For a Hungry Omega

“Yes, so please let me go buy it.”

Haon quickened his pace, trying to reach the front door before the man. He was admittedly on the slower side, but the man walked really fast. Probably because his legs were so long.

“I’ll be right back.”

“It’s fine.”

Just as Haon was about to pass him, a long arm reached out in front of him. Instead of grabbing Haon, the man simply extended his arm to block his way.

“If it’s not something you want to eat, then you don’t need to go.”

He spoke with a faint smile. His expression looked slightly better than before. Still, if he had some honey water, he’d probably feel even better.

“I don’t really get hangovers, and I don’t like sweet things.”

Oh, so he doesn’t get hangovers.

Haon had assumed the man felt dizzy when he touched his forehead. He’d seemed pretty drunk last night, so it was only natural to expect a heavy hangover. If that’s not the case, then good.

“Is there anything you want to eat, Haon-ssi?”

While trying to check his condition, Haon leaned in and looked closely at his face. The man, calmly meeting Haon’s gaze, asked the question. The soft curve at the corner of his lips hadn’t gone away, as if he’d never looked serious to begin with. Seeing that bright expression, Haon felt his own mood begin to lift a little.

“Not really…”

Still, nothing came to mind that he particularly wanted to eat.

“What food do you eat best?”

Haon furrowed his brow like he’d just been handed a difficult puzzle. Food he ate best… That was probably the hardest question for him.

Water doesn’t count, right?

Nothing else came to mind, so the silence stretched out. After water, the only things he could think of were energy bars and that blue-bottled sugar-free soda. It didn’t taste good, but it had been memorable enough to surface in his thoughts.

“Then what do you dislike?”

The man shifted the question. After some careful thought, Haon gave a slightly easier answer this time.

“I eat pretty much everything.”

It wasn’t that he sought food out—he just didn’t eat much in general—but he wasn’t picky. No aversions to meat or vegetables; he ate it all without complaint.

Honestly, Haon didn’t particularly like or hate anything. Not just food—places, work, people—it was all the same.

His grandmother used to dote on him, saying she adored how easygoing he was, while Seong-gu hyung always nagged, saying he acted like he was just passively existing.

Most kids would’ve had something they wanted, but Haon always just said he was fine with whatever. Every time he got hand-me-down clothes or school supplies from the older kids in the village, he was always just happy. He’d never once wanted something new. Not even once.

“You’re sleepy right now, aren’t you, Haon-ssi?”

The man, who had been silently watching Haon standing there in a daze, let out a soft chuckle. He brought over a plate of fruit from the dining table and held it out to him.

“If you get hungry later, eat some of this.”

The plate was filled with plump blueberries, Shine Muscat grapes, melon, and banana. Haon didn’t particularly feel like eating, but the plate was so pretty he couldn’t take his eyes off it. Maybe it was the elegance of the plating—looked more like a painting than food.

“There’s more in the fridge, so help yourself anytime.”

The man told him to eat and drink whatever he liked in the house. He’d said something similar on the first day too. Come to think of it, he sure talked a lot about food. Maybe he just placed a lot of importance on eating. That part reminded Haon of Seong-gu hyung.

Then maybe this guy eats well too. He was lean but had broad shoulders—and he was taller than Seong-gu hyung. So, he probably didn’t eat light either. Remembering how Seong-gu could put away three heaping bowls of rice, Haon figured this man was no lightweight either.

“Haon-ssi.”

Inho called his name, then simply smiled and held back whatever he was going to say. He’d wanted to ask what Haon was thinking about, but decided not to. Zoning out mid-conversation seemed to be one of Haon’s habits.

The more he watched him, the more these subtle quirks and mannerisms started to stand out—and somehow, they kept getting under his skin. He couldn’t stop paying attention.

Maybe it was because he’d heard his name, but Haon tilted his round face to the side. Watching him, Inho set aside what he’d originally planned to say and instead voiced a quiet hope.

