Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The grotesque yet dormant anger loomed over his head, bled into his shadow, and sneaked undetected like invisible smoke into the orifices of his body. 

Every quiet sound there was became all the louder: the gentle clinking of wine glasses and metal utensils on plates, the coy giggles and the deep timber of voices between exchanged words, the jazzy singing tune carried off amongst the soft thrumming of guitar of the live band performing that night, the rushing footsteps of handsome waiters and waitresses dashing from the tables to the kitchen, and even the ticking of clock overhead. A cacophony of noises that pricked into the pores of his skin and left goosebumps on his arms under the long sleeves of the starched white shirt.   

The message from his mother wouldn’t be erased from existence even if he wished for it, still clear in his mind’s eyes now, sitting in the inbox of his phone kept in the employees’ locker. 

“Pretty boy,” someone said, a mute and distant sound, then louder, “Hey, pretty boy.” 

Beomgyu stopped in his tracks to the kitchen and turned, one of his hands tucked neatly by his side while the other was holding an empty tray. He approached the table where a man in his forties wearing a white suit was seated by himself, limbs mechanical and on autopilot. That customer was an alpha—Beomgyu could immediately tell from the potent and oppressive pheromone barely concealed and seeping out of the scent blocker he was wearing.

“Yes, sir?” he asked, trying not to get too close. 

“There’s a toothpick in my dish,” the man stated in a distinctive drawl, a thick accent to his English that Beomgyu couldn’t identify, gesturing at his barely-touched plate. His lips formed into an ugly sneer that made his face resembled a mad dog. There was something very unpleasant about that man. “I want a replacement. A fresh steak.” 

There was not a single toothpick to be found in a fancy steakhouse at a high-end district such as this one where Beomgyu part-timed at. Not on the tables and not in the kitchen. 

Beomgyu felt the corner of his lips twitch in a barely contained snarl. He knew immediately what kind of customer he was dealing with at the moment: the proud, entitled and less-educated alpha who thought too highly of himself and his position within the sphere of social caste, his head stuck and not removed from the archaic construction of subgender conventions and politics. How this kind of alpha could end up in an expensive food joint like this one was always a wonder to Beomgyu. 

He replied, carefully maintaining a neutral tone, despite recognizing that he was going to be threading a fine line of what would be considered good customer service by his employer; “That’s not possible, sir. We have not one toothpick in this place.” 

The alpha cocked his head, possibly not expecting him to disagree so quickly and directly. His eyebrows were pinched and his severe gaze trailed over Beomgyu’s unyielding form from his head to his toes, sizing him up and down. “So, you’re saying that I’m lying. Is that it, little omega?”

A derisive snort almost escaped Beomgyu. There was nothing little about him—standing at 5’11” feet tall, he would argue that he was taller than most omegas and some alphas, perhaps even this one he was talking to right now. Oddly, it wasn’t the first time he was called small (or a variation of words with the same intended meaning), and he couldn’t understand where this obsession came from these male alphas. Or perhaps this man in white suit had meant little in a metaphorical way—which was honestly worse. 

Only ten more minutes before his shift ends, Beomgyu thought bitterly. If his day was already taking a 180 degree turn after he received that message from his mother, this encounter with an obnoxious stranger with too-small of a dick tucked between his legs was the cherry on top—the finishing touch to make him realize the true extent of shittiness that could happen to a human being in a single day. Oh, to be the chosen one. 

Beomgyu exhaled and bit his tongue, clenching his fist by his side. “I’m not saying that , sir. I was just trying to make clear that there’s no toothpick present at this establishment for this ‘mistake’ to be possible.” 

“Same thing, pretty thing. I don’t care what you have to say, I want my meal replaced with a new one,” the older man insisted arrogantly, staring at Beomgyu as if daring him to refuse him again. “You should listen to me while I’m still being nice.” 

“I can’t do that—I can’t replace your meal with a new one,” Beomgyu replied with finality. Life had been good enough to this man, granting him the luxury of material gains that could possibly last him an entire lifetime, and yet he chose to be a shitty person to a broke, humble waiter like Beomgyu. 

“Which part of what I said you don’t understand? You omegas are quite stupid, aren’t you? What, the only thing you’re good at is spreading your legs and begging for dick?” 

It was a combination of many things—the thing the alpha said to him and the condescending tone he was using, the annoying greasy hair and the crows’ feet and the rotten smell of the alpha’s pheromone wafting off of him, the ever-present anger Beomgyu had over the symbolic, pervasive man-made system of money money money for everything in life, the casual insult directed to Beomgyu and his identity as an omega like he chose to be one. But the final straw for Beomgyu was the moment he felt the older man’s thick and massive palm cupping the slight curve of his asscheek, giving it a light squeeze as if reprimanding him. 

Before he knew what he was doing, his fist had collided with the asshole’s cheek, sending him flying back in his chair a few feet away from him with blood dripping down his large nose. The dumbfounded expression of disbelief on the alpha’s face and the sting on Beomgyu’s knuckles caused a wave of satisfaction to ripple inside of him, lapping at his guts and soothing the burning rage there like a cooling balm. 

There was a gasp from a table nearby, and the silence that enveloped was deafening. 

It completely escaped him at the moment that he might lose his expensive and fancy waiting job, but dear god, had he needed that.

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“Wait, please wait,” Beomgyu heard the voice first before a hand was placed on his shoulder, effectively stopping him on his track. 

