Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1

‘You and I are best friends now.’

The first words ever spoken to Lee Minho by six-year-old Han Jisung are simple ones.

He’s also holding a stick, which he promptly hands over to Minho as a ‘friendship present’.

Minho doesn’t like sticks. But he does like Han Jisung.

Their childminder laughs when she sees them together and says they look like an “odd couple”. It’s true that they look different - Minho is a somewhat chubby child, dressed in neat clothes, and he speaks with a prim, proper voice he inherited from his mother. Jisung, on the other hand, is chubby only on his cheeks and skinny everywhere else, with fluffy hair that sticks up, and a childish lisp, and his clothes are covered in dirt.

Minho doesn’t mind.

Jisung takes his hand and pulls him over to the sandpit.

‘And this is how I make towers,’ he tells him, pouring water onto the sand. ‘You have to get it wet, see… look, Minho.’

‘Jisung,’ their childminder, looking on from her garden chair, admonishes gently. ‘You have to call Minho hyung-ah. He’s two years older than you, dear.’

Jisung turns his big eyes to Minho. ‘’Yung-ah,’ he says, pronouncing it wrong carefully.

Minho smiles behind his hand.

He has so much fun playing with Jisung that he doesn’t even notice the sand all over his new button-up shirt.

When Jisung and Minho are in the middle of picking daisies, and Minho is showing Jisung how to tie them into knots to make a daisy-chain (he’s terrible at it, but there’ll be plenty of time for practice), Minho’s mother Minha shows up with their driver.

‘Minho,’ calls their childminder. ‘Your mother is here, darling.’

Jisung’s eyes instantly fill with tears.

‘No!’ he cries, grabbing onto Minho with his little fingers.

Minho isn’t used to having a best friend. He’s not sure how to react.

‘It’s okay, Jisung,’ he says hesitantly. ‘I’ll be back again soon.’

Minha appears moments later. She’s a tall, pretty, pale omega woman, with carefully combed hair in a very neat updo, and red lipstick.

‘Oh, Minho, dear, who is this? Have you made a new friend? And what happened to your clothes? I just bought you that shirt, Minho! We’ll have to stop by the dry cleaners now - I hope this doesn’t make us late for dinner, you know your mama wants us to eat together. Did you play in the sand, Minho, dear?’

‘Yes, mother,’ says Minho, clutching at Jisung’s shoulders. ‘This is my - best friend, Jisung.’

‘Jisung is the new boy here,’ their childminder says smilingly. ‘I’m sure you’ll meet his mother soon, Minha.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. Why, how nice that you two have made friends! You usually play on your own, don’t you, Minho? I was getting worried about you, dear. I would love to meet Jisung’s mother, some other time of course, we really must be going, especially if we have to stop at the dry cleaner’s - your mama will be waiting for dinner when she gets back from work, Minho, and you know how she gets when she’s hungry—’

‘Yes,’ the childminder cuts in, before Minha can go on any more. ‘Jisung, let go of Minho, dear.’

‘No,’ Jisung insists, turning a pout onto the two women. Minho doesn't want his best friend to be sad, so he turns on a pout as well, looking up at them sadly.

‘Come on, boys,’ their childminder says fondly, gently extricating Jisung out of Minho’s arms. Jisung starts wailing, reaching out to Minho with grabby hands. ‘You’ll see each other again soon. Minho will be here next week, and then you can play together all afternoon. Okay?’

‘Yes,’ Minho says nervously, clutching onto his mother’s long skirt even though he wants to run over and scoop Jisung up again, since he keeps crying. ‘I’ll see you again then, Jisung.’

Jisung just cries harder, big tears running down his round cheeks like a river. Minho thinks he looks like a very sad squirrel.

Suddenly, he has an idea.

‘Here,’ he says, bending down and grabbing a daisy from the grass. He runs over, handing it to Jisung, who stops crying for a moment to look at it curiously. ‘Keep this so you can remember me, okay?’

Jisung sniffles, examining the daisy. ‘Okay,’ he says quietly, bringing it to his nose to smell it.

Minho smiles, returning to his mother’s side.

‘How sweet,’ Minha says, taking Minho’s hand. ‘Oh, you boys. I will really have to meet Jisung’s mother and arrange a playdate. They’re lovely, aren’t they? Minho, dear, I’m so glad you’ve made a friend. You’re always so quiet. Come, dear.’

Minho turns around as he leaves with his mother, taking a final glance at Jisung, still tearful in the arms of the childminder, squeezing the daisy Minho gave him in his small fist.

Having a best friend is a little difficult, but Minho decides he likes it. Really likes it.

Every week Minho sees Jisung again.

Jisung always runs into his arms, squeezing around his neck when he sees him, calling out, ‘Hyung-ah!’. Sometimes it’s actually a bit hard for Minho to breathe, to be honest, but he can’t bring himself to push his best friend away.

‘Mother,’ Minho says to Minha one day.

‘Hmm? Yes, what is it dear?’ Minha asks. She combs another lock of Minho’s hair and tucks it carefully behind his ear. Minha loves making sure that Minho looks clean and neat.

‘Can I please have a calendar?’ Minho asks.

Minha looks at him in the mirror, surprised. ‘A calendar? Minho, you do ask for such unusual things. Wouldn’t a normal boy be interested in toy cars, or something, dear?’ She laughs. ‘What do you want that for, sweetheart? You don’t need to keep track of the days like mama does.’

Minho’s cheeks turn red. ‘I want to see the days when I can go the childminder’s, mother.’

Suddenly, Minha smiles, looking much more cheerful than before. ‘Do you now?’ she asks, a laugh in her voice. ‘Minho, dear, I know exactly what you mean. Such a clever boy, you want to keep track of your childminder visits by yourself, don’t you, dear? Okay, Minho. We’ll get you a calendar. Wait until Miyeon hears about this!’

Minho pouts. He doesn’t understand why his mother is smiling at him like that.

‘Don’t give me that look,’ Minha says with a giggle. ‘I think it’s sweet, dear. You really like your new friend, don’t you?’

When Minho gets his calendar, he spends the whole afternoon carefully outlining every single Wednesday until it runs out of paper. Now, when he’s on another day, he can see how many he has left until he can see Jisung again.

Minho smiles to himself with great satisfaction and hangs his calendar up on the wall, next to his bed.

2

‘I learnt something weird in school today,’ Minho says.

Jisung looks up from his game. ‘Huh?’

Things are a little different now. Minho is 11 - his birthday was just last month. Jisung is now 9 years old, and although he doesn’t cry why Minho has to go home now, he does cry every time they fight, or when Minho holds him between his legs and carefully combs his hair until every knot is smoothed out, or that time he tripped over a tree branch and scraped both his knees (although he pounced on Minho afterwards and made him promise to never speak of that again).

Some other things haven’t changed - Minho still has a calendar above his bed, and every single Wednesday until the end of the year has a little daisy drawn on it in black marker.

‘I learnt,’ Minho says, casting his mind back to his lesson today. ‘I learnt that our parents bit each other.’

‘Bit each other?’ Jisung asks, looking scandalised.

‘Yeah, I mean…’ Minho pauses, cheeks growing hot, thinking of the other interesting things he had learnt about with his classmates in social education that day. ‘Not just that.’

‘Why?’ asks Jisung, a worried look on his face.

‘Why what?’

‘Why did they bite each other?’ he asks.

‘Because…’ Minho says, fiddling with his fingers. ‘Because they mated.’

Jisung turns big curious eyes onto Minho. ‘My mum says that mating is a very happy moment. I don’t think she would have said that if she got bit.’

‘She did get bit!’ Minho insists. ‘So did my mother. The alpha bites the omega when they mate.’

‘That’s not true,’ Jisung says stubbornly. ‘If mum got bit I would have seen a bite mark on her. And I didn’t. So there.’

‘Well,’ says Minho slowly. ‘That’s because the bitemark is on the back of her neck. So it would be behind her hair.’

‘The back of her neck?’ Jisung repeats, regarding Minho with great suspicion.

‘Just ask her to show you,’ Minho says. ‘I saw my mother’s. It looked like a kiss mark.’

‘A kiss mark?’ Jisung repeats again, flushing bright red. He turns away from Minho, burying his face back into his arms.

Minho smiles. Jisung is still so innocent about some things. Well, in a couple of years, he will learn them too, just like Minho had in social education class. In the meantime, it isn’t so bad for him to stay innocent. Minho lays down next to Jisung with his book, wiggling until their shoulders are pressed together, and gets lost in the story again, until their childminder comes to tell Minho his mother has arrived to pick him up.

Next week, Minho says, ‘Did you ask your mum about the bite mark?’

Jisung nods, reddening, unusually quiet.

‘Did you see it?’ Minho asks.

‘Yeah I did,’ Jisung pouts. ‘Fine, you were right. She had a bite mark on the back of her neck behind all her hair.’

‘Told you.’ Minho grins and Jisung scoffs in response.

After a moment, Jisung speaks up again. ‘She said I’m going to learn about it more when I get older.’

‘That’s true,’ says Minho happily, stroking Jisung’s hair, moving it behind his ears like Minha always does to him.

‘She also said…’ Jisung turns to look directly at Minho and their eyes met. ‘She said that when dad mated her, it was the happiest moment of her life.’

‘Really?’ says Minho, staring back into Jisung’s large dark eyes. Minho takes a deep breath and suddenly feels his heart beating faster. An idea is slowly forming in his mind as they stare at each other. An idea that makes his heart thud and his cheeks turn red, and one he is far too shy to voice aloud, especially as Jisung looks straight back at him.

Then, Jisung turns away, and Minho finds he can breathe easy again.

‘Mother…’

‘Hm, what is it, Minho? Here, finish your homework. Look, you still have three maths questions to do. Maths is very important, Minho, for your education. You’ll need it for—’

‘Mother,’ Minho says again, quietly. He still isn’t very good at cutting his mother off once she gets going, but he has an important question, surely those three maths questions could wait a minute or two?

‘Yes, dear?’ Minha says, putting down her embroidery. Maybe she senses that Minho has something important to say, because she gives Minho her full attention, turning her carefully lined eyes to him.

‘Will I be an alpha?’

Minha drops her embroidery off her lap. The needles clatter to the ground, and Minho stares at her, shocked. His mother is never jumpy like that.

‘Oh, Minho,’ Minha cries, and her eyes, to Minho’s astonishment, are filling up with tears. ‘I can’t believe you’re curious about these things now! Oh, you are growing up! You’re not my baby any more. You know, Minho, I was just telling Miyeon the other day that I thought it a bit strange how you never asked us questions about those things. Well, she just said that some people take longer to grow up than others, but - anyway, oh, Minho, I’m just so happy!’

‘Um. Thank you,’ says Minho, a little stiffly. His mother can be a bit overbearing sometimes and he sort of wishes she would just answer the question.

‘Now, Minho,’ she continues. ‘You never know for sure what you are going to be until your presentation, okay? That’s why it’s so exciting. I remember when mine happened. My mother cried the whole day! And I was just over the moon. It’s so special when you discover what you truly are. Of course, I was an omega, and you…’

Minha reaches over to smooth a hand over Minho’s neatly brushed black hair. ‘Minho, I’m sure you’re going to be an alpha. You just take after your mama so much! You’re so smart, just like her. And a little bit quiet, but that’s okay, Minho. Omegas love a strong, silent alpha.’ She giggles to herself. ‘You know, when I first met your mama, the only thing she said to me all day was, “Please pass me that pencil.”? Oh, she was so dreamy!’

Minho looks blankly at his mother’s face. ‘So, I will be an alpha?’

‘Well,’ Minha says, faltering a little. ‘Like I said, dear, we don’t know until you actually present. Sometimes you can see some signs, but… there’s truly no way of knowing beforehand. Not even doctors know, okay? So you’re just going to have to wait. But I wouldn’t be surprised if you wake up one day and discover that you’re now a fine alpha, my darling.’

‘When will I know?’ Minho presses.

Minha smiles indulgently, and takes her son’s hand. ‘It’s different for everyone, dear. I presented early, when I was about 13, but your mama didn’t present until she was 16. Some people are just late bloomers, darling, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Sometimes you just have to be patient in life.’

‘Okay,’ Minho says, frowning back down at his maths homework, a little disappointed.

‘But Minho,’ Minha says quickly. ‘The most important thing for you to know is that, no matter what you are, your mama and I love you very much, and we always will, okay, Minho? You’ll always be our dear little baby, my darling.’

‘I know, mother,’ Minho says, flushing, scribbling on his paper with his pen in embarrassment.

His mother sighs happily, leaning down to pick her embroidery up off the floor. ‘I can’t wait for Miyeon’s face when she hears about this.’

‘Mother!’ Minho protests, looking up with red cheeks.

Minha laughs. ‘Don’t give me that face, darling. She’ll be happy that you’re curious. Your mama may not always show it, but she worries about you, too.’

Minho knows it’s all down to his mother’s big mouth when Miyeon comes to his room late in the evening after work several days later, still dressed in her crisp grey suit with her short brown hair all clipped back, and hands him a huge, hardback diagrammed book called Human Biology.

‘Thanks, mama,’ Minho mutters, cringing.

‘Ask your mother if you have any questions,’ Miyeon tells him, gazing at him with her sharp, clever eyes. Then she ruffles his hair and leaves his room.

‘Jisung?’

‘Mmm?’ Jisung barely looks up from where he’s sorting a pack of cards into suits.

‘You know school is starting again soon…’ Minho trails off. He’s really nervous about having this conversation with Jisung. It was hard enough having it with his mother, especially when Minho got all tearful and embarrassed.

He mustn’t get tearful in front of Jisung, at any cost. He doesn’t want Jisung to think he’s too weak to be his best friend.

Jisung whines out, pausing his game, and glares at Minho. ‘Don’t mention that, Minho!’ He kicks his legs, turning back around to pout into his arms. ‘I hate school.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Minho says. ‘It’s just… It’s important.’

‘Fine,’ Jisung groans, rolling over onto his back. ‘What is it, then?’

‘Well…’ Minho swallows with difficulty. ‘I’ll be at middle school, so… on Wednesdays, I, well… there will be school clubs.’

Jisung looks over at him, fluffy hair all fanned out around his little face on the ground. ‘Huh?’

‘In middle school there are after school clubs,’ Minho explains, nervous. ‘So I’ll be going to those while my mother is at her classes. And I won’t be… I won’t be h-here anymore.’ Minho’s voice wobbles.

Jisung sits up, and from the way his waterlines are suddenly clogged with tears Minho knows that he’s got the message.

‘You… you aren’t coming here anymore? Never again?’ Jisung asks.

‘I’m sorry, Jisung,’ Minho said helplessly. ‘I wanted to keep coming, but I’m too old. I won’t be a little child anymore.’

‘But Minho,’ Jisung wails, starting to cry for real. ‘We’re best friends!’ he says, as if that simple fact should fix everything.

‘Don’t cry,’ Minho says, reaching out to hold Jisung’s hand. ‘I’ll come and visit you whenever I can. Mother says I should be able to visit you on the weekend sometimes.’

Suddenly, their childminder appears, wrapping her cardigan around herself. ‘What’s going on, boys?’ she asks gently.

‘Minho is leaving!’ Jisung cries, turning his red, tear-streaked face to her. Minho watches, his heart squeezing.

She gathers Jisung into her arms, sitting him on her lap. ‘I know,’ she says gently, cradling his head and stroking his hair. ‘It’s not Minho’s fault, dear. He’s growing up. Soon you will, too.’

Jisung cries and cries and Minho watches. Usually, he’s the one who comforts Jisung when he cries, but this time - he’s the one who caused it. That fact makes Minho want to cry, too, but he desperately holds it back, clenching his fists.

When Jisung has finally calmed down, he sits down sulkily beside Minho, avoiding his eyes. Their childminder leaves to play with some of the other children, and Minho, gathering his courage, takes Jisung’s hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers again.

Jisung doesn’t say anything, but Minho feels his hand being squeezed, just a little.

Minho’s heart starts beating fast again. His heart is full of something he really wants to say, but it’s too difficult for him to open his mouth and form the words. He’s not sure how Jisung is going to react.

Then, Jisung sniffles, and a single tear slides down his soft cheek.

Minho steels his delicate soul.

‘Jisung?’ he says.

‘Yeah?’

‘When I’m older…’ Minho starts. He squares his shoulders, determined. ‘When I’m older, I’m going to be an alpha, and then I’m going to bite you, okay? Then we can stay together forever. When we’re both old.’

Jisung’s head whips around and he looks at Minho with wide, startled eyes.

Minho’s heart is thumping in his throat, but he can’t look away from Jisung’s eyes and they look at each other for a long moment.

Then, Jisung pulls his hand away and says, ‘No.’

Minho’s heart drops. ‘Huh?’

‘No, Minho,’ Jisung says, sulking even more. He draws his knees up to his chest and leans on them, hiding his face from Minho. ‘I don’t want that. I hate alpha boys.’

Minho gapes. ‘B-but…’

‘I like you the way you are,’ Jisung mutters, muffled against his own knees. ‘Don’t change, okay, Minho?’

Minho gulps. His mother’s voice filters through his mind - Minho, I’m sure you’re going to be an alpha.

‘Okay,’ he says quietly, and Jisung looks up, face blotchy, and takes his hand again.

3

‘Did you hear? Hyunjin presented!’

‘So that’s why he’s not in today?’

‘Uh huh! He presented as an alpha!’

‘Seriously?’

Girlish squeals fill the air, piercing Minho’s carefully cultivated peace as he sits looking out the window.

‘For sure, I heard Saebom telling Jimin that she heard it from Yeji!’

More squeals follow, and then the whole gaggle of classmates erupts into giggles. Minho sighs. The joys of puberty. Many of his classmates have presented recently. Minho is also already 13. He tries not to think too deeply about his presentation; it makes his stomach tie itself up in knots and his throat go dry and tight. Besides, if he takes after his mama, it might not happen for another two years anyway.

Jisung doesn’t seem to be interested, anyway. He never brings it up, and Minho also keeps his worries to himself - he doesn’t need to hear Jisung say how much he hates alpha boys again.

Because Minho is worried he’ll turn out to be one.

‘Minho!’ his classmate, Soyoung, trills at his side, knocking him out of his reverie. ‘Do you want to come out after school tonight? Some of us are heading to karaoke.’

‘No thanks,’ Minho says, barely glancing at her. ‘I’m going to Jisung’s tonight.’

‘For real? Minho, why do you still hang out with that baby?’

Minho sighs. ‘He’s my best friend.’

‘Minho, he’s like, 5 years old. Can’t you make some friends your own age?’

‘I don’t need them,’ Minho says with a shrug.

Soyoung rolls her eyes and flails her arms exaggeratedly. ‘You are hopeless, Minho, seriously. No wonder everyone thinks you’re a weirdo.’

She flounces off, leaving Minho sitting alone. Minho frowns. Even though he meant what he said about not needing any more friends, it doesn’t exactly feel good when she calls him a weirdo. And apparently everyone thinks it. Would even Jisung think so too? Would he think of Minho as a friendless loser if he knew?

‘Are the teachers strict?’

‘Not really,’ says Minho.

Jisung ponders this for a moment. ‘Do you get a lot of homework?’

‘Yep.’

‘Do people fight?’ Jisung is endlessly curious about middle school lately. There’s less than a year left before he’ll be moving up, too.

‘Sometimes.’

‘Do people kiss in the hallway?’

‘Jisung!’ Minho looks at him, scandalised. ‘Where would you even get that idea?’

‘Saw it in a drama,’ Jisung says with a cheeky smile, rolling over on the bed.

‘What kind of dramas are you watching?’ Minho asks quietly, feeling perturbed for some reason.

‘I tried some romance ones,’ Jisung says airily.

‘Are you interested in those now?’ Minho asks.

‘Kinda.’ Jisung looks at his fingernails and Minho looks at Jisung. He’s grown a lot lately, although his round cheeks are the same as ever. His limbs have lengthened, he’s put on a little weight. He’s still shorter than Minho though, by about half a head.

Alphas are usually taller. Minho thinking absently that he might hit a growth spurt soon. It would be weird to be towering over Jisung again. Then, he stops that train of thought. He’s sure Jisung would hate that - he’s always saying things like, ‘Look, Minho, I’m catching up with you!’

‘Wanna play Mario Kart?’ Jisung asks suddenly.

‘Okay,’ Minho says, somewhat relieved to be off the topic of school.

They play Mario Kart for the rest of the afternoon - Jisung wins 5 games in a row, and then Minho is just about to win the 6th when Jisung kicks the controller out of his hand.

‘Mother, I don’t want to go to school today.’

‘Oh, baby.’ Minha sits down on Minho’s bed and places her soft, cool hand on his forehead. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m not feeling well,’ Minho says sulkily. He’s been sleeping horribly lately, and keeps getting these stabbing headaches.

‘You do look a bit pale, dear,’ Minha says worriedly. ‘Have you been drinking enough water, sweetheart? Have you been eating enough? You’ve got bags under your eyes. Maybe I should ask your mama to take a look at you when she gets home…’

‘But mother…’ Minho doesn’t want Miyeon casting her doctor’s eye over him - she’ll probably know what’s wrong with him straight away. And Minho is afraid she’ll say that it’ll be his presentation. Minho doesn’t want his presentation to come so soon. Couldn’t it have waited a bit?

Minha looks at him, and Minho can tell by the particular look in her eyes that she’s thinking along the same lines - although she manages to keep her face sympathetic, and not at all excited. Minho wants to burrow back under his blankets and never come out. For some reason, he kind of wants to call Jisung. And he really doesn’t want to deal with this.

He wriggles deeper into his blankets and gives his mother his best sad, pitiful, tearful eyes.

‘You poor thing,’ Minha soothes gently, straightening his blanket. ‘Alright, baby, just go back to sleep, okay? I’ll call school. And I’ll make you some nice healthy rice porridge, okay? You’ll need your strength.’

‘Strength?’ Minho repeats, heart thudding.

Minha smiles indulgently. ‘Don’t worry, Minho. Just go back to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.’

Minho closes his eyes and shivers, trying to allow the familiar feel of her gentle hand to soothe him. He grabs onto his blankets with agitated fists and settles fitfully into a shallow sleep.

He drifts in and out of sleep for the rest of the day, tangled up in his blankets and sweating. His hair sticks to his forehead and his head pounds rhythmically, until he can feel the ache at the back of his eyeballs.

Late in the evening, he’s awoken for a final time by his mama.

‘Don’t worry, Minho. Just relax,’ Miyeon says in her ever-calm, even voice. She straightens his blankets and presses her fingers over his heart, feeling its violent thumping. ‘Breathe in, breathe out. It will all be okay.’

He looks up into her serious eyes, before his eyelids droop and his world is swallowed by darkness again.

Strangely, he wakes up the next morning and feels much better. He tells Minha with great relief, and she also seems happy - bundles him off to school in her usual rather overbearing manner. His day passes without incident, and he decides when school is over to stop by Jisung’s on the way home. For no particular reason - he just wants to see him.

As he approaches Jisung’s house, he finds his headache returning somewhat, and tries to banish it through sheer force of will, ignoring the intermittent stabs of pain in his temples.

When he rings the doorbell, Jisung’s mother Joori answers - she’s the spitting image of her son, soft cheeks, tan skin and all, although she also has dyed honey-coloured hair cut to fall gently to the base of her neck.

‘Minho! What a lovely surprise,’ she enthuses, stepping aside so he can bow politely and walk in, toeing off his shoes as he goes. ‘Jisung is upstairs. I’ll fetch you two some tea.’

‘Thank you.’ Minho’s voice comes out a little croaky and he blushes; Joori giggles and waves him upstairs.

Minho takes the stairs slowly; his head pounds. One foot in front of the other.

By the time he stumbles into Jisung’s room, he’s trying to blink away bright spots behind his eyes and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself. A strong wave of dizziness hits him and he suddenly doesn’t know which way is up and which way is down.

‘Hyung!’

Jisung’s voice.

He inhales a sudden blast of vanilla and feels a small hand grab at his sleeve, before he sinks like a stone to his knees and passes out.

‘—Jisung, bring the water please…’

‘What about Minho’s mum?’

‘I called her, she’s on her way - darling - the ice…’

‘Here…’

Minho can smell vanilla, so strong it’s clogging up his nostrils and throat. He wants to choke but he finds he can barely move, as though something is holding him down. His skin is covered in a fine layer of sweat, sticky, damp.

‘Minho?’

Minho forces out a whine of pain. His eyes refuse to open more than a crack, and all he can see is blurred shapes. His head is still pounding but now he’s nauseous, too.

‘Jisung, quickly - hold it up and let him drink.’

‘Sit up, hyung-ah.’

Someone urges Minho into an upright position with strong but careful hands, and someone else presses a startlingly cool glass of water to his lips. Minho gulps it like lifeblood and its icy cold, so he can feel it running down into his stomach and imagines it flowing into every branching capillary and every heated body cell.

When the water is gone, the same hands ease him back down onto pillows and blankets and Minho’s eyes are closing again before he even hits them.

Chapter Text

4

Minho stirs into consciousness, but doesn’t open his eyes. He can barely smell vanilla anymore, instead there’s a much more intense scent of something citrusy, competing with an equally intense scent of something sweet, which he realises abruptly is the caramel scent which belongs to his mother.

He shifts around, dragging his hand up from beside him; it tangles in soft sheets.

He’s sweating, he realises; it’s not dripping off him, like when he runs the 200m in PE class, but everything is damp and sticky and coated in a thin layer of hot moisture, and his palms slip along the bed. His head is thudding dully.

His eyelids are heavy, but he finally forces them open, and the world around him, although blurry, slowly takes shape. He blinks, peers through his fluttering eyelashes and opens his mouth.

‘Mother!’ he croaks. His throat is completely dry and it’s like trying to talk around sandpaper. He coughs harshly, cringes through a wave of nausea and tries again. ‘Mother?’

