Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jay is in the living room. 

Of course he is in the living room, because of course he has stayed at the dorm.

Jungwon has spent a good hour ignoring that fact, then another hour working out trying to forget that fact, and now, well, now he is getting ready for bed—and Jay is still just… there.

Feet bare, skin pink from the hot shower and damp hair still dripping onto his sleep shirt, Jungwon sits down on the couch, folding his legs under him, scrolling through his phone. A solid impression, he thinks, of a Jungwon who didn’t spend any significant amount of time tonight mad at his favorite hyung for absolutely no explainable reason.

Or, well, an impression that might have at least fooled some of the other members. Sunghoon, possibly Niki or even Jake, on a good day. Not Heeseung, definitely not Sunoo. And never Jay.

Jay is drinking whiskey from one of the heavy tumblers he keeps in his own room at the other dorm. Smoky, aged for longer than either of them have been alive, probably. Expensive, most definitely. He’s fiddling with a guitar string. 

His scent gives nothing away—not that Jungwon would be able to tell—and he doesn’t really look up and acknowledge Jungwon sitting down next to him, but Jungwon knows he appreciates the peace offering. He never stays mad at Jungwon, never raises his voice.

Jungwon thinks it’s easy not to get mad at someone when you don’t care about them very much. But that is not what this is. He knows that, too. It’s scary, sometimes, knowing how much Jay cares about him. Because Jay cares so much . He should be out having fun, should be out being young, should be out with his pack —not sitting here, wasting his time on someone who hasn’t even presented yet. Who might present and disappoint all of them any time now. 

He might not be able to tell that their scents are gone, but he’s very aware that they are out there, somewhere without him, in a bar, dancing, drinking, making bad decisions, maybe, and he can’t protect them. And it’s his pack, and he can’t be there with him. He hates it.

The company encourages the going out. Young idols should go out, should learn how to handle it, should get used to the way a packed venue feels so that they don’t slip up when it matters.

It’s all still controlled, still monitored, of course. Their managers go with them, make sure no one does anything stupid. But it’s necessary. Alphas need to learn to rein in their possessive instincts. Betas need to learn what’s expected of them. Omegas need to learn what to look out for.

No one wants someone unpresented in the mix, disrupting the balance, useless to whatever the point of the exercise is. Because he doesn’t belong anywhere yet, because they can’t account for him. Because he isn’t anything yet. Even if he’s supposed to be their leader.

“You didn’t go out with them.” He says it more just to say something, because this—this being in an empty, quiet dorm with Jay and not having his entire attention—it’s throwing him off.

Jay still doesn’t really look at him, but there’s nothing guarded about him. 

Maybe the sort of demonic little beings that make Jungwon clam up when there’s any danger of a real moment happening—maybe Jay just doesn’t have any of those. 

Jungwon should drop it. Should let it go, should just sit here and wait for the others to get home so he can count their footsteps like always and prove to himself that his pack still exists, that they're all safe and at home.

But instead, his brain latches onto something worse. Maybe the reason Jay won’t just go to the club, like a normal person is because he already knows what Jungwon wants and is waiting for it, just as greedy, just as certain.

But Jungwon isn’t certain at all. He’s nothing.

And he hates Jay for waiting.

Jungwon has spent a lot of time, over the years, thinking about that. Jay seems to always just put his heart out there, able not only to correctly identify how he feels but then to also just go ahead and tell other people about it, put his heart and mind and entire being up for other people to know and judge him. Completely terrifying.

“You could have gone out with them.” He tries again. 

Really, he knows he won’t be able to sleep. Not until the others are back home.

“Jungwon, I—” Jay starts, voice a little tight but soft, a little scratchy. He puts down his whiskey tumbler.

“I didn’t ask you to stay,” Jungwon defends himself, preemptively.

Jay leans back, one hand on the back of the couch. He looks up, another hand finding Jungwon’s left ankle, drawing slow, small circles with his thumb. It tickles. Jungwon lets out a small sound, embarrassingly close to a squeak, he thinks, but Jay doesn’t let up, his thumb circling more insistently now, less feather-soft, more pressure.

They stay like this for a few minutes, then ten, twenty. The emptiness of the dorm is so apparent like this, even if this is usually the quieter of the two.

“Do you want to watch the next episode of that show?” Jay finally asks, turning to him, hand leaving his ankle and picking up his whiskey again. There’s only a little bit left, and Jungwon follows the way the amber liquid reflects the light of Sunoo’s expensive humidifier until all of it is gone and Jay is catching a stray drop off his lips with the back of his hand.

They end up in Jungwon’s bed. Without really turning the lights on, and without really talking, they watch two full episodes, Jay reaching over to start the second one without jostling Jungwon too much. 

Jungwon won’t say it, but he loves when his bed smells like Jay—a little smoky, like campfire and expensive leather, Sunoo has said. Jungwon just knows he likes it; he can’t really tell what the scent is or put words to it. 

Jay’s arm is solid around his waist, his chest broad against Jungwon’s back. His breathing is slow—Jungwon thinks he might be falling asleep soon. 

He shifts, arching back into him, just slightly, just to see, and Jay tightens his grip.

And Jungwon knows.

He told himself he wouldn’t,  not tonight.

But he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

It’s easy. It’s always easy.

Jay is always up for it, always wants it, now, after all that convincing, and Jungwon—Jungwon doesn’t have to think when he’s doing this. He doesn’t have to think about what comes after, doesn’t have to think about what they are, doesn’t have to think about what will happen when he finally presents and ruins everything.

Jungwon knows what’s normal in a pack. It’s normal that they would all be intimate, in some way. Not all of them, necessarily, not if they don’t want to be, but most of them, some of them—a bond that goes beyond what even the company would ever mess with.

When they were younger, he knew , on some level, that the hyungs were… doing that. But he wasn’t part of it, and that was fine. Neither was Sunoo, neither was Niki, at first, until they all presented. Until they all left him behind. 

Jungwon had begged Jay for it. That’s the truth.

At first, Jay resisted. Of course he did, because Jay is good, because Jay is Jay, because Jay follows all the rules. He told Jungwon to wait, that it wasn’t only about whether he was of age or not. He told Jungwon that it was not simply about knowing you want something but knowing why. That he’d wait for him. That he wouldn’t do anything with the others if that made it easier for Jungwon. 

But Jungwon was relentless. And Jay… gave in.

Not all at once, not the moment Jungwon had asked for it, but slowly, hesitantly. Testing boundaries, making sure Jungwon wouldn’t regret it, making sure he wanted this, that it wasn’t something Jungwon was forcing onto himself just to feel like he belonged.

Jungwon knows it’s bad, knows he’s a terrible leader for this, knows he should be waiting for all of them or for none of them. He should want what’s best for his pack, not just for himself.

And he does want them. He wants the closeness of it, the scenting, the way it strengthens the pack bond, the way it makes everything feel safe and right and whole. He wants that easy intimacy with them, to be able to help his packmates through ruts and heats the way they help each other, to be included in what is already there.

But he can wait for that, he’s okay waiting for that. Just not for Jay. Not if Jay is doing that with them, but not with him.

The thought of it had nearly killed him. The idea of Jay, his Jay, being with them like that, but not him, or denying himself anything at all, because Jungwon still wasn’t—

It had driven him to desperation, made him reckless and selfish. Had made him break the rules. Because if he couldn’t be part of that, if he couldn’t be a real part of their pack, then he needed to at least be this to Jay.

And Jay let him. Jay lets him.

So he presses back, tilts his head just slightly, and Jay gets it immediately.

His arm tightens around Jungwon’s waist, his other hand finding Jungwon’s hair, smoothing it down before curling his fingers into it. Jungwon turns in his hold, twisting his upper body, and Jay meets him halfway, his lips brushing against Jungwon’s jaw, then his mouth.

Jungwon sighs into it. He lets himself sink into Jay’s warmth, lets Jay take his weight, lets himself pretend that none of the other things that are eating him alive exist.

It starts slow. It always does. Jay kisses like he’s waiting for Jungwon to back out, for Jungwon to change his mind, for Jungwon to push him away, but Jungwon never does.

Jay’s lips move against his, patient and steady, and Jungwon presses closer, his fingers digging into Jay’s shoulders. He twists fully now, moving so that he’s straddling Jay’s thighs, his knees pressed into the mattress on either side of Jay’s hips.

Jay makes a low sound in his throat, and then he rolls onto his back, pulling Jungwon with him until Jungwon is seated on top of him, thighs bracketing his waist.

Jay’s hands settle on him like they always do—one on his hip, fingers pressing in, the other curled around the back of his neck, thumb stroking along the hinge of his jaw. He guides him, tilting his head slightly, pressing up into him, letting Jungwon take what he needs.

Jungwon breathes him in. His fingers slide up to Jay’s jaw, then tangle in his hair, pulling slightly, and Jay groans against his lips.

He needs this. He needs this so badly.

Jay murmurs against his mouth, voice rough, breathless. “Baby, you sure?”

Jungwon makes a noise in response, something caught between a hum and a whine, something he hopes conveys yes.

Jay exhales, low, shaky, and then his grip on Jungwon’s hip tightens, his other hand sliding down, pressing between Jungwon’s shoulder blades to bring him down, closer, deeper.

And Jungwon lets himself have it. For now. 

A soft moan escapes Jungwon's throat as Jay's fingers trace his spine. He rocks his hips instinctively, seeking more friction, more contact. Jay groans in response, his own hips lifting to meet Jungwon's movements.

Jay noses along Jungwon's jaw, his breath hot and damp against the sensitive skin. His lips trail down, feather-light kisses mapping a path to Jungwon's neck. He lingers there, inhaling deeply, like he’s searching for something.

There's a hint of frustration in his movements now, a tension in his muscles as his body struggles to understand.

Jungwon feels the familiar mix of emotions wash over him - guilt, anxiety, and a deep, aching want. He's used to this dance by now, this year-long waltz of desire and confusion. He knows Jay's body is searching for something he can't provide.

With a low growl, Jay suddenly tightens his grip on Jungwon's hips. He pulls him down with more force, grinding their bodies together. The friction sends sparks of pleasure shooting up Jungwon's spine, and he can't help the breathy moan that escapes his lips.

"What do you want, hm?" Jay's voice is rough, heavy with desire. His fingers dig into Jungwon's flesh, sure to leave marks. "Just want to come?"

Jungwon shakes his head, his hair falling into his eyes. "No," he manages to gasp out. "Want hyung to come too."

Jay's eyes darken at his words, pupils blown wide with lust. He surges up, capturing Jungwon's lips in a searing kiss. His hands roam Jungwon's body, sliding under his shirt, mapping every dip and curve. Jungwon arches into the touch, his own hands fumbling with the hem of Jay's shirt, desperate for skin-on-skin contact.

Jay's lips never leave Jungwon's skin for long, always returning to his neck, his jaw, as if hoping this time will be different. This time, he'll find what he's looking for.

Jungwon's fingers tremble as they trace the planes of Jay's abs, feeling the muscles tense under his touch. He wants more, always more, but he knows the limits. They've had this conversation—this argument—more times than he can count.

Their movements are practiced, familiar. Jay's hand slips beneath the waistband of Jungwon's sweatpants, wrapping around him with just the right amount of pressure. Jungwon gasps, his back arching off the bed.

Jay works him slowly, teasingly, his lips trailing along Jungwon's jaw. Jungwon's hands fist in the sheets, his hips bucking up into Jay's touch.

"Hyung," he whimpers, overwhelmed, “Please, faster."

Jay obliges, his strokes becoming quicker, more purposeful.

Jungwon feels the heat building in his lower belly, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. He knows it won't take long, it never does because Jay knows him so well by now. They fit so perfectly together in this - this, if nowhere else, yet. 

Jay's hand moves with practiced precision, his thumb swiping over the sensitive head on each upstroke. His other hand roams Jungwon's body, tracing the curve of his spine, the jut of his hipbones. He leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of Jungwon's ear as he whispers, "That's it, baby. Let go for me."

The combination of Jay's touch, his voice, and the pet name sends Jungwon over the edge. He comes with a choked gasp, his body shuddering in Jay's arms. Jay works him through it, his strokes slowing as Jungwon's breathing evens out.

Their lips move together, soft and unhurried. Jay tastes of whiskey and something he can’t put a name to yet but would know blindfolded. He loses himself in the sensation, in the gentle slide of Jay's tongue against his, in the warmth of Jay's hands as they roam his back.

Slowly, deliberately, Jungwon begins to trail kisses down Jay's jaw, then his neck. He feels Jay's pulse quicken under his lips, hears the sharp intake of breath. Emboldened, Jungwon continues his path downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Jay's collarbone, his chest.

He knows what's coming. He knows Jay will stop him, just like every time before. It's one of Jay's rules, born from some misguided sense of propriety or protection.

And—there it is. Jay's hand, still in his hair, tightens its grip slightly. "Jungwon," he says, voice low and warning.

But Jungwon doesn't stop. He continues his descent, fingers hooking into the waistband of Jay's sweatpants. His mind flashes to the knowledge that others have done this for Jay before. The thought makes something hot and ugly coil in his gut, jealousy so intense it makes him dizzy.

A firm hand on his shoulder stops him. "No," Jay says, voice gentle but brooking no argument. "Baby, you know we can't."

The familiar sting of rejection settles over him once again. "We can. You just won't let me,” Jungwon mumbles. The words hang heavy in the air, unacknowledged but not unheard. What he doesn't say echoes even louder in his mind: You'll let Jake though. Sunoo, too. Heeseung, even.

But instead of voicing these thoughts, Jungwon swallows them down like bitter medicine. He's had practice at this, pushing away the sharp edges of jealousy until they're dull enough to ignore. He knows dwelling on it will only make things worse, will only widen the chasm between them.

So he does what he knows Jay likes, what he's allowed to do. He brings his own fingers to his mouth, parting his lips slowly, deliberately. His tongue darts out, wetting his fingertips, his eyes never leaving Jay's. He watches as Jay's pupils dilate, as his breath catches in his throat.

Jungwon takes his time, making a show of it. He sucks two fingers into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, letting Jay see exactly what he's missing out on. Jay's eyes are dark, hungry, fixed on Jungwon's mouth with an intensity that makes Jungwon's skin prickle with heat.

When his fingers are sufficiently wet, glistening in the low light of the room, Jungwon withdraws them slowly. A thin strand of saliva connects his fingertips to his lower lip for a moment before breaking.

Jay's breath hitches audibly at the sight.

Maintaining eye contact, Jungwon reaches down, wrapping his slick fingers around Jay's length. Jay hisses at the contact, his hips jerking involuntarily. Jungwon begins to move his hand, setting a slow, torturous pace.

He knows exactly how Jay likes it - the right amount of pressure, the twist of his wrist at the end of each stroke. He's memorized every detail, every reaction, storing them away like precious secrets. Wants to be the best at this, at least, if he can't be anything else to him.

Jay's breathing grows heavier, more ragged. His hands fist in the sheets, knuckles turning white. Jungwon can tell he's trying to hold back, to maintain some semblance of control. It makes Jungwon want to push harder, to see just how far he can go before Jay breaks.

He leans down, his lips brushing against Jay's ear. "Is this good, hyung?" he whispers, his voice low and teasing. 

Jay's breath hitches at Jungwon's words, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. "Yes," he groans, voice strained. "So good, baby. You're so good."

Jungwon feels a surge of pride at the praise, at knowing he's the one making Jay fall apart like this. He increases his pace, twisting his wrist on the upstroke in the way he knows drives Jay crazy. Jay's breathing grows more ragged, his muscles tensing beneath Jungwon's touch.

Jay's hands come up to grip Jungwon's hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Jungwon welcomes the pain, relishes in it. If he can’t have Jay just to himself—These marks, at least, are his alone. A secret, physical reminder of what they share.

"Jungwon," Jay gasps, his voice tight with need. "I'm close."

Jungwon leans down, capturing Jay's lips in a searing kiss. He swallows Jay's moans, feeling the vibrations against his lips. Jay's hips buck up erratically, fucking into Jungwon's fist with abandon.

Jungwon breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against Jay's. They breathe each other's air, panting heavily. Jay's eyes are squeezed shut, his face a mask of pleasure and concentration. Jungwon drinks in the sight, committing every detail to memory.

With a choked groan, Jay comes, spilling over Jungwon's hand and onto his own stomach. Jungwon works him through it, slowing his strokes as Jay's body trembles with aftershocks.

They stay like that for a moment, breathing heavily, bodies pressed close. Jay's arms wrap around Jungwon, holding him tight against his chest. Jungwon can feel Jay's heartbeat, rapid and strong, against his own ribcage.

Jungwon exhales, forehead still resting against Jay’s, but the warmth between them is already starting to shift, settling into something heavier. The afterglow never lasts long enough.

Jay’s hands run lazily up and down Jungwon’s back, grounding, steady. Neither of them speaks for a moment, caught in the quiet, the way their breathing evens out together. Jay presses a slow, lingering kiss to Jungwon’s temple before finally sighing and shifting beneath him.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, voice still thick, still warm. His hand squeezes at Jungwon’s waist before he nudges him gently. “We should clean up.”

Jungwon hesitates. He wants to stay like this. Wants to let Jay keep holding him, wants to close his eyes and pretend there’s nothing waiting for him outside of this bed.

But he nods. 

Jay moves first, pushing himself up onto his elbows, then sitting up fully. Jungwon follows, shifting off of him and sitting on the edge of the bed. The air between them is comfortable, familiar in the way this always is—Jay handing him a tissue from the nightstand, Jungwon using it to wipe his hand off before tossing it in the trash. Jay grabs another for himself, cleaning his stomach, then swings his legs off the bed with a quiet groan.

Jungwon watches as he pulls on his discarded sweats, as he stretches his arms over his head before rolling his shoulders.

Then Jay leaves for the bathroom, the sound of the sink running filling the quiet.

Jungwon exhales again, rubbing at his eyes before following, stepping into the doorway as Jay finishes washing his hands. He watches his reflection in the mirror, the way Jay catches his gaze as he dries his hands off on the towel hanging by the sink.

For a second, Jungwon thinks Jay is going to say something.

But he doesn’t.

He just reaches forward, presses his palm against the side of Jungwon’s neck, rubs his thumb over his jaw, and then lets go, stepping past him to head back to bed.

Jungwon lingers in the bathroom for a moment longer, gripping the edges of the sink, breathing in deep before washing his own hands, letting the cool water run over his skin longer than necessary.

When he steps back into the room, Jay is already lying down, one arm tucked behind his head, eyes half-lidded as he watches Jungwon turn off the light and climb back into bed. Jay shifts, tugging him in, settling against him again like they always do. Like nothing has changed.

But as Jungwon stares up at the ceiling, muscles relaxing into the warmth of Jay’s body, his mind starts running again.

Jungwon should be out there with them. He should be at the club, making sure Sunoo is okay, making sure Niki doesn’t get into trouble. He should be with his pack.

He lets out a breath, shaky, then rubs his hands over his face. His body is exhausted, muscles sore from the workout earlier, but his mind won’t stop. It won’t stop running in circles, chasing its own tail, chasing every mistake he’s made, every insecurity, every ugly thought he can’t shake.

He knows what the company thinks. They picked him because they thought he would be a beta. It made sense—he was even-tempered, good under pressure. He wasn’t the biggest, wasn’t the strongest, but he was smart and steady, and they all thought, everyone thought—he would balance the group.

Heeseung was already an alpha, and Jay was too, and Jake settled into being a beta so easily that it seemed like everything was working out, like they’d have a good split.

And then Sunghoon presented as an alpha, and it was becoming too many alphas, and they waited, because surely, Jungwon would even it out.

But he didn’t.

And then Niki presented—of course, of course he was an alpha, he was the youngest, but alphas present early, and it was expected. But then it was just Jungwon and Sunoo left, and nothing happened.

And nothing happened.

And nothing happened.

And then Sunoo.

Sunoo, bright and soft and full of so much love, Sunoo who had worried but never really doubted that he would be an omega. Sunoo, who had blossomed into it, finally able to stretch into a space that had always been waiting for him, like the whole world had finally clicked into place.

And Jungwon had smiled and hugged him and felt this terrible, gnawing thing inside him, something ugly and raw that he buried as deep as he could.

Because if he presented as an omega too—if, if, if—then it wouldn’t be the same. Not for him.

Sunoo had been celebrated. Sunoo had been expected. It was lovely for a kpop group to have an omega, these days.

But not Jungwon. Jungwon would be a problem.

And the worst part, the worst, worst, worst part, is that he still wants it.

Not because he wants to be an omega—he’s not even sure what that would mean, what it would look like for him, because he’s spent years pretending it wasn’t a possibility—but because if he’s an omega, then maybe, maybe he can—

Jay.

Jungwon clenches his jaw, shaking his head like that will force the thought away.

If he presents as a beta, then Jay won’t-then Jay will eventually realize that Jungwon isn’t enough. That he doesn’t want him the way he thinks he wants him now. That they don’t fit, not completely.

Jay is an alpha. Jungwon has known that for years. It’s just what he is, as unshakable as the fact that Jungwon isn’t anything yet.

And if —if Jungwon presents as a beta, Jay will still want him. Jungwon knows that, logically. Jay already wants him now, before he’s anything at all. And Jay is with Jake, too, isn’t he? Jake, who is just as strong and steady and solid as anyone could ask for in a beta, who doesn’t spend nights twisting himself in knots over whether or not he’s enough.

So it shouldn’t matter.

It shouldn’t.

But Jungwon can’t let himself think about it too hard, can’t let himself picture it too clearly—what it would be like to know, deep in his bones, that Jay could have something more.

That being with Sunoo, or worse, some other, unnamed omega, would fulfill something in him that Jungwon never could. That it wouldn’t be Jay’s fault, exactly, it’s just biology, it’s just instincts, it’s just how it works, but—

Jungwon thinks maybe he would die.

He loves Jake. He respects Jake. He doesn’t think betas are less than anything.

But this isn’t about that.

This is about how Jungwon is just as greedy as Jay is for him. How Jay wants him completely —waiting, patient, endless—and how Jungwon wants to be the exact, irreplaceable, one missing piece of him in return.

If Jay is an alpha, then Jungwon wants—

No.

No, he doesn’t.

He clenches his fists, his nails pressing into his palms. He doesn’t let himself finish the thought.

If he presents as an omega, he won’t get to be leader anymore. He will lose his place in the group. He will disappoint everyone. The company won’t allow it. There has never been an omega leader of a K-pop group before, and he won’t be the first.

And what’s worse is that he can’t even talk about it.

Because he wants Sunoo to be everything he can be. He wants Sunoo to love being an omega as much as he does now, to go around free of the kind of expectations and stereotypes that make Jungwon’s stomach twist. He wants Sunoo to be happy, to be celebrated, and he won’t be the one to plant doubt in his mind, to make him wonder if things will go wrong for him, somehow. They won’t. Jungwon will make sure of it.

But for Jungwon, they will.

One way or another, they will.

And if he admits what he wants, then he has to admit that he is a terrible person, because he can’t want it, because wanting it means losing everything else.

Jungwon knows they probably have contingency plans already drawn up, stored in some executive’s inbox, stamped confidential but ready to go the moment it becomes necessary. How to announce it, how to spin it, how to make it sound like it was always the plan.

Due to recent developments, leadership within the group will be transitioning to ensure the best team dynamic moving forward.  

Something vague, something impersonal. The way they would assure everyone that it was the best decision for all of them. The way they would word it to make it sound like a promotion for someone else rather than a demotion for him.

Maybe they would say it outright—how grateful they are for everything Jungwon has done, how he was the youngest leader in their company’s history, how proud they are of him.

And then they would shift. 

If he loses his job, then who takes his place? Jake, probably. It would make sense. The safe choice, the non-controversial choice. They would say he had always been a good second-in-command. A beta, stable, exactly what the company wanted all along.

Or - worse . 

But as Engene will surely understand, in such an alpha-heavy group, it only makes sense to have a leader who can bring the right dynamic to the team.

Maybe Heeseung. Maybe Jay.

But probably Heeseung.

And it would work. Because Heeseung is older, and experienced, and an alpha. And they would talk about how of course he was always part of the leadership team, how of course it makes sense. They would make it seem like he was the true leader all along.

They bet on the wrong horse, but they’ll make it right.

Jungwon clenches his hands in the blanket, tight enough to hurt. He can’t think it, can’t say it, but the thought is there, poisoning everything.

He loves Jake. He loves Heeseung. He does. He respects them. But he does not want to hand his pack over to them.

If that happens, Jungwon isn’t sure he can go on like that. If he could stand there while they made the announcement, if he could sit through the interview where they all nodded along and pretended they weren’t disappointed in him.

And what kind of person does that make him?

We know this news may come as a surprise, but we hope you will continue to support us as we embark on this new chapter together.

He’s already a disappointment. He knows it. He feels it. Every time one of them looks at him like they’re still waiting for something that may never come.

And Jay—Jay, who just keeps waiting.

Jay shifts slightly, like he can tell Jungwon is panicking. He probably can. His voice is soft, so soft. Almost a whisper against his ear. “There’s nothing out there that I want, Jungwon.”

Jungwon stays very still. Maybe if he doesn’t breathe, he won’t have to talk about it.

Jungwon knows there is no outwaiting this conversation. Jay is a very, very patient man.

Jungwon should have stayed in his room. He caved, and he missed his Jay hyung, and he wanted—this. But he should have stayed in his room, alone. It suddenly feels a lot bigger than what it is, like the words will swallow him whole if they get out and somebody hears them and Jungwon isn’t quick enough to hide.

Now, Jay gets to think that he won (he didn’t) and that Jungwon wanted him to stay (he didn’t ) and he gets to continue to convince himself that he’s okay with just waiting around until Jungwon fucks up bad enough for him to have to give up this delusion of love, or duty, whatever this is. 

Whatever it’s been for months, years, now. 

Jay’s hands move lazily in Jungwon’s hair, slow and absentminded, as if he’s half-asleep. His fingers slide through the strands, smoothing them down, curling lightly at the ends before starting again. The rhythm is comforting. Familiar.

Jungwon closes his eyes, pressing his cheek against Jay’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. This is supposed to make him feel safe. It does make him feel safe. But it also makes his stomach churn with something restless and sharp.

Because Jay is here. And he shouldn’t be.

He should be out there, drinking with the others, loosening up with Sunoo and Niki, laughing at whatever stupid thing Jake is saying, rolling his eyes at Heeseung and Sunghoon being competitive over a pool game. He should be in the mess of it, the heat of bodies, the mix of pheromones, the natural, unshakable bond of packmates just being together.

Jay shifts slightly, like he can feel the tension creeping back in. His palm moves from Jungwon’s hair to his nape, rubbing small, deliberate circles against his skin.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, baby?” Jay asks, voice thick with drowsiness.

Jungwon hates that he can’t hide from him.

He swallows, voice coming out tighter than he means for it to. “You should’ve gone.”

Jay stills. For a second, there’s just silence between them, the faint hum of the heater, the distant sound of cars outside. Then Jay sighs, like he knew this was coming.

“I didn’t want to go,” he says, voice soft but firm.

Jungwon exhales sharply. He pushes up onto his elbows, putting some distance between them, staring at Jay in the dim glow from the nightlight across the room. “Why?” he demands, and he hates how it comes out, too raw, too exposed .

Jay watches him, eyes still half-lidded, but there’s something alert in them now. His hands slide to Jungwon’s hips, keeping him close, keeping him from pulling away completely. “You know why.”

Jungwon shakes his head, suddenly overwhelmed. His body is exhausted, but his mind won’t let him rest . He clenches his jaw, looks away. “It’s stupid.”

Jay exhales, quiet but measured, like he’s holding himself back from saying something he knows will push Jungwon further. His fingers flex slightly where they hold him. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t know what you’re doing right now.”

Jungwon scoffs. “And what am I doing?”

Jay tilts his head, just a little. “Trying to convince yourself I don’t mean what I say.”

Jungwon inhales sharply through his nose, but it’s not steady. He presses his hands to his face, drags them down slowly before dropping them into his lap.

He forces himself to breathe. Forces himself to focus. He already knows how this goes.

They’ve had this argument so many times. He hates that he does this to Jay. Hates it. He begs him for it, then gets angry at him for staying. He lashes out, tries to shove him away, and Jay—Jay never leaves. He always stays. And Jungwon hates that, too.

He hates that his brain is screaming at him from two different directions, telling him let him go, let him stay, let him love you, push him away before it hurts worse . He hates that he always takes it out on Jay.

And then, after he does, Jay always tells him exactly what Jungwon is starving to hear.

Even if he doesn’t believe it, even if he can’t believe it—he collects those moments. Hoards them like they might save him. Plays them back to himself at night like a prayer, like an ache, like something close to comfort.

He knows he should just let it drop, should just curl up against Jay again, let himself sink into the warmth, let the night end . Instead, he does the exact opposite.

“I just want all of us to be okay for the comeback,” he says, voice tight. He’s trying to make Jay feel bad now. It’s not fair, but he has never claimed to be a good person. “Get Sunoo and Niki used to it before the big shows. We all agreed.” 

“Sunghoon and Heeseung are there, Sunoo will be fine.” Jay starts, shifting again, voice stronger now, and Jungwon knows he’s hit a nerve.

Of course Jay thinks he should have been out there with him, their baby omega, his first big outing. Jungwon doesn’t actually think that Sunoo cares all that much, way too excited to just be out there. He trusts all of them completely.

But that’s not the point.

When you get too close to an animal that can’t escape, it will lash out at you instead. 

Jungwon waits a few seconds, then he twists the knife.

“I just think Niki would have liked you there, you know.”

Jay stiffens.

It’s slight, just the smallest shift in how his arm rests against Jungwon’s waist, but it’s there. Jungwon feels the tension coil in the muscles beneath his skin, the way Jay’s fingers flex once against his hip before he stills completely.

He’s not taking the bait.

Jay is so endlessly patient. So endlessly good. It makes Jungwon furious.

Jay is the kind of person who lets things settle. Who gives silence room to breathe, to soften the edges of sharp words, who never meets cruelty with cruelty.

He waits. Because he knows Jay. Knows he won't let things fester. Eventually, Jay will say something.

“That’s not fair,” Jay murmurs, voice quiet, like he’s measuring out each word before letting them leave his lips.

Jungwon exhales sharply through his nose. His fingers tighten around the blanket pooled in his lap, and he rolls onto his back, forcing Jay to lift his arm or let himself get pinned beneath Jungwon’s weight. He doesn’t look at him, not yet.

“Not fair?” Jungwon repeats, a huff of breath that barely holds back his bitterness. “What’s not fair, hyung? That I think they would have liked for you to be there? That I think you should be with your pack instead of wasting your time here?”

Jay’s eyes are unreadable in the dim light. “That’s not—”

“That is exactly what I meant,” Jungwon cuts in, voice rising now, sharp like a knife. The anger is bubbling up, hot and quick, like it’s been waiting for the first crack to spill out of him. 

“You should be out with them, with your pack. Not stuck here. Not—” His voice falters for a second before he swallows down the lump rising in his throat. “Not waiting around for me.”

Jay watches him. His expression doesn’t change, doesn’t waver, but Jungwon sees the way his fingers twitch against the blanket, the way his breathing evens out like he’s making himself calm, like he’s preparing for the storm Jungwon is about to unleash.

And he is. He is, because if he doesn’t let this out now, it’s going to swallow him whole.

“Why do you do this?” Jungwon asks, voice raw, cracking at the edges. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself? I don’t—”

Jay exhales, slow, deliberate. “It’s your pack, Jungwon. And it’s my decision to make.”

Jungwon shakes his head. “No, it isn’t. Because it’s not just about you. You think this is fair to me? Watching you waste your time—” He cuts himself off, looking away, jaw locked so tight it aches.

Jay shifts. He sits up fully now, the bed dipping as he moves, and his scent—subtle, warm, unwavering—wraps around Jungwon even if he can’t parse the details of it.

“You’re not a waste of time, Jungwon. I’ve never thought that. And you're part of this pack, leader of this pack, actually, presented or not,” he says quietly.

Jungwon turns to face him now, eyes burning. “You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Jay exhales sharply through his nose, his patience fraying at the edges now, and Jungwon feels a sharp stab of vindication. Finally. Finally, something is getting through.

“You think we care?” Jay says. “That whatever the outcome, it would change anything? You’re our leader, Jungwon.”

Jungwon flinches. He doesn’t mean to, but the words hit too cleanly, too deeply. He wants to believe it. God, he wants to believe it so badly. But that isn’t how the world works, and Jay knows that. Or maybe Jay doesn’t, because Jay is an alpha, and alphas always have a place. Jungwon is the one who might not.

Jay doesn’t stop. “You think Sunoo would want to be a part of a pack that would toss you aside just because of what you are? You think any of us would?” His voice is firm, like he thinks saying it out loud will make Jungwon accept it as truth.

Jungwon grits his teeth, looking away. “You know they won’t let me keep my job if I’m—” His throat closes around the word before he can even attempt to say it. He swallows hard. “If I’m what I might be.”

Jay watches him, waiting, waiting, waiting. Jungwon isn’t looking, but he feels it, feels the way Jay stiffens, the way the air shifts between them.

Jungwon has never said it out loud before. Not like this.

Of course, they know. It’s not a secret, not really. He can see it in the way the company executives look at him, in the way the members glance at each other when the topic of presenting comes up, in the way Sunoo used to hesitate before mentioning his own dynamic, like he didn’t want to make Jungwon feel worse. It’s not unknown. It’s just unspoken.

Jay exhales, slow, deliberate. His voice is quieter now, careful, like he’s trying not to startle a wounded animal. “Jungwon…”

Jungwon shakes his head sharply, cutting him off before he can say whatever soft, unbearable thing he’s about to say. “And I don’t need you hovering, waiting around for the worst day of my life.” 

Jay flinches. This time, it’s visible. This time, Jungwon watches it happen, the way Jay’s fingers curl into fists in the blanket, the way his shoulders rise, just barely.

Jungwon shouldn’t feel satisfied about it, but some twisted, self-destructive part of him is. If Jay hurts, too, then maybe it’ll be easier when the inevitable happens. When Jungwon loses everything.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks.

Then, Jay shakes his head. “I wish,” he says, slow, deliberate, every word heavy, “I wish you could just believe me when I tell you that I want to be here.” He pauses, voice quieter now. “That I don’t expect anything from you. That I don’t care what happens, because I’m not going anywhere.”

Jungwon squeezes his eyes shut. “Then you’re an idiot.”

Jay lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Clearly.”

Jungwon waits for him to push back, to argue, to tell him he’s wrong. But he doesn’t.

Instead, Jay shifts. He pulls back.

And then he stands.

Jungwon feels the space open up between them, and it’s unbearable. He keeps his gaze fixed on the blanket in his lap, fingers clenched so tightly in the fabric that they ache.

Jay doesn’t say anything else. And then he’s gone.

Jungwon stares at the darkened screen of his laptop, at the reflection of himself in the glass. His chest feels hollow, his body tense like he’s still bracing for a fight that never really came.

For a moment, he thinks maybe he’s going to go after Jay. His whole body is wound tight with it, like a coil ready to snap, some ridiculous, terrible urge to chase after him, to make him come back, to fix something he just went out of his way to break.

But he doesn’t move.

Instead, he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and forces himself to breathe. In. Out. He is not going after Jay. He is not making this worse. He is going to stay here, in his bed, and wait for the rest of them to come back, because that’s what he always does.

The dorm is too quiet now. The absence of Jay is a physical thing, like all the air got sucked out of the room with him. Jungwon lies back down and stares at the ceiling.

He won’t sleep. He already knows that.

Chapter Text

[NOTICE] Update Notice on ENHYPEN JUNGWON’s Health and Future Activities

Hello.

This is BELIFT LAB.

We would like to provide you with an update regarding ENHYPEN member JUNGWON’s future activities. 

We at BELIFT LAB are dedicated to fostering an environment that supports our artists' well-being and ensures the continued growth of ENHYPEN as a group. After careful consideration and internal discussions with the members, we have decided that moving forward, JAKE will be assuming the role of group leader.

We are incredibly grateful for everything JUNGWON has contributed during his tenure as leader, and we acknowledge his immense dedication and hard work. JUNGWON will continue to focus on his health and well-being during this time. 

We appreciate the unwavering support from ENGENE and trust that you will continue to support JAKE in his new leadership role and cheer for all the members as they prepare for the next chapter of their journey together.

Thank you.

BELIFT LAB

The words are right there, staring back at him from his phone screen, lit up in sterile black and white.

Jake will be assuming the role of leader moving forward. 

It’s clinical, carefully worded, designed to soothe and redirect rather than ignite speculation. But Jungwon knows better.

No mention of why he’s really here, tucked away in his childhood bedroom, instead of with them, on tour. Just this. A quiet, impersonal replacement, a follow up to an earlier announcement saying that he had been unwell , that he needed sufficient time to rest and recover . And now, this. Just a shift, seamless, like passing a baton, like a minor organizational change that doesn’t mean anything at all.

We ask for your understanding.

He’s spent years imagining this exact statement, anticipating every impersonal phrase, the way they would talk around it like he was already gone. But somehow, seeing it in black and white—seeing his name stripped away from leader, seeing Jake right there instead—somehow, it still guts him.

The air in his room feels suffocating. The heat of his body—his new, unfamiliar, traitorous body—presses in around him, making his skin feel too tight, his limbs heavy, like he's been stuffed into someone else’s form and expected to function. He swallows hard, throat raw from crying, from two weeks of waking up at odd hours with silent tears soaking his pillow, from the nights where he curled up under the covers and tried to will himself into nonexistence.

The phone lands on the bed beside him, the screen going dark, but the words are burned into his brain, and they will not leave him.

Not even a call. Not even a conversation. Just a decision, made somewhere in a cold, air-conditioned office without him. Without his voice, without his input, without his consent. 

His phone starts buzzing, then. One call. Then another. Then another. Jake. Jay. Sunoo. All the members, in a row. Then, just Jay, like maybe they’ve decided he has the best chance of Jungwon actually picking up. 

Then others. Jungwoo. His sister. Harua. Eunseok. 

Finally, a few of the managers.  

His messages light up, notifications stacking, names flashing on his screens over and over.

Jungwon stares at it. He doesn’t pick up. Because if he does, then it’s real. If he picks up, he’ll hear explanations, apologies — we didn’t want it to happen this way, we thought—

But they did let it happen. They had time. Two weeks. Two weeks to tell him, to include him in the decision.

Instead, the managers had checked up on his health, and the members had sent him photos from tour stops, videocalled him once from the green room to show him some stupid inside joke he didn’t quite get because he wasn’t there.

Jay has sent him good morning and good night texts everyday, simple and steady, Take care of yourself. Let your mom help. We miss you.

Sunoo had sent him photos from each new city. Look how pretty! We should come back here together.

Jake had sent him a photo of his overpriced tour coffee, followed by a How are you feeling today?

Heeseung had texted, Rest up, you’ll be back soon.

They had told him about the crowds, the energy, the moments on stage. But none of them had told him this. None of them had warned him.

His body feels strange. Not quite numb, not quite shaking, but somewhere between. He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, hard, trying to will back the stinging burn. 

His breath is coming too fast, but he can’t slow it down.

Two weeks. He was supposed to be gone for five days. Five days. But then they said, “He needs more time.” Then they said, “No rush.” 

Then they stopped giving him updates.

Jungwon lets out a sharp, shuddering breath, blinking rapidly, trying to hold himself together. It feels like his body isn’t his anymore, like his mind is fraying at the edges, coming undone.

He’s been in this state since he got here. This state of not feeling real, of being stuck in a body that isn’t his, of looking at himself in the mirror and feeling like he’s seeing a stranger. He showers and his skin prickles like it doesn’t belong to him, like the steam can’t sink into it properly, like he’s wrapped in layers of something he can’t pull off. His scent is wrong—or, not wrong, but he doesn’t recognize it. The way his body moves is wrong though—too sensitive, too reactive, too different. His own hands feel too unfamiliar when he rubs at his eyes, when he grips the sheets, when he curls in on himself at night, his chest too tight to breathe.

There’s something fundamentally wrong about all of this, he thinks. A leader isn’t just a title in a pack. It’s a role that solidifies over time, something earned, something built into the way a pack functions. It’s not something an outside force should be able to strip away. A real pack wouldn’t just let this happen.

But this isn’t just a pack. This is an idol group. And in the idol industry, packs are as much a product as they are a living, breathing thing.

It may have been based on the member’s votes, but in the end— the company had given him that title, back when they thought they had him figured out. An unpresented beta. A steady hand to lead, to keep the others in line, to balance the mix of personalities and dynamics that made up their group.

But the group had given him something more than that. Even unpresented, even the second youngest, even though he had never been part of what packs do that bonded the others together beyond just trauma and adrenaline, they had still followed his lead. Even with four alphas in the group. Not just in the rehearsals, not just in interviews, but in the way that actually mattered. In the way a pack should follow their leader, idol group or not.

That had meant something, right?

And what—now, the company had decided that wasn’t the right look anymore?  That it wasn’t palatable to the public? And just like that, he wasn’t leader anymore, not to the public, not at all. It’s not surprising, not at all, but it’s still hard to wrap his mind around the logic of it when he lets himself think about it. 

But— well. It had never been about what he thought, what the members thought, in the end. It wasn’t about his pack, the way they functioned, the way they had built themselves around him. Not really. 

It was about the world watching. About what people outside of them believed, about what the company decided was marketable, acceptable. About what looked right, about what omegas could and could not do or be. 

The thoughts coil tightly in his mind, even as he fights against them. He knows the members don’t think omegas are lesser. They never have. Their pack has never operated like that.

There are omega pack leaders in the world. There are omegas who stand at the top, who lead, who hold power. Just, in other countries, mostly. And definitely not — not pack leaders who are also omegas who are also group leaders in kpop.

The hierarchy still matters, above all the ways the members, the way the industry, that Engenes might love and respect him. The reality of that sits in him, low and bitter, curling in his stomach like something rotten.

Everything he was afraid of. Everything he spent years fearing, then hoping for, then guiltily fearing even worse, every awful possibility he tried to shove down and ignore— it all came true.

Jungwon loves Jake. Trusts him. Knows he’ll be a good leader, that he’ll carry the weight well. But handing over his pack to him—his pack—feels like turning himself inside out. Feels like tearing something vital out of his own chest and leaving it in someone else’s hands.

A Part of him—the part of him that he doesn’t want to acknowledge, that makes his skin itch and his stomach turn—thinks it could be so simple. Wants to just let the other members take care of him, wants Jay, wants the others, wants to lean into the role the industry wants him to have. To let them adore him, let them scent him and pamper him and tell him he’s good, let them put him up on a pedestal in the public eye as something soft and untouchable.

Another part of him refuses to let go of wanting, needing to protect them, lead them. Refuses to let the company dictate what his place is, when he was the one who built it in the first place.

But—If he really were leader, if he truly belonged in that role, shouldn’t they have fought harder? Shouldn’t the pack have rejected this, instinctively, violently? Shouldn’t something have broken before they let this happen?

After careful consideration and internal discussions with the members.

So they had talked about it. Without him.

Had they fought for him? Did they try?

He wants to believe they did. Hopes they argued, pushed back, told the company this isn’t fair, this isn’t right, Jungwon should be here.

Maybe Sunoo had cried. Maybe Jay had gotten angry.

He hopes Niki would have said something. Niki, who has been getting better at speaking up for himself. In Japan, omega leaders exist. Omega politicians. Omega CEOs. Niki would have fought for him, right?

He hopes Jay did, too. That Jay had fought for him, had argued, had tried.

But how hard? Did they just fight for him to be consulted? 

Or—Did anyone fight for him to stay their leader?

Maybe they were backed into a corner, maybe they had no choice, maybe they were just as blindsided as he was. 

Internal discussions with the members. He knows these statements mean less than nothing, but the words loop in his head like a curse. 

When Niki had presented, the entire pack had stayed with him for days, sitting outside his door, bringing him food, monitoring his temperature, making sure he wasn’t alone.

When Sunoo had presented, Jungwon and Jake had been right there with him, taking shifts, soothing him through every second of it, whispering to him, it’s okay, you’re okay, we’ve got you, we’re here . Pack taking care of pack, that was how it was supposed to be.

Jungwon hadn’t gotten that, Jungwon had gotten chaos.

What happened two weeks ago, he only remembers in flashes. The practice room, the scent of sweat, the low bass thrum of the music shaking the floor beneath him.

He had felt off. Too warm. He had told himself he was just tired, just overworked, just stressed. But then— 

Fire. His skin, his lungs, his blood—all of it. His body collapsing in on itself, his muscles locking up, his breath hitching so hard in his chest it felt like he was being crushed from the inside out.

Voices, his pack, yelling, Jay’s hands, solid on his arms, Heeseung calling his name, Sunghoon cursing under his breath, someone trying to hold him down—

Not normal, not normal, this isn’t normal, someone had said.

