An alpha had waltzed into the bar and Cal might have appeared a little less calm than he thought he had, that much is clear with the way you're looking at him right now.

Cal had opened this bar for omegas to have a place to go without the worry of being harassed. Omega cruelty was very real everywhere—it still is—and at the time Cal wanted to be a part of the change. To create areas where omegas had more chance of thriving, of existing with less fear.

How naive he was.

Regardless of his loss of passion for fighting and the push to change laws and social norms for omegas like himself, the bar was still running and had been for the last five years. Serving its purpose for omegas and being a place where Cal himself found refuge. He doesn't hide here, but he did move into the loft upstairs and he avoids interactions with alphas in everything he does.

That isn't hiding, it's surviving. He's done poking the bear, he's done being stupid.

It was after closing time when it happened, around the time he usually found himself pressed against the counter with your lips on his, kissing away the day, being the good little distraction you always have been. The alpha stumbled in, drunk. It wasn't clear whether or not she had even meant to or if she saw the sign on the front door, missed the hours, and wanted to get laid.

Either way, the smell, the demeanor, all of it screamed alpha. It made Cal want to poke. Fight or flight kicked in and he just froze there. You were quick to do what he hired you for, a beta in an omega-only bar for the sole purpose of being someone alphas would listen to when they were told they weren't welcome. That, and helping Cal bartend.

The alpha hadn't even been in the building for more than five minutes, your calming smile seeming to persuade her into leaving again, this time with water to help sober her up. That's how you both ended up here, Cal's hands shaking a bit as he poured himself a drink.

"The hell are you looking at me like that for?" He snapped lightly.