Saffron pulled his shirt collar down with a finger, studying the right side of his neck. He stared at the straight-line scar on the crook, where his scent gland would’ve been located… if he had one.

Scent glands were a bean-shaped organ the size of a kiwi. It was what made an alpha an alpha and an omega an omega. It regulated everything about their secondary gender—reproductive hormones, heat and rut cycles—and produced a unique scent that no one else had. The scent they were born with was theirs alone, unless a pair mixed scents in bed durin—

He slapped his cheeks, blushing at the thought of a lewd act he would never get to experience.

Who would want a scentless omega who has never had their first heat?

The lack of cycles was a fact that Ash and Ginger did not know about him. It was a hill he would die on because he was ashamed of it. Honestly, he was surprised Ash hadn’t caught on, since Saffron didn’t take time off for his heat week every six months.

If it weren’t for the daily hormonal pills that made him sick at times, Saffron would’ve assumed he had turned into a beta.

And Saffron hadn’t always been this timid or quiet. He had once been a happy child.

When he was ten years old, that had all changed during the annual school physicals. The doctor had felt a lump in his scent gland. After a series of strenuous tests, he had been diagnosed with stage two Orihara-cell carcinoma. His family had been horrified because cancer did not run in the family.

The scariest part was the rarity of scent-gland cancer—one in a million—which only affected alphas and omegas. The chances of getting it as a child was… was…

Unfair.

Thankfully, his had been treatable, since it was caught early on. Saffron had been sent to the only hospital in the country specializing in this type. He had stayed in Texas until he was allowed to go home. At the time, he had been the only minor in that medical wing… but Ginger had been there to cuddle with him as he cried while the chemotherapy had burned every cell in his body.

Unfortunately, there were not a lot of studies on how Orihara-cell carcinoma affected male omegas. One of the major side effects for him was his scent gland losing its functions—all of the functions—the pheromones, the scent, and the hormones. Gone.

The doctors went wild trying to figure it out. Saffron had become a case study, likely published in college medical books.

I once had a unique scent, too.

He vaguely remembered his spicy pheromone smell—saffron. His parents named him Saffron for a reason.

But that was a long time ago. At least he had been cured of the disease and lived his teenage years as best as he could… or so he had foolishly thought.

In the springtime of Saffron’s first year of university studying creative writing, the same type of cancer had returned. He hadn’t been feeling well since the fall, but he’d ignored it and deemed it stress from the new environment and intense workload. Eventually, the weakness, weight loss, and other pains became too much. Stress could no longer have been the reason:

The doctor placed a thick file of X-rays and test results on the desk. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What? What is it?” his mother had asked anxiously. Saffron’s parents had come with him to hear the results. They prayed it wasn’t that.

Mom had held his hand tighter. Dad had squeezed his shoulder.

“Saffron. Mr. and Mrs. O’Reilly,” the doctor had said with utmost kindness. Oh, no. Saffron knew this specific, empathetic tone. “Orihara-cell carcinoma has reoccurred.”

The room went silent.

“W-what stage?” his father had asked quietly.

“Three.”

Mom had begun to cry. Dad had cursed. Saffron hadn’t said anything. He was numb. The ringing in his ears had grown louder. Their voices around him were muffled as they continued talking.

“We have some options. We could remove the scent gland and surrounding tissue, since the tumor has just barely begun to spread. The procedure is called scentectomy. Though, that would require taking a stronger brand of hormonal medication that may affect the quality of life.”

The doctor kept talking. It had made Saffron more distressed with every word.

“If you choose that route, we could discuss the possibility of adding your name to the donor list of scent gland recipients. It’s uncommon that one ever appears, let alone a match, but there’s always the small chance. There is also chemotherapy if you prefer th—”

“No,” Saffron finally spoke up. His voice had been loud and stern. “I do not want treatment. I can’t… I can’t do that again…”

“Saffy.” Mom had cried harder. “What do you mean you don't want treatment? At all?”

“I never said that.” Saffron had looked at the doctor and said with confidence, “Tell me more about the removal surgery… and becoming a recipient for a new scent gland.”

That moment had been four years ago. He had been waiting on the donor list ever since.

Life had been different after the surgery. It was indifferent, bland, and gray. If bad things happened, he accepted there was nothing he could do. If that was his fate from there on out, then so be it. The hormonal medication had worsened these thoughts, whether or not it was the cause of them. Saffron had even dropped out of college because everything was all…

Well, the doctor did say it would affect my quality of life.

But removing his deadbeat scent gland was a decision Saffron did not regret. The hormonal medication made him feel like a lifeless zombie, but it was better than the likelihood of another cancer recurrence.

Saffron rubbed his hand roughly over the spot. Raining always gave it phantom pain because it was a reminder of a traumatic event that he wanted to forget—and would continue forgetting.

He took a deep breath to collect himself and left the bathroom. Ash was behind the cafe counter, since customers had come in. Ginger hugged him and passed on the new umbrella. She apologized for upsetting him, but he assured her they had done nothing wrong as concerned friends.

Everything was okay. He was fine.

Life was fine.

***

Saffron’s shift finished. He was the last person in the store and locked up. It was dark outside. Ash had already gone home, leaving Saffron alone. He stood near the doors, where he was protected from the rain.

SHAAAA.

It still hasn’t stopped. Awesome. Just how much more rain will we get?

A rush of wind almost made him topple over. It carried and splattered droplets on him. He shivered. This was supposed to be spring! It felt like winter! Saffron opened the umbrella to walk to the train stati—

WOOSH.

Another gust of wind broke Ginger’s umbrella. It folded inside out.

Great. Well, they don’t call this place “The Windy City” for nothing.

BZZ. BZZ.

Hmm? Is Mom calling?

Saffron took out his old smartphone, which he needed to be scrapped due to its age. He did not recognize the caller ID but picked up anyway.

“Hello?”

“Good evening. Am I speaking with Mr. O’Reilly?”

“Uh,” he hesitated. Scams were common in those days. “Yes, this is he.”

“This is Pam from the Miracle Organ and Tissue Network. Are you free to talk?”

Saffron was speechless. He hadn’t heard from that company in years. They had tested him to help find a…

Could it be?

“I’m o-okay to chat n-now.” He became tongue-tied.

“Wonderful. Well, we have some news that we are so excited to share with you.”

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

His heart beat so fast that it physically hurt. The rain came down harder, and he almost couldn’t hear what she said next.

“We matched you with a donor, Mr. O’Reilly. There’s a scent gland waiting for you.”