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1. Hyeongseok
“Thanks for all your help, hyung,”
Heo Su shrugs as he dumps an armful of extra sheets and towels onto Hyeongseok’s bed. “Don’t worry about it. Just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”
Hyeongseok quickly snatches up the linens, tucking them randomly into the nest that’s slowly taking over his bed. His cheeks are already flushed with feverish heat, and the overpowering scent of fake cherry assaulted Heo Su before he even knocked on the younger man’s door. It’s not surprising in the slightest, though. Before Hyeongseok had even nervously asked about heat accommodations, the entire team had kinda just…assumed their support was an omega. Even Yonghyeok, who may very well be the only genuinely scent-blind person Heo Su knows, had taken one look at Hyeongseok before unsubtly waggling his eyebrows at Heo Su.
Actually, he probably should have sent Yonghyeok to deal with the miserable, cycling Hyeongseok, ‘cause the scent of the younger man is kinda giving Heo Su a headache. It’s not necessarily bad, just incredibly strong. Normally, Heo Su can smell all of his teammates in the dorm to some capacity, whether it’s just a faint whiff from under someone’s door or the stifling smell of his clingy juniors trying to clamber into bed with him. But ever since two PM that afternoon, the entirety of their small dorm had been drowned in Hyeongseok’s scent, suffocating everyone but the blissfully noseblind Yonghyeok.
On the other hand, Heo Su had very legitimate concerns about inflicting Yonghyeok’s tactlessness on a possibly emotional omega.
Though Hyeongseok appears to be managing reasonably well–or so Heo Su would assume. It’s difficult to differentiate which parts of the younger man’s frenetic, restless energy are hormone-driven, as opposed to the baseline level of anxiety Hyeongseok seems to operate on. Heo Su wouldn’t say he pities Hyeongseok; that’d feel like a disservice to his resilience. But he also likes to think of himself as a kind person, at least to some degree, and kind people don’t usually enjoy watching their teammates shake and cry before going on stage. It makes Heo Su’s stomach upset and his hands restless, and also weirdly angry at his own powerlessness, as if he should be able to fight off Hyeongseok’s anxiety for him. Yonghyeok had called it maternal instinct. Heo Su had called him stupid.
“Um,” Hyeongseok peeks out at Heo Su from where he’s pulled his duvet over his head like a cloak, “It’s really okay if you say no, but, canwemaybe…”
And then he’s trailing off, averting his eyes from Heo Su’s face and pulling his duvet tighter around himself. But while it’s been a long time since Heo Su has had an omega on his team–not since Changdong–he’s no stranger to how heats typically play out, and he’s been a victim of an omega’s hormonal compulsion to be held on many, many occasions. He sighs deeply, but kicks his slippers off regardless, motioning for Hyeongseok to pull his covers back. Then, careful not to jostle the younger’s nest too much, Heo Su tucks himself in next to Hyeongseok, wrapping an arm around his middle and dutifully leaning his head back so Hyeongseok can scent him.
“Thank you,” Hyeongseok whispers, barely audible from where he’s pressed his face to Heo Su’s chest.
“I told you,” Heo Su pats his back, “It’s nothing to worry about.”
2. Yonghyeok
What came first: Yonghyeok treating Heo Su’s lack of resistance to his personal space being invaded as consent to continue, or Heo Su just allowing it because some innate part of him understands Yonghyeok’s going to do whatever the hell he wants, regardless?
Heo Su decides it doesn’t ultimately matter because the answer isn’t gonna stop a slightly more than tipsy Yonghyeok from bullying his way into Heo Su’s bed. His junior hums, pleased, as he tucks himself against Heo Su’s back, wrapping a heavy arm around the smaller man’s middle and nuzzling his nose into Heo Su’s hair. Heo Su rolls his eyes. At the very least, Yonghyeok is warm and pleasant-smelling–like delicate, sweet fruit–and he doesn’t thrash around in his sleep. Sometimes, when he’s suckering himself around the smaller man like a mass of tentacles right out of a bad hentai, Yonghyeok has a very subtle spice to his scent.