Beomgyu turned to face the person—a young man with wild and thick blond hair, a small hoop earring on one of his ears, towering over Beomgyu with his broad shoulders and bulky build. Beomgyu recognized him. It was the same face he sometimes saw on the small stage of the steakhouse, someone Beomgyu noticed because of his excellent skill with his instrument and because of his soft, attractive look. If his distinctive facial features were not already making him stand out among other faceless strangers Beomgyu encountered every day, the guitar case hanging at his back was a sure way to ascertain Beomgyu of his identity. 

“Uh, your slacks have a… People can see your, um, panty…” he stuttered out, voice small. A faint shade of red dusting his cheeks. 

“Sorry?” Beomgyu said, tilting his head in confusion. 

The young man cleared his throat awkwardly. “That man who bothered you just now, he took out a knife and made that cut when you didn’t look. Thank God you’re not injured? That was amazing, by the way—the way you handled a customer like him.”

Beomgyu reached to his back with his hand, finding the tear that ran vertically from the lower part of his buttock down to the middle of his thigh. No wonder it felt kind of breezy. 

The bastard . 

His jaw was clenched so hard his teeth and gum were starting to ache; the kind of ache that Beomgyu knew intimately would bloom upward and flared persistently behind his eyelids for possibly the next couple of days, made even worse when he had to sit in front of the laptop screen and work on his dissertation, and when the message from his mother had simmered for far too long for him to ignore and pretend to not exist. He would have a headache soon on top of everything else, as if the universe hadn’t had enough after chewing on him and spitting him out. 

It really made him wonder if he’d done anything untoward to anyone for him to deserve this. He was so tired. 

“Please… please don’t cry,” the blonde man squeaked, his voice cracking unflatteringly. The hands he kept at his sides began to flutter without direction, an obvious sign of nervousness. 

“I’m not crying, doofus! You think I’m gonna cry just because some alpha asshole thinks it’s a fantastic idea to make a rip on my pants so passerby can see the color of my panty just because I called out his stupidity and punched him in his fucking ugly face? Fuck, and this is my best slacks too!” exclaimed Beomgyu. His anger was so potent that the last part where he cursed was spoken in Korean, his native tongue. 

Despite what he said to the stranger, it immediately became clear that he was, in fact, about to cry . His throat closed up involuntarily, choking him in his next intake of breath. There was a sudden wet hotness in his eyes, blurring the view of the cobblestone pavement under his feet. And no, it wasn’t blurry because he forgot his glasses after he took out his contacts, like he sometimes did. 

“I’m really sorry about that. Just take this and cover up, please,” the other said in fluent Korean, frowning sympathetically as he fumbled out of his dark blue hoodie with abstract patterns at the bottom before thrusting it Beomgyu’s way. 

Perhaps it was the Korean—the sheer familiarity of the syllables and their utterance, the sore reminder that he was so far away in a foreign land by himself without anyone he could readily trust or depend on—that he felt a trickling sense of relief in him, despite the blond man not appearing to have been of Korean descent. But it was sufficient to startle Beomgyu awake from his emotional stupor, making him glaringly aware of his outburst in front of a kind stranger. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m just… going through a lot,” he finished lamely, using Korean too instead of English, sniffling and willing the tears to just magically go back inside his tear duct and dry this very instant please . This was enough humiliation he could handle. To scream at a douchebag who deserved it was at least justified in a way, but what had this guy even done besides telling him that he was walking with a hole in his pants that everyone could see? 

“It’s okay. Everyone has bad days,” the other replied, in such a kind tone, that it made Beomgyu even more ashamed for his earlier behavior. 

A chime signaling a message coming in was heard from the other man’s phone that he grasped in his hand. “Oh, I have to go. You can keep the hoodie. Please get home safe!” 

And the blond man was gone before Beomgyu could properly thank him. 

The hoodie was cozy and warm and smelled of orange and milk, with a hint of agave. An unusual mix, but the scent wasn’t unpleasant. It was refreshing and indulging and kind of sweet, something Beomgyu thought could only belong to a lovely omega. The weight of it settled comfortably on his hips as he wrapped it around himself and tied the sleeves on his stomach to cover the gaping cut on his pants. The quality of the hoodie seemed good, but it probably didn’t cost much for the stranger to be giving it away for free. 

When he arrived at his cheap three-room apartment that he shared with two other postgraduate students, it was fifteen minutes from eleven at night. There wasn’t much on his mind besides a shower, a light meal, and sleep. Tomorrow will be another tiring day, and he had little to none mental capacity to entertain anything beyond the basic physical needs. He shrugged off the hoodie and threw it carelessly on the neatly-made bed, and its brand label caught Beomgyu’s eyes under the dim yellow lighting of the apartment as he was in the middle of stripping off his ruined pants. He blinked twice, and took the hoodie back to make sure he was not seeing things.  

Nope, he wasn’t seeing things; it was a fucking Louis Vuitton hoodie. 

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Three days later, as he was spread naked in Liliana’s bed after a rather unproductive meeting with his research supervisor, he was still thinking about the hoodie that he hung with a hanger at the back of his door. Out of curiosity, he had googled the price online and found out that it was a whooping $2,690 per item—a total he would never have dreamed of having in his savings one moment at a time, let alone to spend to buy one hoodie. He hadn’t washed it too for fear his cheap detergent and softener would ruin the material. The scent of citrus and milk belonging to the blond young man still clung to the fabric, although its potency was slowly beginning to fade as more days passed. 

Should he sell it as a preloved item? That would be eating at his conscience, but he was tight on money! Surely the kind stranger would understand?

“Oi, you’re drifting,” she called out, spanking his pussy harshly and jolting him out of his reverie.

“Ouch, Lily, what the fuck? I—I was just thinking, okay.” 

