Seo Erven had always known his life wasn't like everyone else's. Born an illegitimate child to an omega father Theon who had been abandoned and sold off by his own husband, Seo Juan the Alpha who now claimed Seo Erven 25 years old, as his son he carried the weight of a family history he had no control over. Every choice, every misfortune, seemed to follow him like a shadow, quiet but persistent.
Ever since his omega father fled when Erven was twelve, he had lived alone with Juan. "Lived" was a generous word, survived was closer. Juan gambled away whatever money he had, lied whenever it benefited him, and treated Erven less like a son and more like a tool. He was the kind of man who would call a child into a room only to shout or demand, never to comfort. Yet even then, Erven stayed cheerful. It was the only shield he had left, the only way to pretend that the storm outside didn't touch him..
By day, he worked at a small café Toronto (liberty village) the kind with chipped counters and mismatched chairs, where the aroma of burnt coffee always lingered a few seconds too long. Customers cursed him out for mistakes that weren't even his an incorrect order, a lukewarm latte, a delayed bill and still, he smiled. He smiled because if he didn't, who would? The façade became second nature. Smiling was easier than crying.
"What should I cook today?" he wondered aloud while wiping down the last table. The café usually provided simple meals, barely enough to sustain him, but when his paycheck ran low, he had no choice but to eat the same thing over and over again. Sometimes, he wished he could buy something different, something comforting but comfort was a luxury he could rarely afford.
His phone buzzed.
Father: "Hello?"
Erven hesitated for a moment.
Erven: "Dad?"
Father: "What time do you come home from work?"
Erven: "Nine. Why?"
Father: "Buy me food and a beer. Be a good boy and listen, hahaha!."
The line cut.
Erven stared at his phone, jaw tightening. He could feel the familiar knot of anger and exhaustion forming in his chest.
"I work for myself... but I still have to take care of him too. Argh..." he muttered, trying to calm himself, forcing a deep breath, though his lungs felt tight.
He mopped the café floor again, each stroke mechanical, each swipe a small reminder that he had to keep going. When his shift ended, he walked to the nearby store. The streets were quiet, the evening sun dipping low, painting everything in orange and gold. But a strange discomfort crawled up his spine the moment he entered the store like someone was watching him from behind the shelves. A gaze too still. Too quiet.
Erven shook his head, blaming the shadows, the long day, his tired mind. He tried to ignore it, bought what he needed, and paid at the counter. As soon as he stepped back outside, a sudden, inexplicable fear tightened around his chest. The hairs on his neck stood up, and a cold sweat formed on his brow. Something in him snapped.
He ran.
Not fast at first—hesitantly, almost reluctantly but then, panic fueling him, he broke into a sprint, weaving through narrow streets and dark alleys until the familiar rumble of the bus under his feet grounded him. He didn't look back. Not once. His heartbeat refused to settle, thundering in his ears even as the city hummed around him.
"Fuhh... Who was that? Argh, maybe I'm just imagining things," he muttered, forcing a laugh, though it came out hollow.
By the time he reached home, the sky had deepened into navy blue, dotted with a few scattered stars. He went straight to the shower, letting the water wash away the sweat, the fear, the weight of the day. Steam filled the bathroom, wrapping him in temporary comfort, a fleeting warmth he wished could last forever.
Then he cooked. The same meal he always cooked. split pea soup, with bread. It wasn't fancy, it wasn't exciting, but it was edible. It was enough. He ate slowly, savoring the warmth more than the taste, letting it anchor him after the chaos outside.
Afterwards, he retreated to his room, small and dimly lit, the thin mattress barely providing any real comfort. He flopped onto it, his body sinking into the fabric, exhausted in a way that ran deeper than muscles or bones. Today was over. Tomorrow would come, inevitable and unrelenting, and all he could do was hope that somewhere within it, he could find a small fragment of happiness, a tiny reprieve from the life he had inherited and the father he had to endure.
He closed his eyes and let the darkness take him, clutching onto the fragile hope that he might, one day, find more than survival in his life.