Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chan drops onto the floor unceremoniously when Soonyoung calls for a break.

They have been practising the choreography for hours, and although they have made undeniable progress, everyone is tired. Seventeen's best-known feature – that elevated level of accuracy and synchronisation – requires a lot of hard work behind the scenes. So, long hours in the practice room are nothing new for Chan.

Minghao walks over to the sound system to stop the music before Junhui grabs his hand to lead him to sit. Seungcheol passes the omega his own water bottle, having only finished half of it. Jeonghan is sitting beside him, head tucked into the leader's neck with the other's arm wrapped firmly around his waist.

Chan isn't sure why he does it, but he runs his gaze across the rest of the practice room. All the members are sprawled out through the large space in pairs or trios. All the alphas are fawning over the omegas, ensuring they hydrate and are all alright after the rigorous practice.

Soonyoung softly apologises to Seungkwan for being harsh while teaching, the omega huffing in annoyance but melting into his hug regardless. Mingyu and Seokmin are busy annoying Hansol, determined not to let the youngest alpha close his eyes for a moment's rest. Jihoon, on the other hand, is halfway asleep with his head on Jisoo's lap. The alpha is in some discussion with Wonwoo, who brushes his fingers through the producer's hair unconsciously.

A familiar, hollow pang tightens behind Chan’s ribs – not his heart, but deeper, where the frayed threads of his pack bonds coil. This is a customary scene in Seventeen. The four omegas of the group are perfect in every way, so it's justifiable that the group's alphas are so attentive and protective of them.

After all, as an alpha, it is their duty to safeguard and nurture their omegas. That is their primal instinct, part and package of their basal urges. It is the amalgamation of genetics and anatomy.

The fact that the same instincts don’t transfer over to Chan is not a newfound discovery. He noticed it long back – the debut lineup was confirmed by Pledis first, and it was decided that the members would be a pack and everyone received the mating mark from Seungcheol on turning 18 and presenting – that the tenderness his alphas have for the four omegas is not something he has ever been subjected to.

And why should he?

Chan's sub-gender is a beta.

Not only is the purpose and position of a beta in a traditional pack ambiguous (raising the question of their importance and need in the first place), but their numbers have become scarcer with the passing of time. Currently, approximately 20% of the werewolf population consists of betas, and the number is on the decline.

Survival of the fittest has chewed and thrown them out of the gene pool. And with the falling census and social prejudice, it is predictably the least known and researched sub-gender too.

The maknae remembers the anticlimactic letdown he faced back when he had freshly presented, trying to read more about betas in the sterile school library. He found barely anything other than basic, well-known facts: population statistics, typical scent profiles (neutral to mild), and non-cyclical. Their education system isn't geared to teach sufficiently, and public libraries are under-equipped.

Getting his hands on scientific journals behind paywalls feels impossible – a wall of academic language and fees he can’t scale. Once, late and desperate, he stumbled on an abstract about ‘bond fracture in non-dominant sub-genders’. The clinical description of ‘psychic rupture’ and ‘catastrophic bond failure’ made his stomach turn. He closed the tab, chalked it up to fringe science. But the words sometimes echo in the quiet.

It has made things difficult because he has spent years since his presentation trying to figure out what his inner wolf wants and needs. He is still unsure whether he has everything figured out yet. There are still sides and aspects of him, both physically and mentally, that leave him scratching his head. Is the dull, constant ache behind his sternum a beta trait? Is the way his mind sometimes fogs over, and his body burns with phantom pains just… him? If it is due to him being a beta or just part of who he is, he doesn't know.

The rest of his members are just as clueless as he, if not more, and Chan has struggled to explain certain facets of his mental state and the effect of certain actions – or lack thereof – on the bonds he shares with them. He tried initially, a few times, but it never went anywhere and had zero productive outcomes. He still recalls the confusion and sheer lack of consideration he was met with.

I understand I messed up yesterday, hyung, but can you not yell at me like that, please? It makes me weirdly nervous. Just talk to me, tell me where I went wrong, but please don't scream like you did yesterday.

You're telling me being scolded affects you? Chan-ah if that's the case you shouldn't be making mistakes in the first place. Then hyung wouldn't need to scold you. What are you even saying? You are the one in the wrong and now I am the bad guy for trying to correct you?

Nothing is wrong, hyung. I just feel a little lonely, I guess.

Yah! How can you feel lonely with all of us around at all times? We are together most of the time through the day anyway. I would think we would need space from each other after being in each other's vicinity all the time. I think you feel homesick. Should I talk to Coups hyung? See if he can get us a few days off.

Hyung, how do the bonds feel for you?

The bonds? Uhm... I guess it's like an extended line – kind of like a red string. That connects me with you guys. Does that make sense? Why are you asking anyway?

Oh nothing. I meant how it feels for you. Like what emotions does it pass? Does it like – I don't know – ever hurt or something?

Hurt? No, I don't think so. Why? Yah Jungchan! Are you saying we hurt you? Hyungs are giving you a hard time or something? They are just teasing Chan-ah. Don't take it seriously.

Whatever he says, his hyungs always try to solve it. They try to fix things quickly when he tells them something is wrong. So quickly, in fact, that they often don't hear what he has to say and end up assuming on his behalf, giving a solution that isn't even applicable to his situation.

The beta isn't sure when exactly, but at some point, he stopped reaching out to his mates when he had any difficulty or wasn't coping well.

The youngest is used to being unheard. It makes him feel a little invisible, but he has long given up trying to explain his emotions to his lovers. They wouldn't get it anyway. They are not betas, nor do they have anyone in their family or friend circle who is one to get a second opinion from.

He is alone.

So Chan understands if he isn't coddled like the other omegas. He isn't one, after all.

