Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is a bleary day. Overcast skies, low light, and humidity spiked even when it’s an hour before noon. The café he’s sitting at is expectedly empty, with people who usually frequent it being at work or college. Having been visiting it for quite some time, Kim Seungcheol knows. It isn’t a place someone like him would frequent—at least according to those that think they know of him—but he prefers nothing but a quiet, chaos-less hour to himself every day.

Away from guns. Away from blood. Away from runts and mutts who think they are better than someone else. Constant competition that always keeps the base on edge and, most of all… his unruly children, who are no better than pups that first stepped foot into crime.

The gentle hum of people’s low voices blends with the soft melody that rings through the café. Vines that bloom small, white flowers with the faintest smell climb and twist through the pergola affixed to the main indoor area, creating a shaded and somewhat romantic space. The scent of coffee brewing in the air masks the alpha pheromones that he emanates.

Here, Kim Seungcheol is simply a man. Not an alpha. Not a boss to a few faithful followers. Not a bearer of death. And certainly not a father to a bunch of monsters that don’t know their limits of power. He is simply… a man. One who enjoys a cup of black coffee made out of Italian roasted beans with a cinnamon cookie on the side. And maybe enjoys the view of a certain omega that-

“Master…”

A sigh escapes him as if it has been waiting for it.

“Hmm?”

He swirls a mouthful of coffee, letting the bitterness coat his inner mouth and linger on his tongue, and then swallows it.

“The housekeeper at the estate just quit.”

Another sigh.

He should have expected it. With the way the man couldn’t even hold eye contact with his son on the first day, he had not expected the beta to even last a month. It’s a  surprise that he did for three.

Kim Seungcheol doesn’t glance at his right-hand man standing behind him. He doesn’t have to. He knows that the expression on his face mirrors his own. This is the...which one? He doesn’t even remember what the number of people he has seen and heard quitting or disappearing over the years because they couldn’t survive a house of wolves. A pack that has a bond deeper than age-old scars embedded into their skin.

Still… he does not blame any that quit. After all, his sons are…quite a handful.

Time ticks slowly.

The alpha is suddenly distracted. The corner of his eye catches the sight of the person he has been observing for the past few months.

An omega.

Someone around his sons’ age, but with the eyes of someone who has seen all and experienced all.

Someone who has a smile on his face no matter what is being spewed at him, no matter how he is treated.

His hair sways gently as he steps out into the outdoor area, hands clutching a tray that holds a yellow cup with intricate paintings of blue leaves around it. He delivers it to the table across from him with the most practiced mask of a smile on his pretty lips and a grace forged in fire. He carries a softness that endures hard, and it intrigued him so much that some time ago he did a background check. A little snooping around just to find out who he is.

Park Seonghwa. Twenty-six. With no other family than his older brother, who has been lying on a hospital bed surviving on feeding tubes and oxygen tanks. Which ended the omega’s studies in culinary arts and forced him to take up four jobs just to cover the hospital bills and to simply live.

He has seen reports of Seonghwa working at a bar downtown, taking midnight shifts and dealing with drunkards. He has also seen reports of the omega doing cleanup jobs at a few brothels hidden deep in the slums at early hours of the morning, kicking out lowlifes in between. And then again, a soju restaurant near the college he used to go to. Getting constantly reminded of the life he could have had, if not for the freak accident that left his parents in the hands of death and his brother in a coma.

So yes, Kim Seungcheol has done his research, and yes, the omega is someone in need of money. An omega whose every shift is a sacrifice, every coin a lifeline.

If only it is the sole reason for him to feel intrigued over Park Seonghwa.

It’s not.

Park Seonghwa is strong. He holds a kind of strength that is different from that of his sons—quiet, yet prominent. The kind of strength that trembled walls and shamed empires. People see the apron, the bowed head, and the soft, polite voice—but they never see the raw hands, the cracked phone full of pending bills, or the nights he walked home with blood under his shoes.

Many people would say they would kill for money, yet only a few know the weight of such words. At his base, everyone gets reminded that they are simply human, that their lives can be ended in a fraction of a second. At the estate, one would have to live and serve with the understanding that one’s masters have survived an environment such as this and lived to tell the tale.

Clang!