“I hope you can feel comfortable here.”

It wasn’t just something he was saying—he meant it. He genuinely wanted Haon to treat this place like his own. He hoped Haon would speak up if there was something he wanted to eat, and take a break from working until he put on a bit of weight. Money, well… Inho could take care of that.

Inho was even willing to lend him money if Haon ever asked. That’s how strongly he wanted to help. All he really knew about Haon was his name, but he could easily picture the kind of life he’d lived.

“I like having people around the house. So don’t feel uncomfortable.”

Worried he might’ve come on too strong, he trailed off and studied Haon’s expression. He was used to dealing with people who, once given an inch, demanded a mile—so now, faced with someone who was the complete opposite, he felt a little unsure. Not that he disliked it.

“If it really makes you uncomfortable… then can I ask one favor?”

“Please do!”

Haon’s eyes widened with almost eager anticipation, as if he’d been waiting for a request. That willingness to do whatever was asked made Inho let out a faint sigh. ‘Is he like this with everyone?’ Brushing off the intrusive thought, he continued.

“Just eat one meal a day with me.”

He’d been thinking about what would be the least demanding thing to ask—and landed on this. Out of all the meals in a day, sharing just one shouldn’t be too burdensome.

Or so he thought. But judging from the way Haon’s pale face suddenly grew somber, maybe that was just his assumption.

“I’ll do the cooking.”

Watching that small, expressive face give away everything he was feeling, Inho quickly added a condition.

“All you have to do is eat.”

‘Isn’t that good enough?’

Even with the added condition, Haon’s expression didn’t lighten. Inho started to wonder if maybe just the idea of eating with him was what made Haon uncomfortable. He debated changing the request altogether.

But he still wanted to share meals with Haon. A sudden urge had taken hold—the desire to personally feed this skinny man with warm, delicious food. So for now, he decided to wait for an answer.

“I just have to eat with you…?”

“Yes, that’s all you have to do.”

Thankfully, Haon didn’t turn him down. He scratched at his already flushed cheek again, then, with an oddly solemn expression, pursed his lips and slowly nodded.

“Okay… I’ll eat.”

‘Does it really require that much resolve?’

Inho, unaware of what was going through Haon’s head, couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

***

Back in his room, Haon spent the rest of the day just as he wanted—sleeping.

He didn’t wake up even once until well past noon, dozing peacefully until the time most people were wrapping up their day. He finally got the deep, uninterrupted sleep he’d been lacking.

Bzzzzzz…

Just as the sun began to set, the buzzing from his phone on the nightstand broke through his slumber. With heavy eyelids, Haon blinked and fumbled around on the nightstand.

“Ugh…”

The moment he saw the name on the screen, his eyes flew open, round and alert. It was a call from Seong-gu hyung.

“Hyung!”

His voice, filled with excitement, came out sounding unusually sweet. Though they were only three years apart, to Haon, Seong-gu was like both a big brother and a father.

—What the—are you sick?

Seong-gu treated Haon the same way—as a little brother and, in a way, like his only son. Just from hearing his voice, he could tell everything about Haon’s condition and mood. He’d been that way since they were kids.

“No, I just woke up from a nap.”

—What about work? Isn’t this when you’re usually working?

Seong-gu knew full well that ever since moving to Seoul, Haon had been working nonstop. He’d called during working hours on purpose, just to check in and see how things were going.

—You’re sick, aren’t you.

His voice, now heavy with concern, dropped even lower. With his large frame came an equally deep, resonant voice that made his presence known wherever he went. He and Haon were complete opposites in both appearance and personality.

—Just say it. I already know everything.

“I’m not sick. I’m fine.”

Sitting up straight, Haon’s brain scrambled for an excuse. If he said he’d quit, Seong-gu would immediately assume something happened and start worrying. He needed something believable.

—You got fired again, didn’t you.

“Ah, uh… Yeah. I guess you could say that.”

