Page 2 of Dearest Alpha Brothers 1: Vampire Prince

Mr. Fluffles and his judgy eyes went into my bag too. Some people had family photos on their desk; I had an army of plushies that would make any self-respecting adult cringe. But hey, at least they didn’t ask why I was still single or try to set me up with their cousin’s neighbor’s dog walker’s son who was “also into that anime stuff.”

I smoothed down my oversized lavender sweater—the soft, worn one I’d splurged on during a particularly bad week when my boss had taken credit for my entire holiday campaign. It was my armor against the world, a soft shield of comfort that said “I may be an adult with a corporate job, but I refuse to give up things that make me happy.”

The security guard barely glanced up from his phone as I passed the lobby desk. “Night, Luca.”

“Night, Joe.” Same exchange, different day. At least he’d stopped trying to convince me to leave earlier. “Hot date with instant ramen tonight,” I added, trying for humor.

He chuckled, but I caught that same look Mariana had given me—that mix of pity and concern that made me feel like I was starring in my own tragic manga.Lonely Office Boy’s Midnight Adventuresprobably wouldn’t make the season’s top ten list.

Outside, the city buzzed with its evening rhythm—salary workers dragging themselves home while the night crowd was just warming up. The train screeched to a halt at ten p.m. Not that I was counting, but in a subway car that smelled like broken dreams and stale desperation—a mix of defeated overtime warriors and excited club-hoppers—you tended to watch the clock.

Two guys about my age sat a few seats away, laughing over their phones. “Mom’s been calling nonstop,” one groaned, buthis smile gave him away. “She’s convinced I’ll starve if she doesn’t check on me three times a day.”

“Ugh, same,” his friend replied. “Mine’s threatening to move closer to ‘take care of her baby.’ Like, Mom, I’m twenty-two!”

They continued complaining about their overprotective parents, each grievance feeling like a tiny paper cut to my heart. What I wouldn’t give for a mom who called too much, a dad who insisted on checking my apartment’s security system, anyone who’d notice if I didn’t come home one night.

Stop it, I scolded myself, pulling out my phone to scroll through anything that wasn’t social media and its parade of happy families.This isn’t some tragic backstory in a light novel. You’re fine. You have Mochi. You have Mr. Fluffles. You have… well, you’ll have instant ramen once you stop by Mr. Choi’s.

The train lurched between stations, its movements as graceful as my attempts at office small talk. My reflection in the window looked like an extra in a slice-of-life anime—tired eyes, messy hair, the general appearance of someone whose life goal had become surviving until the next yaoi manga release.

My stop arrived with all the subtlety of a shonen anime power-up sequence, complete with screeching brakes and flickering lights. The station at this hour was its own kind of liminal space, populated by the kind of characters you’d find in the background of a supernatural BL—the dead-eyed salary workers, the stumbling partygoers, and that one guy who always looked like he was one bad day away from becoming a villain’s origin story.

The walk to Mr. Choi’s store felt longer in the dark, each shadow promising either certain doom or a chance encounter with a supernatural hottie. My overactive imagination, fueled by too many late-night yaoi reading sessions, painted possibilities in every corner.

That movement in the alley? Probably a werewolf alpha coming to claim his fated omega—it was a raccoon. That red gleam from the broken streetlight? Definitely vampire eyes searching for their next meal—just a reflection. That whisper of movement behind me? A dragon shifter about to sweep me off to his magical realm—nope, just a plastic bag dancing in the wind.

Not that I’d mind being whisked away by a tall, dark, and handsome vampire lord like in Midnight Office Love Story: The Alpha CEO’s Secret, I thought, hugging my messenger bag closer.At least supernatural boyfriends probably don’t make you work overtime without pay.

“Get it together,” I muttered, speed walking in my sensible clearance sneakers. “This isn’t one of your mangas. No gorgeous supernatural alpha is going to?—”

The convenience store’s automatic doors whooshed open with way too much enthusiasm for this hour, cutting off my self-lecture. Inside, the familiar buzz of fluorescent lights and tired pop music created that special kind of late-night ambiance that made everything feel like a scene from a budget supernatural romance, the kind where the omega protagonist meets his destined alpha soulmate between the instant noodles and the energy drinks.

“Just another lonely night shift, Luca?” Mr. Choi didn’t look up from his newspaper, probably already knowing my sad dinner selection by heart.

“Living the dream, Mr. Choi. One cup noodle at a time.”

The store’s tiny manga section called to me like a siren song. The new volume ofClaimed by the Vampire Prince: My Fated Alphasat there in all its glossy glory, practically begging to be bought. My bank account screamed in protest, but honestly? After the day I’d had—after Ms. Rodriguez had claimed yet another of my ideas—I deserved some fictional romance wherethe omega hero actually got his happy ending with the powerful alpha prince.

Besides, I reasoned, grabbing the manga and my usual cup noodles,it’s still cheaper than therapy.

“Got the new one in just for you,” Mr. Choi said as I approached the counter, finally looking up with that grandfatherly smile that made my heart twist. “My grandson says this volume has a big confession scene. The vampire prince finally admits his feelings.”

I hugged the manga to my chest like it was made of gold. “You’re the best, Mr. Choi.”

“Ah, but manga boys can’t make real dinner,” he said, already reaching under the counter. He pulled out a container of what smelled like his wife’s legendary kimchi. “Mrs. Choi worried you’re too skinny. How will you find nice boyfriend if you’re all bones?”

And there it was again—that bittersweet ache in my chest. The Chois had been feeding me their “extras” since I’d moved into the neighborhood, probably seeing right through my polite protests. It was the closest thing to parental fussing I’d had since that rainy night.

“Mrs. Choi is an angel,” I said, my voice only slightly wobbly. The kimchi’s spicy scent reminded me of weekend dim sum with Mom, Dad trying to use chopsticks and failing spectacularly while Mom pretended not to be embarrassed by her very American husband. “But you guys really don’t have to?—”

“Family takes care of family,” he cut me off with his usual firmness. “Even convenience store family.”

Don’t cry in the convenience store. Don’t cry in the convenience store. Protagonists don’t cry over kimchi, no matter how kindly offered.

The night air hit me like a slap of reality as I left the fluorescent comfort of Mr. Choi’s store. My messenger bag nowbulged with contraband kimchi, questionable cup noodles, and enough yaoi manga to start a small library. Or at least enough to get me through another lonely weekend of pretending I had plans beyond talking to my cat.

I tackled the last few blocks home like a video game character on low health, jumping at every shadow. The broken streetlights flickered like something out of a horror movie, and not the kind where the omega gets saved by a hot alpha vampire. More like the kind where the guy really should have taken that taxi.

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