5. Chapter 5 #2
I’m actually in a good mood for once, which seems to throw everyone off.
Usually when they drag me to these places I spend half the night scowling at my drink and the other half dodging omegas.
But tonight I’m loose, relaxed, the lingering satisfaction from last night still humming pleasantly under my skin.
“Damn, Yujeong’s actually smiling,” Changwook says, sliding into the booth beside me with a grin. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Got laid,” I say simply, flagging down a server to order drinks.
The table erupts in catcalls and laughter. Junghyun leans across the table, eyes wide with interest. “No shit? About fucking time. Who’s the lucky omega?”
“Wasn’t an omega,” I say, accepting the beer the server brings over and taking a long drink.
“Oh?” Wooil pipes up from my other side, that knowing smirk on his face. “Do tell.”
I flip him off but I’m grinning. “Found an alpha who could actually handle me. That’s all you’re getting.”
More hooting and hollering. Someone claps me on the shoulder hard enough to make me wince, which just reminds me of all the bruises still decorating my body. Worth it, though. Completely worth it.
The night rolls on and I find myself actually enjoying it.
The drinks keep coming, the conversation flows easily, and for once I’m not counting down the minutes until I can leave.
We’re laughing about something stupid Changwook did at work when Junghyun suddenly goes quiet, his eyes tracking something across the club.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, and I watch his pupils dilate slightly. “Do you guys smell that?”
The other alphas at the table perk up immediately, heads turning to scan the crowd. I see nostrils flare as they try to catch whatever scent Junghyun picked up on.
“Oh fuck,” Changwook groans, leaning back in his seat. “That’s sweet.”
I frown, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. I sniff experimentally but all I get is the usual club atmosphere. Alcohol and sweat, too much perfume layered over bodies packed too close together. Nothing particularly enticing about any of it.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, taking another drink of my beer.
Junghyun nudges me, nodding toward the bar. “That omega over there. The one in the blue dress.”
I follow his gaze and spot who he’s talking about. Cute enough, I guess. But I don’t smell anything special coming from their direction.
“I don’t smell anything,” I say with a shrug.
“Are you kidding?” Junghyun says, still staring at the omega like they hung the moon. “They smell incredible. Like vanilla and flowers or some shit.”
I try again, really concentrating this time, but I come up empty. Just the standard club smells, nothing that would make me sit up and take notice. Weird.
“Your nose broken or something?” Changwook jokes, but he’s distracted, still tracking the omega’s movements.
Before I can respond, a group of omegas approaches our table. I recognize the pattern immediately because it happens every time we come here. The alphas’ pheromones draw them over like moths to a flame, and they descend on our booth with painted-on smiles and batting eyelashes.
The guys straighten up immediately, preening under the attention. I watch Junghyun go slightly glassy-eyed as one of the omegas leans close to him, whispering something in his ear that makes him grin. Changwook has two omegas flanking him, giggling at something he said.
One of them turns their attention to me, sliding into the booth with a coy smile. “Hi there,” they purr, reaching out to trail fingers down my arm. “You look like you could use some company.”
The moment their hand makes contact with my skin, I feel my stomach turn.
It’s not the usual neutral indifference I normally feel toward omegas.
This is active revulsion, like my body is rejecting their touch on a fundamental level.
Their scent, which apparently has the other alphas practically drooling, makes my nose wrinkle in disgust.
I shift away slightly, trying to be subtle about it. “I’m good, thanks.”
They don’t take the hint, leaning in closer. Their pheromones wash over me and instead of the sweet, enticing smell everyone else seems to be experiencing, it just makes me want to gag. It’s thick and artificial, like someone dumped an entire bottle of cheap perfume over rotting fruit.
“Are you sure?” they ask, batting their eyelashes. “I could make it worth your while.”
I have to actively fight the urge to push them away, my skin crawling where they’re still touching my arm. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never had this kind of reaction to an omega before. Usually I just find them boring, not actively repulsive.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I say more firmly, pulling my arm away and reaching for my beer to give my hands something to do.
The omega pouts but thankfully takes the rejection and moves on to try their luck with Wooil instead.
