Chapter Text
Shen Wenlang awoke to the sound of his alarm going off.
It couldn’t be said so much that he woke up as that he stopped being passed out. This was the way things had been going for him, lately - everything was screwed up and flipped around, and not much made sense.
So it was no surprise, when he did slowly open his eyes, that he saw something different out of each one.
From his left eye he saw something white and wooly looming very close to his face. This was the designer white shag rug on his living room floor, he realized.
From his right eye he saw something shiny and metallic and cylindrical, slightly out-of-focus. This, logically, would be the leg of his couch purchased at great expense from a famous architectural design house.
Groaning he sat up, rubbing his cheek where the long, heavy pile of the shag rug had left nubbled dents on his cheek. At least this time he’d woken up wearing something -- at some point the night before he must have put on pajama pants and an undershirt.
He wiped away the drool collected at the corner of his mouth and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then looked about himself blearily.
This damn rug. He always hated this rug. White, and an absolute magnet for dirt and dust. No way to clean it, either. He should have fired that interior decorator. In fact, he should have rolled that carpet up very tightly and told that interior decorator where to put it – that’s how much he hated it! One of these nights he would throw up on it and have it hauled away. He would enjoy that very much.
It would probably be soon, honestly.
Shen Wenlang struggled up onto the equally-damnable couch. White polished leather, slippery and cold. Crawling onto it from the carpet in his hungover state was like trying to climb out of a bog onto a greased log. Everything in this luxury apartment, from wall to wall and ceiling to floor, aggravated him. Everything stylish but not-quite-right for living. Too tall, too short, too fucking slippery. Couches hard as rocks and chairs that hurt your back but that looked very nice doing it.
He tried not to think about a little apartment in a shabby part of town. He used to visit that apartment with his nostrils pinched in disdain. Hand-me-down shelves, a bedside table made out of a repurposed produce crate draped with a worn tablecloth… He thought of how he would sit at that ludicrous pull-down table on a mismatched stool to be offered a glass of water and nothing more. He thought of the old bed in the far corner, the one as far away as possible from the street noise, small but soft and covered by a lumpy brown quilt that…
…that honestly looked more homey and comfortable than the silk-tufted duvet on his own custom-manufactured mattress. That mismatched stool was probably found on a curb somewhere but he’d felt more like royalty sitting on it than on any designer chair bought for a small fortune. And that glass of water - more delicious than the most exquisite and rare tea served on a silver tray because of the hand that offered it.
Shen Wenlang would trade every bit of the considerable wealth he’d clawed together just to sit at that crappy pull-down table again and drink that water.
Something wet began to form at the corners of his eyes. Before whatever it was could spill over he swiped at them with the back of one hand, cursing loudly. Something was nagging at him, jangling his already-frayed senses. Those weren’t tears. Everything around him was so goddamn aggravating that it made his eyes water, that’s all. And what was that irritating noise?!
Right. Alarm. His alarm was still going off. Where was his phone? He looked about himself for clues.
He could not quite recall how he’d arrived home the night before, which was par for the course these past three months. Ever since he’d been put on hiatus from HS Group due to that awful episode of mating disorder he’d been drinking heavily. At first it was at home, alone. Then, after he’d attended a sufficient number of court-ordered therapy sessions to be released from house arrest, he’d started going out.
Drinking at home had probably been the wiser choice.
Again Shen Wenlang groaned. Bits and pieces of the prior night drifted up towards him like trash flushed out of an underground storm sewer by a heavy downpour.
Would you like some company while you drink that, sir?
Hey, you don’t have to be so mean about it…
I think you’ve had enough!
Oh my! Sir, are you crying?
And finally, the stony-faced security who had dragged him down to the street and tossed him out, with him shouting back, “I was leaving anyway! I don’t want any of your shitty, low-class, lying omegas! Probably catch a disease just from looking at one!”
Fucking omegas, he thought to himself as he stumbled towards the bedroom.
