For a Hungry Omega

The day Haon received the test results at the hospital revealing he had presented as an Omega, the doctor had explained with a regretful look that pregnancy would likely be difficult for him. Because he exhibited abnormal heat symptoms, his body was different from that of a typical Omega.

Haon, whose secondary gender had changed overnight, wasn’t particularly shaken by the news of infertility. He had simply been in a daze, stunned by the fact that he had become an Omega.

Even after some time had passed, he had never once felt sad about not being able to have children. On the contrary, he thought it was a relief. He was already struggling just to take care of himself.

“So don’t worry, okay?”

Haon spoke instead to reassure the man. He’d had previous encounters with Alphas who, out of anxiety, had tried to force-feed him emergency contraceptives.

“I really don’t need to take anything.”

In truth, Haon had a clear reason for firmly refusing the medication. Due to a severe drug allergy, taking medicine carelessly would immediately cause his throat to swell and hives to break out. That’s why he couldn’t even take the painkillers the man had thoughtfully prepared.

“Then for now, just get more rest.”

The man, who had been silently looking down at Haon, rose from the bed. He turned on a small bedside lamp, walked over to the window, and drew the curtains. Still nestled under the covers, Haon fidgeted with his hands and toes, watching the man’s back with an uneasy gaze.

‘Am I really allowed to stay like this?’ Part of him wanted to get up immediately, but the aching muscles in his body welcomed the bed far more than the idea of standing. Besides, he was certain he’d collapse after just a few steps.

“I’ll be in the living room, so if anything hurts, let me know.”

“The living room…?”

Haon blinked in surprise and glanced toward the door. He had naturally assumed it was the front door. Every motel he’d ever been to had been way smaller than this room.

“Make yourself comfortable. I won’t come back in.”

The man added the reassurance as if to put Haon at ease, but the one listening was frozen in fresh shock.

‘This entire space is just the bedroom?’ Then… how much did this place cost per night?

Haon’s eyes, now serious, drifted up to the luxurious ceiling light before he shut them tightly. The price must be unthinkable. He still believed this was a hotel. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that the unfamiliar Alpha had brought him to his own home.

The Alphas Haon had dealt with before never led him to warm, private spaces like homes. Instead, they dragged him to cheap motels. They’d insist he split the motel fee—even though he could barely remember arriving—and once his heat ended, they’d say it was their turn and embrace him until they were satisfied. Whether it was just bad luck or something else, every single one he met had been like that.

So Haon had come to accept that as normal. Everything had gone wrong from the very start. 

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

The man who had opened the door turned around briefly. Haon, pulling the blanket up to cover the lower half of his face, simply nodded. Right now, he wasn’t in any condition to eat. Immediately after a heat ended, he experienced an intense aversion to food, and it usually took several days before he could eat a proper meal again.

Confirming Haon’s response, the man quietly closed the door and left the room.

At the sound of the door shutting, Haon tugged the blanket down to his chin and turned his gaze toward the nightstand. He pushed aside the box of pills he couldn’t take, and a small tube of ointment came into view behind them.

What the man had applied to Haon’s backside wasn’t gel or lotion—it was an ointment. A thick, white medicinal salve used for pain.

Haon instinctively drew his knees together, recalling the cold, alien sensation that had seeped deep inside. The ointment had since been absorbed into his body, and the chill was gone.

***

Haon’s mother had been a single mom. On his fifth birthday—born in the middle of a bitter winter—she took him to a small countryside village. It was the hometown she hadn’t returned to in over ten years.

At the time, little Haon had been simply overjoyed to go on his very first trip with his mom. He was so excited he’d hummed cheerfully while savoring the slice of fresh cream cake she bought him at the train station. Meanwhile, his mother had stared silently out the distant window.

“It’s so good.”

Haon kept repeating how delicious the cake was until his mom finally looked at him. When she did, he eagerly offered her a bite, stabbing the cake with the plastic fork and lifting it toward her—only to accidentally drop it.

‘I should’ve eaten more carefully…’

After dropping the cake, Haon hadn’t said another word. He just sat there like a lifeless doll until the train arrived at their stop. He wanted more cake, but his mother had already cleaned it up with the trash, so there was no getting it back.

Still, he had been happy. That first trip had filled young Haon with a giddy kind of joy. His heart, fluttering like a bird, had calmed slightly when they arrived in front of his grandmother’s worn-down house—but the moment his mother silently embraced him after setting down their bags in the yard, his heartbeat spiked again.

The longer the hug lasted, the louder Haon’s heartbeat grew. Thump. Thump. Thump. The rush of excitement turned into a pounding anxiety, slamming against his chest. His instincts knew—it was a farewell.

Haon clung to her and muttered that he was cold. Rather than begging her not to leave him behind, those were the only words he could manage, holding tightly to her clothes. Overwhelmed by the storm of anxiety rising in his chest, he buried his face deeper into his mother’s arms.

“I’ll be back soon.”

But in the end, she said goodbye to her young son.

Haon didn’t cling to her any further. He was afraid she’d find him bothersome.

Seeing her son’s soft eyes blinking as they welled up with tears, it was the mother who ended up breaking down first. She kissed his delicate forehead and cheeks, leaving behind smudges of spit and tears, whispering for him to be a good boy and listen to his grandmother.

“Promise me.”

She pulled a crumpled slip of paper from the pocket of her plum-colored coat and held out her pinky to Haon. On the torn page—ripped from a small notebook—she’d written down her cellphone number.

“Only call me if you really need to. Okay?”

With his tiny, fern-like hands, Haon clutched the paper as if it were a treasure and asked where she was going. But he didn’t ask when she’d be back, or why he wasn’t allowed to call often.