It’d be a nice little accent to the smell of summer if it didn’t mostly just make Heo Su want to sneeze.
“You should have come out with us, Heo Su,” Yonghyeok slurs, his breath fanning over Heo Su’s nape.
“I was trying to catch up on some sleep,” Heo Su scowls, “But someone woke me up.”
Yonghyeok giggles. “Oops.”
Once again, Heo Su finds himself rolling his eyes. He briefly hopes he smells irritated enough for Yonghyeok to notice, and then immediately remembers that his junior can’t smell anything at all. Instead, he pinches Yonghyeok’s forearm harshly, only to be ignored entirely as the younger pulls him even closer. Heo Su closes his eyes and accepts his fate as Yonghyeok’s body pillow for the night. His breathing has already slowed to match Heo Su’s, his chest somehow pressing even closer to Heo Su’s back with every mirrored inhale. And as exasperated as he is, Heo Su won’t deny that the combo of Yonghyeok’s body heat, scent, and rhythmic breathing isn’t incredibly soothing.
He’s just about fallen back asleep when Yonghyeok speaks, soft and fearful.
“Do you want me to stay, Heo Su?” He whispers against the skin of Heo Su’s neck.
Heo Su freezes, plunged into the icy waters of memories, the timbre of someone else’s voice sweeping through him.
“Do you mean…stay here? In bed?” Heo Su whispers back, though he already knows what Yonghyeok is asking.
“My contract. Do you want me to stay with you?” Yonghyeok rubs his face against Heo Su’s back, his scent progressively growing spicier and spicier. “I’d understand if you wanted Canyon-hyung back. Really, I would.”
And Heo Su’s been here before, held by a jungler while he asks for permission to stay. Heo Su hadn’t caught it back then, foolishly self-assured that Geonbu would be by his side forever, to ever even consider that the other man was looking for something more than what Heo Su could offer him. He hadn’t caught the edge in Geonbu’s scent, the uncertainty in his tone. He had flippantly told Geonbu to do as he pleased and had just assumed that meant staying with Heo Su.
“No,” Heo Su says, firm, “I don’t want Geonbu back. I want you to stay.”
Yonghyeok breathes out deeply, relaxing subtly. Heo Su hadn’t even noticed the younger man had gone so tight.
“You miss him, though,” Yonghyeok murmurs. It’s almost petulant, childish, and so riddled with anxiety and acrid spice that Heo Su has to wrinkle his nose.
And he hums, ‘cause he does miss Geonbu. But they’ve walked different paths for a few years now, diverging far enough apart that even their minimal interactions on the rift are enough to tell Heo Su that they just aren’t the same boys anymore. Moping and uselessly commiserating have done nothing but exhaust Heo Su, and he ardently refuses to waste any more of his precious energy on someone who’s gone and has been gone. The days of Heo Su and Geonbu are over and buried, and Heo Su has long since made his peace with it.
“I do. But it doesn’t matter, ‘cause Geonbu isn’t coming back. And I don’t want him,” Heo Su soothes, lacing his fingers with Yonghyeok’s, “I want to play with you. So stay.”
Yonghyeok is silent a moment longer before closing his hand around Heo Su’s. “I’ll stay. Thank you, hyung.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
3. Geumjae
Over the course of his career, Heo Su has often found himself incredibly happy to be a beta. Sure, it’d be cool to experience a mating bond or whatever, but he’s heard the horror stories his alpha and omega friends have told him, and it doesn’t seem really worth the years and years of carefully managing hormones and pheromones that come with those dynamics. And he knows everyone experiences their heats or ruts or whatever differently, but when Hyeongseok went into pre-heat, Heo Su won’t lie and say that he didn’t immediately think of how completely miserable and painful Daegil and Changdong’s heats were. Changdong, in particular, would always beg Heo Su or Hyukyu to stay with him because he could never remember any of his heats, and he didn’t trust himself not to do something incredibly stupid while under the haze of hormones.