Not something a young pack could handle on their own—not when they were supposed to be leaving for their last leg of the world tour the next day. Not something they could afford to wait out, to let play out in the careful, supported way that every other member had been allowed.

There had been no pack there to hold his hand, to sit with him while his body tore itself apart from the inside out. There had been no gentle reassurances, no slow and steady adjustment. Just sterile lights, unfamiliar doctors, and the suffocating realization that this was the end of the road.

When he first woke up, he was in a cold, white hospital room, his mother beside him.

She had pressed a damp cloth to his forehead. Told him gently, carefully, that the company had sent him home to recover.

And that was it. The choice was made. 

His body had barely been his to control, fever burning through him, muscles aching, his head thick with exhaustion. He remembers the car ride, the cool air from the vents against his too-warm skin, the way his mother had kept glancing at him like she was afraid he might break apart. He had barely spoken. There hadn’t been anything to say.

By the time he was home, buried under blankets in his childhood bedroom, the messages started coming in.

Sunoo had been the first, of course. Bursting with enthusiasm even through text, saying how he knew all along, how it would be okay, and how he would make sure Jungwon saw that, too. Being an omega is amazing. I swear! How they’d go to the fancy omega spa together, get pampered, and it would be fun, he promised.

Sunghoon had followed, a hesitant at least now you know? before backtracking, apologizing, saying that was supposed to be comforting, I think. Sunoo yelled at me. Sorry. But really. You’ll be fine, Jungwon-ah. 

Jay had been more careful. Gentle, measured. We love you. I love you. You don’t have to do anything yet. Just rest. Take care of yourself. We’re here. I’m here. Call me anytime. 

Heeseung had sent something later that night, after Jungwon had already given up on sleeping. I know you probably feel like shit right now. I wish I could say something to make it better. That they were there for him, no matter what.

Niki, blunt as ever, had just said that he was still him, so who cared? That it didn’t change anything—not for him, anyway. 

Jungwon had almost responded to that one. Almost.

Jake had been the last. Jake, always steady, always trying to keep things balanced. His message had been longer than the rest. More careful. Not like Jay’s, but measured in a different way. Jungwon-ah. I don’t know what to say. I hope you know that none of this changes what you mean to us. To me. I know you’re probably exhausted. But if you ever want to talk, I’m here. We all are.

There was something hesitant about it. Something almost apologetic.

And Jungwon wonders, now, if Jake had already known. If he had been trying to find a way to say it even then, trying to find a way to tell him that the decision had already been made, that it was already slipping out of Jungwon’s hands.

He hasn’t been on Social Media in two weeks. But now, he finds himself unlocking his phone, fingers moving before he can stop them.

The first post he sees is the announcement, pinned to the top, thousands of comments stacked beneath it, a living thing, pulsing, updating by the second.

His thumb hovers. He shouldn’t. But he does.

so it’s true. he definitely presented. feel bad for him but… well. now we know.

maybe they should’ve waited until he presented before handing him the whole pack. just a thought.

lowkey not surprised. he always had that omega vibe. such shame tho, he was doing well.

my heart breaks for him, but—this is probably better for the group in the long run.

His stomach turns, but his hand moves on its own, scrolling.

omegas deserve to lead too. wtf is wrong with this industry??
— an omega leader?? let’s be serious.
— right.. omega leader agenda in shambles. maybe in another life 🤷‍♀️

engene are always with you jungwon!! rest well and come back stronger 

The screen blurs, the words swimming, but he keeps reading.

and when this is why jay never let him out of his sight skksk…
— my grandma always said, if you wanna know who the omega will be, look at the alphas lol

can we focus on how amazing this is for jake???

His breath hitches, his fingers going numb where they clutch the blanket.

sooo is he sitting the rest of the tour out definitely then? ngl i’m so disappointed, we waited for so long

bet he’s embarrassed. can’t imagine working so hard for years and then… this

He nearly drops his phone in his rush to shut it off. His breathing is shallow, unsteady, his chest too tight.

He shouldn’t have looked. He shouldn’t have looked. He shouldn’t have looked.

<3

Jungwon wakes up with a headache so heavy it feels like his skull might crack from the pressure. His face is stiff with the dried remnants of tears, his eyes swollen. The sunlight filtering in through the curtains is too bright, slicing through his vision in jagged, painful streaks.

He shakes his head, pressing his fingers into his temples harder, as if he can physically push the thought away. 

But it doesn’t stop the guilt from curdling in his stomach, this horrible, gnawing feeling that he has somehow done this to himself. That he had wanted it too much, in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind, and now—

When he wakes up a second time, he finally gets out of bed. He feels like a ghost. 

The house is quiet. His parents have gone out already. He stands there for a second, blinking at the strip of light spilling into his room from the hallway, before stepping forward, moving on autopilot, making his way to the bathroom.

The mirror is unforgiving. His hands shake when he reaches for the faucet. The water is too cold, then too hot. He splashes it over his face anyway.

At some point, he has to go back. His mother had mentioned it, once, carefully, like she was testing the words in her mouth before saying them. You know, if you want to go back to the dorm…

He had changed the subject.

Jungwon grips the edge of the sink. Inhales, slow. Exhales. Checks his phone.

Just now: A list, from Sunoo, of all the ways being an omega is great. Omegas live longer. Higher pain tolerance. Skin ages slower. Bodies naturally stay flexible and limber. Metabolisms adjust based on our cycles. 

Jungwon doesn’t finish reading it.

Another good morning message from Jay. And then all the messages from last night, the ones he had ignored. 

Sunoo, predictably, had been the first. Short messages, sharp in a way that means he’s upset, then longer ones as the hours dragged on. He’s mad—at the company, at the situation, and maybe later, more desperately, even at Jungwon for shutting them out—but mostly, he’s worried. 

Jay is blunt. Angry, in the way he rarely lets himself be, in front of Jungwon. You’re still our leader, no matter what some fucking press release says. Jungwon exhales sharply through his nose, a short, bitter sound that isn’t quite a laugh. I meant what I said. This doesn’t change anything.

Heeseung sent one long text, careful but firm. It’s written like he’s trying to be the adult in the room. I know you’re upset. I don’t blame you. But you don’t have to go through this alone. He tells him to come home, that they can figure it out, together. He tells him it’s not Jake’s fault, that he didn’t want this. Jungwon wonders, his mind latching on to the ugliest possibility, turning on itself like a wounded animal— if the company told Heeseung to write that. Or if Jake did.

Sunghoon’s come in bursts, uneven, like he kept starting and stopping, second-guessing what he should say. You’re still the same person, so it’s just a stupid announcement, right? We all know that. There’s a hesitance there, like he’s afraid of making things worse. Then: You should come home. We can still fix it.

Jake’s messages are careful. Hesitant. I wanted to call, but I figured you wouldn’t pick up. Jungwon hates how that makes his stomach twist, because he’s right. I don’t even know where to start. I swear I tried—I swear we all did, but we need you here to— Jungwon doesn’t finish reading.

Niki’s are relentless. Not angry, not at him, just frustrated in a way that bleeds into every word: This is bullshit. I don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense. You should be here. Sunoo’s a mess, you know. He keeps saying you need to come back. Can you come back now? We all need you to come back.

His messages had kept coming all evening, like he was throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks, until it’s finally just Hyung, please come back, over and over.

Then, voicemails. Emails. Stacked, one after the other. Company executives, managers, some more measured, some urgent. Some cautious, some rehearsed. He deletes them all.

He presses the power button and watches the screen go dark.

<3

The next days pass in a haze.

They blur together, indistinguishable in the way he barely gets out of bed, barely speaks to anyone, only eats what his parents force him to eat, barely does anything but exist in this limbo where he doesn’t belong anywhere anymore.

And outside of all of this—outside of his little bubble in his old bedroom, outside of his relationship with his pack, outside of the company—there is chaos. The media is watching. The whole world is talking about him—protests, debates, statements from industry figures, people on every side arguing about what his place in the industry should be. 

He has avoided the news, avoided his phone since he went on Weverse, but it’s impossible to ignore entirely. The protests. The petitions. A lot of international fans rallying behind him, K-Engenes split down the middle, demonstrations outside HYBE’s headquarters. 

And Namjoon, standing in front of cameras at a press conference, fielding a question about omega rights in the industry, and choosing to answer. Jungwon has watched that part. Namjoon could’ve deflected. Could’ve said it wasn’t his place to comment. Instead, he had looked straight ahead, voice measured but certain, and said: I believe leadership isn’t dictated by biology. He had said that packs should be allowed to handle these matters privately, but discrimination is wrong. That the world is changing, and the industry should change with it.

Jungwon has met Kim Namjoon before, of course. HYBE family, company events, industry functions, both leaders—it’s not like they’ve never been in the same room. But still. It’s Kim Namjoon. An alpha, but one who has never led the way people expected him to. Someone whose words mean something. And he had used those words to defend Jungwon—publicly, directly, and going against his own company. 

And then he had reached out. Jungwon had stared at the message on his phone for a long time, longer than he wants to admit. Because what is he supposed to say? Thank you? I’m sorry? Please help me fix this?

Of course, it’s not just Namjoon. Others with real weight in the industry, and betas, too, Suho, Taeyeon, Zico, have spoken out, carefully choosing their words but making it clear that leadership should be about talent, not dynamics.

And Key, unlucky enough to be promoting a solo album right in the middle of all of this. When reporters had tried to press him about the situation, Jungwon had watched him raise an eyebrow, unimpressed, and say, lips quirking into something sharp, “It was a long time ago, but I’m pretty sure I was still me, after I presented. So if your opinion on what a person can or can’t do changes overnight when they present — maybe that says more about you than them, don’t you think?”

The interviewer had moved on quickly, but the internet hadn’t.

The others must have seen it all, too. They are traveling again now, finishing up the tour. Jungwon watches the clips, the fancams, the moments where their scent signatures used to include his, where their formations still leave a fraction of space where he should be.

He listens to Jay’s voice messages. Over and over and over.

Good night. Sleep tight. I miss you.

His voice is steady, filling the silence of Jungwon’s room in a low hum. He talks about the tour in that deep, late-night quiet voice he gets when he’s showered and curled up in some hotel bed, hair probably still damp because for some reason, he’s immune to the cold blast of the aircon. Jay always offers to turn the AC down for Jungwon when they share, always, but Jungwon likes to just curl up under the blankets, into him, safe and warm.

Jungwon can picture it clearly, now—Jay lying there in the dark, phone pressed to his ear, voice softened by exhaustion, by the weight of everything he isn’t saying.

Good morning. Looks like the sun’s out where you are.. it’s supposed to rain, but not until later in the afternoon.

Jay’s voice is rough, gravelly from sleep. Jungwon knows exactly what he looks like in that moment—hair a mess,  sitting up in bed with his head tilted back against the headboard. He can almost see it, can almost feel the warmth of Jay’s palm, the way he would always tug Jungwon closer, press him into the sheets, murmur something low and teasing against his skin.

Jungwon rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling, Jay’s voice still echoing in his ears.

Jungwon likes making a game of seeing how much he can push, how far he can go before Jay stops indulging him.

Before Jay might, inevitably, decide Jungwon isn’t worth it after all. But so far, Jay never has.

He lets himself think about it—how Jay looks at him in those quiet moments, the way his hands sometimes settle at Jungwon’s wrists, never tight. Always too careful.

It creeps up on him, slow and insidious, until he shifts against the sheets and feels it. Damp. Warm. Spreading between his thighs. His breath catches, mortified. But the want is still there, lingering beneath the shame. He knows what his body is asking for. Because he can picture it, so clearly it almost feels real—the way Jay would touch him, would kiss him, the way he would murmur soft things against his skin. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, ignoring sinking deeper into the feeling, into the memory. He can see it so clearly—Jay hovering over him, warm and steady, the weight of his body familiar, pressing Jungwon into the mattress but never too much, never enough to make him feel trapped. 

Jay would kiss him slow, the way he always does, like they have all the time in the world, when they never actually do. Jungwon can almost feel it, the lazy drag of Jay’s mouth against his, the way he’d nuzzle in after, nosing along Jungwon’s jaw, down to his throat. A breath, deep and indulgent, looking for something, before he’d murmur something against his skin— You smell so good, baby.

It would have been a lie, then. Jungwon hadn’t smelled like anything. Not really. Maybe faint traces of body lotion or cologne, whatever scent lingered from whatever product he had used that day. But not him . Not like the others did.

Jay had always insisted, though. Always said it like he believed it, like it was undeniable, like his instincts were telling him something his mind couldn’t recognize yet. 

Jungwon swallows hard, his fingers twitching against the sheets. He pictures it, unbidden—Jay pressing in close, his weight warm and steady, scenting him properly for the first time, mouth dragging slow and deep along his throat, breathing him in from the source.

His stomach flips, heat curling low in his gut, his entire body tightening at the thought.

He presses his thighs together, exhaling sharply, trying to force the image out of his mind. But it lingers, sinking its teeth into him, because he knows—he knows—Jay would love it. Jay would press him into the mattress and take it in, would taste it against his tongue, would let out some quiet, shuddering breath like he had been waiting for this, like this was how things were meant to be.

Jay would be careful, the way he always is, waiting for a sign before he goes any further, holding himself back. Because Jay always waits, because Jay never pushes, because Jay never takes more than Jungwon is willing to give.

But Jungwon is always willing.

He can imagine it perfectly—how Jay would drag his hands down his sides, slow and steady, how he’d press warm kisses along Jungwon’s collarbone, his chest, his stomach. The way he’d settle between his legs, his hands firm at Jungwon’s thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against his skin.

His hand slides down before he can stop himself.

Jay would talk him through it, he always does. You’re so good for me. You feel so good. Let me take care of you.

Jungwon stifles a whimper, pressing his palm over his mouth. His body is too sensitive, too raw, every touch feeling like too much and not enough. The slick between his thighs only makes it worse, making him feel needy, making him feel—

He arches against the mattress, chokes on a gasp as it hits him, his body curling in on itself as pleasure wracks through him, leaving him trembling in its wake.

The haze lingers only for a moment, warmth pooling in his chest, his breathing slowing as his body settles. 

And then—he comes back to himself. His stomach twists. The warmth turns to something sour, something wrong.

Because this thing he wants is the thing that ruined everything. His body is still humming, his skin flushed, his breath uneven. But it feels foreign. Like his body betrayed him somehow.

He forces himself to move, swinging his legs over the side of the bed with a sharp inhale. His skin is damp, his body feels raw, somehow. The cool air against his overheated skin makes him shudder as he reaches for the tissues on his nightstand, wiping himself off with careful, mechanical movements.

The scent of it lingers, faint but unmistakable, and for a terrible moment, he wonders if his mother will be able to smell it when she walks past his room. The thought makes his stomach turn. He tugs on fresh underwear, pulling his sweats back up with jerky movements before throwing himself back onto the bed, face buried against his pillow, exhaling hard.

His phone screen is still glowing beside him. He wonders if Jay is awake, if he’s staring at his phone the same way Jungwon is now, waiting for a response that won’t come. 

He never responds. He already knows what Jay really wants to tell him, underneath all the Good mornings and Good nights and we miss you’s. He also knows he can’t stomach it right now.

You don’t need to fight this. We can fix it. We can help you fix it. 

That this thing Jungwon is struggling to accept, the thing that ruined everything— is a good thing.

He can picture it so easily—Jay telling him this doesn’t change anything. That he’s still him. That he’s still theirs. That they still belong to each other. He can imagine Jay looking at him like that, the way he always does, like he is something unshakable, like there’s nothing in the world that could make Jay stop loving him. 

He rolls onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow. His body aches with it, this need to call. To hear. To be told, again and again, until he can start to believe it.  

But he doesn’t deserve that. He can’t let himself think that. He can’t let himself want this. How could he want the thing that took everything from him?

If he calls, Jay will make it better. That’s Jay’s whole thing.

So he doesn’t call. Doesn’t text.

Instead, the days stretch out, slow and heavy. He goes through the motions—getting up when his mother knocks on his door, sitting at the kitchen table and picking at his food, nodding along when his father asks if he’s feeling any better. He spends hours scrolling mindlessly through his phone without really reading anything, lets the television play in the background without paying attention.

Outside, life moves forward without him. The world keeps spinning. The tour continues. His absence is absorbed into the schedule, the gaps filled, the edges smoothing out like he was never supposed to be there in the first place.

The others send him updates, but less often now. Not out of anger, he thinks, but uncertainty. Like they’re waiting for him to come back to himself first.

His sister comes home for the weekend, then stays longer. He doesn’t ask if it was her choice or if their parents called her. He had always imagined what her scent would be like, back when he was younger and it was a stupid game to him, back when he thought he’d already know by now. Her scent is exactly the way he thought it would be. Comforting. Somehow, already familiar. It’s like that, with family.

She scents him, doesn’t ask him anything. They lay in bed together, wrapped in blankets, watching old movies. 

And then, eventually, she tells him that the others have reached out to her. She tells him that if it were her, she would never go back to that company. That the whole thing was unfair, that they had thrown him away, that it made her furious just thinking about it.

This wouldn’t even be legal in other countries. It’s discrimination. Do they not realize how outdated this makes them seem? Even in Korea, things are changing. People are changing.

Her anger is sharp, unfiltered, different from his mother’s quiet concern. Different from his father’s uneasy silence.

They could’ve made history with you. They could’ve shown that dynamics don’t dictate talent, don’t dictate leadership, don’t dictate who’s fit to stand in front.

<3

Three days later, there’s a knock at the door. Not his mother or his sister—they don’t knock.

Jungwon tenses, but before he can say anything, before he can even think, the door cracks open.

“Uh, your mom let me in.” Niki says, standing there, hovering in the doorway, shoulders hunched, gaze darting around the room like he’s expecting Jungwon to throw something at him. “Hi.”

Jungwon stares. His brain isn’t catching up.

“One of the managers drove me,” Niki rushes to explain, stepping inside, closing the door, still looking at Jungwon like he might bolt. “I just—I wanted—” He stops, shakes his head, then starts over. “I just—I had to—”

Standing there, Niki looks so young. Like the baby they practically raised. The kid they all taught how to sort his laundry, how to order food in a city and a language that wasn’t his own. 

The kid who had sulked and pouted and teased but had never, ever handled distance between them well. 

He‘s always wanted all of them together, all of them getting along, even when he acted like he was too cool to care.

Niki exhales, sharp, frustrated, like he can’t get his words in the right order, like he’s trying to hold too many things in his mouth at once. 

And then Jungwon has a lap full of overgrown baby alpha.

Niki presses in, all limbs and warmth, so much bigger than him, like he’s trying to physically anchor Jungwon in place. Jungwon breathes in, and for the first time, he knows what Niki’s scent is.

It’s still a strange realization for him every time—this new part of his brain, this newly sharpened sense, recognizing something it was never able to before. Before, Niki had just been Niki. But now, now Jungwon can pick up on more, and it’s disorienting, something both unknown and deeply, deeply familiar.

Jungwon doesn’t know how to describe it. He doesn’t always have the words for it yet, not like Sunoo does, or any of them who have been living with their second nature for years. But Niki’s scent is like—like motion, like heat, like the last sparks of a fire burning down, something restless and wild and steady all at once. It’s grounding in a way that Jungwon hadn’t expected. He takes another breath before he can stop himself. 

He hadn’t let himself think about how much he had missed them.

His throat feels tight. His hands shake where they grip the fabric of Niki’s hoodie. He wants to believe that Niki came here just for him—wants to believe it desperately. But the doubt creeps in slow, patient, winding itself around the soft parts of him.

Is this really Niki, or is he just the softest weapon they could find? 

The one they knew would slip past Jungwon’s defenses without even trying, all wide eyes and clumsy sincerity. The managers wouldn’t have to coach him—just point him in the right direction and let him do the rest.

Maybe the others sat around, deciding who’d be best, whose voice would land softer, whose absence Jungwon would feel the sharpest.

“They told me not to bother you,” Niki admits, words spilling out in a rush. “Since you don’t want to see us.” His fingers twist into the back of Jungwon’s hoodie, like he’s afraid Jungwon will push him away. “But I just—”

His voice catches, like he doesn’t know how to fill the space that follows.

Jungwon’s grip tightens, fingers curling into the fabric like it’s the only thing anchoring him. The tension blooms sharp in his knuckles, a brittle kind of pressure, like if he lets go, everything will spill out. 

“I don’t agree with it,” Niki says, voice muffled against Jungwon’s shoulder, raw around the edges. “You know that, right? None of us do. Do you—do you believe me?. Hyung, you have to believe me, okay? We didn’t want this. We didn’t think—“ He swallows, frustration leaking into the words. “I mean, we thought you’d still—”

Still what, Jungwon thinks. Still fight? Still fix it?

Niki shifts, breath warm against Jungwon’s neck, clinging tighter like he’s afraid Jungwon might slip away if he lets go. “You smell really good,” he mumbles, like it’s an accidental confession, something that slipped past whatever filter he meant to have.

“I’m not saying this right,” Niki mutters, pulling back slightly, sitting up with a frustrated huff. His hand lingers, hesitant, like he’s debating whether to reach for Jungwon again. “But can you—can you please come home? ’m not above using the maknae thing,” he tries.

Jungwon closes his eyes. Niki stops, exhales shakily, then tries again, stripped of any bravado. “Please come home. Please, hyung.”

Niki’s scent wavers. Jungwon can tell, now, how immediately his uncertainty manifests, how the sharpness of it dulls, undercut with something fragile, something bordering on desperation. Fear. Niki thinks he’s going to say no.

His voice is a little more frantic now. “Or— can I at least scent you? Just a little?” 

Jungwon swallows hard, guilt knotting tight in his chest, thick and unrelenting. He’s never heard Niki sound like this. Not with him.

“Or—or maybe, can I take a sweater? Or something?” Niki’s voice cracks, sharp and splintered around the edges. “Just—”

He doesn’t know why this is the thing that breaks him. Maybe because it’s the first time someone has asked him for something, instead of offering to do something for him.

Whatever it is, it shatters the space he’s tried so hard to keep between them.

Chapter Text

The moment they step into the dorm, it slams into him: The scents hit all at once, and it’s like walking into a wall. Jungwon physically recoils, his breath catching in his throat. It clings to him, presses into his lungs, coats his skin. 

He exhales shakily. Maybe Niki knew how overwhelming this would be, or maybe someone told him to make sure, because the dorm is empty. No voices, no movement. Just stillness and scent.

It’s a lot to take in, all at once like this. It should’ve unfolded softly and steadily, scents introduced in waves over time, allowing his instincts to adjust. Instead, it crashes down all at once.

"You want to order food?" Niki asks suddenly, already moving through the dorm. "I think there’s still—"

Jungwon shakes his head absently, letting his bag slide from his shoulder to the floor. His fingers flex, restless, against his thigh.

It should be overwhelming, and it is— but it isn’t just that. 

Because underneath all of it, beneath the sheer force of it, something clicks. His body knows. His instincts recognize what his mind still struggles to understand.

It’s his pack. All of them, tangled and layered together, woven tight. He’s never been able to separate the scents before, but some deep part of him already knew that they fit. They make sense. Even if his mind is only learning now, his body has always known. 

Well. His pack. Not his. Not anymore. But still his pack. 

“Hyung.” Niki nudges his arm lightly. “Are you hungry?”

Jungwon blinks at him, like registering the question for the first time. He exhales. "No," he says finally.

Niki studies him for a second, then nods. "The others should be back soon," he adds, like it’s something he knows Jungwon is waiting for. Or dreading.

Jungwon swallows. "How long?"

"Not long." There’s a pause, then softer, "You okay?"

Jungwon shifts, tilts his head back, then breathes out. "It’s a lot."

Niki nods like he understands, because he does. "Yeah," he says, voice lower now. "I remember. The scents. It’s overwhelming, right?"

Jungwon hesitates, then nods. "Yeah. But—" He exhales again, voice quieter now. "It’s nice, too."

Niki watches him, something careful in his expression.

Jungwon shifts again, looking down at his hands. "Sorry," he mutters, like an afterthought. "I'm just—"

"It's fine," Niki says, shaking his head, nudging him lightly again, easy, familiar. "I get it."

Jungwon exhales again, but it still feels like there’s not enough air in his lungs. 

It’s fine. He just needs a second.

The scents settle over him. Niki’s the most prominent right now, but beneath it, he knows Jake’s crisp sea spray and mint, the clean steadiness of it. There’s a hint of vanilla and orange—Sunoo, warm and familiar, curling at the edges. 

He can tell apart the deeper, rich, alpha scents instantly. Heeseung, hinoki wood, smoked amber, so comforting. Wintergreen cutting through cold air, that’s Sunghoon, elegant and a little addictive. And Jay. Warm, steady, just slightly smoky, like expensive leather and—like home. The scents are just an echo of the real thing, but it’s already better than anything Jungwon had imagined when they had tried to describe it to him before.

And yet—beneath it, beneath the familiarity of them, something isn’t right. Not quite broken, but bent, thrown off course. It hums under the surface, all wrong. Like a rhythm that should land but doesn’t, like you’re always just a few milliseconds behind the beat. 

A new wave of uneasiness coils tight in his chest. He‘s been so selfish. They’ve been unsteady without him. The pack has been leaning, shifting, trying to find its footing, and never quite managing in his absence.

At least the dorm is empty. The quiet is good. It is a small mercy, not another assault on his senses. Just Niki slouching in one of their kitchen chairs, and Jungwon trying to hold himself together long enough to make it to his room.

„Jay-hyung just texted,” Niki says, casual, like it’s nothing. “He’ll be home in ten.”

Jungwon’s fingers still against the edge of the counter. His phone didn’t buzz. 

If Jay had messaged the pack group chat, he would have seen it. His screen would’ve lit up with the same notification Niki just got. But it hadn’t.

So either Jay had texted Niki directly, which, why—or there was another group chat. One he wasn’t in. They would have needed to talk about schedules, about practice, about moving forward, right? About the problem.

About him.

Familiar to him now, the thoughts creeps in before he can stop them, settling cold in his stomach. Do they talk about him there? About how to handle him? About whether he’ll even be able to keep up anymore?

Jungwon’s throat goes dry. His fingers curl against the edge of the counter, pressing in, nails digging into wood. He stares down at his hands, at the tension in his knuckles, like the answer might be there if he looks hard enough.

He could ask Niki not to tell Jay he’s home. If he hasn’t already. Could say he’s tired, that he needs more time, that Jay should stay where he belongs, in the other dorm, upstairs. Buy himself just one more night. One more hour.

The words press sharp against his teeth, but he doesn’t say them. Still, something restless coils tight in his stomach. He braces himself.

And then the front door opens.

Jungwon’s breath catches. Instinct kicks in—his body tenses, his ears pick up on the shift of air, the voices, the footsteps. For a split second, his body screams hide, but it’s too late—Heeseung steps in first, tugging off his jacket, already talking as he moves.

“They know, they just don’t want to hear—” Heeseung’s voice cuts off mid-sentence, his head snapping up.

He freezes.

Jake follows in right after, looking down at his phone, halfway through kicking off his shoes when he looks up—and stops cold.

A thick silence stretches between them, so taut Jungwon feels it pressing against his skin. Heeseung’s eyes widen just slightly, and Jake’s lips part, his expression unreadable.

Then Niki shifts a little awkwardly. “Uh, surprise?” he says sheepishly, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I know, I know, but I—” He glances at Jungwon, then at the others. “I just… I had to at least try.”

Heeseung moves first.

Jungwon barely has time to react before Heeseung crosses the room in a few long strides, arms wrapping around him tight, scent enveloping him in a way that makes Jungwon’s breath stutter. The warmth of it, the weight of it—he leans into it, his hands gripping Heeseung’s hoodie before he even realizes he’s doing it.

Heexhales, shakily, gripping Heeseung back, fists curling into the fabric of his hoodie. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s holding on until Heeseung murmurs, low and steady, “You’re okay. You’re home. You’re really home.”

Jungwon grips him tighter. It’s too much, but Heeseung feels so steady, so right. His chest is broad now, the kind of warmth that feels like a shield. Jungwon lets himself feel it for just a second longer, just a moment of stillness— 

And then Heeseung shifts, leaning down slightly, his nose brushing just barely against Jungwon’s hairline. It’s instinct, something natural, something he’s done with his family a bunch of times now, something the pack has done before he even presented, before it could ever mean something, but Jungwon’s body locks up immediately.

A sharp pull low in his stomach. A slow-spreading warmth under his skin, a telltale shiver that wants him to tilt his head, to let Heeseung scent him properly, let it sink in deeper. His body wants it. His instincts crave it. His breath catches, chest stuttering with something hot, something heady, something that terrifies him.

Heeseung isn’t doing anything wrong—Jungwon knows that. Knows, logically, that this is what he should want, what his instincts are made for. That this is a comfort, a reminder of his place in the pack, not some boundary being crossed. Heeseung would never cross a line.

But still, it’s too close. Too much.

His mind reels, fights against it, something sharp lodging in his throat, and before he can stop himself, he pulls back—winds himself out of the hug with an awkward little movement, like an animal shaking off something too heavy on its back. Heeseung’s arms loosen easily, letting him go, but his expression flickers just slightly.

Jake is still standing a few steps away, something unreadable in his eyes. He’s stiff, hesitant, like he doesn’t know where he stands in all of this. Like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to move, to reach out.

Jungwon’s chest tightens at the sight.

How could he have let himself believe—even for a second—that Jake had kept things from him on purpose? That he had wanted to take his place? The thought seems absurd now, looking at him.

Jake isn’t standing there like someone who’s won anything. He looks like he’s waiting for a verdict. Like he doesn’t even know if he’s still allowed to touch him.

He takes a shaky breath, then—before he can think about it too much—steps forward. 

Jake lets out a sound—small, choked—and then he’s gripping Jungwon back, tight. His shoulders shake. Jungwon hears it before he feels it.

Jake is crying.

Fuck, Jungwon thinks, I can’t do this. 

His throat closes, he squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m—” His voice catches. He swallows. “I’m sorry.”

God, why can’t he just be normal?  

Why can’t he just be happy to be here, to see them again? Why does every second feel like a battle between what his body wants and what his mind refuses to give in to?

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, how to stand, how to breathe without feeling like he’s taking up the wrong kind of space. His body wants things he never gave it permission to want, instincts pulling at him to ask for comfort, to let them scent him. But his brain fights against it, resents that it’s there, humming under the surface, undeniable. He doesn’t want to need anything from them. 

Jake just shakes his head against his shoulder, fingers curling into Jungwon’s back.

“Not much of a crier,” Heeseung says quietly from beside them. “We know.”

Jake lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, but it cracks at the edges.

He is happy to see them, he really is. But the emotions crash down over him all at once—Jake shaking against him, their scents pressing in, making his mind feel unmoored.

And then, the front door opens again.

Jungwon barely has time to register it before the shift in air tells him exactly who it is. Familiar and warm, something that tugs at him immediately, something that feels like home.

Jay is standing just inside the door, eyes scanning the room, taking in the tension that still lingers in the air. He doesn’t say anything right away, just looks—at Jungwon, at Jake, at Heeseung. His gaze sharpens just slightly, like he’s picking up on the stress and uncertainty, like he can feel it in their scents, even if no one is saying anything out loud. He probably can, Jungwon reminds himself. 

He swallows hard, his pulse unsteady. Jay’s eyes land on him, and for a few seconds, everything else falls away. 

The chaos in his head, the nerves sitting heavy in his stomach, the restlessness crawling under his skin—it all quiets under the weight of Jay’s gaze.

Jungwon exhales shakily, instinct pulling at him before his thoughts can catch up. He wants to close the space between them. Wants to press close, let Jay hold him, let the warmth of his scent settle over him and make all of this easier.

But Jay doesn’t move. 

He doesn‘t, either.

It’s subtle, the shift in Jay’s expression. Something careful smoothing over the raw emotion that had flashed across his face just seconds ago. A slight hesitation in the way his weight shifts forward before settling back again. A moment of stillness, of quiet restraint.

Jay, who has always reached out first, always pulled him in, always known exactly what he needed before he even had to ask—is hesitating. 

Jungwon’s stomach twists.

They all see it. How much of a mess he is. How overwhelmed. Unsteady.

Jay sees it, and now he’s treating Jungwon like something delicate, something that might break under too much pressure.

What kind of omega is he, if he can’t even let them do what they should? He’s already lost everything else. If this is what he is now, shouldn’t he at least be able to let them scent him, to take what little he has left to offer?

He doesn’t wait for Jay to say anything. He doesn’t wait for his own body to betray him.

Before the guilt can sink its claws any deeper, he steps back, putting space between them all before it consumes him whole.

Jungwon turns and moves toward his room, shutting the door behind him before anyone can stop him. His hands are shaking. His heart is too loud in his ears.

He slides down against the door, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes.

He’s happy to be back, he really is, but all he can do is sit here, caught between wanting them close and needing them to stay far, far away. He gets up, changes clothes just to have something to do with his hands, sits down on his bed, thoughts racing. 

He should have said something. Should have smiled, should have at least tried to make it feel like a normal reunion. 

The hoodie he‘s now wearing is one of Jay‘s, he realizes. Had Jay left it in his room? Had it been here since— since before ? Or had Jay been in here since then?

God, he doesn’t want to be some shattered thing Jay has to tiptoe around. That’s worse than anything.

Would it have been easier if Jay had just pulled him in like nothing had changed? Let him forget, even for a second, how much actually had? Would his body have betrayed him then, too? Or would it have been okay?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s better that Jay kept his distance, didn’t see Jungwon flinch, didn’t see the way he’s still at war with himself, with this body that doesn’t feel like his anymore.

Maybe it‘s better Jay doesn‘t see that this thing Jungwon threw it all away for? He can’t even fucking do it right.

The door creaks open minutes later. Jungwon tenses automatically, heart lurching up into his throat—too soon, he’s not ready, but when he looks up, it’s just Niki— and Sunoo.

Niki, lingering in the doorway, shifting on his feet, like he’s once again not sure if he’s allowed to be here. His fingers tighten briefly on the hem of his hoodie before he clears his throat and steps inside, slow, careful.

Sunoo is the one who moves first, stepping inside with none of the hesitation Niki carries. His scent reaches Jungwon before his touch does, curling warm and sweet in the air between them. Vanilla and citrus, steady, familiar.

And then he’s there, closing the space between them, kneeling in front of him. “Jungwon,” Sunoo says, voice soft, careful—but not unsure.

He presses forward without thinking, collapsing into Sunoo’s arms, head tucked against his shoulder. Sunoo makes a soft noise, startled only for a second before his arms come up around him, holding tight, fingers threading into the fabric of Jay‘s hoodie, squeezing like he means it.

“God,” Sunoo breathes. “You’re really back.”

Jungwon shudders, and suddenly Niki is there too, shifting in beside them, solid at his back. Jungwon barely registers the way the bed dips, the way Niki presses close without overwhelming, like they’re instinctively bracketing him in. Just enough to keep him from spiraling any further.

Jungwon nods against him, eyes squeezed shut, throat thick. His body doesn’t lock up this time, doesn’t fight it. It’s just Sunoo, just Niki, and this is easy. This is safe.

Sunoo lets out a shaky breath, and then Jungwon feels it—his shoulders trembling slightly. He’s crying. Jungwon tightens his grip instinctively, pressing his face further against his shoulder.

“You don’t have to feel bad,” Sunoo whispers, voice rough at the edges. “They feel terrible. They didn’t mean to overwhelm you. We’re all so happy to have you back.”

Jungwon’s throat tightens. He shakes his head slightly, because it’s not them. It’s him. He doesn’t want them to feel terrible. He doesn’t want this to be something they have to tiptoe around, something else they have to worry about managing. 

“We know it’s a lot,” Niki continues, rubbing slow, soothing circles over his back. “You don’t have to force it, okay? You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Jungwon exhales, shaky, but he nods.

They stay like that for a while, Niki‘s arms around him, Sunoo’s scent curling close. It settles something deep in Jungwon’s chest, soothes the restless part of him that hasn’t stopped spinning since he walked through the door.

Sunoo shifts, just slightly, leaning back enough to meet Jungwon’s gaze. “Let me help?” he asks, gentle, careful.

Jungwon hesitates for half a second, but the tension isn’t there, the resistance he had with the others. His body already knows the answer.

He nods.

Sunoo leans in slow, nosing along Jungwon’s scent glands, exhaling softly as their scents begin to layer, settle. Jungwon breathes him in, the warmth of vanilla, the bright edges of citrus, something so steady and safe that he barely notices how his body melts into it.

Sunoo is right. It helps.

It works almost immediately, and he sighs, his shoulders finally, finally loosening.

The feeling of being unmoored, of his instincts fighting against everything— it eases. Just enough for him to take a real breath.

Sunoo pulls back just slightly. “Better?” he asks, tilting his head.

Jungwon blinks at him, slow, hazy. Then, reluctantly, he nods.

Sunoo smiles, just barely. “Good.”

Sunoo rubs a gentle hand over his shoulder. “Maybe—” he pauses, choosing his words carefully, “—it would help if you tried it with Niki, too.”

Jungwon stiffens slightly, and Sunoo soothes a hand over his back. “Just to get used to it,” he adds, softer. “Since it can a bit more— But you don’t have to do anything, just… let it settle.”

Jungwon exhales slowly, feeling the weight of Niki at his back, steady and waiting. His body still remembers earlier, how it locked up when Heeseung had gotten too close. How he had nearly panicked at the thought of what his instincts wanted from him.

Why does this—Niki, sitting here, so close— not make his instincts scream?

The guilt sinks in again. He’s a terrible packmate. An even worse omega. It’s a good thing he’s not the leader anymore.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, but he doesn’t push Niki away either. That must be enough, because after a moment, Niki shifts forward, slow and unassuming.

Then, hesitantly, almost like he’s testing something, he moves in closer, warm and solid, slipping an arm around Jungwon and pressing in, chest to back, his hold light but grounding.

Then, Niki is pulling at him, shifting them both down onto the bed. Jungwon lets himself be guided, until he’s curled on his side. Sunoo stays upright, his fingers never leaving Jungwon’s hair, stroking through the strands, a steady rhythm that feels like something solid to hold onto.

Jungwon stiffens, but then, slowly, he exhales. His body reacts before his mind can catch up, leaning into the contact, something inside him unwinding just slightly. Niki holds him like he’s something that might shatter under his touch, and it works, even with Jungwon still clenching his teeth against the way his breathing evens out a little, his instincts surrendering again to the presence of an alpha.

It’s humiliating, he thinks, it still is but— at least it’s just Niki. At least he’s still older than someone, right? That’s the only thing they can’t take from him. The leader title, the status, the respect, his body—all of it stripped away. But this, at least, is his. Even if Niki is an alpha now, even if the dynamic between them has shifted in ways Jungwon doesn’t want to think about, he’s still older. That’s still something. 

For a while, no one speaks. Niki’s arm is warm around him, Sunoo’s fingers still carding through his hair, light and slow.

Niki shifts slightly, hesitates, then, voice barely above a whisper, stutters, “Do you— Can I try to scent you? It’ll feel good, I promise. I— Sunoo says it always helps him.”

Jungwon’s mind is stubborn, still fighting it, but his instincts scream yes, clawing at him to lean in, to let go, to drown in it. 

Sunoo hums softly, a quiet sound of reassurance, his nails scratching lightly against Jungwon’s scalp. It makes something deep in his chest unclench.

He exhales, slow and measured, and gives the smallest nod.

Niki moves carefully, and so, so slow. He leans in again, the touch light, uncertain, careful. He noses along Jungwon’s scent glands at his neck, and Jungwon shudders, his body relaxing against his will. A warm feeling spreads, something deep in his instincts clicking into place, his body submitting further before he can stop it.

Niki exhales softly, pressing closer, his warmth bleeding into Jungwon’s skin. He is patient, his movements gentle. Jungwon feels the shift, the way Niki takes his time, lingering at the curve of his neck, letting their scents layer, settle. It shouldn’t soothe as quickly as it does, he thinks, but his body is too far ahead of his mind, easing into the touch before he can protest.

“You’re okay,” Niki murmurs, voice low, steady, like he’s reassuring an animal spooked too easily. His fingers press lightly at Jungwon’s back, grounding him. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Jungwon’s eyes flutter shut. The words are familiar, an echo of something else, something from a while ago. He can hear it, now—Jay and Heeseung, murmuring the same thing to Niki the night he presented, when Niki had been small and shaking, too overwhelmed by his own instincts. “Just breathe, kid,” Jay had told him, voice calm, warm, safe. “We’ve got you.” 

Jungwon remembers how they had all been there for him, pressing close, letting Niki scent them until his body finally accepted what his mind couldn’t yet grasp. And now—Niki is here, steadying him, as if trying to make up for the fact that Jungwon had gone through it alone.

His scent is stronger now, ginger and cedarwood mingling with honey, coating his skin like something protective, something anchoring. His nose brushes lightly over Jungwon’s pulse point, again and again, and Jungwon barely suppresses a shudder.

“It’s okay,” Niki says again, softer now. “I’ve got you, hyung.”

Jungwon doesn’t know how long they stay like that. His body is still humming, warm, something raw pressing against his ribs. Eventually, though, Niki shifts, pulling back slightly, giving Jungwon space. 

There’s noises—soft at first, then louder. Sunghoon coming home, the others in the hallway. Leaving? Back to the other dorm? Jungwon’s mind races, his heart beats faster, a rush of panic welling up before he can stop it.

Sunoo notices immediately, rubbing his thumb over the back of Jungwon’s hand, grounding.

Niki’s arms tighten, his scent shifts, deepens. A pulse of something strong, distinctly alpha rolls off him, thickening the air, pressing against Jungwon's skin. Jungwon barely has time to register it before his body reacts again, his pulse slowing, his muscles loosening. 

The fear is still there, but it’s smaller, softer, like a blanket draped over something sharp. There’s a moment where neither of them says anything. 

Then, after a hesitation, Niki asks, voice quiet, "Are you hungry?"

Jungwon isn’t, but he shrugs. Niki nods, then gets up, lingering by the door, once again looking like he doesn’t want to leave. The absence of his weight is immediate.

"They’ll want to see you," Sunoo says, voice quiet. 

<3

The next days slip by in quiet repetitions. Jungwon doesn’t fight, doesn’t push back, doesn’t argue when they all fall into something almost like routine. 

Push through, keep moving. They’ve done it before. Survival looks different to I-LAND now, but it’s still survival.

They ease back into schedules, back into practice, back into long hours spent in mirrored rooms where muscle memory tries to make up for what’s missing. The movements are the same, the formations drilled into their bones, but it’s still all wrong. Jungwon can feel it in the hesitations, in the way the others glance at him when they think he won’t notice, in the way their scents hover around him without quite settling.

He’s keeping them at arm’s length. They know it, he knows it. But thankfully, no one says anything.

It’s easier with Niki. He’s still a little wild at the edges, but steady in his devotion. Jungwon lets him be close, lets him touch, lets him scent, lets him grumble against his shoulder about being tired, about his muscles aching, about needing food right now, hyung. 

And it’s easiest with Sunoo, who just slides into Jungwon’s space the way he always has, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He watches the whole pack, their shifting dynamics, the places they fill so naturally. How Niki and Sunoo have become something of a bridge, filling the spaces where Jungwon can’t. It’s not fair to put that on them, but they never complain. 

Jungwon knows he’s getting better. Sunoo makes sure of that, never pushing too hard, always coaxing him into leaning into his instincts little by little. And he is really trying, with all of them. Sunghoon had been a little easier, maybe because he never asked for much in the first place. Their reunion had been careful but not overwhelming, having come after Jungwon had already calmed down a little. 

Jungwon watches him with Sunoo a lot, sees the way Sunghoon’s whole posture softens when Sunoo is around. The way he looks at him like he’s something to be treasured, something irreplaceable. Sunoo, so bright, so sure of himself, so comfortable in what he is, in what he wants. He watches them sometimes, and all he can think about is Jay.

Another routine.

In between the routines, there are the meetings. The company schedules them for him regularly now. Check-ins, they call them, a way to monitor how he’s adjusting.

Of course, they ask how he feels, what he needs, what might actually help him. But Jungwon knows better— they only want to ensure that everything looks fine. That the pack dynamic reads well to an audience. That the transition has been seamless. That Jungwon is an omega idol the way they want him to be.

So he nods along, says what they want to hear. Yes, I’m adjusting well. Yes, things are fine with the others. Yes, I understand the importance of perception.

The manager taking him to these meetings is young, an alpha. The lines blur with their younger managers—some of them are barely older than Heeseung and they spend more time with the group than they do with their own packs. They joke with them, celebrate their wins, see them at their lowest. Some of them, he knows, don’t agree with every decision the company makes either, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is a job for them and they have bills to pay.

She hadn’t been one of the people to reach out in the weeks after. He appreciates that, in a way, There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to talk to them, anyone from the company, anyone with authority over his life.

