Chapter Text
Seoul is loud enough that quiet things go unnoticed.
Felix relies on that.
The rumble of buses pulling up to the curb, the rush of footsteps on pavement, the overlapping voices of people weaving through the streets on their way to anywhere warmer than outside. Noise fills every corner of the city. Most think of it as something you learn to live with, but it’s different for someone like Felix. To him, noise means distraction and distraction means opportunity.
Slipping between people like water through the cracks, Felix keeps his head down, hands buried deep in the pockets of an old winter jacket he found discarded a few years ago. The fabric is thin enough that the cold bleeds through it, but it still looks normal from a distance.
That’s the first rule of thievery: looking normal matters. If you look desperate, it means the difference between an empty stomach and a full one. People are careful around desperate. People watch desperate. But people barely glance twice if you look like you belong.
Adjusting the scarf around his neck, Felix tucks it higher along his jaw. Not because he’s cold—which he definitely is—but because it helps to muffle his scent. From a distance he probably just looks like a university student heading somewhere in a hurry. Up close, well, up close doesn’t happen very often.
Slowing near a street vendor selling roasted chestnuts, he pretends to check his phone (an old model he got when he last went to pawn off some spoils) while he watches the flow of people around him. His gaze avoids faces at first, scanning hands instead. Hands gripping bags means nothing loose to snake. Hands shoved deep into coat pockets means wallets held close. Hands holding phones means the pockets were probably empty.
So he waits. It takes patience to live like this. Greedy thieves get caught, but Felix is careful. He always has been.
It’s been eight years since he first started stealing. Eight years since the day he realized he wasn’t going to have anyone to rely on other than himself. Eight years since he learned that surviving alone meant learning how to take the things other people wouldn’t miss.
His scent stays curled tightly in his chest as he steps back into the crowd. Suppressing it had taken years to learn. Most omegas can’t do that, most don’t really need to anyways. When he presented at twelve, he learned quickly that the world treated omegas like prey, even more so on the streets. Alphas noticed him differently. People treated him like less. Some even stopped seeing him as a person at all.
So, Felix adjusted.
He taught himself to bury his scent until it was little more than a faint sweetness under layers of cold air and cheap soap he takes from different public restrooms. Most people smell nothing at all, allowing Felix to live in relative peace (most of the time).
Felix blends in with the crowd of pedestrians as the crosswalk light changes, letting the flow of the group carry him forward. He bumps shoulders with someone passing the opposite way.
“Sorry,” he murmurs automatically.
His fingers move at the same time. The leather wallet slides free from the man’s coat pocket like it had been waiting for Felix to take it. He doesn’t look back, not until two streets later when he ducks into an alley.
The second rule of stealing is as simple as the first: If you look guilty, people notice. If you don’t, they don’t.
He flips the wallet open. Cash. Though, only enough for one meal. People tend not to carry cash on them these days which actually makes this a pretty rare find. Smiling faintly, he tucks the money away before dropping the empty wallet into a dumpster.
That’s the third rule: Never keep evidence. You can’t risk having something traceable on your person.
Stepping back into the street, he curls inward as a particularly harsh gust of wind hits him. Winter was coming faster than usual this year, and the bitter chill seemed to settle directly into his bones. The cold crept deeper into the city every day, turning alleyways into frozen wind tunnels and making the nights stretch longer than they should.
He’s always hated winter. The cold is unbearable, but more than that, winter makes everything harder. Places to sleep disappear when snow gets piled into corners. Cardboard turns soggy and freezes overnight. Even stealing gets more difficult as everyone keeps their hands buried deep in their coats.
As he walks, Felix tries to rub warmth back into his numbing fingers, but the biting temperature triggers a deeper, duller ache inside him. It’s a familiar, heavy discomfort—the exact kind that used to signal his body was changing.
Yet, it’s been months since his last heat. That’s not unusual for Felix anymore. When he first presented, they came regularly. Brutal and relentless, burning through him every month or two until he thought he might die from the pain alone. He remembers hiding behind dumpsters, biting down on his sleeve to keep from making noise. Remembers the way alphas prowled the streets when the scent of a heat leaked out. Remembers running. Always running.