“That’s so rude, dude. I was here tryna eat you out and you’re busy thinking about someone else?” 

“It’s important, and maybe you’re not trying hard enough,” he taunted.

She didn’t take the bait. 

“About your mom? She asking for money again?” Liliana tucked her dyed blue hair behind her ear and looked at him, all too familiar with his family situation.

He’d been sleeping with her quite regularly since he began his PhD program, not for a sentimental reason like attachment (he’d outgrown his tendency for romanticizing every aspect of his life—including and particularly of—his love life) but simply because she was easy and good laid, someone chill with plenty of issues like himself. They talked little of anything of substance, and when they did talk, they thred over the surface of their struggles lightly, glossing over any hardships and laughing about morbid stuff they said about people and the world.  

Stories about his family struggles were not something he aired out openly to everyone, but having been friends with her for nearly two years, some were bound to spill out.  

Speaking of his mother, he hadn’t come up with an adequate solution to scrap for the urgent money she was asking… 

“Yeah, though I’ve exhausted my TA salary, and the salary for my waiter job won’t come in until the end of the month. That, if I’m not fired.” 

“Fired? What did you do?”

“Punched a pervert in the face because he fucking groped me.” 

Liliana smirked and hummed in acknowledgement, seemingly deep in thought, but at least her fingers were back on him. They traced the outline of his exposed sex, feather light but purposeful, making him want to squirm. 

“Don’t think,” she commanded in that gentle but assured tone, “I’m here to make you forget, even if only for a while.” 

As she dived in to suck on his clit and finger-fucked him just right, as his lips loosened around the moans he let out and his head started to be submerged in that pleasant buzz of static sound, it occurred to Beomgyu again that female alphas were the best at sex. They were not knotted-heads like male alphas, and they were sensitive to the needs of their bed partners. They never cared to pay too much attention to the way he looked or the way he carried himself, about all his hard and sharp edges—his slight and bony structure, his boyish and delicate curves, his foul mouth, his scent that was less sweet and floral but cool like stream water. They just knew where to touch and what to say, knew how to make him feel worthy (not loved , but that was all the better) without the constant looming reminder of his subgender, like he wasn’t an omega more than he was just himself: a person, someone. 

Beomgyu probably had deeper, unresolved issues with his sexuality and body, as suggested by his first love and ex-boyfriend many years back. Even then the revelation hadn’t been a surprise to him, not exactly, but it remained a large part of his subconscious, buried underneath all the layers of his cloak of self-preservation. They had simmered within him for so long, taking a root and branching out from his flesh and blood, that it was more hurtful to actually do anything about it now. 

He could live with it, he decided. 

Sex was still an enjoyable activity to him, and the biological clock for his heat cycle was as normal as could be regardless of what his sound mind supplied—(his body would still ache and ache and ache against his will, recomposed into a tender vessel ripping apart at the seams for two to three days of rippling desire that was so strange yet so expected, sprung from the depth of his being and left him bruising with needs)—what was there to worry about? 

“You’re not gonna fuck me?” Beomgyu asked, after she had made him cum thrice. All the tension in his body seemed to have gathered at his nether region and left him earlier in the form of sticky, translucent wetness between his legs, leaving him a bit fuzzy and in a temporarily more relaxed headspace. 

“Aw, do you miss my cock, baby?” 

He scrunched his nose in distaste and threw a pillow at her. “Ew, gross.” 

“Gross is not really an answer, you know,” she teased. 

“No, I don’t miss it! I asked because—I don’t know— maybe because I was the only one who came?” 

“Your consideration for me is cute, but it’s fine.” She laughed, rising from the bed to trot over to her messy desk, where her laptop and notebook and all kinds of resources on her scientific study about recessive cells could be found. Library books, printed journal articles and printed textbooks she downloaded illegally, all the comments from her research supervisor that she jotted down on papers that she said since her first year she wanted to compile in a file but had yet to. The sight of her desk was hurting Beomgyu’s eyes, but somehow, she always knew where to find what she was looking for. 

Beomgyu was already half-dressed, moving slowly because his legs felt a bit like jelly, when she exclaimed, “Found it!”

She unceremoniously shoved a piece of flier to his face. 

“Surrogacy?” Beomgyu said a while later, still scanning the information written on the flier. He sat on the bed and pushed up his prescribed glasses that were dropping down the bridge of his nose, flinging his crumpled t-shirt on his bare shoulder as he crossed his legs. 

“Yup. I mean, if you really need money right now and are willing to give up your body for nine months,” she replied casually, and Beomgyu inwardly flinched at the implication. “You’ll get 100k first when you manage to conceive, and the remaining 200k after the baby is born. A total of 300k is a fuck ton of money if you ask me; bet the offer won’t be there for too long. Though I heard a rumor that the clients would so much prefer a Korean surrogate, so you’ll have an advantage if that’s true.” 

“Are they both alphas?” Beomgyu squinted his eyes, reading the bold line stating that the surrogate would also be the egg donor. “Where did you even get this info?”

“It’s spreading like a wildfire in my lab at the RUI. Partly because of the amount of money, and partly because it was Prof. Kang who filled in the clientele details, saying it was a favor for a good friend of his. Some people are speculating that it was simply a cover story, that he was actually the one looking for a surrogate.” 

Being in the Social Science and Humanity Department, Beomgyu didn’t know of a Prof. Kang or his influence, and he certainly knew very little of the science and technicality of surrogacy. But the amount of money offered was too immaculate to pass on. 

“This is not, like, a scam right? I mean, $300,000 ? That’s crazy,” he scoffed, in bewilderment that something this outrageous was possible. 

