Standing Tall, Falling Hard

Chapter 1 - Full Moon

The hum of conversation mixed with the clinking of glasses created a rhythm that was almost comforting. Almost. If it weren't drowned out by the low lights and the thick air polluted by obnoxious cologne and cheap perfume, it might be comforting. But for Clement, the only comfort it brought was the comfort of knowing rent would be paid only slightly past due.

He had been working at this bar for almost a year now; the longest he'd ever had a job. It was a small bar nestled between two much larger establishments just off of US 101, situated between Melrose Hill and Koreatown. It was a bit of a longer walk from his house and it wasn't really his ideal environment, but it definitely paid Clement more than his other job. At his day job, he only made $10.50—minimum wage, but here, at The Full Moon, he made a whopping $12.00 an hour. So, despite it all, Clement learned to love it. It did have its charm—soft music, vintage décor, and a clientele that leaned more toward relaxed than rowdy. Still, no amount of charm could shake the unease that twisted in Clement's stomach whenever an alpha walked through the door. And at bars like these, there were always alphas to be found.

Over time, Clement had gotten used to being around so many alphas. Not many would cause him trouble, which was good. Though, it was probably because they didn't know he was an omega. After all, who would guess he was? At first glance, no one would have a clue. Male omegas were rare to begin with; only 10% of the omega population were men. Then, to have an omega look like him? Almost impossible, even. Regardless, Clement was grateful. Between The Full Moon and the 7-Eleven, he made just enough to squeak by as well as take care of his mom. There wasn't much more that he wanted than that, except to maybe be a little shorter.

Just then, a new group of customers entered, and Clement's heart sank. The strong smell of the alphas hit him like a ton of bricks. He looked up only to be met with a glare that could kill. Clement's breath hitched at the sight of him. He was short, yet well-built with dark hair and tan skin, and his eyes shot daggers at everyone who dared to look his way. His three friends seemed to be giving off good energy in comparison, but this guy, obviously, was not a happy camper.

"C'mon, man, you're not staying home," One of them insisted, slapping the mysterious guy on the back as they approached the bar. "You need to get out and forget about Aria."

"Forget about her?" He scoffed, his voice deep and rough. It brought chills down Clement's spine. Running a hand through his messy dark hair, he continued "You'd think the twelfth time's the charm—or have I not been punished enough?" He took a seat just a few away from where Clement was standing, his friends quickly flanked to his sides. The three continued their attempt to comfort him with reassuring words but to no avail. Clement was not looking forward to getting involved in this—people have often shared way too many of their life stories with him: stories of heartbreak and sorrow, expecting some magical advice from the bartender, but Clement had never dated anyone before, so he was always shit out of luck in that regard.

Clement pulled himself out of his thoughts to see one of the patrons, Mr. GrumpyPants' friend, staring a hole in him.

"I think you got it."

"Huh?" Clement's voice cracked, having been used for the first time in about an hour.

The man pointed at the counter where Clement had been mindlessly wiping his cloth back and forth for the past few minutes all while lost in thought the whole time. Embarrassed, he put the rag down and turned back to face him,

"Ready when you are," He said.

"He'll have a sex on the beach." He laughed, pointing at his friend.

"Shut the fuck up, Carlos." The grouch retorted.