Haon, who had eagerly latched onto his hyung’s words, gave an awkward laugh. Maybe it was because Seong-gu already knew how often his jobs changed—he didn’t even bother asking why he got fired this time. He just chalked it up to Seoul folks being too picky.

—Why the hell do they keep firing a kid who works hard and is nice? They all must be blind as bats.

Haon couldn’t help but laugh at his hyung’s unwavering support, offered without even hearing the reason. Seong-gu still had no idea about Haon’s heat issues—or the fact that he’d manifested as an omega at all. Haon had deliberately told him it was just because he wasn’t good at his job that he got fired so often.

—It’s all bullshit anyway. Just come back. What’s so great about staying there?

“I still have a year and a half left.”

—So? Why the hell are you trying to finish it? Just slack off and come back already.

While Seong-gu grumbled in that deep, gruff voice of his, the sound of a cow mooing filtered faintly through the speaker. He helped their father manage the largest cattle farm in the village, raising livestock.

“Are you feeding them now?”

—Nah, just cleaning.

“Let me hear more.”

Haon lay back down on the soft bed, a lazy smile on his face. Hearing the now fully awake tone in his voice, Seong-gu seemed to relax, realizing Haon wasn’t actually sick. Ever since moving to Seoul, Haon would often ask to hear the cows whenever they talked. It was a sound you could only hear back home.

It seemed like Seong-gu had brought the phone closer to the cows because the mooing came through clearer this time, deepening the warmth in Haon’s smile.

—You eat yet?

“Yeah, I ate. What about you?”

Haon lied as smoothly as flowing water. It was a lie he told so often, it came out naturally.

—I scraped together whatever was left over before the veggies spoiled and made bibimbap. You?

“Bibimbap for me too.”

—You have any side dishes at home?

“I don’t cook. I buy everything.”

When he emphasized that people in Seoul usually just bought meals instead of cooking when they lived alone, Seong-gu clicked his tongue, saying folks in the city must be loaded. Still, his tone suggested he was at least relieved Haon was eating properly.

—Don’t just eat bread and junk. If you’re gonna eat out, go to a place that serves proper Korean meals. Korean food is healthier.

Haon listened to the well-meant nagging, nodded to himself, and said okay. Just hearing Seong-gu’s voice made him feel grounded. His very existence was a source of strength.

Haon wanted to keep the call going a little longer, but unfortunately, Mr. Jin came looking for Seong-gu. Mr. Jin was Seong-gu’s father.

—I’m hanging up. Call me more often, will you? We agreed on once a week.

“I’ve just been busy. Sorry.”

—Even just hearing your voice is enough, so make it quick if you have to.

In the background, Mr. Jin’s voice could be heard yelling for him to hurry up. Haon quickly told him to go and ended the call first—because when Mr. Jin got mad, he was scary.

Haon sighed, as if he’d just been the one scolded, then clutched his phone and looked over at the nightstand. Sitting there was the black mug the man had given him earlier that morning. There was still half of his first day’s chamomile tea left inside.

He finished the now-lukewarm tea, which had cooled enough to drink comfortably. Then, remembering the plate of fruit he’d stored in his room’s mini fridge, he got up from bed.

When he opened the small refrigerator, a chill drifted out. Haon leaned in to take a closer look at the still-picture-perfect fruit plate and picked out the smallest blueberry. He didn’t really feel like eating, but if he left it untouched, it would probably spoil—so he figured he’d try at least a little.

Sitting on the floor with his knees folded beneath him, he rolled the round blueberry between his fingers before slowly pressing it against his tongue and crushing it. The sweet juice spread through his mouth, and strangely enough, it made him feel better. It wasn’t warm, but somehow, it felt like it warmed him from the inside.

How strange. Even cold fruit—just by being in this house—felt warm.

“It’s good.”

Everything the man gave him felt warm, endlessly sweet. Sweet enough to make him forget, even for a moment, all the cold and bitterness.