Liliana shrugged, dropping on the bed at his side like a starfish. “It could be a scam, if you find the offer with this amount of money outside. But Prof. Kang is an important figure within the RUI and is in association with the Health Center, so I doubt he’d do something that’ll put his reputation in jeopardy.” 

“This kind of thing requires approval from the Health Center before anything else, right? Why would they allow this much money as compensation in the first place, though? That’s really questionable.” 

“Don’t know for sure. Maybe they don’t really pay attention to that. Or maybe because there’s a rise of discussion about omega autonomy and livelihood in the current politics. Surrogacy has been traditionally considered an act of altruism, but there are many activists who are against this notion nowadays—arguing that pregnancy is a kind of a body horror, and that omegas participating should be compensated generously.” 

“Okay. But then, the subject of ethics has to be brought up. This is a discussion as old as time—just the same, repeated concept and arguments like, say, organ or blood donation and the red market. Oh well, I suppose surrogacy does fall under that umbrella,” Beomgyu mumbled mostly to himself, concluding the last part a bit later with a frown—the realization of how wrong it was from the perspective of social science studies was beginning to dawn on him. 

“Right. There’s still an ongoing debate about whether or not it’s ethical, but who cares if both parties involved are consenting?” Liliana stated in a matter-of-fact manner, poking at his upper left back side where Beomgyu knew a hideous white scar was present. His first love and ex-boyfriend used to kiss him there and call it his ‘battle scar’, although Beomgyu had never seen it as such. 

“You don’t have to do it, obviously,” she said after a moment passed, patting him on his butt reassuringly. “Your mom is always asking for too much money anyway.” 

“I know, but she’s a good mom. And I love her,” he replied, simply and without any hesitation, because it was the truth. 

That day, Beomgyu walked back home with the flier tucked inside the pocket of his jeans, burning a hole there and keeping his attention occupied. 

$300,000. That could last him for the entirety of his remaining three years of candidature period. In addition to his salary from being a Teaching Assistant, Beomgyu would have no problem sending his mom extra money monthly, and he’d still have enough to live comfortably. He wouldn’t need to squeeze time for part-timing in between the hours anymore, meaning he would have a much better use of his time, pouring a large portion of it on his research as any responsible student should. Basically, this could be the solution to the source of his every problem, if he managed to score it. 

The rushing thoughts that filled his mind came in a flurry, morphed into his blood streams and turned him warm with something akin to hope and excitement. In a fleeting moment, within that heightened state of mind, a small fear tugged at his heartstring and made itself known, but he tucked it away for the moment. 

It’s okay, he thought. He would be fine. 

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The Health Center of the university was not initially a place to seek medical care (they had the clinic for that). Its main purpose had been a research center, like RUI, but the focus was on developing medicine according to current subgender health concerns, while RUI was on creating a comprehensible link between the science of the body and the implementation of technology, particularly that of pheromones and other issues relating to subgender. 

Since a decade ago, however, it had adopted a new policy to meet the demand for students’ subgender healthcare, and now even known to non-students alike as a reliable place to resolve any concerns regarding subgender. 

The Health Center didn’t look any different from the hospitals outside—white walls and long hallways, with the smell of antiseptic and something bitter and decaying clouding the scents of other people present, the robotic voice announcing numbers through the speaker overhead, the blue of the workers’ uniforms.  

He had quite a number of memories about hospitals over the years, although the only time he was the one needing health care happened long ago. Back then he had been fifteen years old, freshly presented not a week before, with a deep gaping cut at his back from a broken glass. He was made to sit and waited for his turn to be attended after they deemed it not an urgent case. He was weeping and shaking the whole time, but not because of the pain. 

Back then he had been so angry (and so scared, although he didn’t like to admit this), bridled by a jolting, staggering realization of the true extent of his powerlessness. Growing up, he’d been taught that there were certain limitations and responsibilities that came with being born an alpha or an omega, but more than that, he’d been warned of his worth, about all the bad things that could happen to him because he was an omega. Of course he knew. Theoretically he knew, but the reality was far more bitter than what his young mind could fathom. 

“Beomgyu-ya, I’m so sorry. I’ll protect you, I promise,” his mom had told him then, hugging him tightly with the swell of her tummy pressed against his side. 

“How?” he inquired, feeling scared for her more than he could for himself. 

She was silent as she stared at Beomgyu, but it was less contemplative and more assertive, like it was something she had thought of before but never voiced. “I’m divorcing him.” 

That was nearly fifteen years ago, and sometimes Beomgyu wondered how his mother had remembered this event. Was it in a blur of gray or rose-tinted color? Was it something undoing or empowering? 

When his turn came, the health assistant at the counter handed him two forms, one for physical checkup and one for mental checkup. He was required to fill only the form for mental checkup by himself, which mostly comprised questions that he had to answer between a range of choice from ‘strongly agree’ to ‘strongly disagree’ and some questions with short answers. It was a surprisingly comprehensive form, evidently having been given a lot of thought. Beomgyu didn’t have the most stellar mental condition, but if life had taught him anything, it was that lying was not the most difficult thing nor was it the biggest sin. He breezed through the form, pausing intermittently to browse his earlier answers for consistency. There were some that were a bit tricky (like ‘what is happiness to you?’ or ‘what has happened recently that made you feel happy, worried, or sad?’—he wrote down both abstract and concrete answers for the former, and something realistic that made him both happy and worried for the latter).   