Eventually something changed.
His body adapted and now his heats come once a year, maybe twice. They’re short. Manageable. Barely more than a fever if he’s lucky. Felix never questions it. His body knows the streets are no place for an omega in heat and that’s all he could really ask for.
A shift in the crowd catches his attention before he even sees them.
A pack.
Felix recognizes the dynamic instantly. Eight men walk together, split into smaller clusters so they don’t take up the entire sidewalk. Most of them seem to be alphas; he can tell by the way people instinctively move aside for them. But one of them has to be an omega.
That’s when he notices him. The omega is walking confidently in the center of the group, expression open as he talks animatedly to the person beside him, his chubby cheeks puffing out at something his companion says.
Strange. Pack omegas are usually tucked close to their alphas. Protected, like something fragile. This one looks like he can take care of himself just fine.
Felix looks away quickly. Packs usually mean trouble. Too many eyes and too many instincts. But then, one of them drifts slightly apart from the others as they cross the street. He’s shorter, with broad shoulders and a boisterous laugh.
Felix clocks him as an alpha immediately. The guy isn’t like any of Felix’s usual targets, surrounded by his pack, obviously bulked up, with kind eyes and polite body language as he subtly maneuvers around a lamppost so a family can walk past their group without problem.
Just as Felix is about to search for a different meal ticket, his gaze sharpens, locking onto the alpha’s wrist. A watch. It’s nothing flashy, but expensive enough that Felix knows it’ll sell well. He adjusts his path slightly, seamlessly merging in with the surging crowd and trying to remain unnoticed.
Despite Felix’s efforts, across the street, someone from the pack glances up. Movement catches his perceptive eye, the moment slowing as if he’s watching in slow motion and even the neatly styled strands of hair framing his face sway gently out of his sight.
His gaze is fixed upon a stranger weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. Dark hair, longer than most guys keep it, shifting with each step. A scarf is wrapped high across the lower half of his face. Even so, the freckles stand out immediately. They scatter across pale skin like flecks of sunlight against the washed-out gray of the street, bright enough to catch the light in a way that feels almost misplaced among the dull winter colors.
For a moment, the stranger looks like he doesn’t quite belong to the same world as the slush-covered sidewalks and rushing commuters. Like a brushstroke of warmth dragged across an otherwise colorless canvas.
The thought drifts through his mind without much intention behind it, the same way an interesting composition might catch his attention when he’s walking past a storefront window. He almost wishes he had his camera with him to capture the transient scene. Then someone beside him says something and the moment breaks. By the time he looks again, the stranger has already blended back into the crowd.
The current of people carries Felix forward, bodies brushing past on either side. His eyes never leave the watch, the distance closing quickly.
Three steps.
The man’s laughter is still loud enough to cut through the noise of the street.
Two.
Felix deliberately loses his footing.
One—
He bumps into the man hard enough to feel solid muscle beneath his coat.
“Oh—sorry!” Felix says immediately, voice soft and apologetic.
The man grabs his shoulders instinctively to steady him. “Hey, you okay?” he asks.
Felix looks up and for a second, the man forgets what he’s doing.
Up close, Felix’s freckles are impossible to miss. They decorate his nose and cheeks like constellations, sharp against skin flushed pink from the cold. His hair falls messily into his eyes, damp at the ends from melting snow. And his eyes, they’re bright, warm even in the freezing air that surrounds them.
When he smiles—
It’s quick. Easy. A flash of something unexpectedly gentle in the middle of a crowded street.
The few seconds that the man spends studying the freckled boy's face feels like hours. His fingers loosen their grip on Felix’s shoulders, his mind lagging behind the moment.
“I’m fine, promise,” Felix says.
In that microsecond of distraction, two of Felix's fingers slide beneath the man’s watch clasp. A practiced twist releases the tension in the band, causing the clasp to open with a soft click. Felix steps back smoothly, slipping the watch into the lining of his sleeve as naturally as breathing.
