Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Mingyu stands coins up in the coin tray of the washer machine one by one. His thumbs are too big and clumsy and he keeps knocking them out of their slots and onto the ground. Loses one to the dusty underbelly of the machine as usual. When finally five are standing up, he grunts and gives the tray a push. The machine accepts his money with a cheerful musical jingle and the control board lights up. Mingyu pulls his assortment of colorful, half-filled bottles of detergent out of the laundry basket and tucks them into the crook of his arm. With his free hand, he pelts whites into the washer and punches in their combination on the control board. He juggles the detergents to find the one he's looking for and he must look some kind of pathetic, trying to pour detergent into a measuring cap with bottles clenched against his side and chest and arms, because a voices pipes up from behind him. "Can I...can I help you hold anything...?"

Mingyu turns, blindly fixing his smile on the person behind him. A girl his age, Ewha Woman's University written on her soft pink sweatshirt, very clearly trying to hold in a laugh with how she's sucking in her lips. Mingyu's smile turns bashful and he smothers an embarrassed laugh. "You know? I would appreciate that."

She successfully wrangles the bottles from the iron grip of his forearm and elbow, shaking the hair from her face. A smug smile climbs across her face. "You really could have just put them down."

Mingyu laughs for real. "I thought I had it!"

"Uh-huh."

"It's for efficiency's sake, see, if I don't waste time putting them down—"

"Uh-huh."

"—then...well...I don't waste time putting them down—I thought it was a good idea at the time, okay!"

"So much time saved," she teases. Mingyu rolls his eyes and takes the fabric softener from her hand.

"I have a system." He measures out the fabric softener and pours it into the dish. "But, uh, I can admit that system sucks. Thanks."

"Sure thing."

She helps Mingyu load his lights and darks as well, cheerfully keeping up conversation about vacuuming and hang dry versus dryer and how washing dishes is the worst chore, overwhelmingly. They're not the only patrons of the laundromat this time of day—seven in the evening, right after sundown—but with the white noise of tumbling laundry and the pastoral, echoing enka that the owner liked to play over the loudspeakers, no one minds their idle chatter. Mingyu takes the bottles from her at the end of it, gesturing to the delicates he has to hand wash, and she leaves him to it with a wave.

Mingyu wears a little smile as he tends to his delicate shirts and even as he switches over his laundry from wash to dry. He's just finished plugging the last drying combo in on the machine when he hears a polite cough behind him. He turns to see the girl from earlier, her laundry roughly folded and piled into a basket at her side. She's digging the toe of her shoe into the checkerboard linoleum, smiling but not looking at Mingyu. He realizes, suddenly, what this is.

"So..." she starts. "It was pretty cool talking with you."

"Yeah," Mingyu says, the corners of his lips turning up. "Even though we only talked about chores."

"Um. Yeah." Her ears are absolutely burning and Mingyu's heart twinges. So cute. "Well...I...um, if you were okay with it or whatever...maybe some time we could, like. I don't know."

"Uh-huh?" Mingyu teases.

She groans and rolls her eyes. "C'mon man, I'm struggling here! This really isn't my forte, you know." She huffs. "Usually they come to me, but you're really hot, so—"

Mingyu's smile freezes and his heart drops to his stomach. He tries not to be obvious but he parts his lips to inhale her scent, drawing it across the roof of his mouth. She flushes for real. "That's, uh, forward of you—"

Omega. Of course. It's hard to tell with the laundry smells up his nose, which is probably why he hadn't noticed at first. Why she hadn't noticed. Mingyu feels his face shape itself into apologetic softness. "I'm sorry," he hears himself say as if from another room. "I'm not a beta."

She blinks, eyebrows pulling together. For a single, mortifying moment, Mingyu thinks she might not believe him. But then she also opens her mouth and breathes in his scent and her eyes widen. "Oh, shit," she says. "I'm sorry, I thought that—um. Well, like, maybe a low beta but..."

But not a full-blooded omega. She doesn't need to say it. Mingyu knows.

"Yeah," he says. Brittle.

And then, because he can't bear the awkward stillness of half a question, he says, "Not your type, right?"

"Oh, that's not..." she starts, but they already know the truth. Her scent has the faintest edge of guilt. Of wanting to take back the offer of going for coffee, or whatever. "Just not what I expected."

"Yeah," Mingyu says. "I get that a lot."

She's quiet for a moment, but then, resolute, gathers her laundry and without looking Mingyu in the eye and says, "I'll see you around?" She doesn't wait for an answer and Mingyu doesn't give her one. He's grateful for the tumbling clothes covering their conversation and the general disinterest of the other patrons. In one corner, a mom herding her two twins; in the other a middle-aged man is sitting on top of a dryer in front of his wash, reading a book. Mingyu slides to the ground and lets the dryer bump against his head. He's too tired, suddenly, to be mad or sad or disappointed.

Throughout the laundromat, the crackling, soulful voice of a man croons, Nakiguse sakeguse namidaguse...Doko e itta ka hosoi kague...

---XXX---

It's no one's fault. People can't help who they are attracted to. And Mingyu can't help being himself. It's no one's fault—it's just unfortunate that Mingyu looks like something he is not.

He was born big. A big heavy, 3-weeks-late infant whose weight eventually stretched across a long, gangly frame. He was always taller than his classmates, but his parents and doctors assumed he had hit his growth spurt early. Even when he presented—omega, expected, given his omega parents—he was in the 72nd percentile. Big, but not unnaturally so. But Mingyu kept growing and filling out. Taller, stronger, thicker. His voice deepened before his classmates and was the deepest even after they joined him. The first time he got sorted into the beta team for soccer, he had laughed and made a joke of it with his friends. The thirty-first time, not so much.

He looks like a beta. Talks like a beta. Towers over his managers, both as beta as one can get. Because of a medical condition he even smells like a beta when he's not in heat. He can't blame omegas and betas for approaching him with that assumption. But that doesn't mean he has to like it.

Mingyu is smacked on top of the head with a paper fan. He looks over his shoulder to see his manager, Sangyeon, sweating and giving him a flat look. "Quit your moping, man. Focus." He's been running himself ragged checking that all the equipment is in place and functional and their coworkers aren't zombies behind the wheel (camera, lights, set, what-the-fuck-ever). Kind of like Mingyu right now, zoning out as he cleans his lens.

"I'm not moping," Mingyu says sullenly.

"Uh-huh." Wow, Mingyu did not expect a single word to hurt his feelings that badly. "Okay, well, quit your not-moping. You're gonna make our model weep. Have you ever seen a weeping lingerie model?"

"Sounds Vogue."

"Ugh," Sangyeon says, making a face. He starts to fan himself again. "Ugh, it kind of does. This is Victoria's Secret though, so—"

"So keep the model happy and keep the lighting guys happy and keep the art director happy—"

"—and by doing all of that, keep Seungmin happy." Sangyeon nods. "You got it. Did you read the brief?"

If brief could really be used to describe it. Was it necessary for the marketing director to use so many words for what amounted to 'chic but flirty gender-neutral fashion'? It wasn't even that revolutionary. Still, Victoria's Secret... "I read it. Listen to the big cheese's spiel, do exactly as he says, and then tolerate the nitpicky verbal abuse until Seungmin steps in to help."

"I think it's called constructive criticism."

"It is," Mingyu says. "If it's constructive." They share twin long-suffering looks.

The sound of something crashing to the floor at the back of the studio interrupts their pity party. Sangyeon says something very rude about their coworkers' parents and upbringing and takes a couple heavy steps in the direction of the noise before he pauses and turns back to Mingyu. "About what's bothering you," he says, frowning. "I'm shit at the feelings stuff but I'll give you your bonus early, okay? After the shoot. Remind me." He stalks off in the direction of some undoubtedly quivering intern.

Mingyu's heart gives a couple loud, affectionate thuds. He hadn't even known he was due for a bonus.

He checks the zoom on his camera and takes a few test shots to adjust the shutter speed. Sangyeon is too soft on him. And that—that is Mingyu's fault. It's easy enough to treat him like one of the betas, especially when he can scuffle like the best of those rough boys, but once someone gets to know him his omega nature becomes glaringly obvious. He's so touchy—physically and emotionally—that he unintentionally drags out their protective instincts. And yeah, cry 'toxic dominance!' all you want, but Mingyu doesn't mind when the alphas and high betas he's close to speak gentler around him and hold doors open for him and bring him a can of soda even when he didn't ask. Is he taking advantage of their instincts? A little. He swears he's working on it, but it's hard when the subconscious kindness he gets from his coworkers is the closest he gets to being seen for the person he is.

He's desirable—that much remains the same, freakish size be damned. He's had the usual stream of boyfriends and girlfriends and ill-advised hookups in his youth that one would expect with a face like his; betas and omegas who found the dichotomy between appearance and personality charming. A couple quite serious. But even his two-year boyfriend, a handsome, mild beta who always made Mingyu laugh until he squeaked, wanted Mingyu to be something else. Not as a person; not at first. But when the sex isn't what you want, the personal flaws suddenly become much less tolerable.

Okay, wow, dwelling on the past, total yuck. Mingyu hangs the camera around his neck and slaps his cheeks a couple times. He catches the eye of Dawon, the prop manager, arms crossed as she surveys the set. She pretends to scratch her nose to cover up her laugh. Mingyu grins at her and she makes a shooing motion, mouthing 'distracting!' Mood buoyed, Mingyu checks his flash just as Seungmin's voice reaches his ears, indistinct but getting closer rapidly.

Seungmin leads the art director into their studio, trailed by his army of Victoria's Secret staff all in smart, matching uniforms. Mingyu feels stupidly self-conscious in his black sweater and cuffed jeans even though their company's dress code is relaxed. Man, it wouldn’t be so uncomfortable if they acted like robots, but the Victoria's Secret staff are infuriatingly casual and comfortable as they set up hair and makeup. Mingyu wants to do something stupid, like go over and offer to carry their travel bags for them and try to make friends. So cool. He tugs on his cap and buries his nose in triple-checking settings instead.

Of course, he isn't left alone for long. Seungmin approaches him with art director in tow, a thin man with tasteful eyeshadow and a wide beige trenchcoat over high-waisted pants and heeled boots. He doesn't smile, but he speaks clearly and lightly when he explains the concept behind this line of lingerie.