Not more than five minutes after he’d completed the form, he was called in for the physical checkup. He first had his blood taken and then made to lay on a bed in the scan room, where the omega specialist asked him to lift his hoodie before she applied gel at the area of his lower abdomen. His fists were clenched where his clothes bunched up on his stomach, palms clammy as he tried to slow down his breathing. 

“Nervous?” the omega specialist named Vila asked, calm and friendly, “This scan will only take a while. It’ll show the condition of your uterus and ovary. After this I have to prod you down there a bit, but it’s mostly painless.”  

Beomgyu nodded his head with a tight smile, keeping his gaze trained on the bright light overhead. He tried not to think too much of the prodding that would take place later, of the reminder of his place in this world and the purpose of his existence, of the greater implication that had and would encompass the history of his entire life—seeing that he was already teetering on the brink of a mild panic attack.

He took a deep breath and willed himself to let loose of the tension in his muscles.  

The tests he had to take took around thirty to forty minutes to finish, and another thirty minutes where he was seated in Dr. Vila’s room for an elaborate explanation of his omegan health after the physical report and the blood test came out. They talked extensively about many things, mostly with Dr. Vila questioning him and him answering her—about the frequency of his heat cycle and the suppressant he sometimes took when he was too busy to have three days off to ride it out, about the production of slick and his pheromone and scent glands, about whether he was on any contraceptive, and about a detailed history of other medical concerns in his family. That one particular topic about his past had to be brought up, of course, but thankfully it finished smoothly. Then they began discussing becoming an egg donor and a surrogate, including the possible methods of conception like artificial insemination and IVF, which was the real reason he was here in the first place.  

“You’re very healthy. I don’t see a problem for you to conceive,” she concluded the report, attaching the two forms together. “Although, I would reiterate that we usually don’t recommend surrogacy unless the person had gone through at least one successful pregnancy.”  

“Why? Is it likely that I won’t manage to carry it to term? Because of what I did when I got…” 

She smiled and tapped her feet, “Well, no, not because of that. It’s just that surrogacy is a lot of commitment. People commonly have a difficult time with their first pregnancy, and in your case especially, you’d feel the brunt of going through it without a partner. Real partner, I mean, not the intended parents.” 

“About that, any form of difficulty can be mitigated if we expect it, no?” 

“The thing is that one body can differ greatly from another. We can’t expect that you’ll have a specific allergy, or that your ailments will be the same with the next pregnant person—those issues will have to be solved as they come, and if they come at all,” she explained. “You have to remember too, that pregnancy is more than just a physical thing. It will affect the mind—your mental condition and consequently your emotions.”  

Logically he knew it wouldn’t be a walk in a park, that she could be right, but a stubborn part of him wanted to vehemently deny the statement. He’d been alone most of his life, and gone through some shit where he had to pick up the crumbled pieces of himself again and carry on with all the cracks. He had faith in his determination and strength. Plus, the clients may have asked for his complete medical report before their meeting this weekend, but Beomgyu honestly didn’t know if he’d legitimately be chosen, if this morning would not be a waste of his time. 

The last thing that Dr. Vila told him before he left the health center replayed in his mind: “The first pregnancy is often a special thing, something that you want to do for yourself and your partner, not for other people.” 

As he trudged through the sparse foyer of his faculty, making way to the postgraduate room at the second floor and found his designated seat, he wondered if what she said held any truth. And if so, would he be wrong to think that pregnancy was simply a means to an end for the continuation of human species, and he was just an irremovable part of the equation? Something ordinary, and perhaps undoing, instead of special? Something scary and life-changing, where your body would feel like it wasn’t your own anymore? Something that would carve itself a place within you and transform you permanently? 

He wondered: would this ever-present dissonance between the mind and the body and the instinct gnawing at his chest be a telltale sign of a crippling malfunction inside him, irreconcilable and irreparable forever?  

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It was ten-thirty sharp when he stepped foot in the underground cafe a few blocks from his workplace at the steakhouse. 

30 minutes early from the meeting time.

Beomgyu smoothed down the slight wrinkle on his shirt, frowning when it didn’t straighten out the way he desired. Perhaps he shouldn’t have worn this silk shirt. Perhaps he appeared overdressed for a meeting he’d been told was ‘casual’. But really, he had no clue what to wear, so he had asked for suggestions from his housemates. Although in the end it was reductive since none of them had a bone for a decent fashion taste, and Beomgyu had simply gone with the safest option he had in his wardrobe. 

His eyes searched for a table, and they settled upon the furthest one from the bar counter, under the warm lighting with a surrealist painting of absurd portrayal Beomgyu couldn’t begin to understand hung on the wall. It didn’t sit well in Beomgyu’s eyes—the painting—but it did suit the aesthetic and the ambience of the cafe: classy but had a somewhat dreamy, out-of-the-world quality to it. Just like the deep vermilion of the wooden table, the seemingly endless lines of sparkling glass bottles on the tall shelves behind the bar counter, the glossy finishing of the floor that caught his reflection on its surface. 

His fingers toyed with the glass of plain water the cafe served to everyone, gaze darting to the door from time to time to catch the sight of patrons coming in and going out. Beomgyu had no idea what they looked like—only the person he was in contact with would know Beomgyu from the softcopy of his personal profile he sent alongside his health report—but it didn’t stop him from looking. 

When they did arrive later, Beomgyu was surprised for a number of reasons. First, there weren’t two people as he’d expected, but three. Second, they were all very strikingly handsome and seemed to carry with them a glow that sparked for attention. From the moment they stepped foot into the cafe, people in there became aware of their presence, regardless of whether they actually meant to stare or steal a glance. Third, there was a familiar face among the three that Beomgyu could only wish his tired, sleep-deprived brain had mistaken for someone else. 