The entire exchange takes less than ten seconds.
“Really, I’m okay,” Felix repeats, flashing that same bright smile again before turning away and disappearing into the moving crowd almost immediately.
Left behind, the man stands there a second longer than necessary.
“Bin?”
Changbin blinks, the voice snapping him out of it. “Yeah?”
He glances back toward the crowd, but the freckled stranger is already gone, swallowed up by the rush of people crossing the street.
His packmates are already moving ahead of him, leaving Changbin to jog just to catch up to them. The missing weight on his wrist won’t be noticed for another fifteen minutes.
And by then—
Felix will be long gone. The interaction would become one of many, most likely forgotten once the watch is out of his possession and replaced by earnings that he’ll try to stretch through the end of the month.
As the street lights come on, Felix makes his way toward Gwangjang Market, the taste of gimbap already forming on his tongue as the food stalls come into view.
Even as the temperature is steadily dropping and the sun rests low on the horizon, the market is alive.
Steam rises from metal pots, curling into the cold air. Oil crackles in wide pans. Vendors call out to passing customers, their voices blending with the hum of the city settling into evening.
Felix slows as he enters the main walkway. This part of the city feels different from the rest. Warmer somehow. Louder, but in a way that feels alive rather than overwhelming.
A few of the vendors notice him almost immediately.
“Yongbok!” an older woman calls from behind a stall stacked with trays of freshly rolled gimbap. “Where have you been?”
Felix grins sheepishly as he approaches. “Busy,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
The woman scoffs but there’s no real bite to it. “You always say that.” She reaches behind her and places a small paper tray on the counter, already loading it with gimbap.
Felix digs into his pocket before she can say anything else, placing a few bills on the counter. “I’m paying.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t,” she mutters. But when she hands the tray over, it’s heavier than what he paid for.
Felix notices immediately, but he’s given up on arguing by now. Instead he bows his head slightly. “Thanks, ahjumma.”
The woman waves him off like it’s nothing. “You still coming tomorrow morning?” she asks.
He nods. “If you need help setting up.”
“Of course I need help. My son is useless.”
Felix laughs quietly.
“Hey! Thief!” a voice calls from a few stalls down.
Felix pauses mid-step before recognizing it. An older vendor waves him over from behind a food stall, a wide grin splitting the deep lines around his mouth. His shoulders are hunched slightly, one hand braced against the edge of the table as he sits on a stool that isn’t quite the right height.
“There you are,” the man says as Felix approaches. “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
Felix rolls his eyes, though there’s no real annoyance behind it. “You told me to stop helping last week,” he reminds him.
“That was before I realized I’d have to move the rest of those crates myself,” the older man mutters, rubbing at the small of his back.
Felix glances beside the stall. Three wooden crates are stacked there, each one filled with bottled drinks. They’re heavy enough that the man probably shouldn’t be lifting them alone. Without another word, Felix steps over and grips the top crate. “Where do you want ‘em?”
The vendor jerks his chin toward the narrow storage space behind the stall.
Felix lifts the crate easily and carries it back. This happens often. Some of the vendors are older, working long hours on stiff joints and tired backs. If they need something heavy moved, Felix helps. If someone has to run to the restroom or step away for a few minutes, Felix watches the stall. He never asks for anything in return, but sometimes they slip him extra food anyway.
Felix returns to the gimbap stall a few minutes later, tray still waiting for him.
“Eat before it gets cold,” the woman scolds.
Felix nods, reaching for a piece—
And then the air shifts.
The scent hits him first. Alpha. Strong. Too close.
Felix’s fingers pause halfway to the tray.
Footsteps stop beside him. “Hey cutie.”
Felix doesn’t look up immediately. He already knows that tone. Slowly, he lifts his head.
The man standing there is broad-shouldered, his coat unzipped despite the cold. His gaze drags lazily over Felix’s face, lingering on the scarf hiding his neck before it travels down his body, sending a chill up Felix’s spine. Up close, the alpha smells like liquor and something sharp beneath it. “You smell nice,” the man says.