He was not sure why he should curse omegas for his own bad actions, but at the moment it felt more satisfying than cursing himself. It made little sense, really. He was the one who had begun frequenting omega host bars, where one could purchase bottle service and a little bit of company from a friendly omega.
He was also not sure why he had even started going to that type of place. They’d always made him sick, after all. Even though omega bars were socially acceptable they still struck him as wrong. There were plenty who argued such places took advantage of omegas, and were therefore inherently misomeganistic. Probably true. He sniffed. Still, let a thieving, conniving omega make a little money where they could off the loneliness of any Alpha dumb enough to fall for it! Looked at from that perspective, in fact, it was the omegas who were taking advantage!
And yet he’d gone, as disgusting as it was. He thought about it as he got his legs beneath himself and made his way towards his bedroom.
Going to those omega clubs… the way they drew him… it reminded him of the time he’d first presented way back in boarding school. He’d fallen from a stair railing while trying to impress a bunch of other Alpha boys and split his knee open right down to the bone on a concrete step. The school nurse bandaged it but he kept peeling that bandage back, giving in to some sort of morbid compulsion, poking at the gnarly wound and running his finger over the prickly black stitches until his hair stood on end. He did this over and over until the bandage ran out of adhesive and he’d had to go back to the nurse for a new one.
Yes, that’s what going to these omega bars was like: poking at something disgusting and painful. No idea why.
“You mustn’t pick at it,” the nurse scolded him. “You have to let it heal!”
“I’m an S-class Alpha,” he informed her right back, full of hubris. “I’ll heal up fine. Nothing can hurt me!”
Of course it became infected. The scar it left, thick and shiny and right over his kneecap, still bothered him sometimes.
He rubbed at it as he crawled onto his bed, following the sound of the incessant alarm until he triangulated the source and shoved his hand beneath a pillow, withdrawing it with the phone in his grasp. He tapped the alarm off and collapsed.
Why had he set an alarm? Why today? Something tugged at his memory…
Today. What day is it?
It’s… days…
One hundred days! Shit!
He brought the phone back up to his disbelieving face and verified the date and then, for the third or fourth time already that morning (he’d honestly lost count even though he’d only been awake for a few minutes) he groaned.
Hua Yong and Sheng Shaoyou… it was their baby Hua Sheng’s Bai Ri Li – the celebration marking the hundredth day since their little blessing’s birth! And if Shen Wenlang had any intention at all of returning to his position as President of HS Group he’d have to put in an appearance and make a favorable impression.
The very thought set his teeth on edge.
All of the most powerful leaders of industry and politics would be there, ooh-ing and aaah-ing over Hua Yong’s little spawn. He himself, Shen Wenlang, would probably be forced to do the same while answering phony questions and saying phony things with a phony smile:
“Yes, I’m feeling much better! A little break does wonders!”
“Professional counseling is so useful, everybody should try it even if they don’t think they need it!”
“It really is amazing what they can do with pheromone therapy these days!”
“Ah, Hua Yong, your little Peanut looks just like you!”
“Fuck!” Shen Wenlang took a large swig off a bottle of liquor he found on his bedside table and stumbled to his enormous walk-in closet, phone still in hand, and surveyed himself in the mirror. He looked just as awful on the outside as he felt on the inside.
Good.
Next he selected a suit for the occasion. It was his favorite: a pale moss green, double-breasted with a strap that crossed in front and looped beneath his arm, paired with white khakis. He was pleased to see that it still fit him even after three months of inactivity. Well, it had been a little large to begin with but the designer he’d bought it from assured him that it was the peak of fashion, slightly avant-garde, and it was supposed to be oversized.
“And you don’t wear a shirt beneath it?” Gao Tu had asked him, with that same wet-sandwich look he always had on his face when he had something to say but was afraid to say it directly.
“Of course not,” Shen Wenlang snarled at him. “This is very fashionable! I was assured of that! Why, I paid more for this suit than you earn in six months. Are you telling me it’s not stylish?”