“Oh,” the blond man said quietly when they reached his table, and thankfully it went unnoticed to the rest. There was a flicker of recognition in his gaze; no doubt having retained his memory of their encounter. Beomgyu wanted to bury himself in the sand and never came out again. 

What were the odds that one of the clients was the same person who gave him the hoodie two weeks ago? Certainly not zero but what the fuck. 

In his need for a distraction from the fact, he diverted his attention to the other two men who he hadn’t seen before. If he wasn’t sure of the hoodie man’s ethnicity, these two men he could tell were Koreans at first glance. One of them stood almost eye-to-eye with Beomgyu, poised with a calm temperament. He had a very big pair of eyes behind his glasses; the burgundy of the frame matched the color of his dress shirt. The other man had a commanding and powerful presence to him, typical of old school alphas. He had sharp eyes and prominent pouty lips, dressed in an exquisite, well-tailored yet flamboyant magenta suit that was telling of his high status—someone made of old money. 

Immediately and unbidden, a seed of dislike was planted inside Beomgyu. He overlaid his grimace with a sweet smile. 

“Um,” Beomgyu began, clearing his throat and said in Korean, “Hi, my name is Choi Beomgyu. I was speaking to Mr. Choi in the messenger app?” 

“It’s me, I’m Mr. Choi. Choi Yeonjun,” the man in the tailored suit introduced himself as they all took a seat. He pointed first at the man with the glasses and then at the man with the blond hair, “These are my partners. Kang Taehyun and Kai Kamal Huening. There’s one more, but he’s not present today because he has another commitment.” 

A polycule, not with three but four people. Establishing a pack used to be the norm once upon a time but it was an archaic practice these days, one that didn’t bode very well in the modern time that valued individuality and independence. Now, Beomgyu had no prejudice against pack dynamics or polyamory (although he’d always considered himself monogamous if he were to be in a relationship), but four was quite a number to maintain. There must be at least one omega in the pack for balance and harmony, why would they even need a surrogate? 

“You must be wondering why we opt for surrogacy when there’s four of us,” Taehyun said, as if reading his mind. Very perceptive. Could this man be the same Prof. Kang that Liliana mentioned? Beomgyu wouldn’t be surprised if he was—he carried a certain presence to him. Not intimidating like Yeonjun, but one that screamed importance in a different way.

“Sorry, I do wonder. But it’s not my place to question that.” 

“Well, this meeting is arranged for discussion and questions. Including that one.” 

“I would question that too if I were you,” Yeonjun chimed in. “You see, Taehyun is a beta, and the rest of us are alphas. So, no omega to speak of. But we really want a child together.”  

“Oh,” Beomgyu replied, so eloquently, thinking back of the faint scent of orange and milk on the hoodie and how wrong he was to assume that Kai was an omega. “That sounds great. I mean, not everyone has children because they want children. You must be in a good place in your relationship to want one together.” 

“Thank you, and we are. I’m so happy I have them,” Yeonjun said, smiling with a fond look on his face. There was something else there too: pride. It wasn’t the kind of pride Beomgyu usually saw in alphas—the powerful, all-encompassing and self-centered pride—but instead one that was laced with genuine adoration and affection. That effectively lessened Yeonjun’s level of intimidation, although that gentleness in him seemed to be reserved exclusively for his partners the way his gaze hardened when it locked on Beomgyu again. 

As they placed their orders and waited for their drinks to be served, they unexpectedly started inquiring Beomgyu about his personal life instead of anything directly to do with the surrogacy. His studies, his part-time job, his dream and ambition, his thoughts on the most random things ever like favorite season and whether he preferred coffee or tea. Then they told him little tidbits about themselves: how long they had been together, what they do for a living, their favorite pastime activities. They prodded about him and exposed information about themselves, yet it was crystal clear to Beomgyu that these were of little importance to them—the surface knowledge, belonging to the safe public personas they paraded like suits that encased their true selves underneath. 

But still, somehow, each revelation came as a surprise not less than the next, particularly in regards to their career. Yeonjun was a chaebol (they didn’t use that exact wording, but alas, the implication was there) assigned as the branch leader for a high-tech computing system company operating in the States, Taehyun was indeed the same professor Liliana mentioned to be affiliated with the RUI, and Kai was a dual instrumentalist (the piano and the double bass) under the prestigious Bluebell Foundation Orchestra.

(It honestly made him wonder how Kai could end up taking not one but multiple commissions to play the guitar at a steakhouse on random weekday nights—no matter that it was a fancy steakhouse.)  

Twenty minutes into the conversation, the direction was finally shifting to the matter of importance, as he was handed a document with all the details of becoming an egg donor and a surrogate. It was a very comprehensive contract, with clear outlines of the process before, during, and after the surrogacy. Beomgyu skimmed through the first part of the contract that contained all the formal and legal stuff he imagined they pulled straight out of a template, barely making note of the list of mutual agreement between the intended parents and the surrogate. The second part of the contract, however, appeared to be customized according to the clients’ wants in terms of their involvement during the period of the pregnancy: a fortnightly meeting was required and a get together must be arranged at the end of every month, all doctor appointments must be attended by at least one of the intended parents, food intake and dietary of the surrogate must be noted and monitored, a friendly and harmonious relationship must be built and sustained throughout the contract period—to name a few. 

“It’s quite a long document. You can bring it back with you and take your time with it,” Taehyun stated, then continued again, effectively putting an end to Beomgyu’s preoccupation with the contract. “You said you’re a student, right? How would you plan to manage your study while you’re pregnant, if we proceed with the arrangement?” 