‘Minho?’

He hears her voice from along the hall, and almost immediately his door is thrown open, revealing Minha, pale-skinned and wrapped in a knitted shawl. She looks tired, but she crosses the room on fast feet and immediately presses a cool, smooth hand to his forehead.

‘My darling,’ she says, voice slightly hushed. ‘How are you feeling?’

Minho considers for a moment, through his headache. ‘Bad,’ he settles on, voice still hoarse.

‘Oh, baby,’ she soothes, stroking his tangled hair behind his ear. ‘I know it’s hard. Your mama is bringing some water - you’ve not drunk anything for hours, we couldn’t wake you up. It’s been a particularly bad one. I’m sorry it hurts. Just bear it for a while, okay, Minho, dear? It will all be over soon.’

Minho nods - there’s not much else he can do. He feels as though he half-understands her words - they seem to flit in and out of his mind.

‘Oh, you should be able to smell your own scent now, my darling,’ Minha says softly, stroking along his heated cheek. ‘It’s beautiful, it’s almost like your mama’s, only sweeter. Fresh lemons, sugar, mint, ah, my precious baby. You smell lovely.’

Minho slowly registers her words through his mind’s fog - he knew he could smell sweet lemons. Then, suddenly, he feels like he’s leaking between the legs - or dripping, almost. He’s gripped with fear - is he wetting himself? He wants to launch himself into a sitting position, scramble to the toilet, but as soon as he tries his head pounds so hard that he collapses.

Minha catches him and her soft hands rub his shoulders as he writhes on the pillows, clamping his legs together. ‘Minho!’

Miyeon chooses that exact moment to appear in the doorway. There’s a large bottle of water in her hands, as well as a sealed box of what looks like medicine. Minho glances at her and then groans, reaching down to clutch at his lower stomach with one hand.

Miyeon strides over to Minho’s bed and Minha immediately grabs her arm, digging her manicured nails into the sleeve. Head lolling to the side, Minho realises for the first time that Minha’s hands are shaking.

‘He’s still not doing well,’ Minha says, near-panic in her voice. ‘Look at his poor little face. Mine was never this bad - I didn’t even cry. Just slept for the day and that was that. Dear, do you think we should call the hospital? I—’

‘Minha, you are worrying too much,’ Miyeon says, gently but firmly, taking a seat at the end of Minho’s bed.

‘Mama,’ he says tearfully, reaching for her. She brings with her a clean scent that feels familiar and helps Minho to calm down.

‘He’ll be fine. You’ll be fine, you just need to keep drinking.’ She hands him the bottle of water - it’s fridge-cold, fresh from the dispenser, and Minho brings it to his mouth on instinct and gulps for several long moments.

He hands the water back to Miyeon, who places it on his bedside table, and slumps back into the pillows with a sigh.

‘Am I dying?’ he whispers.

Minha and Miyeon both stare at him, and then Miyeon chuckles while Minha hides her smiling face behind an elegant hand. Miyeon takes one of Minho’s overheated hands in two of her own.

‘No, Minho. Not at all,’ she says, giving him an unusually soft smile. ‘You’re presenting. Congratulations. You’re an omega.’

‘And these ones are only to be taken once a week - look, darling, I’m putting them into the pink box. Remember, blue daily, pink weekly. If you miss a blue one, that’s okay, you can just take it the next day - but make sure you tell your mama if that happens!’

‘Yes, mother,’ Minho says blankly.

‘Now, you don’t want to miss a pink one, dear, because you could trigger an out-of-sync heat, but not to worry, I’ll take those ones with you so we won’t forget - oh, the last time I forgot it was awful, I got the worst cramps, your mama had to spend all night heating up hot water bottles for me…’ Minha looks a little distracted as she carefully clips the plastic medication boxes together.

‘I won’t, mother,’ Minho says, staring down at the little trays of compartments, each one holding a small, round pill.

Minha glances at him, and then sighs. ‘Minho, dear,’ she says softly, reaching out to gently take hold of his cheeks between her fingers and thumb. ‘I know how you feel, baby. None of this is easy. And, well, obviously…’ She looks sheepish. ‘We weren’t exactly expecting this. Your mama kept telling me not to put ideas in your head, but… well, I was just so sure you were going to be an alpha, darling.’

Minho nods, expressionless. Breathes in and out slowly.

‘That’s right, dear. There’s nothing to worry about. Your mama and I will always be here to help you through all of it. And you can always come to us to talk, okay, baby?’

‘Yes, mother.’

‘Good.’ She gives him a soft smile, and then returns her hands to the table, slipping the medication boxes into a clear plastic bag. ‘Now, where were we? Heats? Now, you will have learnt the basics in sex education, dear, but they don’t tell you everything - well, some of it is a bit personal, isn’t it? Anyway, if you’re healthy, darling, then they should be regular and hit twice a year…’

Minho clenches his fists and bites his lip, bows his head, and listens to his mother.

Minho is intensely nervous to see Jisung again.

Last time Jisung saw him, he was in a daze and slipping into his presentation. Minho thinks about how he collapsed and cringes, how he had to be helped onto Jisung’s bed and fed water straight from his hands. He doesn’t want Jisung to think he’s weak, and it's embarrassing. And not to mention - he isn’t even sure whether Jisung realised he had been presenting as an omega.

What will Jisung think about it? Will he be happy that Minho isn’t an alpha?

Even though Jisung doesn’t like alpha boys, Minho thinks he would have come around, eventually. But what now? Will he be as confused as Minho is?

As luck would have it for Minho, it seems like Jisung doesn’t have any such reservations.

‘Hyung!’

When he sees Minho, he runs straight into his arms, knocking the breath out of Minho’s chest.

Immediately, he’s hit in the face by a blast of cream vanilla, so sweet he starts salivating, so rich he tastes it, so pure that he inhales a huge gulp and still wants more - and, this time, he’s lucid enough to realise this is Jisung’s scent.

He breathes it in, wrapping his arms around Jisung’s thin body, taking a moment just to appreciate it; this is his best friend’s - his Jisung’s smell.

‘Hyung, you’re an omega!’ Jisung extricates his upper body out of Minho’s arms after a moment and gives him a beaming smile. Minho isn’t exactly sure what Jisung is so happy about, but he can’t deny it’s infectious, and he finds himself smiling back.

‘I am,’ he says, voice a little unsteady. Jisung leans into him and gives him an excited, and slightly wet, kiss on the cheek. Startled, Minho jumps, and reaches up to hold the place where Jisung kissed.

‘Come on,’ Jisung says, tugging on his arm. ‘Mum’s been dying to see how you are, she keeps asking about you every day.’

Minho follows him into the house. They say hello to Joori - who pinches Minho’s cheek and tells him, 'Congratulations', then announces she’s off to make them tea - and then head up to Jisung’s room.

‘What was it like?’ Jisung asks, in a slightly hushed voice, when they’re sitting next to each other on his bed, blankets pulled over their feet.

Minho thinks about it - he’s not sure what to say, or what exactly Jisung wants to hear. He doesn’t even really feel different, but at the same time it’s as though everything’s changed.

‘Wet,’ he says. ‘And sticky.’

‘Ewwww!’ Jisung laughs exaggeratedly and punches Minho in the arm.

‘It’s the truth,’ says Minho.

Jisung leans in close. ‘So?’ he asks, almost vibrating with excitement. ‘How do you feel?’

Like he’s lost a part of himself, a part who was alpha. Like he’s looking at his own life through an expanse of water.

Like he’s mourning something he never had. Years ago, telling Jisung he would grow up to be his alpha and bite him, and mate him - does he even remember? The fancies of a child. He swallows, and shrugs.

‘Like me.’

Jisung gives him a look, and then laughs. ‘Yeah. You’re definitely still you, Minho-hyung.’

5

‘This uniform is so ugly!’

Jisung stomps around Minho’s room, dressed in the navy-blue black–trimmed blazer, tie and black trousers that make up their middle school uniform.

‘Don’t they have any sense of fashion?’ Jisung scoffs, plucking at the shiny button on the rounded cuff of his too-long sleeve.

‘It’s not that bad,’ Minho says, looking up from his book to glance over.

‘You don’t know anything about fashion either,’ Jisung retorts, flopping down onto Minho’s bed.

Minho sighs. Jisung has been attending his middle school - where Minho is now a final-year - for just over a week now. He seems to be settling in well, although when Minho went to find him to give him a hug on his first day, he was clearly nervous and masking it with bravado. He could smell it in his scent. It’s been months since he presented, now, but Minho is still surprised at the minute changes in Jisung’s mood he can detect through his scent.

He doesn’t mention it much, though, because when he started telling Jisung that he was hungry or tired or relaxed, Jisung had snapped at him, ‘Stop telling me how I feel, Minho-hyung!’

‘It’s not fair that we only get one year together,’ Jisung says suddenly, turning slightly so that Minho can’t see his face.

‘I agree,’ Minho says. ‘I like being able to see you at school.’

Jisung shifts around and curls himself up, bunching Minho’s sheets under his hand. Minho leans over to look at him, and sees that he’s a little pink-cheeked.

‘Shall we eat lunch together tomorrow? I can come and find you.’

‘Okay,’ Jisung says.

Minho picks up his phone, taps at it for a bit, while Jisung lays uncharacteristically quiet beside him. After several minutes, his breathing becomes louder and more even; Minho glances over, catches the way his eyelashes are fluttering, eyelids drooping.

He’s had a big change - he must be tired. Minho covers him with the thick fluffy blanket his mother always puts on the end of his bed, tucking it in close and cosy to his curled-up form.

‘...and PE this morning will be held in the hall due to weather conditions. Please report to the hall in a timely manner - any latenesses will come back to me.’

Minho turned the page of his book, only half-listening to his teacher’s stern voice. She’s about to launch into the homework check when there’s a loud knock at the classroom door. Minho closes his book and looks up - anything that detracts from the monotony of the same dull morning routine every day interests him.

Around him, his classmates murmur to each other, and someone in front of Minho leans across to nudge their friend.

Their teacher crosses the room to open the door, and the deputy headmistress walks in with a boy of slight build in tow.

‘Good morning,’ the headmistress says briskly, encouraging the boy forward. He glances around the room, and Minho finds himself catching his eye - the boy has large, friendly eyes, longish hair and a freckled, tan face.

‘Welcome, Yongbok. Stand here, please. Thank you, Deputy Headmistress Kim.’

‘I’ll leave you to it.’

The deputy headmistress leaves in a clattering of sensible, hard-heeled shoes, and thirty or so pairs of eyes swivel to the smiling boy standing at the front of the classroom, including Minho’s.

‘Students, this is Lee Yongbok,’ their teacher says. ‘He’s a transfer student who just arrived in Korea from Australia. Yongbok, please introduce yourself.’

‘Good morning. My name is Yongbok,’ Yongbok says, in shaky, accented Korean, with a small bow. ‘Please take care of me.’

‘Thank you, Yongbok - follow me.’ Their teacher leads him over to Minho’s desk, and gestures to the empty seat to the right of him. ‘Sit here, please.’

Yongbok sits down, shooting Minho a friendly smile, which he returns hesitantly.

‘This is Lee Minho. Minho, look after Yongbok today. Help him get to his classes and show him around, please.’

Minho nods. ‘Yes, miss.’

She leaves, and Yongbok leans in to him. Minho detects the faint scent of ripe peaches under his suppressors and realises that Yongbok is an omega. ‘Hi,’ he says, in his odd-sounding Korean. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Minho whispers back politely, glancing at their teacher to make sure she’s distracted, not looking their way.

‘Minho, isn’t  it?’

Minho nods.

‘Sorry about my Korean,’ Yongbok says, with an easy grin, leaning back in his seat and shoving his hands in his pockets. His shirt sleeves bunch up and wrinkle, slightly too big on him. ‘My mum only really spoke it to me when I was little.’

‘That’s okay,’ Minho says, a little nonplussed. ‘I can understand you. Mostly.’

Yongbok laughs. ‘Well, that’s good,’ he says, clapping Minho on the shoulder. Minho sits up, surprised. ‘Oh, sorry. What lesson have we got first, then?’

‘Maths,’ says Minho quietly. ‘It’s in block C. I’ll take you there.’

Yongbok gives him a beaming smile. Minho notices, rather suddenly, that his new seat-mate has a pretty face.

‘Feee-lix. Felix,’ Yongbok says slowly, pointing to his pouting mouth as he pushes the sound out.

‘Pe…Peliks,’ says Minho slowly.

‘Felix.’

‘Piliks.’

‘Close enough,’ Yongbok says, and he laughs, eyes all scrunching up. ‘I don’t mind if you wanna call me by my Korean name, it’s just - well, it was my grandpa’s name. Don’t you think it sounds kinda old?’

Minho smiles and shakes his head, then sniffs, and inhales - he can smell Jisung’s scent through the throng of students in the lunch hall. Glancing around, Minho sees him standing at the end of the row of tables, holding a tray piled with sandwiches and an apple and grape juice box.

Minho raises a hand in greeting, and Jisung smiles at him, although Minho thinks it looks a little off for some reason. Yongbok looks over, too.

‘Who’s that?’ he asks, curious, nudging Minho. Minho turns to him.

‘That’s Han Jisung. My best friend,’ says Minho. He looks back, to find Jisung again, but he’s already sat down - sitting with some other first years from his class. Minho looks down at his kimchi stew and tries not to feel disappointed. Of course, Jisung needs to make friends with people in his own year - otherwise, when Minho leaves for high school, he’ll be lonely.

‘Hey,’ says Yongbok, gently. ‘What were you saying about cleaning duty?’

‘Oh, yes,’ says Minho, picking up his chopsticks.

It’s been a few weeks since Minho and Jisung have eaten lunch together. Instead, Minho has been eating lunch with Yongbok every day. He still sees Jisung at school, but only for brief moments, and at the end of the day when they walk home together. Minho really tries to stay positive, but he can’t help but wonder if he’s done something wrong.

Then again, when they are together, Jisung isn’t acting any differently. And it’s not like eating lunch with Yongbok is terrible - Yongbok is a very kind person, and he’s always smiling and laughing even when Minho doesn’t think he’s said anything funny.

But Minho can’t help but miss Jisung. After all, they’re best friends. Yongbok isn’t his best friend, just - a friend, and while Minho doesn’t have many friends and is glad to have made a new one, Yongbok isn’t Jisung. And besides, Yongbok makes friends with everyone - Minho has seen it with his own eyes over the past weeks; everybody loves Yongbok, they seem to be drawn to him naturally. His classmates are even nicer to Minho when Yongbok is nearby.

It’s not like Minho is a special friend to him - just one of many.

It’s the end of the day, a Friday, almost the weekend, and Minho is hoping he can go over to Jisung’s house after school so they can spend some time together. Dutifully, he goes to wait outside Jisung’s classroom once after-school study ends, after saying goodbye to Yongbok.

He nods at Jisung’s classmates as they file out of the classroom. Jisung is always last out, spends ages talking to his friends and picking up his things from the lockers and whatnot.

When he finally comes out, he smiles at Minho - wide and white and heart-shaped, but Minho feels like it’s not reaching his eyes.

‘Hi, Jisungie,’ he says.

‘Hi, hyung.’

They fall into step together, and Minho’s worried heart is eased by the familiarity, and by the sweetness of Jisung’s scent swirling around them. There’s still some residual cold in the April air from the waning winter, and Jisung has a fluffy hat shoved over his hair; he looks cute.

He’s unusually quiet as they walk, and Minho tries to fill up the silence by talking about all the final-year work he’s been set, even though it’s still early in the year. Jisung makes the right conciliatory noises, but he’s markedly less enthused than usual.

Finally, Minho just says, ‘Can I come over to yours today?’

Jisung glances at him, and nervously pulls at the strap of his cross-body satchel, jostling it back into place. ‘Sorry, Minho-hyung,’ he says, biting his lip. ‘We can’t do today. My mum is busy and she doesn’t want to be disturbed.’

Minho nods, quietly says, ‘Okay.’ His chest feels constricted and he takes a deep breath. He has to gather some courage to say the next part, clenching his fists. ‘I-it seems like you’ve always got an excuse about why I can’t come lately,’ he says.

Jisung stops dead in his tracks, so Minho stops too, looks back at him.

‘What do you mean?’ asks Jisung defensively. Minho swallows; he hates it when Jisung is upset with him.

‘I just - we barely see each other at school, and I haven’t been over to yours in ages, and every time I ask you say no. It’s like you don’t even want me to come over anymore.’ To Minho’s horror, his bottom lip wobbles as he says the last part. He clenches his jaw, doing everything in his power to avoid showing Jisung how upset he is; he’s still trying to stay calm.

‘Oh really?’ Jisung asks. ‘Because it seems like you’re the one who doesn’t want to see me.’

Minho gapes. ‘Why would you think that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jisung says fiercely. Minho realises with a start that Jisung is holding back tears, eyes shiny. ‘It just doesn’t exactly feel good getting replaced.’

‘Replaced?’ Minho repeats.

‘Yes!’ Jisung says hotly. ‘Why don’t you just go over to Yongbok’s? You’re the one who only hangs out with him every day now!’

Minho stares, stunned. ‘But, Jisung, I…’

‘I don’t want excuses,’ Jisung says, glaring at Minho now. Minho feels like his heart is shutting down; he really doesn’t know how to react. Jisung looks so angry. ‘You know what? You can walk home on your own today. See you around, Minho-hyung.’

He shoves his shoulder into Minho’s as he stomps away, knocking a blast of soured vanilla scent into Minho’s face. Minho watches after him, pale and standing stock-still.

Jisung avoids him at school the next day. And the next, and the next too. He averts his eyes when they pass in the corridors, doesn’t come near him in the lunch room, dashes out of school as quickly as possible so he’s already gone by the time Minho gets to his classroom in the evening.

Minho doesn’t understand.

‘Mother,’ Minho says, as he sits, homework in front of him, at the dining-room table.

‘Hmm? Yes, what is it dear? Are you cold? I can fetch you a jumper if you need, or a cup of tea?’

‘No,’ Minho says. ‘I’m fine. It’s just…’ He taps his pen on the table.

‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’

‘Jisung isn’t talking to me,’ Minho says in a hushed voice. He blinks his eyes rapidly, furiously holding back the itchy tears that threaten to spill.

‘Oh, baby,’ Minha says, putting her hand on his. ‘Did you two have a falling out? You poor thing, I know how much it can hurt. It happens sometimes, you know, Minho. Nobody gets on perfectly all the time. What did you fight about?’

‘I don’t know,’ Minho says helplessly, sniffling. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it won’t go down. He chokes his next words out in a whispered, frightened voice. ‘I think he hates me now.’

‘Oh, Minho, that’s not true. He could never hate you.’ His mother gathers him into her arms and lets him sniffle against her shoulder, breathing in the comforting smell of her scent and perfume. ‘You two just need to make up. Have a chat with him, darling, ask what’s wrong, and be patient. Maybe he just needed some space. You’ll be friends again in no time - in a few days, you’ll have forgotten you were ever fighting.’

Minha pats his back with a delicate hand until his sniffles have subsided, and then makes him chamomile tea and brings him a stack of tissues. She surrounds him with her comforting scent until he starts to think that maybe everything really is going to be okay.

Later on, when Minho is lying in bed, freshly showered, pyjamas on and teeth brushes, Miyeon comes into his room.

‘Hey,’ she says to him, sitting on the end of his bed. ‘Your mother told me you and Jisung had an argument.’

Minho bites his lip. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

Miyeon leans forward, looks with sharp eyes into his face.

‘Minho,’ she says gently. ‘There are some people in life worth fighting for. Good friendships are like gold dust, you know. You need to hang on to them.’

Minho looks at her face, taking in her every word.

‘Never be afraid to take the first step,’ she says. ‘I know it’s hard, but you have to be the bigger person. I suggest you pick up your phone and give him a call.’

Minho hesitates.

‘The sooner you do it, the sooner this will all be done with.’ She ruffles his hair, and then leaves him to his thoughts.

Slowly, Minho reaches for his phone.

He calls Jisung and listens to the nervous thumping of his own heart as the ringing stars.

And ends. Jisung doesn’t pick up.

Minho tries again twice more. Still nothing. Now he’s worried. Is Jisung ignoring him again?

With a shaky finger, Minho swipes back on his phone and selects Jisung’s home number instead. He doesn’t normally call it, but he needs to get a hold of Jisung.

This time, a few rings in, the phone clicks.

‘Hello?’ says Joori’s cheerful voice.

‘Auntie?’

‘Hmm? Minho, is that you?’

‘Yes, it’s me,’ Minho says hoarsely. ‘Minho. May I please speak to Jisung?’

‘Minho, I’m so glad you called!’ Joori says. ‘I’m afraid Jisung can’t come to the phone at the moment.’

Minho clenches his fingers down on the phone. ‘Why not?’ he asks worriedly.

‘Because he’s presenting.’

Chapter Text

When Monday comes around, Minho can’t concentrate on his classes. He barely manages to hold a conversation with Yongbok, who keeps glancing at him with barely-concealed concern.

All he can think about is Jisung.

Jisung, who is absent at home, presenting as - something.

Of course, the first thing he asked Joori was whether his best friend had presented as an alpha, or as an omega.

‘I shouldn’t tell you what he’s presented as, Minho,’ Joori had said gently. ‘He should tell you that himself.’

‘How is he?’ Minho had demanded, stunned.

‘He’s fine,’ Joori had said, with warmth in her tone. ‘You should be able to come and visit him on Monday.’

Minho has been looking at the clock all day, counting down each class and break minute-by-minute, thinking of nothing but the moment when he can leave and head to Jisung’s house, see him again, make sure he’s okay.

For that reason, he’s gathering up his bag and shooting from the room to head straight for the school gates as soon as the final bell goes. He ignores Yongbok’s worried call of his name following him - he can feel guilty about that later.

It’s drizzling when Minho gets outside, the spitting rain cold against his cheeks as he rushes off.

With his bag strap in his hands and black shoes clacking hard against the pavement, Minho makes his way to Jisung’s faster than he ever has before - past the convenience store that sells Jisung’s favourite flavour of ramyeon, past the park and the red-lighted donkatsu restaurant, under the zigzagging telephone wires above and back and forth through the narrow streets until he reaches Jisung’s familiar smallish house, on the corner of the road.

He sprints to the weathered forest-green door and, breathing heavily, lifts a hand to knock.

Joori answers the door moments later.

‘Minho,’ she smiles kindly, although she looks tired. ‘Jisung will be so delighted to see you!’

As she leads Minho through the house, he picks up Jisung’s scent and gasps. He has to cover his mouth and stop for a moment - it’s so strong and sweet that he can almost taste it and, as Minho isn’t used to it, it feels suffocating. Like it’s filling his whole nose and mouth, like he’s been plunged underwater. And the rich vanilla has taken on a somewhat burnt note which makes Minho salivate like a Pavlovian dog, as well as a smooth undertone of fresh cream.

Omega scent. Minho knows instantly.

His Jisung is an omega.

He barely has time to realise this before he’s upstairs and standing in front of Jisung’s door. He takes a deep breath and knocks with a shaky hand.

‘Minho-hyung?’

Jisung’s voice is muffled through the door, but Minho would recognise that call of his name anywhere.

‘It’s me,’ he says loudly.

There’s a pause.

‘Come in.’

Something in Minho overcomes his nervousness at seeing Jisung again and he pushes open the door to enter his room.

‘Jisung!’

Jisung is huddled in bed, red-faced and sweaty. His blankets are pulled up to his neck and his body is curled up, folded in on itself. His eyes, round as saucers, stare at Minho unblinkingly and the sweet, sugared taste of his scent in the air intensifies so much that Minho stumbles as he approaches his bed, climbing into it before he can stop himself.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Been better,’ Jisung says, with a small smile that considerably lightens Minho’s heart.

‘You - you’re an…’

‘I’m an omega,’ Jisung says, and his smile grows until he’s beaming at Minho.

‘Jisung, that’s…’ Minho’s heart is suddenly beating as fast as a rabbit’s against his chest. ‘That’s amazing!’

They stare at each other for a moment, Minho awestruck and Jisung smiling, and then Jisung’s eyes brim with fat tears that threaten to spill over his red cheeks and his whole face wavers.

‘Minho-hyung!’ he cries, grabbing onto Minho’s sleeve. ‘I’m so sorry, I’ve been awful.’

‘Huh?’

Minho is yanked forward by surprisingly strong arms and faceplants into the bed next to Jisung, who attaches all his heated limbs around him like an octopus and buries his wet face into Minho’s chest.

‘I was so mean to you,’ he sobs into Minho’s shirt.

‘No, it’s fine,’ Minho says, shaking his head rapidly. He’s so happy that Jisung is touching him again.

‘It’s not!’ Jisung protests. ‘I don’t know what was wrong with me. I’ve just been feeling so sick lately, and I knew I was presenting and I was really scared, and mum says my hormones are all messed up. But I never should have yelled at you, even though it really hurt when I saw you with Yongbok. I’m sorry, hyung.’

‘Jisung, you’re the one who’s my best friend, not Yongbok,’ Minho says gently, truthfully.

‘I know,’ Jisung says, snuggling closer. He shoves his face harder into Minho’s chest, so that all Minho can see is the round top of his head, the black whorl of his fluffy hair. It’s getting long.

Minho huffs a laugh as Jisung twists his head from side to side ticklishly. ‘Jisung, what are you doing?’ he asks.

Jisung lifts his forehead a tiny bit so that Minho can see his dark eyes and eyelashes, staring up at him. ‘I like your smell,’ he says into Minho’s sternum, somewhat muffled.

Minho’s chest literally swells, puffs up; he’s loved Jisung’s scent ever since he first smelt it, and hearing that it’s reciprocated makes pride burst irresistibly inside him.