But the bigger part of him still wants their approval. He’s always been a rule follower. A good idol. A good leader. He doesn’t want to disappoint them any more than he already has.

So he goes, even though the meetings are draining. Smiles at the right moments, agrees when they tell him how strong he’s been. It’s always the same. They talk about adjustment, but they only mean image.

When he leaves, he feels hollowed out, like he’s shed something of himself just to walk out of that room.

Today, stepping back into the dorm, the weight of it still sits heavy on his shoulders. The door clicks shut behind him, and for a moment, he just stands there, staring at the floor, trying to shake it off.

He should go to his room. Should shower, change, reset his scent so it doesn’t reek of the office, of the people who have been dissecting his every move for the past hour.

The dorm is quieter than usual. Not silent—it never is with this many people living on top of each other, even though technically, this dorm should just the three of them—but quieter. There’s a softness to it tonight, the kind that has been settling into the corners lately, tugging at the edges of things left unsaid.

Jungwon moves carefully, steps light against the floorboards, muscles tense. He hears them before he sees them.

The kitchen door is cracked open just enough for their voices to slip through, low and measured, not meant for him to hear. He stops, fingers curling against the doorframe, the soft hum of the fridge filling the silence between their words.

"It’s just not sustainable like this." Heeseung’s voice is quiet, careful. Jungwon doesn’t have to see him to know he’s rubbing at the back of his neck, tense the way he gets when he’s thinking too hard about something. “I think they’ll push harder soon. They want to see the pack working as it should."

Jungwon grips the cup he’s holding. They can’t see him, but would they be able to tell his scent has spiked in anxiety? His heart is racing. He shouldn’t be hearing this. But at the same time, he can’t bring himself to leave.

Jake exhales, and it’s weary in a way that makes Jungwon’s chest ache. "I know." A pause. "They.. I guess they mentioned it. Kind of. He didn’t come right out and say it last night, but you know anyway, right? Like, you know what they mean—”

Jungwon presses his teeth together. Of course it’s obvious. Of course they can see it. The tension, the distance. The way their scents don’t blend the way they should. 

He always tells them, in his meetings, that everything is fine. But he hadn’t considered—hadn’t really let himself think about—how they must be pressuring the others, too. How they must be looking at Jake, waiting for him to fix things.

He knows, they’ve always known, that the industry isn’t just about about who performs the best. It’s about perception. A group functions best when their pack is stable. The fans want to see that stability, want to feel like they could be a part of something perfect like that. 

So that when they’re asked in interviews if the pack is full, they can give the time-tested idol answer of “For now,” and keep the fan’s dreams alive.

He had known this was coming—he wasn’t naive enough to think they could keep living in this limbo forever. But hearing it laid out so plainly makes something inside him curl in on itself.

“They don’t care if it’s true,” Jake says, a quiet frustration lacing his words. “They just don’t want any of this—” he hesitates. “They don’t want it to show.”

Jungwon doesn’t envy Jake. The company doesn’t really ask him to fix it, anymore. His role has already been decide, he exists on the edges of it, nodding along to their decisions, letting them shape the narrative however they see fit.

But Jake—Jake has no choice. He has to be the one who makes it work, now. He has to be the one who stands in front of them, who ensures that they still look like a pack .

Jungwon hears Sunoo hum, a sharp sound, almost bitter. “Well, can’t have their pretty little pack looking fractured in public, right? Not when the protests are still happening.”

Jungwon swallows hard. He doesn’t check the news anymore, but that doesn’t mean he’s unaware that it’s all still going on. His name, his fate, his very existence—laid out in arguments and counterarguments, reduced to a political talking point.

“I just don’t know how we’re supposed to act like everything is fine,” Heeseung says, voice low but firm. “The company wants us to be a united front, but how do we even do that when it’s not true?”

Jungwon’s ears ring. Someone moves around in the kitchen, and he can’t hear anything for a moment. The next thing he catches, they’re talking about Jay.

His pulse stutters, stomach twisting as his scent spikes too fast, too sharp. He knows they’ll notice—they must notice he’s here, now, surely.

“He looks fine to the company, apparently” Jake is saying, but there’s an edge to it, something hollow. “He’s doing what he needs to do.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Sunoo mutters.

Jungwon‘s heart beats so loud against his ribcage. He’s tried not to think about him too much, tried not to let himself dwell on the space Jay has left open between them, the space Jungwon isn’t sure how to cross.

But that’s his fault. That’s his fault.  

“I mean I think.. he’s trying to burn it off so it doesn’t become a problem,” Heeseung continues. “Trying not to lose his mind. But it’s like—it’s hard. I don’t know how long…” 

His stomach turns. He knows. He’s seen it too, in the way Jay moves, in the way his scent wavers when they get too close, in the way his fingers twitch like he’s holding himself back.

Sometimes, Jungwon thinks that eventually, Jay might snap and just let go, let his body take over, stop fighting so hard. But Jay never does. He never makes that choice for him. Never reaches first. Never gives in.

The silence lingers in the kitchen, heavy even to Jungwon’s ears. Then Sunoo speaks, his voice is softer than the others, more unsure. “I just— I don’t know how it all went so wrong. After — after he came back, I just, I was convinced, I mean we all were, right?” he pauses, “That we’d fight, and we’d like… we’d fix it. I thought we’d just.. and they’d have to let us. Get him back.”

Jungwon swallows hard.

The first few days back had been awful. He hadn’t expected them to be waiting for him to fix things, hadn’t realized how much they had been holding onto the idea that once he returned, everything would go back to the way it was supposed to be. The way they had looked at him—waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to take charge, waiting for him to put everything into order.

He had felt it the moment he walked through the door, how they had all thought this was going to go differently. They had been ready—ready to fight. 

But Jungwon hadn’t. He had told them to follow Jake. To move on. If they were going to work as a pack, as a group, keep up momentum, they needed to accept it now. Those were the rules. He didn’t make them, but he’d have to accept them, and so would they. 

The debates, the protests, the anger—none of it mattered if the group itself didn’t move forward. If they faltered now, if they hesitated, if they held onto a version of their future that was no longer possible—then they would be the ones to fall apart. Jungwon couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let them become the experiment that failed.

It wasn’t what they wanted to hear.

He had seen the way Sunoo had turned away, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists at his sides. The way Jake had exhaled sharply, looking at him like he didn’t quite understand, like he was waiting for Jungwon to say something that would make it all make sense. Heeseung had sighed, rubbing at his face, already recalculating.

Jay had gone so still that Jungwon could barely stand to look at him. Now, standing outside the kitchen, he can feel the echoes of that moment in every word they say.

“We can’t force him,” Jake says eventually, his voice heavy. “If he doesn’t want it…”

He sees the way Jake shoulders the weight, the way Heeseung stays closer to him now, the way their dynamic has shifted. He watches the way the others try to follow, try to make it work. And maybe it does. Maybe it will.

But Jungwon sees the hesitation, too. The moments where they don’t quite fall in line, where instinct still tells them to look to him first.

That needs to stop. If they’re moving on, they need to really move on. No more waiting for him. No more looking back.

“Then what?” Heeseung’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and unyielding. “We just accept it? Accept that they did this to him and we let it happen? That we stood by while they took him from us? That the pack is barely holding together, split down the middle?”

He has been avoiding this exact conversation for weeks. Avoiding the fact that they are trying, that they do want to help, that it’s him keeping them at arm’s length.

“We didn’t let them.” Jake’s voice is quiet, but firm. “We fought.”

“Not hard enough.” Sunoo sounds tired. “What if we…”

“Even if we want to do it still, It’ll be impossible without him. We can’t betray him like that,” Jake says eventually, voice quiet but weighted.

Something they had discussed before he came back? Jungwon’s breath stutters. He doesn’t want to know.

The front door opens behind Jungwon and he startles. The ceramic mug he’s been holding slips from his fingers, shattering against the floor. Jungwon barely registers the sudden silence in the kitchen, the way the conversation halts. His focus narrows to the way Sunghoon steps inside, pausing when he sees Jungwon standing there, frozen amidst the shards of ceramic and spilled tea.

“Jungwon?”

The way he says his name makes something in his chest ache. 

Sunghoon takes another step forward, his expression shifting. “Are you okay?”

And Jungwon knows what he’s really asking.

Are you okay? Do you need me? Will you let me help?

Jungwon’s scent must be betraying him. He doesn’t know how to control it yet, doesn’t know how to hide what he’s feeling the way the others do. 

Jungwon nods, too quickly, too sharp. “I—yeah. Just dropped it.”

Sunghoon shifts, just slightly, like he’s debating something. And then his scent changes, softens, reaches out. It’s instinctive, a quiet offering, the way he’s always been with the people he cares about.

He knows the comfort Sunghoon is trying to offer, the instinct behind it, the way his body is naturally trying to soothe a distressed packmate. 

He’s going to scent him. Or, he wants to.

Jungwon jerks back. Not obviously, not aggressively, but enough to make it clear.

“I should—” Jungwon starts, stumbling over the words. “I should clean this up.”

Sunghoon hesitates for another second, then nods, stepping back. The moment stretches between them, quiet and heavy.

Jungwon doesn’t look at him when he moves past, doesn’t look toward the kitchen either, doesn’t check to see if the others have stepped out or if they’re still inside, still waiting for answers he doesn’t know how to give.

<3

The drive back to the dorm is quiet, the kind of quiet that only settles after hours of exhaustion, after bodies have been wrung out by practice and routine and the weight of things unsaid. The van hums beneath them, smooth against the road, the low rumble of the engine blending with the faint crackle of the radio, left on at a barely audible volume.

Jungwon is so, so tired.

It had only been a radio appearance. Nothing big. Just a quick interview to promote the tour, to tease their next comeback. No questions about the leadership change, nothing about the protests—not officially, anyway. But the protesters had made their presence known. Their signs, their voices, their unwavering insistence that this isn’t right.

He lets his head rest against the headrest, watching as the city slips past in blurred streaks of neon and streetlights, everything distant, like it exists in another world entirely. 

They did well, he thinks. He had smiled, laughed at the right moments, had joined in on their inside jokes, done everything he could to make it seem like things were fine. That the pack was strong, that they were moving forward, everyone happy with the new arrangement. And Jake—Jake had taken the lead effortlessly, stepping in for introductions, keeping the conversation flowing, doing exactly what the company needed from him.

Jungwon thought he was prepared for it. He had weeks to adjust, to accept it. But hearing Jake introduce them on air had still sent something sharp through his chest, something bitter and sinking and difficult to name.

He blinks slowly at the window, the neon signs and dim streetlights blurring past in long, distorted streaks. His eyelids are heavy and he fights to keep them open, but the warmth of the van, the soft vibrations beneath him, the steady lull of the city outside—it’s pulling him under.

Niki is already asleep beside him, folded awkwardly into his seat, his long limbs sprawled, head tipped against the window on his left side. Jay’s next to him on the right. The heat of his body seeps through the air, but there’s a gap between them, a careful, deliberate absence of contact that feels heavier than any touch.

It’s not bad. Not really. It’s worse than bad, actually, but not in the way anyone else would think. Keeping a careful, measured space between them. It’s the opposite of what Jungwon wants, but he doesn’t know how to ask for anything different.

But then the van takes a turn, and Jay shifts slightly, their arms brushing, and Jungwon’s pulse jumps before he can stop it.

Jay is staring straight ahead, his face turned slightly toward the window, features relaxed in a way that makes it hard to tell if he’s awake or just barely on the edge of sleep. His breathing is deep, steady, and his scent lingers warm in the small space between them.

It’s stronger like this, in the confines of the van, where there’s nowhere else for it to go. Sunoo had described it back before Jungwon presented, whiskey and something warm, something just slightly smoky, like expensive leather, like something steady, something safe. And it is that, but it’s also… more. It’s something that settles in his ribs and makes his breath feel thick in his chest, like warmth curling around the edges of something cold.

He had imagined it for years, built it up in his head, convinced himself that it wouldn’t be anything special, that it wouldn’t affect him more than any of the others. 

But it had. It does. He knew the second Jay had returned to the dorm.

Now, so close to the source, Jungwon's body once again reacts before his sleepy mind has a chance to catch up. His fingers twitch against his thigh. His throat feels dry.

He should move. He should shift away before it becomes noticeable, before Jay can read the way his body reacts. But before he can make himself do it, Jay shifts first.

It’s nothing, at first. Just the natural movement of someone adjusting in their seat. But then—Jay presses his hand against Jungwon’s thigh, just briefly, just enough to press him back into the seat, as if steadying him, before nudging his own shoulder forward.

Jungwon’s breath catches. His head tilts before he can stop it, and then—soft fabric, warmth, the steady rise and fall of breath beneath him. Jay doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even acknowledge it. But he stays still, his body unmoving, his shoulder firm beneath Jungwon’s weight. Something that used to be so normal for them, but that Jungwon hasn’t allowed ever since everything changed. 

Jungwon should sit up. He should put space between them before… But Jay’s scent is all around him now, filling his lungs, pressing into his skin, into his pulse points, and it feels—so good. 

Jay shifts, just barely, and Jungwon feels it more than he hears it. The way Jay’s whole body goes still, the way his breath pulls slightly deeper through his nose before he carefully evens it out again. It’s like he’s trying not to react, trying not to make it obvious, but it’s there, pressed into the tightness of his shoulders, the way his fingers flex slightly against his thigh before curling into the fabric of his sweats.

Jungwon’s pulse kicks up, despite the sleepiness. He should move. He should say something. He should—

But he’s so tired. And Jay is solid beneath him, warm and steady, his scent thick and grounding in the air between them, and his muscles are relaxing, his mind drifting, and he can’t—

Just this once. Just for a moment.

<3

Jungwon is already lying in Sunoo’s bed when the door opens. He doesn’t move, just tilts his head slightly, watching as Sunoo steps inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

The room already smells like Sunoo—warm vanilla and citrus, something bright and familiar—but now, there’s something else woven through it, something richer, deeper. It clings to Sunoo’s skin as he walks in, layered thick into his scent, not just traces but something recent, something lingering.

Jay, thick and heady, the warmth of him deepened, smokier, like embers still glowing. Heeseung too, his scent stronger than usual, rich and grounding, pressed into every inch of Sunoo’s skin like he’d been holding him for hours.

Jungwon exhales slowly, letting his gaze drift back to the ceiling.

This has been happening a lot—Sunoo walking in with the weight of the others still settled on him, carrying the scent of their closeness, like an unspoken offering. Jungwon never asks. Sunoo never explains. But they both know.

Some nights, Jungwon thinks it should make it worse—should make him feel even more like an outsider, pressed against a glass wall while the pack moves on without him. But instead, it’s the opposite. He breathes in, and it feels like he’s a part of it, even if only at the edges, even if only through Sunoo.

Sunoo moves toward the bed easily, toeing off his socks before climbing in, pressing close like it’s nothing. It never is, with Sunoo. He’s always known how to be near without pushing, how to slide into Jungwon’s space without making it feel like a demand.

The scent hits harder now that he’s closer, wrapping around Jungwon like a second skin. His body reacts before his mind does—his breath catching, his fingers twitching against the sheets. His instincts know before he can push it away, before he can rationalize it into something smaller, something manageable. Something curls deep in his stomach, hot and slow, settling too easily into the place he’s been keeping locked up.

Sunoo flops down beside him with a sigh, shifting until he’s comfortable. “You could at least leave space for me,” he mutters, even though there’s plenty.

Jungwon huffs a soft laugh. He doesn’t move.

Sunoo doesn’t complain further, just tucks himself in, the warmth of him seeping through the fabric of Jungwon’s hoodie, the press of his arm easy and familiar.

For a long while, they stay like that.

Then, Sunoo shifts, nosing along the curve of Jungwon’s throat, scenting him the way he always does, a quiet, instinctive thing. But then his tongue flicks out, just barely, a fleeting taste against Jungwon’s skin.

Sunoo hesitates, waiting for a reaction, but then he does it again, a little firmer this time, a little slower. His mouth presses against the curve where Jungwon’s shoulder meets his neck, tongue tracing over the sensitive skin there, warmth sinking in, and—

Jungwon’s breath catches, something pulling deep in his chest, and before he can stop himself, a noise escapes him. Small. Not quite a whimper, not quite a groan—something in between.

Sunoo goes still.

Then, carefully, slowly, he presses closer, his thigh slotting between Jungwon’s legs, his scent deepening, warm and inviting.

He knows what Sunoo must be smelling, the sharp spike of it in his scent, the heat that must be rolling off of him now, impossible to hide. 

“Do you…” Sunoo’s voice is quiet, hesitant. „You want to?”

Jungwon’s throat feels tight. He really, really does. He should… he should slow down. But then Sunoo shifts again, breath warm against his skin, scent curling deeper into his lungs, and every single thought is drowned out by instinct.

Jungwon doesn’t answer. He just turns, presses his mouth to Sunoo’s, slow and soft, sinking into the warmth of it, into the quiet relief of being wanted.

For a moment, it’s just that—soft, slow, lips slotting together like the easiest thing in the world. Jungwon exhales into the kiss, letting himself fall into the warmth of it, into the way Sunoo tastes familiar, safe. 

The lingering scent of the others still clings to his skin, layered thick, sinking into the sheets beneath them.It’s all mixed in now, tangled with Sunoo’s scent, seeping into Jungwon’s skin as he breathes it in. It makes his head swim, makes heat curl low in his stomach, heavy and deep.

Sunoo’s hand finds his waist, fingers pressing in lightly, not pulling, just there. Jungwon parts his lips, and Sunoo deepens the kiss just enough, tilting his head, breath warm against Jungwon’s mouth.

It’s careful. It’s cautious. Like Sunoo is waiting for him to stop, for him to pull away.

Instead, Jungwon shifts, pushing closer, pressing Sunoo back against the mattress. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at first—just moves on instinct, tucking himself into the space where Sunoo is warm and solid beneath him.

Sunoo makes a small, surprised noise against his lips, but he doesn’t stop him. Just lets him settle, one of his hands trailing up Jungwon’s back, the other smoothing over his side.

And then—Sunoo scents him again, nuzzles in, mouth brushing over Jungwon’s throat, tongue flicking out just slightly like he’s tasting him. Jungwon shudders, breath hitching, and Sunoo hums, pleased.

It’s not just him, Jungwon realizes. Sunoo is turned on too, his body warm and pliant beneath him, his scent shifting, deepening, filling the space between them with something thick and wanting.

“You smell nice,” Sunoo murmurs against his skin. Sunoo’s leg is still slotted between his, and when Jungwon shifts, the pressure sends a sharp jolt of something through him—want, raw and undeniable. His hips stutter against Sunoo’s thigh, barely, and his breath catches, mortified.

Jungwon freezes, heat rising to his face, but Sunoo doesn’t pull away. If anything, he softens, hands smoothing down Jungwon’s sides, grounding. His scent blooms, warm and soothing.

“Jungwon,” Sunoo murmurs. His voice is quiet, gentle, a question more than anything else.

Jungwon doesn’t answer. He just buries his face against Sunoo’s neck, breathing him in, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. 

Sunoo shifts slightly beneath him, exhaling softly. “Hey,” he says, voice light, almost teasing, “it’s okay—”

Jungwon squeezes his eyes shut. He knows that. He knows this is normal, that this is fine, that there’s nothing wrong with him. It’s still hard to let himself go in the ways he wants do. 

Sunoo is quiet beneath him, waiting. His fingers stroke lightly at Jungwon’s waist, slow, steady, patient.

Sunoo’s fingers trail over his back, slow and easy. “Do you just— I can“ he hesitates, “Want me to talk some more?”

Jungwon stiffens, not sure if he wants to acknowledge that. Whatever they’ve been doing the past few weeks. Sunoo doesn’t seem to expect him to respond, though, just keeps talking, voice soft, teasing, a little indulgent.

“I know you love hearing it” Sunoo muses, his fingers brushing the nape of Jungwon’s neck. “About what they’re like. I don’t mind telling you.”

Jungwon stays quiet. He has asked before, in that quiet, oblique way that lets him pretend he isn’t desperate for the answers. Sunoo has told him about the others, about Heeseung, Jake, Niki— and most often, about Sunghoon. 

About how he gets when they do this, how he’s slow and careful but likes to pin Sunoo down, likes to drag his mouth over Sunoo’s skin and mark him up, how he has this soft, helpless little noise he makes when he’s buried deep and getting close. How he gets all pliant, easy to coax, easy to tease.

“You could boss him around,” Sunoo had told Jungwon once, voice knowing, teasing. “You probably don’t think you could, but you could. Hoon likes it when I do.”

Jungwon has listened, feeling like a voyeur in his own pack, taking it in, storing it away. Not letting them in, not yet, but—wanting to know.

“Heeseung’s intense,” he’s told him before, voice tinged with something like awe. “Like he wants to draw everything out of you. Wants you all undone, all his. Likes to take control, set the pace.” 

Maybe that’s why he works so well with Jake, Jungwon thinks. It must be harder, when instincts don’t make you ready for it at any given moment, when it isn’t something humming at the base of your skin, waiting to be pulled to the surface. Heeseung would see that as a challenge, probably, a puzzle to solve, a new pace to learn. He’d figure Jake out, tease out every reaction, map out what makes him tick and then ruin him with it.

He’s pictured it, Heeseung’s hands on Jake’s waist, the way Jake would tense at first, the way he’d let himself be led. The way Heeseung would coax him open, bit by bit, until there was nothing left to hold back.

Now Niki, he’s not had to picture, because he’s seen it for himself. Jungwon had been in the room with both of them, and— Sunoo had been sprawled out beneath Niki on the bed, loose and pliant, his fingers twisting into Niki’s hair, his body shifting to slot them together just right. Niki had kissed him deep, slow, like he had all the time in the world, and Sunoo had just—taken it, let himself be held, let himself be kissed like he deserved it.

It wasn’t just that it was Niki, that the youngest of them was already so confident, so at ease in his own body. It was that Sunoo let him be. That Sunoo wanted him like that, trusted him like that, let himself be touched and kissed and taken care of like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Of course, Sunoo knows what Jungwon most likes to hear. So he doles out information sparingly, like dishing out candy to a child. Jungwon listens, waits, and pretends not to be eager for it.

It feels like a reward system, sometimes. Jungwon tries with the others, does better, reaches out, lets them in just a little more—and he gets another piece of information for his collection. Another detail to store away. 

Like today. 

Sunoo’s fingers trail lower, teasing at his waist. “He’s always so careful,” Sunoo continues, voice hushed. “You know how he is. You know how he was with you.”

A sharp bolt of something rushes through Jungwon’s stomach. He never knows if it’s jealousy or something else entirely.

“Always holding back, always keeping himself just a little bit in check.” Sunoo’s voice dips, quieter, like he’s revealing something. “But when he lets go…”

Sunoo noses along his jaw, voice barely above a whisper. “The way he touches me,” he murmurs, “like he’s memorizing every inch of me, like he’s trying to take his time but he can’t help himself.” He exhales softly, his fingers teasing lower. 

Jungwon’s breath shudders out of him, something inside him unraveling. He doesn’t feel jealous. He doesn’t feel possessive. He feels—raw. Open. Like the thought of Sunoo and Jay together should feel like a door closing, but instead it feels like a door opening.

Sunoo tilts his head, dragging his mouth along Jungwon’s throat again. “I know he sometimes wishes I was you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against Jungwon’s skin. “You know that, don’t you?”

Jungwon’s stomach clenches, heat pooling low. His fingers tighten where they grip Sunoo’s shirt.

Sunoo hums, nosing against the shell of his ear. “You know he does.” His voice is a whisper, coaxing, like he’s unspooling something delicate, something that’s already been unraveling inside Jungwon for weeks. “He won’t touch me like that unless I ask him to. Unless I really want it, unless I beg him for it. But when he does…”

Sunoo shifts closer, his lips just barely ghosting over Jungwon’s skin as his voice drops even lower. “He’s so strong, Won. You wouldn’t think it, not really, not until he’s pressing you down, holding you there. And God, he tries to be gentle at first. He’s so sweet, so careful. But if you push him? If you dig your nails into his back and tell him you need him to fuck you like he means it?”

Jungwon exhales sharply, his hips pressing forward on instinct, and Sunoo feels it, grinning against his throat.

“That’s when he really loses it,” Sunoo whispers, lips brushing just barely against Jungwon’s pulse. “When he stops thinking. When he fucks you.”

Jungwon swallows hard, his fingers trembling where they grip Sunoo’s waist. His mind flickers with images he doesn’t even try to push away—Jay, so solid, so sure, his jaw tight with restraint before finally snapping, pinning Sunoo down and fucking him so deep he can’t even breathe.

The thought makes his stomach coil tight, makes something deep in his chest ache.

Sunoo shifts beneath him, his thigh pressing between Jungwon’s legs, and Jungwon can’t help it—he moves, pressing down, the friction making him bite his lip.

“You like hearing about him, huh?” he asks even though he already knows the answer, his voice pure satisfaction. His fingers are teasing at Jungwon’s waist now, slipping beneath his shirt, tracing warm circles against his skin. 

Jungwon could deny it. Could shake his head. But his breath stutters, his body already answering for him. Sunoo grins against his skin, his hand slipping lower, pressing over the waistband of Jungwon’s sweats.

“Yeah,” Sunoo murmurs, barely above a whisper. “I know you do.”

His fingers dip beneath the fabric, brushing over heated skin, and Jungwon makes a sharp, bitten-off noise in the back of his throat. Slick is already wetting the inside of his thighs, making everything hot, messy, overwhelming. Sunoo presses his palm against him, feeling the dampness spreading through the thin fabric, and makes a soft, pleased sound.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re so wet, baby.”

Jungwon squeezes his eyes shut, his face burning, but Sunoo just presses a slow kiss against his jaw, his fingers pushing lower, slipping between his legs. “It’s good,” Sunoo murmurs, encouraging. “It’s a good thing, Won. You feel good, right?”

Jungwon lets out a shaky breath as Sunoo’s fingers press against him, slick coating his skin, everything slippery and hot. He doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t pull away.

Sunoo exhales a soft, pleased laugh, his fingers sliding against him, slow, gentle. “That’s it,” he soothes, his other hand trailing up to cup Jungwon’s nape, grounding him. “Just let me—”

His fingers press in, teasing at the edge of him, slick easing the way. Jungwon gasps, his whole body tightening. Sunoo shushes him softly, his free hand smoothing down his back.

“You’re okay,” Sunoo murmurs. “You’re okay, Won. You’re so good.”

Jungwon chokes out a sound, his hips jerking forward on instinct, pressing against Sunoo’s stomach, hard and aching. His body is too hot, his thoughts too loud, but Sunoo is steady beneath him, warm and real.

Sunoo has never really acted like a hyung to him. He’s always deferred to Jungwon as their leader—had let him take charge, let him set the tone, let him make the final call. Even when they bickered, even when Sunoo whined at him about something trivial, there had always been that line beneath it, that silent understanding. Jungwon was in charge.

But here, now—Sunoo likes this, he can tell. Likes guiding him, teaching him. Likes having the upper hand. And Jungwon lets him, follows where Sunoo leads, unthinking, unresisting.

“Don’t hold back,” Sunoo whispers, his fingers easing inside him, slow, stretching. “I got you.” 

Jungwon shudders, his breath catching, his thighs trembling as he grinds down against Sunoo’s hand.

Sunoo keeps talking, voice low, coaxing. “Jay wouldn’t want you to hold back,” he murmurs, his fingers curling just right, making Jungwon gasp. “You know that, don’t you? He’d take care of you—he’d fuck you so good, Won. You know he would.”

Jungwon whines, barely recognizing the sound as his own, pleasure crackling through him like a live wire. Sunoo presses kisses to his throat, his collarbone, his shoulder, his fingers moving slow and sure.

“You’d let him, wouldn’t you?” Sunoo breathes, his thumb pressing lightly against the base of Jungwon’s spine. “You’d let him wreck you.”

Jungwon’s whole body tightens, heat rushing through him, his hips stuttering forward as he grinds against Sunoo’s stomach, chasing it, dizzy with it. His thighs shake, his breath stuttering out, pleasure crashing over him, and Sunoo just keeps whispering against his skin.

“That’s it,” Sunoo murmurs, fingers still moving, coaxing him through the aftershocks. “That’s it, baby. I got you.”

Jungwon shudders, pressing his face into the crook of Sunoo’s neck, his body trembling with the last remnants of it. Sunoo doesn’t pull away, doesn’t let go. He just holds him, his hands warm and grounding, tracing soothing lines over Jungwon’s back, through his hair, down the curve of his spine.

By the time Jungwon’s breathing evens out, his muscles feel loose and heavy, his mind floating somewhere between exhaustion and warmth. He’s too tired to think, too tired to fight himself the way he always does.

Sunoo nuzzles against his temple, lips brushing just lightly over his hairline. “Told you,” he hums, his voice teasing, but soft. “It’s okay.”

Jungwon makes a sound—half a grumble, half an agreement—but doesn’t move. He feels too good, too settled, too normal for the first time in what feels like forever.

Sunoo, however, has other ideas.

“Alright, up,” Sunoo mutters, shifting beneath him, reaching blindly for the tissues on the nightstand. “Up. You know I’m not sleeping in this mess.”

Jungwon groans, but lets himself be pulled up anyway, lets Sunoo press a tissue into his hand before swiping one along his stomach with a wrinkle of his nose. “I swear, you’re worse than Niki.”

Jungwon huffs, tossing the used tissue toward the bin, missing entirely. Sunoo sighs dramatically and kicks it in with his foot before grabbing Jungwon’s wrist again. “Come on,” he says, stretching, his voice thick with drowsiness. “Shower.”

Jungwon rolls his eyes but follows, letting Sunoo nudge him toward the bathroom. They move around each other easily, rinsing their hands, wiping themselves down, passing a towel between them without thinking. It’s quiet in a way that feels… normal.

When they slip back under the covers, Jungwon doesn’t expect to feel much of anything. He loves Sunoo. He’s always loved Sunoo. He’s kissed him before, many times, even before Sunoo presented. There’s no sudden revelation, no life-altering shift, becaus this isn’t some big, new thing. It just is, the way it should be, with pack. Maybe kind of the point, he realizes

Maybe it’s good for him to let the others back in. Maybe he’s been holding onto something that doesn’t have to be this difficult.

Jungwon lies still, staring at the ceiling. His breath is slow, his skin warm, the weight of Sunoo’s body pressed along his side grounding him. The room is quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside, the occasional shift of fabric when Sunoo moves beside him.

Sunoo exhales, long and slow. Then, without lifting his head, he says, “I don’t know what you’re so afraid of.”

Jungwon swallows, fingers curling slightly where they rest on the sheets. He doesn’t answer.

Sunoo shifts, rolling onto his side to face him. “You let me in,” he says, voice softer now, measured. “And Niki. But the others—” He pauses, then sighs, running a lazy hand down Jungwon’s arm. “They can feel it, you know. The difference.”

Jungwon shuts his eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to think about this. But Sunoo doesn’t let up.

“They don’t know what to do,” Sunoo continues. “You won’t let them fight for you, you won’t let them close, and—” He stops for a second, then sighs, quieter. “You won’t even talk to Jay.”

Jungwon’s stomach clenches. He keeps his eyes closed, keeps his body perfectly still, but Sunoo’s scent flares with frustration, his fingers tightening briefly around Jungwon’s wrist.

Jungwon breathes in slow, keeping his expression blank. But inside, his thoughts spiral.

How would he even begin to explain to Sunoo what it feels like? That he was their leader— their leader—and now he is nothing ?

The rational part of him knows it’s not true. He knows the hierarchy only matters out there, in the way the company sees them, in the way the public perceives them. He knows the members don’t think he’s lesser, that they never have, that their pack has never worked that way.

But knowing something isn’t the same as feeling it.

“They fought for you,” Sunoo says, finally. “All of them. All of us. Hard.”

Jungwon stays silent.

Sunoo shifts again, propping himself up on one elbow. “You think they just… let it happen?” he asks, his voice laced with hurt. “Jungwon, we lost our minds.”

Jungwon frowns, tilting his head slightly but still refusing to look at him.

“Niki cried,” Sunoo says plainly. “Like, a lot.” His lips press into a thin line. “Jay lost it on them. He was yelling at management. Heeseung had to physically get in between him and one of the execs.” He pauses. “It was bad.”

Jungwon doesn’t say anything.

Sunoo watches him, eyes searching. “And Jake,” he says again, quieter this time. “Jungwon, he didn’t just push back—he refused. Said he would rather leave than do that to you. He— we all said. That it wasn’t right.” 

Jungwon swallows, his throat tight. He doesn’t know what to do with any of this.

He knows they had been upset, of course—had seen it in the way they looked at him when he came back, in the hesitations, in the tension that hummed beneath the surface of their interactions. But hearing it laid out like this makes it feel more real, more unbearable.

He doesn’t want them to have fought for him. He doesn’t want them to have lost because of him.

He forces himself to keep his breathing steady, to keep his expression blank, but Sunoo isn’t done.

“And Sunghoon—” Sunoo stops, hesitating. His scent flickers with something uncertain, something sad. “You know how he gets.”

Jungwon does.

Sunghoon has never been the loudest, never been the type to throw himself into a fight headfirst the way Jay does, the way Heeseung can when provoked. But he feels things just as deeply—holds them close, lets them simmer beneath his skin until they build and build and build.

“He just…” Sunoo trails off, staring at the ceiling for a second before sighing. “At first, he didn’t believe it. Like, actually couldn’t believe it. He thought it was a mistake. That someone had misheard something. That it was a stupid rumor or a misunderstanding that would get cleared up in a day or two.”

Sunoo turns his head toward him, watching his face. “I remember the way he kept checking his phone, waiting for a message from you, from the company, from anyone. He was so sure it was temporary. He kept saying, ‘They wouldn’t do this. It doesn’t make sense. He’s the leader. Why would they do this?’”

Jungwon’s throat feels tight.

“The articles started coming out, and I think he read them all. And when he realized there was no explanation, nothing that made sense, nothing that actually justified it, he just…We had to take his phone away at one point,” Sunoo says. “He wasn’t sleeping. He’d just… he’d stay up reading, getting himself more and more upset, and then he’d come into practice already on edge, already exhausted.”

Jungwon’s chest feels tight, like he can’t get enough air.

Sunoo meets his eyes, expression serious. “I think for us, it’s like if we accept this, then we’re saying it’s okay,” he says finally. “And it’s not okay, Jungwon.”

Sunoo squeezes his wrist once, then lets go. He doesn’t push anymore, doesn’t press him for a response. He just settles back against the pillows, watching as Jungwon processes everything in silence.

Jungwon stares at the ceiling, his mind racing.

And all he can think about is Sunghoon, sitting alone with his phone, scrolling through page after page of people trying to justify something that had never made sense in the first place.

<3

The dressing room is too small for the number of people in it. Staff members shuffle in and out, makeup artists squeeze past managers, and a low hum of voices fills the space. The air smells like hairspray and sweat, like too many scents layered over each other, an indistinct blur of alphas, betas, and omegas on perfumed scent supressers pressed into one space.

He’s halfway to the exit when he hears it.

“Honestly, I always thought he had that omega vibe.”

It’s said offhandedly, with the casual ease of someone who isn’t thinking too hard about the words coming out of their mouth. Jungwon doesn’t know them. Doesn’t think they even noticed he’s still in the room.

The conversation continues like nothing happened. “Always,” the man next to her agrees. “Soft. People should’ve seen it coming.”

The first guy hums in agreement. “Yeah, I mean… the company probably have for a while. Makes sense, honestly. They planned it well.”

Jungwon’s stomach turns. He knows they’re talking about him. There’s no doubt. He should look away, pretend he didn’t hear. That’s what he’s been doing for weeks, letting these kinds of comments pass over him like they don’t matter.

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening. He had been a good leader. He had worked harder than anyone. He had earned that position, had carried the group through moments when no one else could. And now, people spoke about it like it had been some mistake waiting to be corrected.

Something hot flares in his chest, but before he can think about it too much, Sunoo nudges his side, calling him back into the room. He blinks, exhales, forces himself to push it down. Later. He can deal with it later.

The moment doesn’t come back to him until the end of the schedule. The dressing room is buzzing now, the kind of chaotic energy that comes after a live broadcast—stylists packing up, staff shouting quick directions over the noise, cameras being wheeled back into storage. Jungwon is used to it. He moves through it like he always does, now, like he’s supposed to. Quiet, polite, efficient. Out of the way.

And then a voice cuts through the noise.

“You know,” someone says, amused, casual, like it’s just friendly conversation. “I always figured you for an omega. You’ve got that sweet, obedient look, don’t you?”

Jungwon turns, and it’s one of the station executives, an older man in a suit, smiling at him like it’s a joke. His tone is light, just the right amount of teasing, like he expects Jungwon to laugh along. Like it’s all just good-natured fun.

His throat goes tight. He hears the words, but more than that, he hears what’s behind them.

“You're better off now, anyway,” the man continues, chuckling, like he’s doing Jungwon a favor. “Not so much pressure, right? Omegas are better at other things, huh?” he winks. 

The laugh he lets out makes Jungwon’s skin crawl. The man claps a hand on his shoulder, light but firm, like he expects it to be taken as some kind of fatherly advice.

It’s not an explosion. He doesn’t lash out, doesn’t throw the man’s hand off, doesn’t let his scent spike with aggression the way he feels it rising. But the anger is there, running hot through his veins, rising up like a wave that he suddenly realizes has been building for a long time.

He has taken everything that had been thrown at him. He has nodded and smiled, let them reintroduce him to the world like he was someone else, let them strip away the title he had worked for, let them tell him that it was for the best. He has told himself that accepting it is the only way forward, that pushing back would only make things worse.

But now, for the first time since it happened, he feels something different.

This isn’t his fault. It wasn’t his failure.

And it is wrong that he isn’t leader anymore.

The realization crashes into him all at once, sudden and undeniable, and he lets it settle. He doesn’t laugh along. He doesn’t nod. He doesn’t look down or brush it off.

Instead, he meets the executive’s eyes as well as he can. “I was a good leader,” he says, quietly. “And it was never too much pressure.”

The executive blinks, caught off guard. There’s a pause, just long enough for Jungwon to see the surprise flicker across his face, before the man chuckles again, awkward now, dismissive. “Feisty! Of course, of course,” he says, waving a hand. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

But Jungwon is already turning away. He doesn’t want to hear it.

He catches Jay’s gaze as he moves, sees the way he’s watching him, something sharp in his expression. He must have caught the tail end of that interaction. Maybe more.

Jungwon exhales, steadying himself. This isn’t over. Not yet.

Chapter Text

The executive exhales, his smile settling back into something easy. He adjusts his cuffs, like he’s already putting the conversation behind him, but then—before Jungwon can step away—he leans in just slightly, lowering his voice like this is something just between them.

“You know,” he muses, tone dipping into something almost conspiratorial. “I like them a little feisty.” His hand doesn’t quite touch Jungwon again, but the implication is there, lingering like his scent, thick and cloying. “My husband, when he was younger…” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, let’s just say he had to learn which battles were worth fighting.”

Something knowing curls at the edges of his smile. “Of course, leadership is about knowing when to step back, too. Some people don’t have to be at the front to be valuable. They just have to understand their place.” His gaze flickers over Jungwon, assessing. “I think you get that now.”

Jungwon’s breath stills in his chest. He moves to turn away, and then—

“Excuse me?”

Jay’s voice, sharp and unmistakable, cuts through the space between them like a blade.

For a few seconds, nobody speaks.

Jungwon, trying to diffuse any tension, moves to step past Jay, expecting him to let it go, to follow his lead, back off like he always does. But Jay doesn’t move.

The executive barely has time to turn before Jay is stepping in, every line of his body taut with restrained anger. 

His scent spikes so fast and so sharp that Jungwon feels it like a shock to his system—burning hot and frayed at the edges, crawling into every corner of the room.

“I just want to be clear,” Jay says, and Jungwon doesn’t have to look to know that his eyes are locked onto the executive, scent burning to ashes. “Some title didn’t make Jungwon a leader. So taking it away doesn’t change who he is to us, omega or not.”

The air in the dressing room feels like it drops. 

The executive tilts his head slightly, unreadable, but his shoulders stiffen. His scent—controlled up until this point, blanketed in expensive cologne and carefully crafted authority—sharpens noticeably. Unease.

“I don’t think we need to get defensive here—” he starts, voice measured, but Jay cuts him off.

“Defensive?” His head tilts just slightly, the line of his shoulders going rigid. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, rougher, the edge of it sending something instinctual crawling up Jungwon’s spine. “No, I’m disgusted.”

Jungwon flinches at the bluntness. The executive does too, though his reaction is barely perceptible. A flicker in his gaze. A tightening of his lips. His scent curdles slightly, laced with frustration.

The tension should break then. That should be the end of it.

But Jay, again, doesn’t move.

Jungwon glances at him, pulse picking up when he sees it—sees the way Jay’s entire posture has gone rigid, the way his jaw is locked so tight it might hurt, the way his fingers curl into fists at his sides. He isn’t just mad. He’s furious.

His scent is leaking into the air, overwhelming the usual neutral mix of perfume and setting spray and lingering laundry detergent that fills these rooms. It’s something so strong, something frayed at the edges.

Jungwon feels it before he even processes it fully, that deep, instinctual pull of an alpha’s presence turning territorial, protective, simmering too close to the surface. Jay isn’t just posturing anymore—he’s on the edge of something deeper, something that could tip too easily if someone doesn’t stop it.

And they are still in a public space. 

There’s no one immediately next to them, no wide-eyed stylists or managers hovering close enough to step in. But that won’t last for long. If Jay keeps this up, if he keeps letting his scent spike like this, keeps letting his body language broadcast a challenge, someone is going to notice.

It doesn’t matter that the guy was the one who provoked it, doesn’t matter what comments were or were not uncalled for. What matters is that this man isn’t just some industry nobody, and they can’t afford this to damage anything. 

Fuck. He has to stop this. 

He moves before he can think, stepping in closer, placing a hand on Jay’s arm, solid and grounding.

“Jay,” he says, voice quiet. “It’s okay.”

Jay doesn’t react immediately. His breathing is slow, too controlled, too measured, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. Doesn’t ease.

Jungwon has spent the last few years managing a pack with four young alphas. Of course, he’s had to deal with things like this before and as leader, he had gotten pretty good at handling it, navigating the different shifts even when he couldn’t tell what was happening by their scents yet. 

But he’s never been in the center of it like this. 

Heeseung and Jay had already settled into their roles by the time they debuted, their edges worn smooth by the gauntlet that had been I-LAND. 

They had been shaped by that trauma, tested, tempered. Jay got loud sometimes, sure, but never like this— never with anything actually dangerous simmering beneath the surface. 

And Heeseung—he had always been just a little territorial, something ingrained in him as the eldest, something that made him hover when one of them was sick or bristle when outsiders got too familiar. But even then, his presence had been steady, anchoring rather than suffocating. And Jake had always been good at smoothing things out before anything happened.

Sunghoon—they’d never really had problems with him. If he had an edge to him, it was always ice, not fire.

Niki had struggled when he first presented. It wasn’t just the instincts, the changes, the restless energy—though there had been plenty of that. It was also that he was the youngest. Three alphas already years ahead of him, with a better claim than him to basically everything, already settled into their roles, already comfortable in what it meant to be alphas in their pack. 

But Niki was a sweetheart at his core. He had struggled, but he had never wanted to make things hard for them.

And he had mellowed out a lot when Sunoo presented. Which—should be strange. Their dynamics should have gotten more complicated, should have tipped into something more instinctive, more growly. They had been given time, two weeks for them to adjust, settle into the shift, but there had been no fights, no reckless displays of dominance. Sunghoon had gotten a little territorial for like one minute, and Niki—somehow, had relaxed.

Other groups had stories—tensions that boiled over, instincts clashing, rivalries that got ugly. But their alphas were usually well-behaved. 

They had been lucky. 

This… he doesn’t think he’s seen it this bad before from one of them. He looks at Jay again, at the way his entire body is a live wire of tension, scent burning up the room.

He doesn’t want to think about what else might be going on here. Doesn’t want to pick at the thought curling at the back of his mind, asking if this is about something deeper, something that has nothing to do with titles or respect or fairness.

Jungwon tightens his grip slightly. “It’s fine, hyung, I promise. He was just leaving.”

Jay exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s forcing himself to release something, to shake off the heat pressing into his bones. His hands unclench. His posture shifts, the tension not fully leaving his frame but dissipating enough that the air around them eases just slightly.

The executive watches them, eyes flicking between them before his lips press into something almost wry.

“Your omega, I get it,” he spits out, like that explains everything. Like that’s all this is—some young alpha’s instincts getting the better of him, like it’s a natural reaction between dynamics.

But even that doesn’t settle Jay fully.

If anything, Jungwon can feel the way Jay’s scent spikes again at that, the way his body tenses all over again, like he wants to say something, do something—but thankfully, he doesn’t.