"It's about having fun with gender," he says. "Sexy and chic, but unafraid to cross the lines between alpha, beta, and omega. Both to liven up the sex life of steady couples and to give a curious, playful edge to singles. There's something so inherently sexy about an alpha who puts away the glitter and lace to go for plain, unfiltered confidence. Or an omega who's willing to become a sparkling gem, even when they've already got their partner tongue-tied."

"Pretending to be something you're not?" Mingyu blurts before he can stop himself. Seungmin flays him alive with a look, but the director only quirks the corner of his mouth.

"Or becoming something you weren't allowed to be." Mingyu has nothing to say to that. "We have six models with six different atmospheres for each shoot. I believe you were briefed about them..."

As expected, the day is brutal. It helps that the director is thoughtful and calm, but he's just as critical as Mingyu and Sangyeon had feared. It's less of an issue of Mingyu's expertise and more of a particularity about the aforementioned 'atmosphere.' By the time they finish shooting the fourth model, Mingyu is starting to think their lighting techs deserve a bonus more than him. The director steps away for a moment to fuss at the stylists and Mingyu takes that moment to sink into his chair behind the computer and press his forehead to the cool surface of the table. Maybe if he's quick enough, a micronap...

A kitten sneeze to his left. "Ugh," Seungmin groans. "I think the stress of this contract is giving me a cold."

Mingyu turns his head. Seungmin's foundation is flawless as ever, but it's impossible to completely hide the tired bags pulling on his eyes and his heavy lids. He looks small in business casual, his legs and shoulder shrunk to that of a teen's. "You should take off," Mingyu says, frowning.

"Eager much?" Seungmin jokes, but he dabs at the corner of his eyes in an effort to keep from rubbing them.

"Maybe a cold is what you need to take you out for a couple days. Just sleep for forty-eight hours. Forget Kiku's hungover ass—you look like the real zombie on set."

"Whatever," Seungmin says. "I have a backlog of scheduling to do for the February-March shoots."

"And there isn't some bright-eyed and bushy-tailed intern willing to rack up that secretarial experience?"

"I cannot trust our company's future to a nineteen-year-old."

"Control freak."

"Perfectionist."

They glare weakly at each other until the director returns. "Sorry for the delay," he says. "Last minute fix on the fit."

"Not a problem," Seungmin says, mustering his customer-service smile. "What's your direction for this scene?"

Unexpectedly, he waves a hand. "Don't worry about it. Seungkwan is a talent. Same angles as 2 and 3, but he'll do most of the work. Might have to adjust the lighting a bit..."

Naturally. Mingyu stands up and moves towards the set, where the model is getting last minute makeup touchups. The makeup artist smiles and fights back a laugh at whatever he's saying. He goes to touch her wrist and she laughs out loud, smacking his hand gently, then making a mock-affronted expression when he draws his 'wounded' hand to his chest. She's smiling a moment later. Dating, maybe? Mingyu approaches them slowly to give warning. The artist catches Mingyu's eye and pats the model on his hand and hurries off set. Mingyu catches his side profile as he turns his head to follow her, and then his eyes are on Mingyu.

Mingyu rocks back on his heels, automatically taking a half-step back. "Whoa," he says out loud, almost subconscious.

The model is intense, from the way his eyes flash to Mingyu's, to the cursory top-to-bottom appraisal he gives Mingyu a moment later, to the knife-sharp eye makeup and winding black lingerie flush against his skin beneath the robe draped casually over his shoulders. After dealing with the other models who ranged from cold to bored, approaching this one feels like volunteering to have boiling water poured over Mingyu's head. That kind of intense.

And then, not even two breaths later, the model's guarded stance relaxes into contrapposto and he pulls a face, the bridge of his nose and the corners of his eyes crinkling. "It's a bit strong, isn't it? I told the makeup team I don't need cologne but something about authenticity, or whatever."

"Strong—what?" Mingyu is dazed. It clicks a moment later. "Oh. Pheromone-based cologne."

"Yes." The model sighs. "Wooseok-hyung and Eunwoo-hyung complained about it earlier in the dressing room. I've been trying—" he produces a paper fan from seemingly nowhere, "—to dispel the stench a bit but I think I might be making it worse." He fans his neck with a mildly embarrassed smile.

He's an alpha. Mingyu supposes he should have guessed from his small stature, but he isn't in the habit of assuming second genders. He sniffs lightly, hoping he won't offend the model but too curious to resist. The words are out before he can think better of them: "Oh. Wow."

The model scrunches his face again. "Right?"

The perfume coats the back of Mingyu's nasal cavity and the back of his throat and he coughs into his hand. "That's, uh, a bit strong." It's a high-quality cologne—lighting up all the right neurons, making Mingyu's brain buzz with interest—and barely detectable as artificial, but beneath the overwhelming scent of like, leather and green tea, there's another, fuller note. Warm and human and indescribable. It pings on Mingyu's animal instinct radar and in equal parts makes him want to draw away, hackles raised, and follow his nose until he's pressed against the source. He shakes his head clear of the pheromones.

The model lets the silence stretch between them for a moment before he prompts, "So—"

"Oh!" Mingyu says. "Sorry, I just wanted to check if you had any last-minute details you'd like to go over. I'm the photographer." Mingyu gestures to the camera around his neck unnecessarily.

"Ah," the model says, tapping his fist to his palm. "Okay, let’s see…I look better from below. And shoot my left side for the promotional poster. And from behind, of course." He says the last one with a knowing smile, like he and Mingyu are in on some personal joke. He says it like only an idiot would think to go against him. There is a lot of direct eye contact.

This is...a little different. The alphas Mingyu knows are either boring, shallow narcissists or lazy do-nothings bumming around until the next opportunity in life or lovers drops into their laps. Or they're Minghao. But never this—this unflagging confidence, this relentless intensity. Charisma tipping the balance between wary and enraptured until Mingyu can feel the way he's subconsciously angling to lean closer.

"Right. Yes. I can do that." He thinks. Probably. Mingyu's head is strangely fuzzy at the edges.

The model claps Mingyu on his upper arm and winks. "Thanks, big guy."

The art director calls, "Seungkwan-ah!" over Mingyu's shoulder and the model—Seungkwan—drops his hand and obediently trots over at the summons. Mingyu is left with the terrible certainty that if he had a tail it would be wagging hard enough to sprain.

Woof, he thinks sadly.

The art director is right about Seungkwan being a talent. He's patient through the lighting adjustments and makeup touchups and replies with a bright "Got it!" when the director makes a suggestion. As a model, he is striking. Aware of every inch of his skin and the limits of his expressions, he makes a masterpiece of himself. A toe skimming the edge of the bathtub. Knuckles pressed to the hollow of his throat. Kneeling with his legs spread as he leans back to freeze in the process of pulling off his robe. Covering the corner of his smile with the back of his hand. And when he looks into Mingyu's lens, that same initial intensity sticks Mingyu like a needle through the barrier of metal and glass and hardware.

He rushes to Mingyu's side after each of the scenes while the props are being switched to preview the shots. His shoulder touches Mingyu's arm and one of the Victoria's Secret stylists fusses at his bangs and he says, "Oh, you're good, aren't you?" He flits away from Mingyu a moment later, but the hairs on Mingyu's arms stay raised and prickling until Seungmin snaps hello, Earth to Kim Mingyu?

Mingyu is a professional. Lingerie shoots are not as sexy as one would think; too much time spent on worrying over angles and lighting and eight managers and directors breathing over his shoulder to get excited about whatever the product is and how aesthetically pleasing it looks on the models. Something about the network of wires crisscrossing the cement studio floor and the legs of tripods reaching out to trip unsuspecting workers takes the sex appeal out of a shoot. And that's not different now, with Seungkwan, because Mingyu is still stressed as hell—more so, actually—but he feels too self-aware, like he's a robot skinned with a layer of flesh and every movement is jerky and inorganic.

It's not quite, 'Is he looking? Is he watching me?' but it feels uncomfortably close.

Must be the damn theme of the shoot. Even Seungmin has shown hints of beyond-bland-professional interest in the products. Gaudy alpha fashion on betas and skimpy beta fashion on omegas is unusual enough to turn heads. Mingyu caught Sangyeon with his tongue between his teeth, trying not to laugh at the jewel encrusted bra on one of the beta models and mouthing peacock to the prop manager. The strategic, career-focused lobe of Mingyu's brain is pleased that the photos from such a sensational ad campaign will be credited to him.

Seungkwan in the plain, almost conservative boxers and shiny silk robe that barely covers the tops of his shoulders and pools at his feet, by comparison, should not make one excited. The artfully sloppy tie of the sash around his bare stomach should not draw one's eyes. But Seungkwan has a way of making people look at him.

He reminds Mingyu of Minghao, how Minghao could draw eyes simply by walking through the door. How the volume of a room didn't swallow his soft voice but dropped to accommodate it. His presence was so subtle that if he were another person, he might go unnoticed altogether. But with the crossing of one leg over the other or the laying of a palm flat against the table, Minghao commanded attention.

But unlike Minghao, Seungkwan's presence draws attention by being so striking that one cannot even pretend not to notice him. If he were dressed in alpha fashion, designed on principle to make everyone look at the wearer, Seungkwan might have shone too bright to look at, but in omega fashion the effect is almost worse, because he can be looked at. Seungkwan's presence wakes up the subtle clothes he wears, turns them from plain and efficient to barely restraining the force of the sun. He wears the lingerie like armor, like a god. Mingyu understands, emphatically, why the art director chose Seungkwan to model this particular line. It feels like a crime to press the shutter and to capture Seungkwan's glory on such an unworthy medium.

The shoot progresses so smoothly that before Mingyu has time to get lost in his own head, it's over. Seungkwan bows and shouts "Thank you for your hard work!" before jogging to the changing room. Mingyu is left strangely empty, staring at the bathtub on set and trying to imagine how such a dull prop had him holding his breath a minute earlier. He reports to Seungmin before he gets smacked upside the head.