Kim Seungcheol’s attention is pulled from his thoughts as his eyes fall upon the seething omega just a few tables away. His face is twisted in unhidden anger, mouth downturned in disgust as he holds the empty tray in his hand in a death grip. He hisses at the ‘customer’ who stares dumbfounded in shock at the omega who dared to hit his hand with a tray, causing his phone to drop to the floor and smash to pieces.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says, serious and unapologetic, yet with thinly veiled venom in his voice. Those words please, yet the eyes are dark, hardened by something Seungcheol is very familiar with. “I have no excuse to give for how clumsy I was. Please allow me to cover your expenses.”

Now, Kim Seungcheol does not know what the omega has seen on the phone for him to react as such and why he would even bother. It would probably cost him a good chunk of his paycheck, if not his job, yet he has done what he felt was right so that he can live with no regrets. As the alpha watches him with interest while Seonghwa is spewed curses at by the customer, he chuckles.

“Jinsik-ah…”

“Master.”

“Tell Hongjoong that I have already found him a housekeeper.”

Chapter Text

Park Seonghwa’s life has changed in a fleeting moment. He has grown up with so much love, so sheltered and protected from the reality of the world, that when it shattered, he hasn’t known to remember how to breathe. Like it has merely been a bubble of water waiting to be popped with a tap of a finger. Like it has been built with the softest crumble of snow that melted under a fraction of a temperature change.

One moment he has been whining about his mother teasing him for wearing peach-colored lip gloss for the first time in his life, claiming that he has a crush on someone when Seonghwa had simply wanted to try something new out. His father had joined in, chest puffed and clearing his throat, eyeing Seonghwa as he flushed furiously under his mother’s relentless teasing, stating that no alpha will be good enough till they go through ‘the parent test.’

Seonghwa has simply rolled his eyes and stomped his way out of the house that day because he had to be at the university early for a club meeting, but not before messing up his hyung’s perfectly styled hair while he was tying his shoelace near the front entrance to their tiny, cozy home. Maybe he hoped his hyung would find a conversation topic—also known as bashing his dongseang for being evil—so that he wouldn’t be staring starstruck at his crush all day, tongue-tied and googly-eyed.

The next moment, he’s running out of the campus, barely holding onto his bag at the call he received not even an hour after he left home. Tears streaming down his face, breath heaving his chest, ignoring the couple of people he had bumped into on the way to the hospital.

His parents-declared dead at the point of contact. Minutes into the highway, because of a truck driver who had fallen asleep at the wheel.

His hyung-suffering an inner bleeding in the brain and is comatose. He had been sitting in the back while his parents took the front, connecting face-first into the uncontrolled vehicle that crashed into them.

That day, Seonghwa felt the world around him turn monotone and crumble to dust like it had been the most fragile thing in existence.

No more days full of laughter with his father’s teasing.

No more days waking up to his mother threading her fingers through his hair, gently waking him up.

And he didn’t want to let go of the only leftover thread that bound him to this world. His hyung, who, no matter how much he acted bratty, no matter how much he wanted to smack Seonghwa to Mars for teasing him about his crush, still protected him and loved him like no one else.

Time blurred. Seonghwa’s days went from taking the lead at club meetings, going out to watch movies with his small group of friends, and spending his time at home obsessing over bad boy rock stars to taking up whatever shifts at whatever places possible to cover expenses just to survive. Soon after he started to take shifts, he realized that he simply could not deal with college tuition and the heaps of homework he would have to finish as classes went on, despite how reluctant he was to let go of it.

The first two surgeries for his hyung have gone well. They have also racked up a bill that Seonghwa struggled to settle even with the insurance money he received for his parents’ deaths. With the warning of the doctors telling him that the recovery time was up to the patient and that he would have to be in the hospital for continuous monitoring, Seonghwa knew he just couldn’t stay the same.

Extending the shift of his part-time job as the waiter of a hidden, cozy café has been his first choice. The hourly wage had been acceptable since it usually raked in customers in the mornings, but it was nowhere near enough for him to cover the gradually increasing medical bills. So, he takes on another job, at a soju restaurant near the campus for the evenings. Then another at a bar till late night. And a final one in an illegal brothel that paid him generously for keeping his mouth shut.

Seonghwa learns firsthand that as the day bleeds into night, the less polite people treat him. Fewer human people treated an omega. Something he has never felt within the safety of his home and with his friends. He becomes a polite and handsome server in the mornings, a pretty little waiter in the evenings, a flirty barman at night that not only plays with customers’ pockets but also their hearts, and a promiscuous slut in the early mornings.