‘So good,’ Jisung says, slightly slurred. He pushes even further into Minho, who lies still, absorbing the heat radiating from Jisung like he’s a particularly wriggly personal heater. ‘I missed hugging you so much.’

‘Me too,’ whispers Minho, like it’s a secret, only for Jisung’s ears, although they’re the only people here.

‘Hyung?’

‘Mmm?’ Minho hasn’t even noticed his eyelids are drooping, that he’s falling too far into the bubble of comfort holding Jisung gives him. He blinks them open again, lashes fluttering, and looks down at Jisung’s tear-streaked red face.

‘You’ll never leave me, right?’ Jisung asks, tightening the grip of his vice-like little fingers on Minho’s back.

Minho’s stomach erupts in butterflies, flitting their delicate paper-thin wings against the flesh and blood and bone of his ribs, swarming erratically. His heart beats out-of-tune.

‘Of course,’ he says, still in a whisper, like the words are too precious to fully let go.

Jisung’s scent does something amazing, ebbs and sweetens, becomes headier and more perfumed, something that makes Minho feel dizzy and yet completely safe and enveloped.

‘You’ll love me forever?’

‘Of course.’

‘No matter what happens? No matter what I do?’

Minho finally finds the courage to loop his own arms around Jisung, gently at first and then with force, encasing his entire skinny body inside the cradle of his own.

‘No matter what,’ he whispers with conviction, with all the certainty in his irregularly beating heart. ‘I’ll always be your best friend. I’ll stay with you, okay, Jisungie? I won’t ever leave you, I won’t ever hurt you. I’ll protect you. I’ll take care of you. Forever.’

When Joori finds them, they’re tucked into each other and fast asleep. She eases Minho up and out of Jisung’s bed; Jisung doesn’t even stir - Joori mentions offhandedly that the last day of his first heat was difficult and he’s probably exhausted. Minho brushes a lock of Jisung’s hair out of his closed eyes before he bids him and Joori goodbye, leaving to make the quiet walk home in the calm darkness of the evening.

He has a few messages from Yongbok on his phone, as well as one from his mother telling him she’s already eaten and fussing about when he’s going to be back. Sighing, Minho texts her back and quickly stops at the convenience store to pick up microwave kimchi rice and bottles of tea.

When he gets back, he gives his mother some tea to placate her and heats up and eats his rice before he’ll head to his room. Minha is full of questions about Jisung, but Minho answers them noncommittally, suddenly tired. In the end Minha pats him on the head and leaves him alone, announcing she’s off to finish her crocheting before bed.

When he’s full, Minho tosses away his trash and then retreats to his room, setting his schoolbag on his desk chair. He washes and changes into his comfiest pyjamas, slides into bed under his duvet, licks his lips and thinks of burnt sugar and vanilla.

Then he feels it.

A tear squeezes from his left eye and drops off of his face, onto the blanket below. Then another, from the other eye. And another, another, another.

Shocked, confused, Minho touches his face; his fingertips come away wet. A lump rises in his throat and lodges itself there.

He gasps, and breath doesn’t come easy.

More and more tears fall until they flow freely, and Minho gasps down another sob, chokes on the next one.

Sitting alone in his bed, Minho cries until his tear ducts run dry.

6

Minha cries on Minho’s last day of middle school, while Miyeon gifts him an envelope of 10000 won notes and a small bouquet of irises. Jisung punches him softly in the shoulder, tells him, ‘that’s for leaving me all alone’, and then gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Yongbok claps him on the shoulder and pulls him in for a hug, too. When the final day is over, they go out for noodles, and Minho brings Jisung along, wanting to feel his comforting presence next to him a little longer.

Minho knows that he and Yongbok are going to be in the same class at high school. It’s somewhat of a relief, as Minho doesn’t like facing new things completely alone, but his stomach and chest clench with nerves anyway. It feels like his school years are slipping away from him fast and Minho is worried about what will come at the end of it - when he’ll have to go away to university. He still doesn’t know what he wants to do - Minha’s voice echoes in his thoughts: ‘Minho, how about medicine? Your mama said studying medicine is the best decision she ever made, dear. Want to follow in her footsteps? Oh, Minho, how about law, darling? How about business?’

But before he has to face that, he has a winter break to spend, and as Jisung gathers a frankly alarmingly large bite of noodles on his chopsticks and starts chatting away about a new cafe he wants to try, Minho packages his nerves away in a little box deep in his chest and tries to focus on the moment and the vanilla-scented boy beside him.

Focus on Jisung, Minho has to keep reminding himself, as winter passes him by in a reel of dark, cold evenings sitting and drinking tea in Jisung’s bedroom or Minho’s front room, taking walks in the light powder-snow, playing card tournaments and trying out every fighting game Minho owns (they’re both terrible). Sometimes Yongbok tags along; he’s constantly texting Minho to ask what his plans are and invite him to hang out. Although Jisung is always more subdued on those days. Minho has no idea why, as Yongbok is nothing but lovely, but Jisung seems to be one of the only people immune to his charms. Perhaps he’s just feeling shy; he can be very different around people who - well, people who aren’t Minho.

All in all, though, it’s one of the happiest winters of Minho’s life. But time goes on, and February comes around again far sooner than he’d like.

‘What club are you going to sign up for? I’m thinking calligraphy - I’m hoping it’ll help me improve my Korean writing.’

Yongbok, sitting next to him at his wooden desk in the middle of their brand new high school classroom, flips through the little printed leaflet of clubs with interest. Minho isn’t so sure. He spends most of his time either studying, reading, or hanging out with Jisung.

‘I’m not really all that into sport, except taekwondo, but I do private classes for that. How about you, Minho?’

Minho shrugs. He’d tried tennis before, on Minha’s insistence, but never liked it all that much; he prefers walking around with Jisung to get his exercise in. It also means that when it’s a cold day, he can grab onto Jisung’s hand under the pretence of needing warmth. He opens his desk to grab his pen, brushes his fingers over some faded grey graffiti of someone’s name next to someone else’s, with a little scribbled-in love heart in between.

‘Oh!’ Yongbok’s eyes light up, and he holds up a page of neatly printed text in front of Minho’s eyes. ‘Look! How about dance?’

‘Dance?’ Minho repeats.

His eyes glance over the advertisement for the dance club - every Wednesday, instead of after-school study club, in the main sports hall after school. Two hours of hip hop and modern dance. Somehow intrigued, Minho carefully takes the offered leaflet out of Yongbok’s hand and smooths over the paper, looking at the grainy, black-and-white photo of several fit-looking male and female students in fashionable clothes, huddled together in a mass of lean limbs, grinning and throwing peace signs.

‘I guess I could try it out,’ he says at last.

‘Great idea!’ Yongbok enthuses. ‘If you get good, you could become an idol!’

Minho breathes a self-conscious laugh, jerks his shoulder up again. ‘I don’t want to be an idol. And anyway, I’ve never danced before,’ he says. ‘I’ll probably be awful.’

Yongbok gives him his best threatening look, which is startlingly ineffectual given that he looks like a particularly fluffy and annoyed puppy. ‘Lee Minho, don’t put yourself down before you’ve even tried,’ he says. ‘Just give it your best shot, and see what happens.’

Minho smiles a small, crooked smile, looking down at the leaflet again, ears warming. ‘Fine,’ he says. ‘I will.’

‘I miss you so much!’

‘I know. So do I.’

‘I hate not being able to smell you at school.’

‘Me too.’

‘It makes me feel all lost and alone, adrift at sea, left behind by my only friend, abandoned, cold, in pain—’

‘Okay, okay.’ Minho laughs, and kicks gently at Jisung’s body sprawled out next to him on the bed. ‘You’re not all alone. You’ve got your classmates.’

‘Yeah, but they’re not you,’ Jisung says with a pout, padding his socked feet up against the headboard. He wriggles around until he can look up at Minho with big round eyes, cheeks puffed up. Minho would be lying if he said it doesn’t stroke his ego, but sometimes Jisung is so open with his feelings that it makes Minho feel too exposed, almost giddy. He pats him on the head.

‘You’ll be in high school soon too,’ Minho says. Thinks about the eight chapters of reading and twenty exercise questions he has to do by Thursday. ‘Then you’ll be wishing you’d appreciated middle school while you could,’ he adds with a wry smile.

‘Sure, whatever,’ Jisung says. He presses his hands together, intertwines his fingers. Runs his thumb over his hand, fidgeting. ‘Actually, I was kinda thinking of introducing you to some of my friends from my class?’

Minho looks up from his phone. ‘Ah?’ He’s not sure how he feels about this prospect. He doesn’t do great with new people, and if they’re Jisung’s friends, then he has to make a good impression. He licks his lower lip nervously and then bites down on it.

‘Yeah,’ Jisung says. ‘They keep nagging me about you.’

‘They do?’

‘Well, yeah, apparently I never shut up about you,’ Jisung says with a smirk. Minho’s neck feels hot and he looks back at his phone. ‘Well? Are you up for it?’ He reaches up and lays his fingers gently on Minho’s wrist, holding on, just lightly.

‘Okay. Sure.’ As if Minho could ever say no to him.

Thump.

Minho slaps his hand against the mirror that covers the entirety of the back wall of the hall. A drop of sweat drips off the end of his wet fringe and splashes to the floor, leaving a small, pea-sized splatter.

The music fades away. Minho’s chest is heaving, breaths coming out staccato and laboured. The kinetic buzz of pushing and moving his body to the limit still thrums through his flesh and blood; was that last step too fast? Did I execute the spin properly? One of his dance classmates, a tall chestnut-haired alpha girl, comes over and pats him on the back; Minho doesn’t even flinch, smiles up at her instead.

Feeling in control of his body, moving with precision, with passion.

Who knew dancing would feel so amazing?

‘Minho, this is Changbin, this is Jeongin. Changbin, Jeongin, this is Minho.’

Jisung punctuates his words by motioning to the boys next to him; one (Changbin) is very skinny and very dark-haired, with sharp eyes, and the other (Jeongin) is dimpled and messy-haired, grinning a wide smile that shows the silver braces on his teeth, hands in the pockets of his baggy jogging pants.

Both alphas.

Minho jerks his head in an approximation of a nod, trying not to let his shock show too much. He recognises both of these kids; has seen them around, flanking Jisung in the corridors at school or sitting together in the library, but has never been this close to them, no suppressors, so he can smell their alpha scents swirling through the air, colouring everything in bright, harsh savouriness.

‘Nice to meet you, man,’ says Jeongin.

‘Finally,’ Changbin says with a half-grin, bowing his head to Minho. ‘We meet Jisungie’s Minho.’

Jisungie?

Minho stiffens, and Jisung must notice, because he sidles over to him and softly takes his arm. ‘Minho is shy,’ he explains in an affected, cooing voice.

Normally, Minho wouldn’t mind the teasing at all. But for some reason, right now, it irks him.

He wrenches his arm out of Jisung’s grasp, a little harder than he even meant to. ‘I’m not a baby,’ he says.

Jisung’s scent sours just the tiniest bit and he gives Minho a surprised look. Jeongin throws up a lackadaisical hand and says, ‘Hey, it’s okay. Jisung, are we heading off?’

‘Ah, yeah,’ Jisung says, looking at Jeongin again before giving Minho a wary glance that makes his heart clench. ‘We wanted to go to karaoke, are you cool with that?’

‘Of course,’ says Minho, brightening up despite himself. He loves karaoke with Jisung.

They’ve just never done it with two strange alphas in the room before.

He notices it as soon as they settle in on the benches lining the black-lit, neon karaoke booth; the atmosphere is different. He can smell alpha scents now, overpowering Jisung’s comforting vanilla and filling up Minho’s mouth and nose and throat, stinging like he’s breathing in gasoline fumes. Jisung must be used to them, because he doesn’t seem bothered, but Minho leans further into his side and shifts up close to him in an attempt to breathe in Jisung’s scent instead.

Jisung gives him a small, private smile, reaches down between them to rest the tips of his fingers over Minho’s hand. Minho smiles back, glad Jisung isn’t angry with him for being weird.

In the end, it’s not too bad. Minho loves it most when he’s paired up with Jisung for a duet, singing overdramatically and staring into each other’s eyes until they can’t stand it anymore and collapse into giggles, Jisung grabbing at Minho’s forearm to hold himself up as he throws his head back and staggers on his thin legs. They get an absolutely awful score, but it’s worth it. Then, Minho shows them all some of the moves he’s learnt in dance class so far to an upbeat rap song, and Jisung tells him he’s “amazing” while even Changbin and Jeongin whoop and clap.

By the time it’s time to say goodbye, Minho is feeling mostly better - not completely. He watches Jisung jump all over Jeongin, hugging him and pretending he’s going to kiss him on the cheek while Jeongin laughs and pushes him away, and something still feels off-kilter.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ Minho writes a few numbers down in his maths book, then moves to the next question. He carefully runs the bluntish lead of his pencil down the neatly printed question numbers on the left until he reaches the right one, then moves the pencil to underline the important information.

‘You seemed kind of annoyed, that’s all. They thought you were really cool, though.’

‘They did?’ Now that surprises Minho, although not quite enough to get him to look up from his homework.

‘Well, yeah. I’ve told them so many times how great you are, Minho-hyung. I think they were expecting a greek God to come out, at this point.’

Minho snorts. ‘Well, thanks. They did seem nice.’

‘Just nice?’ Jisung asks. ‘You definitely liked them?’

Minho presses the pencil down harder than necessary, and the lead snaps with a loudish noise. He sighs, and reaches for his sharpener.

‘Yes,’ he says, trying to keep his voice steady and stable and not at all annoyed. ‘I just…’ He twists the pencil, examining the sharpness of the lead, flicking away the shavings with his little finger.

‘Just?’ Jisung prompts, kicking his legs up against the wall. He’s spread out like a starfish, arms wide, over Minho’s duvet. Minho loves it when he does that - it means his scent gets all embedded into the blankets, and Minho will fall asleep easier later.

‘I just thought you didn’t like alpha boys,’ Minho says, really going for nonchalant. Jisung sits up quickly. ‘That’s all.’

There’s a moment of silence while Minho scribbles down more numbers, and then Jisung laughs, a single, short exhale.

‘I don’t,’ he says bluntly.

‘Well,’ Minho continues. ‘They’re alpha boys, aren’t they?’

‘Uh, yeah, of course, dummy,’ Jisung says. ‘They’re not brainless morons like all the other alpha boys though. They’re actually capable of behaving like normal human beings.’

Minho sighs. ‘They really did seem nice.’ He fills in the answer to the final question of the exercise.

‘That’s why they’re my friends,’ Jisung says. ‘But don’t worry, you’re my protector. If they piss me off, I’ll come and tell you and then you can take care of them for me.’

‘Damn right,’ says Minho.

‘What would you actually do, though?’ Jisung asks. ‘Dance at them?’

‘Hey!’ Minho says. Although, Jisung does have a point. Mind you, those two alphas are still young, lanky teenagers, all skinny limbs. Minho could probably take them.

Jisung giggles, swatting at Minho’s arm. ‘Maybe that’ll work? Challenge them to a dance off. Then just start hip thrusting. They’ll be so uncomfortable they’ll just give up on the spot.’

Minho laughs at the picture, rolling his eyes. ‘God. I’m still learning to dance, you know. We haven’t covered hip thrusts yet.’

‘Well, when you do, let me know,’ Jisung says around an unreadable smile. ‘Maybe I can help grade you.’

Minho pauses, moves to look down at his maths book again. He closes it slowly, wondering why heat is suddenly travelling up the back of his neck, prickly, itchy. He can feel Jisung’s eyes, the way he’s staring at the side of his head, expecting a response - but sometimes, Minho doesn’t know exactly what to respond to Jisung with. Scared of saying the wrong thing, interpreting something wrong.

Scared of pushing away his best friend.

Instead, he says, ‘Well, I guess it’s good that you’re getting more used to them, right?’

‘Hm?’

‘You know, used to alpha boys.’

‘What do you mean, hyung?’ asks Jisung, though Minho is not sure if he’s fully paying attention. He’s turned on the bed, his arms outstretched, and is holding his hands out in front of his face and wiggling his fingers, staring up at them.

Minho feels nervous all of a sudden. ‘Because,’ he says. This is obvious, right? ‘Because soon you’ll have to go find an alpha to bite you, right?’

Silence. Minho fiddles with his pencil, passing it between his fingers from hand to hand. In the air, he can smell the sweetness in Jisung’s scent waning, growing stale.

The pause gets more and more uncomfortable, and Minho hates how he can sense the malcontent in Jisung’s scent, turning curdled.

‘Jisung?’

Minho finally plucks up the courage to turn and look at his best friend, and Jisung is lying still, slightly turned away from him, staring into space.

‘Are you okay?’ Minho asks, suddenly concerned. He uses his feet to wheel his desk chair over until it bumps against the bed frame with a dull thud.

‘Fine,’ says Jisung flatly.

‘Are you sure?’ Minho asks timidly.

There’s another pause, and then Jisung sighs and nods. ‘Mmm.’

Minho stares at him for a few more moments. His scent is slowly growing more normal, although it’s still weaker than usual. Cautiously, Minho moves off of his chair and crawls into bed beside Jisung, lying down facing him.

‘Jisung?’

‘Yeah.’ Jisung still isn’t looking at him, focusing on a spot somewhere on the wall opposite.

‘We’re best friends, yeah?’ Minho says. He knows, vaguely, that he sounds needy. He really can’t help it, even if he wanted to try - he wants Jisung to look at him and reassure him in his soft, pleasant voice, needs Jisung to agree so the neurons in his brain can stop racing, his heart can stop skittering, the itch in his throat stop rising.

Finally, Jisung does. He turns back so they can catch eyes; Minho’s wide, his slightly lidded.

‘Yeah, of course,’ he says, gently. Minho reaches for him, gingerly - he’s not usually the one who initiates skinship. Cups his palm carefully around Jisung’s shoulder, curling his fingers into the soft fabric of his old sweatshirt. Jisung’s scent finally, finally sweetens a little again; he takes the hint and shuffles in close, close enough so that Minho can nudge the tip of his nose against his clavicle.

So familiar. Secure, stable.

Safe.

Chapter Text

7

Two years have passed Minho by as fast as water slipping through his fingers. Whereas before he filled his time with nothing but school and Jisung, he now fills his time with school, dance and Jisung. So not that much has changed.

This year is the year he’ll be taking his entrance exams for university - but, two terms away, they still feel distant (or, at least, Minho can pretend). This year is also the year that Jisung moves into his high school, along with Changbin and Jeongin. Minho can see them if he straightens his back and cranes his head - they’re sitting closer to the front of the hall, watching their Headmistress, clad in a very bright blue suit, give the assembly of students her welcome speech.

‘For those of you in your final year,’ she says, lifting her chin to eye the oldest students, sitting at the back of the hall, Minho among them. ‘I urge you to work hard. Make the best of your last time here. Listen to your teachers. And do your best. I wish you good luck.’

Beside Minho, Yongbok surreptitiously checks his phone. He’s been lax with his suppressors lately, and his fresh peach scent is swirling around, attracting quite a few looks from other bored students. Minho scoffs. He’s used to alphas coming on to his friend by now. At this point, more alphas in his class have had a crush on Yongbok than haven’t.

Catching the small noise, Yongbok looks over to him, grins and winks. Minho smiles back, nudging him with his elbow. It’s easier to touch Yongbok now - more comfortable. And he doesn’t feel so tense when strangers brush up against him anymore. Minho attributes it to his dance lessons. Ever since he’s started to become attuned to how he moves his body, how the muscles and tendons and flesh and bones work together, he’s started to feel like less of a stranger in it.

It’s still nothing like the comfort he gets from touching Jisung, though.

Speaking of Jisung. Minho’s eyes slide back over to the back of his head - his hair is dyed a very dark brown now. It’s hardly different to his natural black - he had told Minho he wanted to dye it, but anything other than a dark natural colour would have gotten him in trouble with school. Jisung just wanted the novelty of it, apparently. Minho doesn’t really get it, but whatever makes Jisung happy, makes him happy.

‘Should I get a helix piercing?’ Jisung asks.

Minho looks over and appraises his ears - they’re already pierced, one silver lobe stud in each. ‘What’s wrong with your natural, hole-free ears?’ he asks.

Jisung shrugs. ‘Well, nothing, really. But don’t you think it would be pretty?’

That’s a different question. Minho swallows nervously. ‘Of course it would,’ he says.

Jisung catches his eye and for a moment they just look at each other.

‘Maybe we should get them together,’ Jisung says. ‘Hold each other’s hands when it hurts. We could buy cute matching earrings too.’

Minho laughs. ‘My mother would kill me,’ he says.

‘No she wouldn’t,’ Jisung insists. ‘Not if you let me talk to her. I’ll put on my best puppy dog eyes, she won’t be able to resist.’

‘She does love you an absurd amount,’ Minho says.

‘She loves me exactly the right amount!’ Jisung protests.

‘Well, you are easy to love,’ Minho says with a shrug.

Jisung is silent for a moment. Then, ‘So, what do you think? Wanna get your ears pierced? It can be like a symbol. Of your last year.’

The implication is left unsaid - a symbol of Minho’s last year before he goes away to university. Their last year together, before everything changes. Jisung is cheerful lately - he was very pleased to be able to take Music as an elective when he moved up to high school. And he says he’s happy to be attending the same school as Minho again, too.

‘You know what? Okay, sure,’ says Minho.

Jisung beams.

‘Woah, Minho! Your ear!’

It’s early morning, before their first lesson of the day. Minho arrived about fifteen minutes ago and has been reading in the classroom, alone save for the few other early arrivers in his class, also sitting quietly at their desks.

He looks up to see Yongbok, wearing a shocked expression and his backpack slung haphazardly on his shoulder by one strap.

‘Good morning to you too,’ says Minho, with a crooked smile.

‘When did you get it pierced?’ Yongbok asks in lieu of a greeting back, sliding into his seat next to Minho.

‘Saturday,’ says Minho. ‘Jisungie and I got them pierced together.’ Minho reaches a finger up to, very delicately, touch the stud in the cartilage of his right ear. It’s a small silver rose, with a tiny pink stone in the centre. Minho kind of loves it, even though it’s still red and inflamed and burning and he has to carefully position his hair over it every day so he doesn’t get yelled at by his teacher. Jisung has a daisy stud with a white stone, in exactly the same place but in his left ear. He squeezed Minho’s finger bones to a pulp while getting it, too.

Yongbok whistles lowly. ‘Looks great,’ he praises. ‘Didn’t expect you to suddenly do something so adventurous.’

Minho flushes a little. ‘Jisung convinced me to,’ he explains.

Yongbok chuckles. ‘Yeah, that explains it.’

‘Hey, I can be spontaneous and adventurous too.’

‘Sure you can,’ Yongbok says, patting him on the back.

‘I can,’ Minho frowns.

Yongbok appraises him for a moment, and then leans forward on his entwined fingers with a dangerous glitter in his eyes. Minho gulps down his sense of foreboding.

‘Okay then,’ Yongbok says slowly. ‘How about this, then? Some of us are going to Hyunjin’s this weekend for a little get-together. Wanna come?’

Minho stiffens. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, Yongbok.’ He’s not close with Hyunjin - has seen him around, but can probably count the number of conversations he’s had with that particular classmate on one hand, even though they attended Middle School together too.

Yongbok puts on a pout that rivals Jisung’s. ‘Come on, Minho. We really want you to come. I really want you to come. I’ll stay with you the whole time, I swear. You can even hide behind me if you want. I just think it would be a really good idea for you to get out more, you know?’

Minho hesitates. He still doesn’t really care about getting out more or any of that - he has Jisung, that’s all he needs, all he wants - but he does care about Yongbok. And Yongbok seems genuinely pleading.

‘Just give it a try,’ Yongbok says, perhaps interpreting Minho’s silence as a rejection. ‘One try, that’s all I’m asking. If you hate it, I’ll never ask you again, seriously.’

Minho can’t really understand why he specifically wants Minho, given that all of Yongbok’s other friends will be there, but Yongbok doesn’t ask for much. This is probably the least Minho could do. He exhales in resignation.

‘Alright, I’ll give it a try,’ he says.

‘Yes!’ Yongbok grins at him, freckled face open and happy. ‘You’ll see, it won’t be so scary once you’re there.’

‘I’m not scared,’ says Minho, affronted. ‘I’m just not usually into big get-togethers.’

‘I know, I know, you prefer to sit at your desk doing homework while Jisung rolls around on your bed and annoys you. Minho, I know how much you like him, I do get it. But… well, you’re not going to be able to rely on having just Jisung as a friend forever, you know? That’s not fair on Jisung, and - it’s not fair on you either.’ Yongbok is gazing at him with kind-hearted eyes, but Minho’s heart is sinking.

He looks away and shrugs. He knows that what Yongbok is saying is technically true, but that doesn’t keep the feeling of dread from rising in his throat, and he wants to snap back at him, tell him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he and Jisung are different - that they’ve always been best friends, and always will. He holds his tongue instead, and busies himself with staring out the window.

‘Aish!’

Jisung looks like he wants to thrash around - maybe only Minho’s steady arms are keeping him still right now. He’s lying with his head on Minho’s lap, hair tucked away so that Minho can get at his ear cartilage.

‘It’s not that bad, you big baby,’ says Minho - but it’s said with fondness. Jisung looks up at him with big offended eyes.

‘Shut up, hyung,’ Jisung complains. ‘It hurts so bad.’

‘Do I need to remind you that this was your idea in the first place?’ Minho asks, leaning to the side to wet his large cotton swab with disinfectant again. He presses the wet end back to Jisung’s ear, carefully wiping around the stud over the piercing area, trying to use a very light touch. He angles the swab down to get the slightly pointed tip right up to the angry, reddened piercing site, to encourage out any errant dust.