It takes a good ten minutes into the last shoot before Mingyu realizes that Seungkwan-the-model is the same Seungkwan as Boo Seungkwan, long-time Weekly Idol MC, vocal trainer on the survival show Crown Debut, and the host for last year's Chuseok Music Festival in Seoul. Mingyu had seen him model in ads before, but somehow it never occurred to him that Boo Seungkwan might roll up to Mingyu's own workplace someday. Not that he was an especially avid fan of Boo Seungkwan's; he was always entertaining and friendly when Mingyu happened upon his shows, but never enough for Mingyu to follow his social media. Still...pretty cool that he got to talk to such a famous person. The Boo Seungkwan said he was good at photography. Yeah...pretty cool.

Mingyu presses his fingers to his temples. Or it would be if he didn't have this lingering fucking curiosity about pressing his face to the underside of Boo Seungkwan's jaw.

It's not a crime to be attracted to that intensity, but Mingyu really liked the way Boo Seungkwan was thoughtfully self-effacing without losing any of his confidence. He liked the way Boo Seungkwan talked casually with him even though they'd just met in a workplace setting. It's no wonder that makeup artist had been so comfortable playing around with him—Boo Seungkwan had a way of making even the least visible people on set feel seen and heard. He likes the way Boo Seungkwan makes him feel. He likes it a lot. He's aware, distantly, that this is a stupid train of thought to follow, but the louder, cheery part of himself says, Well, you'll never know until you try! as Sangyeon passes Mingyu to facilitate in studio breakdown.

Mingyu catches his arm. "Hyung, quick question."

Sangyeon stops and turns, flashing Mingyu a smile. "Oh, Mingyu. I haven't forgotten the bonus; just give me a moment to—"

"Not about that," Mingyu says.

"Oh? Shoot," Sangyeon says.

Mingyu takes a deep breath and says in a rush, "That model, the alpha, the one with the curtains and the tub—"

"Who?" Sangyeon's brows furrow. His eyes leave Mingyu's momentarily to skewer one of their coworkers over Mingyu's shoulder, accompanied by the stab of his index finger. They return to Mingyu. "One of the models?"

Mingyu tries not to fidget, licks his lips. "Yeah, you know the, uh. The alpha. Seungkwan-ssi."

"I guess?"

"Do you, like," Mingyu lowers his voice, speaks fast, "have a way to get in contact with him or his manager or something?"

"What?" Sangyeon's brows furrow further. "He give you some kind of trouble?"

"No," Mingyu says patiently.

"Then why do you need to get in contact with him? We're not gonna be seeing those guys again, Mingyu. Contract's up after today." Sangyeon makes a big, sweeping arm movement at another person over Mingyu's shoulder.

Mingyu waits.

Sangyeon seems to realize he isn't going to elaborate. He throws Mingyu an exasperated look, but catches on a moment later. He pulls a face. "Aw, hell no. That brat? No, Minggoo, no. Just...no."

"Do you or don't you," Mingyu says tightly, "because I'm not above asking Seungmin—"

"Bro, why," Sangyeon groans. "Did you not pick up what he was throwing down? Marching around like he owns the whole place...alphas suck, dude. A guy smells like garlic and onion sauteed in butter and suddenly he thinks everything he touches is gold just 'cause he can be mistaken for a meal."

"I don't—what?"

"You want his number, right?" Sangyeon shakes his head. "Can't help you. I'm not looking to throw one of my boys at some stinking turd. Unconscionable."

"Because he's an alpha?" Mingyu cries. "Jeonghan-hyung is an alpha!"

"Yoon Jeonghan's funny though," Sangyeon says. "And he sucks at basketball. Like, hilariously bad. Besides, it's not the alpha thing—though, for real, bad taste—it's the attitude thing. Not enough room in our entire warehouse for his ego."

Betas. Mingyu rolls his eyes. "Okay, I'll go ask Seungmin."

"Don't say I didn't warn you!" Sangyeon calls after him as Mingyu stalks away.

Unfortunately, Seungmin isn't any help either. He frowns at Mingyu's request, not in the down-with-alpha-scum way but the I-am-alarmed;-lecture-incoming way, which is arguably worse. "I can't just give you that information," Seungmin says, bemused. "That's a violation of our contract? Models deserve their privacy, too; especially someone like Boo Seungkwan who has a past of stalking behavior from fans—"

"Okaysorryforasking," Mingyu says and flees before Seungmin can start to lecture in earnest.

Not meant to be, a voice like Minghao's sighs in the back of Mingyu's mind. He tries not to let himself be disappointed, but after the awkward night at the laundromat, Mingyu is too bummed to cheer himself up. It just sucks! He's busy—he loves being busy, loves his work—but being busy means he doesn't meet people outside his coworkers and his old university friends. He tries. At Minghao's mixers; at Seokmin's cast parties; he is bubbly, he wears low-cut shirts, he puts on a touch of makeup. He gets drinks with new acquaintances; he goes home with them, too. He smiles with teeth the entire night and he makes the pretense of keeping their numbers but in his gut there's this constant pulse of wrong, wrong, wrong.

Naive, maybe, to think all his problems could be solved by hooking up with a cute guy he met briefly on set. Alright, definitely. But Mingyu's never-failing optimism is his key charm. Tilt your head and pull your brows together at the right angle and smile while pouting for long enough and anyone will bend. Mingyu's the worm in the apple—once he burrows in someone's heart there's no getting him out.

He zips up his camera bag, adjusts the strap across his chest. Pulls on his jacket. Tucks his laptop and tablet in his backpack and slings it over his shoulder. Can't be helped about that Boo Seungkwan guy, even though Mingyu can't trick himself into not feeling disappointed. He skulks out of the studio and down the hallway. Could've been a jerk after all. What's it Minghao always says...what will be, will be. What's real needn't be forced. Or something equally Aristotelian.

It's Kafka, you oaf. Like speaking to a blunt gardening tool... Mingyu can hear the smile in Minghao's resigned sigh. He pushes open the door to their building and steps into the alley, squeezing his eyes against the sunlight. Maybe he'll call Hao today, he thinks as he fumbles for his ballcap. They have brunch on Monday but that's not for another two and a half days.

"Hold the door, please!" someone calls from behind Mingyu. He spins around to catch the door, hopping on one foot to keep his balance.

"Thank you," Boo Seungkwan says, waddling out the door with a phone in one hand and a purse (could it be called a purse if it was the size of his torso?) clutched in the other. He's in a giant beige trenchcoat Mingyu recognizes as belonging to the art director and a peachy turtleneck this time—though what was Mingyu expecting? Marching out in underwear?

Boo Seungkwan squints into the sun with his whole face, the blue circle lenses of his sunglasses doing almost nothing to save him from the brightness. He squints at Mingyu. "Sorry, could you direct me to Eulji-ro? I set my location there," he waves the rideshare app open on his phone at Mingyu, "but I'm not familiar with the area."

"Uh," Mingyu says intelligently.

Boo Seungkwan offers him a patient (if squinty) smile.

"Yes—of course, yes, sorry," Mingyu says, mentally throwing a blanket over the neon sign in his head flashing 'AH FUCK' over and over. "You just need to follow this alley and take a right at the side road, then walk until you hit the main drag. Taxis usually pick up at the corner of the block. It's a couple minutes’ walk; you good on time?"

Boo Seungkwan scowls at his phone. "Three minutes?"

"Yeah, that's—yeah," Mingyu says, nodding his head a couple hundred times. Then: "Do you want me to walk you there?"

Why, in God's name, did he ask—

"Oh, god, would you?" Boo Seungkwan says, relieved. "I usually take the company car, I'm not—" He flaps his wrist absently, "good at this kind of thing."

"It's no trouble," Mingyu says. "I, ah, work here. I know the tricks." To catching a cab. Mother Nature's finest work in brilliance, everyone: Kim Mingyu.

Boo Seungkwan doesn't seem to mind. He follows Mingyu's lead, head tucked down and furiously texting. They walk in silence, anticipation a millstone in Mingyu's chest. He spends approximately fourteen seconds trying to come up with an opening line before he gives up and goes with, "It's...Boo Seungkwan, right?"

Boo Seungkwan glances up from his phone with a flat smile Mingyu recognizes as politely distancing. "Ah, yes," he says lightly. "You recognize me?"

"No—well, uh, yes. Not immediately. I helped with your shoot today."

That gets his attention. Boo Seungkwan looks up from his phone at Mingyu until it clicks, visibly, and his face breaks into a genuine smile. "The photographer!" And then, shrinking to a self-chastising, shyer look. "Sorry, I didn't recognize you with the—" he gestures to Mingyu's glasses and jacket. "That's embarrassing; I apologize."

Mingyu touches his glasses without thinking. "Oh! Yeah, I don't wear them when shooting. More comfortable." He pushes them up the bridge of his nose with his knuckles. "I'm amazed you recognize me at all."

Boo Seungkwan laughs. "Isn't it good manners? Besides..." He mimes stretching out a tape measure. "Kind of hard to miss a guy with your height. I'm envious." This smile is curled at the edges, secretive, lips pursed. Watching him talk is like watching an actor on set or being front row at one of Seokmin's shows. So unexpectedly exhilarating and real that Mingyu is helpless to fight the smile splitting his face.

"You're good at modeling," Mingyu says. "I mean, well, of course. But the art director praised you before the shoot even began."

"Eundong-hyung?" Boo Seungkwan rolls his eyes, though not unkindly. "He lays it on thick at times. I appreciate it, though. You say 'of course,' but just because one can do entertainment doesn't mean they make a good model. I used to be so stiff!" He laughs then trails off, covering his mouth with his hand. "I have a habit of blabbering on, please excuse me."

"No, that's—" Mingyu takes a breath, summons his courage, and leaps. "I actually wanted to talk to you more. I know we only exchanged a few words but you, ah, seem...fun."

"Fun," Boo Seungkwan says, raising his eyebrows. "I'm flattered."

"Interesting," Mingyu corrects, letting out a sigh. "I don't usually trip over my words quite this much."

"No? He's tall and looks smart and is a smooth talker? One can only wonder why there isn't a line forming."

"What gives you the idea I'm smart?" Mingyu asks, puzzled.

"I meant you dress smart," Seungkwan says, definitely smiling now.