The executive smooths his cuffs, straightens, exhales through his nose in something that could almost pass as indifference. And then, without another word, he turns and strides out of the room, sharp and efficient, as if trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and whatever just happened.

The moment he’s gone, the tension in the dressing room starts to shift, conversations resuming, the weight of the moment starting to dissipate around them.

Jay finally exhales, dragging a hand down his face before turning to Jungwon, his expression grim with frustration. “I—” He stops, exhales again, like he’s trying to force himself to let go of whatever is still sitting heavy on his chest. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

Jungwon squeezes his arm slightly. 

The confrontation lingers heavy in the air. This could have gone so wrong.

Enhypen has been around for years now, long enough to feel somewhat stable. 

But stability in this business is an illusion, and they all know it. What they have—this life, this success, this position—could be taken away in an instant. A single scandal, a shift in public perception, a controversy blown out of proportion. It wouldn’t even have to be something big. It almost never is.

He’s seen it happen too often. Careers gutted overnight because of a single moment, a single mistake, a single thing taken out of context and fed into the machine of public scrutiny.

And they are so young, still. Every move they make is measured against expectations, every word they say analyzed, every expression picked apart. 

The company might be ruthless sometimes, might treat them like a product rather than people, but in the end, they aren’t wrong to be careful. They have to be careful. They always have to be careful.

And Jay is. He is usually so careful. He’s really, really good at keeping himself under control, Jungwon knows that. 

He should be frustrated with him, but all he can think— because all he knows, is that Jay is not that guy. He has never been that guy. And yet, for some reason, this was the thing that made him snap.

Jay exhales, his voice quieter now, a fraction rougher. “I’m sorry. I— I usually have it under control better than that.” His fingers are still flexing at his sides, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them, like there’s something inside of him that still needs an outlet, still needs to be burned off.

Jungwon doesn’t know why that makes his stomach twist, why the words I’m sorry make something inside him pull so tight he feels like he might snap.

Because what does Jay even have to apologize for? For standing up for him? 

Jungwon swallows.

For getting angry over something worth getting angry about, but putting them at risk by doing that. 

For losing control when he should have known better.

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t think he can say anything.

He takes a step toward Jay—small, hesitant, but deliberate, something deep inside him reaching out, asking for something without words.

Jay’s breath hitches.

Jungwon watches his expression shift, something raw flickering across his face—half wonder, half desperation. Like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to reach for Jungwon but wants to more than anything.

An hour ago, Jungwon would have hesitated, backed out, probably. He doesn’t fully understand why he doesn’t now. But the weight in his chest is too heavy, and Jay looks so unsteady, so wound tight that Jungwon can feel it in the air between them.

So he moves. A step forward, his hands lifting, pressing against Jay’s sides, and then up, curling over his shoulders. The second his fingers find purchase, Jay exhales sharply, like something in him has been holding its breath this whole time.

And then he’s pulling Jungwon in, arms wrapping tight, holding on like he’s afraid to let go.

He holds him tight, tighter than he ever has before, like he’s trying to make up for every second of restraint, every moment he’s held himself back. His arms lock around Jungwon’s shoulders, his hands pressing firm against his back, anchoring him. 

Jay still feels like a live wire beneath Jungwon’s hands—too tense, too wound up, his anger not fully burned out yet.

So Jungwon leans into it, lets himself reach for what Sunoo had taught him, lets himself focus on that instinct, that quiet, calming, steady warmth, lets it bleed out into the space between them.

Jay exhales, the sound shaky at first, then deeper, steadier. His muscles don’t completely relax, but some of the tension unwinds, just a little.

Jungwon buries his face in Jay’s chest, eyes squeezing shut. “Hyung, I know you don’t— he was an asshole.”

Jay doesn’t say anything, but his fingers twitch against Jungwon’s back. Another slow breath, this one quieter, like he’s finally letting himself settle.

Jungwon shifts, just slightly. “It’s fine, you’re fine” he continues, the words careful, measured, the way he knows Jay needs to hear them, even if he’s still unsure what really caused this to be as bad as it was. “Nobody saw. Just me.”

“And I’m fine,” he adds, quiet, steady. “The pack is fine.”

That must have hit a nerve, he thinks, because Jay’s grip tightens fractionally.

Jungwon lets himself stay there, lets the moment stretch out between them, warm and steady. 

Jay doesn’t scent him, doesn’t even try to. And by the time they hear a manager calling for them down the hall, Jay’s breathing is normal again, his shoulders loose, no longer wound so tightly that it feels like he might snap.

<3

It had been suggested—well, heavily encouraged that they do this, now that the hierarchy has changed and the pack is fully presented. 

It’s controlled, strictly managed, entry restricted, the clientele curated. These aren’t the places where idols get caught slipping up. No cameras, no leaks, no stories. Just well-maintained anonymity and company-approved socialization.

It’s procedure, really. Omegas need to get used to social settings, learn how to carry themselves properly in public. Alphas need to train their instincts, know how to control their territorial urges. Betas need to navigate their role. All of them, according to the company, need practice—to get comfortable with their places in a pack, to function the way they’re supposed to when it actually matters.

Jungwon kind of hates the fact that a big part of him understands why the company wants it.

At least it’s not a bad night.

Jake is laughing, already a few drinks in, arm slung easily over Sunghoon’s shoulders. The music thrums through the floor, low and steady, the kind of bass that settles in your chest more than your ears. Jay has a cold, so he had to stay at the dorm, which he had been devastated over—or at least that’s what he had claimed while practically shoving them all out the door. Guess I’ll just have to suffer alone, he had sighed, dramatically.

Jungwon had fought with him last time, when Jay had stayed back with him. The memory prickles at him now, unwelcome. Jungwon had been awful to him that night. And now, with hindsight, with the shift of everything settled into place, he feels the guilt of it like a stone in his stomach.

He still doesn’t necessarily want to be here. But at least he doesn’t have to watch them all disappear through the door without him. 

The truth is, they have always been such an introverted pack—most of them would rather spend their nights in the dorm, stretched out in the living room, gaming or watching movies.

The only ones who actually enjoy nights like these are Heeseung and Niki. Heeseung thrives in any social setting—he can slip into conversation effortlessly, disappear into the music when he wants to. Jungwon thinks Niki just likes the thrill of it, the newness, the way being out making him feel like more of an adult even when they all still keep a careful eye on him. 

Sunoo is more of a wildcard at parties. If the mood is right, he’ll be the life of the party, getting them all shots, flirting with whoever is bold enough to approach him. If it’s not right, he’ll be texting them all to complain within the first hour, already plotting an excuse to leave.

“Free drinks for omegas,” Sunoo says tonight, with a pleased little tilt of his chin, taking a sip of a glowing blue tower of drink in front of him. His face goes through about three different expressions before he swallows. “Wow. That sure is a flavor.”

Jungwon eyes his own drink warily. “Why does it look like poison?”

Sunoo shrugs. “Because it probably is. Try it.”

Jungwon takes a sip, grimaces immediately. Sunoo cackles.

For a while, they just sit like that, sipping their drinks, watching the others. It’s easier than Jungwon expected, easier than it has been in a while. Sunoo isn’t watching him, not like before, not waiting for him to unravel. He’s just here with them, just one of them.

He lets his gaze drift across the club, scanning the bar, taking in the easy choreography of it all. There’s a rhythm to the way people interact, subtle movements coded with meaning rooted in dynamics. It’s all body language—who’s looking, who’s waiting to be approached, who’s positioning themselves close enough for a touch but not quite touching yet.

A group of betas lean against the bar, casual but calculated in their ease, chatting with an omega who flutters her lashes as she sips her drink. Two alphas stand a few feet away, one of them watching, waiting, her weight shifting from foot to foot, clearly holding herself back. It’s a performance, a dance, and everyone here seems to know the steps.

He presses his glass against his lips, not even drinking, just feeling the condensation against his skin. His grip tightens slightly around the glass as the thought creeps up on him again, something that’s been sitting in the back of his mind for a while now. 

“Do you ever—” The words slip out before he fully knows where he’s going with them. He stops, pressing his fingers into the glass, trying to untangle the mess of thoughts in his head. He exhales sharply through his nose, then tries again. “Do you ever think about how much of this is… real?”

Sunoo blinks. “Like, the club?”

Jungwon huffs a quiet laugh. “No, I mean… instincts. Like, have you ever wondered if…” He trails off, trying to find the right words. “If people—if Sunghoon, or any of them—like you for you, or just for what you are? I mean we know we do, I know he does. But— isn’t it just what is supposed to happen? Like, if I’m attracted to somebody, how do I know if it’s just because of the omega thing.”

Sunoo pauses for about two seconds—then snorts, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

Jungwon pouts, narrowing his eyes. “I’m serious.”

“No, no, yes, of course, I’m listening,” Sunoo says, pressing his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh again. “But baby, this is Jay we’re talking about.” He tilts his head, giving Jungwon a pointed look. “Like, come on. We were there. We all lived through that. You think after everything, that was just instincts? Pheromones weren’t even in the picture back then—so why would they be the only reason now?”

Jungwon opens his mouth—then closes it again. His ears burn.

“No, okay, okay,” Sunoo adds, holding his hands up as if in surrender when Jungwon makes a face, “I’ll be serious.” He tips his head, thinking. “I think it’s like—everyone has instincts, right?”

Jungwon watches him, waiting.

Sunoo takes another sip of his drink, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “But with us, between us— we also have trust, right? That’s what makes it different.” He tilts his head. “It’s like, just because the instincts are super loud all the time, doesn’t mean they get final say. You know?”

Jungwon lets that settle in his chest, trying to figure out how he feels about it.

Sunoo sighs dramatically, stretching his arms over his head. “Wow. I’m so wise. Aren’t you so glad I’m your pack omega?”

Jungwon snorts, glancing at him, amused. “You’re our pack omega now?”

“Excuse me? Obviously!” Sunoo gasps, clutching his chest like he is personally offended. 

Jungwon shakes his head, the corners of his lips twitching up. “Right, right. Of course. What would we do without you?”

Sunoo hums, then, pleased. “Suffer. You would suffer.”

<3

For the first time in a long time, Jungwon feels like he’s doing okay. It’s not that things are suddenly perfect, but it’s something. 

He can feel it in the way Sunoo has stopped watching him so carefully, in the way the others have started reaching for him again—casual touches, easy banter, little things that make the air between them feel lighter. 

They feel whole again—maybe not quite seamless, but no longer as fragmented. Jungwon doesn’t feel like he’s taking Sunoo and Niki away from the others, and the others don’t feel so far away anymore.

There’s been a shift—a slow one, hesitant, but real. Jake draping himself over Jungwon on the couch without hesitation, Heeseung nudging him in the practice room without pausing to gauge his reaction first. Things feel lighter with Jay, too, after the incident with the executive, and thankfully there had been no consequences, nobody who had overheard or seen anything. 

Of course, it’s not quite there yet. He still doesn’t fully trust himself—not his body that still feels foreign, not the instincts curling up at the edges of his thoughts, waiting for him to slip. 

But he works hard, pushes through, and the routine is beginning to settle around him, steady and predictable.

The whole pack seems to be settling too. Things flow easier, practice runs smoother, their movements align without anyone second-guessing it. They’ve been busy—packed schedules, rehearsals running late, appearances that demand their best versions of themselves at every moment. But somehow, it doesn’t feel so overwhelming anymore.

The biggest change though, is that he’s started dancing again. Sometimes with Niki, sometimes with others, a few times with Bada, even. But also, just by himself.

Not just rehearsing, not just going through the motions, but pushing himself until muscle memory takes over, until the burn in his muscles drowns out everything else. Until there’s no room left in his head for anything but the music, the precise control of his breathing, the sharp pull and release of every movement.

His body is different now. He can feel it—the shifts in balance, the way his center of gravity has adjusted, the slight changes in flexibility and endurance. He’s learning himself again, but— learning what makes him strong in different ways, figuring out how to use this new body to his advantage rather than letting it hold him back.

Some days, it works. He finds the rhythm, finds the flow, and it feels like progress. 

Other days, he can’t get there. Can’t make it good. Can’t shake the awkwardness of this new body, the instincts that creep up like intruders in his own mind. Can’t forget that this—this body, this shift, have cost him so much.

But when he gets it right, when everything clicks, it’s like slipping into something familiar, something so safe. The hours disappear, blurred into the steady repetition of movement, into the quiet, pure simplicity of this is what I was made to do.

And in those moments, when he’s moving, when he’s pushing himself just past the edge of exhaustion, when the music pounds through his chest and his body obeys without hesitation—he thinks, they’re wrong.

He’s the same him. His body feels different, but his mind is the same, isn’t it? His movements are just as sharp, his footwork still impeccable, his mind still tuned to every shift, every beat. Nothing about him has really changed. 

The thought pulses through him, electric, visceral, something like defiance curling in his chest. He was a great leader. He could do it. They’re his pack, they know that, he knows that. 

But the moment never lasts for too long. The song ends, and the weight of the outside world settles back onto his shoulders.

Because even on those days, outside the pack, the reality is still the same.

And today, stepping into one of the many company conference rooms again, he is reminded of that immediately. 

The room is big, and cold. Too cold, the kind of deliberate too cold that’s supposed to keep people uncomfortable, probably. It makes Jungwon’s skin prickle beneath his sleeves, the faint hum of the air conditioning a constant, sterile backdrop to the meeting. 

Across from him, one of the senior executives is speaking in that measured, careful tone that sets his teeth on edge.  

There’s always one or two faces he recognizes, the ones who have been handling his case from the beginning, the ones who know how to navigate these conversations with the same calm, impersonal precision every time. But the others? They rotate in and out, new every few meetings, unfamiliar voices with unfamiliar names. 

It's probably on purpose, Jungwon thinks. A smart move. A way to make him feel off-balance, to remind him that he isn’t speaking to individuals, but to the company itself, an entity too big to argue with. 

There are three of them here today, plus a couple of managers, but the one leading the conversation is a woman he’s dealt with before. She’s always been good at sounding like she’s on his side, like she's a friend. 

“…and while we acknowledge the complexities of the situation, Jungwon-ah, we really need to consider the long-term impact on the group.” 

He keeps his expression neutral. “I understand,” he says, because that’s what’s expected of him. But then, because he’s trying—because Sunoo is right, because Jay is on his side, they all are, because he has to at least try—he adds, “But I don’t think the solution is pretending that nothing happened.” 

A slight pause. A flicker of something in her gaze before she smooths it over. 

“No one is suggesting that,” she says, hands folded neatly on the table. “We’re simply asking for your cooperation in moving forward in a way that benefits everyone.” 

As if he’s the only one dragging his feet. As if the members aren’t tangled up in this just as much as he is. As if he isn’t trying to balance everything—his instincts, his career, the pack—while the company asks him to bear the weight of the entire industry on his shoulders. 

He forces himself to hold her gaze. “I don’t think it benefits everyone if I have to pretend like this didn’t affect me.” 

Another pause. Another slight, practiced smile. “That’s not what we’re asking, Jungwon-ah. But you know how quickly narratives form. Right now, the protests are putting a lot of pressure on the company, and more importantly, on Enhypen as a whole. We’re all concerned about the group’s image.” 

We’re all concerned. The weight of it settles heavily in his chest. 

Jungwon keeps his posture steady. “I told them to follow Jake,” he says, his voice measured, careful. “I told them to move on.”

“And that’s wonderful,” she says smoothly, like she’s praising a child for finally learning a lesson. “And they have, haven’t they? He’s done such a great job stepping up. The transition has been so smooth. He’s a natural leader.”

There’s something sharp under the way she says it, a test buried beneath the pleasantries.

Jungwon exhales through his nose. “I know that.”

She tilts her head. “Then why are you holding on?”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not.”

“Of course,” she says, suddenly easy, as if she’s soothing him. “And we’ve been so impressed with you, too, with how maturely you’ve handled all of this.”

Jungwon swallows. The switching tactics is something he’s used to, but it still gets to him.

“Which is why we know you’ll understand.” She smiles, warm, practiced. “You’ve been in this industry long enough to know how things work, Jungwon-ah. Leadership is complicated. It’s not just about skill—it’s about perception. It’s about roles.”

His fingers curl under the table.

“And omegas—they have such important roles to play.” Her voice lilts, like she’s shifting into something lighter, something almost indulgent. “Enhypen is lucky, isn’t it? Not just one, but two omegas in the group? That’s so special.”

Jungwon just barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. Lots of groups have two omegas. Even TXT have two —and they’re only five in total. 

If the company really wanted to go for something special, something groundbreaking, something no one else had, maybe they should have let him stay as leader. 

But what does he know.

Another executive nods, leaning back in his chair. “The fans love omegas. Some of the biggest idols in the industry are omegas.”

As long as they do nothing but smile and look pretty. That much has been made clear.

“We really cherish our omegas,” the woman continues, like it’s something sacred. “You understand that, don’t you? You don’t think Sunoo is less, do you? Or Jimin sunbaenim?”

Jimin sunbaenim? The words sit strange in his head. It's weird, hearing her say it like that, like she's calling him her senior when he’s clearly a decade younger than her. But then he realizes—it’s deliberate. She’s doing that thing doctors do with kids, repeating his words back to him, talking in his voice like she’s speaking for him. 

Jungwon’s jaw tightens. “That’s not—” 

“Omegas are the heart of a team,” she says smoothly, cutting him off before he can argue. “The warmth, the stability, the glue that keeps everything together. And you, Jungwon—you’ve always been that, haven’t you?”

His head hurts.

The words are wrapping around him, tightening in ways he can’t untangle, pressing down on him from all sides. Not less, but different. Not less, but something else entirely. Not less, but somehow not enough.

“Don’t you think you could be more now, Jungwon-ah?” she asks gently. “More than you were before?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that.

“And your members,” she continues, her tone gentle, almost sympathetic. “It must be hard for them too, don’t you think?”

Switching topics again. He’s so tired.

She sighs, a quiet, measured exhale. “They’ve been nothing but patient, haven’t they? Standing by you, supporting you, even when they had nothing to do with this, when they did nothing wrong. But all the scrutiny, all the negativity—it’s affecting them too.”

Jungwon swallows, his throat tight. I didn’t do anything wrong either. The thought flares up, quick and sharp, but it feels weak the second it forms. 

His hands curl into fists under the table.

“And I know— we all know how much you care about Jake” she continues smoothly. “We know you don’t want to put him in a difficult position.”

It’s as if she’s just now finally getting to the heart of it. “He’s already had to take on so much responsibility. And he’s done such a good job. It would be a shame if people started doubting him because they think you still want the role.”

The words settle like a weight on his chest.

“We’re not asking for much, you’re already doing so well,” an older guy assures, his smile soft, understanding. “Just remember to bring a happy face to schedules, make sure they know they can move on and not have to worry about you.” 

They’ve had to be careful around me. He knows that. He’s felt it, seen it in the way they’ve measured their words, the way they glance at him before reacting, before laughing too freely. 

Have I been making it worse? Have I been dragging them down?

The silence stretches.

And then, suddenly, a sharp ringtone slices through it, the woman’s phone vibrating against the table.

“Oh,” she says lightly, glancing down, like it’s a joke between them. “Saved by the bell.”

Jungwon exhales, the tension breaking just slightly.

She hums, flipping her phone over and rising to her feet. “That was a good talk. You’re thinking about things the right way, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t answer.

She doesn’t wait for one.

“Let’s pick this up again soon,” she says. “I think you’ll see it all a little clearer next time.”

Jungwon stands stiffly, gives a small bow. Then, without another word, he walks out.

<3  

The subway ride back to the dorms is quiet. 

No one else is with him—his manager had been pulled into another meeting, and Jungwon hadn’t waited. He’d needed to get out, needed to move, to be somewhere that didn’t feel like cold air and sterile voices stripping him down into something smaller. 

Jungwon exhales sharply through his nose, eyes slipping closed for a second as the train pulls into the station. 

For the first time in a long time, he’d thought—he’d felt —like things were getting better. Like he was getting better. But had he been wrong?

Had the warmth, the ease, the sense of something clicking back into place—was that just acceptance making things easier, not healing? Was it because he was finally settling into the role he was supposed to have?

The company wasn’t wrong. His members had been patient, had stood by him through everything, even when they didn’t have to. Even when he was the reason they had to hold their breaths. When they had done nothing wrong.

Jungwon exhales sharply through his nose as the train pulls into the station, trying to shake the thoughts loose. But they curl around him tighter, winding through his chest, heavy and suffocating.

When he gets to the dorm, there’s laughter, low conversation, the warmth of his pack bleeding through even to the hallway. He can tell that they’re all in the dorm together. A month ago, that wouldn’t have been the case. 

They had been careful, respectful, walking on eggshells around him for so long.

Sunoo had told him, none of us agree with the company, Jungwon. He had believed that. He still does. He believes that they wanted to fight for him, that they did fight for him.

But had he overstayed that patience? How much more could he really ask of them? They must be sick of me, he thinks. Sick of his hesitation, sick of the way he keeps pushing them away, sick of the fact that he can’t just let this go already.

He doesn’t want to go in and disrupt whatever ease they’ve finally found, doesn’t want to walk in and feel it shift around him, the weight of their concern settling again like they’re bracing for impact.

They’re doing fine. For once, he doesn’t wan to be the reason they have to recalibrate. And he’s exhausted, anyway.

He turns and heads upstairs instead.

The alpha dorm is dark when he steps inside, and it smells different here, sharper, less layered, but steadier. He exhales, tension easing from his shoulders as he closes the door behind him.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, Jungwoo’s name is on the screen.

Jungwon hesitates for a second before answering. “Hey, hyung.”

“I was about to leave you a really annoying voicemail,” Jungwoo says, his voice light, casual.

Jungwon huffs a small laugh, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. “I bet.”

Jungwoo isn’t someone Jungwon ever expected to be a constant in his life, but he’s always made it his mission to look out for him—back when Jungwon was a trainee at SM, before everything. Lately, they’ve been talking more, and Jungwon knows it’s because Jungwoo is worried— he never hides it, doesn’t pretend he’s just calling for no reason. 

But Jungwon doesn’t mind. Jungwoo is very good at filling the space with something that isn’t disappointment or frustration, just easy conversation—someone to talk to, or just listen.

“You good?” Jungwoo asks.

Jungwon swallows. He’s so tired. His whole body feels heavy, worn thin from the weight of the day. 

No.

But he says, “Yeah.”

Jungwoo doesn’t call him out on it. Just hums, like he’s waiting to see if Jungwon will say more, but he’s too tired to think of anything to say. 

There’s another pause, then a nother quiet hum. “Alright. I’m out with Doyoung hyung right now, you should come,” Jungwoo says. “We’ll get dessert or something.”

Jungwon has met Doyoung a few times, mostly at award shoes. He’s the oldest omega in their group— another group with two omegas, not that Jungwon is counting — and according to Jungwoo, he’s really good at making people feel like they have someone on their side.

Maybe that’s why Jungwoo is asking. Maybe he thinks Jungwon could use that tonight.

Jungwon shifts, his head tipping back against the couch. The air in here is different. Less suffocating, but still thick enough to sink into, the scent of alphas woven into the fabric, grounding in a way he doesn’t have to think about.

“Let’s get dessert some other time.. I think I’m just gonna stay in,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” Jungwoo doesn’t sound surprised. Doesn’t push. “Alright. Just go to sleep, Jungwonie, you sound really tired.”

The exhaustion is creeping up on him now, slow and heavy. His eyes slip closed, his grip on his phone loosening as the couch pulls him deeper into its warmth.

The only thing he registers before sleep claims him is the scent in the cushions, familiar and steady.

<3

He dreams one of those fragmented dreams, disjointed and hazy at the edges, slipping through his fingers before he can grasp it.

The hallways are the same as they were back then—long, clinical, humming with fluorescent light. His shoes make no sound against the floor, his bag heavy over his shoulder, a familiar ache in his limbs from too many hours of practice.

He rounds the corner and pushes the door open, already expecting the steady rhythm of music, the scuffed wooden floors, the press of other trainees moving through choreography. The sound of voices he knows, the feeling of something solid .

But the room is empty. No mats laid out for warm-ups. No one stretching against the mirrors. The lights are on, but it feels cold, unused.

His stomach twists. He must have gotten the time wrong. Did he mess up?

The door opens behind him and relief hits him, sharp and immediate—until he turns.

It’s another trainee. Someone familiar, but not quite. Someone he should know, but their gaze flickers over him blankly, like he’s a stranger standing in the wrong place.

Jungwon blinks. Where is everyone?

The trainee tilts their head. Who?

The group, Jungwon says, pulse picking up. The others.

You must be remembering it wrong, the trainee says. You’re not a trainee here.

Jungwon’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He takes a step back, chest tightening.

But he is, isn’t he? He worked so hard. He— 

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder, solid, warm. And then he’s waking up.

The room, unfamiliar for a second, is dim, the only light coming from the hallway, casting long shadows across the room. His body is sluggish, too warm, still tangled in sleep, but the hand on his shoulder is real, pressing gently against him. 

“Jungwon,” Jay murmurs, voice softer now. “Here you are. You can’t sleep here.” 

Jungwon blinks blearily, still half-caught in the dream, his pulse slow and heavy in his veins. 

“You’ll get stiff,” Jay says, shifting back onto his heels where he is crouched next to the couch.

Jungwon makes a quiet noise of protest, burrowing deeper into the couch, his body sinking further into the warmth. He doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t even want to think about moving.

Jay exhales, shaking his head. “Come on. I’ll take you down to your room.”

Jungwon is barely awake, but something in him resists. The thought of going downstairs, stepping into the dorm where the air is still thick with unspoken things, makes him feel off-balance again.

So he just shakes his head, voice thick with sleep. “Not downstairs. Just wanna sleep.”

Jay watches him for a second, then moves before Jungwon can react. He barely stirs as Jay lifts him, shifting instinctively closer to his chest, half-conscious, breathing in the familiar scent of him—clean and steady, threaded through with something warmer, something that makes the tension in his limbs ease without him realizing it.

His fingers curl slightly in the fabric of Jay’s hoodie, not holding on, not letting go.

Jay adjusts his grip, voice low, amused. “Alright, baby leader,” he murmurs, something like laughter in his tone, something soft. “I’ll take you to bed.”

Jungwon barely hears it, already sinking back into the haze of sleep.

<3

Everything feels hazy—the kind of deep, untroubled sleep he hasn’t had in months. His body feels light, limbs loose, breath slow, warmth sinking into his skin instead of the usual restless discomfort.

Jungwon blinks, adjusting to the slant of sunlight spilling through a gap in the curtains, stretching across the mattress, seeping into him. It’s soft, steady, warming his cheek. And then he realizes—he’s in Jay’s bed. In Jay’s room. But they aren’t tangled together like they used to be, the way they always had been before everything changed.

He shifts slightly, fingers pressing into the soft sheets. The warmth surrounding him isn’t just from sleep or the sun—it’s Jay’s scent, steady and grounding, wrapping around him like something solid, something safe.

It’s still nice. Comforting. Even with Jay on the other side of the bed, his back half-turned, one arm tucked under his pillow.

It’s been like this for weeks—Jay staying away, careful not to overwhelm him. Heeseung had said Jay was trying not to lose his mind. Had it really been that hard, holding himself back?

The thought twists something tight in Jungwon’s chest. If Jay struggles to stay away, if it hurts him to not reach out the way he used to, then how hard is it to sleep like this, side by side but apart?

Even if it’s comfortable for him, even if it feels safe—is he being selfish, making things harder for Jay?

Right now, like this, it doesn’t feel bad. It feels so normal, like nothing ever changed. 

Jungwon exhales, shifting slightly, and behind him, Jay stirs. His breath hitches, body shifting just enough to sit up, reaching for the water bottle on the nightstand. It’s a small movement, barely more than a shift in weight, but it tilts the mattress just enough to move Jungwon out of the perfect slant of sunlight warming his face.

He makes a small, grumpy noise in protest, instinctive, still half-asleep.

Jay pauses mid-reach, then glances down at him, amused. “What?” His voice is scratchy with sleep, deep and slow.

Jungwon just huffs, tucking his chin against his shoulder like that’ll keep him from fully waking up, like maybe he can slip back into that perfect warmth, that perfect stillness. He barely even knows what he’s complaining about—just that it had been good before, and now it’s not, and it’s Jay’s fault.

Jay shakes his head, a quiet breath of laughter escaping through his nose as he takes a slow sip from the bottle. Then he nudges Jungwon’s shoulder. “Here,” he murmurs, holding it out.

Jungwon is still tangled in sleep, but he reaches for it, taking a slow, careful sip before handing it back. Jay watches him, quiet, then places the bottle back on the nightstand and shifts down again.

Jungwon expects him to just settle back where he was, but instead, Jay wraps an arm around him and pulls him in, pressing Jungwon flush against his chest. His scent is steady, warm, and something in Jungwon immediately eases, instinct smoothing out the sharp edges of sleep and confusion.

The question slips out before he can stop himself.

“Hyung. If we’re like this…” His voice sounds strange in his head, rough with so much sleep, and he stares straight ahead, watching the faint light from the curtains shift against the wall. “Is it hard for you?”

Jay stills.

Jungwon doesn’t turn, but he can feel the way Jay tenses slightly behind him, like the question caught him off guard.

A beat of silence. Then—

“…Hard?” Jay’s voice is slow, careful, like he’s figuring out where Jungwon is going with this before he answers.

Jungwon swallows again, his fingers flexing slightly beneath Jay’s. “Do.. Like, do you have to hold yourself back like this? Because of the whole— the alpha thing”

Jay doesn’t answer right away.

Jungwon can feel the shift of his breathing, the hesitation that settles between them. He wonders if Jay thinks he’s asking because he’s worried at what point he might snap. What would take it too far.

And he is, a little. But mostly, he just—wants to understand.

Jay exhales softly, like he’s making a decision in real time. “Yeah,” he admits, finally. “It’s hard.”

Jungwon nods once, barely perceptible, but doesn’t move otherwise.

“But…” Jay continues, his fingers pressing a little firmer against Jungwon’s hand, as if grounding himself. “It’s still easier when I know you’re right here, okay? It’s still— it’s just better.”

Jungwon doesn’t say anything at first. He just lies there, staring at the faint shifting patterns of light against the wall, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of Jay’s breathing behind him. The warmth of Jay’s hand, resting so solidly over his, grounding but not overwhelming.

Then, after a long moment, he exhales and murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

Jay’s fingers twitch slightly against his own. “For what?”

Jungwon shifts, not really moving away, just adjusting so that his hand turns under Jay’s, their palms pressing lightly together. “That it’s hard,” he says, voice quiet. “That… if I’m making it hard.”

Jay reacts instantly, shifting onto one elbow, pulling back just enough to look at him, even though Jungwon doesn’t turn to meet his gaze. “No,” he says, a little rushed, a little too forceful, like the idea of Jungwon feeling guilty about this is unbearable. “God, Jungwon, no. That’s not—”

“I’d do anything for you,” Jay says, voice softer now. “You know that, right?”

Jay shifts, his hand tightening slightly around Jungwon’s, his warmth steady, grounding. Then he exhales, slow and measured, like he’s trying to untangle his thoughts again before speaking.

“You don’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says, voice gentle but firm. “Not with me. Not with anyone. If you never want to let the alphas scent you, if you never want to do anything like that, that’s fine. We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

Jungwon feels his chest tighten, his fingers curling slightly against Jay’s.

“I meant what I said,” Jay continues, his voice softer now, steadier. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Jungwon swallows hard. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Never has. 

So he doesn’t say anything, just lets the silence stretch, lets the warmth between them settle into something that doesn’t feel like it’s pressing him down, but holding him up.

Then, finally, he exhales, shifts slightly, and turns just enough to glance at Jay.

They’re already here. He’ll just ask. 

“That day. With the executive guy at the show.” He hesitates. Then, voice softer, “Why did you get so angry?”

Jay blinks, like he hadn’t been expecting the question. He shifts back slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, considering. Jungwon glances at him again, still not fully turning, but just enough to see his face, see the way Jay’s expression shifts.

“Look,” Jay starts slowly, “I mean—yeah, obviously, part of it was just…” He hesitates, then exhales again, like he’s forcing himself to say it. “It was an alpha thing. I won’t pretend it wasn’t.”

Jay's fingers twitch slightly against his own, like he’s working through it in his head before he says it out loud. “But also— that guy was a creep. And not just with you—he was horrible even during the show…” He trails off, frowning. “I would have gotten mad if he did that to Sunoo too. To any of you.”

Jungwon studies him, catching the way Jay’s jaw flexes like the thought alone is enough to piss him off all over again.

He pauses, then adds, softer now, “And yeah. I mean, with you, it’s a bit…” But he doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, he just exhales, rubbing a hand over his face before dropping it back onto the bed.

Jay exhales sharply, shaking his head. “People like that—they’re the problem. The way they talk, like they can say whatever they want and you just have to take it. And it was such bullshit, he was talking like he knows you, but he doesn’t .” His voice goes harder, the frustration still raw, still simmering just beneath the surface.

Jungwon turns then, shifting onto his side so he can really look at him. He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t decide to move—his body just reacts, drawn in by the low heat in Jay’s voice, the steady frustration in his scent. He props his head up slightly on his hand, fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of the pillow, running along the seams. 

Jungwon inches a little bit closer. Jay is still staring at the ceiling, jaw tight, and Jungwon watches the way the muscle tics, the way his chest rises and falls in slow, controlled breaths.

“Because, it’s— you were the best leader we could have asked for, and nothing about that has anything to do with your presentation. You’re still the same person, right? And it pisses me off that they’re acting like you’re not.”

That catches Jungwon a little off guard, the way Jay says it so simply, like it should have been obvious. It feels like he’s just been constantly second-guessing himself, wondering if maybe he really had changed too much, if maybe the company was right, if maybe his pack was just too kind to say it outright. But Jay says it with no hesitation, no doubt.

Jungwon breathes in, and the air between them shifts a little bit. It’s warm, curling deep in his lungs like a whisper of something inevitable. Jay’s scent is right there, whiskey and warmth, that steady, grounding presence that has always been his constant. It envelops him, soothing something restless in his chest.

His fingers curl tighter into Jay’s shirt, his knuckles pressing against the soft fabric, and he can feel Jay’s breath stutter at the touch. The space between them is so small now, so thin it barely exists at all, and Jungwon knows that if he moves just a little closer, if he shifts forward even a fraction, there will be no coming back from this.

Jay exhales sharply, like he can feel the exact moment Jungwon decides. 

His name comes out on a breath.

“Jungwon.”— a plea wrapped in warning, something unspoken laced beneath it. 

It makes Jungwon’s stomach flip, makes his fingers tighten against Jay’s chest, holding on, grounding himself in the heat radiating between them.

Jay’s scent shifts first—deeper, darker, thickening the air between them until Jungwon feels like he’s breathing him in, like it’s filling his lungs, sinking into his skin. 

His own scent, honey-sweet, curls into the space between them, wrapping around Jay’s like a thread drawing them closer.

He doesn’t hesitate. Not this time.

Jungwon leans in, slowly, deliberately, closing that last sliver of distance between them. Their lips meet, and it feels like a breath he’s been holding for months finally releasing. A slow unraveling, warmth unfurling in his chest, something in him settling. 

Of course, it’s not the first time they’ve kissed—not by a long shot. But this feels different. Jay stills for half a second, like he’s giving Jungwon one last chance to pull away, to reconsider, but Jungwon presses in further, chasing the warmth of Jay’s mouth, and that is all it takes.

Then Jay moves.

His arm shifts, caging Jungwon in. His hand wraps around the back of Jungwon’s neck, holding him steady, anchoring him, and the weight of it sends heat rushing down his spine, making his mind go a little hazy.

The kiss is deep, slow, claiming, and Jungwon is unraveling. His body knows exactly where to go, how to get even closer, how to meet Jay’s touch without thinking. It’s terrifying how easy it is. How much he wants this. How much he has always wanted this.

Jay’s lips are warm against his, soft but firm, pressing into him like he’s making sure this is real. The kiss isn’t desperate, isn’t rushed—it’s steady, like Jay is taking his time, like he’s memorizing the shape of him all over again. Jungwon shudders at the heat of it, the way Jay’s breath ghosts against his lips before he moves in again, deeper this time, more certain.

His thumb presses just beneath his jaw, holding him there like he’s something to be treasured. His scent grows stronger, flooding every inch of space between them, and Jungwon reacts instinctively, not shrinking away, but answering, leaning into it.

Jay’s lips part just enough, his breath warm against Jungwon’s mouth, and when he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, Jungwon’s mind blanks. The world narrows to this, to Jay’s touch, to the way his fingers tighten at his nape, grounding, guiding. 

The hand at his waist moves next, slipping beneath the hem of his sleep shirt, fingers spreading over overheated skin. The contrast makes Jungwon’s stomach clench—Jay’s hand is warm, firm, his touch deliberate as it presses against the dip of Jungwon’s waist, his palm settling there like it belongs.

Jay’s grip tightens at Jungwon’s waist like he’s trying to steady himself. “Fuck—” he exhales, rough and uneven, pressing another kiss to Jungwon’s lips, then another. “God, I—” His breath stutters, lost between them. “I missed you so much.”

Jungwon makes a quiet, helpless noise against his mouth, fingers curling tighter in Jay’s shirt, and Jay keeps going, like he can’t stop, like he needs to say it all, needs Jungwon to understand.

“You can’t—” Jay kisses him again, desperate, raw. “You can’t leave again, okay?”

The words land heavy, and for a second, Jungwon stills—but then Jay is already shaking his head, rushing to fix it.

“No, I mean—” Another kiss, softer, but still urgent. “Of course, you can leave, I don’t mean—” He exhales sharply, like he’s frustrated with himself, like the words are getting tangled in his chest. And then, quieter, like he’s giving up trying to say it right, “Just… please don’t.”

Jungwon breathes in, his heart hammering, something in his chest pulling too tight. His throat works around the lump rising there, and when he finally speaks, his voice comes out small, raw, like the words are unearthing something buried deep inside him.

“I won’t, hyung— I won’t” he murmurs, tilting his head, catching Jay’s lips in another kiss, slow and deliberate. “I promise.”

He lets himself sink into it, lets himself feel the way Jay holds him like he’s something precious, something that’s his.

His own scent spikes without his control, but for once, he doesn’t tense at the way it reaches out, and the way it tangles with Jay’s doesn’t feel like a loss of control, it’s feels right.

His brain doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t question if this is good or bad, doesn’t debate whether this makes him more or less of a leader, doesn’t run through every consequence and hesitation that has held him back before.

He gasps softly when Jay’s teeth graze his bottom lip, just a whisper of pressure, just enough to make his head spin. His fingers fist in Jay’s shirt, tugging, and Jay groans in response, something low and deep in his chest, vibrating against Jungwon’s skin.

His whole body feels like it’s burning. He has missed this—missed this so much he doesn’t know how he survived without it.

He’s always loved kissing Jay, since before he presented, when all he could do was press close and chase the warmth of Jay’s mouth, hoping it was enough. And he knew, even before then. That he would love it. That’s why he had begged him for it back then, pushing, convincing, desperate for Jay to give in, to give him something that felt like he could belong to him.

The way Jay tilts his head now, deepening the kiss, slow and unrushed, like he has all the time in the world to map Jungwon’s mouth. The way his lips move, firm but unhurried, taking, coaxing. The way his scent envelops him, thick and rich, filling every inch of space between them like an embrace.

The realization snaps through Jungwon then, sharp and sudden, and he pulls back a little dazed, mind a little hazy, lips wet with spit. 

Not far, just enough to break the kiss, to pull in a breath, to blink against the haze in his mind. Jay’s hands don’t leave him, but they loosen slightly, giving him space, his gaze searching. His expression flickers—first with confusion, then something more cautious, more uncertain.

“Wait,” Jungwon says, still catching his breath. “I didn’t want to kiss you.”

Jay freezes.

His fingers flex against Jungwon’s waist, just slightly, like he’s caught between letting go and holding him in place. His face shifts—brows drawing together, lips parting, something like horror creeping in.

“…What?” His voice is careful. Measured. 

Jungwon realizes, belatedly, that he is an idiot.

“No—I mean. I did,” he says quickly, shaking his head, but Jay is already shifting, already starting to put space between them like he’s preparing for the worst.

“I did want to,” Jungwon rushes out, grabbing at the fabric of Jay’s shirt again to keep him close. “I just—” He hesitates, frustration bubbling up—not at Jay, but at himself, at how hard it always is to say what he means. “I didn’t want to because I had to.”

Not because his body was asking for it. Not because his instincts were guiding him there. Not because something inside him was telling him to seek out his alpha.

Because he just—wanted to.

Jungwon exhales, tilting his head down, pressing his hands against Jay’s chest, grounding himself.

“I was just— I thought” He swallows. “That maybe, everything I do now, everything I want, will just be… that part of me, taking over. That I’m just reacting. And so—“

Jay’s grip tightens again, just slightly. “Jungwon…”

Jungwon shakes his head, pushing forward before he can lose his nerve. “But just now… I just wanted to kiss you. Because I wanted to. Not because of my omega or instincts or—or anything else.”

Jay doesn’t move for a second, like he’s letting the words settle between them, like he’s making sure he’s heard them right. Then, slowly, something shifts in his expression.

“Okay,” he says.

Jungwon relaxes a little, his chest loosening, something warm settling under his skin. He watches as Jay’s gaze flickers, trailing down to his mouth, hesitating there for just a second before meeting his eyes again.

“Can I kiss you again, then?” Jay asks softly.

Jungwon’s pulse jumps. He breathes in, slow and steady, and lets the moment settle over him.

Then he nods.

Jay smiles, hands sliding against his waist, pulling him in again.

He lets himself sink into Jay’s touch, into the slow press of his lips, the weight of his hands holding him. The warmth between them feels endless, overwhelming, and yet not enough all at once.

Jay's scent is everywhere now, deep and rich, seeping into Jungwon’s lungs, wrapping around him. It makes his stomach twist, makes his fingers tighten against Jay’s chest, holding on.

Suddenly, a door creaks.

“Okay, what the fuck.”

Jungwon startles so hard he nearly falls off the bed. Jay jerks back immediately, every muscle in his body going stiff.

“Heeseung-hyung,” Jungwon starts, voice still breathless, lips slightly swollen.

“Oh, don’t ‘Heeseung-hyung’ me,” Heeseung scoffs, stepping fully into the room. 

His mouth falls open in exaggerated shock. “Is this—?” He gasps, eyes darting between them. “Are we having a moment? Are you guys finally getting your shit together?”

Jay groans, dragging a hand down his face.

Jungwon wants to die.

“No, no, don’t stop on my account,” Heeseung says, waving them off dramatically. “I love love. I support love.”

Jungwon covers his face. “Hyung, please go.”

“I can’t believe this,” Heeseung sighs dreamily, ignoring him. He wipes away an invisible tear.

Jay looks like he’s contemplating murder. “Hyung.”

“And Jay,” Heeseung tilts his head, sighing fondly. “I just wanna say, I’m so proud of you, man. Holding back all this time? Resisting temptation? Not jumping Jungwon the second he came back?” He shakes his head in admiration. “That’s what we call self-control.”

Jay lets out a slow, suffering breath. “I hate you.”

Heeseung clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Wow. Is that any way to talk to the guy who let you work out all that excess energy on him for the past few weeks?”

Jungwon blinks. “Wait, what—”

Jay physically flinches, shooting Heeseung a murderous glare. “Hyung.”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Heeseung waves him off. “You think Sunoo wanted to deal with all that? I took one— several, actually, for the team.”

Jungwon turns bright red, his ears burning hot.

Jay looks like he’s seconds away from launching himself at Heeseung.

Heeseung completely ignores this. Instead, his expression brightens—like he just had the best idea in the world. “Do you guys need anything? Condoms? Lube? Oh my god—snacks?”

Jungwon chokes.

“Wait—” He lifts a finger, his grin turning almost impressed. “Scratch that. No need for lube anymore, huh?”

Jungwon makes a noise so mortifying he wants to leave his body.

Jay’s face is buried in his hands. “I cannot do this right now.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Heeseung holds his hands up in surrender, still grinning like he’s won the lottery. “But for real, if you do need anything, I got you. You know, safe sex is important now.”

“OUT.” Jay throws a pillow at him.

Heeseung laughs, dodging easily. He backs out of the room, still smirking, clearly enjoying every second of this.

The door clicks shut and for a second, the room is completely silent.

“Oh god,” Jungwon mutters.

Jay groans, dragging a hand down his face. “He’s gonna tell everyone.”

Jungwon exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I— I should go downstairs before he starts putting together a whole announcement speech.”

Jay doesn’t argue. They both know Heeseung is fully capable of that.

Jungwon shifts, fully intending to get up, but the weight of the morning lingers, thick and heavy, pressing him deeper into the mattress. He hesitates, fingers flexing against the sheets, gaze flickering to the door, then back to Jay. 

