Your shape

One ordered the fledgling set and the other accepted it without question.

The waiter paused, then smiled. “You two have such a wonderful relationship. Your compatibility must be quite high.”

[Compatibility] referred to the degree of pheromone alignment—a scientific, physiological measure of how well an alpha and omega suited each other. It was also a key metric used by the system for partner matching.

In his past life, Bai Ling’s differentiation had failed. He’d lived most of his life as a beta, spent years surrounded by alphas, and had little awareness of secondary genders. He knew very little about the intricacies between alphas and omegas.

He’d only heard that the higher the compatibility, the more it determined the long-term quality of a relationship.

If love at first sight was a burst of sparks, high compatibility represented a steady, enduring flow.

Bai Ling thought about it. He and Mr. D had managed to chat awkwardly across a screen for twenty years…

Mmn. Probably the latter?

Bai Ling didn’t notice Yu Chen’s fleeting expression: a faint, contemplative look in his eyes. When Yu Chen turned to the waiter, his tone became warm and polite:

“Thank you for the kind wishes.”

The waitstaff in establishments like this were all sharp. At those words, realization dawned on the waiter’s face. “Ah, I see—you two haven’t had your compatibility tested yet.”

Or perhaps… they know the result will be unfavorable and chose not to test?

 

It was common among some couples; beta and omega pairings, for instance. The beta couldn’t smell pheromones, so they simply skipped the test and avoided the topic altogether, preventing resentment from taking root.

The waiter was also an alpha, but his rank was E. He only felt that both customers exuded a powerful presence, making their secondary genders hard to discern. Especially the blond gentleman: a single glance left him dizzy. The waiter knew this was the natural oppressive effect of an ultra-high-ranking alpha on someone weaker like himself.

He glanced across the table. The white-haired young man was calmly fiddling with his napkin, completely unaffected.

Both had strong auras… Could it be an alpha/alpha pairing?

I’ve praised in the wrong direction.

The waiter quickly bowed. “Your dishes will be served shortly. Please wait a moment.” And he retreated with tactful haste.

Bai Ling turned to watch him go, puzzled. “Why’s he running off so fast?”

Yu Chen slowly sipped his aperitif. “Maybe he’s never seen an omega as strong as you.”

Bai Ling’s brows lifted. He was pleased, though his words said otherwise: “Who’re you kidding? I bet he was scared of you. Were you subtly controlling the area?”

Yu Chen raised his eyelids slightly. “You can’t feel it?”

Bai Ling shrugged nonchalantly. “The doctors said my hormone levels are low, and I’m still differentiating. Maybe I’m just dull to it.”

Yu Chen lowered his gaze with a soft laugh. “If you can’t feel it, then I wasn’t controlling it.”

Teaching him to deceive himself, was he?

But speaking of which, Bai Ling remembered his own unreliable sense of smell. Technically, Yu Chen had given him a temporary mark, strengthening their bond. He should be able to smell Yu Chen’s pheromones wherever he went and perceive the protective zone the alpha had set.

But except for that time during the alpha’s rut period, Bai Ling hadn’t clearly smelled that scent again.

Even during the pheromone comfort session in the aircraft; comforting as it was, that gentle, warm feeling was far from what others had excitedly described: “You can clearly feel the shape of the alpha’s pheromones, forcefully spreading, penetrating and occupying your heart and body, like seawater flooding over low tide, crashing against a drenched cliff.”

Bai Ling’s face remained blank as he recalled the ICU nurses’ idle chatter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sneaked a glance at the alpha across the booth.

…Once he successfully differentiates, will he be able to figure out the old man’s shape too?

The merman fluttered his lashes, which seemed gilded with gold. His green eyes shifted and caught Bai Ling frowning, staring at him intently. Yu Chen found it amusing. “What are you thinking about, so seriously?”

Bai Ling said flatly, “Your shape.”

His gripping movement suddenly stilled. He tilted his head slightly and a dark, unfathomable shine appeared in his eyes as he carefully examined the bird.

They had exchanged similar jokes before.

But back then, Yu Chen had been blind. In his mind, the little bird, sometimes fierce, sometimes fragile, was just a gray ball of fluff, a little kid squawking for meat. He’d mostly just smiled and teased back.

Now, however, he could easily use his eyes to scan the other’s body, measuring every inch of that waist he’d kneaded so many times. With his vision restored, the sheer volume of sensory information he received with his five senses had dramatically increased. Looking back on their physical intimacy during his blindness made his heart race even more, and his mind was filled with wild fantasies.

Yu Chen casually raised his glass, his gaze flicking to the young man’s rosy, blood-rich lips.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the bittersweet wine. What came to mind was the Stump Bird kneeling before him, eyes wet, lips swollen, inexpertly taking him in until he gagged.

Fiery. Intense.

Bai Ling heard him murmur something. “What’s so intense?”

Yu Chen dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin, before elegantly saying: “The wine.”

Bai Ling: ?

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. His gut told him the old man was acting strange, but he had no proof.

Just then, the waiter arrived with their dishes. The steaming plates were set between them. The Maillard reaction from the grilled meat released a blend of fatty, caramelized, and herbaceous aromas. Amino acids and carbohydrates mingled in the glistening juices, making Bai Ling’s hungry stomach clench.

“Our specialty: Imperial-style honey-glazed roast ribs. Please enjoy.”

The ribs were boldly served, a whole rack uncut. Yu Chen rolled his shirt cuffs to his forearms, his expression serene. Knife and fork in hand, he expertly separated the meat. He knew the grain of every cut of meat, wielding the blunt-edged knife with the fluid precision of a scalpel.