They're walking along the main street now, Seungkwan's borrowed coat fluttering with the breeze from passing cars and Mingyu's too-long bangs getting in his eyes. If Mingyu's life were a movie, this would be the moment Seungkwan spun around to face him and offer a flirty line about getting drinks some time, but unfortunately Mingyu's life is Mingyu's stupid little life and he is the idiot behind the wheel, so instead he stumbles over a raised paver and says things that even his good looks can't save.

"Oh," Mingyu says, ducking his head. "Well. Luckily we're here and you can catch your cab and we both can pretend this conversation never happened."

"So soon. Are your flirtations usually this short-lived?"

"Just the ones I've seen in their underwear, I guess," Mingyu mumbles. Boo Seungkwan's eyebrows rise further. Mingyu blinks and plays the conversation back in his head. His eyes widen and he sputters. "Not—not like—I didn't mean—" He presses his hands to his face. In English, "Oh my god."

Mingyu has never been so grateful for the arrival of a cab. Maybe if he mashes his hands against his face hard enough he will go blind and never have to see the look on Boo Seungkwan's face. Boo Seungkwan, who hasn't moved to leave and free Mingyu of this prison of a conversation. Mingyu drags his hands down his face and looks up miserably.

Boo Seungkwan is holding his phone out to Mingyu. Mingyu stares at it blankly. Turns his blank stare to Boo Seungkwan when he shows no sign of taking it back.

He rolls his eyes—the same way he had when speaking of the art director, fondly—and says, "Go on. I won't make any promises, but."

Go on? And do what? Mingyu takes his phone hesitantly. His eyes shoot to Boo Seungkwan's as soon as he looks over the screen. "You want me to give you my number?"

"Aren't you offering?" Boo Seungkwan volleys back.

Literally yeah, sure, but Mingyu hadn't even thought to fantasize this far. He inputs his name and number in a daze and hands the phone back to Boo Seungkwan.

"Kim Mingyu," he says, holding the phonemes delicately and precisely in his mouth. Mingyu feels electrified, like a circuit board fried past the point of functionality. Boo Seungkwan has an almost-smile on his face. He meets Mingyu's eyes and wags the phone. "No promises," he reminds Mingyu sternly.

"I—yeah," Mingyu says stupidly. "I didn't even mean for any of this to—work. I...Did it work?"

Boo Seungkwan purses his lips; casts his eyes skywards in thought. "Hmm...four out of ten."

That's fair.

"But you're silly," Boo Seungkwan says. "In a way that makes me think we'd have a lot laughs together." He turns and opens the door to the cab, tossing his bag in. "I'm working this weekend," he explains. "If I'm still thinking about you after work I'll text you. Sound fair?"

Mingyu nods too much, again. Boo Seungkwan purses his lips, in a way Mingyu now recognizes as fighting down a laugh. "Thanks for the directions, Mr. Kim."

"You should do that," Mingyu blurts out. "Think about me, I mean."

Boo Seungkwan climbs into the cab and closes the door without another word, but through the tinted window Mingyu can see him smiling.

---XXX---

"You're doing it again," Minghao says, sighing. "That face."

"I was born with this face," Mingyu says, affronted. A little guilty.

Minghao gazes wistfully across the cafe. "If I had known you would be this unbearable once you found the right person, I wouldn't have introduced you to so many of my single friends."

"I'm not doing anything," Mingyu argues.

"You're yearning," Minghao says. "And it's disgusting. Less is more, Jay Gatsby."

"Obvious," Mingyu says. "You can do better than that."

"Less is more, Nick Carraway."

Mingyu tries not to smile. "Acceptable."

He might be yearning a little bit. After that fever dream of a Friday, Mingyu hadn't dared to hope, but before noon on Saturday, there it was, the text saying, 'Have you ever been to Japan?' from an unknown number with a Seoul area code sitting innocently in his inbox.

'Yes, on a work trip,' Mingyu replied. 'And hello to you too.'

'Are conveyor belt sushi restaurants as dismal in Japan as they are in Seoul?'

Two minutes of silence, and then a follow up: 'Hello. I didn't expect to text you so soon, but you've been on my mind.'

Another minute, then: 'The concept of conveyor sushi is so sexy but the execution is, in a word, subpar.'

Mingyu was unpracticed in holding back his laughter and had to bite his knuckle to keep back a hysterical giggle. Boo Seungkwan was texting him. Boo Seungkwan was thinking about him. What kind of life was this, even.

Mingyu replied: 'Hate to burst your bubble, but it's just as much of a tourist trap :/'

'Consider the illusion shattered,' Seungkwan replied. 'Dingo has too much money to be playing with my stomach like this.' And again, after a couple minutes silence, 'Let's go somewhere expensive. I feel like I'm forgetting what good sashimi is supposed to taste like with every minute that passes.'

That was the start.

Since then, Mingyu has patiently pretended to learn for the first time that Seungkwan is from Jeju-do, that he is a year younger than Mingyu, that he had a career as a soloist before his talent for variety set him on the route of MC and entertainer, as if Mingyu had not pulled up Seungkwan's page on Naver the moment his cab was out of sight. Seungkwan is a volleyball superfan and followed the Korean team to the last Olympics; Seungkwan will eat anything put in front of him regardless of how much he complains; Seungkwan hates bugs and the cold; Seungkwan cares about fashion unless it conflicts with his opinion on hats; and Seungkwan wants a picture of Mingyu.

'I'm famous so it's easy enough to find photos of me,' Seungkwan says unselfconsciously, 'but Kim Mingyu is on my mind constantly, it seems, and I only have one mental snapshot. Hardly fair.'

'Press photos and magazines don't count,' Mingyu says, trying not to get distracted by the absolute bombshell, Seungkwan wants a picture of me. 'I work in the industry. Do you know how many people I photoshop a day?'

'So you can count my pores and see how damaged my hair is? I don't think so.' But in typical Seungkwan fashion: 'Okay fine. I want a full body pic though.' And after another minute, 'No baggy clothes. I have a hunch about you.'

Whatever that means. Lucky for Seungkwan, Mingyu loves his body and is proud of the care with which he treats himself. He has many full body pics. Many with tight-fitting clothes. Many without any clothes. He picks a mirror selfie from a couple weeks ago at the gym. He's wearing tapered grey sweatpants and a black tank stuck to his body with sweat that makes his pecs look amazing. He's probably too quick to send it, but Mingyu never claimed to be subtle. No point in trying to convince Seungkwan he's a patient person.

Seungkwan replies twenty minutes later with, 'That was fast.' And then, just, 'Oh.'

He goes quiet for ten minutes and Mingyu can't resist asking, 'Did it live up to expectations?'

'Smugness is unbecoming, Mr. Kim,' Seungkwan replies. Three minutes, then, 'Exceeded them, actually. I thought you'd be skinnier.'

Smug grin in place as his smug thumbs type his smug reply, Mingyu offers a simple, smug, 'Nope,' in response.

'I'm rolling my eyes at you,' Seungkwan says. 'Hang on, there's an emoji for that.' He sends Mingyu a string of eye-rolling emojis.

Mingyu thinks that's that until Seungkwan holds up his end of the bargain, but then half an hour later, Seungkwan texts him, 'I'm starting to think that was a cop out.'

Mingyu takes a moment to follow, then laughs. 'Not sure how many pictures I have of me in skinny jeans, but if it will please Mr. Boo...'

'No, that's not what I meant,' Seungkwan says. 'I get the feeling you have a little thirst trap library, meanwhile it seems like this phone camera has a vendetta against me. How can there not be a single flattering angle? Has my nose always looked like this? I'm starting to believe you about the photoshop thing.' And then, 'God, you can't just say things like that, anyway. Offering yourself up on a platter. You're unreal.'

Mingyu shifts in place, a pleased flush spreading over his chest and shoulders. 'You want me to take a pic just for you?'

Seungkwan leaves him on read for a long minute before replying: 'Yes.'

Among other things.

Minghao lets out a lyrical, dramatic sigh. "The day has finally come. I'm no longer the most special alpha in Kim Mingyu's life."

Mingyu kicks him under the table. "Shut up. You're so annoying. I love you."

Minghao smiles and doesn't look at Mingyu.

"He's not that special," Mingyu lies, knowing that Minghao will know he's lying. "I just didn't know it could be like this."

"Sexual?" Minghao offers.

Mingyu kicks him again. "Easy. I don't have to feel so self-conscious. There's no hovering, like, expectation that I act a certain way. He's very," Mingyu licks his lips, "dominating. Of the conversation. And he's already seen me make a fool of myself and thought it was cute, so."

"And he thinks you're hot."

"Well." Mingyu straightens up and rolls his shoulders back. "Yeah."

"Does he know you're an omega?" Minghao looks at him now.

The smile falls from Mingyu's face. He looks down at his picked-over acai bowl, only a few soggy banana slices remaining. "No. I mean, maybe? It never came up."

Which is a little weird, now that Mingyu reflects on it. Their texts are a little more sophisticated than simple chatroom age/sex/presentation/location? but it's still fairly standard to ask about someone's second gender when you're interested in them. Of course, Seungkwan's second gender is on his Naver page even if they hadn't talked about his cologne at the shoot, but Mingyu had never brought up his own. A tiny, hopeful part of him wonders if Seungkwan had scented him earlier and already knows Mingyu is an omega, but the realistic part knows that without cologne of his own and in a studio full of mixed scents, he is indistinguishable from a beta.

"If he's an alpha, does it even matter?" Mingyu says. "Beta or omega, he's going to be calling the shots."

"Don't be estrist," Minghao says, flicking the top of Mingyu's hand. "There are plenty of lazy alphas who make their partner do all the work. And not every alpha likes omegas." Minghao speaks from experience: he likes the bluntness of betas and how easy they are to rile up. "That's not even the issue."

Mingyu sinks into his chair.

"Don't be like that," Minghao says gently. "I can tell you like him and that he makes you happy. But you, my big-hearted and tender-hearted monster—" Minghao folds Mingyu's hand between his palms, "—you get hurt easily. And I hate seeing you hurt because some idiot can't look past their beta size kink to see that you would twist yourself into a pretzel to make them smile."

Mingyu pouts so that he won't smile. "I don't want to bring it up," he confesses.

"It will come up eventually."