Letting out a damp, weary sigh, the woman took out a pen and scribbled an address beneath her phone number. It was one of those pens handed out on the street, and it wasn’t writing well—she had to scratch it across the corner of the paper several times before the ink flowed and the letters came out. Then, once more, she extended her pinky finger.

Don’t come looking for me. 

Don’t try to find Mom. I promise—I’ll come back in three years.

Leaving only that promise, the woman walked away. She left behind a note scrawled with a pressed-in phone number and a hastily written address.

From that day on, little Haon fell sick—for a full three years, without missing a single day. He ached and ached, again and again. Until the warmth of his mother’s scent had completely faded from the tip of his nose, he was plagued with fevers and couldn’t keep any food down.

Each time, his grandmother anxiously wrapped his frail little body in thick cotton blankets and stayed up all night gently patting his chest. If not for her, Haon might never have made it through that long and painful stretch of time.

After three full years of near-constant illness, young Haon slowly began to change. He no longer stared at the calendar every day or stood blankly gazing out into the empty yard. He smiled more. Became less shy. As life began to return to him, a new warmth filled the once-quiet countryside home.

“Our Haon’s a little blessing, a real gift from the heavens.”

The old woman considered the grandson left behind by the daughter who had cut off all contact to be the most precious thing in the world. The villagers felt the same—they adored Haon, who looked like a doll come to life.

Raised in the warm love of his grandmother and the kindhearted villagers, Haon thrived. Since there weren’t many children in the rural town, and Haon was friendly with everyone, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say he was treated like the village prince.

Among them, Seong-gu—who lived right across from Haon—was especially fond of him. He treated Haon like a real younger brother, always making sure he played safe games suited for someone so frail. Whenever they went to catch fish, he’d hold Haon’s hand tight and help him dip his feet into the cool stream.

Though only three years older, Seong-gu cared for Haon like a much younger sibling—carrying him on his back often and singing to him when he was sick.

And it wasn’t just Seong-gu. Everyone treated Haon with tenderness. He smiled easily, and every gesture he made was as sweet as his face—so it was natural that he was loved wherever he went.

Haon loved the countryside too. His mother’s hometown, which had become his home, was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life—with his grandmother, Seong-gu hyung, and the villagers who had raised him.

But the year he turned twenty, his grandmother passed away.

After burying her with the villagers and returning home, Haon stayed up through the night. Then, suddenly, he made up his mind to go to Seoul.

“You’re going where?”

“Seoul.”

Anticipating that the town elders would try to stop him, he told only Seong-gu hyung about his plan.

Seong-gu came to see him every day until the day before Haon left, begging him not to go. He even exaggerated, warning how cold and scary the people in Seoul were, trying to frighten him into staying. But Haon remained firm.

“I’ll come back in three years.”

After pinky-swearing with Seong-gu hyung, Haon headed alone into the unfamiliar city, carrying nothing but a large backpack and the note his mother had left behind.

***

Haon jolted awake and instinctively pulled his legs together—only to let go a moment later. He was the only one on the bed.

Rubbing his eyes, he got up and slipped on the white robe the man had left at the bedside. His original clothes were nowhere in sight. He’d have to ask the man for them later.

‘What time could it be?’

First, he tightly tied the robe’s belt and shuffled toward the window. Earlier, the bright sunlight had streamed through the glass—but now the room was steeped in darkness. He must’ve slept far longer than expected. Still, the rest had helped; the muscle aches had mostly subsided.

Haon stared at the night sky, where only the moon hung alone without a single star, then lowered his gaze without much thought. At that moment, his shoulders jerked and he staggered backward.

“What the…”

Haon’s eyelids fluttered rapidly as he braced himself against the wall. The people and cars visible beneath the window looked like mere dots. Even the buildings that seemed quite large now looked small and distant.

He’d never seen a high-rise view like this before, and he stood frozen for nearly ten minutes, dumbfounded. His dazed expression gradually gave way to awe as he became enchanted by the dazzling lights of the city.

But the wonder didn’t last long.

“Wow… This is seriously bad.”

Returning to reality, Haon’s expression grew grim. A high-rise, too? It was far more extravagant than he’d feared—this place wasn’t just fancy, it was unimaginably expensive. Whatever hotel this was, the nightly rate had to be astronomical.

Pale with anxiety, he ran a dry hand over his face, trying to calm his racing heart. He looked around for a clock to check the time, but there wasn’t one in sight. A bathroom, a TV, even a mini fridge were all accounted for—yet oddly, no clock.

‘Let’s just head to the living room.’

He swallowed hard and moved toward the door. His stride was shorter than usual thanks to the lingering stiffness in his limbs. The spot where the man had applied ointment still stung, making his upper body tip slightly forward with every step.

It had been a long time since a heat had left him in this much pain. He didn’t remember much, but judging by the aftermath, the man—despite his gentle voice and soft expression—must have been surprisingly rough in bed.

As Haon recalled the man’s tenderness, his shoulders sagged. The ache in his lower body now pricked at his chest as well, like a dull, pressing throb that slowly spread upward.

“Whoa.”

Stepping into the hallway and opening the door slowly, Haon let out a small gasp. He had expected a large living room—but what he saw was beyond imagination, leaving him frozen in place.

It was a high-ceilinged, two-story house. There were three rooms just on the first floor alone. At the end of a long hallway, there was one more door, but from where Haon stood, he couldn’t see inside. That’s how big the house was. Not a hotel—a home.

As an involuntary sound of awe slipped from his lips, Haon covered his mouth with his hand. What stunned him more than the sheer size was the realization: this really was someone’s house. It was far too large to be a hotel. And what convinced him completely were the picture frames.

Inside a massive display cabinet lining the hallway to the kitchen were numerous framed photos. The distance made it hard to make out exactly what was in them—but their presence alone said enough.

“You’re awake?”

Just then, the man’s voice echoed from within the house.