I watch them go, confused by my own reaction.
Across the table, Junghyun has his arm around the omega who approached him, looking completely smitten.
Changwook is whispering something to one of his that makes them giggle and press closer.
“What’s with you?” Wooil asks, having successfully charmed the omega who tried me into sitting on his other side. “That one was cute.”
“Didn’t smell right,” I mutter, which is the understatement of the century. They smelled wrong in a way that made my alpha instincts scream danger.
Wooil gives me a weird look but gets distracted by the omega nuzzling into his neck. I take another drink and try to shake off the lingering unease.
It keeps happening throughout the night.
Omegas approach our table drawn by the concentration of alpha pheromones, and while my friends go glassy-eyed and eager, I either can’t smell them at all or find myself actively repelled by their scent.
One omega smells so wrong that I have to excuse myself to the bathroom just to get away from them, my stomach churning with nausea.
I splash water on my face in the dingy club bathroom, staring at my reflection in the smudged mirror.
The bruises on my neck are still visible above my collar, dark purple fingerprints that make me think of Suha’s hands wrapped around my throat.
The memory sends a pleasant shiver down my spine, so different from the skin-crawling revulsion I felt when that omega touched me.
What the hell is happening to me? I’ve never had this kind of reaction before. Omegas have always been just background noise, pleasant enough to look at but ultimately uninteresting. Now they’re actively making me feel sick.
I head back to the table, determined to shake off whatever weird funk I’m in. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe my body is still recovering from last night’s marathon session and my senses are all out of whack. That has to be it.
But as soon as I slide back into the booth, another omega appears at my elbow like they’ve been waiting for me. This one has honey-colored hair and a dress that leaves very little to the imagination. They lean in close, one hand landing on my thigh as they smile up at me.
“Hey there,” they say, their voice pitched low and sultry. “I’ve been watching you all night.”
The smell hits me immediately and I have to fight not to physically recoil. It’s wrong, all wrong, like fruit that’s been left out in the sun too long. Sweet in a way that makes my stomach turn. I can feel my lip curling in disgust before I can stop it.
“Not interested,” I say, more sharply than I intended.
They blink, clearly taken aback by my tone. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.” Their hand slides higher up my thigh and I jerk away like they’ve burned me.
“I said no.” I stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over my beer in the process. The omega stumbles back, looking hurt and confused.
Wooil glances up from where he’s been chatting with his own omega companion, frowning. “Yujeong? You good?”
“Yeah, fine. Just need some air.”
I push my way through the crowd toward the exit, my skin still crawling from where the omega touched me. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve never acted like this before. Sure, I’ve never been particularly interested in omegas, but I’ve never been actively repulsed by them either.
The cool night air hits my face as I step outside and I suck in a deep breath, trying to clear my head. The club’s back alley is quieter, just the muffled thump of bass and the distant sounds of traffic.
I make my way through the streets, hands shoved in my pockets, trying to make sense of what just happened. The walk helps clear my head a little, the cool air washing away the lingering nausea from being around those omegas. But the confusion remains, settling heavy in my gut.
I use the backdoor this time to get into Wooil’s pawnshop the next afternoon, still feeling like I’ve been put through a meat grinder but in significantly better spirits than yesterday. The soreness has settled into a pleasant ache, the kind that reminds me exactly how I earned each bruise.
Wooil glances back from behind the counter where he’s examining some piece of jewelry through his magnifying glasses. He takes one look at me and smirks.
“Back for round two of showing off your battle scars?”
“Fuck off,” I say cheerfully, helping myself to his mini fridge. I grab a cider and crack it open, taking a long drink before dropping onto his couch with a groan.
Wooil follows me back, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “So how was the rest of your night? You bailed pretty early.”
I frown, the good mood dimming slightly as I remember the weirdness from last night. “Yeah, about that. Something strange happened.”
“Strange how?”
I take another sip of my cider, trying to figure out how to explain it. “The omegas at the club. I couldn’t smell them properly. Or when I could smell them, they smelled wrong. Like, actively gross.”
Wooil’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “Gross?”