"I know." Mingyu runs his thumb over the back of Minghao's hand. "But if he hasn't asked, maybe he doesn't care. And I mean, beta or not..." Mingyu gestures to himself with his free hand. "It's not like I'm hard to look at. The way he talks—I don't know, I have this feeling, you know? I don't know if it's instinct or whatever but I feel so certain that our natures match."

"Omega hocus pocus?"

Mingyu pouts in earnest. "I said instinct."

Minghao pats his hand. "Yes, dear, your primal mate-dar is impeccable. And I'll let this go for now, I promise. All I want is for you to be prepared for that conversation, whatever the outcome may be." Minghao frowns. "And don't let him push you into a position you're uncomfortable with."

"I won't. He won't. He's not that kind of guy." Mingyu runs his free hand through his hair. "He's demanding but he doesn't push boundaries. He always leaves me an out, but I want to do things for him, you know? I just—I really like him."

"Whoa there, tiger," Minghao says, the corner of his lips curling up. "You met him three days ago. Let's not turn this into Bonded at First Sight."

"I thought you said my mate-dar was 'impeccable.'"

"Placating you, naturally." Minghao frees his hand so he can link his fingers together and prop his chin up on his hands. "I'd say your impression of Mr. Boo is a bit, shall we say, biased."

Oh no. Mingyu doesn't like that smile. "Would you look at the time," he rasps. "I have to get back to my..."

"Your what?" Minghao asks sweetly.

"My...washing. Left the washer on. Gonna flood...the apartment."

"You don't have a washing machine in your apartment, Mingyu," Minghao says. "Sit down."

Mingyu sits down with a thump, shrinking back in his chair guiltily.

Minghao levels him with an amused look. "And I suppose your alpha fetish has nothing to do with your esteem for one Boo Seungkwan?"

"It's not a fetish," Mingyu hisses, ears burning. "You make me sound like a pervert."

"That's because you are a pervert," Minghao says. "Why, it feels like only yesterday that you tried to spy on me in r—"

"Let me die," Mingyu begs. "Please, if there's a god out there, please just let me die. Because divine intervention is the only way I'll ever be free of a mistake I made when I was fifteen, seriously, are you never going to let that go?"

"Nope," Minghao says smugly.

(Minghao had struggled with his rut for the first few years after presentation—with his high metabolism, onset came swiftly and mercilessly, causing several embarrassing episodes until he was able to go on suppressants. Enter Mingyu, not even presented and morbidly curious about the whole process. When Minghao suddenly went into rut at science camp, Mingyu had accompanied him to the nurse's office—and then sat himself outside the cracked door, peering in on Minghao. It hadn't been a sexual thing, just boyish curiosity, but had ended in a lot of hysteria and embarrassment for all parties when the nurse's assistant discovered him on her way back to the infirmary. Over a decade later and it was still Minghao's favorite story to tell at parties, to Mingyu's eternal chagrin.)

"You're telling me that him being an alpha has no bearing on your interest in him whatsoever?" Minghao asks.

"I—" Mingyu purses his lips. "I don't dislike it."

"And when he 'dominates' the conversation, that doesn't do anything to you?"

Heat crawls up Mingyu's neck. "Not really."

Minghao waits, smiling knowingly.

Mingyu fidgets in his seat. "Of course I like it. The alpha part. That's—yeah. It's fine. But that doesn't mean it's," he drops his voice, "a fetish."

"You've already sent him nudes." Minghao says the question like a fact.

"No," Mingyu chokes. "No, that's—that's way too forward for three days, I wouldn't..." He swallows. "...Send more than one?"

Minghao makes a reedy noise in the back of his throat and kicks Mingyu hard.

"Ow!" Mingyu scowls and rubs his shin. Minghao is trying not to laugh.

"You're unbelievable." Mingyu pretends not to think about Seungkwan telling him, You're unreal. "It was the same with that other alpha, what was her name...Eleanor? I remember curating your dick pics."

Mingyu puts his face in his hands.

Minghao kicks him a couple more times but Mingyu refuses to look up. "I introduce you to a nice beta I know and you won't touch him anywhere but his elbow until you get to his place, but an alpha texts you 'pretty please' and suddenly you're belly-up and naked for them. What should I call that if not a fetish?"

"It's 2020," Mingyu mumbles through his hands. "I can be a slut if I want."

"Oh, of course; power to the sluts, all hail the sluts," Minghao says. "But you, my monster," he pulls Mingyu's hands away from his face, "are not a slut."

"Whatever," Mingyu mumbles.

"No shame in it," Minghao says, smiling. "Our fetishes are what make us who we are. You know I'll always love you, blah blah. And no offense to your subtlety, but when I send you betas and omegas and you politely decline—don't shake your head at me; I know you don't keep their numbers, it's fine—but whip around as soon as you catch a whiff of some alpha pheromones, well. I have eyes and a brain."

Mingyu swallows again. "It's really—I don't know what it is. It makes me scared and excited at the same time. I've never...with one of them. Of you." Mingyu sucks in his lips. "And...ugh. I know it's not PC, or whatever, but alphas and omegas...like, evolution-wise...we're supposed to be made for each other. And I know—I know—that with hormone therapy it doesn't matter, right. Even another omega could bond with me and take that role. But..." He bites his lip.

Minghao nods for him to continue.

"But there's this stupid little part of me that's like...'well, I guess you just weren't a good enough omega for an alpha to be interested in you'—please don't." Mingyu can see Minghao crumple at his words, his entire frame recoiling and then unfolding in an instant to reach for Mingyu, to comfort. "Please. I know. Dr. Oh and I have talked about this a lot. I just want to explain."

"Okay," Minghao concedes in a tiny voice.

"Internalized estrism is bad, omegas don't need an alpha; blah blah, I get it." Mingyu scrubs his eyes. "But you know how it is for me. Being like this; not looking or smelling like an omega. I'm so proud of my body, really, but sometimes I want to—to punch my mirror until it breaks.

"I'm not saying that getting with an alpha will automatically make it all go away," Mingyu says. "I'm not that stupid. But I don't want to 'settle' for a beta or another omega without knowing what it could be like. Maybe it'll feel the same; maybe it'll feel worse. But if there's a chance that being with an alpha can help me feel normal..." He trails off.

"You want to know that you tried," Minghao says. "I understand. It's not just a sexual thing; it's an emotional thing, too."

Mingyu nods.

Minghao's brows pull together. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have joked about that."

Mingyu laughs lightly. "You didn't know."

"I knew you were seeing Dr. Oh," Minghao says, still looking distraught.

"But not for that." Mingyu hooks his ankle around Minghao's. "I don't have to tell you everything, you know," he teases.

"You should," Minghao says. "You should just live with me and eat with me and go to work with me and never leave my side."

"Okay," Mingyu says, accepting Minghao's hands reaching to cup his face.

"And sleep in the same bed as me, and wear the same clothes as me." Minghao pauses. "And cook for me?"

"Of course. What is the point of being good at cooking if you have no one to spoil?"

"You have someone now."

Mingyu purses his lips and tries not to look affected. "Maybe. Maybe I have someone."

"You have someone who likes seeing you naked and who has been texting you all through brunch."

"I didn't check them!" Mingyu whines. "I can't exactly stop him from texting me."

"Hmph," Minghao says. "He can learn to wait."

Mingyu is helpless to the little toothy smile that spreads across his face. "Hey, Hao? I love you."

Minghao pulls Mingyu forward to kiss his forehead. "I love you too. So much." He strokes Mingyu's cheekbones with his thumbs. "My special little monster."

There had always been the expectation within their families and friends from university that Mingyu and Minghao would end up together. They had grown up together, gone to the same art school together, and more often than not could be found strolling campus hand in hand. Mingyu remembers wanting to marry Minghao in the hazy, platonic way of children who couldn't bear the thought of being parted from their best friend. It was love then and it is love now.

But Mingyu cannot imagine bonding with Minghao in the way of lovers, alpha or not. It feels like an insult. Mingyu is bonded to Minghao, and Minghao to him. There is a string of memories—play and fights, laughter and tears, love and love and more love—that stretches between their pinkies, tying them together. Their friendship is not less for its lack of physical evidence. Mingyu and Minghao may wander apart, may lie in other's beds, may one day lay claim to another, but they can always follow the trail of their memories back to each other.

"I am with you," Minghao says softly.

"I know," Mingyu replies.

---XXX---

Between a charity event spanning several high schools and the pre-recording of Battle Trip, Seungkwan is booked up the rest of the week. The charity is to raise money for underfunded high school athletics programs and to Mingyu's understanding, consists mainly of Seungkwan playing volleyball with a bunch of kids all day. As for Battle Trip, he's a special MC that week. Mingyu would be disappointed if he had time to be. Seungmin did not take time off, as Mingyu had suggested, but insisted on powering through the end of the month on decongestant and willpower alone, making him an absolute terror at the studio. He is at Sangyeon's throat, at Mingyu's throat, at corporate's throat, and between the pressure during the work day and the overtime Mingyu is doing at home, he has no time to lament over Seungkwan's absence.

Mingyu is resigned to not seeing Seungkwan until Sunday—Friday is not any less hellish for being the end of the week and he will need to spend all of Saturday recovering—but as he's leaving the studio around seven on Friday, Seungkwan texts him.

'Drinks and bad decisions?' He's sent a pin with his location attached to the text, a bar just outside of Gangnam that Mingyu isn't familiar with.

'Not sure I want a killer hangover after this week,' Mingyu replies, but he's already mapping the distance between his studio and the bar. Seven minutes by taxi. He worries his lip.

'Can't possibly be worse than working overtime five days in a row.' Mingyu huffs. Probably not wrong.

'Wouldn't you rather see me chipper and dolled up on Sunday?' He shoots back.

Seungkwan's reply is instantaneous. 'I would rather see you now.'

Mingyu groans aloud. He rocks back and forth on his heels like his mind isn't already made up. How the hell was he supposed to say no to that? 'Flattery will get you everywhere. ETA 10min.'

He expects the bar to be buzzing, but as it turns out the reason Mingyu has never heard of this place is because it is so far removed from his usual scene that he would have scrolled right past the listing on Naver if he saw it.

In other words: it's expensive.

He's a bit too casual for the price, but Mingyu's face and confidence make up the difference. The host ushers him in without question when he says someone is expecting him. Mingyu shifts his bag further up his shoulder and makes his way into the warmly but dimly lit restaurant.