He was supposed to be one. That is what everyone had expected. His family, his members, heck – he had been sure he would present as an omega too. So when he realised he was a beta instead, on the day of his 18th birthday, he was thrown off. Everyone in the pack was, too, but they quickly chalked it up and helped him out in whatever way they could.

Kids raising a kid. That was what it was.

It doesn't help that Chan is the eldest child at home, as he has trouble letting go to just relish being the maknae. He was very eager to have a mature image, something that reflected part of his real personality too, so he was the one who shied away from the members when they tried to baby him back in their rookie days.

So obviously, the members have instead gotten very used to teasing and rough-handling him like an alpha. But he doesn't have the power, presence, or authority of an alpha. And by the time it is all done and the dust has settled, it is too late for Chan to tell them it gets too much at times and ask them to back off a little, to love him a little harder, to handle him gently like fragile goods, to look after him, too.

He is the one who pushed them away anyway. This is his fault, and he has no one but himself to blame.

Chan is just a beta.

So he understands that he is left alone to his own devices. The omegas are a higher priority and are more sensitive than him. And it is second nature to the alphas to want to look after them. He gets that. He doesn't want to interfere in that either. He isn't inherently a cruel or jealous person. But –

Is it too much to ask for if he wants some of that love on him? Just sometimes. He isn't too greedy or selfish. He will be happy with just a minuscule amount of his pack's attention. A little reminder that he is their lover too, instead of a pack member they don't know what to do with. He doesn't like feeling like he is a burden on his hyungs. He feels the hollow pang sharpen into a cold spike. His control is starting to slip.

No. Not now and not here.

With a little effort, the beta pulls himself up, hurriedly heading out the door with a few missteps. He doesn’t get stopped or questioned. Chan doesn't think his mates even notice; everyone is too busy with each other. He blinks back the unshed tears, not wanting to be seen in such a vulnerable state.

He rushes into the nearest washroom and locks himself into the nearest stall, already panting heavily. His heart is racing, and his vision is blurry with tears. He forces the bile down his throat, leaving a burning, bitter aftertaste.

He feels the world tilt – the edges of his vision softening, his thoughts slowing to a thick, instinctual hum. His wolf is pushing forward, a desperate, wounded thing seeking to shield him from the pain. He rests his head on the door, eyes squeezing shut as he forces his breathing to stabilise. It is hard when he feels his heart breaking. There is a strange tingling at the base of his neck, right over his pack mark, and he tries to scratch and get rid of it.

After who knows how long, Chan finally feels a little better. Or at the very least, he feels in control.

That is good. It's enough for now. His breathing is still laboured, and he feels a hollow emptiness inside, but that is familiar and expected. He feels exhausted. He just wants to sit alone in a dark room and cry. He wants to sleep. He needs rest. He has to –

The sound of the washroom door shutting grabs his attention, paired with shuffling footsteps.

Someone is here? Are his hyungs looking for him? Did they notice his absence in the practice room?

Jihoon's voice cuts through his thoughts, followed by an impatient knocking that rattles his body, which is leaning against the same door. "Yah, Lee Chan! Get out. You have been in there for ages. We are waiting to go home. Hurry up."

Ah, of course. They can't go home without him. That is why they are looking for him. He should have known. Seungcheol hyung must have done a headcount and realised at the very end that number 13 was missing. His stupid, traitorous heart! How dare it hope, for just a second, that he is important to his mates?

"Coming, hyung. You go ahead. I'll join you in a second."

"Alright. Hurry up, maknae. We are all tired."

Once Chan hears Jihoon's receding footsteps and is sure the omega has left, he exits the stall. He regrets looking in the mirror. His eyes look vacant. It looks like his soul, body, and wolf are in three separate dimensions. Quickly splashing water on his face helps very little in making him feel like himself.

He still feels detached. Forcing himself out of his headspace alone, without anyone to guide and break his fall, always has that effect. The maknae speculates it is a coping mechanism, but unfortunately, more often than not, his emotional distress peaks at the wrong time, wrong place, and he can't afford to slip and let his wolf take over.

He doubts his hyungs even know that betas have a headspace. Chan isn't sure himself, but he presumes it must be similar to an omega's subspace.

An omega in subspace needs to be brought back gently; the switch between the headspace and reality is made as smooth and seamless as possible, or they can have a drop that will adversely affect their emotional well-being. He has seen his pack help the omegas out of subspace many times. They are so sweet and attentive, always careful and tender, long after they are out just because they can and want to.

He has read that it is difficult for an omega to pull themselves out of subspace and that it leaves a mental scar if done forcefully. A sub-drop is dangerous. But that is for omegas. He isn't sure if the same applies to betas. He is just glad he has learnt to handle it on his own.

He can't help but wonder what it would feel like to be guided out of that headspace by someone else from his pack. Would he feel less emotionally drained and disoriented? Although he doubts his lovers are even interested enough to hear what he has to say. They already have their hands full with the omegas, and he doesn't want to add to that.

The result will be him being left alone again because he is mature and independent and can handle himself. Or at least, the image of him that his mates have can. And he will be left with more heartache. Honestly, he would rather take this hollow void and fatigue than the emotional distress and heartbreak he feels otherwise. Maybe it's for the better.

Oh well. It's not like his pack cares because he, evidently, doesn't matter enough for all that effort.

Chapter Text

Chan pushes open the door to the recording room. Jihoon and Jisoo are inside already, probably waiting for his arrival.

"Hi hyungs."

The maknae isn't surprised by the less-than-enthusiastic hums he gets in reply. It's not like they are happy to see him after a long day. The producer must have been here for a while already, as Seungcheol, Jisoo, Junhui, and Seungkwan recorded their parts today too. Chan is the last one for the day.

"Alright, Dino," Jihoon calls, not glancing up from the screen as he continues to tinker with the equipment before him and adjust the settings to his liking. "You have your lyrics?"

