips.
"You didn't mark my order," Min-jae said quietly.
Si-won blinked. "What?"
"I ordered a cold brew. It's not showing on the screen."
"You... didn't tell me."
"I placed it online."
"You didn't say anything here."
"Your phone is in the fridge."
Si-won yanked open the fridge beneath the counter. His hand bumped tofu. Then cucumbers. Then something cold and flat. His phone. Of course. Because that's where emotionally spiraling baristas put their phones when they're leaking strawberry-flavored shame into the HVAC system. The screen lit up.
Cinnamon Cold Brew.
Triple shot. Extra cinnamon. No foam.
Placed by: Kang Min-jae
App used: ScentMatch.ai
Si-won stared. "You used a pheromone compatibility platform to place a drink order?"
"I'm testing integration points," Min-jae replied. "This café runs on my point-of-sale system. It syncs with my app."
"You're live-testing a bonding algorithm," Si-won said slowly, "on real Omegas."
Min-jae's eyes dropped to his collarbone.
"You synced first."
Si-won's breath hitched. Min-jae reached out and tapped the syrup trail with one fingertip. Si-won's pheromones reacted instantly. His whole body warmed. The sugar had made him sticky. His knees softened. His mouth opened and then stayed open.
"I..."
"I'm offering to fake-bond," Min-jae said, voice lower now. "For the data. No expectations. Just proximity."
"Proximity," Si-won repeated.
"And touch. For realism."
Nari choked.
Si-won stepped back. "You're insane."
"You're scented."
"That doesn't mean anything."
Min-jae picked up his drink, sipped slowly, then licked the rim clean. Si-won's entire nervous system short-circuited.
"You have one hour to decide," Min-jae said, turning to leave.
Si-won watched him walk away. His apron was crooked. His scent was a high, trembling cloud of strawberry milk and ruined intentions.
He hated Min-jae. He also wanted to pin him against the walk-in and beg. Nari leaned close. "I'll cover for you if you want to follow him into the alley and make irreversible decisions."
"I do not want to follow him," Si-won snapped.
"Okay."
"I don't."
"Sure."
"I want him to follow me."
And when Kang Min-jae turned back, just once, to look at him over his shoulder with that unreadable Alpha stare, Si-won felt something tighten in his chest. He was going to say yes. And it was going to be beautiful.
And messy. And filthy.