Seungkwan is perched on a barstool at the end of bar, one leg extended and his chin resting on a bent wrist. He's turned away from Mingyu and looking out the windows, floor-to-ceiling across the entire wall facing the street. Five stories up, the view is a spectacular living painting of Gangnam at night. Seated alone with such wistful posture, Seungkwan looks to Mingyu like the protagonist in every good drama: plucky, idealistic, charismatic, and impossible not to root for. All he needs is the slow pan of a camera around his front, capturing the far-off look in his eyes broken by an achingly slow blink.

Mingyu inserts himself unobtrusively beside Seungkwan. It takes a moment for Seungkwan to notice his presence, but Mingyu doesn't mind taking the time to re-familiarize himself with Seungkwan's features.

When Seungkwan finally turns, the reserved distance in his expression melts into quiet satisfaction. The corners of his lips turn up. "Why, hello."

"Hi," Mingyu says. He can feel himself smiling to match Seungkwan; too wide, too goofy. "Wow. Hello."

Seungkwan looks Mingyu over like he did at the shoot but takes the time to slow down and appreciate. "You really just look like this, don't you?" he teases.

Mingyu rolls his shoulders back, lips pressed together in a pleased pout. "Mhmm."

Seungkwan laughs lightly and rolls his eyes. "Did you find this place easily?"

"Yes," Mingyu says. "Not one of my, ah, usual haunts, but not too difficult to find." He gestures to his slightly crumpled collared shirt and sweater vest combination.

"You look fine," Seungkwan says. He reaches out to Mingyu, giving the collar of his shirt a sharp tug and then smoothing it down, letting his hands linger. "Besides, if you're with me, even a potato sack would be allowed in." Mingyu swallows hard and Seungkwan follows the bob of his throat with a fingertip. He draws back a moment later, still smiling. "I prefer a little more energetic an atmosphere myself, but tonight it felt more appropriate that it be..."

"Intimate?" Mingyu suggests.

"I was going to say 'low-stress,'" Seungkwan says, quirking an eyebrow. Mingyu looks at a point over Seungkwan's shoulder, ears burning. "After the week we've had, any more unwanted stimulus seems like torture."

He pushes one of the drinks in front of him in Mingyu's direction. "For you."

Mingyu blinks and accepts the glass, tall and filled with ice and bubbles. "Thank you," he says. "What is it?"

"Secret," Seungkwan says, propping his head up with his palm once more. "Why don't you try it?"

Mingyu takes an obedient sip. He makes a surprised noise. "Oh! It's sweet. I expected gin and tonic."

"Close." Seungkwan seems pleased. "There's some extra kick to it. Do you like it?"

Mingyu answers by taking another, longer sip.

Seungkwan laughs and stirs his own drink. "I don't mean to keep you out late if you're too battered for it," he says. "I don't want you to feel obligated to stay for hours." He sips at the drink. "I simply and selfishly wanted to meet with you before Sunday."

Mingyu's toes curl in his shoes. "Me too," he says. "All week, I—well. I thought about you a lot."

"Hm. Then I won't feel bad about buying you more drinks."

"Oh," Mingyu says, "you don't have t—" But Seungkwan is already shaking his head.

"My grossly overpriced bar; my check at the end of the night," he says. His eyes turn devilish. "You can pay me in getting tipsy enough to let some embarrassing personal anecdote slip."

Mingyu is tired from work—exhausted, really—but being around Seungkwan is a hit of awareness, waking up senses that had been beaten down by the drone of the workday. He feels focused and awake because he must. He doesn't want to miss anything. Not the way Seungkwan gradually opens his body language to Mingyu, turning towards him and leaning in; not the lows of his voice when he tells a story and not the high squeaks when he laughs at something Mingyu says. Seungkwan really is so small next to Mingyu—short fingers and small, soft hands and legs that aren’t long enough to reach the floor. It would be so easy for Mingyu to fold himself around Seungkwan and squeeze him tight enough that he can't tell where one of them ends and the other begins. He would like to.

But Seungkwan isn't any less intense, even clearly worn out from his own hectic week. No matter what story Mingyu tells, he can't catch Seungkwan wrong-footed. It's strange and somewhat exhilarating to be unable to leave his conversation partner speechless. On the contrary, it's Seungkwan who can make Mingyu's brain melt with a hand on his knee, or when he fingers the hair at his temple as Mingyu tells a story, so distracting that he loses his place. He forgets himself so much that he doesn't see the drop until it's too late.

"Okay, okay, but really—" Seungkwan is still laughing over Mingyu's locker room story. "Really, you're so lovely. I hope you won't be offended if I tell you I didn't expect it."

"Not at all," Mingyu says. His body is warm with three different cocktails Seungkwan ordered for him, none of which he knows the names. "It's not like I anticipated it either."

"I've always had such terrible luck with betas," Seungkwan says. He's looking at his finger tracing patterns in the condensation on his glass, so he doesn't see the way Mingyu's entire body goes still. "Even after we texted so much I thought we wouldn't have any chemistry in person. I'm happy to be proven wrong."

Mingyu blanks on a reply. The silence stretches out uncomfortably and Seungkwan looks up, but it's too soon, Mingyu hasn't quite schooled his expression into something less gut-wrenching. Seungkwan prompts, "Hyung?"

"Hm?" Mingyu says, feigning nonchalance.

Seungkwan's eyes dance across Mingyu's face, analyzing. His smile drops. "I've upset you."

No, no, no. "What? No you haven't." Mingyu tries desperately to lie.

"Was it—ah." He has a guilty, knowing look that makes Mingyu's stomach swoop. "That was careless of me," Seungkwan says. He clicks his tongue. "It's not—I swear I don't have anything against betas. I shouldn't have put it so crassly. There were a few conversations—unpleasant conversations—with betas I went out with who weren't, ah, fans, of my attitude and admittedly it has made me a little cautious in who I am intimate with. But I don't believe it's a matter of inherent natures or anything, just incompatible personality types—"

Mingyu's finally got Seungkwan flustered, but in the worst possible way. He can't process half the words Seungkwan is saying over the sound of his heart pounding in his throat. Minghao told him he'd have to say so eventually, didn't he? Better to get it over with when Mingyu is pleasantly buzzed than stone cold sober.

"Seungkwan-ah," Mingyu rasps, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I'm an omega."

There is a pregnant pause between them. Seungkwan opens his mouth then closes it. Parts his lips again, tilts his head to the side. "You..." Closes his mouth. Furrows his brows. He tilts his head forward, unthinking, before he reels back with wide eyes. "Sorry," he says. "I shouldn't just..." His tongue darts over his lips. "Can I...?" He touches the side of his nose.

Mingyu flushes at the request despite himself. Scenting wasn't lewd or anything, but... Mingyu thinks of his mouth open to taste the familiar, milky, animal scent of the girl he'd met at the laundromat. He thinks of the studio, Seungkwan's cologne clogging his nose. He thinks of the warmer scent beneath it. Barely able to meet Seungkwan's eyes, he nods.

Seungkwan leans in, closer than he had all night, one hand on Mingyu's thigh for balance. Mingyu turns his head and lets Seungkwan sniff lightly at the underside of his chin. Even with his underperforming scent glands, there's no way Seungkwan can be mistaken. Mingyu's heart is racing; he knows he is wreathed in off-season omega pheromones. Seungkwan's breath puffs against his too-hot skin. Mingyu pretends very hard not to be affected by the proximity.

"Oh," Seungkwan says in a low voice. "Yes, you are."

He leans back, eyes dark and a bemused curl to his lips. "Pretty big for an omega, aren't you?"

Mingyu makes a complicated expression. He waits for the other shoe to drop.

"That's interesting," Seungkwan says, leaning his elbow against the bar. "That's very interesting, Mr. Kim."

"Sorry," Mingyu croaks. "I should have told you—"

Seungkwan makes a dismissive motion. "I should've asked, not assumed. No wonder you were so speechless when I started going on about betas."

This...isn't how Mingyu expected the conversation to go. It's not rejection—not yet—but he still feels strung up by his neck, struggling to breathe. Seungkwan's expression is unreadable but Mingyu feels the pressure of an unasked question, a lingering unknown. It keeps him from relaxing. He can only wait for Seungkwan to ask.

Seungkwan does not ask. He laughs, so suddenly it makes Mingyu jump. "Sorry," he says, "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just...I feel like such a bully."

"A bully!" Mingyu asks, startled.

"Well, yes," Seungkwan says, amused. "You look like a naughty beagle with his tail between his legs, ready to be reprimanded. Am I really so cruel a master?"

Mingyu sputters. "But, I—I lied about—"

Seungkwan flicks Mingyu with condensation from his glass and Mingyu sputters harder. "That's me, spraying you with a water bottle for being bad."

"Why?" Mingyu asks, dumbfounded.

"You didn't lie about anything," Seungkwan says. "I'm not going to throw a fit because I didn't use the nose on my face or the words in my mouth to find out your second gender. That's on me. You only get punished for being silly."

Mingyu grumbles something under his breath but is stopped by Seungkwan's ankle hooking around his. Mingyu meets his eyes properly for the first time since the conversation took a turn. Seungkwan's eyes crinkle pleasantly.

"Did you think I would be disappointed, Minggoo?" he asks.

Mingyu closes his eyes. "I might have been, in your position."

He opens them again at the touch of hands to his face. Seungkwan cups Mingyu's cheeks, squishing them gently. Mingyu puffs his cheeks and Seungkwan laughs lightly, a wonderful tinkling sound that melts the last of the fear-frost gripping Mingyu's heart. He lets the tension out of his shoulders. "You're not—it's really okay?" he asks tentatively.

"Mhmm," Seungkwan hums. "Seungkwannie is very silly and unobservant, so please forgive him."

"Okay," Mingyu says, feeling somehow even more flustered than before.

"Who could be disappointed with you?" Seungkwan coos. "This handsome jaw and that pretty nose. Hyung is so handsome and so obedient, even when Seungkwannie is unreasonable and asks him to send that many pictures."

"You are so embarrassing," Mingyu grumbles.

"And you are lovely," Seungkwan says. "Say it. 'Kim Mingyu is lovely.'"