A wave of heat crawls up the youngest’s spine, sudden and uncomfortable. His head feels too heavy, his thoughts sluggish. He has been feeling off since yesterday. He had no wish to pull himself out of bed today, but he has a packed schedule. And being surrounded by people all day exposed him to a blur of scents that now sit in his nose like static – sharp citrus from Jisoo, something earthy from Jihoon, all blending into a muted, overwhelming haze. His own mild fig scent is safely locked away under the patch on his neck, a secret he’s learned to keep.

He isn't particularly worried – it's not the first time he’s faced this bizarre set of symptoms. He knows the drill already. But it still leaves him feeling like shit each time. The youngest's mind swims through thick, sticky honey, so it takes him a few seconds longer to compute.

Jisoo is already frowning at him, and the maknae startles with the realisation that he is yet to answer. "Yes, hyung."

Jihoon huffs haughtily, and Chan tries to tell himself that the older person has had a long day like him, too. His uncooperative attitude won't help anyone. He needs to push past whatever he is feeling and get his head in the game instead of sulking like a child. He pulls out the papers from his bag before approaching the omega.

The producer wordlessly grabs them and passes them to the alpha sitting beside him as he continues to layer the part they have already recorded. The omega adjusts his position so his thighs rest over the American singer's lap. Jisoo pens down some changes on the lyric sheets, writing over Chan's pencilled scribbles.

The beta's heart thuds loudly against his ribcage as he watches the easy interactions between his mates. Why is it so difficult for all of them to deal with him? Is he that bad? What does he lack? Why can none of his lovers handle him with affection and gentleness as they do with each other?

Not the time to spiral, Lee Chan, he scolds, scrunching his nose as his mates' scents press in – not soothing, not threatening, just there, a reminder of a closeness he can’t access. His figs aren't in the mix due to the scent blocker he has on, but maybe his mates prefer it this way?

Jisoo hands the updated sheet to the beta, who goes over the changes with Jihoon once before he is sent to the recording booth. It takes a few seconds longer to fix the mic and headphones, his movements uncharacteristically clumsy – his fingers feel thick and stupid, betraying him. He gives a thumbs up, and the backing track starts to play as the omega counts him in.

He follows the beat and starts singing his part.

It fails.

And it fails.

And again.

And twice more after that.

Chan's hope dims, and he feels himself shrink under Jisoo's scrutiny and Jihoon's scowl. The producer's frustration builds progressively, and he knows it's only a matter of time before it all avalanches down on him like flaming rain.

"Yah, Lee Jungchan! Stop fucking around. It's not that hard, I swear to god." Jihoon has always been harsh. Being an omega never subdued that side of him. The other three omegas are probably the only ones who get a slightly milder version of Lee Jihoon. The maknae has never been on the receiving end of such kindness, though.

He is treated with the same roughness as the other alphas with zero consideration. Is that what he is supposed to be? An alpha? His mind screams all sorts of nonsense at him, and his vision wavers, eyes unfocused. The low-grade ache in his joints sharpens, a familiar ghost-pain he’s learned to ignore. The delirium climbs higher as his infuriation at himself builds.

I am a beta, he wants to say. Scream it till his voice is hoarse and his mates get the memo. "Sorry, hyung. I will try again."

"Dino, please focus. We have had a long day, and Jihoonie even skipped lunch. We just need to get your part down before we can go home."

And Jisoo's words are all it takes to send him crashing to the ground. He is holding his hyungs back. Again. Is he even fit for this job? Maybe he isn't cut out to be an idol. He is doing a poor job at it, evidently. He is a terrible mate and a useless member. Does he deserve to be in Seventeen, being so talentless?

He tries again, but something is off this time, too. He isn't able to keep up with the beat properly. He can already hear Jihoon cursing under his breath. The omega must be hungry and tired. No wonder he is so cranky. And the beta is the one messing up after all. He can't feel bad for himself when he is in the wrong.

"Hyungs, you can go ahead if it is getting late. I have heard the demo. I will record it correctly and then go home."

Jihoon nods immediately, pushing himself off the chair quickly and walking out, slamming the door shut behind him. The omega is trying to avoid the maknae before he ends up saying something too mean to the youngest in his anger.

A tidal wave of misery washes over him, and beneath it, something colder and more precise: a sharp, pulling agony deep in his chest where his bonds live. They hurt and tug painfully, leaving him raw and vulnerable. He scratches at his neck, nails unforgiving on the transdermal patch stuck there and probably leaving marks on his skin, but he can't bring himself to care. His breathing slips into something more irregular and desperate.

"Dino," Jisoo calls, already packing the producer's things, "please finish this soon. It's crunch time, and we can't waste this much time for just one person." The beta nods in agreement, ignoring the twisting pain in his guts. "I will get him home. You finish off here, ok?"

Is Chan even allowed to say no? The alpha may have posed it as a question, but it is clear that it is a command. He nods helplessly again and watches the other leave after packing their things.

The beta collapses to the floor the moment the door shuts, tears streaming down his face as broken sobs punch out of him despite his attempt to keep quiet. He despises this. He hates being left alone like this constantly. Loneliness is starting to become a constant companion, no matter how far he runs from it.

Why can't he do anything right? Why does he have to burden his mates like this? Now they will hate him more. He doesn't want to be alone like this. He feels abandoned. The cold, pulling pain in his chest is a constant companion now, a second heartbeat of neglect. Why can't his hyungs see that he is hurting? Or do they just not care?

The tears eventually run dry, leaving him hollowed out and shivering on the studio floor. He doesn’t remember getting home, doesn’t remember falling into bed. But when his eyes snap open, Chan truly wants to cry.

They have a day off, and he has been trying to catch up on some sleep because he is having that weird phase where his body seems to be going through… whatever it is. The physical aches kicked in since last night, leaving him tossing and turning in bed, and his mind straight-up refused to turn off.