With each cut, chunks of meat dropped wetly onto the plate, the pale pink myoglobin glistening as if sighing.

Bai Ling’s gaze drifted to the juices that had splattered onto the shirt: tiny, greasy spots.

He licked his teeth and silently reached for his iced water, downing a large gulp.

Moments later, a piece of steaming, tender meat was speared on a thin silver knife and delivered to his plate.

Yu Chen sat back, slowly wiping the sauce from his fingers and ring, and said, “Try this. The owner grills it himself. Their family’s secret marinade is excellent, rich but not greasy. It should suit your taste.”

In less than a month, he’d already figured out the little bird’s eating habits.

The cream mushroom pasta arrived as well, and was placed beside Bai Ling.

Bai Ling pulled the pasta plate closer and piled the dripping ribs on top, mixing them together.

The waiter in the distance looked like he wanted to say something, as this haphazard way of eating wasn’t exactly restaurant etiquette.

But Yu Chen watched with undisguised pleasure, sipping his wine while observing the falcon’s focused, almost bloodthirsty way of eating.

As if the meal wasn’t what he was really savoring.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Bai Ling looked up, eyeing Yu Chen’s empty plate.

Yu Chen curved his lips. “I used to order these ribs all the time, so they’re nothing new to me.”

“Then eat my pasta.” Bai Ling twirled a forkful of noodles and held it out.

Yu Chen held a small side plate to receive it, and Bai Ling pouted, reluctantly shaking the forkful loose.

Hmph. Even when fed directly, he won’t open his mouth.

Yu Chen, ever perceptive, noticed his displeasure and found an interesting topic. “In Imperial dining etiquette, shaking your fork means ‘I’d like to leave early.’”

Bai Ling snorted and played along. “Exactly. That’s exactly what I meant.”

No sooner had he spoken than a flash of silver appeared. The razor-thin blade of a small knife slid between the tines of his fork. With a slight twist of the wrist, it locked the fork in place, stopping Bai Ling from pulling his hand back.

Bai Ling raised an eyebrow. “Is there another meaning to holding my fork hostage?”

Yu Chen flexed his fingers, using the knife to press the fork down into the creamy pasta. His expression was perfectly innocent.

“Yes. It means ‘I want to spend the night with you.’”

Bai Ling lowered his gray eyes, grinding his teeth lightly. Heat rushed through his insides, a slow, simmering fire that made his fingertips tingle, and the small of his back ache. He nearly lost his composure.

Old man…  so many tricks up your sleeve.

Flirting with him in public, isn’t he? He’ll retaliate in kind.

“We humble working folk have a similar gesture,” Bai Ling said suddenly.

“Oh? Do tell.” Yu Chen leaned in, feigning curiosity.

“Like this,” Bai Ling said coolly.

Yu Chen raised an eyebrow, about to ask what “this” was, when he felt a chilly sensation against his calf. Something playful and mischievous was working its way into his impeccably tailored trousers.

Under the table, the bird had slipped off his shoe and was wiggling his cold toes into Yu Chen’s pant leg.

Not only that; he arched his foot, sliding the fabric up, roughly tracing the dark pattern of the wool-blend socks until he reached the edge of Yu Chen’s calf.

There, a sock garter held it in place.

Gentlemen used them for a secure, elegant fit.

Bai Ling rested his chin on his hand, lips slightly curved, an expression that mixed both the youthful innocence with the wickedness of a soldier.

“A gentleman.”

Yu Chen softly breathed in. Under the table, there was a soft click as the bird’s toes unhooked the garter. The taut string in Yu Chen’s mind gave a sharp twang.

He forced down the fire kindling in his abdomen, his voice remaining steady and sincere:

“Your toes are remarkably dexterous.”

Bai Ling tilted his head, adding fuel to the flames. “I can do many other things with them. Want to try?”

“How so?” Waves stirred the sea-green eyes.

The bird stabbed his fork into a swollen mushroom, opened his mouth wide, and took it in. As he chewed and swallowed, the creamy residue was faintly visible on his tongue. His slender throat moved with a life of its own, working hard to swallow until it slid down into his warm, little bird stomach.

He licked the remaining cream off the fork and, in a voice hoarse enough for only two people to hear, said:

“Using you to make cream mushroom… Your Majesty.”

His voice and heartbeat resonated intensely, as if playing in duet. The deep notes of a cello suddenly plunged when the musical score reached its climax. Yu Chen sank back into his chair with a heavy breath and, as his knuckles tightened, he roughly snapped off a corner of the table.

Bai Ling: “……”

He’d taken it too far. Bai Ling tried to mediate: “…Please don’t get worked up. This is a public place.”

To be honest, he didn’t want to be pinned down right now. For no other reason than…

The booth seat was far too hard. Kneeling face-down for too long would definitely hurt his knees.

He looked at his alpha. That sculpted face had grown serious, his long legs crossed slightly in an unnatural posture. His neat, ascetic British-style trousers had gained a few extra creases. When their eyes met, his voice carried the authority and reproach of a parent:

“Come here.”

“…No.”

“You start something and don’t want to take responsibility?”

“…How about we go to the restroom?”

Yu Chen’s thin lips twitched for a moment. Finally, grinding out his sharp canines, he uttered two words: “Little minx.”

Unable to hide his smugness, Bai Ling made a wagging motion with his finger at him. “A falcon’s tail feathers are proudly held high.”

---

Author’s note:

 

Little bird: (smug) (tail feathers high) (raising terminal to take a photo) Being able to make His Majesty lose composure is my honor.

AI: (shaking head) (praising) (saving the photo) What a falcon~