‘I know, I know,’ Jisung says, pushing his lips out like a beak. Minho can’t resist; with his other hand, he squeezes his lips together. They’re malleable, like dough.

‘Hyung!’ Jisung cries, albeit muffled.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Minho throws the cotton swab into his wastepaper basket and then tries to nudge Jisung back into a sitting position, but Jisung just spins around in his hold and pushes his nose up against Minho’s belly. His arms snake around Minho’s middle and join in a locked loop of affection at the base of his spine.

‘Just let me hug you for a minute,’ Jisung says in a nasally voice, rubbing his head on Minho’s sweater. He looks like a cat asking for attention.

‘What’s with you?’ Minho asks happily, threading his fingers into the dyed hair behind Jisung’s ears.

Jisung is quiet for a moment, then he sniffs and mutters, ‘I think I’m going into preheat.’

‘Oh,’ Minho says, surprised. He keeps notes on both his and Jisung’s cycles on his calendar - Jisung’s isn’t due for another month, but they can be irregular sometimes, especially when an omega is young.

‘I know it’s not due yet,’ Jisung says, sounding a little put-out. ‘I don’t know what’s caused it.’

‘Mother says sometimes it’s nothing,’ Minho says gently. ‘The cycles have a mind of their own.’

‘Yeah.’ Jisung snuggles closer into Minho’s stomach and takes a deep breath. ‘I wish you weren’t wearing suppressors.’

‘I could go shower,’ says Minho.

‘No!’ Jisung grabs him tighter and Minho laughs, ignoring the way his tummy flutters in response to Jisung’s proximity.

‘That’s what I thought.’ Minho moves a hand to the back of Jisung’s neck and starts massaging at the base of it, using all of his fingers to rub in slow circles over where he knows the scent gland is. It’s something his mother sometimes does for him when he’s having cramps. Jisung makes an appreciative kind of chirping noise and closes his eyes.

Minho continues his impromptu massage until he can smell Jisung’s scent even through the suppressors. He smells so happy and relaxed that Minho’s own body reactively sinks into the bed, slumped and leaning against the headboard. Warmth is radiating off of Jisung - he already runs hot, even when he’s not in preheat - and it makes Minho feel like they’re curled up in front of a fireplace.

‘Hyung?’ Jisung says, in a slurred voice, as if he’s so boneless that he can’t even make his tongue move properly.

‘Yeah?’ Minho asks softly, tracing one finger along the vertebrae in the back of Jisung’s neck.

‘Do you want to come to mine tomorrow? It’ll probably be my last day of preheat. We could lie in bed and watch films and eat takeout all day?’ They’ve done the same before, many times, when either of them were in preheat - distracting each other from the occasional cramps, commiserating over the more inconvenient aspects of their biology. But…

Minho’s hand stills on Jisung’s neck and his face freezes, guilt licking its way up his throat.

‘I can’t,’ he says gently, trying his best to convey how apologetic he is in his tone. ‘I’m busy tomorrow.’

‘Oh.’ Jisung is clearly disappointed, but he just burrows further into Minho and inhales. ‘That’s okay. What are you doing?’

‘I’m visiting Hyunjin’s with Yongbok,’ says Minho. ‘I promised Yongbok I would go.’

Jisung’s scent does the same petulant souring thing it does like clockwork whenever Yongbok is brought up, and he doesn’t answer. Minho scratches him behind the ear with blunt nails and quietly adds, ‘I’m sorry.’

Jisung is still unusually quiet, but he doesn’t pull away; instead, hugs Minho tighter and closes his eyes, eyelashes fanning over his squished cheek, chest rising and falling steadily against Minho’s thigh.

‘Don’t be nervous,’ Yongbok says kindly.

It’s easy for him to say. As they walk through the streets, slowly darkening in the winter mid-afternoon, Minho has started to feel very apprehensive.

He had spent quite a long time getting ready, fussing over his hair and worrying about his scent, applying thick suppressors and choosing his clothes. Was he supposed to go super casual? Or dress up? He didn’t know, and in the end he went for dark wide-legged jeans and a collared sweater. Yongbok’s friendly texts of “it doesn’t matter!! you’ll look great in whatever” were nice but didn’t exactly help.

Minho sighs, stows his hands in his large pockets self-consciously.

‘I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,’ Yongbok says with a wink. ‘Our classmates really want to get to know you more, you know? You’re always keeping to yourself all the time.’

Minho nods, even though he isn’t exactly sure if that’s true. How is he to know how his classmates feel about him? He himself doesn’t think about them all that much, if he’s honest.

When they reach the right apartment building, Yongbok is the one who rings the buzzer. Minho hangs back a little awkwardly - his palms have gone a little clammy and he tries to wipe them surreptitiously against the inside of his pockets.

‘Yeah?’

Minho recognises the voice that crackles through the intercom as Hyunjin’s.

‘Yongbok and Minho,’ Yongbok chirps happily.

‘Come up.’

They head up together and are greeted by Hyunjin when they get to the door, who is wearing a huge black hoodie and ripped jeans. He’s a slim, delicately-faced boy with dark eyebrows and a sharp chin. He looks different out of their school uniform - taller, somehow. He’s been growing his hair lately and it feathers out a little around his lower jaw and ears; Minho has seen it get him into trouble with their teacher a couple of times.

‘Yo, Yongbok,’ he says with a grin, and then turns a little to nod at Minho. ‘Hi, Minho.’

‘Hey, Hyunjin,’ Yongbok says brightly. ‘Is everybody here already?’

‘Yup,’ says Hyunjin. ‘Come on in.’

Yongbok walks in and Minho, with no other choice, follows him. The apartment door shuts behind him and he’s led through a wide well-lit hallway into the main room, where several of his same-year classmates are sitting on cushions around a low table: a mix of both male and female, alphas and omegas, people who Minho doesn’t know particularly well even after a few years of school. Most of them have not bothered to put on suppressors and Minho catches many different scents at once, each one individually waxing and waning in intensity. No sign of any parents or adults. He wipes his hands on his jeans again and moves a little bit closer to Yongbok.

On the table, piles of snacks, cans of beer, bottles of soju and plastic cups are scattered.

The group warmly greets Yongbok and, to Minho’s slight surprise, Minho too. They shuffle out of the way to allow room for them both to sit down together as Hyunjin moves to the conjoined kitchen, announcing he’s going to fetch them some cups. While he does that, a buzz of conversation starts up again in the room.

Yongbok pours himself some soju, and then Minho too.

Minho eyes it warily. He’s drunk a little soju with his mama before, but he’s cautious about doing it in front of all these people who he doesn’t know that well. What if he ends up saying something stupid? Or does something embarrassing?

‘Can I have some water?’ he asks Yongbok.

‘I’ll get it for you,’ interjects Hyunjin, who is still hovering nearby. He hops away to get Minho a full cup of water, too, and Minho takes it with a genuine word of thanks. Hyunjin smiles and finally takes his own seat.

‘Okay, everyone,’ he says loudly, to the table at large. ‘Time for drinking games!’

Yongbok cheers; Minho swallows apprehensively.

Someone produces a pack of cards and everyone begins drinking in earnest after that - Minho has to pick up all the rules on his own, mostly, although Yongbok helps, whispering in his ear whenever Minho seems particularly confused.

‘Drink!’

Minho quickly becomes a little tipsy. He hasn’t drunk too much - only two cups of soju and Sprite, or was it three? - but he’s not used to it, and his cup of water is only half-gone, having been quickly forbidden by the others as they progressed through the various drinking games.

He leans heavily against Yongbok, who smiles and places his arm around Minho’s shoulders. His peach omegan scent, drifting around them completely free of suppressor, has taken on a heady, syrupy note that Minho attributes to the alcohol, and indeed doesn’t help with his feelings of intoxication. At least it covers up much of the alpha scent in the room, which Minho would find overbearing otherwise.

All-in-all, it’s not too bad. Though slightly drunk, Minho is also a lot more relaxed, and he finds he doesn’t have to put too much effort into making conversation or anything - the others are happy to carry on while he mostly listens in. His feelings of unease and nerves have almost completely faded away, although he still can’t help the way his heart speeds up whenever he’s asked a question and everybody looks in his direction.

At the end of the evening, Minho is just - tired. It’s been a lot - a lot of drinking, a lot of people, a lot of scents, a lot of brain space.

But he doesn’t regret coming. Not really. He enjoyed listening to the conversations, even if he didn’t contribute all that much.

‘See you Monday,’ Yongbok is saying, shaking hands with Hyunjin. Several people have left already - Minho is gathering up his phone and jacket, hovering behind Yongbok.

‘Good to see you too, Minho,’ Hyunjin says as they leave, half-drunk cup in his hand, sharp eyes watching Minho’s face. He’s leaning against the doorframe of his apartment and raising a lazy hand as they make off.

‘Goodbye,’ says Minho politely. He waves back, except for some reason his arm lurches out jerkily instead of waving casually, like a normal person. He hears Yongbok chuckle behind him and his ears go hot.

On the way home, Yongbok asks him, ‘What did you think?’

Minho shrugs first, reflexively, and then considers the question. ‘It wasn’t too bad,’ is what he settles on, quietly.

‘Do you think you would go again?’ Yongbok asks.

Minho hesitates, but before he can answer, his phone rapidly chimes in his pocket. He fishes it out and checks the screen - four messages from Jisung, sent just now in quick succession: “hyung, please, can you come over?, i need you right now”.

Minho stops, surprised, staring down at his phone’s brightly illuminated screen in the darkness. A few steps ahead, Yongbok also turns back.

‘What’s up?’ he asks.

‘I have to go,’ Minho says. ‘It’s Jisung.’

‘Is he okay?’ Yongbok asks.

‘I’m not sure,’ Minho says, trying not to panic. ‘He wants me to come over. He’s in preheat right now, it was an irregular one. Or he might have gone into heat already, I don’t know.’

Yongbok clicks his tongue sympathetically and moves back towards Minho. ‘Are you alright to go? Want me to come with?’

‘No,’ Minho says quickly. ‘Sorry. No, it could freak Jisung out if it’s not just me.’

Yongbok nods helplessly. ‘Okay. I’ll see you Monday then, Minho.’

‘See you Monday,’ Minho says, before rushing off down the street and in the direction of Jisung’s house.

‘Minho!’ Joori is shocked when she opens the door to Minho. She’s wearing a fluffy dressing gown and slippers, hair tied and pinned back.

Minho is panting. ‘Auntie, I’m sorry for coming so late,’ he says. He can smell Jisung in the air and inhales deeply. ‘Jisung texted me.’

‘Does your mother know you’re here?’ Joori asks with a stern face.

Minho nods. ‘I texted her that I was sleeping over.’ His mother wasn’t pleased when he’d texted her, but softened when he let her know that Jisung was struggling with a bad heat and told him to be safe, dear. ‘I didn’t mean to be presumptuous, but…’

‘It’s fine - I’m glad to see you, Minho,’ Joori says, relaxing and stepping aside to let him in. ‘Our poor Jisung slipped into heat today. He’s having such a bad time with this one.’

Minho’s heart stutters. He’s desperately worried for his friend.

‘Can I see him?’ he asks, anyway. Though it’s not particularly unusual for omega friends to accompany each other (platonically), he’s never actually seen Jisung during heat, nor has Jisung seen him during his. Only preheat.

‘Of course you can,’ says Joori warmly. ‘He’s been asking for you. I’m so grateful that he has another omega to help him. Someone who understands.’ She gives Minho a private, knowing smile, which Minho tries to return. He’s on edge. ‘Let me know if you two need anything. His water is on the bedside table and his pills are in the drawer.’

‘Thank you, Auntie,’ he says, and heads immediately for the stairs and Jisung’s room. He stops in front of the familiar door and raises a hand to knock.

There’s no response at first, so he knocks again. Waits a moment, and then:

‘Minho-hyung?’

Relieved, Minho calls through the door, ‘Yes. It’s me.’

‘Come in.’

Minho eases the door open and slips into the dark room. Jisung’s shape, wrapped in blankets lying on his bed, is illuminated only by thin slats of cold white light from the streetlights outside, coming through his window blinds. His smell is exquisitely sweet, and fills Minho’s mouth with saliva as though Jisung is actually a sugary dessert - but it’s also distressed.

‘Jisungie,’ Minho breathes, crossing the room in an instant. He climbs onto Jisung’s bed, where it dips a little under his weight, mattress groaning - he doesn’t ask, just follows his instincts; this feels like the right thing to do.

Jisung whimpers and Minho’s heart clenches. He leans over Jisung’s curled-up body to look at his face; it’s damp with a sheen of sweat and, to Minho’s horror, tear tracks on his soft cheeks. His eyes are squeezed shut, eyelashes trembling.

‘It’s okay, Jisung. I’m here. Where does it hurt?’ Minho asks gently, smoothing some of Jisung’s sweaty hair off of his face. The tears on his face have cooled and Minho runs his hand over them gently, wiping each line of liquid away like he wishes he could wipe the pain away.

‘My stomach,’ Jisung gasps out. Minho lifts the blankets a little and sees that Jisung has wrapped his hands protectively over his lower stomach, pressing his fingers hard into it, so that the fabric of his pyjama shirt is all bunched and creased around them. ‘Hyung, it hurts.’

‘Jisungie, I’m so sorry,’ Minho says, shocked. He’s had cramps before during heat, sure, but never like this - they’ve never incapacitated him. At most, they felt like a mild muscle ache.

Gingerly, he tucks himself up to Jisung’s side. ‘Can I touch you?’ he asks softly.

Jisung moans painfully, and Minho tucks his chin over his shoulder.

‘Jisungie? Is this okay?’ He reaches over Jisung’s body to place his own hand on top of Jisung’s.

‘Mmm…’ Jisung nods. Minho watches him grit his teeth and the muscles in his neck jump, and slowly begins tracing circles over Jisung’s stomach with the flat palm of his hand. He’s not applying any pressure at all, not yet, but one of Jisung’s hands quickly fumbles out from underneath Minho’s and then he places it over the top, pressing down. Minho’s hand sinks into the fabric and the slight softness of Jisung’s flat belly, and Jisung sighs.

Hoping he’s at least helping a little, Minho maintains a steady pressure and continues rubbing circles, using the pads of his fingers to add a little extra pressure right at the base of his stomach, where his abdomen melts into his hip bones. His skin is burning hot all over. Jisung makes another pained noise, and Minho presses his forehead to his back.

He massages Jisung for a long time. He presses his nose into Jisung and smells how his scent calms, to soothe himself as well - his heart skips a chaotic beat every time Jisung groans in pain. Eventually, slowly, he stops whimpering, then sighing, and finally sniffling.

Minho is so relieved to hear Jisung’s silence that he shifts forward, intending to draw Jisung even closer - and then stops. He stiffens, coming to the sudden and horrifying realisation that he’s wet between the legs. As he moves, the tacky stickiness coating his inner thighs becomes apparent. Not only that, but he’s half hard.

Minho almost chokes. His skin is crawling and the thin layer of sweat on his forehead goes cold. He tries to inch his lower body away from Jisung’s inconspicuously, afraid to awaken him or, even worse, to alert him to the situation.

However, luck is not on his side, and Jisung makes a displeased voice before turning all the way around in his hold, knocking Minho’s hands askew.

His eyes are hazy, half-asleep when he opens them up to gaze at Minho’s face and there are bright spots of red on his cheeks, beads of sweat at his hairline like dew.

‘Hyung, where are you going?’ he asks in a slurred voice. He leans closer, slotting his fluffy head into the cavity of Minho’s neck, pulling Minho’s sweater down and nudging his hot nose up against his collarbone, poking against the thin skin. ‘Your scent is helping.’

‘It is?’ Minho asks helplessly, stroking Jisung along his shoulder blades, trying to be comforting.

‘Mm-hmm,’ Jisung says, before taking a deep breath. Minho’s scent gland throbs.

‘Okay,’ he breathes, trying to calm down both Jisung and himself. ‘Okay, okay.’

Then, Jisung kicks the blanket down and throws his own thigh over Minho’s, and Minho gets a blast of scent and the startling realisation that Jisung is also wet.

Which - makes sense - but being confronted with the reality of it like this, the way there is a very definite, warm wet patch between Jisung’s legs also, running all the way down to his mid thighs, so much that even through their clothes Minho can feel it—

‘Jisung,’ Minho hisses, frozen in place. ‘Jisung.’

Jisung doesn’t move, doesn’t respond. His scent grows thicker in the air until Minho can’t think.

‘Jisung!’

Nothing - he’s sleeping soundly, perhaps for the first time all weekend.

Illuminated by the slats of cool light on his face, his eyelashes are trembling. Minho tries to count them to keep his head steady. There is an ambiguous feeling in the air; it feels like Minho has spilled a secret between the blankets that he can’t take back.

He pulls the blanket over them both, closes his eyes and prepares for a fitful night.

They’re woken up by Joori in the morning. Minho is shocked when he’s gently shaken awake - tries to subtly extricate himself from around Jisung’s body as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. But Joori just smiles at him and whispers a thanks, then strokes Jisung’s forehead until he, too, is blinking awake.

‘Mum?’ he says. ‘Minho-hyung?’

‘Good morning,’ Minho murmurs, smiling at him fondly.

He looks dazed - it’s cute. Minho wishes he could wrap this moment in a bubble and keep it just as it is, forever, but unfortunately, he needs to move. He wriggles out of the blankets, very uncomfortably aware of the fact that he’s still in last night’s clothes.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asks Jisung, after Joori has left to sort breakfast.

‘Better,’ Jisung says quietly. He’s still tucked into the blankets, only his eyes and nose and messy bed hair poking out.

Minho pats him on the head. ‘Can I borrow some clothes? And a towel?’

‘Sure,’ Jisung says, rolling over again. ‘You know where they are. I’m going to take five more minutes.’

Minho laughs. He’ll be lucky if Jisung isn’t still asleep even once he’s finished showering.

After that day, they don’t really talk about Jisung’s heat - or rather, Jisung doesn’t mention it, and Minho isn’t going to be the one to bring it up. He doesn’t know if Jisung wants him to accompany him for his next heat, too, or how he feels about it. Minho, for his part, tries to put it out of his mind, tries to forget the odd way his body responded. It was surely just a physiological reaction, in sympathy with Jisung.

If he thinks too long about Jisung in the middle of heat, his smell and his flushed face and his damp legs tangling into Minho’s - he starts to feel strange.

‘Have you placed your university choices yet, Minho?’

His mother is still hovering around the dining table while Minho and his mama eat. She’s clearly agitated, because she keeps bringing more things in from the kitchen - jugs of water, three different types of kimchi, inexplicable extra cutlery.

Minho sighs. ‘Don’t worry, mother,’ he says, collecting a bundle of beansprouts from his soup with his chopsticks. ‘We still have a month.’

‘But have you at least decided what you’re studying? I know you were thinking about mathematics or chemistry, dear - and don’t forget to check which universities are top rated for the course! We don’t want you too far away - we’d like you to be able to visit, too—’

‘Actually,’ Minho cuts in when his mother takes a breath. ‘I’ve decided to do engineering.’

‘Oh, engineering? Darling, that’s wonderful - Miyeon, did you hear that? An engineer - isn’t that great? Minho, you need to study hard, okay?’

Minho nods, mouth full of tofu.

‘It’s fine, Minha,’ Miyeon says gently, reaching out a hand to ruffle Minho’s combed hair. ‘You know our Minho will work hard.’

Minho takes another spoonful of soup and thinks about the many pages of assigned exercises in his maths textbook, lying on his desk.

‘Engineering?’ Jisung asks him, wide-eyed, when he tells him about his plans.

Minho nods.

‘Wow,’ Jisung says, drawing the sound out, and his lips stretch into a smile. ‘Minho-hyung, you’re so smart!’

Minho shrugs, ears hot. ‘Have you thought about what you’re going to do yet?’

Jisung makes a face. ‘Ugh, no, hyung. I don’t have to think about that stuff for another two years.’

‘It’ll come faster than you think,’ Minho says. He turns to catch Jisung’s bright eyes. ‘Time moves quickly.’

‘I know,’ Jisung says with a pout. ‘I hate it sometimes. Don’t you wish it could just stay like this a little longer?’ He flops forward to snuggle his face into Minho’s chest.

Minho strokes his shoulders.

‘Yeah. I do.’

When Jisung leaves, Minho decides to shower and then go to bed - it’s already late. He wasn’t lying before; time really does seem to be moving faster, sometimes almost like it’s leaving Minho behind.

He has been finding it a little difficult to sleep lately. It’s not that he isn’t tired, but when he’s lying in bed after his mother has kissed him goodnight, his brain whirrs and spins and ruminates on his schoolwork assignments, university open days, test results, courseworks. Even dance doesn’t quite tire him out enough to forget his stress anymore.

Minho falls into his pillows and soft sheets, the ends of his hair still slightly damp from his shower, and stares at the dark ceiling. Jisung’s soothing scent is still slightly impregnated in his blankets and pillows from when he was rolling around on them earlier, watching videos on his phone. Minho turns his head so that his nose nudges against the fabric and inhales deeply.

The effect is instantaneous; his mind clears, his body relaxes, even his heartbeat slows down. Omega scent usually has a calming effect, but Minho has never experienced one quite like Jisung’s - even his mother’s doesn’t have such a potent effect on him. Snuggling deeper into the blankets, Minho’s eyelids slowly droop and everything blurs until he falls into slumber.

When he blinks awake, he can tell immediately that something is not right - a heavy, sweet-smelling weight is bearing down on him, and when he takes a breath and his lungs fill with vanilla he realises immediately what it is.

‘Jisung?’ he asks, in an odd, hoarse voice.

Jisung isn’t looking at him but Minho is sure it’s him. The way he smells, the way he feels - Minho knows it all like the back of his hand. There’s no way he could be here, in Minho’s bed, in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t seem to matter to Minho right now. He has Jisung, right here, with him.

He reaches up to first place his hand in Jisung’s soft hair, and then run it down his back. He’s not sure what’s gotten into him, but he dares to dip his hand lower to cover the slight curve of Jisung’s hip and Jisung softly moans, straight into Minho’s ear. It’s thrilling touching him like this. Excited, Minho does it again and Jisung is sighing and his voice goes deep when he whispers that he wants more.

Minho can’t move suddenly, and Jisung sits up, and with a start Minho realises that he’s naked. He’s perched on Minho’s lap, soft and warm, and Minho’s eyes roam over his body hazily, trying to catch a glimpse of forbidden places.

But then Jisung leans forward and is in Minho’s space, surrounding him, leaning right up to his face so that he can sense his breathing.

‘Hyung,’ he says plaintively.

Minho gasps. Jisung runs his hand down over his body and then between their legs and Minho’s back arches when he feels the slick and wetness there. Jisung presses closer and Minho can no longer tell whose body is whose; all he knows is that he’s very aroused and beginning to ache.

He wants to cry out but finds that he can’t open his mouth - in fact, he can’t even breathe, all he can do is feel an acute pleasure starting at Jisung’s hands between their legs and spreading as a fission through his whole body, down every shaking muscle and to the tips of his fingers.

Open your mouth, Minho thinks. Say something, say something!

His body won’t cooperate.

Jisung presses his lips to the shell of Minho’s ear.

‘Minho-hyung,’ he murmurs, and Minho feels the way he presses the heel of his hand into his own lower abdomen. ‘I want you inside.’

Minho’s entire body stiffens in shock and then he opens his eyes.

It’s dark.

His room is empty - no Jisung.

He blinks the remnants of the dream out of his mind; when he closes his eyes he can still see the shape of Jisung above him.

Confused, he twists around and moves onto his side, and then feels something warm and wet slip between his legs. A bead of sweat slips down his jaw and, with trepidation, he reaches into his pyjama bottoms and gingerly touches his crotch. He’s still hard, and his hand comes away sticky, and it’s very obvious what has happened.

He just had a wet dream.

About his best friend.

His body goes cold as it sinks in.

Not only that, but his arousal isn’t going away. He can feel the ebb of blood between his legs, fast with his skittering heartbeat. As he becomes more lucid and more aware, it begins to almost hurt, an itch that demands attention even as Minho’s brain is scrambling for understanding.

Taking deep breaths to try to calm down, he reaches for his phone and turns on the screen - it’s almost 6 in the morning.

Minho heaves himself up and sits against the headboard, staring at the on-screen clock. He knows he won’t be able to fall asleep again now. The fabric of his trousers is also sticking to his thighs uncomfortably and rapidly cooling and becoming tacky.

Sighing, he shifts and throws his legs out of the bed, standing in the dark. He feels around on the bed - there’s a smallish wet patch on the sheets, but Minho will have to deal with that when he washes his pyjamas.

Instead, he heads to his ensuite bathroom and shuts the door, reaching into the shower stall to turn the water on. He adjusts the temperature until it should be just on the colder side of lukewarm in an attempt to cool off.

After stripping off his damp pyjamas Minho steps into the shower and lets the water stream over his head and down his shoulders and back even though it makes him shiver and his muscles seize up. He needs to get rid of this lingering heat and the tickling feeling between his legs.

He rests his arm on the cold wet wall and then his head on his arm, willing his arousal to just go down. But when he closes his eyes again he feels Jisung’s touch on his body as if it were real, and it’s no use.

His ears feel like they must be glowing now with how hot they are. Minho hates himself for even considering this, but…

It feels like the only way to deal with this problem is tackle it head on.

He places his head back under the water, squeezes his eyes shut. Runs a hand slowly down his belly, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and then reaches lower.

When Minho is finished, and the evidence has been disposed of with a tissue, he turns off the shower, wraps himself in towels and goes back to his bed to sit under his blankets and stare at the wall.

He feels guilty. Technically, he sullied his best friend in his mind. Crossed a line he had no right to cross, used him.

He tries to squash down the shame but it just keeps bubbling up inside him until he feels like he could vomit.

What would Jisung think if he knew?