It started a few months after he presented, and no one knew what it was back then – they just assumed the beta was tired. Chan knew back then that wasn't the reason, but he didn't have any other explanations. He’d combed through what little beta literature existed and found nothing about cyclical pain or brain fog. Another mystery to add to the list.

It frequents after that, occurring every once in a while. The youngest has no idea what to make of it as it happens irregularly, following no rhyme or reason.

It leaves his brain in a scrambled mess where his thoughts – especially the ones he tries to keep buried in the depths of his psyche – run rampant. His emotions always teeter, ready to jump from one extreme to another. He feels like his mind is mushy enough to slip into his headspace at any moment, so he consciously has to keep himself in check.

It is very troublesome overall and makes his life harder than it is. The stunt he pulled yesterday is just the tip of the iceberg. Embarrassingly, it took the beta two more hours of constant struggling before he had a version that he remotely liked recorded. He came back to the dorms after that and struggled to get much rest.

The youngest is still struggling to fall asleep despite being able to feel just how exhausted his body is. Scowling at the ceiling in vain, he pushes himself off the bed. This is not working. He clumsily slips on his slippers before stumbling out of his bedroom in his pyjamas and heading straight to the kitchen.

Chan is genuinely impressed with himself for getting a glass of water and two painkillers from the cupboard and only bumping into the counter twice. Given his lack of coordination, it's a feat. Only after he chugs the tablets down does he realise he is not alone. How did it take him this long to notice?

Junhui is sitting at their dining table with Seungkwan on his lap, feeding the omega his breakfast. It is very domestic and cute. Chan's heart lurches with unadulterated desperation. He wants this. He wants these sorts of interactions with his mates, too. The mindlessly cute, disgustingly couply stuff that anyone else would gag at.

It takes him a few seconds to decide before he steps forward towards the pair. He wants to reach out. Needs to, rather. The beta is not blind. He notices the isolation and is struggling to cope with the scars it leaves on him. He needs to get help. Needs to talk to his mates. Before it gets to a point where he can no longer bounce back. But he can never quite get the words out, no matter how many times he tries.

He doesn't get very far before Jun growls lowly in warning. The sound is pure alpha, a vibration in the air that makes the fine hairs on the maknae’s arms stand up. His blood freezes in his veins, and he stops midstep, foot hovering midair before he slowly retracts it. What? Did he do something wrong? He just wanted to talk and maybe get some advice. Fear clouds his mind, and he struggles to think.

Ah, yes. He wracks his brain before remembering Seungkwan and Jeonghan just finished their heat cycles. The alphas are all very doting and overprotective of the omegas in this period, as they are more vulnerable. They always get like this in these times. He feels silly for forgetting.

He doesn't know what they are trying to shield the omegas from, though. He is not going to hurt them. The maknae wouldn't dream of it. They are his mates too. But maybe the members forget that he is pack, not an outsider that they need to protect the omegas from. They fail to recall that he bears the same mark as them, given by the same pack alpha.

It always makes him feel uncomfortable in his own skin and makes Chan question his place here. His current mental state is not doing anything to cushion his fall into the dark side of his thoughts. He clenches his fists, nails piercing the bottom of his palm; the pain keeps him tethered to reality. It also hides the trembling, but that's not –

"Did you need something, Chan?" Seungkwan asks, fingers rubbing circles on Jun's thigh in a calming gesture – probably to assure the alpha that he is fine and the beta is not a threat. Because that is something that needs reminding, apparently.

"Uh-" He has to take a second to debate whether he even wants to do this anymore and decides in a split second to push through. What's the worst that can happen? "I just wanted to talk about something."

Jun blinks owlishly at him as if he is confused as to what the youngest is still doing there. At least that's what it looks like. Chan can only hope that he is shit at reading people and has no idea what is going on inside the alpha's head. But that is thrown out the window when the Chinese man speaks.

"If it is not important, can it wait?"

Because Chan is not important. He is not a priority for any of them. Not anymore. Actually, he isn't even sure if he ever was. There is a strong urge to go back to his family home and hide in his old bedroom and not show his face to anyone till the end of time. He detests how unwanted he feels.

"Yeah, sure," the beta agrees, blinking back any tears that are surely starting to form. "Sorry for disturbing you guys." He feels weak and useless, and pathetic. It genuinely shocks him how familiar he is with this set of emotions.

"Okay, Chan-ah. We will talk later," his best friend promises before getting distracted by Jun pressing kisses to his neck and continuing to feed him the remaining breakfast.

The dancer knows better than to believe the omega's words. He is proved right a couple of hours later when he forces himself out of bed to get food, only to learn from Hansol that Seungcheol and Mingyu have taken all the omegas on a date to get barbecue.

He doesn't know why he feels hurt when he knew this would happen. He gets back to bed and tries to fall asleep, ignoring the irritating itching on his neck. The patch feels grimy, and the skin beneath it burns. He makes a mental note to talk to his manager and book a doctor’s appointment. The itching is a new torment, and it’s starting to feel like his body is betraying him from the inside out.

The note is forgotten by the next afternoon, buried under the weight of another practice, another day of trying to keep up.

"Chan-ah, can you please focus? This is the fifth fucking time!"

"Sorry, hyung."

"If you are sorry, then fix it. We are all tired."

"Sorry," the youngest apologises again as he gives a bow. He is trying, but he can't seem to keep up for some reason today. He is struggling to get his body to listen to him. He has these phantom aches all over, and his limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated, like he’s moving through water.

He hears Soonyoung sigh heavily and looks at the mirror to see Minghao beside the performance team leader with a hand on the elder's shoulder. Ah, he must be calming him down after Chan has done nothing but aggravate him throughout today's dance practice. "Let's take a break."

