Nothing is going in Damon's way.
Problems in the company keep popping up like mushrooms, leaving him no time to rest. It would've been easier if it's just clients being difficult, but even the board has been hounding him to increase the interest rates despite them expressing satisfaction at the last meeting.
Worst of all, the main house has been calling him more often recently. Despite his numerous rejection, they've been trying to get him to come back. He has an inkling for their reason in doing so, but simply thinking about having dinner with them causes his head to ache.
Damon closes the folder in front of him with a snap, throwing the pen he used to sign the documents somewhere on his desk. The chair slightly moves when he shifts his weight backward. He loosens the tie around his neck at the same time, opening the top button on his shirt.
For some reason, he has been feeling stuffy lately. It's as if the air suddenly became harder to breathe. There's also an indescribable itch under his skin, painful sparks electrocuting him at random times. If only he has found the time to check his condition with Dr. Medina, then his employees won't be acting especially cautious around the ticking time bomb in the form of an irritable Alpha.
His pheromones, which he usually has flawless control over, fill up his office in a clear warning for others not to enter. He's been scenting the place with his foul pheromones, acting like a true territorial Alpha, doing nothing but frightening the people near him.
Since he can't do anything to improve his mood, Damon is hoping to receive good news on the investigation he ordered Lucy to do. With all the 'coincidence' piling on top of each other, he suspects that someone is purposely sabotaging his work. Listing out the people who may have a personal vendetta against him—not the company itself—isn't enough to narrow it down.
However, his usually competent secretary has been displaying less than stellar performance as of late. She's not causing any problems, not a single mistake in her work. In fact, some might say that nothing has changed at all, but from the years of having Lucy work for him, Damon notices the way her attention to detail has been slipping up.
This month alone, her requested days off have amounted to more than the combined vacation days she took over the years. Lucy doesn't tell him anything about her personal life, and although he prefers it that way, it seems that he needs to intervene at some point. That's another problem on his plate.
Damon sighs, heavy and weary, not that different from the state of his body. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he closes his eyes in an attempt to have a short rest.
When he opens his eyes, an unknown amount of time has passed. The sunset on the horizon indicates that he napped for longer than he intended, wasting working hours.
Just as he's about to resume working, he sees Heath twisting the cap of a glass bottle close. The bottle is small enough that it fits in his pockets, where the Beta immediately puts it without Damon noticing.
"You're awake?" Heath asks as he passes Damon a glass, the liquor dark.
Damon accepts the drink with a nod. The Gods know he needs it right now.
The liquor has that distinct odor of whiskey, but there's also a sweet undertone within it. He takes a sip, letting the booze rest in his mouth, before swallowing the contents down in one gulp.
After seeing that, Heath asks, "Is it good?"
Damon doesn't know why he's asking this, alcohol tastes the same once he's drunk anyway, but it does go down his throat more smoothly than he expected. He finishes the rest of the drink without a word, and only when he notices how numb his tongue has gotten does he answer with a short, "Yeah."
Everything around him dulls, his senses encasing in this blurring bubble. He enjoys the pleasant warmth creeping up his gut. It's a break from all the stress and headache he suffered in the past few weeks.
He leans further back into his chair, not knowing when it is since Heath has been sitting on his lap, arms around his neck. Their lips touch, but even though Damon melts into their combined heat, he can't feel a thing.
As the view outside turns dark, so does the color of his eyes.
No thoughts are left in his head. With Heath in his arms, everything is alright.
--
Primo leans down on the table, finding the perfect angle to showcase Kaiden's handwriting on the cup before snapping a photo.
The click of the phone shutter is silent amidst the noisy set, as the director is once again yelling at the rookies for another NG. Primo, of course, has no problem with filming—evident by the fact that he's resting in front of his dressing room, coffee in one hand and phone in another.
He quickly types a caption on the picture he just took before his manager comes back from the restroom. With a smile, he puts the phone on the table face down, pretending he didn't post anything on his social media.
Tristan, the ever-experienced manager, eyes him suspiciously when he walks to his side. Putting his acting skills to use, Primo sips his coffee without a care to the questioning looks Tristan is giving him.
However, the charade doesn't last long.
Tristan's phone dings with a notification, one he especially set up to alert him whenever his artist has any social media activity.
Primo continues pretending, not even breaking a sweat as Tristan takes several deep breaths. When the Beta has managed to stabilize his blood pressure, he opens his phone to see the extent of the damage his artist has done.
[Primo Alca (V): Coffee from my best friend. (1 image attached)]
Ah, he did it again, Tristan complains internally, clutching the back of his neck in frustration.
As he takes Primo's phone and deletes the post, he reminds himself how big of a fool he is for believing that he can leave the device around the Omega just because Primo has been behaving well. Once he takes his eyes off him, Primo goes ahead and does something like this.
"Do you know how expensive a single post from you is? How can you just give them a free advertisement like that?" Tristan can't help but scold Primo upon seeing the cup he's holding, 'Unpoisoned Apple' written in big, bold letters upfront.
Needless to say, Primo isn't the type to back down even when he's in the wrong, so with a glare, he asks back, "What's wrong with posting what I like on my account?"
They enter into another staring contest, the one of many. At this point, the staff knows that the artist and the manager glaring at each other is an everyday occurrence. Since they have seen this before, they also know that it's the manager who backs down first.
With a sigh, Tristan looks up and covers his eyes with one hand, the other resting on his hip. "Mother," he calls to the sky, "how have I sinned in my past life to be stuck with this disobedient child?"
Primo clicks his tongue, but there's a smug look in his eyes. When Tristan glares at him again upon hearing that sound, Primo is quick to say, "You already took it down anyway."
Tristan resigns to his fate while Primo enjoys his coffee. However, unbeknownst to the two men, Primo's fans are currently forwarding a screenshot of the post to their private fan groups a hundred times over, fueled by curiosity after their beloved idol posted about his 'best friend' twice.