So yes, Heo Su is confident in saying a presentation rut mid-way through the split sounds like an utterly wretched experience, and he didn’t envy Geumjae in the slightest, especially given the complete lack of warning. No pre-rut symptoms, no acne, mood swings, or headaches. One minute, they’re just getting back to the dorm from scrims. Next, Hyeongseok is nervously digging through his bag for scent blockers, and Yonghyeok is dragging a very red Geumjae to his and Hyeongseok’s room for three pitiful days of…exactly what alphas do in rut. But the three days go by quickly–at least for Heo Su–and then Geumjae is right back to his normal, appallingly talented self. His scent is slightly stronger, suddenly losing the milky undertone of adolescence, and he’s somehow even more touchy with Hyeongseok. Other than that, he’s still just Geumjae, steady and down to earth as always.
And those two were on a collision course, anyway. Heo Su put money on it.
As in, Yonghyeok owes him 400 won because Heo Su is currently staring down a very sweet-smelling hallway at Geumjae, standing at his bedroom door and wringing one of his hoodies between his hands. The younger man is transfixed on his door, entranced by the overly sweet smell of Hyeongseok’s pre-heat; the perfect accelerant to hasten their inevitable collision. Heo Su clears his throat loudly.
Geumjae nearly leaps right out of his skin, jumping away from his door and immediately trying to open a hole in the ground with his eyes. The tips of his ears and his cheeks are slightly pink. Whether it’s from embarrassment or Hyeongseok’s pheromones isn’t discernible. It doesn’t really matter because captainly duties include making sure his teammates aren’t making questionable life choices. Or at least, using protection while they make questionable life choices.
“Come with me,” Heo Su beckons Geumjae to his room, shutting the door once the younger man has dutifully followed him in.
“I was just gonna give this to him, I swear, hyung,” Geumjae rushes out before Heo Su can even sit down. “I really wasn’t going to do anything to him, I promise.”
Heo Su collapses onto his bed, patting the mattress beside him. “Relax, Geumjae. I’m not like, reporting you to HR. I just wanted to…check in, I guess.”
Geumjae nods tentatively, his jaw clenched painfully tight. Now that there’s a door separating them from Hyeongseok’s scent, he can smell just how stressed Geumjae is, like wet, rotting plant matter. Heo Su scratches his neck. A big part of him violently protests everything he’s about to say, reminding him of Geonbu kissing him, reminding him of Geonbu leaving him, and how badly it had all hurt. It had flayed him open and poured salt on the raw wounds, and then left him for the murder of crows that had been circling overhead. But Geumjae and Hyeongseok aren’t Heo Su and Geonbu, and Heo Su knows that if they want each other, nothing he could say would stop them. He knows because he was told the same thing about Geonbu, and then had no one to go to in the aftermath because he did something he was told not to do.
At the very least, Heo Su wants his fledgling botduo to have someone to come to if they meet the same painful end he and Geonbu did.
“Look, I’m neither approving nor am I disapproving of whatever you and Hyeongseok are doing,” Heo Su starts, “But I need you guys to be smart, okay?”
“I promise we are hyung. Or, well, I am. I don’t know if he knows how I feel about him.” He looks to his hands as he says it, once more fiddling with his hoodie.
Heo Su grunts. “I’m serious, Geumjae. “ You have got to be careful,” he takes a deep breath, says a brief prayer, and continues, “Like, use protection. Oh my God, please tell me you know how to, like, use a condom, ‘cause I am not going to be the one explaining it to you. Google it or something, just do not get your support pregnant, okay?”
