Sunlight streamed through the grimy windowpane, a stark contrast to the darkness that still clung to the corners of Andrew’s bedroom. He blinked, stretching a lazy arm toward the warmth. A lingering scent, faint but distinct, teased his senses. Leah. Her unique alpha scent, a blend of pine and damp earth, still clung to his clothes, a phantom memory of yesterday’s shared labor and that unexpected kiss.
His fingertips brushed his cheek, a blush rising. The kiss had been quick, innocent, yet it had ignited a spark he hadn't felt in years. A warmth spread through his chest, a soft flutter of hope and something akin to fear.
Fear of what others might say. Fear of feeling this connection, only for it to be snatched away. It was an old, familiar ache.
Groaning, Andrew pushed himself out of bed. The farm wouldn’t run itself. Today, he needed more seeds. Pierre’s General Store was the only place in town. He needed to face the day, and perhaps, the town.
---
Hoisting a heavy watering can, Andrew moved among the fledgling crops. Each plant, a tiny miracle, drank deeply. He hummed a low tune, the melody a comfort in the morning quiet. The soil felt good beneath his bare hands, rich and yielding. He remembered Leah’s strong hands, how easily she’d wielded the axe.
Her easy laughter echoed in his mind. He missed it already. He missed her.
Hours later, dust coated his worn jeans. Sweat trickled down his spine. The early spring sun, deceptively warm, had worked him hard. He’d cleared another patch of weeds, tilled a new section for planting potatoes. The physical labor was draining, but satisfying. A sense of accomplishment settled deep in his bones.
He checked his small coin purse. Enough for parsnip and potato seeds, maybe even a new watering can. His old one had a slow leak. A deep breath. Time to face Pelican Town.
Walking along the dirt path, the air grew busier with sounds. Birds chirped. A distant dog barked. He could smell woodsmoke, freshly baked bread, and a faint, sweet scent of flowers from someone’s garden. His own omega pheromones, usually calm and subtly sweet, shifted, a nervous tang threading through them. He hoped no one noticed.
Pelican Town slowly emerged from the trees. The familiar general store, the Saloon, the museum. A couple of villagers were already out and about. He saw Evelyn tending her garden near the town square, her movements slow and deliberate. Across the way, Marnie was leading a cow back into her barn. Life here was simple, steady.
He pulled his worn hat lower, a habit from his old life, a small attempt to disappear. His palms felt damp. He hated being the center of attention. Especially when that attention felt like scrutiny.
Pushing open the creaking door to Pierre’s General Store, a little bell jingled overhead. Pierre, the owner, looked up from behind the counter, a polite smile on his face. “Andrew! Good to see you. What can I get for you today?”
“Hello, Pierre,” Andrew managed, his voice a little softer than he intended. “Just some seeds. Parsnip, potato. And maybe a new watering can.”
Pierre nodded, already turning to the shelves. “Got a fresh shipment in yesterday. Over by the gardening tools.”
Andrew moved down the aisle, trying to appear casual. He picked out his seeds, checking the prices. His ears, however, were attuned to the low murmur of voices from the next aisle. He recognized Jodi’s voice, then Caroline’s. They were talking quietly, too quietly.
His hand paused on a bag of fertilizer. A snippet reached him. “…new omega farmer…”
Andrew’s breath hitched. He pretended to examine a garden gnome, his heart beginning a frantic thrum against his ribs. He felt his face grow warm. This was it. The whispers had begun.
Another voice, deeper, possibly Robin’s, though he hadn’t seen her yet. “…saw them walking back from the farm yesterday. Real close.”
Jodi’s response, hushed. “…and Leah, an Alpha. So quick, isn’t it? Just moved here.”
Andrew’s fingers clenched around the bag of seeds. His stomach churned. He could feel their eyes, or at least the imagined weight of their judgment, pressing down on him. His omega instincts screamed. He wanted to curl up, to hide, to make himself invisible.
He was used to it. The judgment. The looks. His gentle nature, his preference for quiet pursuits, had always marked him as an easy target. Too soft, they’d said. Not a ‘proper’ omega. This, with Leah, was just another reason for them to talk.
“Such a quick turnaround,” Caroline’s voice, a little louder now, though still careful. “After just one night, too. You’d think an omega would be more… discreet.”
The words were like tiny, sharp needles, pricking at old wounds. One night. They knew. How could they know? A flush of shame burned from his neck to his hairline. He’d thought no one had seen them that morning, leaving the clinic.
His face felt hot. His palms were slick. He could feel his carefully constructed calm crumbling. He knew what they were implying. That he was easy. That he was scandalous. That he was weak.
He snatched a watering can from the shelf, almost knocking over a display of fishing bait. His movements became jerky, desperate. He needed to get out. He needed air. The store, once a refuge, now felt suffocating. Every breath was heavy, laden with unspoken accusations.
He moved quickly to the counter, dumping his items down. Pierre looked at him, a flicker of concern in his eyes. Or was it pity? Andrew couldn’t tell. He just wanted to escape the suffocating weight of their whispers, the feeling of being exposed and judged.
“That’ll be 870g, Andrew,” Pierre said, his voice gentle. “Everything alright?”
Andrew didn’t meet his gaze. He fumbled with his coin purse, his hands trembling slightly. “Fine. Just… fine.” He counted out the gold, his fingers clumsy. He could still hear the low drone of conversation from the next aisle, though he couldn't make out specific words anymore. The damage was done.
He scooped up his purchases, bag crinkling in his grip. The light pressure of the watering can against his arm felt like a burden. His chest felt tight, a dull ache spreading through him. He imagined their knowing glances, their pursed lips. He felt small. He felt vulnerable. Just as he always had.
“Thank you, Pierre,” he mumbled, turning sharply towards the door. He didn’t wait for a response. He just needed to breathe. To escape the cloying air of judgment.
As Andrew hurried out, he bumped into Shane, whose usually gruff demeanor softened for a fleeting moment, a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he murmured, 'Don't listen to them,' before quickly averting his gaze, leaving Andrew more confused than comforted.