All the times when Jisung lay beside him comfortably, kicking his legs up against the headboard of his bed. When they’d wrap their bodies together late at night and confide in each other. When Minho hugged him, or smelt his scent or stroked his back during preheat - Jisung would wonder how Minho’s eyes were really looking at him, would realise that Minho was sick the entire time, would know that their friendship had always been based on lies. What would he think of Minho, if he learnt the kind of things Minho dreamt about doing to him, how Minho used him to get off under the steady spray of the shower?

Jisung just wants to be Minho’s best friend. Minho is the one who can’t let go of a childhood promise to mate, Minho is the broken one. Minho is the one who lusts for another omega.

He would be disgusted.

He would hate him. Minho absolutely cannot have Jisung hate him - not in this life, not ever.

Jisung can’t ever know.

Chapter Text

8

‘I can’t believe my baby is graduating already!’ Minha is already getting tearful. Minho puts his arms around her carefully; he’s taller than her now by about a head and she fits herself in between his hands.

‘Time passes so fast.’ Miyeon’s voice is fond and gentler than usual behind them, and she places her hand onto Minho’s shoulder and squeezes; Minho thinks she’s picked up on his nerves. Even though the important parts are done - exams, results, his last day, gifts and goodbyes to all his teachers - Minho finds that his stomach is once again clenching in anticipation at the thought of attending his graduation ceremony.

The air is crisp and cold, enough to turn the end of Minho’s nose red and make the tips of his ears tingle with slight pain. But even so, there are some white blossoms already beginning to bloom scatteredly on the apple trees which stand alongside the buildings of the school campus.

Minho and his mothers walk up the gravel path to the entrance of the main hall, where Minho has walked so many times before - but this time, the last time, it feels so different. As they enter, dozens of his fellow classmates and their families are milling around them, filling the air with excited chatter. Minho spots Hyunjin standing with his hands in his pockets across the stretch of path, and keeps an eye out for Yongbok - and Jisung, who is coming to watch Minho graduate.

‘Do you really want to come?’ Minho had asked.

‘Minho-hyung!’ Jisung had said, indignant. ‘How could I miss your graduation?’

Minho smiles, remembering Jisung’s puffed-up cheeks.

‘What are you grinning to yourself about?’ comes a deep voice, to his left. Minho turns and sees Yongbok, standing with his mother and father and smiling teasingly.

‘Nothing,’ says Minho, rolling his eyes. ‘Hello, Mr and Ms Lee,’ he greets politely, bowing to Yongbok’s parents.

Yongbok’s friendly alpha mother fusses over Minho as Minha gives Yongbok a hug. Minho half-listens to their small talk; he’s looking around, trying to catch a glimpse of Jisung. He had texted him that morning before he got ready, but as it had been before noon on a school holiday, he somehow doubts Jisung had been awake at the time.

Hopefully he’s gotten out of bed on time to make it.

It’s getting closer to the start of the ceremony, so Minho and Yongbok say goodbye to their parents who leave to go sit in the audience, and find their own seats next to each other, surrounded by their fellow classmates. Minho glances around the hall one more time to look for Jisung, but it’s so packed by now that he might not even be able to spot him. In any case, the ceremony is about to start.

The graduation ceremony is set up like a pastiche of a university graduation ceremony, and every student has to “walk” across the stage to take their certificates and shake hands with the headmistress while the audience claps. Minho rehearses in his head how he’s going to walk across, smile, and take her hand, tapping his foot rhythmically on the floor. Beside him, Yongbok smells sweet, watching the show with excitement on his freckled face.

‘Lee Minho.’

When his name is called, Minho lurches to his feet, heart beating fast. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him as he walks slowly to the front.

Carefully, he puts one foot in front of the other, heading up the stairs to the stage. He takes his certificates with a murmured thank you and reaches out his hand to shake; their headmistress grasps it firmly. He turns to try and catch Minha or Miyeon’s eye in the crowd, but there’s a sudden loud whoop which catches his attention instead, and his eyes flit towards the back of the hall.

Standing far back against the left wall is Jisung, dressed haphazardly as though he’d been in a rush, and Minho can see his wide, heart-shaped smile from here. He reaches up to cup his mouth with both hands.

‘Lee Minho-hyung!’ he shouts, extremely loudly.

Happy laughter echoes around the hall, and Minho smiles despite himself; it feels like someone has blown up a helium balloon in his chest which is about to carry him to the ceiling, and suddenly the crowd’s eyes on him don’t seem quite so suffocating anymore. He waves to Jisung and then to his mothers, who are beaming at him from their seats in the audience.

Minho returns to his seat and a giggly Yongbok, who elbows him playfully. Minho rolls his eyes, but looks down at his lap and finds his lips curling into a smile again.

When the ceremony is over, Minho and Yongbok head outside and reunite with their parents and Jisung, too. Minha wraps Jisung up in a tight hug and Minho giggles behind his hand at his reddening face.

Minha lets Jisung go and grabs onto his soft cheek. ‘Aigo, it’s been way too long! How are you doing, sweetheart? It was such a shame you couldn’t come over much while Minho was doing his exams, we missed you so much…’

‘I missed you too,’ says Jisung.

Minho opens his mouth to tell Jisung that he missed him, as well, but Yongbok suddenly grabs his arm.

‘We’ll be right back! Minho, come to the bathrooms with me,’ he says.

‘But…’

Yongbok doesn’t give Minho a chance to respond properly - just pulls him off in the direction of the closest building. Minho turns his head, trying to catch another glimpse of Jisung, but he’s facing away, talking to Miyeon. Frowning, Minho falls into step beside Yongbok, who still hasn’t relinquished his arm.

Instead of taking him inside and to the bathrooms, Yongbok drags him around the corner and to the side, where it’s quiet, the chatter distant. Beside them stands an apple tree, its branches swaying in the wind and sending leaves flying on the breeze and swirling around their feet.

‘What is it, Yongbok?’ Minho asks, as Yongbok finally lets go of him. ‘Is everything okay?’

Yongbok’s eyes are unusually piercing when he looks at him, although his face relaxes into his usual easy smile. ‘Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you in private.’

‘About what?’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking,’ Yongbok says. ‘After today, I’ll be off back to Australia, and I’m not gonna see you for a while.’

Minho nods.

‘I’ll be back in Seoul when uni starts, but we’ll both be so busy, I don’t know when we’ll be able to get together again.’

‘Yeah,’ Minho says, figuring Yongbok brought him here to say goodbye. He smiles gently, feeling warmth in his chest. ‘I’ll miss you, Yongbokkie.’

Yongbok’s eyes widen, and then he laughs, shoulders moving up towards his ears like he’s - like he’s bashful.

Which is unlike Yongbok.

‘You know,’ he says, grinning at Minho. ‘That’s the first time you’ve ever called me “Yongbokkie” instead of just “Yongbok”.’

Minho looks at him, surprised. ‘Is it really?’

Yongbok steps closer and takes Minho by the hand. ‘Yeah, it is.’

Minho looks down dumbly at their entwined hands, and then back at Yongbok, who is peering at his face.

‘I’m gonna miss you too,’ Yongbok says, voice low, deep. Minho stares at him; it’s hard to look away, with that intense expression on Yongbok’s face. The scent of peaches in the air is very sweet. ‘I want to give you something to remember me by. Can I?’

‘Huh?’ Minho says. ‘Give me what?’

‘Tell me to stop if you hate it,’ Yongbok says, and for once, Minho hears some apprehension, some insecurity in Yongbok’s tone. And then he steps forward, and his free hand comes up to grab Minho’s face with a light touch.

Minho stands still and straight as Yongbok leans forward until he can feel his breath and the warmth of his skin, and then presses his lips to Minho’s in a gentle, completely chaste kiss.

Minho first registers that Yongbok’s fringe is tickling his cheek, and then that where their lips are joined together he can detect the slightest peach flavour, faint but as fresh as if he were licking it from the flesh of the fruit itself.

Omega taste.

And then Yongbok is backing away again, looking almost sheepish as his face materialises again before Minho’s eyes.

Minho licks his lips. Perhaps Yongbok is expecting him to say something, but he seemingly can’t - not a thought can crystallise, not a word in his mind becomes clear enough for him to vocalise it. His ears are burning.

‘Sorry,’ Yongbok says at last with a wry smile. ‘I probably should have eased you into it a little more.’

Minho gulps down dry air and struggles to find his voice. ‘Yongbok—I…’

‘Hey,’ Yongbok says gently. ‘It’s okay. Don’t be scared, Minho.’

Minho can’t seem to catch his eye anymore; he looks around mutely, trying to breathe.

Eventually, Yongbok sighs, although not unkindly, and says, ‘Shall we go back?’

Minho’s mind twists. He lets Yongbok take his arm again, and turn them around, leading him back to where their families are waiting.

When they get back, Jisung is missing, no longer standing with Minho’s parents and waiting for him.

‘Where’s Jisung?’ asks Minho, and his voice comes out strange. He can’t seem to cool down, face burning hot even though it’s still so cold out here. He shifts on his feet, reaching both of his hands behind his back so he can pinch his wrist - not too hard, just enough to ground him a little.

‘He went to the bathrooms to look for you,’ Minha says, looking a little surprised. ‘Didn’t you see each other?’

Minho bites his lip. His heart thuds hard against his chest. He feels inexplicably guilty and it’s making him agitated, stressed.

‘We must have just missed each other,’ Yongbok says. He smells strongly of calming pheromones - but it’s only bothering Minho now as it means he can’t pick up any trace of Jisung on the air.

‘Minho-hyung!’

Minho whips around, chasing the sound of his voice. Sure enough, Jisung is back, raising a hand as he heads towards them.

‘Jisung!’

‘What took you guys so long?’ Jisung asks, looking between Minho and Yongbok.

Minho’s tongue feels like it’s tying itself in a knot as he struggles for what to say - but then Yongbok cuts in.

‘We went to the far bathrooms,’ he explains. ‘Less busy.’

Jisung nods, but his scent is doing something weird and Minho feels his gaze prickle on his cheek when Jisung glances at him again.

‘Yongbok, are you ready to go?’ Ms Lee asks, placing her hand into the crook of her son’s elbow. ‘We’re so sorry we can’t come to dinner, but we need to finish preparing to fly tomorrow.’

They all say their goodbyes; Yongbok gives Minho a hug, and even Jisung, too, and bows low to Minho’s mothers. After he’s left with his family, Minha turns to Jisung with a borderline manic look in her eyes.

‘Jisung, you’re coming for jajangmyeon, right, dear? You need to eat well, you’re looking so thin - you’re all skin and bones! We’ll get you some to take home, as well. I know how much your mother loves jajangmyeon. Come along, Minho!’

They leave together, Jisung walking close by Minho’s side. Minho, shivering, takes a look back, watches apple blossoms shaking in the wind and touches the seam of his own lips with a fingertip.

‘What do you wanna do today?’

Jisung is lying upside-down (from Minho’s perspective), on Minho’s bed, with his arms dangling off the side. His phone is lying on the ground and he taps at it rhythmically - probably playing some game. On Minho’s own phone, a video is playing - an atmospherically-filmed camping log. In the video, a woman cooks spicy tteokbokki on a camping stove; there’s no dialogue, just the calming sounds of the fire crackling and the sauce bubbling, and subtitles below describing the flavours: it was delicious.

‘I want to go camping,’ says Minho.

‘Eh?’ Jisung looks up and twists around to look over his shoulder at Minho. There are a few strands of hair sticking the wrong way up on his forehead. ‘Like, now?’

‘Well, not right now,’ says Minho. ‘In a few days? Sometime before the holidays are over?’

‘Do you even have a tent?’ Jisung asks.

Minho thinks about it. ‘I think we have one somewhere,’ he says, trying to dredge up hazy memories of sleeping on a campsite with some slightly distant cousins years ago.

‘Sleeping bags?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Cooker? Heater?’

‘Probably. I just need to ask mother where they are. What do you think? Do you want to go?’

Jisung grins. ‘Okay. Fine. Let’s go somewhere.’

So Minho searches for campsites with vacancies nearby and makes a booking for a week from now, asks Minha for help and digs his old camping equipment out of the back of the closet. He packs an extra sleeping bag for Jisung and goes shopping for food and drinks to take along. Packs a first-aid kit too, and some painkillers and suppressors, just in case; it can be hard to know when cramps or hormonal pain is going to hit.

He texts all the details to Jisung, who sends back happy little hamster stickers. Neither he nor Jisung say it, but Minho can tell that Jisung is thinking along the same lines as he is - after these precious few weeks together, everything is going to change. They won’t be able to see each other nearly as often. Jisung is two years younger than Minho, and he won’t be going to university for a long time, while Minho is just about to leave.

It’ll be difficult. Minho remembers tiny Jisung, crying as he told him they wouldn’t be at the childminder’s together anymore. Now it’s like Minho is abandoning him all over again - even though Minho knows he shouldn’t think like that.

But he wants to give Jisung a good time. Before he leaves, he wants the perfect trip together.

‘Where was it again?’ Jisung asks. He’s strolling alongside Minho, clad in a large puffy coat and holding a bag of tent pegs.

‘Erm…’ Minho looks again at the map in his hands. ‘Somewhere just around here? I think it should be this one…’

Jisung bounds closer to peer at the map as well. Each smallish wooden cabin and plot of field is labelled with a code; Minho is trying to find the one he’s booked, which should be the third one along next to the gravel path. It’s quiet; their neighbours’ cabins are about a hundred metres away along each side, allowing them some privacy.

‘Yeah, it’s here,’ Jisung agrees, and he drops his bag of tent pegs in front of the cabin unconcernedly.

Minho sighs.

‘Could you be a bit more careful?’ he asks, but Jisung is already walking away, trying to get a glimpse of the lake that lies beyond the red pine trees up ahead.

‘Minho-hyung, I can see the water!’ he calls excitedly.

‘Hey, you can’t go over there yet,’ Minho tells him. ‘We have to put up the tent.’

As it turns out, we have to put up the tent apparently means Minho has to put up the tent while Jisung wanders around picking flowers and pretending to help. But Minho doesn’t mind. When he’s finished and he calls Jisung over to see, Jisung says, ‘Wow, hyung, you did such a good job!’ and Minho feels like he’s glowing.

‘Grab the sleeping bags,’ he says, unzipping the entrance of the tent. ‘Pillows, too - here, put them there…’

The tent looks amazing. Cosy. Two pillows, two sleeping bags side-by-side; technically, of course, they could have slept in the cabin - but Minho wants the full experience, to sleep on the bare earth and listen to the open night. He pulls the thermal blankets he brought out of his bag and adds those in, too. He has to make sure Jisung won’t be cold.

‘Can we go see the lake now?’ asks Jisung excitedly.

Minho stands up and looks over towards it; he can see the surface of the lake through the slightly swaying foliage, and it’s rippling with the breeze and sparkling a little. They’ve gotten lucky with the weather and although it’s not exactly warm, it’s a bright and crisp day with plenty of sun.

‘Of course,’ says Minho. ‘Shall we bring the sandwiches? We could have a picnic.’

Jisung nods and Minho loads his bag up with sandwiches and drinks, and then they set off together. It’s a longer walk than it looks to the lake - the path winds around and the thicket of trees becomes thicker as they go, blocking their view of the water - and it’s not long before Jisung starts complaining.

‘I’m tired,’ he says, pouting at Minho. ‘My legs hurt.’

‘Well, what do you want me to do about it? Carry you?’

‘Okay.’

Minho rolls his eyes. ‘That was a joke. Anyway, we’re almost there.'

Jisung humphs, but then they’re rounding the very next curve of the path and suddenly the trees are finally giving way to the grassy lakefront, sandy at the very edges of the water and carpeted in round white pebbles that shine in the late winter sun. There are hills visible at the other end, stretching across the horizon, and the surface of the water reflects the pale blue sky and wisps of cloud. Distantly, a group of ducks glide along its surface, sending small ripples out in their wake.

‘Ah, hyung, it’s so beautiful,’ Jisung enthuses. His eyes are shining in the sunlight. Minho nods, entranced.

They set up their picnic blanket close to the water and Minho lines up the sandwiches and bottles of plum juice and tea and tells Jisung to help himself. He grabs a ham, cheese and lettuce sandwich and bites into the puffy bread, cheeks bulging, and hums happily. Pleased, Minho tucks into his own sandwich, and they both gaze out over the water.

‘I wish I could go in,’ Jisung says wistfully, with his mouth full.

Minho hands him a napkin. ‘You can’t even swim,’ he says.

‘I can wade,’ Jisung whines.

‘It’s too cold,’ Minho says, although even he can admit that, with the way the water sparkles and shines, it does look all too inviting, despite the last vestiges of the winter cold in the air - and the fact that Minho can’t actually swim either.

‘Yeah,’ Jisung murmurs, and he turns to look at Minho with a grin. ‘It is cold.’

And then he shuffles over to sit right next to Minho, so that their thighs are pressed together from hip to knee, and leans into him, resting his fluffy head on Minho’s pec. Minho inhales a gulpful of sweet vanilla.

‘That’s better,’ he says smugly.

Minho smiles softly, puts one hand into Jisung’s hair to stroke gently and takes another bite of his sandwich.

‘Jisung?’

Nothing. Jisung lies, still and quiet, breathing heavily, on Minho’s chest.

Minho sighs, and then nudges him again. ‘Jisung, can you get up? We should walk back now. The sun is setting.’

Nothing - again.

Minho groans and extricates himself from underneath Jisung’s head, holding him up so he doesn’t flop straight onto the floor. He’s sleeping soundly, face completely slack and calm, eyelashes brushing the delicate skin of his under-eyes.

‘Jisung, here. Get on,’ Minho says, contorting himself into a kneeling position. ‘Jisung. Jisung!’

‘Hnnh?’ Jisung’s eyes flutter open, blearily, for a moment, and then fall closed again.

‘Jisung, climb on my back,’ Minho urges, pushing at Jisung’s shoulder firmly. Jisung murmurs something irritably but begins to cooperate, stumbling up shakily like some kind of wobbly baby deer. He finally manages to hook his arms around Minho’s neck and then his legs around Minho’s waist, too. Minho grabs a leg with one arm, supporting Jisung’s weight, and uses the other to gather up their picnic blanket and bag - which isn’t easy to do one-handed. Then, he sets off back along the path, observing the sun dip lower and lower in the sky and feeling the soothing rhythm of Jisung’s heartbeat and even breathing against his back.

When they finally make it back, the sky is the dark blue colour of pen ink and Minho is starting to shiver a little even in his fleece-lined jacket, the tips of his fingers, ears and nose going icily cold.

The sooner they can get washed up and into the tent to sleep, the better.

‘Jisung,’ Minho says softly, turning to the boy asleep on his shoulders. ‘Jisung, wake up.’

He sets down their bags next to the tent and then crouches down to gently ease Jisung off of his back. Jisung makes an adorably confused noise and squeezes tighter onto Minho’s jacket with his fingers, leaning his full weight onto him. His scent smells cutely sleepy, slightly softened and mellowed.

‘It’s time to wash up, Jisung,’ Minho tells him. ‘Where are your pyjamas?’

‘I’ll get them,’ Jisung slurs, groping around for the bag, although he still hasn’t opened his eyes.

‘I hope you packed thermal socks like I told you to,’ Minho says.

Jisung, of course, didn’t pack thermal socks.

Minho lends him a pair of his own and sends him, still sleepily rubbing at his face, into the cabin to wash. Then, he turns on his portable lamp, placing it alongside the wall of the tent, and sets up their bed properly; one blanket goes underneath their sleeping bags and the other one on top, and the pillows get stacked in a pile and fluffed up.

When Jisung crawls back into the tent, his hair is stuck-together-wet at the nape of his neck and he smells like vanilla and the cinnamon body wash he borrowed from Minho. He’s wearing long plaid pyjamas and Minho’s socks and he looks beautiful.

‘O-oh, done? Okay, then I’ll…’ Minho says, trying to will himself not to blush furiously and making an awkward motion towards the entrance of the tent, but Jisung just hums a quick acknowledgement and then flops down onto the blanket, wriggling around to burrow under it.

Minho looks at him for a moment longer before he gets up to do his own shower. The cabin, conveniently, has a heater, which Jisung has already turned up to max. Minho showers and washes up quickly, changes into his own pyjamas in the privacy of the cabin and then switches the heater off, heading back outside in the cold.

Shivering, Minho climbs back into the tent fast and zips it shut to the outside world. Climbs into his own sleeping bag next to Jisung, facing him, so that he can see his restful face, the fringed shadow of his eyelashes and soft curve of his nose, the way his cheek and lips squish against the pillow.

‘Jisung?’ he whispers.

Again, there is no response. Jisung is fast asleep.

Minho’s eyes trace his face again carefully. The lamplight is warm and casts him in gold.

I wonder if I should tell him, Minho thinks, and his heart starts thudding hard and fast, jumping like it’s in his throat. I wonder if I should tell him that Yongbok kissed me.

What would he think? Would he be sickened by it? Angry? Upset? Minho hadn’t pushed Yongbok away. He’d just let it happen.

Minho himself isn’t even sure how he feels about the kiss - except for oddly guilty, as though he’s done something wrong. His mind flashes back to the moment Yongbok’s lips touched his, and he shudders, tries to purge the memory from his mind as though his scent is going to change and give him away.

Minho has never kept something like this from Jisung before. It almost feels like a betrayal. But he can’t.

He just can’t tell him.

Instead, Minho reaches over to turn the lamp off, plunging them into darkness, and closes his eyes before they adjust. It takes some time, but eventually, in the cradle of Jisung’s ebbing scent, he falls into a fitful sleep.

Usually, Minho is awoken by the shrill beeping of his phone alarm, wrenching him from sleep far too early. Today, Minho expects to be awoken far more peacefully - by birdsong, the sound of wind through tree branches, the light of early morning sun filtering into the tent.

Instead, Minho is awoken with a start to a loud clattering, and then a distant rumbling which it takes him several seconds to recognise.

‘Oh, my—’

It’s raining, relentless and battering the thin walls of the tent. Not just raining - it’s storming, another thunderclap starting slowly and then crescendoing so loud that Minho’s ears ring.

Startled, he fumbles for his lamp and switches it on, immediately cringing at the blast of bright light that illuminates the inside of the tent. He looks at Jisung and sees him still fast asleep - Minho isn’t even sure how, with how loud the storm is raging around them.

Taking a couple of deep breaths to remain calm, Minho reaches out and starts shaking Jisung.

‘Jisung, Jisung, wake up.’

‘Hmm?’

‘Jisung, wake up!’

Jisung shifts and his eyelids twitch and then slowly open. His eyebrows draw together and his lips purse into an aggrieved pout before he manages to wake up properly, blinking in the light of the lamp.

‘Jisung, it’s storming. We have to get in the cabin.’

‘It’s storming?’ Jisung repeats, shuffling up onto his elbows. Then, Minho sees his eyes widen as he registers the sound of the rain. ‘Oh wow.’

Minho puts his hands onto Jisung’s shoulders to help him up, but instead Jisung leans into his arms and buries his head in his chest.

‘It’s so loud,’ he says, wonder in his tone.

‘Yes,’ Minho says, slowly wrapping his arms around Jisung’s thin body. ‘That’s why we have to go inside.’

Jisung shakes his head against Minho’s sternum. ‘Can’t we just stay in here a little longer?’ he asks.

‘But…’ Minho pauses as another rumble of thunder sounds overhead.

Jisung shivers in his arms. ‘So cool…’ he murmurs.

‘Are you excited to be out in the storm?’ Minho asks.

Jisung backs away a bit so that Minho can see his eyes shining. ‘Don’t you think it’s kind of fun?’ he asks.

Minho bites his lip around a smile and pulls Jisung close again. His heart beats faster as the wind shakes the tent and the rain clatters overhead and the outside occasionally lights up with what must be lightning - but he can’t deny he, too, feels the excitement thrumming under his skin, the adrenaline rush.

So they wait out the storm together in the tent. Eventually, they need to eat, and Minho retrieves the food from his bag.

They drink tea and eat kimchi and pickled radish and tuna cold from the can, and individually-wrapped packets of sesame crackers - Minho spreads napkins out over the floor of the tent and scolds Jisung when he gets crumbs on the blanket. They play word games and Minho finds the pack of cards in his backpack and wins three games of war in a row, at which point Jisung starts pouting and they switch to playing go fish instead.

The rain goes on and on, lasting all day. It barely slows, although they stop hearing thunder after a while - the storm must have either stopped or moved on, but the rain remains heavy.

Eventually, frustration pricks at the corner’s of Minho’s eyes, his scent souring. Jisung, who is lying on his stomach playing solitaire, notices quickly and looks up, legs kicking with agitation.

‘Minho-hyung?’ he asks. ‘What’s wrong?’

Minho gasps out a breath, blinking rapidly. ‘I just…’ he starts, his voice coming out low and weak. ‘I just wanted to bring you on an amazing trip, and I had so much planned, and now we can’t even go hiking or cook the food I brought or make a fire—’

‘Hey! Hyung.’

Jisung scrambles up and close to Minho again, taking his face in his hands. Minho sucks in air and tries to turn his face, feeling tears rapidly gathering on his waterline. He hates showing weakness in front of Jisung.

‘Hyung.’ Jisung strokes his thumbs over Minho’s cheeks. ‘I love it. Being here with you. It’s already perfect, okay? It’s all I want.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I mean, what on earth gave you the impression that I would want to go hiking?’

Minho chokes out a laugh, blinking away the drying tears in his eyes.

‘Fair point,’ he concedes, still a little shakily.

Jisung is still holding his face, and when Minho manages to look at him, it seems like he’s expecting something.

‘Hyung,’ Jisung says again, voice going the slightest bit plaintive, the tiniest bit coaxing.

Minho feels paralysed; he says nothing. The moments tick by in a silence that becomes more awkward.

