Chapter 3: Breakfast Rules

Breakfast was at seven-thirty.

Haojun knew this because Aunt Chen had told him, and also because at seven twenty-two his body woke up on its own and refused to go back to sleep. He'd never been a morning person. This was apparently a feature of being seven — the body had opinions and they were non-negotiable — and he lay in bed for eight minutes being vaguely resentful about it before giving up and getting dressed.

The dining room smelled like congee and sesame oil and something frying in the kitchen. Very good smell. Haojun's stomach said so loudly and without shame. He was getting used to the indignities of a small body.

His mother was already there. Shen Guowei said good morning with the warmth he reserved for Haojun, the kind that felt genuine enough that Haojun kept having to remind himself it wasn't the whole picture. He sat down. Fresh orange juice at his place, condensation on the glass.

Full spread. Congee in the center pot, still steaming. Pickled vegetables, braised peanuts, soft tofu. A plate of scallion pancakes coming through from the kitchen, set down and retreated from.

Aunt Chen ladled him a full bowl. Generous, tucked a spoon in. The particular efficiency of someone who fed children as an act of care.

The seat at the far end of the table was empty.

Muze came in the same way as last night — not arriving so much as materializing. Dark blue sweater. The look of someone who'd been awake for a while. He sat, placed his hands in his lap, waited.

Aunt Chen came back with the ladle and gave him a portion that was — fine. Not mean. Just less. Like a calculation that had been made at some point and never revisited.

Muze didn't say anything. He picked up his spoon.

Then he looked at the pancakes.

It wasn't dramatic. It was the kind of look you'd miss if you weren't paying attention — not longing exactly, just attention. The specific quality of attention you gave something you'd already decided wasn't yours. His eyes tracked there for a moment, then moved away. He reached for the pickled vegetables instead, which were in the center and therefore neutral territory, and helped himself without looking at anyone.

Haojun looked at his own plate. Full bowl, good congee, stack of pancakes he'd been served without asking. He thought about this for about four seconds, made a decision, and slid the pancakes down the table to Muze's end. Slid his bowl too, just switched them out entirely, because the math was obvious and he wasn't hungry enough for the full portion anyway.

Muze stared at the pancakes that had appeared in front of him.

Then at Haojun.

Haojun shrugged in what he hoped was a seven-year-old kind of way. He ate a spoonful of congee. Muze looked at the pancakes again. Something in his expression was doing something complicated and carefully contained, and then he picked one up.

"Muze."

Liang Feifei's voice was light. Pleasant, even. She had the tone of someone making a small, sensible observation.

Muze stopped.

"You shouldn't eat too much." She lifted her own teacup, not looking directly at him, which somehow made it worse. "Omegas who let themselves go when they're young have a much harder time later. You want to be attractive, don't you? An unattractive omega will have a very hard time finding a good alpha."

She said it the way you said remember to wear a coat or don't forget your homework. Practical advice. A mother being practical.

Muze put the pancake down.

He did it without expression. No argument, no flinch, nothing that would make it into a moment. He just put it back on the plate and looked at the table and continued eating his congee in small, even spoonfuls.

Haojun sat very still.

He was processing several things simultaneously. The first was that his mother had just said that out loud, at a breakfast table, to a seve-year-old, in a tone that suggested this was normal. The second was that it was apparently normal, or at least normal enough that Shen Guowei kept reading something on his phone and Aunt Chen didn't look up from refilling the tea. The third was that Muze had put the pancake down like he'd been expecting this, like the pancake appearing in front of him had already contained its own correction somewhere inside it, like he'd known.

The fourth thing Haojun was processing was that he was, apparently, living inside the metaphor now, and the metaphor was worse in person.

An unattractive omega, she'd said. Like that was a category. Like that was the worst thing. Like a seve-year-old eating a pancake at breakfast was a future problem to be managed.

He looked at Muze's profile. Muze was eating his congee. He had gone very still in the particular way Haojun was starting to recognize — not sad, not angry, just — removed. Like he'd stepped back from the surface of himself to somewhere quieter.

The pancake sat on the plate between them.

Haojun looked at it. Looked at his mother, who was now saying something cheerful to Shen Guowei about the weather. Looked at Muze.

He picked the pancake up and ate it himself. Finished it in three bites. Helped himself to a second one while he was at it, because he was seven and he could eat as many pancakes as he wanted and no one was going to tell him about his future marital prospects.

Muze looked at him.

Haojun met his eyes. He didn't shrug this time or do anything that could be read. He just looked back, and after a moment looked away and ate his breakfast, and the table continued around them, and that was that.

Except — and he noticed this, catalogued it, filed it — Muze watched him eat the second pancake. Not with longing. With the same careful attention he gave everything. Like he was recording it.

Like he was going to think about it later

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