It ends up coming out in a bit of a slurred rush, mostly because saying it out loud is somehow even worse than thinking it was. Heo Su is not cut out for this. His face feels just as red as Geumjae’s looks, and he’s fairly certain neither of them has so much as breathed since the start of their conversation, paralysed in the apprehensive grip of embarrassment. Yonghyeok should’ve had this conversation. He probably would’ve brought a banana along to demonstrate, the shameless bastard.
“Um. I know. And Hyeongseok’s on the pill,” Geumjae stares at his hoodie as if he can unravel the fabric with his eyes alone.
“Great! Why do you know that?” Because while Heo Su is privy to knowing about the LCK’s birth control policy for omegas, it’s not openly discussed, and many new, non-omega players come in unaware of it.
Geumjae scratches the back of his neck. “When we moved into the dorm, he asked me to remind him to take it, ‘cause he forgets it a lot. So I’ve been reminding him when we wake up.”
Really, Heo Su does not get paid enough for this. He stares at Geumjae blankly. The younger man shrinks back, which is really an impressive feat, given his stature. Somewhere in his room, a clock ticks, and Heo Su can feel the last vestiges of his patience drain away with the time. Were he and Geonbu this stupid? Which, actually, yes, and it’s a damn good thing they didn’t have to worry about accidental pregnancies, because Heo Su would have pups by now otherwise. Still, he’s gotta give Hyeongseok points for the audacity to ask the man he’s interested in to remind him to take his birthcontrol.
Heo Su reaches out and pats Geumjae on the shoulder.
“You are a very good teammate, friend, whatever to Hyeongseok, and I’m sure he appreciates you more than he can put into words,” Heo Su pulls the hoodie from Geumjae’s hands, “And I’ll bring this to him for you.”
Shockingly, Geumjae smiles softly at the words, his scent finally relaxing into something gentler and more floral. “Thanks, hyung. I’m really grateful for all your guidance and patience.”
Heo Su manages to turn before Geumjae can see the way his face screws up at the words. “It’s nothing. Just don’t be dumb.”
4. Siwoo
While Heo Su agrees with the general notion that top-laners are a particular breed of weird, he disagrees with the follow-up notion that they are therefore unknowable in their bizarreness. He’s had a pretty long career. Known and played with many different top-laners. Sure, they’re maybe a little…mystifying, but definitely not completely incomprehensible. They just need some patience.
Siwoo has been particularly hard to crack, though. It may simply be a clash of personality: Siwoo’s extreme variation of introversion doesn’t mix well with Heo Su’s…everything. He’s caught Siwoo flinching away when Heo Su yells at a soloqueue game, or giving him odd looks when it’s three AM and Heo Su is delirious from sleep deprivation and soloqueue soul-torture. Which is fine. Heo Su understands better than anyone that he’s a bit of an acquired taste.
Still, he can’t help but feel a prickle of irritation over Geumjae getting closer to Siwoo in three months than Heo Su could in a year. It might be the age difference–which, no, Heo Su will not comment on further–so Siwoo just naturally gravitates towards someone closer in age to him. It might also be Geumjae’s personality, as he has an easy-going, steady presence that human equivalents to shy stray cats naturally gravitate towards. And it’s also just slightly…humiliating to be disgruntled about Geumjae’s success at socialising with Siwoo.
Especially because Heo Su knows the younger man in his own way.
“I’ve never flown anywhere before,” Siwoo whispers to him.
The entire team is sitting at the gate for their flight to Hong Kong. Nervous energy thrums through the lot of them in incremental waves, increasing in ferocity, and all of it rolling off their toplaner. Siwoo is seated next to Heo Su, frantically bouncing a leg as he watches planes land and take off outside the massive windows of the gate. He keeps looking to Heo Su, and then to Geumjae, and then back to the planes on the runway. The scent of burnt wood leaches through his scent blockers, curling up Heo Su’s nose and down his throat, leaving soapy ash in its wake. Then, Siwoo will dig his fingers into his knees until his nailbeds go white, before abruptly relaxing his hands and starting the cycle of staring again.