The members tiredly move towards the periphery of the practice room to sit down and catch their breath. The beta can feel their annoyance and displeasure simmering in the air. He had been messing up the choreo and had Soonyoung stop everyone and have them repeat back from the start. They have the right to be mad at him.

A hand on his shoulder breaks him out of his reverie. He looks up to meet Wonwoo's curious eyes behind his black-framed glasses. "You ok, Channie?"

The nickname soothes his heart a little, though the physical pain is still hard to breathe through. Is the alpha worried? Does he still care about him? Realising he hasn't replied yet, Chan blinks and nods absently. "I am fine, hyung," he forces out the lie. His hyung shouldn't be fretting over him. Wonwoo doesn't look satisfied, so he continues, "Really, hyung. Just a little tired. That's all."

A sardonic laugh resounds behind him. The sound makes the maknae shrink into himself, unable to move or meet his luna's eyes. "Chan, we are idols. This is the comeback season. We are all tired. You don't see the rest of us holding back practice, do you?"

Oh, he must have really fucked up if he has somehow pissed off Yoon Jeonghan. "Sorry, hyung," he repeats, feeling unusually small under the head omega's glare. "I'll do better."

Jeonghan just rolls his eyes with a disbelieving scoff before walking away, joining Jisoo and Hansol, the second maknae passing him a bottle as the other pulls him into a hug, pressing small kisses over his face before burying his nose into the omega's neck to scent him. The display is so easy, so natural.

Chan feels a phantom ache in his own teeth – a weird, hollow yearning. He feels his neck itch again, even under the scent blocker. He knows that his smell is a little overwhelming at the moment – it usually is when his body crashes like this periodically. Hence, the blockers – to avoid troubling his mates or the staff around them. But the constant itch is getting bothersome now.

When the youngest turns back, he finds himself alone. Wonwoo is gone, sitting against the wall with Mingyu's head resting on his shoulder. The taller alpha discreetly scents him, making Wonwoo smile. Chan watches powerlessly as Soonyoung lies beside them and the other 96-liner automatically pulls his feet onto his lap, fingers moving to massage his calves.

Oh. Maybe his hyung doesn't care as much as the beta had accidentally assumed. His bad. He doesn’t flinch when a cold, sharp pain lances through the bonds he shares with the people sitting around him – a brief, icy clarity in the fog of his own hurt. It’s becoming background noise.

He walks over to the mirror and sits down with his back resting against it. His fingers mindlessly tug on his t-shirt collar in an attempt to cool himself. He feels overheated, a flush under his skin that has nothing to do with exertion.

Get a grip, Lee Chan. You need to do better, he chides himself. No more disappointing his team. He can't contribute much to the pack as a beta, but he needs to pull his weight as the main dancer of Seventeen. He can't slack off here, either. The thought is a weak mantra against the tide of his own failing body. He closes his eyes against the glare of the practice room lights, and for a moment, lets the pain just be. Somewhere deep inside, his wolf whines, a soft, exhausted sound. It’s getting harder to ignore.

Chapter Text

Chan enters the dorm room quietly. He stayed back after practice ended to rehearse some more, but didn’t get very far. His body feels like lead, each movement a clumsy betrayal. The beta has no idea why he has these slumps of sorts now and again, where his body just becomes the most uncooperative it has ever been. The phantom aches have settled deep into his bones today, a constant, low-grade fire. And the exhaustion and body pains are something he struggles to cope with.

He is just toeing off his shoes at the entryway when Junhui and Seokmin come out of the living room. “Are you guys going somewhere?” the youngest asks, noticing his hyungs are in a hurry.

“Mingyu, Jisoo and Soonyoung are starting their ruts,” Jun offers in lieu of an explanation as the two alphas quickly brush past him and exit the apartment before the beta can answer.

Their scents hit him in a wave as they pass – spiced cedar and sharp ozone, already amped with rut pheromones. It’s not soothing or imposing, just chemically strong, making the headache brewing behind his eyes pulse.

Oh. That’s why the alphas had been so clingy, and Soonyoung was stricter than usual during dance practice. Chan feels guilty for forgetting despite noticing last week that their ruts were coming when he checked his calendar. His mind has been all over the place recently.

But then another problem comes up. Jeonghan and Jihoon were still in the recording studio when he left the company. The pack is two omegas down during a rut cycle. It will be taxing for Minghao and Seungkwan to handle this. He has to talk to them. Let them know and see if they need any help.

Chan doesn’t usually partake in the heat or rut cycles. He stopped at some point. He can’t remember the last time he was in the pack den. He knows he hasn’t set foot in the new one they have in this apartment, which is built in the unit that Wonwoo and Mingyu share, simply because they had the most space with only two people. It had taken a month to customise and construct the den to accommodate such a big pack.

The beta had stopped joining the pack somewhere during their stay at the previous dorm, most likely in the earlier stages. He doesn’t see the point in it. He never really gets involved, nor does he feel welcomed enough to get involved. Sure, he had mated after presenting before Seungcheol gave him the mating bite, and he had joined the rest during their cycles at the beginning, too.

But something changed, and there was suddenly a wall between him and the others. It had taken Chan’s past self a ridiculous amount of time to realise that it was probably due to his sub-gender. Not dominant enough like an alpha nor submissive enough like an omega. He didn’t trigger their instincts, didn’t fit into the neat binary of care or conquest. He probably fails to please either of the sub-genders.

He still needs to let his members know about the absence of the two omegas.

Quickly slipping on some slides, mindful to wear his own, as some of his mates had complained about how overwhelming his scent gets and how it lingers despite multiple washes.

The memory is a fresh sting. He’d been trying to be helpful, leaving a sweater on a couch. The complaint hadn’t been malicious, just a confused, “Dino-yah, your scent is really strong on this.” He’d smiled, apologised, and later scrubbed his skin raw in the shower, as if he could wash away his own biology. It definitely gave him an inferiority complex, and he became conscious of his own scent, learning to keep it subdued and unchanged even in emotional distress – or leave the room if he can’t.