“Oh… I suppose I don’t understand these things,” Gao Tu mumbled, looking very much like a puppy who’d had an accident on the rug. His round glasses caught the light just right, turning them into opaque panes as he bowed his head over the tray of tea in his hands.
“Pah,” Shen Wenlang said, waving his hand to dismiss the memory. In fact, no memory. None at all. He was not wearing this suit because it reminded him of better times. It was simply… it was simply clean, and easily at hand. That’s all.
*
*
The one hundred day celebration was just as horrible as he’d feared.
He blinked as he exited the elevator onto the sunny roof level of Hua Yong and Sheng Shaoyou’s luxury high-rise. As his eyes adjusted he was greeted by a view of Jiang Hu city’s skyline towering over white-gloved waiters holding trays of mimosas and canapes. Still other waitstaff circulated amongst dozens and dozens of tables with steamer carts loaded with dim sum selections. In the center of the rooftop deck, on the artificial lawn, a dance floor was set up with a string quartet playing light, classical versions of pop songs.
Shen Wenlang pulled his sunglasses from his breast pocket and slid them on, accepting a mimosa from a passing waiter.
“Do you have anything stronger,” he whispered, leaning in.
“Sir?” The waiter looked at him in surprise. “It’s 10am.”
“Isn’t this a party?” Shen Wenlang retorted.
“I, um…” The waiter looked away nervously. “I suppose I can ask the hosts. Or I can bring you a mimosa without the orange juice, only the champagne…”
“Do that. Thanks.”
Shen Wenlang looked around himself, then downed the mimosa in one throw. He set the empty glass in a flower pot and strolled out across the roof, hoping not to be noticed by any of the other guests who were quickly filling the roof area. Everybody seemed to be with somebody else, which was good.
He snagged another mimosa from a passing tray as he went, looking out over the magnificent skyline beneath the pristine blue sky. It was as if even the weather had agreed to make the day perfect for Hua Yong and his perfect little family.
Speaking of…
He paused in front of a large portrait surrounded by other photos in tasteful frames. The portrait, of course, made him want to vomit. Sheng Shaoyou was bare-chested, wrapped in a red silk shawl and looking down at baby Peanut on his shoulder. Hua Yong, looking ethereal, leaned over his two most precious little loves, arms cradling both, looking straight at the camera. His lips were parted in a faint smile showing just the slightest hint of teeth.
“Doesn’t anybody else think that’s creepy?” Shen Wenlang asked of nobody in particular. He shivered. The pose was supposed to be artistic, and the expression on Hua Yong’s face serene and protective, but to Shen Wenlang he looked like a sly and greedy dragon curled about its treasure.
“Your champagne, sir.” The waiter appeared at his side and he took the fluted glass absently. “Leave the bottle,” he snapped, without looking away from the absolute horror show in front of him.
After the large portrait he moved on to the other, smaller ones. These were equally nauseating and treacly. Photos from the hospital bed. Hua Yong wearing a set of scrubs and holding baby Peanut for the first time. A very professionally-done newborn photo shoot, with every pose stolen off the most basic of Pinterest boards. Baby Peanut swaddled in yellow, cradled in a crescent moon with stars. Baby Peanut wearing angel wings, his wobbly oversized head propped on his tiny fists. Baby Peanut as… well… a peanut, complete with vintage stuffed circus animals.
Shen Wenlang hated everything about the pictures. They made him want to laugh out loud. They made him so mad that he poured himself another glass of champagne just to be able to bear looking at them, that’s how tacky they were. And yet the more he stared at them, the sadder he felt.
“Shen Wenlang.”
A hand fell on his shoulder and he jumped, nearly spilling his champagne.
To his dismay, here was the happy family in the flesh. Hua Yong was dressed in an immaculate white suit, while Sheng Shaoyou wore all black – even his shirt and tie.