Beomgyu closed the document. He pressed the pads of his fingers against the glass of his iced tea as he contemplated, the coolness of it seeping into him and grounding him to the present. “I imagine it wouldn’t interfere much with my routine as a student, at least not beyond the point of it becoming a problem. Being pregnant is only a part of what my body will go through; it wouldn’t define me or reduce me. It may not be easy, yes, but I will survive it.” 

“Good answer,” Yeonjun commented vaguely, in an irritatingly neutral, almost dismissive tone. Perhaps it was partly disdain and partly astonishment for his prospect of business and wealth, but Beomgyu could perfectly imagine Yeonjun giving that same comment that he’d repeated a hundred times in meetings with his employees.  

“If I may ask, is the amount offered really $300,000? Because I find it difficult to believe…” Beomgyu trailed off, before he snapped his mouth shut, suddenly aware that he may have worded it wrong. 

Yeonjun’s brows shot up. “Oh, is it not enough? I told them that we should offer more.”  

“Oh, no! I mean it’s more than enough. It’s a very big amount for surrogacy; ten times more than the usual rate, I was told.”

“Yeonjun hyung has no sense of what’s too much or too little,” Kai butted in, speaking for the first time in a while, shaking his head. For now, he seemed keen to pretend that Beomgyu was a complete stranger he was seeing for the first time in his life. “Yes, Beomgyu-ssi. The amount of $300,000 compensation is correct—not counting the monthly allowances you will receive and other maternity expenses. But if you want more, that wouldn’t be a problem either.” 

Damn rich people, Beomgyu thought to himself, begrudgingly. 

It definitely wouldn’t make a dent on their finances should he ask for more, but Beomgyu had his pride and honor that he shall carry with him even at his lowest.  

“Thanks, but I believe the compensation is already very generous,” Beomgyu replied, turning his attention to Kai who smiled kindly at him. Strange it may be, but he found the smallest of comfort in the other’s presence, notwithstanding his moment of embarrassment in front of him prior to this meeting. Perhaps it was the way Kai presented himself—assured but slightly clumsy and awkward in his movements, not crisp and stuffy like Yeonjun and Taehyun but warm in his loose-fitting leather jacket. He wasn’t an open book, just like Taehyun and Yeonjun, and in fact was more likely than the two to harbor some contrasting thoughts behind the polite smile, but there was a hint of earnestness to him that sought to convince Beomgyu of his goodwill. 

The meeting went on for an hour—an amount of time in which Beomgyu tried and failed to feel at ease, not pertaining to the domineering presence of his companions that morning, certainly not —and ended with a concluding remark from Yeonjun that they should keep in touch. 

Once they were well on their way and only he remained at the table in the underground cafe, he returned to the document containing the contract, resolute to go over each word and not think about the way he remembered Yeonjun’s subtle habit of licking his pouty lips as he stared into Beomgyu’s eyes before he began his sentences, or Taehyun’s keen, inexplicable gaze pinning him in place throughout the meeting like he was a specimen in his lab, or even Kai’s preoccupation with the tiny moonstone crystal of Beomgyu’s necklace that nestled at the hollow of his throat—all gestures that would have sent him cowering, both in trepidation and excitement, should his heart still be so young it was as easily affected. 

.

.

.

According to Yeonjun and Kai, they all should get on friendly terms before any decision for the surrogacy could be finalized. This had led to another meeting that came sooner than Beomgyu had expected. Although he supposed a meeting at an aquarium shall not be called a ‘meeting’ (with the serious implication). 

Why an aquarium? He had no fucking idea. 

This time, Beomgyu made sure to dress more casually and appropriately for the outing, choosing one of his better knitwears that he paired with a denim pants and the boots he wore twice a year so it retained its luster.  

He had a good feeling. It felt like he’d been preemptively chosen, only the words had yet to be spoken to him for it to be declared officially. Despite his fear of failure and aversion to keeping his hope high, he couldn’t help but imagine that he had passed the first phase and was well on his way to the second, if there was such a thing in place to begin with. 

“Do you take all your potential candidates for a date?” Beomgyu asked in a jest, when Yeonjun and him were left alone for Taehyun and Kai were away to buy them ice creams, his curiosity no longer containable. 

“Hm, what do you think?” replied he, in a question, instead. 

Yeonjun was also dressed more casually for the occasion, although his casual style still meant a set of luxurious, designer clothing that would possibly cost Beomgyu an arm and a leg to own. He was leaning onto the backrest of the bench near the aquarium entrance with his slender legs crossed, staring at the crowd of people walking past them behind the black shades he was wearing. It made him twice as attractive from the last time Beomgyu had seen him, but also twice as annoying. 

“I’m inclined to think that you do. I mean, I can’t be a special case, right?” Beomgyu shrugged. 

“So you think we’re generous people when it comes to time and money?” 

It took a while for Beomgyu to come up with a suitable answer. “I am not entirely sure if you’re generally generous people, but you certainly are with your time and money when it’s related to your desire for the acquisition of a child, which, by extension, involves me as your potential surrogate of the said child.”

“Acquisition?” Yeonjun parroted with an amused smile. “You have a funny way of speaking.”

“Oh, do I?”

“Hm, I didn’t take you as someone so…” he trailed off while nodding, seeming to ponder deeply for the right word, but instead of continuing he changed the trajectory of his utterance completely, deciding to finally give Beomgyu a proper reply to his very first question. “Actually no, you’re the only one. That we’ve invited to a ‘date’, as you put it.” 