There’s no real point in rushing downstairs, is there? 

Heeseung is going to spread the news no matter what. Not that Jungwon really minds. There’s no such thing as real secrets in their pack anyway, and privacy isn’t something they’ve ever been too precious about. They’ve been woven together too tightly for too long for anything to stay hidden.

Jay stretches his arms, then rolls out of bed, his movements slow and easy. “I’ll get us some more water,” he says, grabbing the empty glass from the nightstand before disappearing into the bathroom.

The second the door clicks shut, the quiet shifts. Jungwon exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling, the realization creeping up on him, unfurling in his chest.

For the first time in months, he doesn’t feel like he’s standing at a crossroads, torn between two paths he doesn’t want to take. The push and pull of everything—who he was before, who they told him he had to be—none of it is gone. But it doesn’t feel suffocating anymore. It feels manageable.

Like maybe— he can be Jay’s, be part of this pack, be an omega, and still be their leader.

Sunoo had told him, hadn’t he? None of them agree with the company. They had all said it, in their own ways, and he’d heard them, in the kitchen that night. They’d wanted to fight. He just hadn’t let them.

And even if the company weren’t constantly telling him about the ongoing protests, the boycotts, the refusals to buy albums or even join fancalls—he would still see it everywhere. The fans haven’t moved on, either, like they’re waiting for a sign. Something, anything from him that says he still wants this. That he still wants them to fight, too.

He could never say it directly. He knows the consequences of being too obvious, knows how quickly the company would twist it against him, against them. 

But maybe… something small. Something the company wouldn’t think twice about but the fans would notice.

Something subtle enough that when the company inevitably complains, he could feign ignorance.

But before that, he needs to talk to the others. Tell them he sees it now. That it was stupid to just give in, that he’s sorry he took so long. Ask them to fight for him one last time.

The bathroom door creaks open, and Jay steps back inside, setting the fresh glass of water on the nightstand before slipping onto the bed beside him.

Jungwon watches him, silent for a long moment. The warmth in his chest spreads, something loosening inside him.

He can have this—this safety, this warmth, this feeling of being wanted so wholly and completely—and still be who he always was.

He wets his lips, gaze flickering away for half a second before he forces himself to look back. His throat feels tight, the words catching for just a moment before he gets them out, quiet,— seeing if they feel right even as he says them. 

They do.

“Can you scent me?”

Jay stills and it’s so fast— the shift in atmosphere, something raw passing between them.

“…Really?” Jay’s voice is quiet, careful, almost reverent.

Jungwon swallows, but when he meets Jay’s gaze again, he doesn’t look away.

“Really.”

Jay stares at him like he can’t quite believe what he just heard. Like he’s waiting for Jungwon to take it back. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on Jungwon’s hips, just shy of gripping, just shy of pulling him in.

And then Jay is moving, slow but deliberate, sliding his hands up Jungwon’s waist, his thumbs pressing lightly into the fabric of his hoodie before smoothing up his ribs, across his back. Holding him.

Jungwon shudders, letting himself sink into it, letting Jay's warmth, his scent, his presence settle over him. His body already knows what to do, already leans in, presses close.

Jay dips his head slightly, nosing along Jungwon’s jaw. “You sure?” His voice is low, rough at the edges, like he’s still holding back. “Because—”

“I know,” Jungwon breathes. He tilts his head instinctively, baring his throat without thinking. His stomach clenches at the motion, at the way Jay reacts—his breath hitching, his grip on Jungwon’s waist tightening like he’s fighting something deep in his chest.

For a second, Jay hesitates. Jungwon can feel his restraint, the way his hands tremble slightly where they hold him, the way his scent spikes and pulls back, spikes and pulls back, like he’s trying to rein himself in.

Jungwon exhales slowly, pressing in closer. “Jay,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I want it.”

Jay groans under his breath, low and strained. He noses along Jungwon’s scent gland, just barely grazing the sensitive skin there, and Jungwon's breath shudders out of him.

Then—finally—Jay presses in, mouth brushing warm and firm over Jungwon’s scent gland. He lingers, letting their scents mix, letting the weight of the moment settle between them, letting Jungwon feel it.

Jungwon's entire body tingles. It feels—God, it feels like he's melting into it, wanted in the way he hasn’t let himself be before. His stomach clenches, heat pooling low, a quiet, desperate ache curling into his limbs.

Jay’s scent deepens in a different way, sides of it he’s never smelled before blooming against his skin, coating him in something warm and grounding. His lips part slightly against Jungwon’s throat, his breath hot as he nuzzles in, scenting him properly, thoroughly, like he’s making sure it takes.

Jungwon exhales sharply, his fingers twisting into the back of Jay’s shirt, clinging without meaning to. His head swims, instinct taking over, telling him to stay, to let himself be held, to let himself be Jay’s.

It’s slow at first—Jay rubbing against the curve of his neck, nuzzling into the heat of his pulse like he’s trying to drown himself in it. Every movement is deliberate, careful, but Jungwon can feel the way Jay is holding himself back, the way his fingers flex against his waist like he wants to grip tighter like he did before, but won’t let himself in this context. 

The warmth of Jay’s breath ghosts over his skin, each exhale sending a shiver down his spine, pooling low in his stomach.

Jungwon sucks in a breath when Jay presses in closer, his nose dragging along his scent gland, slow and lingering. His fingers twitch where they rest on Jay’s shoulder before they curl completely, sliding into his hair, pressing him in more firmly. 

Jay lets out a shaky exhale, his body tensing beneath Jungwon’s hands, but he doesn’t resist.

It’s slow but unmistakable, the way his body recognizes Jay’s touch as something good, something wanted. Heat blooms between his thighs, the faintest slick gathering, and his breath stutters at the realization.

Jay noses in again, this time with a little more pressure, mouth parting just slightly against Jungwon’s skin. The warmth of it makes Jungwon’s stomach tighten, makes something pulse deep inside him, makes his fingers tug in Jay’s hair without thinking. And then—just barely, just carefully—Jay’s tongue flicks out, the faintest touch over his scent gland, tasting.

He had loved it when Sunoo did this, has sought it out again and again, after. And this is similar—just that Jay’s scent is heavier, richer, something deeper curling through Jungwon’s lungs, settling beneath his skin. It makes his pulse stutter, makes something low in his stomach tighten and pull. The way Jay holds him feels just as careful, but there’s something else there, too—something coiled, something restrained, something that feels like if Jungwon just pressed a little closer, just asked for more, Jay would give it to him.

Jungwon gasps, a sharp inhale cutting through the quiet. His fingers tighten in Jay’s hair, his entire body going taut at the feeling, the sensation searing through him like something electric. It’s so careful, so gentle, just the barest touch, but it leaves him breathless, the instinctive pull of it undeniable.

Jay stills for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting the reaction, and then—slowly, reluctantly—he pulls back. His breathing is rough, uneven, his chest rising and falling against Jungwon’s.

Jungwon barely manages to hold back the whine that threatens to slip out, already missing the weight of him, the warmth, the way it felt to be so thoroughly claimed.

Jay watches him, eyes dark, lips slightly parted, breath coming in short and uneven. Jungwon’s scent must be all over him now. They’re tangled together in it, mixed and inseparable.

Then Jay exhales, slow and steady, his hand smoothing over Jungwon’s hair before trailing down to straighten the edge of his hoodie. His lips twitch slightly, something fond in his expression as he meets Jungwon’s gaze. “You smell really good like this,” he murmurs.

Jungwon blinks at him, hazy, still lost in the warmth of it, and he can see the exact moment Jay clocks it. The way Jungwon doesn’t let go. The way his hands curl into Jay’s shirt, pulling him just slightly closer, like if he just holds on tight enough, Jay will give in.

Jay’s breath shudders, his fingers flexing against Jungwon’s skin. For a second, the air shifts again—sharp, charged, crackling with something heady and inevitable.

Then Jay closes his eyes, breathes in slow, and pulls back just enough. “Hey,” he murmurs, brushing a stray piece of hair from Jungwon’s face. His voice is low, steady. “We waited this long. What’s another day?”

Jungwon exhales sharply, chest rising and falling, but he doesn’t argue.

<3

The air in the hallway feels cool against his skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth still clinging to him. Jungwon exhales, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake off the haziness in his mind. 

His pulse is steady now, but there’s something in him that still hums, something in his chest that hasn’t quite settled. He presses his lips together, fingers flexing at his sides.

He glances at his phone—there’s still at least half an hour before they absolutely have to start getting ready, before he has to walk back into the dorm and face the inevitable teasing. 

He should have just about enough time to grab an iced tea before the day pulls him in. Their dorm is lucky—most idols make do with tiny, barren apartments, but theirs has a café downstairs, the kind with half-decent drinks and pastries in the mornings.

It’s quiet when he steps inside. The barista greets him by name—it’s not unusual, most of the staff here have gotten used to them over the years—and he places his order quickly, tacking on an iced mocha for Sunoo, just because. They’ll have plenty to talk about soon enough.

As he shifts to the side to wait, he catches the briefest pause—the barista’s nose twitching slightly before their gaze flickers over him, registering something. Recognition, then understanding.

Jungwon realizes why a second later. Jay’s scent is still wrapped around him, unmistakable, layered thickly into his skin, his clothes. Not just a trace, not a fleeting remnant— thorough, deliberate .

The barista doesn’t say anything, of course. They wouldn’t. But there’s a flicker of knowing before they school their expression back to polite neutrality and hand him his tea.

Jungwon exhales through his nose. Well. It is what it is.

He exhales, murmurs a quick thanks to the barista, and makes his way to the elevators, both drinks in hand. 

Standing here now, waiting for the elevator, Jay’s scent still wrapped around him like something protective, something anchoring, it’s like— it’s just how it’s supposed to be. The world feels a little softer, a little easier.

A soft ding signals the elevator’s arrival. He steps in, bracing himself for the inevitable teasing, Heeseung’s knowing grin, Sunoo throwing himself at him in excitement.

But as soon as he steps into the hallway, the energy in the dorm hits him, frantic and urgent, and it has nothing to do with him and Jay at all.

Jay, dressed and ready to go, is kneeling in front of Niki on the couch, his voice sharp but not unkind. “Seriously, Niki? What’s the one rule?”

Niki shifts uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at him and Sunoo, who is crouched next to him, arms crossed. “Tell you if I’m hurt,” he mumbles.

“And did you?” Jay presses, thumb still rubbing carefully over Niki’s knee, eyes flicking up to catch his.

“I thought I was fine,” Niki mutters, voice thick with frustration. “I didn’t want to mess anything up.”

“You thought you were fine?” Sunoo repeats, incredulous. “Niki, you could barely walk when you came back! You didn’t even think to tell the managers?”

“I can walk,” Niki grits out, but he doesn’t move, his hands tightening on the fabric of his sweats.

Jungwon takes in the scene—Sunghoon is putting away some ice spray. Niki looks frustrated, almost defeated, his lower lip pressed tightly between his teeth, hands clenched in his lap. 

Jake is gripping his phone, one hand running through his hair as he talks in a low, measured voice. His tone is calm, but there’s an edge to it, the careful control of someone juggling too many things at once.

In the chaos, Jungwon crosses the room, quietly slipping behind the couch and leaning down to wrap his arms around Niki briefly, shaking him just a little—careful not to jostle his ankle. His chin tucks against Niki’s shoulder, his voice quiet but firm.

“What are you doing, hm? Not everything can be solved with ice spray, okay?”

Jungwon gets it, of course. They all do. Niki’s a perfectionist, most idols are, and he can’t stand to disappoint people. And this is a solo stage—everyone’s eyes on him, every movement, every mistake, all his. Jungwon knows what that pressure feels like, how it digs into your ribs.

Niki’s been up early every morning, squeezing in extra practice before schedules, pushing himself past exhaustion to make it perfect. But god, his ankle doesn’t look good. There’s no way he can dance tomorrow. Jungwon hugs him a little bit tighter.

Niki stiffens at first, caught off guard, but his body eases just slightly under the familiar weight. He lets out a shaky breath, his hands slowly unclenching, muscles untensing.

When he lets go, Niki mumbles, barely above a whisper, “You smell like Jay-hyung.”

Jungwon huffs out a quiet laugh, tilting his head slightly. Across the couch, Jay meets his eyes and smiles, soft and amused.

Heeseung, standing with his arms crossed near the kitchen counter “Niki, it’s not the end of the world,” he says, trying to soothe. “They’ll just have to move it. You can do it later, have more time to—.”

At that, Niki’s expression twists, frustration flaring into something raw, something closer to panic.

“That’s not how it works, hyung” Niki snaps, voice rising, his whole body tensing. “You think they’re just gonna wait around for me? They’ll give it to someone else.”

Sunghoon exhales through his nose, expression pinched. “Niki—”

“No, you don’t get it,” Niki snaps, his voice rising, frustration turning to something closer to panic. His hands fist into the blanket draped over his lap. “If I don’t do it tomorrow, I don’t get to do it at all.”

“Alright.”

The room stills for a second. Jake, still holding his phone, turns back toward them, sighing. “Let’s stop freaking out for a second.”

Niki turns his head slightly, eyes darting up to him. The others go quiet, waiting.

Jake looks around the room. “Let’s break this down—why do you think they’ll replace you? Who told you that?”

Niki doesn’t answer at first. His throat bobs as he swallows. “No one said it,” he mutters, shifting uncomfortably. “But it’s what happens, right? If you’re not available, they figure out how to do things without you.”

Jake nods, listening. “Did anyone actually say they would start looking for someone else?”

Niki exhales sharply. “No.”

“Did they say they were considering canceling the solo stage?”

“…No.”

Jake watches him carefully, his voice calm but firm. “So what are they actually saying, then?”

Niki glares at the floor. “That I should rest.”

Jake nods once, shifting his weight. “Alright. Then that’s what we’re gonna do.”

Without another word, he turns and heads toward the hallway, already dialing on his phone again.

The room is still tense, but it’s shifting—anger and panic melting into something quieter. Niki’s shoulders slump slightly, like some of the fight has drained out of him.

Jungwon gives him one last squeeze before letting go, stepping around the couch to kneel beside Jay. “He’s got this,” he murmurs.

Niki exhales, nodding.

It takes a few minutes—Jake disappears into another room to talk, and the rest of them sit in the charged quiet, waiting. Sunoo quietly rubs circles over Niki’s knee while Heeseung leans his weight against Sunghoon’s side.

Finally, Jake steps back into the living room, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“We’re moving some schedules around. Niki, you’re going to rest your ankle. The solo stage isn’t canceled, just rescheduled, okay? And tomorrow, Jay, Heeseung, and Sunoo will do that radio schedule with me instead. Then we can use that slot for your recording next week.”

The tension in the room shifts, softens, but doesn’t fully dissipate. Niki still looks wound tight, but he’s blinking hard like he’s trying not to let his emotions spill over. 

Sunoo, still crouched beside him, sighs, reaching out to squeeze his knee. “See? It’s fine.”

“Not the end of the world, look at that” Jay gives Niki’s foot a gentle nudge.

Sunghoon walks over, grabbing a water bottle and tossing it toward Niki. “Hydrate.”

In the background, someone’s phone vibrates on the counter. Heeseung sighs, ruffling Niki’s hair as he walks past, before reaching Jake and slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Good work,” he teases, tilting Jake’s chin up and kissing him, casual, easy. “Very leader of you.”

Jake huffs a small laugh, shaking him off without much effort, already turning toward Sunoo to discuss the new schedule. 

It’s such a quick, natural moment that it almost doesn’t register—just another part of the movement, of the pack settling back into routine.

But from where he’s sitting on the couch, Jungwon catches it, hears it, and he feels something twist deep in his chest. 

He has always been proud of Jake. Even when it hurt, even when the situation felt unfair, even when the bitterness crept in uninvited, he has always known Jake was doing his best. But this is something else. This is watching Jake do the job that was once his, not just stepping into the role but fitting into it, making quick decisions, keeping the pack going when everything could have spiraled into a mess, into drama, into hurt feelings.

Maybe, in all this time he spent hesitating, telling them to move on, they finally just had. Not because they wanted to, not because they didn’t care—but because he made it the only option. 

Jake glances over to him then, as if finally seeing him, catching Jungwon watching. He smiles, just a little, and says, lightheartedly, “Guess I’m finally getting the hang of this, huh?”

It’s just an offhand comment, a little joke to lighten the tension. He knows that.

But he can hear the voice of that woman in his ear.  

He’s done such a great job stepping up. He’s a natural leader.

Jungwon falters.

We know you don’t want to put him in a difficult position. You wouldn’t want to make things harder for them, would you?

Jungwon clenches his fists, pulse hammering. This is on him— he waited too long.

That warmth he had had this morning, the confidence in his own choices, the certainty that he could have both—it all wavers, slipping between his fingers like sand.

Chapter Text

The downstairs dorm hums with voices, bodies sprawled in lazy comfort, the scent of something cooking in the air. Jay had banned them all from the kitchen earlier, waving them off with an exasperated, “Out, all of you. You’re useless.” 

Jungwon is curled up against Niki now, pressed into the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling him into something slow and easy. Jay had scented him earlier and it still lingers now, wrapping around Jungwon like a steady pulse, mixing with Niki’s cedarwood, grounding and familiar.

It’s strange how natural it feels now. He’s never been the type to press close without thinking, never the type to reach out just for the sake of feeling held. But it’s like letting Jay in has rewired something in his brain, and now it hums beneath his skin, insistent and unrelenting.

That first night, Heeseung had only pulled back the covers in silent invitation, and Jungwon had gone easily, pressing close, letting himself be held for the first time in too long. It had felt right to come to Heeseung first after Jay, the oldest alpha but also just his oldest hyung, the one who could’ve led them all, who everyone expected would, but who had stepped back and let Jungwon take the role instead. After that first night, it had been so easy, like a part of himself had been waiting all this time to stretch into the space they had left for him.

Sunoo had smiled knowingly the next morning, brushing a hand over Jungwon’s wrist. “It was like that for me, too,” he’d said. “Like something unlocked, and suddenly, I needed them.” 

He can feel their relief in the way their hands linger a little longer when they touch him, in the way their shoulders drop when he walks into the room, like they no longer have to brace for something breaking.

“Here,” Heeseung says now, interrupting his thoughts, pressing a wine glass into Jungwon’s hand. “We’re celebrating”

Jungwon blinks at it. “What are we celebrating?” The wine is red and dry, something deep and rich smelling.

Heeseung just smirks, tipping his own glass toward him. “The fact that Prada gifted us all this fancy wine, and we should drink it before Jay uses it all for cooking.”

Jungwon laughs, drinks his wine, lets their voices wash over him.

A big part of it is just letting himself want be a part of the pack again. He’s had Jay again now—had his hands on him, his mouth against his skin, the weight of him solid and real and his. And it’s made him greedy. He wants more, more of Jay, of all the things he didn’t let Jungwon do before, but more of them, also, wants the pack bond to hum with good things instead of tension and uncertainty. The press of familiar warmth, the grounding weight of scent, the comfort of belonging. 

He’s been holding himself back for so long. Why? It’s hard to remember now, hard to imagine himself resisting what had always been his to have.

Jungwon shifts against Niki, tucking his hands under his sleeves as the others bicker over what movie to watch. 

“Okay,” Sunoo announces, standing in front of the TV like some kind of judge, remote held aloft. “Since I actually have taste, I’m picking The Wailing.”

A loud chorus of groans immediately follows.

“No way,” Jake says flatly. “Niki has to wake up early tomorrow. We should watch something lighthearted.”

“I like horror,” Niki says, mouth full of snacks. “I don’t mind.”

“You know Jake gets scared easily,” Sunghoon adds with a grin, his fangs showing. 

“I do not,” Jake protests, though he’s already half-hiding behind Heeseung and clutching a pillow like a shield.

Jungwon glances over at Jake then, wedged between Niki and Heeseung, his knee pulled up to his chest. He looks tired.

Jungwon’s fingers twitch slightly where they rest against his sleeve. The truth is: the undercurrent of tension that had hummed between them has eased, but it’s not gone. It lingers, like they’re all testing the weight of this new reality, but never quite letting themselves breathe all the way out.

Jungwon can feel it in the way Heeseung hovers near Jake, the way his hand lingers on his shoulder just a second too long, the way his gaze flickers toward him whenever he thinks no one’s looking.

He can feel it in Niki too. The way his usual restless energy has been sharpening at the edges, his scent sometimes curling into something smokier, like burning cedarwood. Irritation, frustration. Jungwon doesn’t know why. Niki’s ankle is healing. His solo schedule is tomorrow. It could be nerves, could be exhaustion—but it lingers just long enough for Jungwon to notice, even if he doesn’t know what to do with it.

It’s subtle, all of it. Nothing explosive, nothing that feels close to something breaking. 

Just unspoken things, quiet threads of tension woven between them. 

But Jungwon notices every shift, every change. He wonders if it’s another omega thing, something that makes him hyper-aware of how everyone is doing and feeling, of what he could do to fix it. It’s a little overwhelming, this heightened awareness, another thing he has to adjust to. But it also makes him feel like he’s finally part of something again, rather than standing just outside of it, watching through glass.

Sunoo crosses his arms, clearly unimpressed by their complaints. “It’s literally my turn to pick.”

“Yes, but none of us like your picks. I vote that we out-vote you,” Heeseung says from where he is sprawled out on the couch with his arms crossed behind his head.

Sunoo gasps dramatically. “I am one of only two omegas in this pack, and none of you ever want to watch my picks. Think about what that says.”

“You just like watching us suffer,” Jake mutters.

Sunoo beams. “That too. And it’s my turn, so I get to.”

From the big chair in the corner, Sunghoon chimes in, fingers idly tapping against the armrest. “Actually, a lot of omega discrimination is really subtle, like— I read that in figure skating because judges call omega skaters elegant instead of powerful, they get overlooked for the big athletic events, even when they’re often actually technically stronger jumpers.”

Sunoo perks up immediately. “So, kind of like how you all overlook my movie picks even though they’re actually better.” He reaches out to pat Sunghoon’s cheek, “Thank you, baby.”

Sunghoon looks like he wants to argue, but then Sunoo presses a quick kiss to his lips, and Sunghoon drops it, exhaling a soft hmph before draping an arm over the back of the chair. 

“That comparison only works if you pick good movies,” Jungwon says, just to fan the flames. He doesn’t particularly want to watch a horror movie, but he also knows he’ll fall asleep anyway, so it doesn’t much matter to him either way. 

He shifts closer, pressing into Niki’s warmth, pinning him deeper into the couch. Tonight, there’s none of that sharp, irritated edge curling beneath his scent. Jungwon hopes that it means whatever had been bothering him has passed.

“It’s not bad, you just have no taste,” Sunoo says, rolling his eyes.

Jake hums. “It’s a horror movie, isn’t it?”

Sunoo scoffs. “Okay, and? You guys are so boring.”

Jungwon watches them settle, watches the way Sunghoon lets his hand drift absently over Sunoo’s knee, how Heeseung is stretched out with his arms crossed behind his head, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. 

They already know they’re going to watch the horror movie, anyway. 

The pack is at ease, the room buzzing with something warm, something comfortable. 

Jungwon shifts, curling in just a little tighter against Niki. He can still feel the tension lingering beneath the surface—but wrapped in the steady pulse of the pack, he can let himself ignore it for another night.

<3

The best days are the ones like that—with the pack close and the warmth of them settling into his skin.

The good days are the ones where practice goes well, where they walk off the floor feeling breathless and satisfied rather than drained. Where the pack lingers in the studio after, laughing, teasing, where the weight of everything fades just enough to make room for this, the music, the performance, the thing that has always mattered most. 

The worst days are the days like today, where after practice, he has to stay for another so-called adjustment check-in.

He exhales slowly, flexing his fingers where they rest in his lap. The hallway is quiet around him, but his thoughts are restless, looping in circles, pressing against the edges of his ribs. His phone buzzes against his thigh. He checks it automatically, expecting a message from a manager confirming the meeting, but instead, it’s the pack group chat, Niki sending updates from his shoot. 

Jungwon blinks down at the screen before scrolling up to the attached picture. It’s another shot of the coffee truck they had sent, their ridiculous drawings plastered across the side.

They had all sacrificed their practice breaks a week ago to sketch out the designs, hunched over the floor with scattered sheets of paper and markers. It had been Jake’s idea, of course. His way of making sure it felt like something from all of them.

Heeseung had spent a full ten minutes perfecting his duck’s expression, only for it to come out looking incredibly distressed. Sunghoon had decided to sketch a buff version of duck-Niki instead of a puma, and Sunoo had refused to acknowledge that his abstract ‘puma’ was clearly just a cat.

But Niki had liked it, so much so that he had apparently asked if he could keep the banners and was now threatening to redecorate the upstairs dorm. It’s a stupid thing to matter so much, but Jungwon can feel the collective sigh of relief of the pack at his updates throughout the day. It still feels like something is bothering Niki, so if the stupid drawings make him smile, that’s what matters. 

Jungwon is still scrolling through the group chat when a private message pops up, Jake, asking if he wants to grab dinner after his meeting. Just the two of them. It’s strange—Jake had looked worn out at practice today, his usual minty scent faint and frayed at the edges. Sunoo had hovered near him during every break, so Jungwon had assumed they’d go out for dinner together and back to the dorm as soon as possible. Why would Jake still be at the company this late if he didn’t have to be?

His fingers hesitate over the keyboard. It’s a normal question. Before everything fell apart and rearranged itself into something he still hasn’t quite learned how to navigate, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

But now there’s a sharp-edged thing curled deep inside Jungwon, and he can’t shake it. It’s small and mean, a vicious little thing that still resents Jake for standing in the space that had been ripped away from him.

He’d seen Jake struggle in the beginning, had seen the way the weight of leadership had settled on his shoulders like something ill-fitting. That had been so much easier to live with. But somehow, Jake had adjusted, had learned to carry it with the same quiet steadiness that made him easy to trust, easy to follow. 

Jungwon should be happy about that. A better person would be happy about that. 

But the person he is sometimes lies awake at night, wishing he could take back telling them to follow him. 

The person he is doesn’t open the message so he won’t have to leave Jake on read. 

He knows, now, that the price of getting Jay back, of finally stepping fully into his place within the pack, was losing his leadership forever. He also knows that’s not Jake’s fault. But the ache in his chest doesn’t care. It lingers, restless and unspoken, sharp and mean. 

All Jungwon can think is how unfair it is that Jake gets to have everything. The leadership, both of the pack and Enhypen has a group. The pack, all together again. To have all of it, to know that he belongs in every space Jungwon once did.

Jungwon closes his eyes and inhales slowly through his nose. It’s just his own mind eating at him again, dragging him back into a spiral he has no way of fixing. He needs to let it go. He needs to stop thinking about it. 

Needs to actually start practicing what he’s been preaching this whole time. 

When one of the assistants finally comes to pick him up, she leads him to a different meeting room. It’s smaller, more enclosed, the air thinner despite the steady hum of the air conditioning overhead. 

“Oh, Jungwon-ah,” one of the managers says, glancing up from his tablet. “Sorry about the change. The usual room is being refurbished.”

Jungwon nods but says nothing, stepping further inside. He wonders if it’s just another way to keep him on his toes, just another subtle shift meant to throw him off balance.

The woman however, is the same. Her smile is soft today. Jungwon straightens his posture, shoulders squared, gaze steady though he already feels unmoored—like his mind is unable to land on one thought long enough to hold onto it. 

Jungwon is still settling into his chair when a younger man Jungwon has never seen before speaks first. It throws him off even further. 

"Jungwon-ah, how have you been?" he asks, overly familiar, leaning forward slightly, hands folded over the table. "Everything’s been going well, I hope? Isn’t this sunny weather we’ve been having so nice?”

Jungwon hesitates for half a second, long enough for the question to hang between them. He wonders if they’ve switched out the good cop, if this is some kind of new approach.

He forces a polite smile. “It’s been fine.”

"Good, good," the man says, nodding. “We’ve been keeping up with your schedules, of course. You’ve been working hard.”

Jungwon doesn’t answer.

The woman picks up the thread from there, seamlessly stepping in. “You always do,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “That’s something we’ve always admired about you, Jungwon-ah. You’re reliable, you’re dedicated.”

Jungwon stays quiet, his fingers curling slightly against the arm of his chair.

“Soonjoon-ssi here was just saying earlier,” she continues, pointing at the young man beside her, “that his daughter is a big fan of yours. Apparently, it’s always Jungwon this, Jungwon that.”

Soonjoon laughs, shaking his head. “She really is. It’s the cutest thing. She tries to follow all your dances—gets frustrated when she can’t get them right.” He leans in a little, as if confiding something personal. “And between you and me, she’s convinced you’re the best dancer Hybe has ever had.”

Jungwon exhales a quiet breath through his nose and bows his head, just a slight tilt. 

“That’s very kind,” he says, keeping his voice steady, polite. “Thank you.”

The smile feels tight on his face, but he holds it like a good little idol who nods and accepts every request like an opportunity, like someone who doesn’t distrust distrust everything nice they say or do. 

“We really got very lucky with you,” the woman continues, her voice taking on that coaxing edge. “And you’ve handled every challenge with such maturity.”

She pauses, just for a beat, waiting for him to respond. When he doesn’t—when he keeps his expression still, his posture rigid—she seems to pick up on it. Her smile doesn't falter, but something shifts in her eyes, something assessing.

Her voice dips, just slightly. Less honeyed, less sweet. She tilts her head, watching him closely now, like she’s considering something, like she’s about to cut through the pleasantries and speak plainly.

“We— I know this is difficult for you,” she says, her tone dipping lower, softer, like she’s letting him in on something, like she’s leveling with him. “But the fans need reassurance. If they see you struggling, it will only feed the controversy.”

Something coils tight in his stomach, anger bubbling up from beneath the layers of exhaustion and resignation he’s been burying himself under. He thought he had pushed past this—that he had accepted it, that there was no fight left in him. But here they are again, making it his fault, twisting things so neatly that if he doesn’t fix it, it’ll be him who’s responsible for making things worse, when he never even did anything. 

Like he hasn’t already given enough.

Jungwon grips the arms of his chair to keep himself steady. “I didn’t ask for this controversy.” 

“No,” she agrees. “But you have the power to help control it.” 

His pulse hammers in his throat. “By doing what? Lying?” 

She sighs, a practiced exhale meant to sound sympathetic. “By showing them that you’re okay. And you are, so it’s just telling them the truth. Just one interview, we’ll do it exclusive. Show the protestors that they can give up, that there’s no reason to fight.”

No reason to fight. The words sink into him like lead, pressing down, down, until he can feel them in the pit of his stomach.

The woman tilts her head slightly, gaze measured, considering. Then, she offers him something softer, something meant to feel like reassurance. “We spoke to Jake today, you know.”

Jungwon’s fingers tighten around the arms of his chair. They’d been together all day at practice. Jake hadn’t said anything to him.

“He says things are going well,” she continues, voice light, pleasant. “That the team feels balanced, that you’ve all been working together seamlessly. It’s really beautiful, how you’ve all rallied around him. Wouldn’t it be nice to show that to the world? To celebrate how strong your pack has become through all of this?”

She pauses and Soonjoon next to her leans forward just slightly, chiming in. “Don’t you agree that Jake deserves to be able to lead,” he presses, “without all this controversy hanging over the group?” His tone is light, conversational. 

Jungwon swallows. He presses his lips together, forces himself to swallow the anger, the resentment down. He inhales slowly through his nose, lets it settle somewhere deep, somewhere unreachable, somewhere that won’t get him in trouble.

“You know, Jungwon-ah,” another executive chimes in, this one older, his voice slower, more calculated. “These protests are drawing a lot of attention. Unfortunately for us, it’s the wrong kind of attention,” he chuckles like he’s made a joke. “And we don’t want Enhypen to lose momentum over something we could have controlled. You’re a smart boy. You understand that, surely.” 

He wants to argue, but he doesn’t. They’re not actually wrong. The protests won’t make the company back down. If anything, they’re only making the company dig their heels in further. And if people lose interest over this, if the group suffers, he knows exactly where the blame will fall. 

His throat feels tight. He didn’t ask to present late. He didn’t ask to be the first leader in their industry to have this kind of scandal attached to his name. 

He didn’t ask to be an omega.  

Right? At least— not in any way that he could admit to, in any way that should have mattered. 

“And you know, after the interview, maybe we can do something for the fans who stuck by you, hm?” the woman continues, her voice shifting into something lighter, something coaxing. “A solo cover, perhaps? Something meaningful.”

Jungwon’s eyes flick up.

She smiles, the kind of carefully placed expression that carries just enough warmth to make it seem like a kindness. “There are so many great omega artists you could cover. Show them how much you’ve embraced who you are now.”

A reminder that even now, even when they say they’re trying to make things easier for him, what they really want is something they can use. A way to turn this into something clean, something marketable, something digestible.

A way to show that Jungwon isn’t a problem anymore.

It would mean looking into the cameras and telling the people who had stood up for him—who had fought for him, who had used their industry voice, their fame, to speak on his behalf—that they were wrong. That leadership is about dynamics, that he feels more comfortable where they put him. That there was never anything to fight for in the first place.

It would mean telling the fans who had rallied behind him, who had refused to let this be swept under the rug, thank you, but I don’t need it. That they could let go now.

It would mean never being able to fight for it again.

Once those words are out in the world, there can be no taking them back, no undoing them. No waking up one morning and deciding that he wants to reclaim what was his. He will have made it clear—so publicly, so undeniably—that Jungwon, Enhypen’s former leader, is better off just focusing on the role society deemed acceptable for an omega to have. 

The silence stretches. He knows they’re waiting for his answer. 

In the end, the truth is, must be, that he is the problem. Forcing the company to clean up his mess, putting the whole group at risk. 

And for what? The pack is fine. Sure, Sunoo had told him that they didn’t agree, that they were waiting for him to fight. But that was weeks ago, at this point.

Finally, he nods. “I understand.”

A beat, a fraction of hesitation too small for them to catch. Then, forcing the words out, making them real.

“I’ll do it.”

The tension in the room immediately eases, the executives exchanging satisfied glances. 

“We knew you would,” the first woman says, smiling. “You’ve always put the group first.” 

<3 

Jungwon doesn’t go back to the dorm.

He doesn’t text Jake back either, even though the message is still sitting there, unopened.

Instead, he texts Jay to find out if he’s still in the company building.

For a second, he thinks about getting a studio and going live. Thinks about the way Engene have been waiting—how they’ve been hoping, how they send messages and leave comments asking when he’ll be back on Weverse. He used to go live so often, used to make time for it even when their schedules were packed.

He knows they deserve more than silence, that if he opened the app now, there would be thousands of people waiting, ready to hold onto whatever he could give them.

But right now, in this state, he doesn’t trust himself. If he went live now, there’s a chance he might let something slip—something that he wouldn’t be able to take back.

So instead, he pockets his phone and turns toward the studio Jay always uses.

Jay is sitting in the chair when he gets there, guitar resting against his lap. He glances up at the sound of the door clicking shut, eyes flicking over Jungwon’s face, taking him in.

He must see something there, something Jungwon can’t quite hide, because before Jungwon can even say anything, Jay is setting the guitar aside.

Jungwon goes easily, stepping in between Jay’s legs, pressing himself into the warmth of him. Jay’s arms come up around him, solid and steady, holding him together like he knows how badly Jungwon needs it.

“Bad meeting?” Jay asks, voice low.

Jungwon hums in response. 

Jay exhales, rubbing slow, soothing circles against the small of his back. “Thought so,” he murmurs. “Your scent is all tense.”

Jungwon doesn’t answer, just buries his face against Jay’s neck, breathing him in. There’s something about it that just makes things a little better, no matter how fucked up everything is. 

They stay like that for a long moment, Jay’s fingers moving over the fabric of Jungwon’s hoodie, slow and absentminded.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jay asks, patient.

Jungwon doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t.

Jay exhales, shifting slightly as his hands slide beneath Jungwon’s hoodie, fingers pressing lightly into the small of his back. They’re cold against his overheated skin, and Jungwon shivers before he can help it.

Jay notices, a soft huff of amusement leaving his lips. “No?” he murmurs, rubbing slow circles against the dip of Jungwon’s waist, his voice as easy as if they weren’t in a silent, empty studio, as if Jungwon wasn’t pressing into him like he was trying to disappear inside him. “What do you want to do then, hm?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer, just kisses him, his hands fisting lightly into Jay’s shirt.

It’s soft at first, something grounding, something warm, but when Jungwon exhales sharply into it—his breath hitching slightly as Jay’s hands follow the curve of his spine—something shifts. Jungwon lets out a quiet sound, a small, desperate little noise that he barely recognizes as his own, and the second it escapes, Jay reacts.

Jay’s grip tightens immediately, fingers pressing into skin as he pulls him in even closer, until there’s no space left between them. Jungwon exhales into the kiss, his lips parting on instinct, another quiet little moan slipping out as Jay coaxes him open.

“Yeah?” Jay murmurs, voice low, “That’s what you want?”

Jungwon nods, but Jay hums, shaking his head slightly. “You need to actually say it, baby.”

Jungwon swallows, squeezing his eyes shut for half a second before forcing himself to let the words out. “I want it,” he murmurs, voice quiet but certain. “Hyung, I want it.”

Jay’s hands slide down to grip the backs of Jungwon’s thighs, fingers pressing in just enough to make Jungwon’s breath stutter. Then, he’s lifting him up effortlessly, shifting him into his lap. Jungwon lets out a quiet, surprised noise at the movement, his arms tightening around Jay’s shoulders, legs spreading to straddle him.

Jay barely gives him a second to adjust before he’s pulling him back in, mouth slotting against his again, hungrier this time. His hands now grip at Jungwon’s hips, pressing him down against him, making sure he feels just how much Jay wants this too. Wants him.

Jungwon exhales sharply, his fingers finding Jay’s hair, gripping tight as he tilts his head, letting the kiss deepen. And Jay lets him take, lets him want, lets him chase that feeling—something hot and consuming, something that makes none of what just happened at the meeting feel like it matters anyway.

Their scents are thick in the air now, honey and smoke twining together, wrapping around them like something tangible. Jungwon breathes it in, deep and unsteady, and it only makes him want more, makes the need curl tighter in his stomach. 

If anyone walked in or even by the room now, the scent alone would be enough to make it obvious what they’re doing. The company would be furious. But right now, Jungwon doesn’t care.

If they want him to be just an omega, fine. He’ll be the best omega for his alpha. He’ll do it right here in their stupid practice rooms, where they expect him to be pliant and obedient, where they expect him to fall in line. 

He’ll give them what they want, but he’ll take what he wants, too. 

Jay doesn’t move for a moment, his hands steady against Jungwon’s waist, the warmth of them seeping through the fabric of his hoodie. His breath is a little uneven, but when he finally speaks, his voice is careful. Measured.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, searching Jungwon’s face. “Or is this— was the meeting that bad?” A thread of something hesitant beneath Jay’s scent, like the faintest wisp of burnt sugar—concern, hesitation, something Jungwon doesn’t want to acknowledge.

Jungwon stills slightly, his grip tightening where he’s got his hands fisted in the fabric of Jay’s shirt. He doesn’t answer. Because what does it matter? Whether it’s because of the meeting or because of everything else pressing in on him or because Jay feels like the only real, solid thing in a world that keeps shifting out of his control—none of it changes the fact that he wants this. That he needs this.

Jay exhales, something soft and uncertain, before he tries again. “Hey,” he says, voice quieter now, more insistent. “I’m actually serious. I’m happy to be your distraction but—” He hesitates, and Jungwon feels the way his fingers flex slightly against his waist, like he’s trying to find the right words.

Jungwon turns his head, trying to hide against his shoulder, but Jay catches him before he can, tilting his chin back with two fingers, making him meet his gaze again. His expression is careful, his dark eyes watching him closely, searching. “No, hey. Look at me,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over Jungwon’s jaw, grounding him. “I mean it. I’m happy to be your distraction, okay? But I also want it to be really good for you. We haven’t—” He trails off, swallowing. His fingers press slightly into Jungwon’s jaw, his brows furrowing just a little. “I just don’t want you to regret it later.”

Jungwon swallows, heart thudding too hard in his chest. He does look at Jay then, lets himself take in the way his gaze lingers, warm and concerned even in the haze of want between them. 

But Jungwon doesn’t want to think about regrets, doesn’t want to think about anything other than how much he needs this, how much he needs Jay. So he shifts, rolling his hips down deliberately, drinking in the way Jay’s fingers tighten around him, the way his breath catches.

“Hyung,” Jungwon whispers, barely above a breath. “Please. I need it.”

Jay’s breath stutters, his fingers flexing against Jungwon’s waist, and then—almost absentmindedly—Jungwon tilts his head, letting the edge of Jay’s fingertips brush against his lower lip.

Jay stills. His gaze drops instantly, locking onto the way his own fingers press against the soft curve of Jungwon’s mouth, the faint glisten of spit catching in the dim light. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even breathe for a second, just watches, utterly transfixed, as his thumb drags along Jungwon’s lower lip, smearing the dampness there.

Jungwon lets his lips part further, his breath warm against Jay’s skin, and then, deliberately, he leans in—taking Jay’s fingers into his mouth, sucking at them slow and sweet.

Jay lets out a low, wrecked sound, his grip tightening involuntarily. His pupils dilate, his whole body going taut beneath Jungwon like he’s barely holding himself together. His breath is shaky when he exhales, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop watching the way Jungwon’s lips wrap around his fingers, the slow, obscene drag of his tongue.

Jay groans softly, his grip tightening for half a second before he exhales sharply, finally tilting his head back, like he’s trying to get a handle on himself. “Fuck" he mutters. “Let me… I could get us a cab right now.”

Jungwon shakes his head quickly. “No,” he whispers. His hands slide up, curling around Jay’s shoulders, his voice a little rough at the edges. “Please. Need you now.”

Jay seems to catch the urgency in his hands, the way he’s chasing this like it’s the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely. 

His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on Jungwon’s waist, just enough that Jungwon can feel it—another moment of hesitation, barely perceptible, but there. Like he’s still thinking about stopping this. Like he’s debating whether to be the responsible one, whether to make Jungwon talk instead of letting him drown whatever happened in that meeting beneath the heat between them.

But then, just as quickly, Jay exhales, his grip shifting from hesitant to steady, and he tilts his head to kiss Jungwon properly, deep and consuming. The hesitation is gone, replaced by something hungry, something that makes Jungwon finally feel solid in a way he hasn’t all day.

If his Jay-hyung has one flaw, Jungwon thinks, it’s that he’s just not built to say no to him.

Jay’s hands slide under his hoodie again, warmer now, fingers pressing firmly into his sides. One hand travels up, splaying against his back, keeping him pressed down, while the other moves lower, guiding his hips into a slow, steady grind.

Jungwon whimpers against his lips when he feels it—when he feels the way Jay is already hard beneath him, the firm press of it making something coil hot and insistent inside him. He’s already wet, already aching, and the realization makes him whine, makes his hips stutter forward of their own accord.

Jay groans softly at the feeling, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his grip tightening as he presses Jungwon down harder against him. The movement sends another wave of heat rushing through Jungwon, and he gasps, breaking away from the kiss to bury his face in the crook of Jay’s neck, panting softly against his skin.

Jay hums, his breath coming faster now too, but his voice is steady, teasing, when he speaks. “Yeah?” he murmurs, rolling his hips up again, slow and deliberate. “Feels good, baby?”

Jungwon makes a broken little noise in response, nodding against his neck.

Jay’s fingers slide higher, tracing slow, burning paths under his shirt, up the dip of his spine. “Say it,” he murmurs, voice lower now, rougher at the edges.

Jungwon sucks in a breath, trying to steady himself, but it’s impossible like this, with Jay touching him, guiding him, forcing his hips down. He fists his hands in Jay’s shirt, gasping when Jay rocks him forward again, when the friction sends another sharp, shuddering pulse of pleasure through him.

“I—” His voice is shaky, breathless. “Feels good. Hyung, it feels so good.”

Jay makes a low, satisfied noise, his hands sliding up higher under Jungwon’s hoodie, fingers tracing over the dip of his ribs, the curve of his waist. He stays still for a moment, just holding him there—until Jungwon starts moving on his own, a slow, instinctive grind of his hips that makes his breath catch. Jay exhales a soft, shaky laugh, his voice hot against Jungwon’s cheek.

Jungwon gasps, shivering, his fingers twisting tighter in Jay’s shirt.

He doesn’t answer—doesn’t have to, not when his body is already saying everything for him. His breath stutters as Jay rocks up into him again, and he whimpers, his grip tightening against Jay’s shoulders. He can feel him through his jeans, can feel himself growing wetter with each slow, deliberate movement.