All of which people have called him, despite his having been serving with his eyes down and head low.

He has realized that when people insulted him, they insulted his second gender first.

Omega. Weak bitch. Breeding stock. Little whore.

Seonghwa has heard it all.

A touch at his waist. A touch at his chin. A hand around his throat and a grip of his hair.

Seonghwa has felt it all.

Until he decides to double down on his suppressants. And receive weekly shots. It doesn’t matter if he didn’t go into heat twice a year as normally an omega would. It doesn’t matter that it will affect his future of having pups. As long as he can keep earning and make money for the sake of his hyung, to see him wake up one day and see that everything will go back to normal…

It doesn’t take long for him to admit to himself that it will end up simply as wishful thinking.

Still, the moment his scent is suppressed, unnecessary comments towards him reduce by half. The unnecessary touches were barely there, except for the persisting and knowing people who have been there since the beginning.

Seonghwa breaks down one night, clutching at his soft bedsheets, pressing his face into the mattress, just thinking about how much people hate his second gender for absolutely no reason. Yet the next day he goes on as usual, as if he hasn’t spent hours crying and calling out for his mother, as if his puffy eyes and reddened rims of eyes were not from sobbing till he almost dehydrated.

He learns to keep his feelings to himself, keep his body to himself, and keep his thoughts to himself. It is his way of surviving in a world where the protection of his family was nonexistent.

In the middle of a gloomy day, he throws what he learned out of his heart in the form of his tray smacking a particular customer’s phone out of his hand. Intentionally. Purposefully. No business a stranger has to take photos of a child that looks barely a teenager being playful with her mother. It has reminded him of that one time when his family went to an amusement park, and his father nearly beat a man to death for trying to take pictures under his skirt.

So there it goes—the phone, cracked to pieces on the ground; him earning earfuls of curses that he brushes off; and the longest job he has had in a matter of minutes.

Sighing, Seonghwa neatly folds the apron he has worn for years and places it in the locker that will never be his again. Then he hands the key to the owner, who silently shakes his head at him, still a bit in disbelief at the momentary lash-out he has just had.

Seonghwa is about to bow his head and bid him farewell when someone enters the staff room.

It’s a man wearing a pressed black suit, not a hair out of his head, and wearing sunglasses. A familiar face—someone that has accompanied a regular visitor almost every day. Seonghwa would say he looks like one of those bodyguards in old mafia movies that his hyung used to watch, but he keeps silent and steps back to let his former boss handle whatever query it is.

Except, it’s not for his boss that this man had come. It’s for him. When the man pushes his boss aside and steps in front of him, Seonghwa looks up.

“Park Seonghwa.”

And he knows his name.

“My master wants to speak with you. If you may,” he gestures towards outside. On his left, Seonghwa’s boss attempts to close the space between them but stops when he’s met with a glare that is felt through the sunglasses.

Heart picking up its pace, Seonghwa switches his gaze from the man to his boss until he hesitantly nods. Whatever this is, he does not want to drag his boss into it, so he just quietly follows the man out of the staff room and into the outdoor area where he has just caused a commotion. His fingers fiddle with the hem of his shirt, baggy and oversized like he’s hiding himself, as he obediently follows the bodyguard.

The regular always sits in the same place. Near the post where jasmine vine is planted, the bushy growth of it almost obscures the view of the person who sat there. Yet he always prefers that spot, as every time he walks into the café in one of his pristine suits and orders the same thing—a black coffee with Italian roasted beans with a cinnamon cookie. Seonghwa remembers it by heart because that’s almost the same as his father’s choice, but with a butter biscuit. And because the man always ordered the same thing.

Today he’s dressed in a navy-blue suit and a grey patterned tie, with his hair slicked back and mustache trimmed neatly. Unmistakably an alpha, with the cold aura he radiates, the power that clings to him like a cologne, and the prominent scent similar to that of agarwood coloring it. Every word, every glance of his is deliberate, measured, like he is a man that did not need to raise his voice. Yet he has always smiled politely at Seonghwa whenever he brings his order, and Seonghwa has thought nothing of it but adding that as a small gesture that made his day good.

Suddenly Seonghwa is shaken with a sense of dread. He doesn’t know why, but tingles erupted under his skin, and his heart hammered in his chest as the bodyguard finally stopped in front of the gentleman and then rounded the table so he stood at his side.