Then, Jisung moves.

‘Hyung, let's cuddle,’ he says, dropping his hands from Minho’s face abruptly.

Minho’s heart drops a little, but he agrees, and Jisung shuffles between his legs, back warm against Minho’s chest. Minho wraps his arms around him and encases him. He can no longer see Jisung’s face, but he can place his nose into his hair and take deep lungfuls of his scent.

‘I’m going to miss you so much,’ Jisung says suddenly, in a small voice.

‘I’m going to miss you too,’ Minho says, so quiet it’s almost a whisper. He realises that the rain has quietened; it’s not died completely, but it’s far less aggressive now.

‘Please, hyung,’ Jisung says. ‘When you go to university. Don’t forget me, okay?’

‘Huh? Oh, Jisungie. I could never,’ Minho says with conviction.

‘Will you call me every day?’ Jisung asks. ‘Please? Do you promise?’

‘Well…’ Minho hesitates, although he wants to agree. But he can’t promise Jisung something he can’t live up to. ‘I might not have time to call you every single day.’

‘Every Friday then?’ Jisung persists. ‘Please, hyung. Can we do video calls?’

That sounds doable. ‘Okay, Jisung. Every Friday. I’ll video call you.’

‘Promise?’

‘Yes. I promise.’

9

With a sigh that seems to wring itself directly from his bones, Minho drops his backpack onto the narrow single bed of his brand new Gwanak dormitory room.

It’s been a very long week. First Jisung’s tears which didn’t seem to end on their last day together; Minho’s heart always ached when he saw Jisung cry, and when Jisung had asked him over and over again to remember to call him every week, Minho had stroked his hair and repeated, I will, I will, I promise.

Next, packing up what seemed to be every belonging Minho had ever had into two standard-size suitcases and a backpack, accompanied by Minha incessantly worrying that he’d forgotten something.

Then, his goodbye to his mothers as they brought him to the dorm: Minha had grown alarmingly tearful and her fussing had begun to approach a frenzy. In the end, Miyeon had to pull her close and scent her while Minho rubbed her back, reassuring his mother that he would be back to visit soon.

They had left Minho with his suitcases, some takeout gimbap and a kiss on each cheek, alone in the almost-cupboard-sized room. Minho stares out of the window, where the pale grey blind is pulled up to three-quarters of the height, at the smatterings of high-rise buildings and busy roads.

There are no sheets or duvet covers on the bed, and he needs to set up his laptop on the lightly-coloured wooden desk, then store all his clothes away in the wardrobe and unpack his toiletries and the tiny cat ornament Miyeon gave him as a lucky charm. And then, he’ll need to re-check his timetable, make sure he has all the textbooks he needs before he starts classes next week, and plan a visit to the library if he doesn’t.

But first - he needs a moment.

Adrenaline, apprehension, anxiety, anticipation - it all thrums under Minho’s skin, combining with the chaos and business of moving halfway across Seoul until Minho feels like his mind is buzzing, blurring into fog.

He cracks the window open and lets in some fresh, cool air. He leans the heels of his hands against the window’s thin sill and takes a long breath.

Minho is sitting in a bar downtown, surrounded by his dorm-mates. They’d dragged him out to their celebration of the end of the first week of term - although Minho had been exhausted, they’d been very insistent and eventually he had to concede that it would probably do him some good to get out of the dorm.

He’s sitting next to a very friendly alpha girl whose name he, unfortunately, just can’t seem to remember, no matter how hard he wracks his brain. In front of him lies a large glass of beer and a plate of garlic parsley chicken wings, which are delicious. The dimly-lit bar is abuzz with noise; it’s not excruciatingly loud, thankfully, but there’s a decent hum of conversation in the air. The main door is open out into the night, keeping the room mercifully cool.

Suddenly, a loud voice calls from across the bar, behind Minho’s back from where he’s sitting.

‘Lee Minho-ssi!’

Minho straightens in his seat with a start. He knows that voice. But why…?

Minho turns around slowly in his seat, and comes face-to-face with someone he was not expecting to see.

Chapter Text

‘Hwang Hyunjin,’ Minho greets quickly, rising from his seat to bow politely.

Though recognisable, Hyunjin looks different; his hair is longer still than when they were in school and dyed blonde, and he’s wearing clothes that look stylish and sophisticated to Minho - a long taupe jacket, dark straight legged jeans, laced boots. Minho’s dorm-mates watch with interest as Hyunjin bows back, and then turns his attention to their table.

‘These are my housemates,’ says Minho, then turns to the others. ‘This is my old school friend, Hwang Hyunjin.’

There’s a chorus of greetings, raised glasses - everyone looks very interested in this handsome new alpha stranger.

‘Can I join you?’ asks Hyunjin, turning sharp eyes on Minho.

Minho nods.

Hyunjin sits down next to Minho, placing his beer on the table in front. Minho glances at him, trying not to be awkward. They were never close at school. What should he say?

Hyunjin answers for him by asking, ‘What are you studying?’

‘Electrical engineering,’ Minho says. ‘You?’ he adds, out of politeness.

‘English language and literature. And I’m taking some fine art modules in my spare time.’ Hyunjin leans a little bit closer, and Minho can suddenly smell his alpha scent, a little too smoky, too pungent. ‘Not a lot of omegas in the engineering department,’ Hyunjin comments.

Minho takes this in. He didn’t say it unkindly.

‘Not a lot of alphas in the English lit department, either,’ he says.

Hyunjin smiles at him, and Minho finds himself smiling back. He picks up his own glass of beer and they clink them together.

‘Cheers.’

At the end of the night, Minho leaves the bar with Hwang Hyunjin’s number saved in his phone.

‘Hyung!’

Jisung’s face fills the screen of Minho’s phone, radiant and flushed.

‘Hi, Jisungie.’

‘It’s late,’ Jisung whispers into the phone with a pout; his face is cast in shadow, lit by his bedside lamp. He’s under the blankets in bed, hair splayed out from his forehead onto the pillow, sideways on the camera.

‘Sorry,’ Minho says, keeping his own voice low. The walls are thin here. ‘My classmates and I went out drinking.’

Jisung’s eyes widen. ‘You? Lee Minho? Willingly going out?’

Minho smiles sheepishly. ‘They were insistent. And it’s my first week of university. I figured I should.’

‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to, you know, Minho-hyung. You can tell them no,’ Jisung tells him, in that bossy manner Minho recognises as masking his worry.

‘I know, I know,’ Minho says softly. ‘They’re alright. I’m a lot more used to it now, anyway. Since you and Yongbok used to drag me out so often.’

Jisung pouts at him. ‘I didn’t drag you out.’

‘True,’ Minho admits, giving him a gentle smile. ‘I always wanted to. When it was you.’

There’s a pause where Jisung looks at him suspiciously.

‘Hyung, are you drunk?’ he demands.

‘Just tipsy,’ Minho says, with a silly, happy laugh. ‘That bar had this amazing soy garlic fried chicken. You would have loved it.’

‘Sounds great,’ Jisung says wistfully. He burrows down deeper into his blankets. Minho can’t really see his face properly in the video anymore, just his eyes and eyebrows, the top of his hair and a bit of blanket. And behind him his school blazer and jacket, hanging up against the wall.

‘Jisungie,’ Minho calls lowly.

‘Mmm?’

‘I miss you.’ Minho almost mouths the words, speaking them quietly into the calmness of his darkened room. He’s left the window open just a sliver, for fresh air; a gust of wind wheedles through the blinds, rattling.

Jisung turns red enough that Minho can see it even through the low-quality video.

‘I miss you too. Already. So much,’ he says, and his eyes are shiny.

‘The year will be over before you know it,’ Minho says. ‘And then I’ll be back for the holiday. And I’ll visit whenever I can, before then.’

‘Okay, hyung,’ Jisung says quietly, pouting at him. Minho smiles, blinks slowly and drowsily into the camera. ‘Are you sleepy, hyung?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay. Just a little bit longer…’

In the end, Minho falls asleep with their video call still open, Jisung’s whispered goodnight sending him off into a dreamless slumber.

‘Four assignments due next week!’ Hyunjin is saying, waving his arm around dramatically. ‘Four! And they’re all due on the same day as well. They couldn’t even have the courtesy to spread them out.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Minho agrees, smiling behind his Americano. Somewhat surprisingly, he’s really taken to Hyunjin over the past few weeks; he seems a little different from their school days (not that Minho knew him very well), perhaps a little more comfortable in himself - and it turns out he’s quite the drama queen.

‘And to top it all off, I was sketching in my sketchbook last night, trying to relax, and then I accidentally spilled my chamomile tea all over the most beautiful rose I’d ever drawn,’ Hyunjin says, with great melancholy. ‘That could have been an amazing Instagram post.’

‘A tragedy,’ Minho agrees mock-seriously, taking a long drink.

‘Okay, no need to be sarcastic,’ Hyunjin says, but he’s smiling. ‘Sorry for going on and on. How are you, anyway? Still busy?’

‘Always,’ Minho says. ‘We have mid term tests next week, and I’ve got extra dance practices on as well right now.’

‘Oh, you have to send me the schedule! I need to come to one of your performances and see the famous Lee Minho, representing our university up on stage.’

Minho blushes. ‘I don’t know. It’s really nothing special.’

Hyunjin looks unimpressed. ‘I can be the judge of that,’ he says. ‘I think in another life I could have been a dancer, but in this life I’ve got two left feet and limbs too long. Makes me look great in high waisted trousers, though.’

Minho smiles, grateful for Hyunjin’s self-deprecation; he’s clearly trying to make Minho feel more comfortable. He can be sensitive like that - rare for an alpha.

‘Shall we go, then?’ Hyunjin asks, placing his fork down. All that remains of his green tea cake is a few crumbs on a small, elegant, gold-rimmed plate.

‘Sure,’ says Minho. ‘I should get back to the library, anyway.’

Hyunjin sighs. ‘You study too much.’

‘Isn’t that what we’re here for?’ Minho asks.

‘Sure, but you need to live a little, as well,’ Hyunjin says. ‘I haven’t seen you out in town since the first night we ran into each other.’

‘It’s not really my scene,’ Minho says. ‘I only agreed in the first place to be polite to my new dorm-mates.’

Hyunjin chuckles. ‘I guess that makes sense. But what if I came to visit you at your dorm? Say, tomorrow night? Would that be okay?’

Minho thinks. ‘I suppose so,’ he says, although he isn’t sure why Hyunjin is so eager to come visit.

‘Great,’ Hyunjin says as he pulls his coat over his shoulders, sweeping his long hair behind his shoulders and out of the way. ‘It’s a date.’

Studying, tests, studying, tests, and more studying. And then more tests. Minho sees equations on the backs of his eyelids when he closes his eyes to sleep.

The only welcome breaks he receives from his university work are his dance practices, Hyunjin’s now frequent visits where they usually have dinner and study, and his weekly video calls with Jisung. He looks forward to the last the most; nothing can clear his mind of worries and lift his mood like Jisung’s eagerly smiling face filling up his phone screen and his innocent, relatively trouble-free accounts of life back in their home suburbs; he tells Minho of his penultimate year of school and how his mother is trying to convince him to focus on subjects other than music.

‘I bet she’d be happy if I wanted to take engineering like you, Minho-hyung!’ Jisung says, almost accusatorily - but Minho just smiles benevolently; Jisung’s problems look admittedly cute to him now that he has to organise every part of his own life, including meals and laundry. And why did nobody ever tell him how expensive fabric softener is?

Minho, on the other hand, regales Jisung with tales of his drunk dorm-mates, eccentric professors and of Hyunjin, who has fast become Minho’s closest acquaintance at university. At first Jisung responds with curiosity, asking questions about him; although they attended the same school, of course he was two years older and Jisung didn’t know him well. But he seems to grow bored quickly of anecdotes of Hyunjin, and begins changing the subject whenever he is brought up.

Minho doesn’t mind. He prefers to listen to Jisung’s voice, anyway, and enter a world where 9am lectures and mechanics exercises with dozens of questions don’t exist - only Jisung does.

10

‘Congratulations!’

‘To our first year!’

Several glasses of beer are lifted and clink together; some overflow and cold beer splashes on outstretched hands. The atmosphere is alive with excitement, buzzing with the kind of unburdened energy which can only be generated by a group of people who know they are, for the immediate future, completely free.

A whole first year of university. Exams, assignments, presentations, diagrams - all finished and submitted, deadlines all past. To Minho, it feels like it went by in a blink. There is nothing further anyone sitting at this table can do for their academic career at this precise time but wait for their fate: results. In the meantime, they can party.

Even Minho has, once again, been persuaded out; this time, with a group of Hyunjin’s friends from his literature course. The restaurant is charming and old-school, with a simple menu. The cosy, crowded table groans under the weight of bowls of tteokbokki, steaming ramen, fishcakes, kimbap, trays of fresh crispy tempura and, of course, dozens of bottles and tall glasses of beer.

Hyunjin himself sits next to Minho - he’s exuding a lot of happy scent, which Minho tries not to breathe too much of. Over the past year, he’s grown more or less accustomed to Hyunjin’s scent, but it can still get too strong for him quickly, especially when Hyunjin is excited.

‘Cheers, Lee Minho!’ Hyunjin says cheerfully, knocking his glass quite aggressively into Minho’s.

Minho repeats the cheer and dutifully takes a drink. As he does, he glances at his phone and checks the time - it’s Friday, so he still needs to call Jisung before it gets too late. An entire year and they have never missed one.

But it’s still a couple of hours before Jisung goes to bed, so Minho can relax for a while. Try to relax. He’s not uncomfortable around people he doesn’t know well anymore, not really, but nonetheless it’s still not exactly his comfort zone.

The beer does help.

As does Hyunjin, who is his usual affable self, and who’s managing to drink about three bottles of beer per Minho’s one. At one point, he throws both his arms around Minho, blasting him in the face with his strong perfumey scent, and blearily says, ‘Minho-ssi, you’re amazing, did you know that?’

Minho doesn’t know how to respond to that, but Hyunjin just squeezes his somewhat stiff shoulders and then giggles. Everyone around them is laughing, too, having their own conversations. Minho politely removes Hyunjin’s arms from around him and offers him a smile. Flushed-faced and grinning Hyunjin, who is hardly ever deterred by anything, begins knocking back his latest glass of beer.

‘Are you relieved it’s over?’ Hyunjin asks, slurring a little. Minho eyes the beer held very precariously between his long, elegant fingers.

‘Hmm?’

‘Our first year.’

‘Oh. Yeah, I guess. A little.’

If he’s honest, Minho is most relieved about seeing Jisung again in person. He hasn’t seen him in the flesh since summer break, when he went back home to visit his mothers. After such a long time apart, having Jisung between his arms and that scent in his lungs again was like a balm for his soul.

And of course, he promised to come visit him again during the holiday. Not quite every day, as Jisung had demanded, but Minho is so excited to spend as much time as possible and fully recharge before he starts the first semester of his second year of university later in the year.

A waiter comes over to their table to clear empty plates - Hyunjin orders another beer and Minho asks for a water with lemon; he’d like to stave off a hangover, and doesn’t particularly want to get drunk. Hyunjin is already drunk enough for the both of them, anyway. He keeps leaning into Minho’s side and shouting happily in his ear, waving his gangly arms around.

As he sips his water, he receives a text from Jisung: are we still on for the call tonight?

He texts back, of course, and tries to gently push Hyunjin off of his shoulder, where he seems to be trying to eat Minho’s shirt.

Jisung’s replies can we do it now?

Sorry, I’m out with Hyunjin.

Jisung replies back ok; it’s a shorter-than-usual text from Jisung, and Minho can tell he’s not very happy, but he can’t dwell on it; Hyunjin is now trying to climb up onto the table, and their group is receiving some very wary looks from the waiters. It’s probably time that Minho escorts Hyunjin out of here.

As he’s helping Hyunjin into his coat, he turns big dark eyes onto Minho and says, ‘Can I stay at your dorm tonight?’

‘Why?’ asks Minho, slipping his own jacket over his shoulders and patting his pockets to make sure his wallet is safely inside.

‘It’s closer,’ Hyunjin wheedles. ‘And I don’t want to be all by myself tonight. I want to celebrate with you!’

Minho sighs. ‘Fine. But we won’t be celebrating. We’ll be sleeping.’

Hyunjin whoops with delight and hangs off of Minho’s arm as he calls them a taxi. They bid their goodbyes to Hyunjin’s friends and head out into the cold night together.

‘Lee Minho!’

‘Hwang Hyunjin,’ Minho says drily, pulling Hyunjin’s coat off of him so he can hang it up on the hook next to his door. As soon as he’s free of the long coat, Hyunjin stretches out his arms, strides across Minho’s room and falls into his bed.

‘Hey, take your outdoor clothes off before you do that,’ Minho says, rummaging in his drawers for a spare set of pyjamas.

‘Nuh-uh!’ Hyunjin says.

Minho sighs.

‘Come here.’

Hyunjin squeals and shuffles away from Minho, who is advancing on him threateningly with an armful of blue and white chequered cotton pyjamas. He rolls across Minho’s bed, spreading his scent all over it. Minho will need to wash those sheets in the morning.

It’s not that Hyunjin smells bad, or anything, it’s just that—

‘Gotcha!’

Minho gasps as Hyunjin suddenly flips around and grabs onto his wrist, pulling him so that he falls face first onto the mattress. The pyjamas in his arms go flying, and Minho feels Hyunjin’s hands settle on his shoulders.

‘Hyunjin, what are you—’

Minho falls silent.

Hyunjin is staring at him, their faces close.

‘Lee Minho-ssi,’ he says carefully into the air between them, and Minho can feel his breath, the smell of his scent mixed with the fragrance of beer. Hyunjin’s fingers hold tight onto his shoulders, and his face looms closer, his hazy eyes narrow and his gaze falling slowly down Minho’s face. His scent shoots down Minho’s nose and throat and threatens to choke him.

As if it was crashing into him all at once, Minho feels the realisation of why Hyunjin is here, why he is in his bed, and why he is staring at him like that.

For some reason, Jisung’s flushed, heat-stricken face bursts into his mind as Minho freezes still and stiffens under Hyunjin’s hands. He had closed his mind off after dreaming of him, locked the memory away and tried to ignore it, but something about this moment has it rushing back and Minho almost gags when Hyunjin’s scent intensifies because - this feels wrong.

Sex with alphas has never interested Minho. Alpha scents don’t attract Minho - they repel him.

He understands what Hyunjin wants from him and the thought makes him sick to his stomach. Like ice water has been poured over the back of his neck, his throat seizes and his heart begins to thud wildly.

Some of his panic must show on his face, as much as he tries to suppress it, because Hyunjin draws back and says, ‘Minho?’

The words, spoken quickly as though Minho has to force them out before he loses nerve and retracts them, are out of him almost before he can comprehend what he’s saying.

‘I’m not into alphas.’

Oh, fuck. He said it.

‘Huh?’ Hyunjin backs away more and suddenly looks a lot more sober than he did a minute ago.

Minho, on the other hand, can feel that he’s close to hyperventilating and squeezes his eyes shut. Not only is this the first time he’s ever said that to somebody else - this is the first time he’s even acknowledged it to himself.

Lee Minho does not like alphas.

‘I’m sorry,’ Minho whispers. He wills tears not to fall.

‘Minho.’

Minho places his hands over his ears, and squeezes his eyes shut tighter still. Shame rolls over him like a wave and he doesn’t want to look into Hyunjin’s face, for fear of what he might find there.

‘Minho!’

Hyunjin takes Minho’s hand in his own. The touch is gentle.

‘I had no idea,’ he says then, quietly. ‘I apologise.’

Minho shivers.

‘So you swing that way, huh?’ Hyunjin asks softly. ‘Minho, it’s okay. I’m not going to judge you. Really. I like both alphas and omegas, you know.’

That makes Minho open his eyes. It’s a little blurry, but he sees Hyunjin’s sincere face, his unusually serious eyes.

‘You do?’ Minho asks hoarsely.

Hyunjin nods. ‘I’ve dated both before,’ he says. ‘I’m not close-minded. I understand. I’m the same.’

Relief pours over Minho and he can finally take a breath. Hyunjin is the same as him.

He’s not going to think he’s a freak.

Minho hears a sob, and realises it came from himself.

‘Oh, Minho…’

Falling onto Hyunjin’s arms, Minho can’t hold it in any longer; first, a tear falls from his left eye, and then he blinks and another falls from his right, and then they begin falling freely. He takes a shuddering breath and cries into Hyunjin’s shoulder.

‘It’s okay… Minho, it will be okay.’ Hyunjin repeats these words over and over and strokes Minho’s back until he finally quiets. His head is swimming - maybe he’d drank more beer than he realised. But he stops crying.

‘Sorry,’ Hyunjin says afterwards, when they’re both changed and lying in bed, a conspicuous strip of space between them. ‘I shouldn’t have come on so strong.’

‘It’s alright,’ Minho says awkwardly.

Hyunjin smiles, bright even in the deep darkness. His scent is muted now; almost completely gone, in fact - he borrowed some of Minho’s scent blockers. It’s much more comfortable now. ‘You’re so sweet and innocent, Minho. There is nothing wrong with you, okay? Don’t ever think there is. Okay?’

Minho is surprised. He nods, and closes his puffy eyes, drifting instantly into an exhausted sleep. He’s so tired that he forgets all about his phone, lying on his nightstand and buzzing with an incoming video call.

‘Welcome back!’

Minha throws her arms around Minho as soon as she sees him, even though he’s not had the chance to put away his bags or suitcase yet.

‘Hello, mother,’ Minho says, encircling her in his own arms. Every time he sees her now, she seems smaller.

‘Oh, we missed you so much, darling! Was the journey alright? We wanted dearly to come and get you, but Miyeon couldn’t get out of work, it’s so busy at the hospital right now. You know how it is, darling. Do you need help with your things?’

‘Yes, I missed you too. No, no, mother. I’ll take them to my room. Then we can have some tea.’

‘Excellent idea, dear,’ Minha enthuses, beaming at Minho. Minho shifts under her gaze, somehow uncomfortable; as though his mother can see through him, read every secret he’s keeping written on his soul.

While she makes tea, Minho takes his belongings into his room. He leans the suitcase against the wall, drops his bag on his bed for now. Then, he sits down and takes a moment, breathing in the familiar smell of his old room and gazing around at the same old walls and furniture. Minha has kept them meticulously clean while he’s been away.

He feels different, like he’s a stranger in his own room. Admitting to himself what he is was hard enough. But how could he ever tell anyone else? Hyunjin knows, but Hyunjin is the same as him. Others aren’t - they won’t understand. Minho can’t bear to think of their eyes looking at him, rejecting him.

With a sigh, Minho heaves himself off of his bed and returns to the dining room to have tea with his mother.

When can I come and see you?

Minho sits in his room, texting Jisung. He’s been a little slow to reply lately - maybe busy, Minho figures. But he’s still worried. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but there’s been some kind of distance between him and Jisung for the past few days. Minho can feel it through Jisung’s messages.

That’s why he wants to go and visit him as soon as possible. When he can touch and scent Jisung again, that’s when he’ll feel okay again. Like himself again.

So when he receives a response from Jisung a few minutes later: hyung, you can come over now - he doesn’t hesitate.

Walking the path he’s walked so many times before to Jisung’s place - it brings him back memories which rush through his mind, making his heart beat faster and his breath quicken. He longs to see and smell Jisung again. It’s only been a matter of months since they last saw each other, but Minho feels Jisung’s absence in his life almost physically.

He sends Jisung a quick text when he arrives at his house, and then knocks on the door.

Surprisingly, it’s not Joori who opens it, but Jisung’s father Han Junmin, a slimly built man with longish dark hair and a smooth, unassuming alpha scent. He smiles good-naturedly when he sees Minho and bows.

‘Lee Minho, it’s good to see you,’ he greets.

‘Sir,’ says Minho politely, bowing back reflexively. ‘It’s good to see you as well.’

‘Please, come in,’ Junmin says. ‘Jisung is upstairs. You can help yourselves to drinks if you like.’

‘Thank you,’ Minho says with a shy smile. Junmin’s eyes are the same deep brown that Jisung’s are, but they crinkle with deep lines when he grins at Minho.

Minho heads upstairs quickly. He can smell Jisung again, and his scent draws him like a moth to a flame.

‘Hyung!’

Minho hears Jisung’s voice before he sees him, and then a blurry figure lunges through the open doorway and he suddenly has an armful of his best friend.

‘Jisungie. I’m so happy to see you,’ Minho tells him, pressing his nose into Jisung’s hair. The same vanilla scent that he loves so much fills his lungs, the scent that always makes Minho feel that he will be okay.

‘I missed you,’ Jisung says, drawing back to meet his eyes.

‘I did too. So much.’ Minho grasps for him but he’s already slipped out of his arms, and then he turns and heads back into his room. A little nonplussed, Minho follows him.

Minho wants to ask, are you okay? Or even, are you mad at me?

But then Jisung turns, smiles bright and heart-shaped at Minho and says, ‘Sit down, hyung, we need to catch up.’

So Minho sits down with Jisung, on his bed that smells like him, and tells him everything that he couldn’t when he was busy during the past few months, when they could only snatch a few minutes on those precious Fridays to talk; the late nights, the sheer amounts of caffeine, the crowded library, the cramping in his writing hand when he found he couldn’t do even a single exercise more.

Jisung listens attentively, his comforting scent slowly enveloping Minho. And Minho is very attuned to Jisung’s scent - he knows every tiny idiosyncrasy of it, he knows how it sweetens and sours and what makes it ebb stronger and what makes it fade like smoke, and…

Jisung smells a little different.

Minho can’t put his finger on it. But it’s there, somewhere. Minho’s mouth waters. There is something in Jisung’s scent that’s just ever so slightly more saccharine than usual, something like the burst of juice in the mouth when biting into a ripe cherry, or the first drink of cool water when waking in the morning. It’s sweet, but it’s also - quenching.

