Wave to the Sky (Omegaverse)

Chapter One: The Painter

"Excuse me, dear, what's your name again?" inquired the elderly woman, her interest piqued by the paintings showcased along the quaint street. She addressed a young man overseeing the display, his attire consisting of a paint-splattered white shirt and worn jeans, revealing his sun-kissed complexion. His voluminous brown curls framed a pair of warm brown eyes, hinting at his non-local origins.

"It's Alon, Ma'am," the young man replied, offering a friendly smile.

"Alon?" echoed the old lady, her brow knitting in curiosity. "An unusual name."

"Indeed, I'm not fond of it," Alon conceded with a chuckle.

"Where do you come from?" the old lady inquired, a question Alon had grown accustomed to from strangers.

"I'm from here," he responded tentatively. "But my Mom is Asian. She migrated from the Philippines. So, yes, my name is from her language."

"I see. How do you pronounce your name again?"

"It's Alon, but you can just call me Loony," he suggested.

"That's easier. Lance, I'd like to purchase that one," the old lady said, gesturing toward a painting of roses in a white vase. "It would be perfect in my kitchen. What do you think?"

"Absolutely!" Alon exclaimed, seizing the opportunity to persuade her. "You have excellent taste, Ma'am. And because of that, I'll give you a discount."

"That sounds wonderful," the old lady exclaimed. "I'll take it!"

Alon swiftly wrapped the painting in newspaper and string, smoothly concealing the fact that he hadn't actually given the old lady a discount. As he stashed the earnings into his fanny pack, he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. Observing the bustling city streets, he marveled at the diverse array of people bustling about on this cloudless day.

With a sigh, he settled onto a nearby bench, watching the ebb and flow of life around him. He never dared to dream big, believing such aspirations were reserved for those with means to achieve them. Yet, his late mother, Maria, had instilled in him the notion that dreams could elevate one to greater heights.

Maria had immigrated to this foreign land in pursuit of a better life, eventually meeting John and giving birth to Alon. The name itself, derived from the Philippine language, signified the seas of the archipelago, a reflection of Maria's fondness for her hometown.

Despite his timid nature, Alon had been forced to fend for himself after his father expelled him from their home upon completing high school. Grappling with odd jobs to make ends meet, he often found himself yearning for escape.

His reverie was interrupted by a pigeon taking flight from a nearby tree, drawing his gaze to an intriguing advertisement adorning a nearby building. A new toy, offered by a company named SkyHaven Toys, captured his attention.

"Wouldn't it be nice to be a bird?" Alon mused aloud, captivated by the idea of freedom embodied by those winged creatures. Yet, such flights of fancy only served to deepen his sense of discontent. His longing to visit his mother's hometown burned within him, hindered by his scant knowledge of its whereabouts.

"If only I could fly," he whispered to himself, his mind wandering in search of the elusive destination he yearned to reach.

"Palawan," he whispered to himself, the name igniting memories painted vividly by his mother. An island amidst a sea of others, known for its perpetually hot and humid weather and pristine beaches. Alon's affinity for the ocean stemmed from his mother's tales of this distant paradise, a stark contrast to the urban sprawl where he now found himself.

The thought of journeying to Palawan tugged at him, but the prospect seemed daunting, both financially and logistically. With only the name of the place in his possession, the risk of embarking on such a venture felt insurmountable. He sighed, grappling with the weight of his longing.

Returning his focus to the bustling streets, Alon resigned himself to the familiar rhythm of city life, where every corner held a story yet to unfold. Occasionally, he sought solace at the dock, where the rhythmic lull of the waves and the cries of seagulls offered fleeting respite from the cacophony of the city.

"Loony!" a voice pierced through his reverie, prompting him to snap back to reality. Before him stood Arthur, recognizable by his fiery red curls and emerald eyes.

"Ah, Arthur, it's you," Alon greeted.

"Yes, indeed," Arthur replied with a smirk, perusing the paintings with exaggerated interest.

"Considering a purchase, are we?" Alon teased.

"Oh, I'd buy the lot if I could," Arthur quipped playfully. "That floral piece would complement the living room beautifully, and the seascape? Perfect for the master bedroom. And as for that—"

"Alright, enough!" Alon interjected, chuckling at Arthur's jesting.

"So, what brings you here?" Alon inquired, adjusting a painting on the ground. "Surely you're not here solely for art appreciation."

"If I had the means, I would," Arthur responded cryptically.

"Well?" Alon pressed impatiently.

"Don't you ever tire of this?" Arthur posed, his gaze penetrating.

"What do you mean?" Alon countered, sensing a deeper inquiry beneath Arthur's words.

"Look, you're out here under the scorching sun selling paintings," Arthur pointed out, gesturing toward the sky. "I mean, look at you. You're practically a golden-brown cookie... standing here."

"Let's get one thing straight, Mister Smartypants," Alon retorted, irritation creeping into his tone. "This is just how my skin is. Thank you very much. And it's not like I have a ton of options. You know being an omega limits my opportunities."

"Hey, I'm not trying to offend you," Arthur countered. "You were the top student in high school, remember? It's just a shame we couldn't afford college."

"It's too late for regrets," Alon sighed. "You know I can't give up painting. And besides, what else can I do? I'm just an omega."

"Come on, cheer up. Why don't you find a rich alpha, have his kid, and then you can escape this mess?" Arthur suggested, a hint of jest in his voice.

"What are you calling a mess?" Alon asked softly, his patience wearing thin. "Are you here just to mock me? Because if you are, you can kindly show yourself out. I'm trying to run a business here."

"Fine," Arthur relented, sensing Alon's frustration. "Clear your schedule in two weeks."

"Why should I do that?" Alon questioned, skepticism evident in his voice.

"Well, you remember where I work, right?" Arthur prompted. Alon paused, recalling their previous conversations.

"The bar downtown?" Alon ventured.

Arthur nodded. "Exactly. The manager mentioned we need extra staff for an upcoming stag party."

"A stag party?" Alon repeated, confusion evident.

"Yeah, you know, the pre-wedding bash they throw," Arthur clarified. "It's going down on a private cruise ship by the dock. So, are you in?"

"Absolutely," Alon agreed eagerly, a spark of excitement igniting within him.