The youngest rushes out of his apartment, taking the stairs and rushing down to Mingyu and Wonwoo’s floor. He sees Seungkwan in the corridor, calling out the omega’s name. The vocal stops, fingers hovering over the keypad, looking at him in question.

Like he doesn’t expect him here because the beta does not belong in the pack den – Chan’s brain unhelpfully supplies, making him gulp uncomfortably. “Kwan-ah, I just came to let you know that Jeonghan hyung and Jihoon hyung are still in the studio. It’s probably not my place, but do you and Hao hyung need any help tonight?”

Seungkwan scoffs, eyes rolling in clear displeasure and disdain. The omega has always been overtly obvious with his disgust. “Hyungs are on their way back. Don’t worry, they know the rut schedule,” he sniffs primly, already turning away from the displeasing conversation.

The maknae wonders whether he intended to belittle him or if it happened without premeditation. Betas are supposed to be responsible for keeping track of heats and ruts, typically, simply because they don’t have fluctuating hormone levels like alphas and omegas and are less likely to miss the dates. It’s one of the few concrete roles ever assigned to his subgender in the textbooks.

He’s failed at it. He ignores the blood rushing to his ears, humiliation coiling in his stomach. He has failed his mates as a beta once again. “I was just trying to help, Kwan.”

“It’s fine, Dino,” a new voice calls, and the youngest turns to see Hansol approach them. “I already called Jihoon hyung. They are on their way home. Hao hyung and Kwannie can manage till then.”

The – there’s no need for you to join us despite being pack – goes unsaid. But the intent is clear somehow. No one needs a beta. He is useless. Disposable. An unnecessary waste of space. A burden to the group. Tears burn behind Chan’s eyes, and his breathing shallows. He needs to get away. “Ok. Good luck with everything.”

The youngest walks away as quickly as is considered normal and doesn’t stop until he pushes past the door to the stairwell and is sure he isn’t going to be seen or followed. He doesn’t get very far up the steps, though, before his legs give in and he collapses to the ground.

He can’t breathe. His fingers blindly grab the railing as he tries to straighten his posture in an attempt to clear his windpipe. What is even happening to him? Why does the maknae barely know anything about his health and body these days?

He isn’t sure how long he stays there, in a crumpled heap in the middle of the stairs, breath coming out in short gasps before he slowly regains control. He wipes at his cheeks, unsurprised to find them wet. It has been a while since Chan has had an anxiety attack of this intensity.

The 98-liners’ words still play on repeat in his mind. What hope can he have from the rest of the pack when his best friends don’t want him around? He doesn’t think the pair could have made it clearer than that anyway.

Maybe it is time to get away and put some distance between him and his lovers. Can he even call them that? Does it count when he is the only one in love in this relationship? Shouldn’t love be a two-way street, though?

He still feels his mind teetering at the tipping point as his headspace tries to overthrow any conscious thought. His wolf is a frantic, scrabbling thing against the walls of his mind, howling with a hurt so profound it feels ancient. But he can’t do that here. Anyone from the apartment complex can walk in on him. The maknae can’t risk a scandal at the cost of Seventeen’s image and reputation.

With great difficulty, he finally pushes himself up and climbs down, wanting to get to the nearest elevator. Taking the stairs feels like a health risk given his current situation. He is about to open the door he crashed through a few minutes back to run away from his friends. His hands are on the latch when he hears familiar voices outside in the main corridor.

“-shouldn’t have been this late. Hao and Seungkwannie will have trouble handling three of them.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jihoon agrees, sounding tired. “I doubt they were offered any help.”

“Yah, Jihoon-ah!” Jeonghan warns, tone clipped.

“What?” the producer huffs. “I bet Dino is not in there. He is a beta, hyung. He can definitely help with these things instead of dusting his hands off and leaving it all to us.”

Chan chokes on air, tears streaming down his face as he pushes away from the door like he has been burned. He doesn’t want to hear anything else. He waits for a few minutes until he is sure the hallway is clear, and the two omegas have entered Wonwoo and Mingyu’s apartment before exiting the stairwell and getting into the lift.

He is barely coherent by the time he reaches his own dorm, taking three tries to key in the correct passcode. Carelessly slipping out of his footwear, the beta stumbles into his bedroom and closes the door behind him. The silence of the empty dorm is a physical weight. His body is screaming in pain by the time he falls onto his bed face-first. He can’t do this anymore.

It hurts. Everything hurts.

He raises his hand to scratch at his pack mark, his nails running across the sensitive skin in hopes of reducing the itch that is thrumming under it. He exhales sharply when that prickle morphs slowly into an unbearable burning sensation. It feels like the mark itself is rejecting him, a foreign object searing into his flesh. Is it possible to claw off your mating mark without disfiguring yourself permanently?

Are his bonds supposed to hurt this much? No one ever complains of their pack bonds hurting. Is it just him?

He failed as a beta once again, didn’t he? No wonder his pack doesn’t want him. Who will want a faulty beta who has nothing to contribute to the pack dynamics? The old, shameful thought returns: Maybe betas are just a genetic mistake, a subgender the world is slowly phasing out. And he’s the living proof. So he can’t physically protect everyone like an alpha, and he can’t take care of everyone like an omega. But then what does he have to offer?

He can’t even be a good beta. He has been so in his head that the alphas’ rut had slipped his mind. He can’t pleasure either of the two sub-genders for his members to want him in the pack den. He is useless at stopping any fights that ever break out because his position as a maknae somehow precedes his identity as a beta who should be good at being the voice of logic and a middle ground during arguments.

His whole existence is a contradictory mistake.