Minho wonders what it is.

‘Enough about me, though,’ Minho says, when he’s finally finished pouring everything out. ‘What have you been up to, Jisungie? Did you finish your school year well?’

So it’s Jisung’s turn to spill everything, and Minho is almost lulled into a trance by the low and gentle sound of his voice. Eventually, they move to lie next to each other on the bed, face to face, so that Jisung can tell him all about his music exam and the songs he’s been making with Changbin, and Jisung reaches over at one point to entwine their hands. Outside, somewhat distant, there are birds calling and the sound of gentle wind, and a mother is heard calling to her child. Jisung’s eyes are warm, and Minho is happy.

Minho decides to stay the night. They eat with Jisung’s parents, chatting relaxedly over Joori’s cooking as the hours tick by, and then return to his room to get ready for bed.

Under the blankets, cocooned in Jisung’s scent and warmth, Minho’s world narrows down to only this. He’s missed it so much over the past year - just the simple ability to see and smell and touch Jisung whenever he wanted.

They lie together on the pillow, face-to-face. Jisung’s fluffy dyed hair spreads around his face, making him look even more like bambi than usual. Minho rests his own cheek on his hand and looks shyly at him.

‘Minho-hyung, I have something to tell you,’ Jisung breathes into the space between their mouths.

‘Oh?’ Minho says lowly. It comes out a little bit distracted, but Minho is busy cataloging each curve and dip of Jisung’s face.

Jisung bites his lip, shifting nervously under Minho’s eyes.

‘I lost my virginity.’

Minho’s stomach drops like lead. He almost thinks he misheard, or misunderstood.

His mouth opens uselessly, and even he can smell the way his scent instantly sours, full of shock and confusion. Cold dread settles in his chest and throat and expands like a balloon, cutting off his airways.

The only thing he can think to say is:

‘You didn’t.’

Jisung smiles, a little uncertainly, and perhaps takes his words as a joke.

‘I did!’ he confirms earnestly, staring up at Minho with wide eyes.

Minho feels sick.

Before he can stop himself, he’s opening his mouth again.

‘What were you thinking?’ he says in an accusatory tone.

Jisung bristles, leaning away from Minho a little. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Jisung,’ Minho says slowly, and there’s something ugly rearing its head inside his chest, something uncomfortable and selfish and angry that he just can’t seem to hold back anymore. ‘You’re only 17. This isn’t something to take lightly. What if they’d hurt you, or—’

Minho pauses as he and Jisung stare at each other. Minho’s mouth twists and sets into a hard line.

‘Who was it?’ he asks. Someone touched Jisung, someone kissed him and uncovered every hidden part of him. Someone else fucked him and made him come. Minho can’t fucking understand this.

Jisung’s eyes are owlish as he blinks at Minho. ‘Do you really want to know?’ he asks slowly. ‘You look angry.’

‘Jisung,’ Minho says. ‘Tell me who it was.’

‘Seo Changbin,’ Jisung whispers. ‘It was Changbin.’

Minho blanches. Jisung, he - he slept with that alpha! Bile rises in Minho’s throat, hot and painful.

‘You slept with him?’ Minho asks, the rage that he’s trying to hold back seeping into his tone.

‘Yes, I did,’ Jisung says, sounding defiant now. ‘So?’

‘So?’ Minho snaps. ‘So I thought you were a little more responsible than that! What are you playing at, Jisung, handing yourself over to the first alpha who asks?’

Jisung’s face abruptly drops into a mask of anger.

‘Oh, so now you care what I’m doing?’ he asks acidly.

‘What are you talking about?’ Minho says impatiently.

‘You’re the one who left me behind!’ Jisung says. ‘You were perfectly happy with Yongbok and Hyunjin and all your new friends. What do you need me for?’

‘Really?’ Minho whispers. ‘Jisung, I was desperate to see you again. I longed for you every day. Jisung, I called you every single Friday for an entire year!’

‘Not every single Friday,’ Jisung says lowly, eyes dull. ‘Not the night you were with Hyunjin.’

‘Huh?’ Minho thinks back. The night he was with Hyunjin - the night he slept over? ‘Jisung, I fell asleep.’

‘I called you so many times,’ Jisung snaps. ‘I waited for you until I couldn’t stay awake anymore.’

‘That was one time,’ Minho says, desperately. ‘Come on, Jisungie. Please. It was one mistake. Surely that doesn’t matter.’

‘Well it matters to me!’

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Minho says helplessly.

‘Well, what did you mean? What is it, Minho-hyung? You can make however many mistakes you want, but I can’t make any, is that it?’ Jisung demands.

‘What?’ asks Minho.

‘I have to be perfect,’ Jisung sneers. ‘But you can do whatever you want, whenever you want.’

‘Jisung, please, just explain to me what you mean,’ Minho says, willing himself not to tear up.

‘You can go around, cosying up to alphas and kissing all the omegas you want, but I can’t?’

Minho gapes at him.

‘You - I, what…’

‘Yes, I saw you with Yongbok!’ Jisung says hotly, and the vicious edge to his whisper cuts Minho right through his centre. ‘And were you ever going to tell me about that, by the way? What, I’m apparently your best friend but you can’t even tell me about your first kiss? What else are you hiding from me, Minho-hyung?’

Jisung is breathing heavily, but Minho, on the other hand, can’t seem to catch a breath. It feels like his lungs and throat are closing, folding in on themselves and depriving him of the air he needs to think.

‘I - I didn’t…’

‘So why is it then, hyung?’ asks Jisung, grabbing onto Minho’s arm. ‘Why exactly is it that you’re angry?’

Minho gulps down air. As though he’s paralysed, his tongue, his limbs, even his eyes won’t move as he stares unblinkingly into Jisung’s furious face. He feels awful, selfish, despicable - Jisung is completely correct, Minho has no right to be angry. He’s pushing Jisung away because he’s a coward, and because he’s sick.

He closes his eyes for a moment. He can’t look at Jisung’s face, it hurts too much. Even though he isn’t entitled to this feeling, he can’t help how it makes him ache.

Then, he opens his eyes and smiles.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, fighting to keep his voice steady. ‘For everything. For not calling you, and for overreacting. You’re right. I’m not actually angry, I was just shocked. I’m very happy for you, Jisung.’

Jisung looks back at him, eyes wide.

‘Really?’ he whispers, staring at him like he’s searching Minho’s face. ‘That’s all you have to say?’

Minho falters a little. Is that not what Jisung wants? Why does he still look upset? Why is he drawing away from Minho and his scent curdling around them?

Minho reaches out for him, a little desperately. He needs to fix all this now, he needs Jisung to smile at him again and know they’re going to be okay. ‘I said I’m sorry,’ Minho says, struggling to keep his placid smile glued to his face. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. It was wrong. Okay?’

But Jisung doesn’t reach out for Minho. He doesn’t hold him or comfort him. Instead, he says, ‘Minho, I think you should leave.’

‘Huh?’

‘You should leave,’ Jisung says, and he turns away from Minho, so that Minho can’t see his face.

‘What?’ Minho laughs hollowly, even though nothing is amusing. ‘Jisung, it’s late.’

‘I don’t care,’ Jisung says. His scent is the worst Minho has ever smelt, almost acrid. ‘I don’t want you here. Don’t you get it, Minho-hyung? I’m tired of this. I’m tired of being messed around.’

‘Jisung, please.’ Minho is so confused.

Jisung still doesn’t look at him. It breaks Minho’s heart. They’ve argued before, sure, but he’s never felt such a strained, cold atmosphere between them before. It frightens him.

‘Jisungie, I—’ Minho starts, but then he stops. Jisung still isn’t moving, isn’t responding. He’s clearly made up his mind.

Minho slips out of Jisung’s bed and gathers his things. Jisung burrows into his blankets and turns away, so that Minho can only see the top of his head. He says nothing.

Minho pulls on his jeans and jacket and creeps through the house, careful not to make noise. He steps into the frigid air and begins the walk home. The echoes of his footsteps are the only sound in the empty night.

Minho isn’t himself.

He feels like a blank slate, wiped clean and empty of anything that made him him.

His mothers are concerned. Minha tried to coax it out of him a few times, but even she was tactful enough to back away when it became clear that Minho wasn’t going to talk, no matter what.

Jisung isn’t speaking to him. His messages return undelivered. His calls go unanswered.

Minho sits in his room and stares at the walls.

How long, he thinks, how long can I sit here and wait and do nothing?

Minho knows he’s a coward. He couldn’t tell Jisung the truth because he was so afraid of pushing him away, and now despite everything he’s lost him anyway.

He can’t lose Jisung. Anything, anything is better than that.

He just can’t.

Minho picks up his phone again, but this time, he dials a different number.

The answer comes quickly.

‘Hey! Long time no speak.’

‘Hello,’ Minho says. ‘Can we meet up? It’s urgent.’

Chapter Text

‘Hey! It’s so good to see you again.’

Minho stands up, extending his hand warmly. ‘You haven’t changed,’ he says.

It’s true. Yongbok’s pretty face, smattering of freckles and bright, beaming smile are just as Minho remembers them.

‘How have you been?’ Yongbok asks as he sets his tea down and slides into the seat opposite Minho.

‘Oh, you know,’ Minho says, returning to his own seat. ‘Not bad.’

Yongbok nods. ‘The year went by quickly, didn’t it?’

‘It really did.’

Yongbok takes a sip of tea, wrapping both of his hands around the cup. Minho looks at his neatly clasped rows of his fingers and tries desperately to think of how to steer the conversation into his desired direction.

‘How is your family?’ he blurts out instead.

Yongbok smiles gently and takes another sip. ‘They’re doing well, thank you. And yours?’

‘Yes, all well. They’re fine,’ Minho says quietly.

There’s a moment of silence between them, and then Yongbok sighs.

‘We sort of lost touch over the past year, didn’t we?’ he asks.

There’s something in his tone that makes Minho think he’s angling for a particular response, but Minho doesn’t know how to give it. Instead he frowns. ‘I guess so. Sorry, Yongbok. I was a little busy.’

‘I was too,’ says Yongbok.

‘I’ll try to get in touch more,’ Minho says politely. ‘Thank you for coming out to see me so suddenly.’

Yongbok appraises him, thumbs slowly stroking his tea. Then, he smiles.

‘So, I suppose you must have called me for a reason, right, Minho?’

Minho squirms. It’s taking all of his courage to try and muster up the response he wants to give. He’s not used to having serious conversations, nor those that may veer into uncomfortable topics. He doesn’t like dredging up the past, ancient history - prefers to let it go as water under the bridge. He hates examining, confronting what he didn’t want to face at the time.

But now, faced with losing his best friend, he has no choice. He has to understand.

Finally, he blurts it out:

‘Why did you kiss me?’

It comes out a whisper - they are in public, after all, and Minho struggles to say the words.

Yongbok’s eyes widen, then he looks down. There’s a pause where he takes another sip of his tea, and then he meets Minho’s eyes again with an unreadable expression.

‘So that’s what this is about, huh? It was a mistake,’ he says, voice low. ‘I shouldn’t have done it. I was just being selfish.’

It’s not the answer Minho was expecting. ‘Yongbok, what do you mean?’

Yongbok takes a deep breath. ‘You weren’t ready,’ he says. ‘Well, actually, you’d never have been ready. Minho, did you really never notice, for all those years?’

Minho hates conversations like these. He feels like he’s wading into murky waters and the wool is being pulled in front of his eyes - like no matter how hard he tries he just can’t see the meaning behind the words, both said and unsaid.

‘Notice what?’ Minho asks.

He can tell by Yongbok’s expression that it was the wrong thing to say, but Yongbok quickly softens. ‘Minho,’ he says slowly. ‘I had a crush on you.’

Minho is shocked, pure and simple. A crush?

‘You…’ he starts, but then trails off.

Yongbok takes another sip of tea.

‘It was a huge crush. Enormous, even,’ he says. ‘And I was extremely obvious about it, too.’

Minho tries his best to digest this.

‘I - do you still—?’

Yongbok grins. ‘You’re an easy person to like, Minho,’ he says, then his grin turns wry. ‘Well, not in all ways - you’re a bit oblivious. But you’re intelligent, kind. Loyal. So honest and straightforward. And not to mention handsome.’

Minho’s ears heat.

‘But…’ Yongbok smiles, although it doesn’t look entirely happy. ‘You weren’t mine.’

Minho’s thoughts are jumbled. It’s clear from how Yongbok is looking at him that he means something more by that, but Minho can’t quite get it.

Instead, he says, ‘B-but Yongbok - you’re an omega. And I’m…’

Yongbok sighs. He reaches across the table with a single hand and takes Minho’s fingers in his.

‘Minho, don’t you understand? Life is not a maths equation where alpha plus omega equals love. Love comes in all forms.’

Minho’s heart is beating fast. ‘That… I can’t,’ he says, even though he himself isn’t fully sure what he means.

‘Minho,’ Yongbok says, and he looks desperate now. ‘I shouldn’t have kissed you at school that day. It wasn’t my place. I’d liked you for so long, I just thought… Well, I wanted to try it, just once. But I’ve realised now that I was trying to take something that was never meant for me.’

‘What are you saying? Minho asks.

‘Well, Minho,’ Yongbok says. ‘You’re in love with Jisung.’

Minho’s world stops suddenly.

Except, it doesn’t. Someone walks past with a takeout iced latte, a gust of wind whistles past them as the cafe door is opened, a car horn sounds outside, and Yongbok is still sitting across from Minho with his hands around his cup.

You’re in love with Jisung.

A tear slips down Minho’s cheek.

‘Love?’ he repeats hoarsely.

I am, he thinks, suddenly so clear. I’m in love with him.

Yongbok shakes his head. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s good. I always knew how happy you made each other.’ He exhales suddenly, half of a laugh. ‘I was so jealous.’

Another tear.

‘Yongbok, I’m so confused,’ Minho admits. ‘I called you because I wanted advice. Everything always seemed so easy for you. You were friends with everyone, you never seemed to struggle. And even though you’re an omega… you kissed me.’

Yongbok shrugs. ‘I had my own problems, Min. After all,’ he continues with some humour. ‘I developed a crush on the one person I could never have, right?’

‘Yongbok,’ Minho says. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Yongbok’s large brown eyes grow softer, and for once Minho has the impression that he’s managed to say the right thing.

‘Oh, Minho,’ he says. ‘It’s not your fault. And, no offence, but I’m over you now. I found a boyfriend at university.’

‘You did?’

Yongbok grins. ‘That’s right. His name is Chan.’

Minho smiles back at him, wiping a tear off of his cheek. ‘That’s amazing, Yongbok.’

‘It is,’ Yongbok says, with an expression that on anyone else would look smug. ‘And I just want you and Jisung to be happy together.’

Minho’s face falls instantly. He can barely force his next words out.

‘That’s not going to happen,’ he says, with a humourless laugh. ‘He hates me.’

Yongbok looks shocked. ‘That’s impossible,’ he says definitively.

‘It’s not,’ Minho says. ‘I haven’t seen him in days. He k-kicked me out—’

Minho loses his voice on a sob which he tries desperately to hold back. He can’t do this - he can’t fall apart in a public place in front of Yongbok. But the feelings bottled up inside him can’t seem to stop streaming out, like a lake bursting through a collapsed dam.

‘He would never hate you,’ Yongbok insists. ‘Trust me.’

‘He does,’ Minho cries. ‘He t-told me he lost his virginity and I was furious. I couldn’t think of him w-with someone else. I yelled at him. I ruined everything.’

‘Aigoo, you poor thing,’ Yongbok says, taking his hand into both of his own now. ‘That must have been so difficult for you. But you haven’t ruined everything.’

‘I have,’ Minho insists. ‘He’ll never want to see me again.’

‘No. You need to talk to him.’

‘I can’t,’ Minho says hopelessly. He can’t seem to see through the fog he’s in, to a solution, to a path forwards.

Yongbok leans forward over the table and Minho realises with a sudden start that he’s grown tearful, too.

‘You can, Minho,’ he says. ‘How long are you going to stay convinced that you can’t do things? How long are you going to hold yourself back?’

Minho’s lower lip trembles. ‘It’s not that easy for me,’ he says.

‘I didn’t spend years pining hopelessly after you because of that omega,’ Yongbok says fiercely. ‘Just for you to throw it all away.’

‘But—’

‘No buts,’ Yongbok says, using his fingers to wipe away his tears. ‘Isn’t it time you really thought about exactly what it is that you want? Isn’t it time for you to stop hiding, and to be who you are, and to actually give yourself a chance?’

Minho chokes on another sob. ‘Yongbok, I don’t know what to do,’ he whispers.

‘Well,’ says Yongbok firmly. ‘The first thing you need to do is to talk to your mothers.’

Minho leans over, hands braced against the sink. In the mirror, the rose earring in his right ear glints at him, like a reminder - a permanent mark Jisung has already left on his body.

Does he want this earring to be all he has left of Jisung? After everything?

Minho knows he has to act. The thought of what he is about to do fills his ribcage with ice-cold fear, his heart with a sinking dread that makes it beat erratically and thump against his chest. But he’s going to do it.

He must.

Once you’ve told your mothers, then you can confess to Jisung. Minho, it’s time to be brave.

Yongbok was right, of course. He always is.

‘Mother,’ he calls, as he leaves his room.

Minha appears in the hall quickly, dressed in an apron. There is flour on her cheeks.

‘Are you alright, dear?’ she asks. ‘Do you need something?’

Minho stands up straight and looks her in the face. ‘I need to talk to you,’ he says shakily. ‘And mama. Now.’

The dining table is groaning not only with the weight of the usual dinner and side-dishes, but also of Minha’s baking efforts; cookies, pineapple cake, yakgwa, red bean buns, all set out in pretty bowls with lacy napkins underneath. It’s almost seollal, and she’s been practising baking lately.

Minho sits at one side of the low table, and his mothers at the other - he wishes they had chosen a different seating arrangement. This one makes it feel like he’s at an interrogation. He takes a sharp bite of radish kimchi and chews it slowly, uneasy under the gaze of his mother.

He can tell that Minha is worried. She keeps glancing at him as she eats, and even Miyeon’s ever-calming scent hanging in the air can’t keep her from fidgeting.

Finally, she can seemingly stand it no longer - Minho’s almost done, and he’s just taken a final mouthful of rice when Minha puts down her glass of water and addresses him.

‘So, Minho,’ she says, with a too-bright smile, worry in her eyes. ‘You told me before dinner that you had something important to tell me and your mama, remember? Are you ready to talk now, darling?’

‘Oh.’ Miyeon looks up at Minho, carefully placing down her chopsticks. ‘You had something to tell us, Minho?’

Minho’s heart speeds up and thumps heavily against his ribcage. His mouth dries and he squirms under the two pairs of eyes looking at him; Miyeon’s curious, Minha’s agitated. Can he really do this?

‘Minho?’ Minha asks.

Minho’s eyes snap to hers, and he realises that he’s distressing his mother with his indecisiveness. He sighs.

‘It’s nothing terrible mother, don’t worry,’ he says, although he’s not completely certain if that’s true.

Minha relaxes a little, and glances at Miyeon.

‘You can tell us,’ Miyeon says. She’s examining Minho as though she’s x-raying him, seeing right through him. He gulps.

It’s now or never.

‘Mother, mama,’ he says. He can’t look them in the eye. ‘I don’t like alphas.’

It comes out in a whisper.

‘Minho?’ says Minha in confusion, reaching out towards him. ‘What do you mean, dear? You don’t like alphas? Are you alright, darling? Did someone do something to you?’

Minho shakes his head. ‘No, mother, it’s not that, it’s just… I don’t want an alpha to claim me. I don’t like alphas.’

Minha worries her bottom lip with her teeth. ‘Oh, everyone feels like that sometimes, dear. Did you meet someone while you were away at uni? You didn’t tell me about that. It can be so difficult, sweetheart. There are better alphas out there.’

Minho struggles with his words. ‘No,’ he says slowly, his heart speeding up still. ‘I don’t want any alpha. Ever.’

Minha stares at him, her eyes big and wide. She’s paled a little. Minho looks down at his lap and squeezes his hands together. Suddenly, Miyeon reaches out to place her hand on top of his.

‘Minho,’ she says softly. ‘Are you telling us what I think you are?’

Minho swallows down his panic.

‘Yes,’ he whispers. ‘I won’t ever marry, nor get claimed by an alpha.’

Minho clears his throat and gathers all of his courage. This is for Jisung.

‘I like omegas.’

Miyeon grips his hand tightly.

‘Minho…’ Minha says, but then she trails off. She seems to, for the first time Minho can remember, be rendered speechless. Her scent is rapidly souring around them, and Minho can’t bear to smell his mother like that.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers.

Miyeon lifts herself and moves around the table to pull Minho into her arms. He starts, being slowly enveloped by his mama’s sharp scent; similar to his own, only a little more potent, with a much greater calming effect. It’s as though her touch lifts a physical weight from his shoulders. His chest expands and he takes a large breath.

‘Don’t say sorry,’ she murmurs into Minho’s ear. ‘We love you so much. No matter what.’

There’s a sob, and Minho jolts. He looks around Miyeon’s shoulder to see his mother, hand clutched to her face. There are tears on her cheeks, glinting in the light.

‘Minho, I—’

She stands up, dropping her chopsticks to the table, and turns on her heel, leaving the room in a clattering of footsteps. Minho stares after her, his heart sinking.

‘I’ll talk to her,’ Miyeon says softly, threading her fingers into Minho’s hair. ‘She’s just shocked.’

Minho nods, a little shell-shocked himself. His mother’s acrid, troubled scent hangs in the air.

‘She’ll need some time. You know how your mother is,’ says Miyeon, carefully fitting a lock of hair behind Minho’s ear. She curls her arms around Minho again, and he blinks wetness from his eyelashes.

They know.

Minho feels free.

‘I did it!’ Minho doesn’t even say hello, he’s too excited.

Yongbok laughs into the phone. ‘Hi, Minho. That’s great. How did they react?’

‘Overall, not bad,’ Minho says. He thought he’d be more upset about Minha, but Miyeon had reassured him firmly and was planning on speaking to her this evening, to help her take in the news, and Minho found the sheer relief of finally telling them outweighed his worry.

Minho wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about it, but he couldn’t really blame her for reacting with shock - her only child had dropped a huge revelation on her, after all. ‘Mother is a bit upset, but mama is talking to her.’

‘That’s normal,’ Yongbok says. ‘It can be a big surprise.’

‘I’m sure it was,’ Minho says. For Minha, anyway. His mama, on the other hand… Minho recalls her calm, sure voice, her steady hands.

Perhaps she had already known.

‘I’m proud of you, Minho,’ Yongbok says, in that ever-cheerful, open way of his.

Minho’s heart aches. Maybe he could have liked Yongbok back, in another universe, another life, where he isn’t forever caught in another, inescapable love.

‘Now I need to talk to Jisung,’ he says, quietly.

‘You can do it,’ Yongbok says, and he sounds like he means it.

Later, when he’s combed his hair and brushed his teeth, washed his face and changed into thin cotton pyjamas, climbed into his bed and under the thick blankets - his mother knocks on his door.

‘Come in,’ Minho calls, a little unsteadily.

Minha enters the room carefully, as though Minho is a sleeping lion. He almost wants to laugh.

There are still tear-tracks on her face, but in lieu of a greeting, she rushes over to the side of his bed and throws herself into his arms.

‘Minho,’ she gasps. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to react the way I did. You know how much I love you, right, darling? I love you so much.’

‘Mother…’ Minho squeezes his fingers gently on his mother’s shoulders.

‘I love you. I was just shocked, dear. I thought - well, you expect certain things, don’t you? I just want you to have all these opportunities. Marriage. Darling, grandchildren. I always wanted… I always expected you’d be claimed one day, just like I was by your mama… I was so happy.’

‘I know, mother.’ Minho blinks back tears of his own.

‘And I’m worried about you, Minho. I just want you to be happy too, darling.’ She places her hands on his face and turns him so that they make eye contact. There’s a patch of smudged mascara just under her right eye.

‘I will be, mother,’ Minho assures her. ‘I think I finally will be.’

Minha wraps her arms all the way around Minho’s body, just as though he were a child again, and holds him for a long time.

The next problem Minho needs to tackle is how to get Jisung to speak to him. He hasn’t heard from him for days and it hurts.

He knows he has to be careful - he doesn’t want to end up pushing Jisung even further away, and yet he also doesn’t know how to approach him after how they’d left things. It’s poles apart from how comfortable and easy their friendship has been for most of Minho’s life, and every day he spends longing for Jisung’s presence, his face and voice and smell, expands the hole in his heart.

In the end, Jisung solves the problem for him.

Out of nowhere, Minho receives a text message from Jisung. His heart leaps into his throat when he sees his name pop up on the notification - he can’t tap on it fast enough.

With shaky fingers, he opens the message, and it says:

Minho-hyung, i want to talk to you. it’s important. can i come to yours?

Startled, Minho stares down at the words and can’t quite believe them. Days straight of completely ignoring him and now he wants to come over? What will Minho say to him? He’s scared of how he’ll feel when he sees him again.

Despite his trepidation, he’s never going to decline. This is his chance.

Of course, he sends back. I’m free for you any time, Jisungie. Any time at all.

Jisung’s response comes quickly.

tomorrow at 12

i’ll be there.

Minho almost feels sick with nerves the following morning. His treacherous brain keeps replaying their last conversation - the coldness in Jisung’s voice. His scent goes so haywire that Minha comes into his room and opens the window, before placing her hand on his forehead and asking him if he’s alright.

He can’t eat, nor think. Instead, he watches the clock, increasingly jittery as the minutes tick by and it gets closer and closer to the middle of the day.