“Uh, hello, Hua Yong. Sheng Shaoyou.” Shen Wenlang stuck out his hand awkwardly for what turned into a half-bow, half handshake. Like a car crash he could not look away from the Baby Bjorn strapped to the Alpha’s chest and the sleeping infant inside.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Sheng Shaoyou said, adjusting the baby sling slightly. “You look… well.”
“Yes, I’m feeling much better,” Shen Wenlang monotoned back. “A little break does wonders.”
“And the… ah… the counseling?” By the way the other Alpha’s nose wrinkled it was apparent Sheng Shaoyou could catch the faint odor of last night’s omega bar on Shen Wenlang, as well as alcohol, both stale and fresh.
“Mmhm. Professional counseling is so useful, everybody should try it even if they don’t think they need it.”
“Ah-Sheng, has the pheromone treatment been working?” Hua Yong asked sweetly. “You know… the mating disorder?” Sheng Shaoyou kicked him lightly on the ankle and Hua Yong’s sweet smile turned into a pout.
“It really is amazing what they can do with pheromone therapy these days,” Shen Wenlang assured him, sipping the last of his glass of champagne through clenched teeth and reaching for a refill. With his stomach empty, and unsure of the last time he’d even eaten, the alcohol was hitting him hard. He should probably slow down but…
The sight of Sheng Shaoyou, S-class Alpha, with a damn Baby Bjorn strapped to his chest was just too good! Did the man even know how ridiculous he looked?
Shen Wenlang laughed lightly, circling the Alpha for a better look at the baby.
“Ah, Hua Yong,” he sighed. “Your little Peanut looks just like you! It’s like Sheng Shaoyou’s genes didn’t even try! I mean, he was supposed to be an Alpha!” He lifted his glass, sloshing a little bit onto said Alpha’s coat sleeve. “Whoops.” With a slightly-unsteady hand he reached out for a cloth napkin folded into a little dove on a nearby table, beating it against his thigh to unfold it. He stepped forward, almost tripping on the edge of the dance floor, napkin outstretched for Sheng Shaoyou’s sleeve. “Let me get that for you…”
“I think that’s fine,” a warm, reassuring voice next to him said. “It’s just a little champagne. How about you come sit down and eat something?”
“Huh?” Shen Wenlang looked in the direction of the voice and found himself face-to-face with a kindly-looking older male omega. He squinted. Long Ruo, or Rong Zuo, or whatever-Zuo. Hua Yong’s cousin, he recalled. Shen Wenlang had met him before, and he seemed okay… for an omega. “Oh yeah. You’re… uh…”
“Long Zuo. Are you having a good time?” the man asked, leading him away from the display of pictures and towards a table in the corner packed with family and kids. Behind them a waiter rushed forward with a napkin and bottle of seltzer water to dab at Sheng Shaoyou’s damp sleeve.
“Not really, no.” Shen Wenlang accepted two more mimosas from a passing waiter, then plopped into a vacant chair. He wondered where his bottle of champagne had gone off to.
“Want one?” He held up one of the mimosas to Long Zuo.
“No thanks, I’m expecting,” the omega smiled, patting his stomach. The pleased scent of milk candy filled Shen Wenlang’s nostrils.
He made a scrunchy face. Then he shrugged and went at the mimosas two-fisted.
“Nobody really has a good time at these things,” Long Zuo winked.
“Not like the baby’s going to remember,” Shen Wenlang scowled. There wasn’t a lot of shade on the rooftop, and although the morning was cool the sun was starting to get to him. He was starting to sweat through the suppression patch on the back of his neck. Things looked… wobbly.
“No, but it’s tradition. It’s got to be done.” Long Zuo sipped at his ice water, opening a satchel and producing a box of crayons and coloring books. He handed them to a trio of children, all between three and five years old, who took them and crawled beneath the table. Shen Wenlang wished he could follow them, maybe take a nap. His hangover was killing him.
“Oh! Hey!” Long Zuo stopped a passing cart laden with circular bamboo steamers and racks of plated snacks beneath. “Have you had breakfast? Let’s put some food into you! Do you want Chinese, or Western?”