Mingyu rolls his eyes, pouting his lips to keep from smiling. "Kim Mingyu is lovely."

"Wow, what a narcissist."

"Wh—hey!"

Seungkwan's eyes dance playfully. Mingyu puffs his cheeks again and Seungkwan pops them gently, his expression becoming softer. "Who could be disappointed with you, mm? It's all I can do not to think about you, so no more unnecessary thoughts, alright? Think only of me." He pets Mingyu's cheeks with his thumbs and lets his eyes roam over Mingyu's face. Appreciative. Taking possession.

Mingyu turns his face in Seungkwan's hands to press a kiss where wrist meets palm. Seungkwan goes still. Mingyu kisses him again, the heel of his palm, with eyes lowered. Deferential. He runs his lips up the curve of Seungkwan's thumb and kisses the pad of it. His skin is pleasantly smooth and dry beneath Mingyu's lips, unlike his own sweaty palms. As if he fears nothing, worries over nothing. As if Mingyu is already his.

Mingyu dares to glance at Seungkwan and nearly jerks away at the concentrated focus in his expression. The look makes him feel raw and carved up, like an exposed nerve.

Seungkwan's hold on Mingyu changes. The soft palms become firm, one sliding up and the other down to mold themselves against Mingyu's temple and his nape. Mingyu allows himself to be held and shaped to Seungkwan's will. He wants to say, Don't look at me like that, but what he actually wants to say is, Give me your fire.

Mingyu meets Seungkwan when he leans in, their lips already parted to tear into each other. The kiss is as fresh and bright as the shock of drawn blood, wearing Mingyu's already thin patience to a thread on the verge of snapping. Seungkwan is as controlling a kisser as he is a conversationalist, forcing Mingyu to crumble to his will, to the measured, purposeful drag of lips on lips. He stirs Mingyu up and holds him down, drawing away before Mingyu is even a little satisfied. He notices, distantly, that his hand is on Seungkwan's barstool, balancing him between Seungkwan's thighs.

The sweat on the back of Mingyu's neck is cold and Seungkwan's lips are shinier than before. Mingyu leans in, tucking his nose against Seungkwan's, and presses a long, chaste kiss to his lips. When Seungkwan's eyes flutter closed, he does it again. Seungkwan inhales through his mouth and their lips touch again. Mingyu kisses the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, you are lovely," Seungkwan murmurs. Mingyu tries to kiss him again but Seungkwan shakes his head. "I don't want to drink anymore."

Mingyu makes a confused noise in the back of his throat and pulls back. Seungkwan lets him go and reaches into the inner pocket of his blazer to pull out his wallet. He pushes a credit card across the bar counter where it is swiftly picked up by the bartender. Mingyu watches the transaction with brows pulled together. "What do you—"

"Mingyu-hyung," Seungkwan says in a tone that says, Look at me. Mingyu does.

"I am not in the habit of sharing," Seungkwan says by way of explanation. Mingyu cocks his head to the side, still uncomprehending, and Seungkwan sighs and beckons Mingyu closer.

He says into the curve of Mingyu's ear: "You don't see what you look like when you're being kissed. It is not for sharing with the people around us."

Mingyu's stomach clenches. He jerks back, eyelashes fluttering. "It can't possibly be so—"

"It is," Seungkwan says simply.

"Oh," Mingyu says in a little voice.

"For someone who knows how well-proportioned he is, your lack of self-awareness in some areas is..." Seungkwan drums his fingers against his thigh.

"Annoying?" Mingyu guesses.

"Distractingly erotic," Seungkwan says.

"Oh," Mingyu says again.

"An accidental tease, oh, Boo Seungkwan what have you gotten yourself into this time..." The bartender returns his card and Seungkwan slips it back into his wallet and snaps it shut. "Shall we?"

Feeling strangely disappointed, Mingyu follows Seungkwan in getting to his feet. "We're not going to talk more?"

Seungkwan stops.

Turns on his heel. Looks up at Mingyu with amusement, even though his voice carries a trace of frustration. "If 'talk' is what you would like to do, then certainly, we can talk. But," his voice gets lower, faster, "my apartment is three blocks away and a much more private setting for 'talking,' wouldn't you say, Mr. Kim?"

Mingyu finally decides to shut up and follow Seungkwan.

---XXX---

And stays shut up.

Talking, as it turns out, is somewhat difficult when Seungkwan is melded like a hot brand against Mingyu's front, fingers digging in and pulling Mingyu down to seal their mouths together. At the bar and on the walk home Seungkwan had remained calm, if playfully frustrated. He had reminded himself of Mingyu's physical presence by touching his wrist, his thigh, the back of his hand but no more than a gentle, consistent warmth at Mingyu's side. Mingyu had not known the level of restraint Seungkwan was exhibiting. Mingyu knows now.

He is vaguely aware of the location of Seungkwan's apartment (big building), the layout of Seungkwan's apartment (big apartment), and the details of Seungkwan's bedroom (big bed). He's finding it a bit difficult to focus on the specifics of what is undoubtedly a beautiful, chic little (big) place. A shame, really.

Seungkwan herds Mingyu into his bed with single-minded determination. Mingyu sheds his vest, but when he attempts to unbutton his shirt, Seungkwan swats his hands away. "Later," he says distractedly. He puts a heavy hand on the front of Mingyu's slacks. Mingyu spends a long moment trying to decide whether to be offended Seungkwan is uninterested in his bare chest and arms until Seungkwan's fingers hook the edge of Mingyu's underwear and he pulls down.

"Good," Seungkwan says with feeling, then sinks to his knees.

Mingyu does not think much after that.

He wants to come, possibly more than he has ever wanted to come—overlooking the first time he had masturbated to pictures of Seungkwan, the day Seungkwan asked Mingyu to take a photo especially for him—but as soon as he starts to approach the rapid tumble of orgasm, Seungkwan pulls off him and looks up, lips slick. Mingyu whines, impatient and bordering on bratty. Seungkwan squeezes his thigh to get his attention.

"Back there, at the bar," he says. "You didn't like when I compared you to a beta."

Mingyu's abdomen clenches visibly before he can stop himself. "What?" he says, trying to sound dazed. "Is that important right now?"

"Yes," Seungkwan says. "I could smell it on you, clear as anything."

"You could—huh?" Mingyu blinks. How could he smell anything on Mi—ah, that's right. He had put on his prescription cologne when he freshened up in the bathroom, before he had met up with Seungkwan. Mingyu could slap himself for being so overeager.

"The fear and guilt was so strong, I—" Seungkwan cuts himself off, working Mingyu's cock in this absolutely torturous, absent-minded way. "Well. I just wanted to say." Seungkwan meets Mingyu's eyes and sears through them. "I will not make that mistake again."

Mingyu wants to say something like thank you or thank God or maybe let out a pathetic little sob of relief, but he doesn't need to say anything. His legs close around Seungkwan ever so slightly and his cock throbs in Seungkwan's hand. Seungkwan's eyes go dark as inkwells.

"I think I would like to have sex with you, Kim Mingyu," he says in a low voice.

Mingyu finds the right words. "I think I would like you to fuck me, Boo Seungkwan."

"So crude," Seungkwan murmurs, pushing Mingyu onto his back and climbing up to straddle his hips. "I think you're just acting cool. You're not a 'fuck me' kind of guy."

"No," Mingyu admits. "I'm not." He hooks his ankles behind Seungkwan's back and presses him down until Seungkwan has to catch himself with a hand on Mingyu's stomach. "But I'm not usually this desperate."

Seungkwan brushes his knuckles down the side of Mingyu's face, petting the apple of his cheek with such genuine affection that Mingyu feels an emotion-instinct-urge swell within him to the point of bursting. He turns his head, dislodging Seungkwan's hand only to take his thumb in his mouth, sucking lightly at the digit. He can feel his cheeks burn at the daring intimacy but Seungkwan's controlled expression doesn't change other than a quick inhale that Mingyu isn't sure if he sees, hears, or just somehow perceives on a preternatural level.

"Really," Seungkwan says, almost a whisper. "You're unreal."

He takes his hand back so that he can rip off his tie and undo just enough buttons to pull his shirt over his head. Mingyu watches, stunned into silence. He almost wants to look away, out of respect and out of feeling that he is undeserving to have Seungkwan in this way.

"Look at me," Seungkwan says, and Mingyu is helpless to obey.

For a moment, it seems like Seungkwan is hesitating, but then he says in that same confident, even voice, "This is your alpha." He touches Mingyu's bare stomach, the skin almost vibrating. "And you are my omega."

The words release a dam of relief and gratitude so great that Mingyu can't help the keen he lets out, arching his back to get closer to Seungkwan. He knows Seungkwan can smell it. His affection, his loyalty, his gratitude. Lust so thick it could choke him. He can smell from Seungkwan, too, that same lust. Excitement. An undercurrent of territoriality that surprises and elates Mingyu in equal parts.

He knew it would be different. Of course it would be different. These scents have meanings beyond communication to them; they belong to a baser drive to mate-seek and to bond that is special to them. The miasma between Mingyu and Seungkwan is different than Mingyu and his beta partners, even his omega partners. This close, this riled up—Mingyu can sense how his scent excites Seungkwan as an alpha. It turns Mingyu on as much as any touch, to know he is wanted at the core of his partner's being. He knows Seungkwan knows this. It is written in the subtle changes of the air between them, processed and understood before they could even think of words to describe it.

Mingyu can't take it, suddenly. There's too much space and time between them. His urgency is painted in his scent but still Mingyu says, "Please. Please, Seungkwan, I want—"

"I know," Seungkwan says. He undoes the front of his pants and rolls off Mingyu to pull them off.

But it feels wrong. The temporary distance. The cool air slices at Mingyu's skin like knives and he cries out, sharp enough to startle Seungkwan. He tosses his pants aside and presses himself to Mingyu's side. "Hyung?"