Maybe he shouldn’t be in the pack anymore. He is struggling with dancing, something he is supposed to be the best at. But Soonyoung hyung scolded him for it today. He has to do numerous retakes during the recording sessions, too. Jihoon hyung must be tired of him as well. Being the maknae is not of any help. Hansol can probably do better than him.

The youngest is useless as a band member. No wonder his hyungs avoid him. He is practically free-loading at this point.

He deserves this, then, Chan concludes as he writhes on the bed. Sweat coats his entirety, soaking through his clothes and sheets. He probably has a fever, too. He feels too heated in his own skin. His limbs feel stiff and heavy, but the agony forces him to move in a futile attempt to find even a little relief.

His scent glands feel raw, and he is sure that they are swollen, considering he has been literally clawing at his pack mark. A coppery, sickly-sweet scent fills the room – figs and blood and panic. Will it make the mark disappear? Can he make the mark vanish? Will it make the pain go away?

He will probably be doing his members a favour. They won’t have to keep putting up with a beta they probably never wanted in the first place. And without the mark, won’t his bonds stop hurting? Chan doesn’t remember a time without the pain. No, that’s a lie. He remembers a time when he didn’t feel the agony, but it’s so long ago, and the ache is so constant that he barely recalls what not having any pain feels like.

Something changes. Something cracks.

He can feel it. His heart doesn’t feel weighed down by the thoughts of rejection. Loneliness doesn’t cloud his mind like a plague. His wolf isn’t whining and whimpering at the thought of being unwanted and rejected by his mates. For one crystalline, terrifying second, there is only silence. A void where the pain used to be. He feels like he can breathe.

And then it all crashes.

Excruciating pain fills his entire body from the inside out. It is not the dull ache of bonds, nor the sharp spike of rejection. This is annihilation. It feels like every thread connecting him to his pack is being ripped out, not one by one, but all at once, tearing through his soul.

The memory of the abstract flashes behind his eyes – psychic rupture – catastrophic bond failure – and he understands. He lets out a cry of anguish. What is happening? Why can he never catch a break? He doesn’t know anything; his mind is blank as red-hot agony overtakes his whole being.

He feels himself slipping into his headspace, and for once, he doesn’t fight it. There is no fight left. His wolf, howling in shared torment, surges forward and pulls him under, not to shield him, but to carry him through the fire. His wolf takes over for him.

Chapter Text

Chan struggles to open his eyes. His body feels heavy like lead, a dead weight pinning him to the mattress. A fuzzy thought surfaces – is someone lying on top of him? But that’s absurd. When was the last time his members had the time to cuddle with him? On realising he doesn’t remember, the need to wake up magnifies, clawing through the fog.

After an abundance of failed attempts, he finally manages to blink his eyes open, only to be met with harsh white overhead lighting. Suddenly, the rest of his senses return in a forceful barrage, leaving him disoriented. A sterile, antiseptic smell burns his nose, burying any trace of fig or pack. A rhythmic beeping syncs with the pulse in his temples.

"CHAN-AH! You're awake?" The maknae recognises his manager's voice before the man comes into his line of sight.

"Hyung-nim," he groans, raising a hand to rub his temples. Is that a migraine? Why does his head hurt so bad? And that beeping – it’s relentless. His throat tickles, sore and dry. "What happened?"

"Let the doctors check on you first, kid," the alpha says. His pheromones are a familiar, muted cedar from years of exposure, not a pack scent but a professional one. It’s grounding in its neutrality. He has already pressed the call button beside the younger's bed as he promises, "I will catch you up on everything afterwards."

Chan tries to subdue his anxiety at how ominous the simple words sound. He instead tries to sit up. Understanding his intentions, Giwook is kind enough to press the button at the side of the hospital bed to fold it into a sitting position and rearrange the pillows behind him.

Looking down has him gasping softly at the sight. There is a needle in his right arm connected to an IV drip. But aside from that, there are scratches; angry red lines running up his forearms, tearing his skin in areas where it has already started to scab. His palms show similar marks – little crescent-shaped divots from what he can only assume was tightening and clenching his fists till his nails broke the skin.

"This is so weird," he can't help but mumble to himself.

The last thing the maknae remembers is being in extreme pain. He remembers his body feeling like it was set alight. He remembers the burning sensation over his mating mark. He feels a phantom itch on the side of his neck and automatically reaches up, only to be met with a soft, cloth barrier. He must have scratched himself badly. He lets his manager gently pull his hand away.

Before the beta's mind starts spiralling, the door opens, and a nurse walks in. She smiles when she notices he is awake. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Chan-ssi," she greets as she grabs the clipboard from the rack at the foot of the bed. "You gave us all quite the scare," she continues, flitting about to check his vitals.

"Well," the lady says, turning to his manager once she is done, "he is stable. No immediate danger, but he will need a significant amount of rest. His body has been through a severe traumatic event."

Giwook nods, and Chan feels a sharp spike of irritation. He has no idea what is wrong with him, and these two are talking over him. He knows he is being childish – he needs to be patient – but he can’t help the frown that settles on his face. Is he demanding too much attention? He can already imagine his members’ disdain if they even notice his discontent. He has felt insignificant – borderline invisible – for so long.

"Doctor Kim will be in soon. You can discuss discharge then," the nurse says before leaving.

"Don't sulk," Giwook grumbles, taking out his phone. He types rapidly, probably informing the company. The youngest’s pout deepens. "And I am done. Alright, let's talk."

Chan huffs, petty, simply because he can. He just woke up in a hospital, alone, with no idea what happened. No one is here to criticise him if he drops his guard. He can already imagine the complaints from his pack if they saw him now. That thought is surprisingly sobering, and he straightens his posture unconsciously. Is that fear? A safety mechanism? It feels like a survival instinct at this point. "I just want to know what happened to me."