Beomgyu felt his cheeks warmed significantly at the careless joke he’d made on baseless assumption, and at Yeonjun’s nonchalant manner at calling him out for referring to this meeting as a date. 

Kill him for jesting about it being a date, but what else would one have thought of first thing in this situation where one was invited out on a weekend to a fucking aquarium ? 

“There were only two before you, but both didn’t work out for us—one was a bit too young and ‘immature’, for the lack of a better word to describe her, while the other was too enthusiastic and crossed our boundaries. I think we’re lucky we found you early,” Yeonjun continued diplomatically, saving him from his embarrassment. 

“I see…”

“Sorry that we have to make you wait, though. My other partner has an emergency meeting with his manager this morning.” 

The sudden shift in conversation set Beomgyu tilting in his axis, trying to find the ground for this new topic. They were back to talking about things of little importance—the surface knowledge. “It’s fine. He seems very busy. What does he do for work?” 

“He’s an actor. But he didn’t actually start getting offers for big projects until last year,” Yeonjun replied, uncrossing his legs to stretch. 

“Oh, he’s an actor? That’s… interesting.” 

So, Choi Yeonjun was a chaebol with a twelve digit net worth, Kang Taehyun was a renowned professor within the RUI, and Huening Kai was a gifted instrumentalist who played the piano and the double bass for a world class orchestra. Now the last one among them was an actor?—and must have been a talented one to have a place in Hollywood. Just what kind of picture-perfect fiction these people came out from?

Yeonjun snorted softly at his expression. “He’s quite popular these days. Meaning he’s busier too, but I think it’s fine as long as he wants to do it. Believe it or not, he’s the most excited about this whole surrogacy business, but his work has been keeping him mostly away for now.” 

“What’s his name? Maybe I’ve heard of him.” There was no chance Beomgyu knew; he barely had enough time for himself, let alone to indulge in fanciful pleasure such as keeping up-to-date on anything related to the filming industry.

“Oh, we haven’t even told you his name?”

“I don’t think so. I can’t recall.”

“Choi Soobin. Ring any bell?” 

There was only one Choi Soobin that Beomgyu knew of, and that was his first love and ex-boyfriend back in Korea with whom he had started going out with when he was a second year undergraduate. They couldn’t possibly be the same person, right? 

Right? 

A rising actor, an alpha.

Choi Soobin—Beomgyu’s Choi Soobin, not their Choi Soobin—was an alpha, and had been a theater major in university when they first met. He was good of course, but he wasn’t particularly known to be so good that he could be a Hollywood star. The first year after they both graduated with their respective bachelor degrees and began living together scraping for money, Soobin hadn’t landed any leading roles in the plays and the indie movies he was participating in. This stayed true until they broke off their relationship and separated three months after their fourth anniversary. And Beomgyu’s Choi Soobin should be somewhere in Korea, not in the States. 

Still, his stomach was beginning to feel uneasy. Seeing that the patterns of luck and coincidence in his life had taken a turn and been rather surprisingly unpredictable these days. 

At least this uneasy feeling was interrupted and forgotten the moment Taehyun and Kai returned with ice creams for them to enjoy. They ate the ice creams and kept themselves occupied with small talks that were sufficiently uncomplicated to keep up with, and captivating enough for them to flow smoothly. This second meeting proved to be productive in terms of learning about each other and getting used to each other, notwithstanding the nagging feeling in Beomgyu that he remained an outsider with a perceived, controlled vision of only what they wished to show to him. 

It shouldn’t have bothered him to be an outsider. It wasn’t a choice to start with—it was a fact he couldn’t change—that he was an outsider and shall remain an outsider. Logically he knew he would have preferred this form of arrangement over anything else, and he might as well consider himself mad for wanting to demand something beyond what the other party could offer him, yet it felt inherently wrong for Beomgyu to not have known them beyond their crafted public personas. There was something about this unknowableness he attributed to them that unsettled him and intrigued him terribly. 

Someone approached them just a moment after Beomgyu finished his ice cream, and it became clear he was the one they were waiting for because Kai exclaimed ‘Soobin hyung’ cheerily, like he hadn’t seen him in a while. Beomgyu followed their gaze to find a tall man in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of black slacks, with a hat and a mask covering the lower half of his face. He may be covered quite well, but Beomgyu wouldn’t mistake that face anywhere. 

Five years could be a long time or a short time, depending on perspective. For Beomgyu, personally, these past five years had been moving in a blur of colors and change of scenery, like he was in a train moving from his home to the next unknown destination. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, painful at first before it unfurled into something tender and beautiful, but that was because he willed that to happen (if he couldn’t assume control of what he was feeling inside, then he must assume control of his viewpoint). 

To part was already an enormous task, so Beomgyu hadn’t entertained the thought of meeting him again much, if at all, and due to that, he definitely hadn’t had it in him to expect that their reunion would be affecting him in this way. 

Five years should have been a period sufficient for his guilt to fizzle out, his grief to wane, and his wound to heal—as to not cause heartache at the reminder of the person he’d lost. But he was wrong. 

The dread that washed his insides was startling and cold like an ice bath that rendered him shivering in its wake. And he shivered , visibly, like the early summer heat shining down on him was instead a breezy wind of winter. He may not have had anything except ice cream for the day, but he felt it was not entirely impossible that he would crouch down the curbside and puke his guts out. 

The male alpha, who wasn’t simply resembling his Choi Soobin both in name and face but was the very same Choi Soobin he knew of, regarded him with a surprised expression that morphed into a mix of horrified and disbelief. “Choi Beomgyu?”