Heo Su reaches out and grabs Siwoo’s left hand, lacing their fingers together before the boy can worry at his pants again. “I know, I remember you saying,” Heo Su squeezes Siwoo’s hand, “Have you told the film crew? I’m sure they’d want to include that.”
Siwoo snaps his gaze from the tarmac to Heo Su. “I’ve never flown before,” He repeats quietly. He squeezes Heo Su’s hand back.
Heo Su tries not to let his confusion show on his face. Siwoo holds his gaze, his dark eyes wide and his jaw clenched, mouth drawn in a thin, tight line. Surely that can’t be comfortable with his braces? Regardless, his expression only shows a fraction of the tension woven tight throughout the rest of his body. He grips Heo Su’s hand hard enough to blanch the skin around his fingertips, his wrist flexed rigid enough to show elegant ligaments and tendons under the thin skin of his forearm. Heo Su frowns.
“I’ve never flown before. And Geumjae is asleep,” Siwoo casts a furtive glance to Geumjae, head hanging over the back of his chair and slack-jawed. Yonghyeok and Hyeongseok are taking a selfie on either side of the younger man’s unconscious body. Siwoo looks back at Heo Su and gives his hand another rhythmic squeeze.
Ah.
“Are you nervous?” Heo Su asks gently. Siwoo nods vigorously.
Okay, issue identified. And honestly, Heo Su gets it. He can remember how overwhelming it was to fly to his first international, five million years ago. He sat with his fists balled so tightly in the hem of his jacket that by the end of the flight, his hands ached worse than his butt did.
Heo Su smiles and hopes it doesn’t look as deranged or ominous as it usually does. “It’ll be fine once you’re in the air, you’ll hardly notice. And planes are statistically the safest way to travel,” He rubs a circle into the skin of Siwoo’s thumb, but the younger man looks unconvinced. “You should sit with me, how about? Yonghyeok won’t mind switching.”
“...Okay. That would be nice, I think,” Siwoo agrees softly, his jaw relaxing ever-so-slightly. Heo Su nods and gently extricates his hand from the boy’s grip.
By the time they’re actually physically boarding the plane, Siwoo has begun to look slightly green and ghostly. Heo Su herds him to their seats regardless, desperately repeating to himself that Siwoo will not vomit, and he will definitely not vomit on Heo Su. He should ask for a raise when he renegotiates his contract in the fall. In the aisle next to theirs, Hyeongseok has commandeered the window seat from Geumjae, already pressing his face to the glass. If anything, Heo Su had assumed Hyeongseok would be the nervous first-time flier, but he suspects any anxiety the younger man feels about the situation is being beaten back by Geumjae’s arm on his back, gently petting his support. Yonghyeok sends Heo Su a curious glance but doesn’t outwardly question the seat-swap, nonchalantly settling in the aisle seat next to Hyeongseok and Geumjae.
Halfway through the safety demonstration, Siwoo grabs Heo Su’s hand again, strangling his palm every time the pilot mentions “emergencies”. Once the plane actually begins taxiing into position for takeoff, Siwoo not only looks violently ill but also smells it, the harsh stench of a forest fire worming its way through the boy’s scent blockers and settling in the cabin. Heo Su catches a few confused and irate stares directed their way, the passengers around them trying to discern the source of the oppressive pine-smoke scent. He sighs heavily and makes a wager, peeling off his own scent blocker. Then, Heo Su tugs his hand free of Siwoo’s death-grip, wraps his arm around the younger man’s neck, and pulls his face to his throat.
Now they’re really getting some annoyed looks, but Heo Su’s little gamble seems to be paying off, so he really doesn’t give a shit. Siwoo tries to pull away for all of three seconds before he’s suddenly grasping the front of Heo Su’s hoodie and inhaling his scent in a quick legato. The muscles of the taller boy’s neck begin to go loose and pliable under Heo Su’s palm, and he breathes out in a sigh of relief. However, Siwoo goes rigid again as soon as the plane begins to take off, his breathing suddenly growing strained and uneven. Despair briefly and violently crushes Heo Su in its grip, before immediately turning around into despondent acceptance of his junior potentially puking on him. He sighs and slides his hand into Siwoo’s hair to gently scratch his scalp as the plane begins its ascent, wondering absent-mindedly if any of their teammates have a change of clothes in their carry-on.