Felix’s stomach drops, his hand lowering slowly from the tray. “I think you’ve got the wrong person,” Felix says quietly.
The alpha chuckles like Felix told a joke. “No,” he says. “I don’t think I do.” He steps a little closer.
Felix feels it immediately—the pressure of it. Alphas carry themselves differently, their presence filling the space whether they mean to or not. This one, though, definitely means to.
Felix shifts his weight back slightly.
The man’s eyes flick to the movement. “What’s wrong, Omega?”
Felix forces a polite smile. “I’m just trying to eat.”
“Yeah?” the alpha says, tilting his head. “I’m feeling pretty hungry myself.”
Felix doesn’t respond. His senses are already working ahead of him, mapping the space. The stall counter behind him. A narrow aisle to the left. A wall of people on the right. It’s all too crowded.
The alpha leans an elbow on the counter trapping Felix into the already narrow space between stalls. “You here alone?”
Felix shrugs. “Just passing through.”
The man’s gaze drops again, lingering on the oversized hoodie, the way it swallows Felix’s frame. “You don’t look like you’ve got anywhere to be,” he says.
“You should come have a drink with me,” the man says. “I'll be sure to help warm you up.”
“I’m good.” Felix keeps his voice soft. Neutral. Never confrontational. It works sometimes, but apparently not tonight.
The alpha’s smile fades slightly. “I wasn’t really asking.”
Felix feels it crawl down the back of his neck. The ahjumma that’s warded off pushy alphas like him before for Felix is handling a large bill for another customer at the far end of the counter. Felix tries to brush him off again, fingers brushing the edge of his gimbap tray, but then the alpha’s hand closes around Felix’s wrist firmly.
The market noise suddenly feels too loud—Felix freezes. Years of instinct scream the same thing at once: don’t fight, don’t provoke, don’t stay.
The second the alpha grabs his wrist, panic shoots through him so hard it makes his vision blur. It’s not the pain or even the fear of what the alpha will do to him, it’s the fact that people are starting to watch.
The alpha's fingers tighten around his wrist. "Come on," he says, smile strained now. "Don’t be difficult."
Around them, conversations have started to slow. Heads turn. Customers glance over. The gimbap ahjumma freezes halfway through counting change.
Felix's stomach drops.
No.
No, no, no.
Not here. Anywhere but here.
He made rules for himself whenever he came by the market: don't cause problems, don't bring trouble to the vendors, and absolutely don't make yourself memorable.
Felix twists his wrist instinctively. The alpha's expression darkens immediately. It happens so fast Felix barely registers it. One second the man is smiling, the next his scent crashes into the air like a slammed door. "What? You think you're too good to talk to me?"
The grip around Felix's wrist tightens painfully. The customers nearest them start backing away. The aisle suddenly feels too narrow. Too crowded. Too exposed.
"Let go." The words leave Felix's mouth before he can stop them.
The alpha laughs. Then squeezes harder.
Felix sees the exact moment the situation shifts. The exact moment the man decides he's been embarrassed. And embarrassed alphas are dangerous.
The customer that’s been waiting for change just a few feet away finally steps forward. "Leave him alone."
The alpha barely spares them a glance. "Mind your business."
Felix's heart sinks. He rips his wrist free. The movement surprises the alpha enough for him to stumble half a step.
The alpha’s scent turns acrid, his blatant anger assaulting Felix’s senses and promising a world of hurt. He lunges forward. And Felix runs.
He disappears into the crush of people, ducking between stalls, cutting hard around a corner before the alpha can shove his way through the crowd behind him. Someone calls his name—one of his names at least. He doesn't stop long enough to find out who. The cold air burns his lungs by the time he reaches the edge of the market. Only then does he slow, his hands shaking and his stomach twisting painfully.
He’s always tried to make himself small when he comes to the market. Not invisible—people can't help someone they never notice—but forgettable.