The man in front of him sighs, face twisting into a grimace. His expression makes the beta’s stomach knot. To distract himself, Chan looks around the private hospital room. It is white and sterile but spacious, the luxury afforded by his idol status.

It’s then that the wrongness truly hits him. The room is empty. Completely, utterly empty of pack. Huh. That’s strange. Why are the members not here? They may not love him anymore, but he at least expects them to be present if he’s hospitalised. Is he asking for too much again? The maknae doesn’t think he is. "Where are my mates?" he inquires when his manager stays quiet, looking stricken.

Giwook takes a steadying breath. "I didn't allow them to come," he admits hesitantly.

"Why, though? I mean... Did they even want to come?" Chan thinks he sees his manager’s heart shatter right in front of him. What is the alpha hiding? It makes no sense for him to bar the members. Or did his mates not want to come, and Giwook is lying to spare his feelings?

"Chan-ah. Listen carefully and try not to get agitated. It's not good for you. The doctor said you need a lot of rest, both physically and mentally."

This makes the beta feel queasy. With a little inspection, he concludes he feels… normal. Surprisingly normal. The constant, grating pain that had lived behind his sternum for years is just… gone. He is positive his bloodstream is flooded with pain medication, but this is different. His scent gland itches under the bandage, but that’s a superficial thing.

The physical aspect aside, he feels pretty okay internally, which is nonsensical. And why does he feel so… empty?

His bonds. Why don’t they hurt anymore? They always hurt. In fact, that all-consuming agony was the last thing he felt.

How long has he been out? Are Jisoo, Soonyoung, and Mingyu’s ruts done? Did he miss it completely? Is that why no one was able to come? But more pressing – why can’t he feel his mates at all? Not a whisper, not a hum, not a single thread of connection. There’s just a silent, hollow void where the network of twelve lives used to resonate. The void and the sheer wrongness of it throw him so much that he gasps and pushes himself up.

Giwook is quick to grab his shoulders, but Chan still hisses as the IV needle pulls in his vein. His other hand flies to his chest, right over his heart, as if he could physically grasp the absence. He looks at his manager, silently pleading for answers because this is terrifying.

"You ended up breaking the bond with the pack. You are an unmarked beta now."

Chan’s breath hitches. Is that even possible? The abstract he’d read once flashes – psychic rupture – catastrophic bond failure – no longer a distant, clinical concept. It’s his reality. But it also makes a horrible, brutal sense. The mind-numbing pain… it would make sense if he were severing twelve bonds at once. No wonder it felt like dying. He hadn’t even realised it was a possibility.

So that’s it? he wonders. No more mates. No more Seventeen. No more pain. He is all alone after so many years in a pack. And the members? Are they done with him, too? Is that why he woke up alone?

"The others were here. They wanted to see you too," the manager informs, sensing the younger's direction of thoughts. "But, considering the fact that you broke your bonds, it didn't feel right to let them come near you. Not until I hear directly from you that that is what you want."

Breaking mating bonds is nearly unheard of, but not impossible. It is not a choice. It is a systemic collapse. The medical literature Giwook had frantically consumed used terms like ‘psychic rupture’ and ‘bond starvation.’ It is a last-resort survival mechanism of the wolf, undertaken when the bond itself becomes a source of lethal trauma. So if the beta broke his bonds with twelve mates, the cause wasn’t a fight – it was a prolonged, agonising erosion.

Chan is speechless. But he doesn’t feel the devastation he might have expected. Instead, a cold numbness spreads through him, a cool sort of acceptance settling deep into his bones. The constant pain had been a scream for connection. The silence now is its answer. This feels like the only possible outcome. "How long have I been here for?"

"It's your fourth day. You were in a medically induced coma for two days to let your body start healing from the… loss. You’ll be discharged soon if your vitals stay stable. But you have to start therapy immediately. You need to take a hiatus."

Oh. He has been out for that long. The world moved on without him. He’s too tired to care. Other things need more attention. "I won't be joining any more group activities."

The alpha inhales sharply, his scent spiking with distress before he quickly reins it in. The maknae’s nose wrinkles automatically – a lifetime of managing others’ scents is a hard habit to break. "You are leaving Seventeen?"

Chan nods, glancing at the vital signs monitor. His heart rate has increased, but the rhythm is steady. "If I am not part of the pack, what's the point of being in the group? We all need space." He ignores the devastated look on the older man’s face. He had more important things to finalise. "Will it be difficult to terminate the contract, hyung-nim?"

The manager blinks. "I don't know," he replies honestly, wincing at the beta's expression. "All of you just re-signed. It won't be easy. But if this is what you want, I will have a lawyer look at it. I’ll talk to management. I can't promise no consequences, but I will minimise the damage as much as I can."

The youngest stays quiet, letting the information seep in. His mind and heart are in two different places. The only thing he has going for him is that he feels no pain. This is the first time in years his thoughts are his own, uncoloured by the aching feedback loop of neglected bonds. His wolf made the decision. How can you feel lonely with twelve mates? It sounds ridiculous. But his wolf decided they were not worth it. His lovers are not worth it.

He had considered leaving, but not like this. He thought of moving out, putting physical distance between them. The thought that they’d be better off had been a cloud over his mind. But this… He hadn’t known his own biology held this nuclear option. A final, desperate edit to a story that was killing him. "Hyung-nim," he calls, looking back up. "Should I move out?"

Giwook sighs heavily. "If you want that, then yes. But you will have to see them to pack your things. I can try to arrange it so you don't have to interact if you're uncomfortable."

"No," Chan declines, shaking his head. A strange, solid calm fills him. "I have not done anything wrong to hide. I will deal with them." He sounds more confident than he feels. Is he ready to face his ex-mates? The answer doesn’t matter. The path is clear. The bonds are gone. The silence in his chest is a cleaner wound than the constant ache ever was.

"I am done with them."