The fabric of Jay’s jeans is rough against him, dragging in a way that makes his breath come faster, makes the coil in his stomach wind even tighter. Every movement, every shift, spreads slick between them, and he knows Jay can feel it too, can feel the way it’s soaking through his own jeans, darkening the fabric, because his breath catches, his fingers pressing harder into Jungwon’s waist, his grip tightening.

It should be embarrassing, maybe. The way he’s already this wet, already this desperate. But Jay is so solid beneath him, and the way his fingers dig into his waist, the way he holds him like he never wants to let go—it makes something in Jungwon snap, makes him want even more.

The force of it makes him still for a second, shift, more slick spreading between them. He leans forward and kisses Jay again, slow and deep, pressing in even closer. Jay groans into the kiss, his hands sliding lower again, but before he can do anything else, Jungwon’s fingers are already moving to the waistband of his jeans, tugging at the button.

Jay exhales a sharp breath, tilting his head slightly, watching him. “What do you need, Jungwon?” he asks, voice low, careful.

Jungwon makes a soft, frustrated sound in response, trying to tug at Jay’s shirt at the same time, because he wants everything at once and doesn’t have the patience for any of it.

Jay lets out a quiet laugh, wrapping his fingers around Jungwon’s wrists to still him. “Okay, okay,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to Jungwon’s jaw. “Shirt first.”

He pulls it off easily, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifts it over his head, tossing it to the side. Jungwon’s breath catches for a second, his eyes flickering down before his fingers are moving again, pressing against the hard outline of Jay’s cock through his open jeans, rubbing slow, teasing circles over what little he can reach like this.

Jay exhales sharply, his hands tightening against Jungwon’s thighs as he watches him. Jungwon meets his gaze and moves without thinking, sliding down off Jay’s lap to kneel between his legs.

His hands rest lightly against Jay’s thighs, fingers flexing slightly as he settles himself, his own breath unsteady now. He tilts his head up, looking at Jay through his lashes, waiting.

The way his knees press into the cold floor, the way he tilts his head all the way up, waiting, obedient— maybe it should feel humiliating, but settling into it is the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Something inside him settles, the quiet rush of instinct clicking into place. He can feel the way his body knows this is right. The way his breath comes faster, the way his whole body thrums with it, like every cell inside him is lighting up in satisfaction.

Jay’s breath shudders, his hands hovering for a second before they slide into Jungwon’s hair, fingers threading through the strands. He tilts Jungwon’s chin up slightly, his grip careful but firm, making sure their eyes meet.

It feels so good, the thrill of it racing down his spine, pooling warm and liquid in his stomach.

“Fuck,” Jay breathes, voice a little rough. His fingers flex slightly in Jungwon’s hair, and he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

Jay’s scent spikes—warmth darkening into something richer, something heady, something so overwhelming that Jungwon swears he can taste it in the air. It sinks into him, winding around every part of his brain until there’s no space left for anything else. 

No shame, no hesitation, nothing but this, nothing but Jay.

Jungwon would kneel in front of Jay a thousand times over if it meant getting this version of Jay, this unfiltered, helpless, his Jay.

His ruined leadership, his stolen rank, the weight of expectation pressing him into a shape he never wanted to be—it doesn’t matter, not when Jay is looking at him like this, breathless and wrecked.

He’s way past feeling embarrassed about how wet he is, past caring about the way slick keeps pooling between his thighs, soaking through his clothes. He shifts slightly, pressing his knees into the floor, and nuzzles against Jay’s thigh, inhaling deeply. It’s grounding, the heat of him, the scent of him. He lets his lips brush against the muscle there, tilting his head up just slightly, watching Jay’s face.

Jay is still looking down at him, his fingers still carding through Jungwon’s hair, still loose, still careful. But the moment their eyes meet, something shifts in his expression, something tightens. Jungwon watches the way his throat works, the way his breath stutters just slightly, the way his grip twitches in his hair.

Jungwon presses his lips against his jeans again, just to see what he’ll do. Then he parts his mouth, letting his tongue dart out, mouthing at the fabric still covering him. The scent of him is even stronger here, salt and heat and smoke, and it’s so perfect that Jungwon’s mind goes a little hazy, thoughts slow like he’s drunk on it. 

Above him, Jay exhales sharply, his head tilting back, fingers tightening in Jungwon’s hair just a little, like it’s too good, like he can’t stop himself from reacting. His chest rises and falls, his grip flexing again, and then—suddenly—his fingers tighten properly, pulling Jungwon away.

Jungwon lets out a small, frustrated noise against his will but Jay tugs him back just enough to sit up fully. His hands move to the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning them the rest of the way before shoving them down, dragging his underwear along with them.

Jungwon barely takes a second to take him in before he’s leaning forward again, pressing in close, licking against the head of his cock. The reaction is immediate—Jay lets out a sharp breath, his hand tightening at the back of Jungwon’s head, his hips jerking slightly before he steadies himself. 

His breath is uneven, his thighs tense beneath Jungwon’s hands as Jungwon licks at him again, slow and teasing, savoring the weight of him on his tongue.

“Fuck—” Jay exhales sharply, his hips twitching just slightly. “Baby—”

Jungwon hums against him, pressing closer, dragging his tongue along the underside, tasting him properly now. He shifts slightly, settling in, letting himself take his time. The weight of Jay in his mouth, the way his scent thickens, the way his breath hitches—it makes something tight and hot coil inside Jungwon, makes him shiver as he presses closer, chasing more.

Jay’s grip in Jungwon’s hair tightens slightly. “You like making me fall apart, huh?” he murmurs, voice rough, low, filled with something that makes Jungwon shiver. “That why you’re being so good for me right now?”

Jungwon makes a small, pleased sound in response, pressing his tongue against him again, his lips parting around him just slightly. His own thighs press together as another rush of slick spreads, as the heat coils tighter, hotter, more unbearable.

The extent of it, Jay doesn’t even know. Has never known. How there isn’t a single thing he wouldn’t do if his Jay hyung asked him to. How deep it goes, the sheer insanity of it, is something only Jungwon knows.

“God,” Jay mutters, his head tipping forward slightly, his breath uneven. His fingers stroke through Jungwon’s hair again, slower this time, before he tugs lightly, just enough to tilt Jungwon’s face back up toward him. “You wanted this that bad?” His voice is teasing, but his expression is something softer, something unreadable.

Jungwon huffs, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss to his length, letting his tongue drag lazily along the vein there. Then, quietly, petulantly, he mutters, “You never let me. Mean.”

Jay groans, tipping his head back, and Jungwon thinks for a second that he isn’t going to answer. But then he’s looking down at him again, eyes dark, pupils blown, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

“I wanted to,” Jay says, voice rough with want. His fingers tighten in Jungwon’s hair, like he needs him to understand. “Fuck, Jungwon, of course I wanted to.”

Jungwon’s breath catches. He swallows hard, his fingers digging into Jay’s thighs, his heart hammering against his ribs. Something warm and unsteady curls in his stomach, twisting tighter with every second Jay holds his gaze.

Jay’s thumb brushes over the corner of Jungwon’s mouth, and his voice is softer now, careful. “Let me have you properly this time, yeah?” His fingers tighten slightly, guiding him back. “Come on, baby. I’ll make it up to you.”

Jungwon exhales, shivering, and then he’s sinking back down, taking Jay into his mouth again, chasing the way he groans.

And this time, Jay doesn’t stop him. 

Jungwon can’t take all of it. He tries, breathes through his nose, relaxes his jaw, like Sunoo taught him, but the stretch is still too much, the weight of Jay heavy on his tongue. His throat flutters, and he pulls back slightly, panting softly against the slick length of him, frustrated at his own limits. He wants more. He wants everything.

Jay groans, his fingers threading through Jungwon’s hair, not pushing, just holding. The scent of him spikes again—thick, warm, like something curling through Jungwon’s ribs and settling deep in his chest. He knows Jay is holding back, knows he’s trying to let Jungwon set the pace, but Jungwon wants him to lose control, wants to make him fall apart the way he’s always wanted to.

He tries again, pressing down further, lips stretching around the shape of him, tongue slick and eager. Jay exhales sharply, a deep, wrecked sound, and his thighs tense beneath Jungwon’s hands. His grip in Jungwon’s hair tightens for half a second before he forces himself to ease it, his breath coming faster now, uneven.

“Jungwon—” His voice is low, strained, like he’s barely keeping himself together. “Fuck, baby, that’s—shit—too good.”

Jungwon hums around him, feeling Jay twitch against his tongue, feeling the way his whole body shudders beneath him. The praise sends a sharp pulse of heat through him, pooling between his legs, making his whole body tighten with need. His scent must be thick in the air now, sweet and warm, all omega and want.

Jay groans, and suddenly his grip tightens in Jungwon’s hair—firmer than before, just this side of rough. Before Jungwon can brace for it, Jay’s hips move forward, and he’s being held down, deeper than he’s ready for. His throat tightens around it, a startled choke catching in his chest, eyes stinging for a second as his breath stutters. But the rush of it—being held like this, taken like this—sends something hot spiraling through him. The stretch, the weight, the way Jay trembles beneath his hands—it’s overwhelming in the best way. His fingers dig into Jay’s thighs, clinging, and he lets himself sink into it, chasing that dizzy, breathless high.

His ears are ringing but he can hear Jay groaning like he’s about to push past what he can take again, but then, suddenly, his hands are pulling him away instead, fingers gripping his jaw, tugging him back.

Jungwon blinks up at him, his breath unsteady, his lips swollen and slick. He can can taste salt on his tongue, and he doesn’t understand why Jay stopped.

Jay looks down at him, his chest rising and falling unevenly, pupils blown, his scent heady and thick with want. But instead of pulling him back in, he huffs a breathless laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over the corner of Jungwon’s mouth, cleaning up spit and precum. “You’ve forgotten everything?”

Jungwon just stares, panting softly, still half-dazed, still aching with it. Why is Jay making him think? He doesn’t want to think. Can’t think, his mind all hazy, thoughts floating away as soon as he tries to hold onto them. 

Jay tilts his head slightly, watching him closely, something fond flickering behind the heat in his eyes. Then, his fingers slide down, tracing over Jungwon’s jaw, pressing lightly against his throat. “You really think I’m gonna start coming first now?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

Jungwon shudders, his thighs clenching together, another wave of wetness pooling between his legs at the way Jay says it, at the reminder of how it’s always been between them.

His breath catches, and then Jay is guiding him up, pulling him onto the small couch, hands steady, sure. Jungwon follows without hesitation, lets himself be moved, lets Jay press him down against the cushions.

His breath is coming faster now, his body burning with it, and when Jay’s fingers go to the waistband of his pants, Jungwon doesn’t think—just nods, breathless, desperate. Jay pauses for a second, watching him carefully, searching his face.

“You sure?” he murmurs, voice quiet now, careful. “It’s okay?”

Jungwon exhales shakily, his fingers curling into Jay’s shirt, his body already arching toward him. He nods again, more insistent this time, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, hyung. Please.”

Jay’s breath shudders out, his hands tightening just slightly before he hooks his fingers into the fabric, sliding Jungwon’s pants and underwear down.

Jay shifts, settling more comfortably between his legs. His lips are warm as they press against Jungwon’s collarbone, trailing down slowly, reverent. Jungwon shivers at the sensation, at the press of Jay’s mouth over his sternum, his ribs, the softest part of his stomach.

It tickles, just a little, and his body jerks on instinct, making Jay huff a quiet laugh against his skin.

“Sensitive,” Jay murmurs, lips curving as he presses another kiss just above his navel, hands smoothing down Jungwon’s sides like he’s trying to soothe him.

Jungwon exhales shakily, his fingers twisting into the couch cushions at his sides. He feels bare under Jay’s touch, spread open and vulnerable in a way that should be embarrassing, but isn’t. Not with Jay looking at him like this. Not when he is touching him like he’s something precious.

And then Jay shifts lower, his grip tightening slightly against Jungwon’s waist.

Jungwon exhales shakily, his breath catching in his throat as Jay’s hands slide over his hips, warm and steady, thumbs pressing into the soft skin. He can feel slick now pooling against the inside of his thighs, making his skin sticky, the air heavy with it.

Jay groans, dragging his fingers through the mess with a slow, deliberate touch, before bringing them up to his mouth. Jungwon, suddenly shy, can’t make himself look, but he hears it, the quiet, wet sound of Jay sucking his fingers into his mouth, tasting him, the low, satisfied noise he makes in response.

“Fuck, baby,” Jay murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against Jungwon’s hip. “You taste so good.”

Jay’s fingers return a moment later, slick and teasing as they slide against him. Jungwon exhales shakily, his thighs tensing as Jay presses inside, slow and deliberate, stretching him further carefully.

“Breathe” Jay murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against the inside of his thigh. “Relax for me.”

Jungwon lets out a shaky exhale, willing himself to loosen up, to take it, to let Jay give him this.

It’s different from before—more intimate, more deliberate. Jay isn’t just letting Jungwon chase what he wants anymore. He’s taking his time, making sure this is good for him, making sure Jungwon feels all of it.

And then Jay is shifting lower again, and Jungwon barely has time to register what’s happening before Jay’s mouth is on him.

Jungwon gasps, his back arching off the couch, his hands flying to Jay’s hair without thinking. The heat of Jay’s tongue against him is overwhelming, a wet, insistent pressure that makes Jungwon’s entire body jerk, makes something hot coil tight and desperate inside him.

Jay hums in response, the vibration making Jungwon’s thighs tremble. “So good,” Jay murmurs against his skin, voice low and satisfied. “You taste so fucking good, baby.”

Jungwon whines, his fingers tightening in Jay’s hair, torn between pushing him closer and pulling him away. He can’t think straight, can barely breathe, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as Jay works him open with his tongue, slow and deliberate and so good he feels like he might actually break apart.

His body doesn’t know what to do with it, his instincts pushing him in two different directions—more, too much, don’t stop, can’t handle it. He keeps alternating between tugging Jay away and dragging him back in, his hips rolling up helplessly, chasing the friction, desperate for more.

Jay doesn’t stop, doesn’t even hesitate, just keeps going, keeps licking into him, keeps holding him down like he’s determined to make Jungwon come apart beneath him.

Jungwon whimpers, his whole body shuddering, the pleasure curling tight and insistent, winding him up so fast it’s almost dizzying.

“I—” His voice catches, barely a breath. “Hyung—”

Jay groans against him, dragging his tongue over him one more time, and it’s too much, it’s too good—

Jungwon cries out, his whole body going taut, and then he’s coming, head tipped back, back arching, fingers pulling helplessly at Jay’s hair as he unravels completely.

Jay groans softly as he rides him through it, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against Jungwon’s inner thighs, letting him tremble and gasp through the aftershocks.

He feels so wrecked. Warm and boneless and dazed, his entire body tingling, breath coming in uneven gasps.

Jay shifts, moving up over him, and Jungwon blinks up at him, eyes hazy, barely able to focus.

“You tired, baby?” Jay teases, voice low and warm. He smiles, pressing a kiss against his cheek, his hands sliding over Jungwon’s sides, grounding him. Jungwon swallows, his body still thrumming, but he still wants to do something for Jay, still wants to help. He shifts slightly, reaching for him, but Jay just catches his wrist, pressing it back down gently.

“You’re okay” Jay murmurs, shaking his head. His voice is soft, but his eyes are heavy-lidded as they drag over Jungwon’s body, his gaze lingering like he’s memorizing every inch of him. “Just letting me look at you like this—you’re doing enough.”

Jungwon shivers at the way Jay looks at him—at the heat in his eyes, the way his fingers tighten just slightly against his wrist, like he needs to hold him down, like Jungwon might just leave again if he doesn’t make sure.

“God,” Jay breathes, almost to himself. His grip shifts, sliding over Jungwon’s ribs, his fingertips pressing lightly into the dips between them. “Look at you.”

Jungwon shivers, but he’s too spent to really react. Jay shifts again, exhaling sharply, and then Jungwon feels it—the wet slide of Jay’s fingers collecting the slick between his thighs, dragging over his own cock. Jungwon barely breathes, barely moves, feeling the heat of Jay’s gaze on him, the way his body trembles slightly from how hard he just came.

Jay groans low, the sound rough and barely controlled, his grip tightening as he strokes himself, slick-slick-slick filling the heavy silence between them. Jungwon forces his heavy eyelids open, just enough to catch the way Jay’s jaw clenches, the way his muscles tense beneath sweat-damp skin. He’s close.

Jungwon watches, still half-dazed, warmth coiling in his stomach at the sight of Jay above him, flushed and breathless, hips stuttering forward into his own touch. Even spent, Jungwon can feel the faintest echo of heat licking through him, his body attuned to Jay’s in a way that feels inevitable.

“That’s it, fuck” Jay breathes, the sound wrecked, reverent. His other hand is still gripping Jungwon’s hip, fingers pressing into overheated skin like he’s anchoring himself. His movements are getting sloppier now, faster, his breath coming short and uneven.

Jungwon shifts, pressing against him, letting Jay feel just how warm and pliant he still is beneath him.

Jay groans, low and guttural, his body tensing as his hips jerk forward one last time. His breath catches, and then Jungwon feels it—the hot pulse of Jay’s cum against his skin, spreading between them as Jay shudders through it. His fingers tighten around Jungwon’s hip, like he needs to hold onto something, needs to keep them pressed together through the aftershocks.

For a long moment, neither of them move, the air between them thick with heat and the lingering echo of pleasure. Jay finally exhales, slow and shaky, pressing his forehead against Jungwon’s shoulder as his grip eases, his fingers smoothing over Jungwon’s skin in slow, absentminded motions.

Jungwon’s breath catches, something warm curling low in his stomach at the feeling, at the way Jay exhales, still catching his breath, his hands sliding up to settle against Jungwon’s hips like he never wants to let go.

For a second, Jay doesn’t move. His breathing slows, but his hands stay where they are, resting against Jungwon’s skin like he’s weighing something, like there’s a thought hovering just behind his teeth that he chooses not to say. Instead, he lets out a slow breath, pressing one last kiss against Jungwon’s hip before he finally shifts back, sitting up properly.

For a second, he just looks down at him, eyes still dark, still hazy with the aftershocks of pleasure, before he lets out a quiet laugh, brushing a thumb gently along Jungwon’s cheekbone.

“We really shouldn’t have done that here,” he murmurs.

Jungwon blinks up at him, still catching his breath. Then he snorts, rolling his eyes. “You’re the only one that ever uses this studio anyway.”

Jay hums, running his fingers through Jungwon’s hair in a slow, absentminded motion. “Still,” he mutters. 

Jungwon shrugs. “Everyone does it.”

Jay blinks. “What?”

Jungwon huffs as he leans over, grabbing their clothes and tossing Jay’s jeans toward him. “I literally walked in on Sunghoon and Jake once. In the studio right next to this one.”

Jay freezes, his jeans half-pulled up his thighs. “People do that?” His voice goes up slightly, disbelieving.

They stay on the couch for another moment, just breathing each other in. The studio is still heavy with scent, thick with heat and the ghost of everything they just did. Jungwon eventually shifts, his legs a little unsteady, and Jay helps him ease upright, warm hands steady at his waist.

The cleanup is quiet—familiar, even. Jay finds a packet of wet wipes in his bag without comment, passing them over with a wry little smile. Jungwon accepts them, dabbing at his skin, the lingering stickiness, trying not to wince too much when he pulls his underwear back into place. 

Jay gives the air a few spritzes of neutralizer before gently misting Jungwon’s hoodie, murmuring, “Turn?” he prompts. Jungwon rolls his eyes but does, letting Jay finish the job, and then doing the same for him. It won’t hide everything, but it’ll be enough for now.

When they’re both ready, Jungwon finally pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the time. 

There’s the unread message from Jake, still waiting. exactly where he left it. “Oh. Jake was asking if I want to get dinner” he says, deliberately casual, like it’s the first time he’s seeing it. 

Jay’s brows lift slightly, like he’s clocking exactly what Jungwon is doing but deciding not to call him out on it. Instead, he just hums, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? You wanna go? I could do dinner after we shower.” 

His tone is easy, but that shift in his scent is still there, lingering just beneath the surface. Jungwon doesn’t acknowledge it. Maybe if he doesn’t, Jay won’t either.

<3

Jungwon shakes out his limbs, adjusts his stance, and resets.

The air in the practice room is thick with effort, with the kind of focus that only comes when something is big , when something matters . The tour encore in Seoul will be their biggest yet, the first one where Jungwon will be officially back, and everything needs to be perfect. 

The bass thrums through the floor, vibrating up through his bones as they run the sequence again. The mirrors reflect them back in sharp precision, each movement fluid and deliberate, honed through repetition until it settles into their muscles like second nature.

Jungwon loses track of time as they run through everything again and again, until sweat drips down his back, until his muscles burn in the best way, until everything falls away except the rhythm, the weight of his body shifting, the heat of the lights overhead.

When the choreographer calls for a break, Jungwon barely sits down before giving up and just sliding fully onto the floor instead, where the others have already collapsed in on themselves like a pile of discarded marionettes. 

“So,” Sunoo drawls. “What’s the consensus? Are we dying?”

“I think I actually dislocated something,” Jay announces, rolling onto his side to stare at the ceiling. He's so dramatic sometimes. Jungwon loves him.

Jungwon huffs a quiet laugh, his fingers drumming lightly against the floor. There’s something nice about this, the in-between moments, the way they crash together after working themselves to the limit. 

This is his favorite part, he realizes. The training, the exhaustion, the laughter in between—this is the kind of tired he likes. The kind that makes him feel full rather than drained, exhaustion that is real and earned.

He closes his eyes again, letting himself exist in it for just a little longer.

Then Heeseung groans, dramatic and drawn out, before reaching blindly toward Jungwon’s leg and poking at his calf.

“Jungwon,” he says, in a tone that suggests he’s about to ask him for something stupid.

Jungwon doesn’t even bother opening his eyes. “No.”

Heeseung huffs. “You didn’t even let me ask.”

“Because I already know it’s dumb.”

Heeseung nudges him again. “Carry me back to the dorm later.”

Jungwon cracks an eye open just enough to shoot him a flat look before letting out a breathless laugh, nudging him back with his knee.

But before Heeseung can argue, the choreographer claps his hands. “Alright, back up,” he calls, and a collective groan ripples through the group.

“But you’re strong,” Heeseung argues from the floor. “And I’m tired.”

Jungwon snorts, but still pushes himself up, shaking the ache from his limbs.

They’re called back to rerun the intro again, then the full setlist, drilling the new surprise additions until the movements are ingrained into their muscles, until muscle memory starts taking over, until the music is practically imprinted into their bones.

Hours later, the others start dragging themselves toward the door, shuffling into their hoodies, stuffing water bottles into their bags, but Jungwon still has another few reruns of focus practice on his intro. 

He doesn’t mind. He likes this choreographer. He’s been with them since almost debut, has been part of some of their toughest sessions, seen them through exhaustion and success, through performances that left them breathless and practices that left them almost throwing up. He’s strict, sure, but never unfair.

And, most importantly, he acts like nothing has changed, doesn’t treat him like something that needed to be softened or reshaped into a new image.

By the time he finally pushes the dorm door open, it’s nearly silent inside, the kind of hush that comes with late hours and a pack already half-asleep. Most of the lights are off, but the warm glow from the living room spills out softly, and Jungwon catches the quiet murmur of voices.

He steps inside, kicking off his shoes, and as he walks in, he spots Sunoo and Sunghoon still curled up on the couch.

“It’s just a theory,” Sunghoon is saying. 

“No, it actually checks out,” Sunoo counters, his voice confident but quiet. “It makes total sense.”

Jungwon furrows his brows. “What does?”

"Wow, you just got back?” Sunghoon comments from the couch, tilting his head as his nose twitches. "You smell like—well, like practice."

Sunoo immediately smacks him lightly on the arm. "Aren’t all omegas supposed to smell amazing to you no matter what?"

Sunghoon huffs, rubbing his arm like Sunoo actually hurt him. "Actually, that’s a misconception." He straightens slightly, like he’s gearing up for a lecture. “It’s still subjective and context matters. And that idea really feeds into how omegas are viewed as—"

Sunoo lets out a long, suffering groan and drops his head back against the cushions.

Sunghoon leans back, letting whatever point he was about to make go. “Never mind,” he mutters, crossing his arms loosely.

“No, hey,” Sunoo says, reaching over to tug lightly at Sunghoon’s sleeve. “I promise I’m interested. Just—maybe not past midnight, okay?”

“What were you guys talking about before?” Jungwon sighs as he drops onto the couch next to them, rubbing at his temple before glancing between the two. 

Sunghoon exhales, shifting slightly where he’s slouched. “About Niki,” he admits, crossing his arms loosely. “We think we know why he’s been weird lately. You know, how his scent has been off?”

Jungwon nods, then frowns. What is it?”

Sunoo tugs at his sleeve absentmindedly, like it’s second nature, before glancing at Sunghoon again. “Tell him.”

Sunghoon glances at Sunoo like he’s debating letting him explain, but then he sighs, shifting forward slightly. “Okay, so, we were talking about the hierarchy thing,” he starts. “Niki is the youngest, right? But he’s an alpha. Which means he’s technically the lowest-ranked, even though his instincts are telling him he shouldn’t be. The rest of us alphas all presented before him, and we had years before he even presented. That means we all have more claim to--well, basically everything, all of you—than he does."

Jungwon processes that for a second, frowning again slightly. "Okay, but..."

Sunoo jumps in before he can finish. “And, well, you know how it is," he says, waving a hand vaguely before gesturing between them. "Heeseung has Jake, Sunghoon has me, and you have Jay."

Sunghoon immediately bristles. "I don’t have you," he corrects sharply, his jaw tightening slightly. "That’s not how it works."

Sunoo rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. "Fine, whatever, but you know what I mean. The point is, before you presented, it was different." He turns back to Jungwon. "And then for a while, you only really let me and Niki in."

Jungwon feels his chest tighten slightly, guilt creeping in. "I—Sunghoon, I didn’t mean—"

Sunghoon shakes his head before he can finish. "No, I know why," he says, voice even. "It’s fine."

Jungwon exhales slowly, nodding, before Sunghoon continues. "The point is, for a while, Niki had something that the rest of us didn’t have. And now that you’ve let everyone in again… he’s back to having the least claim on anything."

The words settle heavy in the air between them. Jungwon hadn’t thought about it like that. He’d noticed the sharpness to Niki’s scent lately, the way his frustration simmered beneath the surface, but he’d assumed it was just stress, just the weight of everything they were dealing with.

But this—this makes sense in a way that he hadn’t quite considered before. Niki isn’t just the youngest. He’s an alpha surrounded by alphas who all outrank him in some way. In age, in status, in bonds. It’s not about leadership—it’s about belonging. About where he fits in now that everything has shifted again.

Jungwon frowns, tilting his head slightly. "But if it’s been bothering him this much, why hasn’t he said anything?"

Sunghoon lets out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head. "Because it’s Niki, right? He would rather chew his own arm off than admit something like this out loud."

Jungwon exhales, his fingers drumming idly against his knee as he glances between Sunoo and Sunghoon. "So what do we do?"

Sunoo shrugs, casual, like the answer is obvious. "I think it’s easily fixable."

"It’s just his alpha acting up a little," Sunghoon hums in agreement. "It’ll settle.”

Sunoo nods, tucking his feet beneath him. "Yeah, I’ll pay more attention to him. We got this. And isn’t Jay going away for that Japan thing soon anyway? Just spend a little extra time with Niki while he’s gone, and it should even out.” 

Jungwon lets out a slow breath, nodding, but the unease in his chest doesn’t quite fade. The tension has been there for a while, not just with Niki, but threaded through the whole pack.

His fingers still against his knee. “So… that was the tension?” he murmurs, frowning slightly when they look at him like they don’t know what he means. 

“I don’t know, the tension! In the pack. It’s like—like I can feel it now, in a way I couldn’t before.”

Sunoo tilts his head, curious. “Feel it how?”

Jungwon hesitates, struggling to put it into words. “I don’t know how to—it’s like this hum in the background. I don’t have to think about it, it’s just… there. How everyone’s doing, what they’re feeling, even when no one says anything. It’s like—” He falters, searching for the right way to explain it. “It’s not like I know exactly what’s wrong, just that something is. Like I can’t relax until it settles.”

Sunoo watches him, something soft flickering across his expression before he nods in understanding. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s just an omega thing. And a beta thing, I’m pretty sure.”

“I guess,” he mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But if this is what’s been messing with the balance, then maybe once it gets sorted out, the tension will go away.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, subtly—just barely—Sunghoon and Sunoo exchange a glance.

Sunghoon is the first to break the quiet, his voice even. “Yeah… of course. Maybe.”

Jungwon narrows his eyes slightly. “What?”

Sunoo stretches his arms overhead, shaking out his limbs like the conversation is wrapping up. “It’ll be fine,” he says easily. “Don’t stress too much about it. We’ll handle it.”

He then shifts closer to Sunghoon, draping himself lazily against his side. “Now you,” he says, nudging him with his shoulder, "Are you gonna be okay sleeping alone for a few days?” 

Sunghoon scoffs, tilting his head back against the couch. "Hey, I’m great at sleeping alone.”

“Of course you are,” Sunoo grins, but he looks unconvinced. “Which is good, because I already told Jake I’d stay over with him tonight."

Sunghoon lets out an exaggerated sigh, stretching his legs out. "Perfect. The whole bed to myself.”

Sunoo chuckles slightly before turning to Jungwon. "What about you? What’s your plan?” 

Jungwon exhales, letting his head tip back against the couch. "Sleeping," he mutters.

Sunghoon glances at him, considering. "Want some company?”

<3

The days are slipping by too quickly now. Five left until the Seoul concert. Only two full days of practice before their schedules take over—fancalls, photoshoots, promotions. And his interview.

Jungwon hasn’t told the others about it. He doesn’t have to. A big exclusive, right after their encore, right after his official comeback? None of them are stupid. They know exactly what it means.

The tension hasn’t disappeared, but exhaustion dulls it, stretching their nerves thin. The pack bond is always a little off-kilter when someone is gone, and Jay has been in Japan for a solo schedule and won’t be back until tomorrow. Jungwon feels the absence of his scent like a loss of air, like he can’t get enough oxygen in his lungs no matter how hard he tries.

Practice dragged late today, and his body feels overheated, his skin prickling at the edges, warmth pooling uncomfortably beneath his collar. It’s not unfamiliar—he gets like this sometimes when he’s pushed too hard, when everything inside him is stretched too thin. But tonight, it’s worse. The exhaustion runs deeper, pressing at the base of his skull, winding tight beneath his ribs.

Across from him in the elevator back up to the dorms, Jake glances up, brows furrowing slightly.

“You smell different,” he says, not accusing, just observing.

Jungwon shifts slightly, trying to sniff at his own hoodie, but all he can pick up is his usual honey scent mixed with sweat and exertion from practice. 

“It’s just Jay missing,” he mutters, “Probably messing with the bond a little.”

Jungwon barely registers taking a shower and slipping into his own bed where Niki is already curled up. The exhaustion presses in harder now, making his limbs feel heavy, making the world blur slightly at the edges.

The second he settles, Niki presses close. Jungwon barely hums in acknowledgment, already half-asleep, but then Niki noses at his shoulder, inhaling slow, deep. 

“You smell good,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Jungwon’s brows furrow slightly, the words registering only halfway through the haze of exhaustion.

“Like.. different?” he asks.

He can feel Niki shaking his head behind him. “No,” he says, his fingers curling slightly where they rest against Jungwon’s ribs. “Just… good.” 

Jungwon hums, already slipping under.

<3

When Jungwon next wakes, it’s like dragging himself through molasses. His body feels sluggish, overheated, the air thick and heavy in his lungs. It takes him a second to realize he’s sweating, his hoodie clinging to his skin like a second layer, suffocating and damp. His limbs feel leaden, his muscles aching, heat pooling uncomfortably low in his stomach.

His thoughts are hazy, turning to smoke and disappearing before he can hold onto them.

The room feels wrong. The scent is wrong, thick and cloying, sticking to his tongue. His bed feels too warm, but he doesn’t remember kicking the blankets off. 

And then he sees Niki, standing at the foot of the bed, sleep shirt pressed up against his nose, his whole body tense. His ginger scent feels smothered now, tamped down under something restless, something barely contained.

Jungwon forces his mouth to work. "Niki?" His voice comes out rough, weak. His tongue feels too thick in his mouth. "What's—"

Niki’s grip tightens on the fabric. His jaw clenches.

"I'm getting Sunoo," he says, turning and bolting from the room before Jungwon can process it.

<3

Chapter Text

Jungwon tries to push himself up, but his arms tremble beneath him and his mind is too slow, too sluggish to understand what’s happening. His breath stutters. Heat is curling tighter, pulsing in time with his heartbeat, dizzying and disorienting. He squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again, but the fog in his brain doesn’t clear.

There are hands on him, warm and steady, shaking him just enough to drag him halfway out of the haze. A palm cups his cheek, taps lightly, and a voice filters through the fog, sharp with something almost scolding.

"Jungwon," Sunoo says, firm but gentle. "Hey, hey. Hi.”

Why is Sunoo here?

Jungwon swallows, his throat dry. His muscles feel too weak, like all his strength has drained out of him. He barely manages to press his cheek further into Sunoo’s palm, chasing the touch, something desperate unfurling in his chest. Everything feels weird. He’s way too hot, and there’s something wrong. Off. His scent spikes again without his permission, thick with distress, and Sunoo exhales sharply through his nose.

He strokes his hair, then pulls at it a little, “Hey, you with me? Look at me."

Jungwon blinks, eyes unfocused. His eyebrows furrow instinctively, trying to understand, but he doesn’t know what it is, where to start. The thoughts are all scrambled in his mind. The tug in his hair stings a little. Not mean, just confusing. He’s sleepy. Everything’s heavy. 

His breath stutters, something twisting in his gut, heat pooling lower. He whimpers before he can stop it, pressing his face into the palm cradling his jaw.

"You’re in heat, okay?” Sunoo says, voice softer now. "That’s what’s happening."

Jungwon’s breath hitches. He frowns, confused. That— that doesn’t make sense. He’s just… he’s just tired. Overworked. The encore is in five days, the schedules have been heavy, his body’s just run down from everything, that’s all.

"No," Jungwon murmurs, sluggish, barely able to form the word. "No, ‘m just tired. Just… practice,” he says, a little nonsensically. 

Sunoo— when did he get here? Are they having a conversation right now? If they are, Jungwon isn’t following — shakes his head, brushing damp hair back from Jungwon’s forehead. “No, baby,” he says, voice unwavering. “This is real.”

Jungwon tries to focus on him, tries to push through the fog, but it’s like his brain refuses to hold onto anything for too long. The heat in his body pulses again, stronger this time, and he whines, barely realizing the sound is coming from his own throat. His whole body is aching, burning, coiled tight.

Sunoo exhales sharply. “Shit. We should have talked about this earlier. That’s on me. But, okay. I need to know now, Jungwon.” He gives his cheek another light slap, enough to get his glassy eyes on him. "I need to be sure you understand me."

Jungwon whines, rubbing his cheek against Sunoo's palm like it might ground him, like it might help. It doesn’t. Nothing does.

"Jungwon," Sunoo repeats, his tone patient but urgent. "Do you want the pack to help you through this heat? Just me and Jake? Or do you want Jake to call the company to get you into a heat room?"

Jungwon barely processes the options. His body already knows what it needs.

"The pack," he slurs, voice barely above a breath. "The pack. Want Jay."

Sunoo sighs, running his fingers through Jungwon’s sweat-damp hair. "Jay’s not here, baby," he says, soft but firm. Then he gestures behind him toward the door. "Niki is texting him, don't worry. He’ll be back before you know it, okay?"

That’s a lie. Jungwon isn’t fully gone, not yet. Not enough to miss the way Sunoo's scent tightens just a little, the way Niki—hovering near the doorway—doesn’t have his phone in his hands at all.

But it doesn’t matter. Jungwon can’t do anything about it, and neither can Jay. Schedules are schedules. Jay is coming back the next night. What time is it? It’s just the full day. Just one more day without him.

“I—” His breath shudders out. He doesn’t know what he was trying to say. “Sorry” 

Sunoo strokes his cheek again, murmuring something soft. “You have us, okay? You’re not gonna go through this alone.”

That promise barely settles before another wave crashes over Jungwon, pulling a desperate sound from his throat. The heat surges, demanding, and his whole body tenses, his fingers curling into the sheets so tightly his knuckles go white. His scent spikes, and Niki curses under his breath, shoving a hand through his hair.

Sunoo grips Jungwon’s wrists, pressing them gently into the mattress. “Jungwon, we’re taking care of you now, okay? Jut until Jay gets here. You have to trust us.”

Jungwon whimpers, but he doesn’t fight. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.

Sunoo hums, rubbing slow, grounding circles against Jungwon’s wrist, keeping him tethered, keeping him here. "We’re gonna make it better, baby," he murmurs, voice firm but gentle. "But first, I need you to sit up for me."

Jungwon makes a weak, distressed noise in response. He doesn’t want t o sit up. Doesn’t want to move at all. His body feels too heavy, like it’s sinking into the bed, melting into the heat pooling inside him. His limbs are useless, his muscles trembling every time he even thinks about shifting.

Sunoo clicks his tongue, unimpressed. "Come on, sweetheart," he coaxes. "Just for a second. You need to drink something."

Jungwon whines, pressing his face deeper into the scent of him, clinging. His fingers curl into Sunoo’s shirt, refusing to let go. "Don’t wanna," he mumbles, voice muffled and petulant.

Sunoo clicks his tongue again, not unkindly. “I know, baby. I know it’s hard right now. But just for a second, okay?”

He shifts, sliding an arm around Jungwon’s shoulders and easing him up slightly, letting Jungwon’s weight fold into him. Jungwon sags, boneless against his chest, his limbs trembling from the effort. His breath stutters again, shaky and shallow, but he leans into Sunoo, his scent cool and grounding where it cuts through the heavy haze.

“There we go,” Sunoo murmurs, brushing a thumb across the flushed line of Jungwon’s cheek. “That’s good. You’re doing so well for me.”

Jungwon makes a soft sound, eyes fluttering half-closed, and Sunoo reaches for the water bottle on the nightstand, unscrewing the cap one-handed. Jungwon’s mouth tastes like metal and mint and something sweet beneath it, the kind of sweetness that turns his stomach. Sunoo tilts the bottle gently to Jungwon’s lips.

“Small sips,” he instructs, coaxing the water past Jungwon’s parted mouth. Jungwon swallows slowly, the coolness catching in his dry throat. It helps. Barely. But it helps.

Once he’s had a few mouthfuls, Sunoo sets the bottle aside and digs into the bag he brought in with him. He shakes a single capsule into his palm and holds it out.

“This’ll help take the edge off,” he says. “It won’t stop it, but it will buy us some time until Jay gets back.”

The name hits something raw inside him. Jungwon closes his eyes. “Jay,” he breathes, helpless.

“I know, baby,” Sunoo murmurs. “But for now, we’re going to take care of you, remember?”

He taps the pill lightly to Jungwon’s lips, and Jungwon obeys, mouth parting, tongue curling around the capsule. Sunoo follows it with another sip of water and waits until he’s sure Jungwon’s swallowed.

“Good,” Sunoo praises. “One more, baby” He digs out a second pill. “It will help with the pain, I promise.”

Jungwon huffs, sulky, but opens his mouth again, just barely. He swallows, grimacing, barely keeping the groan behind his teeth. 

“Almost done,” Sunoo assures him, voice light. “Last one, okay? This one’s important.”

Jungwon gives him a betrayed look, brows furrowed and lips pushing out in a pout. “Hyung—” he whines.

Sunoo lets a little laugh slip out at that, sounding fond. “I know, baby, but you’ll thank me later when we have no little surprises running around the dorm. Please?”

Jungwon lets out a long-suffering sigh, eyes rolling, but parts his lips one more time. Sunoo presses the pill to his tongue, then lifts the water again, tilting it gently. Jungwon drinks, glares at him over the rim, but he swallows.

“There,” Sunoo soothes, brushing his hair back. “All done.”

Jungwon just grumbles, already half-falling back into the mattress, petulant and exhausted and utterly done with all of it. Sunoo is smiling, though, scent all vanilla, soft and relieved as he eases him down again, tucking the blanket over his hips.

Jungwon’s body still feels like it’s burning from the inside out, but the edges of the worst of it begin to soften just enough to let exhaustion slip in. 

“Hyung?” Sunoo calls, his voice low but clear, Heeseung’s scent already reaching across the space—warm and grounding, settling low in Jungwon’s belly and tugging at something instinctive.

“He took them,” Sunoo says, voice quieter now. “Can you come lie with him? I’ll get everything ready. I think the rest can go back to bed for now.”

Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, crossing the room with quiet steadiness. The bed dips as he sits down, then stretches out carefully behind him. Sunoo gently guides Jungwon, turning him over and shifting him into Heeseung’s arms, shifting him so that his cheek rests against Heeseung’s chest.

Heeseung’s arm wraps around his waist without hesitation, firm but gentle, anchoring him in place.

The warmth of his scent wraps around him like a blanket. For the first time since he woke up all hazy and overheated, Jungwon feels a little calmer, almost at ease. He lets his eyes flutter shut, lets the rhythm of Heeseung’s breathing carry him down into sleep.

<3

When he wakes, it’s still dark outside, the kind of velvet-blue quiet that only exists just before dawn. There’s the soft hum of the air filter in the corner, the slow, steady rise and fall of Heeseung’s breath against his neck. 

Jungwon shifts slightly, trying to breathe through the ache that’s taken root deep in his body, hotter now than before. 

The suppressant—that’s the first one Sunoo must have given him, he realizes, not that he remembers anything clearly, seems to have dulled the worst of it and blunted the edges just enough to let him sleep—but now it’s slipping out of his system. And while he feels less hazy, more able to string thoughts together, the heat is crawling back in, heavier, hotter, greedy in a way that feels almost sentient. 

Like it knows how close he is to unraveling, like it’s trying to get it’s fangs in him. 

He feels hot everywhere, slick pooling between his legs in a way that makes him cringe. He can’t get comfortable, his body restless, and now, with the haze lifted a little, he can almost full form thoughts again, just enough to let the embarrassment hit him.

He feels pathetic. Raw and vulnerable and cracked down the center, all his composure stripped away. Whatever version of himself is left behind doesn’t feel like a leader at all. 

Heeseung’s hand twitches slightly in his sleep, the weight of his palm still splayed across Jungwon’s stomach, thumb tucked just under his hoodie.

The touch is protective, the oldest alpha in the pack taking care of his youngest omega. It reminds him of how seriously they all take the responsibility of the pack, of being there for each other, like this, too, for all the quiet, unglamorous, hard parts. Nights spent curled around one another when the world feels like it’s falling apart. The parts no one ever sees, and the parts that matter most.

Jungwon closes his eyes. During Sunoo’s last preheat, the stage of it that Jungwon had been allowed to help with, Sunoo had been half-lucid, babbling nonsense, clinging to him and Jake like a lifeline. Jungwon hadn’t thought he was annoying, then. Hadn’t resented him for it once. 

That’s what packs are for, aren’t they? His eyes sting. Everything inside him now feels like it’s spinning out—his nerves too sharp, his skin too hot, his chest too full. He’s sticky and aching and way too close to crying over absolutely nothing. 

It’s not even one feeling—just a mess of them, stacked up, tangled together. Shame and want, grief over losing his place, but also love, so much love for his pack. The heat makes everything louder. Every emotion blooming wide and raw under his skin, impossible to ignore. He feels cracked open. He feels like a mess.

He thinks of Sunoo again, thinks of the soft way Sunoo had said just until Jay gets here. Like the rest of the pack was temporary, a stand-in to tide him over.

His stomach sinks at the thought and then lingers there, low and sour. Not because it’s untrue. He does want Jay, wants him to be the first, has alway wanted that. Craves him in a way that feels bigger than all this. But the idea that the others might think they don’t matter to him, that he only sees them as backup singers to a solo performance—he feels it like a knife to his gut. It’s not like that, hasn’t ever been like that.

The arm around his waist tightens, just slightly. Heeseung shifts behind him, voice still thick with sleep. “You awake?”

Jungwon goes still for a second. Then, without turning around, he nods. “M’here,” he whispers. His voice comes out all hoarse, broken at the edges. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Heeseung says immediately, his tumb stroking softly against the skin of his stomach. His voice is low, a little rough with sleep, but there’s something soft in it, too. “How do you feel?”

There’s a beat of silence. Heeseung’s scent curls around him like smoke, thicker now, darker. He’s keeping it in check, Jungwon realizes. Trying not to react.

He’s good at it, has always been best at it out of all of them. But Jungwon can still feel it, just slightly tighter around the edges, like his instincts are clawing at him, wanting to do something, anything, to help.