The boy who carries crates when someone's back is acting up. The kid who watches a stall for five minutes while the owner runs to the restroom. The polite customer who pays for his food even when they say he doesn’t have to, smiles when spoken to, and disappears before anyone can ask where he's going.
A ghost.
The vendors know him, but they know him in pieces. Some call him Yongbok. Some call him Sunshine. One old man insists on calling him Freckles no matter how many times Felix complains about it.
None of them know Felix. That’s always been intentional.
Names are dangerous. The people who threw him away knew his name. The relatives who looked at a twelve-year-old omega and decided he was too much trouble knew his name too.
Ever since then, Felix has learned that the less people know, the safer he is.
The people of the market understand that. Nobody asks where he sleeps. Nobody asks why he's always wearing the same thin jacket no matter how cold it is. Nobody asks why he disappears for days at a time. They simply hand him food and let him exist.
It's the closest thing Felix has had to a home in years.
Which is why, even more than his lost meal and wasted money, the realization that he can't come back tomorrow feels devastating. He won’t be able to come next week either. Maybe longer.
If the alpha decides to return—and guys like that always do—then Felix can't risk being here. Not if trouble follows him back to the one place that has ever welcomed him without demanding something in return.
The thought makes his throat tighten. The old man with the bad back will have to move his own crates. The gimbap ahjumma will complain about her useless son to someone else.
Life will keep moving. It always does.
Felix pulls his scarf higher over his face and turns away from the market lights. Behind him, warmth and food and familiar voices continue without him. Ahead of him is only cold and this time, his stomach doesn't growl. It simply aches.
The pawn shop won't open until morning. And for the first time in a long time, Felix feels truly alone.
Felix doesn’t stop walking until the warm glow of Gwangjang Market disappears behind him, swallowed up by the sprawling, concrete shadows of the city.
The city always feels different once you leave the lights. The sounds change first. Voices fade into distant murmurs, the constant rhythm of footsteps thin until the only things left are passing cars and the occasional rattle of a subway train rumbling somewhere deep beneath the pavement. With the light gone, the illusion of safety vanishes too.
Cold settles in where warmth used to be. It isn't just a drop in temperature. The icy feeling settles into his chest until every breath feels like inhaling glass.
By the time Felix reaches the alley behind an abandoned office building, the sky has gone completely dark. For a moment, relief loosens something in his chest. Home. Not really, but close enough.
He's slept here for almost three weeks now, tucked into the narrow space between the building and a crumbling concrete retaining wall. It isn't comfortable, but it's hidden from the street and sheltered from the worst of the wind. In this weather, that's practically luxury.
Felix rounds the corner. Then stops. Someone is already there. A man he doesn't recognize is curled beneath a pile of blankets in the space Felix usually occupies.
For several seconds, Felix just stares. The man is asleep. Or pretending to be. Either way, it doesn't matter. The spot is taken. Felix closes his eyes briefly. Of course it is.
The city is getting colder. Everyone is looking for somewhere to survive. He can't exactly blame the guy. That doesn't stop disappointment from settling heavily in his chest. He turns away without a word. This isn't the first time he's lost a place to sleep and it probably won't be the last.
At the far end of the alley, half-hidden behind a rusted drainpipe, there's a gap barely wide enough to fit an arm between the building and the wall. Most people never notice it.
He crouches and reaches into the darkness. His fingers brush worn canvas. Relief flickers through him. Still there. He pulls the backpack free. The faded black fabric is stained from years of use and one of the straps has been repaired twice with fishing line, but it's intact. That's what matters.
Felix slings it over one shoulder and leaves the alley. He doesn't stop walking until he's several blocks away. Only then does he slow to a stop, making sure that he’s alone.
He opens the backpack just to make sure everything’s still there. It’s not much if he’s honest. There’s the blanket which is threadbare and riddled with holes, folded carefully despite the fact that it's barely worth folding anymore. The cardboard he sleeps on is there too, flattened and worn soft around the edges from being folded and stuffed in the bag. His phone charger sits at the bottom, useless tonight. His phone is more of a prop than anything, only used as a fancy flashlight when he really needs it.