He must fall asleep momentarily, because suddenly the seat-belt sign is flicking off with a tell-tale ding. Semi-consciousness drags its feet across Heo Su’s vision, and he blearily blinks the last dredges of sleep from his eyes. Miraculously, he notes, he remains free of any Siwoo-puke. His breathing has evened out some, and his vice grip on Heo Su’s jacket has loosened into a gentle clutch, like a baby holding someone’s finger. Heo Su pats him gently on the back, and silently thanks the universe for hearing his pleas to remain unvomitted-on.
Siwoo abruptly pulls away from Heo Su, taking his body heat with him, and stares down his senior with wide, glimmering eyes. His glasses sit askew on his nose, and his hair is rucked up in every manner imaginable, surely from Heo Su scratching his head. Heo Su reflexively reaches out to straighten out his junior’s glasses, and frowns as he attempts to fix the disaster he made of Siwoo’s hair. Oops.
“Are we in the air?” Siwoo murmurs, obediently holding still as Heo Su combs his fingers through his hair.
“Oh. Yeah, the seatbelt light just went off, so we’re at cruising height,” Heo Su hums, finally satisfied he’s sufficiently groomed Siwoo. “How do you feel?”
The younger boy’s gaze darts around the cabin, his chest puffing up as he absorbs their surroundings. “A little better, I guess.”
Which is better than being seconds away from puking out of fear, Heo Su supposes. “Great. Better than bad at least.” Siwoo’s eyes snap to his, and suddenly, Heo Su is being gunned down by the most distressed, slightly pathetic, but mostly just heartbreaking look. It’s like being stared down by those sad, skinny puppies in those Humane Society commercials. Heo Su sighs and flicks up the armrest between their seats. “Alright, c’mere.”
Siwoo doesn’t even respond, immediately collapsing into Heo Su’s arms again and nestling his nose right at the junction of the elder’s shoulder and neck. He slowly goes lax as Heo Su cards his fingers through his hair, his scent finally beginning to ease into the much more bearable sweet, woody aroma that Heo Su is used to. In fact, Heo Su is fairly certain Siwoo has fallen asleep, splayed on top of him, given how slow his breathing becomes over the next ten minutes. Eventually, Heo Su pulls his hand from Siwoo’s hair and fishes his phone out, opening one of the glitchy dogshit mobile games he’d downloaded at three AM.
“You smell like this gel my grandma used to put on my bruises,” Siwoo whispers to him, barely audible over the droning of the plane’s engines. “It’s really nice. Thank you, hyung.”
Ugh.
“It’s no problem. Just sleep,” Heo Su whispers back.
+1. Heo Su
Being back in Seoul less than three days after landing in Hong Kong is really…pitiful.
That’s all Heo Su really has to say on the matter. Their drafts? Pitiful. Their macro? Pitiful. Getting 3-0’d? Pitiful. His teammates’ puffy eyes and red noses afterwards? Pitiful. They play pitifully, they pitifully apologise to their fans, and then slink back to Seoul on a red-eye. Pitifully, of course.
And Heo Su can’t even consider himself above his younger teammates’ mournful reactions, because here he is at four AM, staring at his ceiling and dissecting every single action he took the entirety of their time in Hong Kong. Some pathetic excuse of a senior he is, collapsing the second his juniors need him. He couldn’t even comfort them afterwards, so apathetic and accustomed to losing that he had just stood by and stared as his juniors tried to reassure each other. It’s a wretched, disgusting feeling, shame wriggling in his guts like some monstrous tapeworm eating him from the inside out. He’s long known he’s not cut out for captaincy, and this showing only further solidifies it.