“Neither,” Shen Wenlang mumbled. His stomach wasn’t feeling all that great at the moment and no, he hadn’t had breakfast. In fact he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Yesterday? Maybe? The blobby white shrimp rice noodle rolls swimming in brown sweet sauce that the omega pushed in front of him brought the taste of sour orange juice to the back of his throat. He poked the noodle roll with the tip of one chopstick, then looked up.
More and more guests were arriving, passing by the table with the photographs. They formed a line, pausing to praise Sheng Shaoyou and fawn over baby Peanut before handing Hua Yong their red envelopes.
Shit! The hongbao! He hadn’t brought one!
Shen Wenlang patted his breast pocket for his phone and withdrew it, scowling at the screen, preparing himself to dial a number and scold the man on the other end. How could he allow Shen Wenlang to forget such a thing?! Gao Tu always remembered things like this. He should have had the red envelope waiting on Shen Wenlang’s desk. Probably the cute kind of envelope, with teddy bears or kittens or something on it – Gao Tu was thoughtful like that. And Gao Tu would know the socially-correct amount of crisp bills to put in it and have that amount waiting without even being asked.
Just as quickly as his anger had flamed, it fizzled away. Shen Wenlang’s finger paused, hovering over the contact.
The man who used to answer his call was no longer there. Instead, the call would ring straight through to a recorded voice advising Shen Wenlang that the number he had dialed was no longer in service, and to check the number and try again.
That recorded voice was burned into his brain. Some mornings Shen Wenlang woke up, checked his phone, and saw that he had dialed the number thirty, forty, fifty times the night before.
Hoping that this time, maybe this time it would go through and his call would be answered.
He lowered his phone slowly, then jolted as one of the children beneath the table bumped his leg, giggling. Then the whole table jolted and rattled causing his mimosa to shudder and slosh.
“Stop it,” Long Zuo hissed, lifting the tablecloth and peering beneath it. “This isn’t a playground!”
The omega was answered with laughter and the children burst forth, crayons and coloring books scattering as they ran off for a game of tag. They swiftly met up with another group of children and swirled around the stoic string quartet, giggling and yelling.
“Kids.” Long Zuo looked of at Shen Wenlang and sighed with fake exasperation as if to ask “What can you do?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I got talked into having another one. You know the saying: you couldn’t pay me enough to have another kid, but I wouldn’t sell the ones I have for all the money in the world.”
Shen Wenlang’s hand tightened around the stem of his champagne flute. His ears were starting to burn strangely, and his stomach gurgled. The patch on the back of his neck was itchy, and he scratched at it in annoyance. All around him were happy families. Laughing children. Spouses holding hands, or bickering, or eating together. Babies on laps, babies crying. It was overwhelming. And in the center of all that…
“Thank you for coming!” Hua Yong fitted a tiny foam-covered microphone over his ear as the string quartet finished their set. He looked ridiculous, like a pop star taking the stage. So phony. “I’m so happy to be surrounded like this by friends and family!”
Shen Wenlang scoffed. As if that little lunatic gave a fart in the wind about a single person here other than Sheng Shaoyou! He’d probably line everybody up and shove them screaming right off the roof if it made his dearest Mister Sheng so much as smile.
“I truly don’t deserve such happiness,” Hua Yong continued, his honeyed voice amplified by the microphone oozing over Shen Wenlang’s frayed nerves.
“Damn right, you don’t,” he muttered.
Long Zuo side-eyed him.
“I owe it all to this man, and the blessing he’s bestowed on me: my little Peanut.” Hua Yong gestured towards Sheng Shaoyou standing nearby with the baby in his carrier, who took just that moment to wave his little arms and make a cooing noise.
The entire roof burst into oohs and aaahs like it was the sweetest goddamn thing they’d ever heard in their entire lives – like their hearts were about to melt right out of their chests.
Shen Wenlang chewed the insides of his cheeks until he swore he tasted blood. Something brushed past him and he shifted aside in his chair as a gigantic cake, slathered with fondant and dripping with orchids and oranges, was pushed past on a rolling table.