The last thing rests inside a small plastic bag. He takes it out just to make sure it’s exactly as he remembers. A photograph, one old enough that the corners have started to curl. The image is faded, his mother standing in the center and his sisters crowded against her sides. And there he is. Smaller. Round-cheeked. Smiling so hard his eyes nearly disappear.
The ocean stretches behind them, bright blue beneath an Australian summer sky. For a moment, the sounds of the city disappear. He remembers salt in the air. Sunlight on warm sand. His mother's laugh. One of his sisters stealing his hat and running for her life.
A lifetime ago. Another person.
The ache arrives so suddenly he stuffs the photo back into the bag. Then back into the backpack, zipping it closed immediately.
Felix pulls the backpack onto both shoulders and starts walking again, turning down a narrow side street. His steps slow as his eyes automatically sweep the area, mapping out the shadows, checking the sightlines from the main road, and searching for any signs of recent movement.
An overhang from an old storefront cuts the wind just enough to make the difference between a miserable night and an unbearable one. The metal shutters have been pulled down over the windows, the faded sign above them long since cracked and peeling from years of neglect.
It’s not a great place to sleep, but it’s good enough for tonight.
He shakes his folded up cardboard out, the stiff material crinkling loudly in the quiet alley, before placing it carefully against the frozen brick. Lowering himself onto the cardboard, Felix lets the backpack slide from his shoulders and rest between his feet. The zipper sticks halfway, worn from years of use, and he has to tug it twice before it finally gives. Reaching inside, he pulls out the thin blanket folded carefully at the very bottom, shaking it open despite knowing it won't do much against the cold.
He wraps it around himself anyway, tucking the edges beneath his legs before curling into the wall. The fabric traps just enough of his body heat to take the sharpest bite out of the wind, though the freezing concrete still seeps relentlessly through his clothes until it settles deep inside his bones.
The stolen watch presses faintly against his wrist where it’s still tucked inside the lining of his sleeve. Felix checks the mouth of the street once. Then again. Only when he is certain nothing is moving does he finally let himself exhale, his breath blossoming into a thick cloud of white fog.
The sound of footsteps reaches him a moment later. A heavy and uneven shuffle of someone dragging their feet without much strength left in their legs.
Felix’s body stills instantly, his heart rate spiking as his survival instincts take over. His eyes narrow, tracking the edge of the brick wall.
A man steps into the weak halo of light cast by the streetlamp near the corner, his shadow stretching long and distorted across the pavement. He looks older—his face lined with deep, weathered creases that catch the amber light, his oversized coat hanging loosely from thin shoulders that seem permanently hunched under the weight of too many hard years.
The man pauses when he notices Felix already sitting there, his old boots scraping to a halt. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The silence between them is tense, a silent evaluation of threat levels.
Felix lifts a hand first, keeping his movements slow and unthreatening. “Evening.”
The man studies him carefully, eyes narrowing as he takes in the cardboard, the tucked posture, and the quiet, unassuming way Felix holds himself. He’s small. Unremarkable. Easy to overlook. Felix has spent years perfecting all three.
“Evening,” the man finally replies, his voice raspy from the cold. He lingers a second longer, his gaze drifting toward the small patch of cardboard Felix has claimed.
Felix recognizes that look immediately. The streets have rules even if nobody ever bothers saying them out loud, and one of the oldest is simple: whoever finds a good spot first keeps it.
But winter has a way of bending rules, and Felix’s heart has always been too soft for his own good. He looks at the man's shaking hands, at the lack of any cardboard or insulation beneath his feet, and sighs internally. He knows he shouldn't risk his own warmth. He knows he needs every inch of that cardboard to keep his own body from freezing.
Yet, Felix shifts slightly, nudging the edge of the cardboard outward with the heel of his shoe to expose a gap. “There’s room,” he says quietly. “If you want it.”