There’s a knock on his door.
Before Heo Su can even sit up and tell off whoever is knocking on his door at four in the morning, Yonghyeok is swanning his way into the room, a cloud of particularly peppery watermelon rolling in with him.
“You better not have been drinking,” Heo Su immediately scowls.
Yonghyeok snorts, pulling Heo Su’s duvet from his lax grip and sliding in beside him. “I cuddle you sober way more than I do drunk. Besides, I could smell your miserableness all the way down the hall.”
“Can’t a man be miserable in peace? I didn’t need someone to come comf–Oh, you asshole,” Heo Su splutters, glaring viciously at Yonghyeok as the taller man manages to pull Heo Su to lie on his chest.
“I’m shocked that actually worked on you,” Yonghyeok snickers.
Heo Su chooses to ignore Yonghyeok’s crowing in favour of finding a comfortable position on his mattress for the night. Ultimately, he settles on one of Yonghyeok’s thighs between his and his ear to the taller man’s chest, hands resting on the mattress at either side of Yonghyeok’s ribs. Finally comfortable with his jungler’s arms around his lower back, Heo Su lets his eyes slide shut, because there’s really nothing he can do in this position except try to sleep.
There is another–very tentative–knock at his door. Heo Su ignores it, but Yonghyeok shifts and twists below him, presumably looking to the door.
“Oh, Siwoo. Come in, come join us,” Yonghyeok flips the duvet back, and if Heo Su concentrates really hard, he can, in fact, catch the gentle smell of wisteria winding through Yonghyeok’s scent.
Siwoo silently slips into bed next to them, somehow managing to squish close enough to avoid falling off the edge of the mattress, Yonghyeok’s arm trapped under his neck. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, his undereye circles particularly dreary, and shadowy, and sad. Before Heo Su can stop himself, he’s running his hand through the boy’s hair in quiet acknowledgement. Siwoo closes his eyes.
So much for Heo Su’s scintillating plan of spending his night moping and hating himself for existing.
“Um, is this a bad time?”
Oh, good lord.
“Nope,” Yonghyeok calls cheerily, flapping the hand on Siwoo’s shoulder in a vague beckoning gesture.
This time, Heo Su is fully prepared to see Hyeongseok clambering onto the bed, because he’s unusually strong-smelling, the scent of cake somehow drowning out even Yonghyeok’s. Hyeongseok manages to find enough room in their tangle of lower limbs to sit down, his legs crossed and hands gripping his ankles tight enough to bruise. Their sole omega takes a deep, steadying breath, and Heo Su abruptly realises he does not have the patience to listen to more of Hyeongseok’s self-flagellation.
“Hyeongseok, where’s your boyfriend?” Heo Su cuts him off. The younger man makes a painful choking noise as Yonghyeok and Siwoo both make interested noises.
“He’s not my–” Hyeongseok splutters.
“I’m right here, hyung,” Geumjae sighs, suddenly appearing from the veils of shadows and resting a hand on Hyeongseok’s shoulder.
Yonghyeok pats the duvet. “Come on, Geumjae, we’re snuggling.”
The younger man surveys them before carefully stepping onto the bed and settling into the last remaining gap in their legs. And honestly? Heo Su doesn’t care anymore. Sure, his four juniors have somehow managed to all fit themselves onto his twin mattress. He really can’t be bothered to care anymore, too worn down by exhaustion and pinned under the collective weight of his teammates’ scents. Why not? Heo Su’s life is already a joke; he might as well turn his bed into a clown-car of depressed League players while he’s at it. At least he’ll sleep well with the body heat.
“We should have just made a nest on the floor or something,” Yonghyeok sighs absent-mindedly, “I’m kinda warm.”
Heo Su’s mouth is moving before he can stop it; the part of his brain responsible for thinking before he speaks held up by the haze of sleep. “Is it omegaphobic if we ask Hyeongseok to do it?”