“So here’s to us.” Hua Yong lifted his mimosa and floated towards Sheng Shaoyou, who cocked an eyebrow as the Enigma set one graceful hand on Peanut’s head and leaned in for a kiss. “And my perfect family.”
It was finally too much. Something inside Shen Wenlang burst open like a volcano that had been spitting smoke for days, rumbling and grumbling and was now finally erupting!
“Where’s my perfect family?!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. Every head on the roof swiveled towards him.
“Oh dear…” Long Zuo gripped him by the sleeve, urging him to sit back down. Shen Wenlang shook him off and stumbled forward.
“Ah-Shen,” Hua Yong frowned.
“Please, Mister Shen! Please, sit down!” Chen Pinming, that mealy-faced secretary of Sheng Shaoyou’s, rushed forward wringing his hands urgently. The string quartet exchanged worried glances as the enraged man stepped unsteadily onto the dance floor.
“I will not!” Shen Wenlang yelled, shoving Chen Pinming aside to crash into the display of baby pictures. The damn suppressant patch was… so annoying. He reached around the back of his neck and ripped it off. Angry Alpha pheromones issued from him like a swarm of killer bees. All around him guests gasped and clapped their hands over their mouths and noses. Parents grabbed for their children and ushered them away swiftly, looking over their shoulders with shocked expressions.
“Hua Yong, you lying, cheating, manipulative little sneak!” Shen Wenlang was shaking with rage, eyes bloodshot and words slightly slurred. “Everything you have here, I helped you get! So where is my baby? Where is my husband? Where is my hundred days party? I should be standing up there! Not you!”
Tears of hate began to pour from his eyes. Hua Yong’s calm expression only made it worse. The string quartet grabbed their instruments, abandoned their chairs and ran for cover.
“Ah-Shen,” Hua Yong said, his eyes narrowing, “whatever happened between you and Gao Tu… was all you. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Like hell you didn’t!” Shen Wenlang was so angry he beat at his own chest, tore at his own clothing as he bore down on the Enigma. “I played along, I helped you get him!” He stabbed a finger towards Sheng Shaoyou who was standing next to the cake with baby Peanut in his carrier, frozen like a statue. “Now what about me?! All of your scheming, all your clever tricks and you’re telling me you have no idea where Gao Tu is? Why can’t you find him?!”
“Because I’m not looking for him, Ah-Shen,” Hua Yong said in a very chilly voice.
“And why the hell not,” Shen Wenlang snarled. He balled his fists at his sides. Enigma or not, in a matter of moments he’d be throwing punches.
“Because look at you,” Hua Yong whispered. Unfortunately he was still wearing his microphone and what he said next reverberated across the entire roof. “You answered your own question. Why on earth would I inflict you on the poor man? You made him suffer enough.”
“Hua Yong!” Shen Wenlang roared, surging forward, pulling his fist back and aiming for that smug, conniving, self-satisfied face. Unfortunately, as he did so, his foot reached the edge of the dance floor and he stumbled.
What happened next was a blur.
A table rushed up towards Shen Wenlang out of nowhere and he grabbed for the white tablecloth as he fell. There was a crashing sound, and screams. Something hard hit him in the shoulder (the ground?) and something heavy and soft landed on him. He floundered against it, fists flying, but the more he punched at it the softer it grew until he realized he was covered in fondant and lying on his back beneath a piercing blue sky in the remnants of baby Peanut’s giant hundred days cake.
“Security,” Hua Yong sighed.
Everywhere things were in tumult. He could hear, vaguely, the thud-thud-thud of running footsteps. Several Alphas in black business suits and pheromone-isolation masks hauled him up bodily and began to drag him away, smearing fondant all across the dance floor and the artificial lawn.
And Shen Wenlang began to laugh, because it was either that or cry. He laughed and laughed, opening and closing his fists and squeezing handfuls of sticky cake between his fingers until he was all squeezed out.