Alphas in their industry have little to worry about, get so much leeway. But that doesn’t mean it’s always easy, either—the ache when one of theirs hurting and they can’t fix it. The helplessness, the frustration of holding back when every instinct is screaming at them to move, to act, to make it better, and they can’t, because they’re always being watched, always being held up as an example. 

“Hot,” Jungwon admits. “And sticky. And gross.”

Heeseung chuckles softly. “That tracks.”

“I wanna shower,” Jungwon says after a moment. “I feel disgusting.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything at first, but Jungwon feels uncertainty giving way to instinct, the low thrum of something protective. He can tell Heeseung is trying not to let it override Jungwon’s choices. But an omega, one of his, is burning up beside him and asking to walk away, even just across the room.

Jungwon rolls onto his back and tilts his head to meet Heeseung’s eyes in the dim light. “You can help,” he says, a little more gently this time. “If you want.”

He sees it land like he meant it to. The tension slips out of Heeseung’s shoulders, and his scent eases into something warmer, relieved. Like the act of being allowed to help steadies him, too.

“Yeah,” Heeseung breathes. “Okay. Yeah, of course.”

He eases them both upright slowly, keeping one steadying hand on Jungwon’s back. Jungwon leans into it without thinking. The bathroom floor is cool beneath his feet, grounding in a way that makes him shiver. 

This is really happening. He’s actually in heat. 

Now that his mind is clearing a little, he realizes how lucky he is. First heats are usually unpredictable and there‘s no preheat; it could have happened at any time, anywhere. That it happened now, with five days left until the concert, isn’t ideal—he’ll have to miss some practice, and so will the others, but at least most of the important rehearsals are already done. And they’re at the dorm, at home. It could have been much worse. Sunoo’s first heat hit during tour. Even with the hotel’s very nice emergency heat suite and three alphas there to help, Sunoo had to miss two concerts, and the whole pack had been on edge for days.

Heeseung turns the water on, adjusting it with quiet efficiency, then tugs gently at the hem of Jungwon’s hoodie.

He peels the damp fabric off his body with steady hands, careful not to rush. Jungwon shivers slightly in the cool air before the steam starts to rise. His skin is flushed, his breathing already going shallow again. By the time Heeseung hooks his fingers into the waistband of his shorts, Jungwon is trembling again, his thighs sticky.

Heeseung doesn’t react, just helps him step out of them, hands steady at his hips.

The water is tepid, almost cool, and it feels nice on his overheated skin. It soaks into his muscles and dulls some of the ache. Only some, not enough.

He’s so hot still, his skin overheated, and part of it is worse in the water, worse with no friction. He shifts his thighs but it does nothing, just spreads the slick further. He bites back a whimper.

Jungwon lets his head fall forward, eyes slipping closed as hands begin to move over him—slow, careful, grounding. A washcloth drags gently over his skin, first his shoulders, then arms, then down over his chest. Each pass makes Jungwon feel a little less frantic in his own skin. Heeseung doesn’t linger anywhere, but he doesn’t rush either. 

Jungwon can feel the shift in Heeseung’s scent, though. The change is small, but it’s there—edged with something pulsing now.

Jungwon leans intro him, and he whimpers against the curve of Heeseung’s throat, pressing his face there, uselessly scenting like it might soothe the ache. He doesn’t even mean to. His body just does it on its own, searching for pressure, for something to hold onto.

He doesn’t mean to grind down either.

But he does. His hips move slow and instinctual, slick catching where their skin meets. It’s so much better, so much worse now that he’s being touched, now that Heeseung smells like comfort and heat and safety. It makes everything sharper. Hotter.

Heeseung’s breath stutters against his shoulder.

“Jungwon,” he says—just his name, low and careful.

Jungwon doesn’t lift his head. Doesn’t answer. He just whines again, higher this time, more pleading. And then he says, barely a whisper, “Hurts.”

Heeseung goes still. His hands pause at Jungwon’s waist.

“It hurts,” Jungwon says again, voice cracking on it now, pressing closer. “Hyung, it hurts.” 

His body is buzzing, every nerve a livewire. The water beating down on his back is too hot, the air thick with steam and need, but Heeseung’s scent cuts through it—forest smoke, deep and grounding, the only thing keeping Jungwon tethered to the moment.

Jungwon noses desperately at Heeseung’s throat, chasing that comfort, and then feels fingers at his waist, slow but steady.

A moment later, fingers slide between his legs—slick already thick there, gathering, hot and embarrassing and overwhelming. Heeseung touches him gently, a slow drag of fingers, then one pushes inside, gentle at first, then twisting, curling up just right. Jungwon’s gasp splits the air, the relief sudden and brutal. His knees buckle, legs going weak, body sagging into Heeseung’s arms.

“Okay,” Jungwon hears himself say, though no one said anything. He doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to. Maybe it’s being seen, being helped. Being cared for even when he’s a mess. Especially when he’s a mess.

Heeseung’s hands are sure now. He’s so good at this. Another finger joins the first, curling just right, stroking through the slick, working him open. His fingers are thick, stretching him with just the right amount of pressure. Jungwon sobs against Heeseung’s throat, legs shaking, back arching with every slow push and twist.

Heeseung doesn’t say anything. He just lets Jungwon take, lets him move, lets him grind down, lets him shatter apart right there in his arms.

Jungwon comes too fast—his body far too primed, far too wound up. He whines as it hits, mouth open against Heeseung’s collarbone, fingers clenched in his hair like he might come undone completely if he lets go. His whole body spasms once, then goes limp, slumping against the steady line of Heeseung’s chest.

The water keeps running. Heeseung’s arms wrap around him carefully, like he knows Jungwon needs a minute, even if it means standing under tepid water. They stay like that, Jungwon breathing hard into his skin.

Jungwon finally murmurs, “Better.” It doesn’t sound real. His voice is wrecked, but he means it.

Heeseung noses gently behind his ear—just scenting gently, nothing more—and Jungwon melts again.

He doesn’t want to leave the shower. Doesn’t want to stop being held, but he lets Heeseung rinse him off, lets him maneuver him back into bed.

<3

He wakes up sweating again.

Or maybe he never fell asleep. Everything feels like a blur, one long stretch of heat and scent and aching skin. His body is on fire. His shirt, Heeseung must have put a new one on him, or maybe it was Sunoo? is soaked through, sticking to his chest, and his throat is dry, like he hasn’t swallowed in hours.

He’s had two showers, one cold bath. Another heat pill.  And Niki, Jake, Sunghoon—hands holding him down, helping him through the waves of it. Letting him cling and press and cry and beg without judgment. He slept, in between, he thinks. Maybe. Or he just passed out. Someone made him eat food, Jake made him drink more water. Sunoo has been there through all of it—up with him all night, and half the day after, and he has no idea what time it is now. It’s cloudy outside, time seems to stand still inside the dorm.

There’s a hand in his hair now—light, familiar. Fingers carding through the strands, tugging just enough to keep him here, keep him grounded.

But it can barely keep up with how thick the heat is, how the ache claws at him from the inside. Jungwon curls up tighter under the blankets, face pressed to the pillow, eyes squeezed shut. 

He’s just starting to drift again, shivering and slick with sweat, when he hears footsteps outside the door. It opens with a soft creak. There’s a low voice, muffled, a shuffling sound, and then Niki appears, sweater in hand—thick, soft, dark blue. Jay’s. Jungwon recognizes it instantly, something in his chest crumbling with relief at the sight.

“Brought you this,” Niki says, voice almost too gentle, hovering at the edge of shyness, suddenly, when there had been no space between them just hours earlier. “It’s Jay’s, so.. I thought it might help.”

Sunoo’s hand never leaves Jungwon’s hair. “Thank you, baby,” he murmurs, eyes shining with something tender and exhausted and full of love, “You’re so thoughtful.”

Niki ducks his head, cheeks going pink. He stands awkwardly by the bed, sweater cradled to his chest for a second longer, like he’s not sure he should let go. Then, he holds it out. “It always helps Sunoo to have something with our scents. I just… thought—maybe—”

Jungwon reaches for it, hands trembling. The scent hits him immediately—Jay, Jay, Jay, strong and warm and smoke, and he buries his face in it, tears prickling at his eyes. It helps. God, it helps.

He clutches the sweater to his chest, breath coming in shaky, grateful little hiccups, and manages a broken, “Thank you.”

Sunoo smiles, brushing Niki’s knuckles where he grips the bedrail. “See?” he whispers. “You’re the best.”

Niki just shrugs, flustered, mouth twitching in a smile. “Just want him to feel better.” 

So many scents overlay in his bed now—Sunoo’s sweet, citrus scent, a haze of Niki’s ginger, Jake’s clean, powder-soft comfort, and now, Jay’s, something steady and grounding beneath it all.

<3

Jungwon whimpers. His eyes won’t open properly. His lashes feel wet. 

His scent is so thick he can barely breathe through it—sweet and cloying, too much. It sticks in his nose, coats the back of his throat. His whole body hurts. Not sharp, just… raw. He’s never felt anything like this before. It’s like his body is trying to tear itself in two, like there’s something inside him clawing for release. And the longer he goes without it, the more the ache hollows him out—bone-deep, soul-deep, until the emptiness feels louder than the pain.

“Hey,” Sunoo murmurs, barely a whisper. “You’re okay.”

He twists in the sheets, whining again before he can stop it.

“Hurts,” he breathes. His voice sounds awful, even to himself. Wrecked. 

“I know, Won, I’m sorry” Sunoo says, wiping a cloth across his forehead, cooling for just a second before the heat rises again.

Jungwon lets his head loll to the side. He feels like he’s floating—like he’s not entirely in his body. Everything is too much. Not enough. His legs shift restlessly against the sheets, slick pooling again, and he lets out another soft sound, broken and breathless.

“Want Jay,” he says, still clutching his sweater. “Want—please.”

Sunoo’s hand stills in his hair for a second. Then he starts petting again, soft and rhythmic. “He’s coming,” he says gently. “He’s on his way, baby. I promise.”

But his scent gives him away. Jungwon’s chest tightens. No, no, no. He inhales too sharply and it makes him dizzy. “Is that…” he asks, his voice cracking, “Are you lying?”

Sunoo doesn’t answer right away.

“Jungwon—”

“Don’t care” Jungwon gasps, trembling. “It hurts so bad—please, please, I need.. I don’t care, I don’t care anymore—” He chokes on the words, on the embarrassment, but it doesn’t matter anymore. The sweater is not enough. “Please, just…”

“Shhh, shhh,” Sunoo coos, wiping the sweat from his brow, dabbing gently at his neck. “You do care, baby. You can wait. I know you can.”

Jungwon sobs, head tipping into the cool touch of the rag. “Don’t care.”

“I know it feels like that right now. But you will,” Sunoo whispers. “You’ll regret it if it’s not Jay, you know that.”

“I c-can’t—” Jungwon pants, the ache blooming again, sharp. His back arches slightly, his limbs trembling.

Sunoo’s scent tightens. “Sunghoon,” he says, and Jungwon hears the whisper, feels the shift on the bed.

“Sit up against the headboard, yeah? Let him lean on you.”

There’s movement. A dip in the mattress. Then arms around him, lifting gently. Jungwon can’t even open his eyes, just lets himself be guided. His body curls into a solid chest, and he knows that scent. Cooler than Heeseung, sharper at the edges, but steady.

Jungwon whimpers and presses in. The relief is instant. Not enough—but better. An alpha’s scent filling his lungs. It takes the edge off, just barely, just for a few minutes.

“This’ll help,” Sunoo murmurs, pressing the cloth to his temple, fingers brushing his cheek. “See, you just need an alpha close.”

Jungwon’s hips twitch slightly, and his breath is coming too fast. “Still hurts,” he mumbles, voice slurred now. “Still—Sunoo, I can’t—”

“I know, baby,” Sunoo says, quiet and soothing. “But it’s gonna get better again soon. You can wait for him, okay? I know you can.”

Sunghoon shifts slightly behind him, adjusting Jungwon’s weight in his lap, pressing a cool cloth to the back of his neck.

Sunoo brushes sweat from his jaw, wipes at his collarbone. “Here,” he says again, voice steady, like he’s used to this when Jungwon feels like everything is unraveling. “Small sips.”

A straw touches his lips. Water, cool and sharp on his tongue. Jungwon drinks only because it’s easier than arguing. His arms curl tighter around himself, shuddering again as another wave rolls through him, less sharp than before, but deeper. Hungrier.

He can feel Sunghoon breathing behind him, slow and careful, trying not to let his own scent spike. But Jungwon can still taste it in the air—just a hint of edge now, something almost feral beneath the restraint. Sunghoon is trying, but Jungwon’s scent is everywhere, and no alpha could ignore it.

“I can wait,” Jungwon says, trying to convince himself, and the words feel like a mantra, a chant, a wish he’s trying to make real by saying it out loud. But he’s crying now, can feel the tears spill over. “I can wait. I just—Please tell me he’s coming. Please.”

He needs to hear it. He thinks his body might not believe it anymore. 

Jungwon blinks slowly, and the room swims. He sees them then—Sunoo and Sunghoon, both of them watching him too closely, scents pulled tight, concern hanging like a weight between them. Like they’re trying to decide something.

Sunoo pulls him in closer, brushing the wetness from his cheeks, cupping his face. “He is,” he says, voice breaking now, too. “He is, baby. Just a little longer, okay?”

He blinks slowly, and the room swims. Sunoo and Sunghoon are still there—Sunoo kneeling in front of him, palm pressed to his cheek, and Sunghoon steady behind him, holding him in place like his body might fly apart without it.

They’re going to give up on him. He can feel it.

“No—” Jungwon gasps, flinching back from a thought that hasn’t fully formed yet. “No, don’t—I want to wait.”

His voice breaks again. He’s not even sure they understand him anymore. He barely understands himself. It’s all heat now. Heat and want and the hollow, yawning ache inside him that’s getting worse. A kind of emptiness he didn’t know could exist like this, like—

Like he was made to be filled, and every second that passes without it is a second that rips him open wider. The ache crashes over him, cresting high before rolling back, and he blinks, mind swimming. Everything tilts. The voices around him slip in and out of focus like a dream.

“…he’s burning up again,” Sunoo says, voice tight, distant.

“Should we..?” That’s Sunghoon, quieter. “Or—at what point do we have to make that decision? Like…”

A pause. Jungwon can almost feel Sunoo’s jaw clench.

“Jake’s still trying to get through,” Sunoo says, “Maybe the internet’s spotty, or hyung didn’t charge his phone, or—fuck, I don’t know. But we’re running out of time.”

Another pause. Then, more quietly, “Heeseung could do it. If it gets worse. But then, if Jay comes back, I don’t even want to think about it…”

“Yeah.” Sunghoon’s voice is careful. “It’s a last resort. Let’s not go there yet.”

“I know. I know. I’m gonna go check if Jake got anything. And get more water. Stay with him.”

Footsteps: A door opening, shutting again, then silence.

Jungwon’s body twitches, but the wave has passed for now. He’s too heavy to move. Too hot. His thoughts stretch and dissolve. He can feel Sunghoon scenting him again, filling the space where Sunoo was, curling around his senses, clearing the fog a little bit and slipping into the hollow places.

It’s enough to let him drift. His breathing evens just slightly, the exhaustion taking over again. Dreams come, if they’re dreams at all.

Too white and way too bright, a long hallway. A sheet of questions in front of him. Just speak honestly, Jungwon. Smile. Show how grateful you are.

His throat itches. He tries to talk, but the words catch in his mouth like lint. Someone is waiting, and his family is there, now. His sister is sitting off to the side, looking at her phone. She’s trying to show him something on her screen, but he can’t see, he’s too far away. She looks disappointed.

He wakes up gasping, but it’s quiet around him. Just the hum of the air filter and the sound of his own breath, too fast, too shallow. His shirt clings to him, wet through, and the ache in his gut is screaming again. Too deep, too sharp, a throb that feels like it's coming from inside his bones.

Suddenly. his whole body jolts like it’s been shocked. His legs kick out instinctively, his back arches, a whimper tearing out of his throat. Something twists in his gut, unbearable and raw. He thrashes, heat pulsing in his spine like a fire alarm—wrong, wrong, wrong —

And then there are hands. Arms wrapping around him, strong and steady and alpha.

“Jungwon—hey— what’s happening? You with me?” The voice is close. Right next to his ear.

It barely registers before all the fight goes out of him. His body sags, trembling, and everything inside him just— drops.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Sorry—sorry.” He doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. His thoughts won’t hold still long enough to track. Everything keeps spinning, collapsing, reshaping into something worse.

Sunghoon's arms tighten around him.

“What are you—?”

The question floats somewhere, but it doesn’t land. Jungwon can’t hold onto enough words to answer him. 

He gasps again, something like panic cracking through his chest. His mind flips sideways, suddenly, racing a million miles an hour, and suddenly, he’s back at the table. Bright lights. They want him to smile. Say the right things. 

They tell him that Jungwon is lucky. And then he realizes it’s him— he’s the one saying it. Saying the lines they gave him. He smiles and tells them he’s happy where he is. That the ones protesting can let go now. 

But inside him, something fights, clawing for the surface, trying to break through the shell of what they want from him. Every instinct rebels, but the words stick, heavy and hard in his throat, like he’s suffocating on them. He knows it isn’t true. He tries, desperately, to force his mouth to shape the truth—to push it out, to make them hear him.

“Don’t— don’t want to,” he says out loud, finally. His voice sounds distant, like someone else said it. A breath of a thing. “Don’t want to do it.”

Sunghoon stiffens behind him. Jungwon feels it in the way his arms lock tighter around his waist, in the way his scent flickers. “Don’t wanna do what, Jungwon?” he asks, quiet, careful. “What don’t you want to do?”

And then he’s crying. Really crying, shoulders shaking, tears burning down his face. “I can’t do it,” he sobs. His voice is wrecked. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

His thoughts blur. They spin up and shatter against the inside of his skull, again and again.  

He can’t stop, even though he should. If he doesn’t, it will tell Sunghoon what Jungwon already knows: He’s selfish. He can’t just let Jake have a good thing, he can’t just let things rest. 

“What are they making you do?” Sunghoon asks again, lower this time. Gentler. But there’s something panicked beneath it now. Like he knows the answer, and he’s afraid it will make him angry.

Jungwon’s breath stutters. He doesn’t know what he’s said. Why is Sunghoon angry? He tries to answer, but the words are buried under the static, under the heat that’s dragging his thoughts down like lead, under heat and scent and shame.

Then Sunghoon’s scent shifts again—sharp and tight, unreadable in a way that makes something in Jungwon's chest seize. Someone in his pack, scared and unsettled. 

He could never tell by scent before, but he knows the feeling, knows the instinct to try and comfort him, even if it’s Jungwon that’s being comforted right now, even if it’s not his job anymore. 

“No—no, hyung,” he mumbles finally, voice barely there. “It’s… I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.”

And he means it. He’s always meant it. Even when he was just a scared, unpresented pup standing in front of a room with already presented alphas and five kids older than him, trying to act like he belonged there. Somehow, they’d believed in him anyway, made him their leader. Sunghoon had followed him without flinching, even then. Never made him prove anything. Never postured. Just stood behind him, quiet and unshakable.

Jungwon swallows. His tongue feels wrong in his mouth, slow and too big. He can’t get any words out, but the thoughts spiral in his mind. I’m sorry I gave up on all of you without even hearing yout out. I’m sorry I told you to just accept it and move on. I’m sorry now, hyung. 

I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry I didn’t trust myself. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 

Sunghoon inhales sharply. Jungwon flinches, confused. His eyes open just a little, lids too heavy to lift. Everything is blurry. Sunghoon’s jaw is tense. His scent is strange — sharpened with something new, something wild and focused.

Jungwon blinks slowly. Tries to figure out what just happened. But his thoughts are already floating away.

His mouth won’t work. The thoughts won’t untangle. The heat is everywhere—down his spine, tight in his belly, curling up his throat. His body twists, trying to burrow closer into Sunghoon’s scent to calm himself.

He tries to say something else — something like Forget I said that, or It doesn’t matter now, anyway, but he never said anything aloud in the first place, did he? 

Isn’t he just dreaming? 

There’s a pause, and then something in the room shifts.

Jungwon doesn’t notice, too far under again. The heat is starting to spike again, but he’s too exhausted to panic, too spent to beg. He lets his head fall forward, forehead pressing into Sunghoon’s neck, adrift in the quiet, held in place by the warmth of arms around him and the clean cut of alpha scent in the air.

<3

When he wakes again, the light’s changed. Dimmer now, cooler. There’s a different kind of quiet in the room. The weight at his back is gone, replaced by a hand gently wiping his forehead with a cool cloth. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know— warm vanilla and citrus, soft and bright.

Then, sea spray and mint. No alpha scents. For a moment, panic prickles up his spine. They’re gone. They’re all gone. He sucks in a breath too fast, lungs stuttering against the heat pressing down on his chest.

He can’t—he can’t do this again, can’t wake up over and over with the fire worse each time. He can’t.

“Hey,” Sunoo says, “You’re okay.” 

His fingers twitch, curl into the sheets.

They’re going to let him die like this. That’s what this is. They’re going to let him burn up, they’re going to keep whispering soft things and tell him just a little longer until he’s dead.

He stirs, sluggishly, throat dry, blinking slow, and he tries to speak, but it comes out as a whisper. “Where’d they go?”

Jake hesitates. His scent doesn’t change, but it stiffens, just slightly. “It’s not a good idea anymore to have the alphas here, Jungwon. Okay?”

His thoughts are thick and sticky, looping over each other, but that one idea keeps returning like a tide: they’re not helping me. They could fix it, but they’re choosing not to.

Jungwon blinks. His eyes are wet again, though he doesn’t remember starting to cry. He looks down at his hands, shaking, and tries to understand what that means, but his mind is hazy. Not a good idea.

His hips roll up into the air without thought. A whimper slips past his lips. “Please,” he breathes, voice wrecked.

Sunoo makes a sound in his throat, almost apologetic. “Okay, baby,” he murmurs, stroking down his chest. “We’ve got you. Just breathe, alright?”

He can’t. Can’t do anything but feel. Heat builds sharp and fast, unbearable. Everything slick and too tight and pulsing. His thighs tremble, and Jake’s hand joins Sunoo’s—gentle, practiced—working him through another orgasm.

His head tips back, fingers twisting in the sheets. He’s already come so many times, but it’s not enough. It never stays enough. He jerks once, then again, and then he’s sobbing as he comes, back arching, stars bursting behind his eyes.

For a second, the world blurs in relief. Just long enough for him to gasp out a breath, for Jake’s hand to loosen, for Sunoo to whisper, “That’s it, Jungwon, you’re okay”

But he isn’t. The calm doesn’t last. Something snaps.

The heat hits harder, faster this time—like a wave cresting too soon. Jungwon chokes on a sound between a scream and a sob. His whole body locks up, every muscle seizing. His hands claw at the blankets, at his own skin. His hips twitch again, involuntary, desperate.

“Jungwon, hey, breathe.” Jake is holding his shoulders now, trying to keep him from thrashing.

His head is swimming. His limbs are fire. It’s worse, somehow— it’s worse, even though he just—

His body won’t stop. The fever’s rising again, sweat dripping down his spine. He can’t stop crying. His fingers twist into Jake’s shirt. “Please…need alpha, need—”

Jake’s scent spikes, alarmed. “We can’t, baby, you don’t want—” Sunoo’s voice is cracking now, torn between panic and guilt.

But his thoughts loop, vicious and sharp, too loud over the sound of Sunoo’s voice. They’re keeping the alphas away from me. They want them for themselves. They’re letting me burn up and die.

Jungwon barely registers Sunoo and Jake talking in frantic voices, Sunoo making an executive decision. 

The door opening, steps. 

In his head, there’s just static. The feeling of being empty and burning at the same time.

“No,” Niki says from the doorway, already shaking his head. “No way. I—what if I can’t—?” 

Jungwon can feel how his scent spikes, sharp with panic, laced with fear. 

He blinks through the haze, through the sweat stinging his eyes, trying to keep hold of them. Voices, shapes. But everything is jumbled. They’re still just talking. Still just standing around.

Why are they still talking. If they’re not going to help, he doesn’t want them here. He just wants to be alone. No—he just. He just wants Jay. Or, no, he just wants an alpha, any alpha. He just wants the heat to stop, the emptiness to go away. He just wants this all to stop. He just wants to be leader again. He wants Jay. He just wants Jay. 

“He’ll hurt himelf if he doesn’t calm down” Jake says. “He needs an alpha’s scent, something.. grounding, at least. If nothing else. He needs you . ”

Jungwon hears Niki swallow hard, but he stays by the door. His scent is a mess, adrenaline-spiked and unsure.

He sees Sunoo crouch in front of him, his voice soft, but absolutely sure. “Baby, you know why it has to be you, don’t you?”

Sunoo reaches out, smooths Niki’s bangs back from his forehead, steadying him with the touch. His next words come quiet and slow, almost like he’s talking to a child. “If the others go scent-drunk or lose control—and Jay gets back to that— you know it’ll be a disaster. We’ll tear the pack in half. Jungwon wants Jay to be his first. You know how bad he wants that.”

“You’re the only one who can do this,” Jake says. “You’re the only one who’s safe.”

Niki is still trembling slightly. His fists are clenched at his sides. But his scent softens, just barely, just enough to say he’s listening.

“But Jay—”

Jake’s voice cuts in. “That’s exactly why it has to be you.”

Sunoo leans forward. “Come on, baby alpha,” he whispers. “We need you to be exactly who you are right now. No one else do this for him.”

There’s silence. and in a moment of the haze clearing it hits Jungwon, slow and sudden all at once—why they chose Niki.

Not because Niki’s the strongest, or calmest, or best at holding back. But because he’s the lowest-ranked alpha. 

Because Niki has no claim to challenge Jay’s, and the pack hierarchy would keep him in check when instincts might not. Because even now, with Jungwon crying and begging and writhing with heat, Niki wouldn’t, can’t dare take what isn’t his. 

It’s never about trust alone. It’s about instinct, and rank, and the invisible leashes that keep the pack from breaking apart at the seams.

The thing that’s been hardest for Niki to accept, the thing that digs under his skin and makes his scent run sharp with frustration— that’s what’s keeping their pack bond safe right now.

Jungwon whimpers, something soft and grateful slipping from his mouth without meaning to.

Niki’s scent shifts again—calmer now, steadier, and he crosses the room, sinking carefully to the edge of the bed.

“I’ve got you,” Niki’s arms curve around him from behind, careful but firm, as he lowers himself onto the bed. His chest is solid along Jungwon’s back, his breath catching slightly like he’s concentrating too hard just on staying still.

Jake is on the bed, shifting closer, one knee resting by Jungwon’s side, his presence sharp and vigilant — not intervening, not even particularly soothing, just watching, ready, making sure no lines are crossed.

Niki pulls him flush to his chest, noses into the crown of his head, exhales slow and deliberate, lets his scent unfurl over both of them like a safety net.

It curls around Jungwon’s skin, slips between his ribs, presses just behind his eyes, and it takes Jungwon back to that first night back in the dorm, weeks ago now, or maybe months, time is slippery, that same ginger sharpness, low and steady now, tempered with restraint. It reaches down into his lungs and stills something within him.

Jungwon melts against him, chest hiccuping in slow aftershocks. The heat isn’t gone, it claws at him still, beneath the skin, but it stutters. Recedes, just a little.

He can feel Niki’s pulse race, how carefully he’s managing it—the effort it must take to keep himself calm with this much slick, this much heat, this much want and desperation flooding the room. His nose brushes against the back of Jungwon’s neck again and again, not quite scenting, just being there. 

Jungwon lets out a high, thin noise and presses back into him before he even realizes what he’s doing. His mind clouds over again. It’s not a choice—his body folds in like a tide giving in to gravity. Like his instincts finally, finally have a foothold. A sound slips out of him, small and cracked and relieved.

Something snarls awake inside him, too deep for thought, too wild for reason. 

Now that his body knows there’s an alpha pressed tight behind him, hot and steady and real, the craving turns sharp, twists vicious. It’s not scent he wants anymore, he wants relief, wants more .

The ache surges back up in him like a scream. Like his body realizes Niki could do it. Niki could fix it. Niki could knot him. Could push into the space created for him, knot him open, fill him, end this. The idea lands like a shock to the spine.

Jungwon moves before he even knows he’s moving, hips twitching back, grinding down against Niki, searching. His body arches instinctively, baring his neck in submission. He keens low in his throat — not a word, just a sound, pleading, begging.

His mind screams don’t, but his body is too far gone to care.

He’s trying to get Niki to scent him properly. Trying to make him move, make him react, make him snap. Let instinct override reason. Let instinct win. Because Jungwon needs it. Because his body doesn’t understand why no one will give him what he needs.

Niki jerks slightly behind him — a stutter in the breath he’s been holding steady, a tremble down his spine. His scent flares hard, sharp and panicked, but aroused, and for one terrifying second, Jungwon thinks it’s going to work.

But then, a rush of clean beta scent floods the air, cool and sharp like ice. It cuts through the rising heat like a blade.

“Breathe,” Jake says, voice steady, firm, safe. “You’re doing so good, Niki. You’ve got him. Just stay with him, we’ve got you, okay? You’re stronger than this. Jay would be so proud of you. You’re doing so well.”

A hand touches Niki’s shoulder, Jake’s hand, not pulling, just grounding. A tether.

Jake’s scent curls between them, cooling the edges of Jungwon’s panic-heat, dragging Niki’s instincts back from the brink. “You can do it, Niki. He’s not asking for what he thinks he’s asking for.”

Then, a second scent, softer, sweeter. Vanilla and citrus, calm in the eye of the storm. Sunoo settles beside the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Jake, layering his scent into the mix until the room smells like the pack . Not like desperation. Not like sex. Like home.

And it works. Niki’s scent sharpens again, but this time with focus. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t rut back. Doesn’t give in. He just tightens his arms around Jungwon’s waist, breathes slow and deep against the back of his neck, and holds him still.

Jungwon thrashes once, hips pushing back, instinct screaming for more. But Niki doesn’t budge, doesn’t take. Just surrounds him, fingers splayed against Jungwon’s stomach. He keeps his breath even. His scent anchors them both, and Jungwon lets himself collapse into it.

His head swims. That’s what this is, that’s what he’s doing. Not fucking him. Not fixing it. Just anchoring him, so he can wait. 

The alpha scent wraps around him like gravity, heavier than pain, heavier than want. It overpowers him, presses him down into the mattress, pins every feral, pleading instinct against the floor of his chest until there’s nothing left but breath.

They stay like that for what could be minutes. Hours. Forever. It doesn’t matter now. The heat doesn’t disappear, but it changes. Becomes almost bearable, definitely manageable. His body stops bucking against itself, his thoughts spiral slower. He sinks down, sinks deep, until there’s only scent and pressure and the emptiness doesn’t echo so loud.

Chapter Text

The sound of the lock turning punches through the haze like a siren.

Jungwon startles. Niki flinches behind him like he’s been slapped. In a second, he scrambles upright, too fast, too loud, like he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. His scent sharpens with panic, heart hammering against Jungwon’s back until he pulls away completely.

The door creaks open. Footsteps, then voices.

Jake regroups first, his scent shifting, hitting the room like a cold breeze, calm and clean and stabilizing. “We’re gonna—” he starts, voice soft, but firm, “Yeah. We’re going upstairs now.

There’s motion behind him—Sunoo slipping in beside him, pressing a kiss to Jungwon’s forehead. “You did so well, baby,” he whispers. “We’re all gonna be just upstairs, okay?”

Jungwon tries to speak, but nothing comes out. The door shuts again. Silence.

The scent curls in under the door first. Whiskey and leather, smoke and safety, salvation. It wraps around Jungwon like a weighted blanket.

Jungwon chokes on a breath, his whole body seizing with it. His heart lurches so violently he thinks he might throw up. Every nerve in his body goes still—like prey scenting a predator, except the instinct that floods him isn’t fear.

The door opens again, slowly this time. And then he’s there. Backlit by the hallway light. Hair tousled from travel. Chest heaving, eyes too wide, lips parted like he sprinted the whole way here.

“Jungwon,” he breathes.

Jungwon makes a sound that isn’t a word. A keening, cracked noise—like every second of suffering is trying to claw its way out of his throat all at once. He would be embarrassed, but all shame has left his body hours ago.

Jay stares for half a second too long. Then, like something inside him breaks, he crosses the room in three strides and drops to his knees beside the bed, hands hovering like he wants to touch but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“I’m sorry,” Jay says, voice thick. “I’m sorry I took so long—God, Jungwon, I tried—”

His scent is steady, so steady. Strong. Everything Jungwon needed, everything his body has been waiting for.

“I’m here now,” Jay whispers. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Except he’s not here, Jungwon thinks, half-delirious with fever and scent-drunk desperation. 

He’s not here, on the bed, where Jungwon is. 

Instead, he is standing beside the bed now, like Jungwon is on his last breath in one of those Victorian romance novels Jake secretely loves and Jay is here to say goodbye, not here to fix it. Not here to knot him, to fuck him open until the ache stops, until his body stops screaming.

What the fuck is he waiting for?

Jungwon is sitting up, reaching for him before he realizes it—hands shaking, body already tipping forward like gravity means nothing unless Jay is the one pulling him down. He collapses into Jay’s chest, clutching at his shirt, mouth open against his neck where the scent is strongest.

Jay catches him immediately, sinks down without hesitation, folding himself onto the floor with Jungwon in his lap, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Jungwon straddles his thighs, whole body curling in with new found energy, fingers twisting in the collar of Jay’s hoodie like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the planet. 

Jay’s scent rolls out in thick, protective waves.

Jungwon surges forward, tilting his face up, mouth crashing into Jay’s, and Jay meets him there, halfway, all the way. He groans low in his throat, kisses like he’s trying to make up for every second he wasn’t here.

The kiss isn’t soft. It’s not careful. It’s less of a reunion and more of a collapse of something, some kind of detonation. 

Jay’s hand cups the back of his neck, the other gripping his hip, a little too hard, pulling him flush, until there’s nothing between them but heat and scent and need. There will be bruises tomorrow, but it barely registers in Jungwon’s mind. 

Jungwon has been patient. So patient, for years, every time Jay made them stop, every time he said not yet, later, some day.

Jay better not fucking hold back on him now. 

Like he’s just remembered they are on the floor when there is a perfectly good bed next to them, Jay lifts them both in one fluid motion, only stumbling a little when his knees hit the bedframe. Jungwon’s legs wrap tight around his waist, arms wound around his shoulders. 

Jungwon is still clutching at him when they land, knees bracketing Jay’s hips, back sinking into the mattress. 

Their eyes meet, and Jungwon thinks maybe his scent must be conveying what he’s trying to say for him, because Jay’s scent changes in an instant, steady turning to sharp, to possessive, to something with teeth. Jungwon shudders as it hits him, strong and thick and absolutely, entirely alpha. It wraps around him like a net, drags him under.

His mouth never leaves Jungwon’s throat.

He keens at the contact, head tipping back, baring his throat without thinking. Jay exhales hard through his nose and grabs him tighter, fingers digging into his skin like he’s worried Jungwon might vanish.

He traces the line of Jungwon’s jaw, teeth grazing a spot behind his hear. When he bites at it, not hard, but sharp, enough to make Jungwon jolt, Jungwon hears himself make some kind of a broken, ragged sound. He claws at Jay’s shoulders, trying to get even closer.

He’s scenting him, but it’s not gentle, not like the last time. He’s meaner than he’s ever been, more aggressive. Using more teeth than anything else, pressing hard until Jungwon’s whole body writhes with it.

Jungwon writhes under him, helpless to instinct now. “Jay” he gasps. “Please, hyung, please—”

Jay’s scent pulses stronger in response—thicker now, darker. It swells in the room like smoke, curling under Jungwon’s ribs, stealing the breath from his lungs. He can’t think. Can barely see. There’s nothing in the world now except Jay above him, Jay pressing him down, Jay losing control.

“You’ve been like this without me?” Jay growls against his collarbone, breath hot, scent even hotter. 

“You let them see you like this?”

Jungwon almost sobs, whole body jerking beneath him. He knows Jay doesn’t really care—doesn’t resent a single thing the others did, would never try to take back any of the comfort or touch that got Jungwon through the worst of it. Jay’s shared everything and more than that with them, too; there’s no jealousy, not really, not where it counts.

But hearing Jay say it, like he can’t stand the idea of anyone else seeing Jungwon like this—it hits somewhere deep and raw in him. All his instincts sing with it, thrill at the sound of his alpha wanting him, claiming him. 

He chokes on a sob, unable to hold it back. “Please,” he begs, barely even knowing what he’s asking for anymore.

Jay growls, low and mean and starving, and then he’s lowering his head again, mouth hot against the side of Jungwon’s throat. 

He licks at his scent gland, slow and deliberate, letting the wet heat of his tongue drag over skin that’s already too sensitive.

Jungwon’s whole body goes still, the kind of stillness that’s bone-deep and instinctive, like this is sacred territory, prey caught, no escape. 

He’s pinned by it, by instinct and Jay’s scent and grip on his hips, by the way his breath ghosts over the spot again, then nips at it—little teasing snaps of his teeth that never quite settle, just enough to make Jungwon shudder and arch, every muscle drawn tight as wire. 

He can hear the ragged stutter of his breath, the faint, helpless sound he makes every time Jay’s mouth finds that spot on his scent gland.

It feels like forever, the anticipation, the wanting. When Jay finally sinks his teeth in—not enough to break skin, not a claiming bite, but hard, unyielding, painful—Jungwon’s vision goes white at the edges. 

The pain and pleasure are so tangled together he couldn’t separate them if he tried. 

It’s not enough. God, it’s not enough, and some desperate, delirious part of him wishes it was, wishes Jay would just bite down harder, mark him, make him his for good.

Jungwon clutches at his shoulders as the feeling floods through him—a kind of aching relief tangled with disappointment. There’s a strange hush in the aftermath, Jay’s teeth still pressed to his skin, his own breath coming in short, shivery bursts.

He’s so, so wrecked he can’t help the next words out of his mouth. “Want it,” he slurs, “want it for real, please, want you to—”

Jay’s mouth pulls back, gentle for a split second, kissing over the bruised skin. He’s panting, voice rough. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “We… fuck, we can’t—promise I will, someday, I swear.” 

He sounds half-crazed with wanting, with restraint, as if it takes everything in him not to just do it now. “I promise, someday, okay?”

The longing wells up so fierce and deep it almost hurts, the wish for more, for everything. So certain he feels it in his bones. But he can’t. They can’t. Jay is right. 

“Hyung,” he says, and Jay pulls back just enough to see Jungwon’s face. “I promise, too” he echoes, voice barely there, but he means it. 

Jay’s expression softens—something wild and gentle and awed flickering in his eyes. His hands cup Jungwon’s face, thumbs brushing away the dampness on his cheeks, and for a moment it feels like nothing exists but the two of them and this impossible, perfect gravity.

Jungwon closes his eyes and tries to hold onto the moment, the warmth of it, but his body is still burning, wrecked and shivering and raw, and the need claws back up again, overwhelming. His skin feels too tight, his breath too shallow, his body screaming for more, now.

Then Jay’s hands are on Jungwon again, everywhere, like he knows there’s no more time. His shirt comes off—just a blur of fabric, the stretch and snap of cotton, cool air on overheated skin. His chest heaves. His whole body arches up, wanting more, always more.

Jay yanks the last of his clothes away—sweatpants, underwear, soaked through. He’s bare before he even realizes it, slick smeared all over his thighs, messy and shining even in the dim evening light of the bedroom. He’s trembling despite his body being overheated. He feels so open it’s almost unbearable.

He tries to close his legs—reflex, shame, instinct—but Jay’s hands are already there, strong and unyielding, pushing his knees apart. He holds him open, spreads him wide, gaze locked on him like there’s nothing else in the world worth seeing.

Jungwon can’t speak. His body wants to twist away, to hide, but Jay won’t let him. His expression is wrecked, worshipful and wild at once. Like he can’t believe this is real, like he can’t believe what’s his. 

One big palm stays on his thigh, holding him wide open, the other dips lower—dragging slow, heavy fingers through the slick that’s already pooling between his legs.

“Mine,” Jay growls, a low, dangerous sound that he hasn’t heard from him before, and leans down to mouth at Jungwon’s thigh, his hip, his belly—tasting, biting, marking him with bruises. His hands never stop holding him open, never let him hide.

His fingers tease at his hole, slow at first, spreading slick, watching the way Jungwon shakes apart at the touch. He pushes one finger in, then another, watching the way Jungwon’s body opens for him, hot and so ready.

He pauses again, breath catching, utterly transfixed by the sight of Jungwon writhing, so wrecked and desperate for him. He moves his fingers just a little deeper, just to watch Jungwon’s mouth fall open, to see the tears welling in his eyes.

Jay’s other hand comes up, fingers trailing softly along Jungwon’s throat—not squeezing, just resting there, steady and warm, tipping his chin up until their eyes meet. His breath is calm, but it feels like it's taking effort, like there’s something inside him that’s shaking.

“You’re mine, yeah?” he murmurs, quiet but sure. Not possessive, not demanding—just asking for something he needs to hear out loud. He sounds almost apologetic. His fingers flex slightly, the edge of his thumb ghosting over the marks on Jungwon’s neck like he’s claiming them all over again. “Just tell me. Please.”

Jungwon’s breath catches, his throat working under Jay’s palm. The words settle somewhere deep in his chest, twisting around his ribs, around the ache in his stomach that only Jay ever seems to reach. He’s wrecked, splayed out, ruined already, and Jay is looking at him like he’s never wanted anything more.

There is nothing Jungwon wouldn’t do for him.

“Yours” he breathes, barely a whisper, “I’m yours.”

Jay lets out a breath like it knocks something loose inside him. His shoulders drop just slightly, like the words pulled tension straight out of him, unwound something curled up at his core.

His scent shifts immediately—deepening, thickening—warm smoke and woodsmoke embers blooming in the air, curling around them like a blanket. 

He leans in again, kissing Jungwon like the words changed everything, when they’ve always been true. 

He has always been Jay’s. Ever since they met, before he even knew what it meant to want someone like this, to want to belong to them. 

Before he knew that wanting him as much as he did, as he does, as he always will, could ruin things for everyone.

Some omega instinct didn’t choose this for him. Jungwon did, way before everything. 

And if that’s really what did it, if the sheer force of his insanity somehow turned himself into something Jay could claim, God, there’s no regret.

He shouldn’t have had to choose, shouldn’t have had to ruin himself over this—but if he had gotten a choice, if he had to do it all over again, he’d still choose to belong to Jay like this. Fully. Irrevocably. 

Every time. 

Jungwon’s hand shoots out, trembling, a last ditch attempt. He really, truly cannot wait any longer. He grabs at Jay’s wrist and makes sure his eyes really meet Jay’s, knows they’re wide and glassy, lashes wet with tears. He knows Jay won’t be able to say no. 

“Please, hyung, I’m ready..need you—please—” His own voice sounds so destroyed he can barely recognize it anymore. 

Jay’s eyes go even darker. “Yeah?” he breathes, “You need me?”

His hands go to his own waistband, shoving pants and boxers down in one rough movement, not caring where they land.

Jungwon nods, frantic, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “Hyung, please,” he whines, voice cracking. “I’m serious. I can’t wait anymore. Need your knot, please, please….” 

Jay groans, low and ragged, the sound spilling out of him before he can stop it. “Fuck,” he breathes, leaning in close, pressing his mouth to Jungwon’s temple. 

“You’re gonna ruin me. Asking for my knot like that, fuck. You can have anything you want, Jungwon, anything you ever want from me, you know I’ll give it to you, right?”

Jungwon’s whole body arches up, slick dripping down, open and desperate and so, so ready. 

“Gonna knot you so deep, baby, I promise,” Jay guides him back down, settling him into the pillows, body bracketing his. One hand strokes down his thigh, the other lines himself up, the tip of his cock catching at Jungwon’s entrance.

And finally, finally, he starts to press in, slow but relentless, never looking away from Jungwon’s face.

The stretch is immediate and impossible, despite all the slick and the heat preparing his body to take what it needs. Jungwon’s breath punches out of him, a sharp sound that’s more shock than pain, but it’s still pain, still raw and blooming. 

His fingers claw at Jay’s shoulders before he realizes it, nails biting in, breath stuttering as his body tries to make sense of what’s happening.

He’s so much broader than his fingers, and Jungwon sobs, hands clutching  at his arms.

“Shhh,” Jay murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing over Jungwon’s cheekbone. “I know, I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot.”

It is. God, it’s so much. Jay’s cock feels massive, thick and hot and real—too real—pushing into him in slow, devastating inches, slow and steady, giving him everything he begged for.

The burn tapers off into something still sharp but perfect, the ache he’s been desperate for. He can feel his body open for him, slick easing the way, his thighs falling wider as he relaxes a little bit.

Jay soothes him, mouth brushing over his jaw, his temple, his hair. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Take it for me. You’re doing so well.”