Somehow, the room manages to get even quieter. Heo Su’s fairly certain that even his fan shuts itself off in second-hand embarrassment. He closes his eyes again, mentally readying himself for…whatever tongue-lashing he’s about to receive from his juniors. Casual omegaphobia. Add it to the list of reasons why Heo Su deserves nothing.
He’s saved, however, by Hyeongseok bursting out laughing. “Hyung, Oh my God,” is all he manages to choke out before devolving into a fit of giggles.
Heo Su sighs in relief as the rest of his teammates follow Hyeongseok’s lead and start snickering. Sure, it’s at his expense, but at least no one is about to file an HR complaint. At least, he hopes not.
“I’m just saying. You make really comfortable-looking nests,” Heo Su grumbles, “Please don’t tell our managers I said that, I just haven’t had an omega on my team in years.”
“He does,” Geumjae confirms solemnly. Hyeongseok makes an affronted noise, and there’s a soft thud of someone’s hand hitting someone’s chest.
This only serves to make his juniors laugh even harder, but Heo Su decides he’s fine with it. The ugly notes of pepper and rotting plant matter and whatnots have dissipated from their scents, leaving a combination that’s much more reminiscent of their scrim room after their streams, when they’re all a little delirious and loose from sleep deprivation. Heo Su has enough humility to admit that it’s incredibly comforting, the air sweet and soft with his juniors’ carefree laughter.
Yonghyeok pats his hip. “You’re the best captain ever, Heo Su,” He tells him through giggles, tenderness oozing from his words like puss from an infected wound, “I’m serious, you’ve been awesome.”
“Yeah, you’ve taken really good care of us, hyung,” Siwoo agrees immediately.
Heo Su wrinkles his nose at the words, rejecting them immediately and violently. Just throwing them right out the window and letting them land on the concrete with a wet, gory splat. It goes against the narrative Heo Su has built for himself, and he’d like to bathe in the caustic acid of self-loathing for a while longer, thanks. Or at least until after VOD review.
“I’m the only captain you’ve had,” He argues, “You have no reference point to compare me to.”
“Okay, but what if I say you’re the best captain I’ve had?” Geumjae jumps into the ring with a statement so loaded that he should consider investing in steel support beams to help bear its weight.
“You need to be locked in an asylum,” Heo Su says flatly.
“Heo Su, please,” Yonghyeok groans, “It will not kill you to take a compliment.”
“You don’t know that,” Heo Su whines, childish.
He’s losing it. He’s losing it, and he’s never getting it back. He doesn’t even really know what ‘it’ is, just that it’s being torn away from him by his juniors’ gentle, warm hands, leaving a vicious gaping wound in his chest. All of a sudden, Heo Su kinda feels like crying. He feels like screaming, like demanding why his teammates won’t see the shortcomings that are so blatantly obvious to him. Tears begin to sting his eyes. And the worst part is how goddamn weak he feels. Too feeble to stand up under the weight of Hyeongseok and Geumjae’s smiles, too frail to push Yonghyeok’s arm from across his waist, too fragile to even reach out and swat away Siwoo’s hand, slowly petting his hair.
All that’s left for him to do is take it.
“Thank you, Heo Su, really,” Yonghyeok murmurs, briefly pressing his lips to the crown of Heo Su’s head as the rest of his juniors echo their appreciation.
It’s just slightly too warm. Geumjae and Hyeongseok have somehow found enough space to lie down over the covers, fitting themselves like puzzle pieces between Heo Su, Yonghyeok, and Siwoo’s bodies. Siwoo has stopped stroking his hair, letting his palm rest on Yonghyeok’s chest, inches from Heo Su’s face. The pepper has faded from Yonghyeok’s scent, leaving only the familiar scent of fruit on a hot summer day. Heo Su closes his eyes.
“Really, it’s nothing,” He mumbles.