When the doorbell rings, his heart rabbits wildly against his chest. He surges past a curious-looking Minha to answer it himself.

‘Jisung?’

‘That’s me.’

The feeling that floods through Minho on hearing Jisung’s voice is pure relief. He knows that Jisung is angry at him, and his tone is a little flat, but just hearing him brings Minho the kind of comfort and familiarity that nothing else does.

‘Please, Jisungie, come up.’

Minho lets him in and races anxiously to the door. Minha calls his name but Minho doesn’t acknowledge it - he’s too busy peering like a madman into the peephole to catch a glimpse when Jisung steps out of the lift.

As soon as he sees his figure through the glass Minho’s throat seizes up and he shivers with a mix of joy and apprehension. He’s wearing a large sweater and straight-fit jeans, and his shoulders are hunched - he looks small, withdrawn. Frowning, Minho bounces on the balls of his feet and watches Jisung approach the door to knock.

He opens the door, and Jisung’s scent bursts into the room, as sweet as ever.

‘Jisung!’

‘Hello, Minho,’ Jisung says. For once, Minho can’t tell what he’s thinking - not from his scent, nor from his face. His unreadable eyes scan Minho from head to toe, and then he looks away. ‘Can I come in?’

Minho can’t even remember the last time Jisung asked permission to enter his apartment.

‘Of course.’ He steps aside, and Jisung walks past him. Minho inhales sweet vanilla and, despite everything, the so-familiar feeling of safety and belonging spreads through his body, all the way to the delicate nerves of his fingertips.

Minha peers around the hall doorway, and her eyes light up when she sees Jisung.

‘Jisung, dear!’ she calls. ‘Welcome, darling.’

‘Hello, Auntie,’ Jisung says politely.

‘Oh, lovely to see you. How have you been? We’ve missed you lately. Sweetheart, would you like some tea? I’ve got to put the kettle on anyway, Minho, will you—’

‘Mother,’ Minho interrupts nervously. ‘Jisung and I were going to go to my room for a bit and chat.’

He tries to catch Jisung’s eye, but Jisung is staring off somewhere to the right and just nods wordlessly.

‘Oh,’ Minha says blankly, looking between them. Her wide-lashed eyes move slowly over Jisung’s shrunken-in-on-himself figure, and her voice softens. ‘Of course, that’s fine, dears. Just let me know if you need anything. I’m right here.’

Minho smiles at her gratefully, and leads Jisung to his room. The silence between them is loaded and uncomfortable. Completely different from normal.

Minho holds the door open for Jisung to enter his room first, and he walks in and sits on his bed. Minho follows, hovering timidly for a moment, unsure of whether to sit down himself, before he decides to settle into his desk chair, facing Jisung.

Jisung stares at his lap, and Minho swallows.

‘H-how are you?’ he asks lamely.

‘Fine,’ Jisung says shortly. He’s twisting his fingers together. Minho hates seeing him so tense, so withdrawn in on himself. Jisung’s presence usually fills the whole room for Minho, and it’s like he’s shrunk down to something fragile, something small.

‘We haven’t spoken in a while, have we?’ Minho starts nervously, but then Jisung opens his mouth.

‘Minho-hyung,’ he says, quietly. ‘I have something important to say. Could you please listen to me for a bit?’

Minho’s heart thumps, quickening. He nods wordlessly. Jisung’s scent in the air smells apprehensive, guarded.

‘Minho-hyung, I came to tell you that I’m in love with you.’

Minho feels like time stops.

He loves him.

His Jisungie. Loves him.

He sucks in a shocked breath, but Jisung starts speaking again, and Minho said he would listen.

‘I’ve been in love with you for a very long time,’ Jisung says. His voice is shaky, but his words are clear. ‘Maybe people find it strange, or wrong, an omega loving an omega. But none of that ever mattered to me. Not a single bit. You’re you. I liked you.’

‘Ever since you presented…’ Jisung twists his hands harder, still not catching Minho’s eye. ‘I was already obsessed with you. And your scent did something to me, and I just… I immediately understood. All those years I spent falling in love with you…’

‘I was terrified of the day you would finally leave me behind forever. I knew that one day you would find someone, maybe you’d get married, maybe you’d even get claimed. I remembered when you said to me that one day you’d claim me. I wanted it so badly. While I was wishing every day that you would really fulfil your promise, you were already moving on. I was sure you had forgotten about it.’

‘There were times when I was really close to telling you how I felt. I even almost kissed you. Many times.’ Jisung laughs, and it almost sounds carefree. ‘But there was always that last bit of distance between us. I realised it was pathetic of me to keep chasing after you. I felt like I was trying to touch a sunbeam. You were always just out of my reach.’

‘When I told you about Changbin and I…’ Jisung reaches up to his face, and Minho realises with a start that he’s wiping away a tear. ‘And we had that big fight, I… I realised that we’re just hurting each other. And more than that, I’m hurting myself. And I can’t go on like this.’

There’s a pause, and Minho gazes at Jisung, heart going wild in his ribcage.

‘Jisung…’ he says slowly.

‘Please, hyung…’ Jisung finally looks up at him. ‘I have to do this.’

Suddenly, he reaches into his pocket and takes something out.

‘This is for you.’

Nonplussed, Minho extends his own hand.

Jisung drops something very small into the centre of his palm. Minho’s eyes drop to it and his stomach lurches.

‘I thought I could wait for you forever,’ Jisung says in a small voice.

Minho stares down at the tiny silver daisy stud in his hand. The metal is cold against his skin.

‘But I was wrong. So I came to give it back. I want to - I need to start finally moving on,’ Jisung says, his voice almost breaking. ‘I can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry, Minho-hyung.’

‘No,’ Minho says.

‘Hmm?’ Jisung looks at him.

‘No, Jisung. You won’t do this,’ Minho says, and he’s even surprised at himself with how firm he sounds. But he’s never been so sure about anything.

‘I have to.’

‘You can’t,’ Minho stresses. ‘Because…’

Minho grabs Jisung’s hand with his other, pressing the earring back into it and then interlacing their fingers together. Jisung’s fingers curl around his and he looks up in surprise, mouth falling open.

‘I love you, Han Jisung,’ says Minho.

Jisung’s eyes fill with fresh tears and he sobs, squeezing Minho’s hand.

‘Jisung,’ Minho says desperately. ‘I never forgot about our promise. Not for a single second. The way I acted - I’m so sorry, I know I’ve hurt you so much. But it was never because I didn’t love you. I was just scared.’

‘What - you…’ Jisung trails off on another choked-off noise, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing more tears down his cheeks. His scent is bursting out as if he’s suddenly lost control of it and it smells lovely and sweet and confused all at once.

‘I’ve made changes in the past few weeks,’ Minho continues. ‘I’ve finally truly accepted that I like omegas. Well, I like you, Jisung. I was so scared to face up to that fact before.’

Jisung sniffles.

‘I came out,’ Minho says. ‘To my mothers. And I planned on confessing to you. But…’ He smiles wryly. ‘You got there first. You always were better at that type of thing.’

A hint of a smile finally plays at Jisung’s lips, and he opens his eyes, lashes fluttering.

‘Hyung, you aren’t fair,’ Jisung says accusatively, tears still running freely down his flushed cheeks.

‘Huh?’

‘You reject me for years. You make me wait for you, chasing after you like a lovesick puppy. You make me lose all hope. You force me to start moving on, you even make me confess to you myself.’

‘Jisungie, I—’ Minho chokes on his words.

‘And then,’ Jisung continues passionately. ‘And then you go and you say you love me. Like you know, like you know that I don’t have any choice when it comes to you. Like you know that I’ll always choose you, that I’ll always want you.’

Minho knows that Jisung is upset. But hearing those words inflates his heart with an irresistible, buoyant happiness, so light it’s as thought he could float away.

‘Hyung, are you sure that it’s true?’ Jisung sobs.

‘Of course it is,’ says Minho.

‘I’m not a good omega,’ Jisung says then, and his cheeks are wet and his tears flowing so thick and fast that they run down in between Minho’s fingers. Minho swipes under his eyes with his thumbs, gently, cleaning the soft skin so that tear tracks can flow down them anew. ‘I’m not elegant or perfect, and I’m not always sweet, or kind.’

‘Jisung…’

‘I can be worse than you think,’ Jisung says passionately. ‘I can hurt you. And I’ve slept with Changbin just to get back at you.’

Minho squeezes Jisung tighter. They’re both breathing hard.

‘I can take advantage of your kindness and I can want you all to myself and get jealous and irrational and I still have a lot to learn before I can love you properly.’ Jisung’s voice breaks and his scent is so muddled that he almost doesn’t even smell like himself.

‘I don’t care about any of that,’ Minho insists. ‘We’ll do it together, okay? We’ll learn together. Jisung, I like you so much.’

Jisung sniffles, his lip wobbling adorably.

Minho needs him to understand.

‘Jisung, from the moment I met you there’s never been a second where I haven’t been in love with you. No matter what happened. No matter what will happen!’

Jisung laughs, still blinking tears from his eyes. ‘You were eight years old when you met me!’

‘Yes,’ Minho says, holding him closer. ‘But I still knew.’

Jisung laughs again, shakily, wetly, and his hands come up to clutch at the back of Minho’s shirt.

Minho leans in to press a sweet kiss to the apple of Jisung’s cheek, and breathe him in. His own cheeks are wet, now, too.

Jisung opens his eyes, lashes brushing against Minho’s face. Then, he leans in and kisses Minho back, this time on the lips, and vanilla bursts into all of his senses.

Minho had instinctively known it as a child. Now, once again, he realises: perhaps in this life he isn’t destined to bring world peace or explore distant planets, but he is capable of holding this boy in his arms, and keeping him safe, and loving him, and kissing him.

11

‘Come on in, darling - oh dear, is it raining? I’ve not looked out the window, I was so busy cooking. Minho, take off your jacket, dear, you’re dripping everywhere. Jisung, sweetheart, do you need me to wash your clothes? You can borrow something of Minho’s if you like.’

Minha is wearing red lipstick and her hair is done-up, neat and pretty. She’s excited.

‘Mother, stop fussing,’ Minho says, although he dutifully removes his jacket.

‘Thank you, auntie,’ Jisung says, bowing politely once he’s taken off his own coat. Minha ushers him in and he and Minho sit at the table together while Minha bustles off, announcing that she’s making tea.

As soon as she’s gone, Jisung leans over to kiss Minho on the cheek, and then springs back.

‘Sorry,’ he says, with a shine in his eyes.

Minho touches his own, hot, cheek.

They get settled together at the table, and Minho shuffles close to Jisung, close enough that he can feel his body heat.

‘I would like to tell everyone about us soon,’ he confides. Yongbok already knows - and Minho thinks he had cried almost as much as Jisung had - but nobody else does. They’re still figuring things out - and Minho has to go back to university soon anyway, placing more distance in their new, changed relationship, while Jisung will also be entering his final year of school.  They’ll both be a tad distracted.

Besides, while Minha has been almost back to normal, she’s clearly still coming to terms with the news and has been a little anxious and twitchy, and Minho doesn’t want to completely overload her.

‘Me too…’ Jisung says, smile on his lips. ‘But I don’t mind keeping it a secret a little longer. Isn’t it kind of fun sneaking around?’

Minho shakes his head, mock-disapproving, but grins despite himself. ‘A little.’

Minha re-enters the room just in time, carrying a tray of steaming tea. Minho blows on his and watches Jisung burn his tongue, jerking his mouth away and turning to him with big watery eyes.

‘Be careful,’ he chides, squeezing Jisung’s face so that his mouth drops open and his tongue pokes out slightly. The tip is bright red. ‘Would you like some ice water?’

Jisung shakes his head. ‘It’s not too bad,’ he slurs.

‘Oh, you two, so sweet,’ Minha says beamingly, and Minho lets go of Jisung’s face. ‘Minho, dear, when you’re finished with your tea, do you mind helping me set the table? I’ve got to get all the banchan out of the fridge - Jisung, darling, do you prefer white radish or green onion kimchi?’

‘White radish,’ Jisung says. ‘I’ll help too, auntie.’

‘You sweetheart,’ Minha says happily. ‘Finish your tea first, darlings.’

They drink tea with Minha and talk all sorts of gossip, which Minha seems downright delighted to hear about. Minho supposes he’s been rather quiet with his mothers lately; too much on his mind. When finished, they set the table until it’s groaning with Minha’s cooking, finishing just in time for Miyeon to arrive home, placing her umbrella aside and ruffling Minho’s hair, greeting Jisung and kissing a very happy Minha, before disappearing into the bedroom to change.

Spending dinner with Jisung and his mothers is not a new experience for Minho, but he can still feel the difference when Jisung’s knee knocks against his as he gulps down his glass of water with both hands. He can picture, ten years from now, visiting for seollal again hand-in-hand with Jisung, hugging his mothers as they walk in, catching up all together, leaning to kiss Jisung over the table when their heads are turned.

As they eat, Miyeon’s clever eyes catch his own and there’s a certain twinkle in them; smiling bashfully, Minho drops his own eyes to Jisung’s knee and realises that he’s surely been caught out again.

He would never have dared to imagine something like this for himself before - never have dared to want it. But now it feels like dreams he couldn’t even acknowledge before are within his grasp. He’s so happy he could cry.

‘So… my heat’s due in a couple of weeks.’

‘Uh huh,’ Minho says, scrolling on his phone.

‘And you’re not going back to uni until February.’

Minho puts down his phone. ‘Jisung—’

‘And I don’t want to spend it all alone,’ Jisung says, with a pout.

‘Jisung, you know I’m always willing to take care of you for it.’

‘Take care of me properly?’ Jisung’s eyes are turning beseeching.

Minho sighs deeply. ‘I told you, until you’re 18—’

‘Minho-hyung, I’m not even a virgin anymore!’ Jisung exclaims.

Minho leans over to brush Jisung’s hair behind his ear. ‘I know,’ he says calmly. ‘I’m still going to be careful with you.’

The swells of Jisung’s cheeks colour brightly and he scoffs, turning away to bury his head into the pillow.

‘Don’t sulk,’ Minho says fondly, moving along the bed to place his arm carefully around Jisung’s shoulders. ‘Don’t fall asleep angry, Jisungie, or you’ll get nightmares.’

‘Hyung,’ Jisung complains, pouting up at him with enormous eyes. ‘You don’t understand. You smell insane. I literally want you so bad all the time.’

Minho can’t help it; he laughs disbelievingly, curling his body further into Jisung’s, so that their legs tangle.

‘Seriously? Do you really think I don’t understand?’ he asks, voice low. ‘Jisungie, you have no idea what you smell like, do you?’

Jisung groans with embarrassment, smooshing his face into the pillow again. Minho bites back an endeared smile - how this blushing fluff-ball managed to lose his virginity already, he’ll never know.

‘If I’m awake, I want you,’ Minho whispers into his skin. ‘And sometimes in my dreams, too,’ he confesses, finally spilling another secret he’s held close to his chest.

Jisung sighs and his scent thickens like sugar syrup around them instantaneously. He turns to face Minho and, after a swift moment of examining each plane of his face, leans in to join their lips.

If Minho had thought before that he couldn’t get any more addicted to Jisung, he was dead wrong. It was almost easier when he didn’t know the taste of Jisung’s mouth against his, the soft give of his upper lip, the gentle way he’d nip with his teeth.

Now it always feels like he’s being slowly driven crazy just by his presence, and his scent alone has Minho’s mind flooding with a mix of memories and possibilities. And that they both want each other - they’ll discover it all, together.

‘Minho-hyung,’ Jisung breathes, squirming under his hands. ‘I know you don’t want to go all the way, but, could we…’

In lieu of a response, Minho shuffles down the bed, knocking blankets out of the way, and sinks between his legs.

When it comes time for Minho to leave for university again, it’s almost as difficult as the first time. And involves almost as many tears.

Minho knows logically that they’ll only be a couple of hours travel away from each other, but after finally getting what he’s been longing for for almost a lifetime - it feels like Jisung is being cruelly snatched away from him before he got a proper chance to enjoy being his boyfriend.

‘Crybaby,’ Minho says softly as he wipes big fat tears from Jisung’s swollen cheeks. ‘I’ll be back soon. And I’m going to video call you every Friday, remember? I really do promise this time. I won’t break it again.’

‘It’s okay,’ Jisung sniffles. ‘I was just being silly. If you ever can’t make it, just text me, okay, hyung? We can do it another day.’

Minho smiles, his eyes crescenting, full of fondness. ‘Okay. But I’ll make an effort not to miss many. I love talking to you.’

Jisung flushes, and snakes his arms around Minho, burying his face in his shoulder, rubbing his fluffy head against the woollen material of his coat.

‘While you’re away, if any other omega talks to you,’ Jisung says. ‘Just tell them you have a boyfriend at home who isn’t afraid to bite.’

Minho laughs. ‘Got it.’

12

Happy birthday, Jisungie!

Did you get my flowers?

i did hyung!

i love them thank you so much

<3

I’m so glad.

Wish I could be there

so do i

want to ppoppo you

^3^

love you hyung

Love you too

Can’t wait for our call tonight

me toooo

Hyung

Yeah?

im 18 now ^333^

Minho thinks Jisung is trying to kill him.

The end of the semester cannot come fast enough.

When it finally does, on the way back home, Minho stops at a convenience store, and comes out with an opaque bag, containing several items that he had to purchase without looking at the cashier once. His ears are still glowing red.

‘Hyung!’

Minho doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to reuniting with a Jisung who is fully his. He always feels exactly like that eight-year-old child again, literally giddy at the thought of seeing his most darling person. His beautiful omega.

They embrace over Minho’s luggage in the middle of the subway station, and Minho thinks home.

Minho calls a taxi and they head to a hotel, because Jisung’s heat is coinciding with Minho’s return, so instead of returning home directly Minho offered to spend it with him. Properly, this time. Jisung accepted, with a great deal of enthusiasm. And Minho is terrified, excited, and completely certain that he won’t be able to look Han Junmin in the eye again for at least a year.

Jisung takes his hand and squeezes.

‘Kiss me.’

Minho wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t do exactly as Jisung asks - not that he has any reason, nor inclination, to stop himself. The touch of Jisung’s lips and the taste of him electrifies his every nerve.

‘Are you slipping into it yet?’ he asks when he draws back, placing the palm of his hand onto Jisung’s warm cheek.

‘Almost,’ Jisung replies, looking at him hazily.

The hotel bed is soft - they’re lying on top of the plush blanket, and the room is cool and comfortable. It’s softly lit, and provides plenty of complimentary water bottles and towels, and a large washroom; Minho had made sure to book a heat hotel that looked appealing and professional. He’s never used one before, as he’s spent all his heats alone, and Jisung too has spent his in his room.

The realisation of what they’re about to do hits him again and he lowers himself down to rest his forehead on Jisung’s chest, ears burning. Like this, he can hear his steady, slightly quickened heartbeat, thudding soothingly against his skin.

‘Hyung, you’re heavy,’ Jisung complains.

‘Mmm.’ Minho takes another deep breath of the soft fabric of Jisung’s shirt. Shifting a little, he wriggles his hands inside the hem to press his fingertips to the heated skin. He runs them over the little swell of Jisung’s lower belly. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Nuh-uh.’ Jisung shakes his head. ‘Smelling you helps a lot.’

Minho smiles against his chest and moves up, coming face-to-face with Jisung. His cheeks are rapidly colouring and he’s heating up fast, and with the heat comes a beautiful healthy glow and a scent so sugary it makes Minho dizzy. His long, straight eyelashes cast a shadow over his misty eyes, looking up at Minho with utter trust.

Minho lifts his hands to smooth through Jisung’s disheveled hair, slightly damp already with perspiration; the strands cling to his fingers.

‘Jisung. My Jisungie,’ he purrs. ‘Shall we get started?’

‘Hyung!’ Jisung covers his eyes. Minho thinks it’s adorable when he gets shy.

He covers Jisung’s body completely with his own and kisses him.

He drinks down the taste of vanilla like a starving man, curling his tongue and pushing it into Jisung’s mouth until a pearl of spit runs from the corner and sticks their skin together. Drawing back, Minho licks it off of his face and tastes sweat.

‘I wonder how many times I can make you come before you cry?’ Minho asks him.

‘Hyung, not fair, I always cry during my heat,’ Jisung protests, indignant.

‘This time,’ Minho promises. ‘It’ll be from pure pleasure.’ He wipes a bead of sweat from Jisung’s temple, and Jisung shudders at his words, bleary-eyed and breathing heavily.

Their clothes come off quickly, and Minho helps Jisung out of his white underwear. The fabric is turning translucent, and Minho stares at the wetness permeating it, webbing between Jisung’s thighs. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, not by this point, but there’s so much of it, and he salivates like a dog.

He runs his hands over the tops of Jisung’s tanned thighs and his belly and chest, thumbs at the dark reddened nipples there, presses his tongue to the indent of a hip bone and holds it there. His own scent is in the air and they mix and swim together, and Minho gets nearly as wet as Jisung just from the taste of him.

When Minho moves his face between Jisung’s legs, he skips the small, hard cock lying slick and glistening on his stomach, and uses his index fingers to gently stretch open the desperate hole underneath. He’s well into heat now and flowing. Minho presses a kiss to hot skin.

‘Minho…’

His name falls from Jisung’s lips like it’s the only word he knows.

After Minho has made Jisung come once, streaming down his chin, he catches his eye.

‘Did Changbin touch you like this?’ he asks. He licks pure sugar from his upper lip and Jisung’s flush bursts down his neck.

Disoriented, hazy, Jisung shakes his head. ‘No, no.’

He knows Jisung’s first time wasn’t during heat. It’s a comfort to Minho that this belongs to him alone.

‘But he played with this,’ he says, dipping his ring finger into Jisung’s rim.

‘He was good to me,’ Jisung pants, head lolling. ‘He was sweet and kind, he was gentle. But it felt like nothing, hyung.’

‘Did you come?’ Minho asks, placing another finger inside. Though he hasn’t used his fingers on Jisung many times before, it’s already familiar how generously he opens up. How giving he is with his body.

Jisung shakes his head. ‘Not really. Not at the time. A-afterwards he s-sucked me off and I came. It feels so much better when you do it hyung. Like nothing I could have imagined.’

‘This time,’ Minho says, and his own voice sounds dangerous to his ears. ‘You’ll come sitting on my cock. As many times as it needs.’

He combines his oath with a thrust inside, and moves his fingers rapidly against Jisung. The cry he receives in response echoes in his ears and his eyes roll. He feels giddy.

‘I’ll make you forget alpha cock, understand, Jisung?’ Minho asks. Jisung’s noises sound like sobs now but his scent is roiling with pure delight. Minho thrusts his fingers again and Jisung spasms around him, coming again.

Minho is so wet and sticky between the legs, they don’t even need the lube he shamefully bought. He uncaps it and pours it on anyway, twitching when it’s cold, rubbing it in and pressing his slippery cock against Jisung’s thigh to tease himself.

Before he presses inside, he takes Jisung’s hands and entwines their fingers, holding on tightly and locking his arms against the bed. His heart is starting to beat like crazy and he’s scared. His scent falters.

‘Minho-hyung,’ Jisung says. His head pitches upwards and he kisses Minho on the chin, a tiny thing, leaving a wet little mark. ‘I love you.’

Minho exhales and slides inside his omega.

This is where he belongs.

He knows; just because Yongbok accepts him, just because Hwang Hyunjin-ssi accepts him, just because his mothers accept him - Minho knows this doesn’t mean that everybody will accept him. But it doesn’t matter anymore: above all, his darling accepts him, he even accepts him inside his body as the rain patters against the window outside, the soft LED lights above the bed hum, and Jisung pants in his ear and bites down on tender skin.

Minho is still gaping at Jisung, lounging on the bed half-covered by the sheet, unbothered, nearly empty bottle of water in his hand. ‘You never even mentioned…’

Not that Jisung hasn’t been complaining non-stop about school for weeks, talking Minho’s ears off about the unreasonable amount of time he’s been spending studying, glued to the library and living on packets of roasted seaweed and vending machine coffee. But he didn’t tell Minho this.

‘I wanted to surprise you,’ Jisung says, smiling cheekily. His hair is sticking in every direction and there are spots of red on his cheeks. There’s a stark purple mark just under his ear.

‘Wow.’ Minho reaches over to stroke Jisung’s hair and the hinge of his neck under his jaw, the tip of his pinky lingering over the love bite. ‘My Jisungie is so smart.’

‘Minho-hyung,’ Jisung whines, but Minho can tell he likes it. ‘It’s only music, it’s easier to get into than engineering.’

‘Hey,’ Minho says, moving his hand down to squeeze Jisung’s cheeks. ‘Don’t sell yourself short.’

‘Hmph,’ Jisung says with a pout, but the pride is practically radiating off of him - Minho can smell it in his scent.

‘I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other again,’ Minho says. He still can’t quite believe it: Jisung’s been accepted into the same university. Will be living in dormitories ten minutes away from Minho’s own. He’ll be able to see him - every single day, if he wants to.

And kiss him. Whenever he wants.

Maybe next year they can get a place together - a nice apartment, not too big, something cosy and quiet. Minho will cook eggs and rice in the morning and Jisung will decorate the place and make sure the curtains match the cushions. In the evenings they'll watch dramas and get distracted and kiss until they realise it's gone dark outside.

It’s like a dream.

‘Well,’ Minho says. ‘When you get there, and once you’re settled, I’ll be happy to show you around. You can try that garlic chicken I told you about, and we can go for donkatsu, and pizza - I know all the best places, and which cafe on campus has the most delicious coffee.’

‘Minho-hyung,’ Jisung says, the beginnings of a smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘Are you asking me on a date?’

Minho can’t help his own smile, nor does he want to. The way his cheeks ache with it is a beautiful feeling.

He reaches out his hand. Jisung entwines their fingers.

‘Yes, I am.’