The man blinks in mild surprise, staring at the offered space before letting out a quiet grunt. He lowers himself stiffly beside the wall, his joints popping from the chill.
“Don’t see many kids offering that,” the man mutters, pulling a frayed blanket from his plastic bag and draping it over his legs. He looks at Felix sideways. “Wait. You’re that kid, aren't you? The one who fixed old Mr. Choi’s tarp stall before the storm last month. And you gave up your extra blanket to the runaway down by the station.”
Felix blinks, shifting uncomfortably under the sudden attention. “I just had a spare,” he lies softly, rubbing his upper arms. He doesn't have a spare. He had just gone without a second layer for a week.
The old man chuckles, a dry, wheezing sound. “Word gets around, kid. The folks down by the tracks talk about you. Call you a soft-hearted thief. Say you’ll take a rich man's wallet but give your last piece of bread to a stray dog.” The man shakes his head. “You’re too giving for this place, you know. A boy like you... the streets will eat you alive if you keep giving pieces of yourself away.”
Felix shrugs lightly, a bit embarrassed, his breath fogging faintly. He doesn't think of himself as kind; he just thinks of how miserable it is to be entirely alone. “Cold’s worse alone,” he says simply, changing the subject.
That earns him a quiet, appreciative huff.
For a while they sit in silence, the city breathing slowly around them. Felix’s stomach lets out a loud, traitorous growl, echoing sharply in the narrow alley. He curses mentally, missing the gimbap he had to leave behind.
Hearing the noise, the old man reaches into his deep coat pocket. With trembling fingers, he pulls out a half loaf of bread wrapped loosely in crinkling plastic. He tears the stale loaf in two, the crust cracking loudly, and holds the larger piece out without looking directly at Felix.
Felix hesitates, his pride warring with the hollow ache in his ribs. "You should keep—"
"Eat."
"I’m okay, I’ve had enough."
"You haven't."
Felix hesitates.
The older man nudges the bread closer. "Bakery threw it out an hour ago." His shoulders lift. "It'll do more good in your stomach than mine."
For a moment, Felix simply looks at it. Then he bows his head ever so slightly. "...Thank you." The bread is stale enough that the crust fights him with every bite. It still tastes better than hunger.
They eat without speaking, the quiet broken only by the brittle crack of crust and the distant heartbeat of the city. A few peaceful minutes pass before Felix’s head lifts suddenly, his ears twitching.
The man notices the sudden rigidity in the boy's frame. “What?”
Felix doesn’t answer. His attention has already locked onto the mouth of the street. His omega senses, sharp and hyper-tuned from years of dodging predators, pick up the vibration before the sound even registers clearly.
Footsteps. Two sets this time. Slow. Uneven. Heavy heels striking the concrete.
Felix lowers his gaze again almost immediately, intentionally relaxing his shoulders and slumping against the wall. He adjusts his posture so that he looks like a heavily sleeping, worthless bundle of clothes rather than someone who is suddenly completely alert. But beneath his jacket, every single muscle is coiled like a spring.
Two men round the corner a moment later. Their voices drift ahead of them in low, slurred murmurs that carry easily through the quiet street, smelling faintly of cheap soju even from a distance. Their steps wander, boots scraping against the pavement in a way that suggests they’re looking for trouble to burn off their intoxication.
Drunk men are unpredictable. Drunk alphas are dangerous.
One of them glances toward the overhang, his eyes scanning the shadows.
Felix keeps his breathing slow, deep, and perfectly even, his eyes half-lidded beneath lowered lashes. He doesn't make eye contact. He won’t risk it being seen as a challenge or invitation.
Beside him, the older man has gone perfectly still, holding his breath.
The strangers pause only a few steps away from them.
For a terrifying moment, Felix is painfully aware of the expensive watch hidden inside his sleeve. The faint, mechanical tick of it feels deafening, pressing against his pulse point like a ticking time bomb. If they see it, they’ll beat him for it.
One of the drunks takes a heavy step toward them, his heavy shadow falling over Felix's face.
