Night Shift

The fluorescent lights of the GS25 convenience store hummed their familiar lullaby as Ji-hoon counted down the minutes until his shift ended.

3:47 AM.

Thirteen more minutes until the new guy showed up and Ji-hoon could escape to his cramped gosiwon room to sleep for exactly four hours before his morning lecture.

He leaned against the counter, rubbing his eyes beneath his wire-rimmed glasses. The omega suppressants he'd taken at midnight were already wearing thin, leaving a dull ache behind his temples. He should've sprung for the better brand, but better brands cost money he didn't have.

Not when tuition was due in three weeks.

Not when his scholarship only covered seventy percent.

The automatic doors whooshed open, and Ji-hoon straightened, customer-service smile already forming—

And then he smelled it.

Rain.

Fresh laundry.

Something underneath, deeper, like petrichor and cedar and home.

His knees buckled.

What the—

A man walked in. Tall. Impossibly tall, at least 188 centimeters, with broad shoulders that nearly blocked out the fluorescent glare behind him. He had soft, sleepy eyes, a gentle slope to his nose, and lips that looked like they smiled often.

He was wearing the store's uniform shirt, slightly too tight across his chest.

No.

No, no, no.

Ji-hoon gripped the counter so hard his knuckles turned white. His omega hindbrain—the part of himself he'd spent years suppressing, medicating, ignoring—was screaming.

Alpha.

MINE.

MATE.

"Annyeonghaseyo." The man's voice was low and warm, a little rough from what must have been recent sleep. He bowed politely. "I'm Park Tae-min. I'm the new night shift worker? Manager Kim said I should report to—"

"You're late."

Ji-hoon's voice came out sharper than intended. Defensive. He could hear the hostility in his own tone and couldn't stop it.

Tae-min blinked, then glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's... 3:48. My shift starts at 4."

"Early is on time. On time is late."

A pause.

Then Tae-min smiled—a slow, sweet thing that made dimples appear in his cheeks—and something in Ji-hoon's chest twisted.

"You're right. I'm sorry." He bowed again, deeper this time. "I'll be earlier tomorrow. I'm still learning the subway schedule from my place."

He was being nice.

Ji-hoon hated nice alphas. Nice alphas were the dangerous ones. The ones who made you lower your guard before they reminded you that biology was destiny, that omegas were meant to submit, that knowing your place wasn't just social expectation but evolutionary imperative.

Ji-hoon knew better.

He&#...