Jungwon feels like he’s coming apart already. Like his skin can’t hold everything he’s feeling, like the breath won’t stay in his lungs. 

His thighs tremble where they’re bracketing Jay’s hips, muscles twitching with the effort of staying open.

“Breathe for me,” Jay says, voice steady even as his hands shake where they cradle Jungwon’s waist. “Just like that, yeah? Let me in.”

It’s like every cell, every muscle, settling. He can feel his body giving way, surrendering completely, the pain melting into pleasure, the emptiness filling, his mind hazing out with relief. 

Jungwon gasps, tears stinging his lashes. It’s good, so good. Deep and dragging and hot, making his spine curve, his mouth fall open. His body wants it, even if it’s too much.

He lets himself go limp, lets Jay press him down into the bed, lets the weight and scent of his alpha roll over him, through him. His own scent is honey-sweet and clinging, dizzy with satisfaction. 

Jay stills halfway, breathing hard through his nose. “Fuck,” he groans, forehead pressing to Jungwon’s temple. 

“Don’t stop,” Jungwon pants, desperate, fingers clutching. “Please—please, I want it.”

Jay pulls back just a little, just enough to slide in deeper. The movement punches a sound from Jungwon’s chest—thin and wrecked, high in his throat. His body spasms, clenching tight around the stretch, around the heat.

Jay’s hands slide down to his hips, holding him steady, grounding him. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, keeps whispering sweet nothings into his hair.

Jay fills him slowly until Jungwon’s hips are flush to his, body trembling with the effort of taking all of him, groaning ragged against his cheek, holding still.

Jungwon shudders. “So full—hyung, it’s so—”

Jay hushes him with a kiss, soft and open-mouthed. “I know,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “But you’re doing so good. You were made for this, weren’t you? For me?”

Jungwon’s nods, and his eyes flutter shut, more tears slipping out and catching in his hair. He’s so full. He’s so full he could die from it, could cry just from the relief, from the rightness of it. His body clenches helplessly around Jay, greedy for more, greedy for everything. 

Jungwon’s body has started to give, just a little more, slick easing the way, pleasure blooming under the pain. He’s shaking, thighs bracketing Jay’s hips, fingers digging into his back.

He shifts without meaning to, hips rolling up, and the drag of Jay inside him makes him choke on a moan.

Jay starts to move, too—slow and careful at first, easing back just enough before pushing in again. 

Jungwon arches, arms tightening instinctively around Jay’s shoulders. “Hyung, yes, more—” 

The slide of slick between them is loud, obscene, filling the room with sounds that make him blush even through the haze. 

Every thrust knocks a soft sound out of him, breathy and high. He rocks up to meet them, experimental at first, but the friction—it’s so good he feels like he’s going to go insane. 

Jay thrusts deeper, a little harder, and Jungwon hears himself let out another broken noise. His whole body trembles with it, every nerve tuned to the rhythm of Jay’s voice, Jay’s body, Jay’s scent, thick and wild and wrapping around them. It’s all he can breathe. All he wants to breathe. He claws at his back, pulling him closer, unable to do anything but let it happen.

“There you go,” Jay breathes, watching him unravel. “So good. Look at you.”

His voice is edged with something possessive. He rocks into him again, and the rhythm starts to build, steady and slow. 

The room is a haze of scent and heat, slick and sweat, heat layered over honey and smoke. It’s so good it makes him dizzy. 

Jay’s teeth scrape at his scent gland again—just a little sharper this time, a little more deliberate—and the moment they pause, hovering exactly over the spot, everything inside Jungwon locks up. The heat behind his eyes bursts, white-hot and blinding.

He seizes up, every muscle drawn tight like a wire, like the world is splitting open around that one point of contact. 

His body clenches so hard around Jay’s cock, and then he’s coming, helpless, undone, slick gushing out of him in thick, endless waves.

Jay curses, low and helpless. “Fuck—Jungwon—”

He can’t think. Can’t move. He just lets himself be held, lets Jay keep him grounded as the wave crashes over him—over and over and over.

He can feel the beginning of his knot pulsing at the base of Jay’s cock, thick and growing and unyielding, the way it stretches him slowly, presses against places that weren’t touched before. He’s still panting, still shaking from the force of his orgasm, but the weight of Jay over him, the fullness inside him, is grounding.

Jay doesn’t move, doesn’t press harder—just pulls back a little and soothes over the spot with his tongue, gentling him through it, stroking his sides with trembling hands, murmuring something soft and desperate that Jungwon can’t make out over the thundering rush in his ears.

He can feel his body clenching down on Jay’s cock, feel it pushing deeper, expanding as the knot tries to push past his rim. The pressure is unreal—so full he could cry again, so good it’s obscene. It drags over every raw nerve inside him, sets every inch of his skin alight.

Jay’s breaths are uneven, his face pressed into Jungwon’s neck. He can feel him trembling with restraint, and it makes Jungwon look up. His eyes are closed, jaw tight, sweat at his temples. He looks like he’s in pain, like the need to move, to knot, to claim, is tearing him apart from the inside. 

Jungwon rolls his hips up, slow and deliberate, until the base of Jay’s cock catches at his rim, presses in harder. 

Jay groans, loud and helpless, and his hips twitch forward instinctively. “Baby,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “You—fuck, are you sure? It’s gonna be— are you okay to keep going?”

Jungwon can’t find words, just rocks up again in answer, a broken sound tumbling from his lips, and nods, frantic, needy.

Jay captures his mouth in a kiss that feels like a growl—rough and deep and overwhelming. Like something in him finally snaps.

His scent changes in an instant, turning darker and more wild. It hits Jungwon like a drug, flooding every sense. He moans into Jay’s mouth, dizzy with it, already aching for what comes next.

Jay’s hips pull back and surge forward, not deep, not fast—just enough to drag the knot along his rim again, catching, pressing, stretching. Jungwon cries out, high and breathless, the sensitivity bordering on unbearable, every thrust lighting him up from the inside.

This is what all his instincts have been screaming for since the beginning—since before he even understood why it mattered. He remembers, distantly, how he felt on his knees in the studio, desperate and a little mad, how right it felt to give in to Jay, to have him finally take and not hold back, how natural it was to want to belong to him, to let him take whatever he wanted.

Jay groans, deep and low, almost all of the gentleness stripped away. “Fuck, feel that, baby? Gonna knot you, gonna fill you up, make you mine for real,” he growls, hips snapping harder, faster, less controlled now. His hands clamp down—one on Jungwon’s thigh, forcing his legs wide, the other pinning his wrists above his head. The grip is bruising, possessive, and Jungwon’s whole body arches up to meet it, to take everything Jay gives.

Every thrust knocks the breath out of him, the knot catching and catching, a little sharper each time, riding that line between pain and ecstasy. Jay is rough, relentless, rutting into him. There’s nothing gentle left in him; his teeth graze Jungwon’s throat again, his voice is all growl and bite.

It hurts. It’s too much. It’s perfect.

“You’re mine,” Jay snarls, the words vibrating against Jungwon’s skin, “my pretty omega, so good like this, baby, fuck —made to take me.”

Jungwon sobs, the world slipping sideways, out of his control. “Feels—feels crazy,” he gasps. “So full, hyung, I’m—” He feels like he’s floating above his own body, everything white-hot and sparking, Jay’s cock thick inside him, the knot growing with every thrust, pleasure curling through every nerve ending, making him tremble.

Jay’s hips slam forward, the knot dragging, making Jungwon gasp, cry out, legs trembling around Jay’s waist. 

“I know,” Jay says, kissing his temple, his cheek, breath coming in sharp, uneven pants. “You’re doing so good. Just a little more.”

The knot catches harder, threatening to lock, Jay’s rhythm gets frantic, brutal, every thrust, every growl a promise. 

It feels impossible, like it’ll never fit, like he’s going to split him in two, but Jay doesn’t slow down, doesn’t give him room to catch his breath. He just holds Jungwon down, voice nothing but a harsh, ragged growl in his ear.

He’s pinned, owned, ruined, pleasure crashing through him like lightning. 

Jay’s scent is everywhere, it fills Jungwon’s lungs, sticks to his skin, claws at his brain until there’s nothing left but want. 

His own scent is riotous, flooding the air with sweet honey, slick soaking the sheets, sticky and hot and so much he’s almost embarrassed, but Jay just snarls, burying his nose in Jungwon’s neck like he can’t get enough.

One last, brutal push, and the knot slips inside, locking them together. Jungwon can barely breathe. He can feel it—God, he can see it, the way his belly bulges out, skin stretched tight. His mouth drops open in a silent scream, his whole body shuddering.

Jay’s kissing Jungwon’s face, soft and frantic, stroking his hair, “You feel so good, fuck, squeezing me so tight, you’re so perfect.”

It’s overwhelming. It’s insane. But his body is soft now, pliant and wrecked and open, and the knot feels right. Anchored deep inside him, grinding up against every place he needs, soothing something animal in him that had clawed at the walls for days.

Jungwon feels the tremor run through him, the way Jay’s whole body locks down, muscles taut and shuddering. His breath punches out in a ragged groan, low and raw, and then— 

Jay is coming, deep inside him, sudden and hot and overwhelming, each wave of release spilling into him in slow surges. It hits so deep, so full, the warmth blooming in his gut like a fire being lit from the inside out.

Jungwon can’t do anything but take it, blinking through tears, sobbing with relief and pleasure and something too big for words. 

His whole body aches, but it’s a good ache.

He can feel all of it, the way his body clenches down instinctively, trying to hold it, keep it, like it might spill out otherwise 

But there’s so much, it really feels like it will. It’s thick and hot and endless, stretching him, filling him. He feels full in a way he never has before—every inch of him heavy, soaked in it.

The stretch, the fullness, the relief of it all hit at once, and another orgasm rips through him, devastating, untouched.

For a split second, delirious, wrung out, mind floating somewhere far from sense, Jungwon thinks that he shouldn’t have taken that pill Sunoo gave him. 

That he should have let it take, feel it mark him completely. The thought flashes through him, desperate and half-mad, his omega instincts screaming with want. 

Jay’s scent is everywhere, thick and strong, and Jungwon wants to drown in it. The world narrows to just the stretch and the slick and the warmth, Jay’s weight on top of him, his arms bracketing Jungwon close like he never wants to let go.

Their scents are tangled together, overwhelming and perfect, nothing in the world but Jay, knotted inside him, keeping him here, safe and claimed.

Jay’s arms tighten around him as the last shudders work their way through Jungwon’s body. There’s nothing left but the slow, gentle rise and fall of Jay’s breath. For a long moment, neither of them moves. 

Jay noses at his hairline, just breathing him in, holding him through the aftershocks. Time blurs, slow and honey-thick. 

Eventually, Jay shifts, careful and gentle, pressing a string of soft kisses to Jungwon’s cheeks, his jaw, his throat.

The knot holds them close, keeps them tangled together for a while longer. Jay strokes his side, steady and grounding, and Jungwon lets himself sink into it. 

His mind is hazy but it’s so different to before, more quiet, all the frantic edges finally smoothing out. 

When Jay finally slips free, he moves gently, careful not to jostle Jungwon too much. The room is cool now, their sweat cooling on their skin, the sheets a disaster beneath them. Jungwon winces at the mess, at the soreness in his hips, but Jay hushes him, wrapping him up in his arms again and tucking the blanket over them both.

He presses his face into Jay’s shoulder, breathing him in, and lets himself drift. Sleep comes in small, broken pieces—he’s only dimly aware of Jay cleaning him up with slow, careful hands, of a glass of water held to his lips.

He wakes to the muted hush of the dorm in the morning.

There’s sunlight edging around the curtains. Somewhere beyond the door, he can hear the low murmur of voices—familiar, steady, safe. The scent of food hangs in the air and his stomach growls quietly.

There’s a tray on the nightstand: a glass of water, various plates of food. Jay had brought it in earlier. Rest a little longer. I’ll be right outside.

His throat tightens, and he has to close his eyes for a second, breathing through it. The blankets are tangled around him, the sheets cool against his bare skin, but he feels weightless somehow, like something heavy inside him has finally, mercifully, shifted loose. His body is wrecked and sore, his hips bruised, his muscles stretched past exhaustion, but he feels good—sated, steadied, real.

He turns his face into the pillow and listens: the clatter of plates, Sunoo’s soft laughter, the low rumble of Heeseung’s voice.

The world hasn’t ended. For so long, he’d thought this moment—his first heat, exposed and vulnerable and undeniable a very omega thing to go through—would leave him hollowed out and less, somehow. 

But now, sore and bruised and exhausted and definitely an omega, he’s still here. He hasn’t stopped being himself, even now. 

He presses his hand flat to the mattress, grounding himself in the scratch of fabric against his palm, the faint, but unmistakably there, scent of pack. 

There are things he needs to say to them—things he’s only just now, in this hush between one breath and the next, starting to understand. But there’s still time to do that later. 

He eats a little bit of the food, downs the entire glass of water and then another bottle next to his bed. 

Then he drags himself to the shower on shaky legs, standing under the spray until the bathroom fills with steam, letting the water pound the ache from his skin. The warmth of the water sinks into him, soothing everything raw and overworked. 

He watches the water swirl at his feet, tinged pink before it runs clear. After, he dries off slowly, every motion careful and deliberate, feeling the echo of strain in every muscle. 

He pulls on soft clothes, fingertips brushing over the mottled bruises starting to rise along his hips and thighs, pressing down just to feel the ache, just to know they’re there. 

Outside, the dorm is alive with quiet movement—the TV on low, the scent of pack in the air. When he steps into the room, the conversation falters for just a second, all eyes flicking to him, warm and a little relieved. He feels heat rise to his cheeks. It’s a little awkward, but he’s grateful they’re all here. 

Sunoo grins over his mug, “Welcome back, baby.” They all stare, but it’s fond, and even though he squirms a little under the attention, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Heeseung just smirks, tilting his head to the side. “All marked up, too. Good job, Jay.” Then, he raises his glass. “A moment of silence for the make up noonas tomorrow.” The whole pack groans—Jake throws a napkin at him, Niki covers his face, even Jay snorts into his coffee.

They’re so annoying. He loves all of them.

If they were the kind of pack who said these things out loud—who put words to all the mess of gratitude and love tangled up inside them—maybe Jungwon would try to explain how much it all meant. 

But they’re not like that. At least not for this. There’s a conversation to come, and he’s going to have to be more vulnerable and open with them than he’s ever let himself be. But for now, he doesn’t have to. He’s grateful for that, too—for the comfort of belonging, for the knowledge that some things don’t need to be said to be understood.

<3

The world starts moving again, costume practice, last-minute run-throughs. Jungwon’s body heals quickly; the bruises fade to yellow, aches to a memory. 

It takes him another day, though it probably would have taken longer, maybe days more of hiding in the safety of routine, letting the schedule carry him like a tide—but the concert is tomorrow. The interview the day after that. It’s all coming, fast and loud and bright. He has to say this now, he can’t sit in front of a camera again pretending. 

Or, maybe more accurately, he can, and he will, but he can’t do it again without having said what he needs to say to the people he cares about the most. 

The concert prep moves like a tide around him—choreography reviews, styling fittings, vocal warmups, meals snatched in corners and rehearsals that stretch too long, but Jungwon likes it.

He’s always loved this part, the in-between, the just-before. In the beginning, it had been the only thing that reassured him that they worked. That somehow, in the chaos that was I-LAND, with all the mess and trauma and grief of it, fate had still gotten something right. 

There’d been no space for survivor’s guilt after the show, not really, not when the debut came fast and loud, not when the industry barely gave them time to breathe. But it had still lived in the edges of them, a quiet knowledge they all carried. That others could’ve been here too. Deserved it just as much. Worked just as hard. And somehow, it had ended up being them. So the best they could do now—the only thing that ever made it make sense, was to love it. To build something good. To hold onto each other and the space they’d made. 

Over time, the guilt had loosened its grip a little. He’d watched it happen in moments like this—the easy rhythm of all of them preparing together, the way Sunoo’s eye always found the gaps and filled them, the steady thrum of trust beneath Jake’s focus, Niki’s fire tempered by loyalty. 

Somewhere along the way, Jungwon stopped questioning whether they deserved to be here, and started trusting that they did. That he could believe in them to light up the stage, to give their all. 

Now, again, he watches them carefully. The way Jake listens when the manager’s giving them a five-minute warning, nods like he’s already figured out how to make that five minutes count. The way Niki lingers near them now—his scent light and settled, like something old and tender has been stitched up quietly between them.

It all looks right. It all feels… good. 

But the closer he gets to saying something, the more the doubts creep back in.

Everything is working. The pack feels settled again. Jake has found his rhythm, Jay hasn’t left Jungwon’s side, no one’s walking on eggshells anymore. They’ve adapted, just like they always do. Maybe—maybe they’re only holding together because he stepped back. Maybe this peace is because he let go.

Jungwon catches himself clenching his fists, tries to shake it out, to stop his hands from trembling. He can’t go down that spiral again. He’s done it too many times, and it never leads anywhere true.

No. He has to stop doubting them. And stop doubting himself.

They deserve better than that.

He gathers them in the downstairs living room after a late night dinner. It’s casual, technically, but everyone can tell something’s up. They trail in with half-finished drinks and laughter, but it fizzles the second they see his expression.

Jay takes the arm of the couch. Heeseung flops into the corner like nothing could faze him, but his knee bounces once. Sunoo tucks a cushion under his chin, unreadable. Niki hovers by the back of the sofa like he’s not sure if he should sit or pace. Jake folds his arms across his chest but doesn’t say anything.

“I—uh,” he starts, but his voice comes out thin. His throat feels too tight.

He swallows, tries again. “I need to talk to you.”

The silence is immediate. Not even the floor creaks. Niki’s stopped fidgeting.

He tries to meet their eyes—fails. His gaze skips across them too fast. Jake’s expression is careful, unreadable. Jungwon can’t look directly at him.

“When.. When I came back from hiatus,” he starts, “I said something I thought I really believed, that… that we couldn’t have two kinds of leadership. That if the outside world wouldn’t accept me as the leader, then the pack shouldn’t either.”

The words sound raw to his ears, even though he’s gone over them so many times in his head, now.

“I thought it made sense,” he says, voice more steady than he feels. “I really did. I thought—if we kept things clean and clear, if we didn’t fight what the company wanted, it would be easier for all of us, and…” he trails off, then rushes through the most important point, “I don’t think I was right, then.”

He risks a glance at Jake—sees his brows pulled together, something like guilt flickering in his eyes. Jungwon drops his gaze again quickly, stomach flipping.

“I thought,” he rushes on, “I thought it would hurt less to just let it go. That if I accepted it fast enough, maybe it wouldn’t feel like I lost anything.”

He huffs a bitter laugh, one that doesn’t quite make it out of his chest. “But it did hurt. It still hurts.”

He’s never said it out loud before. Not to any of them. And now that it’s out there, hanging in the air, it feels terrifying. The words hang in the air, heavier than he thought they’d feel, and his hands go clammy almost instantly. 

His stomach twists. He’s used to nerves, used to stage fright and live broadcasts and high-pressure interviews—but this is something else, a different kind of vulnerability, a kind of spotlight he doesn’t know how to stand under.

“I thought being an omega meant I couldn’t be what I was anymore. That it would change everything. I kept waiting for that change to happen, so every time that.. I think you noticed, probably, I think in the beginning, every time that I let my instincts win it.. I thought that would mean something would shift. Like…like I couldn’t—be that for you. Anymore.”

A beat of silence, then Sunoo moves first, half-rising, his voice already thick with emotion, “Wonie—”

Jungwon shakes his head and presses his lips together, breath hitching, “No, please, there’s more.” Jungwon tries to push through the flood in his chest.

“But.. it didn’t. I still feel like I’m me, like I can… Not in some delusional way,” he rushes to add, “Just—because I know how to do it. I know how to take care of this pack. I know how to see what each of you needs. And so, when I’m not doing it.. it feels wrong.”

He runs a hand through his hair, breath hitching. “And I know that’s selfish to say, maybe stupid, because things are working now and I don’t want to mess that up but—” 

He’s trying to keep his voice from breaking completely, but the weight of all of it is pressing down hard now. It’s overwhelming. He lets out a breath, shaky and uneven, and it comes out closer to a laugh than it should—a small, splintered thing. “You all still look at me like you’re waiting for me to tell you what to do. And I don't—none of you did anything wrong, I just—”

Jay shifts beside him again, hand reaching out, fingertips brushing his wrist. 

Jungwon pulls back gently. “No—let me say this. Please.”

He swallows hard. His throat is dry. “In the beginning,” he starts, then falters. “When I came back… I wasn’t—I wasn’t able to show up for you the way I should have. Everything was too fast, and I felt terrible, and I didn’t even know how to process it all. And I think I thought if I acted like it didn’t hurt, it would just stop hurting eventually. But it didn’t.”

His gaze drops to his lap. “I know it wasn’t easy for any of you either, and I pushed you all away. And I hate that I did that. I know that must have—” He stops, jaw tight, shoulders tense. “I know that must’ve made things harder. And I’m sorry.”

The silence is heavy. Not uncomfortable, not yet. Just… full. Like everyone’s trying to hold space for him.

“You all helped me understand that I haven’t changed,” he says, slower now, more measured. “That even if I’m…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. “I’m still me. And I—I needed to know that. I needed to feel it, and you let me.”

His voice gets quieter again. Almost like he’s afraid saying it too loud will make it real. “I know we can’t change how the outside sees us. I know how this looks. I’m not asking you to fight some big battle or put the group at risk just for me. But…”

He looks up, just for a second. His heart is hammering so loud it feels like it’s going to choke him. “But if you’ll let me—I’d like to be your leader again. Just in here.”

He clears his throat, trying to keep it from shaking. “I’m not saying Jake has to step back, or anything has to change on paper. It doesn’t even have to be official. To the outside world, nothing changes. Not to the company, not to Engene. They don’t have to know. But… I think maybe it’s okay, if it’s just us. Just our pack.”

He forces himself to breathe, even though it feels like he just ran a marathon, lungs burning, body trembling like he’s gone through the longest press conference of his life with no script, no cue cards, nothing to hide behind. Worse than the first time he’d had to speak as leader at debut, just sixteen and no idea what he was doing.

“I want to be that for you again,” he says, voice almost hoarse now. “If you’ll still have me.”

His heart beats louder with every second. Jake shifts in his seat, opening his mouth to speak, but Jungwon lifts his hand again. “Please,” he says quickly. “Don’t say anything right now. Just—think about it. Please. After the concert, if you want. Just… give it a little time.”

“I don’t have to think about it,” Niki says. His voice is firm, matter-of-fact, like this is obvious, like this isn’t even a question. “None of us do.”

Jungwon’s heart jumps. His chest stutters like it might cave in, but he doesn’t let the relief spill over yet. He knows how much this moment matters. He doesn’t want to pressure them, not into something like this.

So he shakes his head, just a little. “Please,” he says again. “Think about it anyway.”

<3

He expects it when Jay finally slips into bed beside him.

Jungwon isn’t asleep—hasn’t been, not really. The dorm is quiet now, the hum of the hallway light just barely audible beyond the door, the soft whir of the air purifier blending into the hush of everything else. His body is heavy with exhaustion, but his mind won’t quiet.

The mattress shifts with Jay’s weight. Hi arm slides around his waist, slow and careful, like he’s afraid to wake him, and he settles behind him, close but not too close, just enough that his chest brushes Jungwon’s back with every slow inhale.

For a while, there’s only that, breath and silence.

Then Jay shifts, just barely. His hand slides up, palm flattening over Jungwon’s chest, thumb stroking once beneath the edge of his shirt. Not possessive, not urgent—just there. Warm and steady.

“You’re awake,” Jay whispers.

Jungwon nods, too quietly for it to be anything but felt. Jay presses his lips gently to the back of his neck. Jungwon can feel the way his lips part - he can hear it, too, the barest inhale like he’s about to speak, but stops himself. 

He waits, counts the breaths, hears Jay do it again. That soft, aborted beginning of a sentence that never makes it past his teeth.

“I can feel you wanting to say something, you know,” he murmurs, voice barely more than a whisper.

Jay’s fingers still for a second where they’re resting against his stomach, then start moving again—soft, rhythmic strokes over the thin cotton of his shirt. “I do,” he says, just as quiet. “But I want to respect your wish not to.”

There’s a beat of silence. Jungwon breathes in through his nose, shakily. Jay’s scent is soft around him—familiar, anchoring. And maybe it’s selfish, but he’s too raw after that speech not to want to know, not to want Jay to make everything better, make everything make sense. 

He turns his face just slightly into the pillow. “Say it anyway,” he whispers.

Jay doesn’t answer right away. But his arm tightens around him, and then there’s a kiss, warm and deliberate, pressed to the slope of his shoulder. Another at the nape of his neck, gentler. A quiet breath as Jay noses into his scent, just a little.

Something in Jungwon cracks wide open.

“I’m proud of you,” Jay says, finally. His voice is warm and a little rough, like it’s coming from somewhere deep. “For how you handled everything, even when it hurt. That you let us help.”

Another kiss. Another breath.

“I’m so proud of you for not shutting us out again, and for being honest. I know that wasn’t easy to say but I think.. that was, that was really good. Necessary for all of us.”

Jay’s palm presses flat to his chest now, grounding. “And I’m so proud of you for trusting us enough to believe that we’re not going anywhere. And trusting yourself enough to come back.”

His voice is almost a murmur now, words sinking in low and steady. “And maybe… for learning that sometimes it’s okay to trust people when they tell you what they think.”

Jungwon swallows hard, a tight ache pressing at the base of his throat. His heart thuds once, hard. He lets out a little breath, trembly, and tries for a smile—just a small one, wry and crooked at the edges.

“Been waiting a long time to say that one?” he asks, voice barely more than a whisper.

Jay just smiles. Doesn’t answer. Instead, his hand slips up—fingertips brushing Jungwon’s cheek, gentle and steady—and he tilts Jungwon’s face back just enough to kiss him.

It’s slow and deep and a little careful, and the safety of it settles into his skin immediately. Jay always kisses him like he’s trying to convince him of something—like he’s still proving he means every word. Like he’ll stay here, right here, as long as it takes for Jungwon to believe it fully.

He shifts slowly in Jay’s arms, turns around until they’re face to face, curled together in the low light, and kisses him again. It’s softer this time. Sleepier. His hand finds Jay’s shirt, clutching loosely at the fabric just to keep him close. Just to feel the steady warmth of his chest and the rhythm of his breathing. He yawns into it before he even realizes it’s coming. His body is already giving in.

Jay chuckles against his mouth, low and fond, then pulls back just enough to press a kiss to his forehead. “Good night, Jungwon,” he murmurs.

Jungwon hums, already halfway under. He presses his face into Jay’s chest, lets his arm curl tighter around his waist.

<3

Jungwon stands in the kitchen in damp clothes, a towel slung around his shoulders, the ends of his hair dripping onto the collar of his hoodie. It’s almost midday, every bathroom in the dorm is occupied, and he’s already knocked twice on the one Heeseung is currently monopolizing like he doesn’t have a perfectly good bathroom at his own upstairs dorm to use. 

Jay’s at the stove, flipping something in a pan with the focus of a man competing for a Michelin star, and Jungwon can feel the heat of it on his skin, mingling with the residual warmth of his post-shower haze.

“Has anyone seen my Gucci boots?” Sunghoon shouts from the front hallway, voice echoing off the doorframe like he’s rallying troops instead of looking for shoes.

“This isn’t even your dorm,” Jake calls back from somewhere down the hall, one slipper on, the other clutched in his hand like he doesn’t quite remember how it got there. “Why would your shoes be here?”

“I wore them last night!”

“Aww, baby” Sunoo says, emerging from his room with a brow pencil in one hand and a phone in the other. “You’ll survive soundcheck in sneakers and sweatpants like the rest of us mere mortals.”

In the kitchen, the manager hyung in charge of picking them up for soundcheck and last minute costume checks is already settled at the table, sipping black coffee and reading an actual print version of a newspaper. 

He’s not old by any stretch—probably early thirties, if Jungwon had to guess—but he carries himself with the kind of unshakeable calm that makes it easy to forget they’re all one scheduling crisis away from imploding.

Jungwon likes this manager. He’s an omega too, which is probably why the company’s been assigning him to their schedule more often lately—like someone up the chain thought Jungwon might need handling, or company, or a quiet example of how to behave now that he’s officially… what he is. A good little omega, groomed and well-adjusted.

But the manager hasn’t said a word. Not even after the heat. He doesn’t pry. Doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t perform solidarity or offer weird, overly familiar encouragement. Jungwon appreciates that so much. 

Niki stumbles in, eyes still puffy with sleep, and freezes at the sight, genuinely puzzled. “Hyung,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to be respectful but can’t quite help himself. “Do you read the paper as like… a vibe? Like is this an accessory situation? You know there are apps for that..”

Jungwon has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

The manager lowers the paper just enough to look at him. Then he rolls it up and swats Niki lightly on the arm. “It’s about the ritual,” he says, deadpan. “The celebration of it. The smell of ink, the fold in the page, the tactile permanence of a printed headline. Holding something in your hands that will never update itself with something worse.”

Sunoo lifts a hand and gestures broadly at the chaos—Sunghoon still yelling, Jake rummaging in the closet for his lucky socks, Jay now stirring his protein shake with slightly too much intent. “This?” he says. “This is celebration?”

“Sorry for trying to have a nice moment,” the manager replies without missing a beat, sipping again like he’s reading poetry instead of the finance section.

“I get it,” Jay says from the kitchen island, eyes flicking up from his shake.

“That checks out,” Niki mutters as he opens the fridge. Sunoo snorts into his coffee.

It’s a blur, after that. The usual pre-anything-big chaos, leftover toast crusts on the counter, someone shouting from the hallway about chargers. Jungwon finally gets his turn with the hair dryer and disappears into the bedroom to blast his hair into obedience, steam rising from his collar.

The knot in his stomach doesn’t start to twist until later, when they’re all finally gathered by the door—and the manager hyung hands out last-minute reminders like candy.

“And Jungwon,” he adds, as they file out, “for the interview tomorrow—7:30 a.m. call time, alright? Makeup’s booked even earlier, sorry, but the schedule’s tight.”

Jungwon nods automatically. But the moment the words land, the air inside his chest pulls tight.

It’s still happening. Even after everything, it’s still happening.

Then it’s makeup, hair, a last-minute run-through of the setlist with everyone in various states of costume. Staff members thread in and out, calling times, adjusting mics, lining up water bottles. Someone hands Jungwon a meal replacement shake and he takes it out of habit, sips twice, then forgets it on a table.

The pack keeps glancing at him, Jungwon’s not sure first if it’s out of pity for what is waiting for them out there, but then he realizes it’s out of habit- still. Like even now, without having settled anything, they’re waiting for his lead. Jake keeps catching his gaze, as if checking for permission, for something unsaid. 

Every moment is noise and movement and light. He’s used to this chaos, usually finds comfort in it. 

Today, it only makes him feel floaty, unmoored. The sick ache in his stomach hasn’t faded, but now it’s threaded with adrenaline, every nerve buzzing.

This is the first time he’s seeing Engene face to face since… since it all happened. Since his name started trending for all the wrong reasons. Since the world cracked open under his feet, and everyone seemed to have an opinion about what kind of person he was allowed to be. Tweets and protests and petitions, people calling him names, others praising him like a symbol, reducing him to a headline. He’s done content since, filmed interviews, laughed on camera, but that was all glass and framing and lighting.

This is different. This is actual Engene out there—and not just them. There are company sunbaenims in the crowd tonight, other idols who had used their platform to support him, who’d spoken up when silence would’ve been safer. His parents are here. The other members’ families, too. His sister.

And there are going to be fans here tonight who fought for him, who are still holding out hope that he can be the change in the industry they want to see.

He breathes in, trying to steady himself. 

Even if they’ll be disappointed in him tomorrow, even if this doesn’t end the way anyone wants—it can still be a good show. He can still give them what they came for.

Jake clears his throat, and Jungwon feels everyone’s attention shift. He shrinks a little, not sure he’s ready for this.

“Okay, listen,” he says. “I asked them to give us a little bit of time. There’s something we.. I need to say. Before we go out there.”

His voice is low, careful, like he’s testing each word before giving it to the room. “This is the end of the tour. You all know what that means. We made it—through everything.”

Then, Jake looks right at him. “I know you said not to give you an answer right away,” he says, gentle but certain. “We know the company wants things a certain way, and I know there’s a risk. But this is our pack. You’re still our leader. We want you to be. If you—if you want to fight for it, if you still want it, we’re with you. No matter what happens.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Sunoo reaches out, slides his hand into Jungwon’s, squeezing tight. Niki’s foot bumps his ankle, subtle and grounding. Jay leans in, shoulder pressed against Jungwon’s, anchoring him in place.

And Jungwon realizes—this isn’t just about what he asked them. Not just about the quiet, private kind of leadership he said he wanted. This is about the thing he hasn’t let himself say out loud. The thing they’ve been waiting for from the very start. 

They want to fight .

Heeseung leans forward slightly, voice low but steady. “Sorry to spring it on you like this,” he says, glancing toward Jake, pulling him a little closer. “We— well, Jake, has an idea. Or well, had an idea. A while back.” 

Jake ducks his head a little, smiling in that nervous, hopeful way of his.

“There’s no time to explain,” Jake says. “We’re about to go on. But we need to know… if we do this, are you with us?”

For a moment, Jungwon can’t breathe. He looks at his pack—their hope, their faith in him, how much it means, how badly he wants it.

And maybe, he thinks, this is the perfect time, because suddenly it doesn’t feel like a hard choice at all.

If these six people want to fight for him, with him—he’d be stupid not to let them. He’s seen what they can do. 

So he nods. Jay squeezes his hand, firm and sure. Sunoo leans in closer. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “We’ve thought this through.”

Jake pulls them all in with one look, raising his fist. “So let’s give them something to remember, okay? No holding back.” Their hands all find each other without needing to look. They shout together, voices layered, the sound bouncing off concrete and steel.

And then—nothing but the stage.

The lights are blinding, hot against his skin. The crowd is a living thing, thousands of voices swelling and cresting, hands reaching, lightsticks waving in unison. The sound is deafening, a wave that crashes right over him, so loud he feels it in his bones.

He steps into the light, and the world sharpens.

There’s no more room for fear here. Every muscle remembers the choreography, every breath finds its place in the music. The other members move around him, sure and practiced, and Jungwon feels right in his skin. Not perfect, not invincible, but present.

His nerves fade in the bright wash of the stage lights, replaced by something fierce and bright. The fans scream his name, and he feels the sound vibrate straight through his chest, rooting him in the moment, reminding him why he loves this.

The concert builds, setlist rushing by in flashes of sweat, light, laughter, and the ache of being alive. 

They line up for the final ment, breathless, shoulders brushing, sweat cooling on their skin. 

“It’s… been a long tour,” Jake says, voice steadier than Jungwon expects. “And an amazing one. Because we got to see so many of you. Got to feel your energy, your love.”

He pauses, and Jungwon can already feel it building in his chest.

Jake smiles at the crowd. “Thank you. Really. From the bottom of our hearts. Thank you for sticking with us. For being here through everything.”

“Tonight,” Jake continues, voice lower now, warmer, “is a very special night.”

He turns fully, looking straight at Jungwon.

“Tonight isn’t just about the end of the tour,” Jake says, and something in his voice changes—goes resolute. “It’s about what got us here. And who got us here.”

Jungwon feels it hit him all at once—what Jake is doing. What the plan is, and why it’s the only way.

They’re on stage. In front of thousands. Cameras pointed at their faces. This show is being broadcast live across the world. There’s no stopping it now. No pulling it back. If they do this, it’s irreversible.

The company can scream. They can send them reminders, pull them into meetings, make their schedules hell. But they can’t fire them, and they can’t undo this. 

Jungwon’s breath catches, chest tightening with something like awe.

Jake turns back to the crowd. “We’ve made it through a lot this year,” he says, and even his voice shakes now. “And we wouldn’t have made it— we wouldn’t be here —without our leader.”

There’s a shift in the arena. A ripple, people realizing something’s off in his wording, like he’s straying from the approved script. 

Jungwon hears it in the murmurs from the crowd, the sudden rise in voices, in the way the members shift beside him, tension in their bodies like they’re holding their breath.

And then Jake smiles, soft and proud, “So tonight is extra special because,” he stops again, gesturing for Jungwon to step forward.

Jungwon’s legs move before his brain catches up. His body carries him into the light, and the crowd roars. 

“Our leader is back.”

He straightens up, shoulders square, eyes wide. He blinks fast, trying to keep the tears from falling. He glances at his members first, then out at the crowd— thousands of fans stretching into darkness, lightsticks glowing like stars, chanting his name.

Chapter Text

Six months later, they get a week off together. Or at least—three days of travel content, and four days of actual rest. 

The company calls the first three days of games, interviews and challenges “team recovery and pack bonding time.” The members call it “don’t forget we’re still mic’d.” Sunoo calls the entire trip “pack therapy via matching slippers and ocean views.” Jay, for some reason, insists on referring to it as “annual leave,” like it’s marked down in a spreadsheet somewhere. 

Still. The house is nice. It’s quiet, and out by the coast. Three floors, open kitchen, huge windows that let in the sun all day. The beach is a short walk down a wooded path.

This is the last day of filmed content, so the cameras pack up tomorrow. The living room has been transformed into a TV studio for one final sit-down: an exclusive with a high-profile talk show, two veteran hosts, full glam. They’ve already done their talking heads for their own channel—now comes the real interview.

They’re asked about the new album, the tour. The members answer easily, comfortably.

Things have been… not easy, but better. The company is still awkward about how to frame it, how to position Jungwon now, how to make the leadership change seem less like a reversal and more like a re-alignment that they had been planning all along.

But Jungwon doesn’t care about the framing much anymore. 

Because what the past few months have shown him is that a large percentage of Engene were always ahead of them anyway. He thought he’d spend months earning them back, but the first time he’d come back on live, it had felt like just another day, like talking to a friend you haven’t spoken to in months, only to pick up right where you left off. 

And inside the group, something else had settled too. They’d all spent some time figuring out what parts of pack structure they actually needed—and quietly left a lot of the rest behind. Which made sense, Jungwon thinks, for a group where the second-youngest is the leader. That shift had softened a lot of things. Niki especially seemed to feel it; he sat taller now, less bristling at what he didn’t have, less restless with the unspoken rules of rank. More himself.

It’s been long enough now that the questions they face are predictable. They’ve been doing this particular interview for twenty minutes when the familiar one lands.

“So,” one of the interviewers says, tapping his notes. “There was a brief change in leadership earlier this year. And now things seem to have reverted.”

He doesn’t even look at Jungwon - instead, his gaze lands on Heeseung sitting beside him.

“Some people feel that having an omega in that role could… complicate dynamics. Emotionally, politically. I wonder how that affects the team now.”

Heeseung glances toward Jungwon, the corner of his mouth twitching in something between annoyance and amusement. Jungwon meets his eyes and gives the smallest nod—permission, reassurance, a silent you’ve got this.

Heeseung sits back and speaks plainly. “We’ve never seen it that way. Not then, not now. Jungwon’s always been our leader, and the same instincts, the same insight, the same steadiness that made him good at it before - That’s still all there. He's still the same person.”

The interviewer smiles politely, but Jungwon can tell he isn’t convinced. Or maybe he just wants to push—for the headline, or the soundbite. His co-host, an omega seated beside him, shifts slightly in her chair. Her fingers twitch near her cue cards. She doesn’t look up.

“If that’s true,” the man says, tone still smooth, “I wonder how you see the difference in leadership styles now. Betas have long been considered the most stable choice across the industry. Some might say that’s still the safer path.”

Heeseung blinks, caught just enough off-guard to hesitate. It’s not really a hostile question, just one of those professional, polished insinuations that get left to hang in the air.

Before Heeseung can say anything, Jungwon shifts forward.

“I’m happy to speak to that.”

There’s a tiny pause as the interviewer turns toward him, clearly not expecting it. Jungwon feels his heart ticking in his throat, but he keeps his shoulders relaxed, his voice even.

“There are always going to be opinions about what leadership should look like. I understand that. Especially in our industry. I think a lot of people carry ideas like that, sometimes without realizing”

He lets that settle for a beat, then continues.

“I also think leadership isn’t a static trait. it’s not about hierarchy or biology. It’s about what the group needs, and when. And I was proud of the way Jake stepped in when the company made that decision. We adjusted, because that’s what good teams do, and we couldn’t have done it without him. But ultimately—when the time was right—we made our own call.”

It’s the truth, just maybe not all of it.

“Anyway,” Jungwon says, letting the corners of his mouth lift a little more, “if leadership was only ever about dominance, I don’t think our team would work the way it does. What we have is trust. And I think—no matter your secondary gender—that’s what matters most.”

There’s a pause, and then the second host speaks up. She’s been quiet for most of it, content to steer the conversation while her co-host pressed harder. But now she leans forward slightly, fingers laced over her cue cards. The light catches on the soft sheen of her foundation, the prominent mark on her neck. It’s fresh, proud. Jungwon catches the way her eyes shine just a little more when she smiles at him.

“I’m curious,” she says, “how you see your role in the industry now. After everything. As an omega, and as a leader.”

Jungwon doesn’t rush to answer. He breathes in slowly — this part isn’t rehearsed, never is. It can’t be.

“There’s a long tradition in this industry of incredible omega artists,” he says, voice calm, low, steady. “People who’ve broken ceilings, changed conversations—mostly without ever being officially acknowledged for it. A lot of them led in all the ways that mattered, even if their titles didn’t reflect it.”

The words feel steady on his tongue. They’ve taken months to root properly.

“If I can be part of that line in some small way—if this moment helps make it easier for the next person to come up without the same kind of scrutiny…” His voice doesn’t waver. “Then I’ll be proud of that. I don’t think being an omega disqualifies someone from leadership. I think it can add something... Perspective, empathy. Maybe Resilience.”

He doesn’t look at the hosts now. He looks at the others.

Niki sits up even taller. Jake’s nodding slightly, quiet and certain. Jay’s steady, and Sunoo is practically vibrating, scent warmed with pride. Heeseung, nodding once—quiet, certain. Sunghoon, unreadable at first glance, but Jungwon knows him well enough to spot the subtle shift of his shoulders, the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.

“Leadership looks like a lot of things,” he finishes simply. “This is what it looks like for us.”

The omega host’s smile turns from soft to something closer to fierce. “Thank you,” she says, like it means more than just a good answer on camera.

<3

The next morning is Sunoo’s birthday, their first real day off.  “I want to do nothing until at least 2 p.m.,” Sunoo had requested the night before, flopping across three of their laps like a cat. “Except be adored. On the beach. With a cute towel.”

So they oblige. It’s a particularly hot day, and they sprawl out across the sand early, most of them half-asleep. Sunoo wears his birthday sash over his open shirt like royalty, sunglasses perched on his nose, a drink in hand. He looks cute and he knows it.

Jake builds a lopsided sandcastle just for Niki to accidentally kick it over. Sunghoon stares at the ocean like it’s personally offended him. Jay insists on reapplying SPF every hour like it’s a military assignment.

By the time they trudge back up the path to the house, they’re still a little sunburned despite his best efforts—except Heeseung, who is very sunburned, and very vocal about it.

Jay’s already in the kitchen by the time the rest of them return from their showers, sleeves rolled up and chopping spring onions. The seafood is fresh—purchased from a roadside stall Jake spotted that morning.

Niki is attempting to help but mostly just keeps getting in the way, reaching into the fridge every two minutes for something and then forgetting what he was looking for. Sunghoon lounges in the corner with a wet towel over his face and shoulders like an overheated housepet.

The others use the time to start showing Sunoo their candid photo picks for his birthday post on Weverse. 

“No,” Sunoo says immediately at the first one. “No again. Absolutely not.”

“That one’s charming!” Heeseung argues.

Jake offers nothing but a single photo with the caption already written.

“I look possessed, hyung”

Jay tilts his phone toward him, towel thrown over one shoulder. “What about this one?”

“I look like I’m mid-sneeze.”

“You were mid-sneeze. It was adorable.”

Sunoo stares at it in horror.

And then he sighs like a martyr, long and dramatic, dragging both hands down his face. “Fine. Okay. But I’m not happy about any of these.”

But when they get to posting and Jungown looks over to Sunoo again, cheeks pink from the sun, his eyes crinkling as he grins, and his scent filling the air with citrus and something settled and calm— He does look happy.

They all do. 

They eat wherever they land, on the couch and perched on countertops, the air filled with the clatter of chopsticks and the faint hum of Sunoo’s playlist.

The seafood is good and fresh, and there’s something about this kind of ease that still catches Jungwon off guard sometimes, like it snuck up on them again without him noticing after months of uncertainty. 

He dumps his empty clam shells on Jay’s plate, and Jay lets him.