Felix subtly angles his left arm closer to his side, hiding the sleeve, his fingers tightening into a fist. He prepares himself to spring up, to run, to leave the cardboard behind if he has to.
Then, the second drunk reaches out and grabs his friend’s sleeve, pulling him back. “Leave it,” he mutters, his voice dripping with disgust. “They’re just street rats. Come on, the bar is closing.”
The first man snorts, casting one last lazy, menacing glance in their direction before turning away. Their heavy footsteps fade slowly down the block, echoing until they are nothing more than distant static.
Only once the sound disappears completely does the older man finally let out a long, trembling exhale. He looks at Felix with a mix of awe and worry. “...You heard ‘em coming before they even turned the corner.”
Felix gives a small, tired shrug, pulling his scarf higher over his nose as he leans his head back against the freezing brick wall. He feels utterly drained as the adrenaline fades, leaving him colder than before. “It helps.”
The man studies the young omega for a moment longer, seeing the exhaustion etched into the boy's pale face, before nodding quietly. He pulls his blanket tighter. “Careful, kid. The city gets meaner when the snow hits.”
The older man soon drifts off, his breathing turning into a shallow, rattling snore that cuts through the silence of the alcove. Beside him, Felix remains wide awake.
The metal of the watch against his skin feels colder than it should be. Felix takes it out of his sleeve, flipping it over once in his hand before slipping it into his pocket.
He never does this. Usually, a score becomes currency in his mind before it ever leaves a target's pocket. It’s strange how his fingers keep drifting back toward the metal, seeking a warmth that isn't his.
He pulls his knees tighter against his chest, burying his face into the worn fabric of his jacket. The bitter chill always brings back the thoughts he spends the warmer months running from. It brings back the memory of the day he turned twelve, the day he presented as an omega, and the day his relatives decided he was no longer their problem.
He’d spent years wondering what he did wrong before finally realizing the answer hurt even more. He hadn't actually done anything. They simply decided he wasn't worth keeping. They only took him in out of a bitter sense of legal obligation, waiting for the exact moment they were no longer required to care for him. His presentation had been a perfect excuse for them to throw him away.
He doesn't know how his sisters have been living since that day, but as he shivers on the concrete, a quiet, protective relief settles in his chest. He is just glad they didn't end up out here with him. He would never want this life for them. There is no guarantee they wouldn't have experienced far worse things as two girls and an omega on the streets.
His older sister, Rachel, was an alpha. The relatives had no problem keeping her, sending her to school, and providing for her. He can only hope that Olivia, the youngest of them, eventually presented as a beta or an alpha and received the same treatment.
Felix could check up on them. It wouldn’t be too difficult to find them and watch from afar. But he had come to the heart of the city to hide away. He’s staying away for himself just as much as he is for them at this point.
One part of it is the fear that he’ll see that they’re doing well and jealousy will rear its ugly head. He holds only love and affection for them, but if he lets himself think too much about it, he’s scared that those feelings will change. No one ever looked for him after he was cast out and he chooses to believe they had a good reason.
Another part of it is the suffocating shame. There’s a chance that he’ll crumble upon seeing them and reveal himself. He couldn’t handle it if they were to see how he has to live and feel disgusted or pitiful.
But the rest of it is a quiet, terrifying uncertainty.
Deep down, he knows they love him. Or at least, they used to. But it’s too scary to think about what would happen if he showed up at their doorstep. Would he be met with their usual kind smiles? Or would he see scowls?
It’s safer this way. Safer to let them move on. Safer to just live as though he never existed.
A heavy, bone-deep exhaustion finally begins to dull the sharp edges of his mind. Felix pulls his scarf up until it covers his nose, drawing a ragged breath of cold air and cheap restroom soap. He squeezes his eyes shut, actively pulling his faint sweetness inward, burying his dynamic, his past, and his name deep into the hollow space of his chest.
If no one is looking for you, you learn to stop wanting to be found.
He curls into the cardboard, feeling completely alone in the dark, as a small pile of autumn leaves drifts into the alley and settles silently on his hair.