His body warmth is a salve. Mingyu sucks in a breath and buries his face in Seungkwan's neck, nuzzling beneath his jaw like he had been dying to do at the bar, like he had been dying to do at the studio, not even an hour after they'd met—

Seungkwan smells so good. He's found it, that warm, animal musk that burns and soothes him at the same time, like aloe across sunburned skin. He opens his mouth to bring Seungkwan's scent over his palette but even that is not enough. He offers tentative kitten licks to Seungkwan's neck, trying to taste him. A full body shiver wracks Seungkwan's body and Mingyu can smell-taste how his submissive devotion goes straight to Seungkwan's groin. Seungkwan reaches between Mingyu's legs, behind his sac, to test how wet he is. If Mingyu were more clear-headed he would be embarrassed at how slick sluices over and between Seungkwan's fingers as soon as he slides them in.

"Oh," Seungkwan says, floored.

Mingyu encourages Seungkwan to push his fingers in farther by latching on to his neck and sucking lightly, but Seungkwan has gone rigid. His scent is changing, but Mingyu doesn't understand why, why, why shock, why fear, why mounting horror—

Seungkwan detaches himself from Mingyu completely, sliding a body length away from Mingyu on the bed. Mingyu looks up, confused, and is even more confused when he sees the wary, even hostile look on Seungkwan's face.

"You're in heat?" he asks in a tight voice.

What? "What?" Mingyu's brows furrow.

"You're in heat," Seungkwan says, this time with certainty.

He's so sure of himself that Mingyu actually has to pause and wrack his brain for the end date of his last heat.

Seungkwan takes his silence to mean guilty assent. "Are you serious?" Seungkwan says, voice rising. "You're—how could you be so irresponsible? That's so—cycles aren't a fucking joke, Mingyu-hyung!"

"Wait," Mingyu says. "Wait, Seungkwan, it's not like—"

"God," Seungkwan says. He lets out a bitter laugh. "Do you even know what could have happened to you, if I hadn't stopped? What could have happened to me? That's—it's sexual assault, Mingyu-ssi, to not tell your partner if you're in heat. God, I knew it was strange that your pheromones were so much stronger this time, but I just thought...God."

"Seungkwan-ah," Mingyu says, trying not to panic. "It's really—I swear it's not what you think."

"Do you even care?" Seungkwan asks softly. "Would you even care? If I lost myself to you."

It must be the combination of smells and words and misunderstandings. Mingyu bursts into tears.

It's brief but aggressive, a sob tearing itself from Mingyu's throat at even the thought of—that—happening to Seungkwan. Tears fill his eyes and overflow but he doesn't cry more than that initial, empathetic burst of fear, shame, and soul-deep grief. It must carry in some pheromonal capacity because Seungkwan's hostility derails completely and he crawls closer to Mingyu, calling his name in a soft, quelling voice.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says, wiping at the tears. "I'm sorry, I just—to even think of that happening to you—that it would be because of me—"

"Shh," Seungkwan says, covering Mingyu's hands with his own. "It didn't, though. We stopped. We're okay."

"I'm not—" Mingyu sucks in a breath. "I'm not in heat. I swear. It's—" He closes his eyes and swallows thickly. "There is something else, something I should have told you. I didn't know it would affect me like this. It's not my heat, but I should have told you anyway." He looks at Seungkwan, begging him to believe him with his eyes.

"Okay," Seungkwan says. "I want you to explain it all to me. But how about we get some fresh air first, okay? I think being in this room will be...unhelpful."

"Okay," Mingyu says with a weak smile.

---XXX---

They end up sitting at one of the tables outside the 7-Eleven around the corner of Seungkwan's block even though it's cold enough to see their breath. Neither of them have the stomach for food or sitting indoors, but Seungkwan bought them both coffees that they nurse while sneaking glances at each other.

"So," Seungkwan says. "This...thing of yours."

"Right," Mingyu says. "Minghao—my best friend—he called it a, ah, a fetish."

Clearly not expecting the conversation to go in this direction, Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. "A fetish."

"Yes," Mingyu says. "Um, for alphas."

Seungkwan blinks. He takes a loud slurp of his coffee. "You're telling me," he says slowly, "that every time you have sex with an alpha, you get like that? Pliant and wet like you're in the height of heat?"

Mingyu has never been so envious of roadkill in his life. "Well, I've never had sex with an alpha before, so. Maybe?"

"You've never—"

"I'm explaining this kind of badly," Mingyu says. "I see a therapist."

"An alpha therapist—"

"For gender dysphoria," Mingyu says quickly.

"Oh," Seungkwan says. And then his face falls. "Oh."

Mingyu drums his fingers on the paper cup. "Yeah, uh, for like three years now, I guess? Dr. Oh, she's really nice. But what you said about me hating being compared to betas...yeah."

Seungkwan takes another, quieter sip. "Tonight is not the first time your partner has mistaken you for a beta," he deduces.

"No," Mingyu says. "It happens all the time. And even people I've dated in the past, like...they knew I was an omega and they still would treat me like a beta. Like, 'yeah, cool, I know you have heats and a stereotypical omega personality but I'm still going to expect you to be this big, bossy, tough beta that I've idealized you as.'"

"Oh," Seungkwan says again, with deeper understanding. "But your scent is so—"

"I have prescription cologne," Mingyu says. "My pheromones are super weak so, uh, if I'm going on a—if I'm meeting someone, I usually put some on so I'm not limping around as far as scent communication goes. Especially off-season it's like." He mimes a chop. "Nothing there."

Seungkwan closes his eyes. "That's why—at the Victoria's Secret shoot and then today—you were so different. I see."

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says again. "I didn't think it through. I understand why you would think I was in heat and be cautious. I'm—I'm glad you did that. If I had made a mistake that careless..." He trails off.

Seungkwan nods knowingly. "I'm well aware of the predatory alpha stereotype. But for me, the thought of being taken advantage of by an omega has been a fear of mine for a long time—I had a stalker, you know."

"Yes," Mingyu says. "My manager warned me."

"She never approached me directly, or anything. It was—" Seungkwan grimaces. "Well it was horrible. Even though nothing happened. But all those true crime stories about stalkers using their cycles to manipulate their victims..."

"Yeah," Mingyu says. "I understand the caution. Really."

Seungkwan nods. "It really put me off of omegas for a while, truth be told. Just that lingering fear. But of course betas and alphas have their own unpleasant quirks." He smiles at Mingyu. "We're all the same annoying species underneath it all."

Mingyu laughs lightly.

"But why call it a 'fetish'?" Seungkwan asks. "Why...why that reaction at all?"

"Ah," Mingyu says. "It's...hard to explain."

Even though he explained it to Minghao earlier that week, it's different to explain to Seungkwan's face why him being an alpha made Mingyu act out in a way that felt beyond his control. "I'm...I love myself," Mingyu starts. "I take good care of my body, I'm handsome, and I can do lots of handy things."

"I noticed," Seungkwan says.

"Shut up." Mingyu goes to kick Seungkwan under the table but can only bring himself to knock their knees together. "I think I make a great partner and lover. I'm not ashamed of being the way that I am, and that includes being an omega. I really love that I was born an omega." He ducks his head a little shyly. "I love being spoiled and thought of. I like it when my partner makes me feel small, and needed, and like I belong. I love kids; I'm very paternal. And I love caring for my partner and treating them as well! I feel like I’m very balanced, but my exes only wanted to take without giving back in the way I need. It was like they never...saw me."

He scratches the side of his nose. "Dr. Oh and Minghao both told me that getting with an alpha wouldn't magically solve all my problems, and I know that! I do. But I can't stop wondering if someone with the right personality and the right looks and the right interests, who also happens to be an alpha..."

"You're wondering if an alpha can make you whole," Seungkwan says.

"Not even that," Mingyu says. "Just...seen."

Seungkwan nods slowly. He downs the last of his coffee. "I'm glad you told me. And I agree that you should have told me earlier, but," Mingyu winces, "but I will admit my eagerness is partly at fault. You hardly had time or the place of mind to think of letting me know in between getting off work and getting into bed with me. It's hardly past ten."

Somehow. God, Mingyu could have sworn it was past three in the morning.

"That being said," Seungkwan says, "I don't think I'm out of line in saying that's a lot to suddenly drop on someone."

Mingyu's stomach drops. "Yeah?"

"Don't look so kicked," Seungkwan huffs, rolling his eyes. "I'm not saying I don't want to see you again. I'm in show business. It's going to take a lot more baggage than that to scare me off."

"But?" Mingyu prompts quietly.

"But I'm not going to sleep with you," Seungkwan says.

Mingyu's stomach drops further, but he nods. After a blunder like his, this much is to be expected.

Seungkwan hesitates, then sighs. "I don't know how to word this without sounding like an asshole. You having an alpha fetish doesn't bother me. It's actually—" Seungkwan cuts himself off, blinking rapidly. "I mean, it's fine. It doesn't bother me." He tugs at the collar of his hoodie. "But I don't..."

He closes his eyes. "I don't sleep around."

Mingyu waits for more, but Seungkwan doesn't say anything else. "Oh. Cool. Me too, for the record."

Seungkwan watches himself pick at the plastic lid of the coffee cup. "I mean to say, I don't want to sleep with you if you're only sleeping with me because I'm an alpha."

"Oh," Mingyu says. The meaning clicks. "Oh." He feels his face go pleasantly warm. Seungkwan isn't just talking to Mingyu because he thinks he's hot, Seungkwan is talking to Mingyu because...

"Speak another word and you die," Seungkwan says, looking the furthest thing from intimidating in the world with his hoodie pulled up over his nose. He glares at Mingyu. Mingyu mimes zipping his lips, placatingly. But he can't resist entirely.

"Me too, for the record," Mingyu says again with the shy duck of his head. "Or...not just. Sex."

Seungkwan buries his face in his hands. "I cannot stand you. So embarrassing."

Buoyed, Mingyu asks: "So, when can I see you again? For not-sex."

"I don't know," Seungkwan says, still hiding behind his hands. "I may just die here of mortification."

"You'll probably want to think everything over," Mingyu says. "I know I would. But...three weeks? Maybe?"

"No," Seungkwan mumbles.

Mingyu is about to say alright, that's fine, a month then— when Seungkwan pipes up, "Two."

"Two weeks?" Mingyu says, trying not to sound as eager as he feels.

"Yeah," Seungkwan mumbles. "And we can still text and stuff. I want to."

"Okay," Mingyu says. "Yes. Great. I'll see you in two weeks."

"What, got a plan already?" Seungkwan jokes.

"No," Mingyu says. "At least, not yet."