Mew was going through the motions. The opening speech ticked all the right boxes, his smile dazzled for the press shoots, he clinked his champagne glass with all the necessary people. Going through the motions. Was this really all there was to life?
He felt like he was in a scene from James Cameron's 'Titanic'. Wealthy people whirling and twirling around him, adorned with pearls and diamonds but all powering steadily towards that unseen and unknown tragedy.
Right on cue, a drunken fist slammed down onto a neighbouring table, causing a sudden crash of cutlery and splintering glass. Mew lowered his head and chuckled darkly at the accidental punchline.
Waiters rushed over, serviettes aplenty, as they attempted to right the table setting and dab at the wine-stained shirt of the 'iceberg'.
"Alright, alright, that's enough" the greying man slurred, swiping at the helping hands before: "Dirty bloody omegas, get off me".
Mew cringed instantly, the smile falling from his lips as the hair stood up on the back of his neck. There was a heavy silence - amidst the backdrop of music and merriment - before the waiting staff swiftly turned their attentions back to the table and began replacing cutlery.
All except one.The alpha's eyes followed the dark-haired, tall figure in the waiter's uniform, as he rose from the table he had been wiping and walked - seemingly calmly - away from the scene, towards the exit doors leading to the outdoor car park.
Seemingly calmly, because Mew's eyes went to the man's hands. They were fisted, fingertips pressing white against palms, balls of unspoken rage.Mew scraped back his chair and followed the man. He didn't know why - he would never be able to explain why - but in that moment, seeing those hands, he felt a little bit alive.