“Seonghwa,” he greets, as if he has known the omega for years. The familiarity of it startles Seonghwa, as his hands clench and unclench at his sides. “Take a seat.”

Seonghwa does. Wordlessly. As if he’s being commanded. He is, his mind unhelpfully supplies, as he pulls out a chair and sits on it, spine stiff and straight.

“I want to offer you a job.”

Again with the subtle intimacy that laced in his voice.

“Why?”

“Because I have seen you,” the man replies, taking the last sip of his coffee that is probably cold by now. But he never leaves even a drop of it leftover other than the residue, as if he is a man who has come from nothing to everything. “And I want to offer you help. If you’re willing to take it.”

“Why?” His voice is barely above a breath.

The man observes him, and Seonghwa wonders if he can see the light tremble that shakes his body. He’s overwhelmed by the sudden offer, his heart is about to burst, and the gaze of the man is refined and veiled with something awfully familiar. The empty cup never makes a sound as it gets placed on the saucer. Sighing, the alpha intertwines his fingers as he casually lays back in the chair, his posture relaxed despite him seeing the inner turmoil Seonghwa is having.

“Let’s just say… I have seen something in you that I like,” he says, voice deep but smooth. “Something that reminded me of myself when I was young. And I want to make use of it, if you’re willing to let me.”

…

It has been a month since then. Seonghwa glances around his home, where he will not come back every night to bury himself beneath the soft covers of the bed like he usually would. Not after today, that is, the first day at his new job.

A sleek, black car waits for him outside, with Jung Baekhyun in the driver’s seat. Seonghwa has found out that the alpha is Kim Seungcheol’s closest companion, and to have him simply be a driver for Seonghwa was unthinkable. He may have taught the omega a few things over the month, but he has learned not to take the man’s time for granted. Seonghwa makes haste as he locks the front door of his home, forcing down the feelings that are tugging at his heart.

Being away from his safe space is making him fidgety, but he doesn’t have the time to ponder over it. He practically runs to the car, briefly stopping to bow to the man in front before sliding into the back seat. As the car purrs to life and seamlessly pulls away from the street with bright-colored houses, Seonghwa opens up his bag, double-checking only a handful of things. His suppressants, a tub of balm Kim Seungcheol gifted him to neutralize his scent, his phone, and a pack of bandages.

Alright. Everything’s in place.

It doesn’t take much time to pull up at the estate he will be working from that day on. Seonghwa is unable to stop a soft gasp from escaping as he stares at the mansion coming into view.

The estate doesn’t flaunt power—it refines it.

Hidden behind gated walls and biometric scanners, the property stretches low and wide across the hills like it has nothing to prove. No wrought iron, no statues. Just a seamless blend of concrete, smoked glass, and obsidian stone—sharp lines, open spaces, and silence that echoes.

From the ground, it feels like stepping into a lion’s den run by an architect.

Seonghwa gazes with wide eyes as the car effortlessly runs up the matte-black driveway, flanked by LED ground lights and a row of perfectly pruned trees. A few of the same who dressed as Jung Baekhyun line up at the entrance when they see the car approach, but no one speaks. Not even a whisper, not even a nod. As if they just know better.

Seonghwa smooths the nonexistent wrinkles of the shirt he wore purely out of the nerves that felt like they were on fire. His hands are clammy, and beads of sweat form on his forehead as the tension thickens around him, yet as he steps out of the car, all he does is take a sharp intake of breath.

The house is beautiful. Hauntingly so. The atmosphere is cool—both in temperature and tone. Every surface is smooth, every piece of furniture curated and custom, all leather, steel, and shadow. Expensive art hangs on walls like afterthoughts, the lighting adjusted depending on motion sensors.

Security is invisible but a constant pressure on Seonghwa, like he’s being watched. Like the house breathes under the Master’s control. The living room opened into a sunken lounge with a panoramic view of the city and floor-to-ceiling glass that does not show reflection. Only what is coming.

Seonghwa lets out a shuddering breath. Every detail has been intentional. Cold. Precise. Luxurious. And behind it all, the quiet certainty that the place doesn’t smell like a home. To the omega, it feels like a stronghold. A room of war in disguise.

Someone clears his throat, and Seonghwa flinches. He turns around, pulled out of the trance he has induced himself in, to look at someone tall, pale, and grinning at him. At first appearance he looks charming, but Seonghwa can feel he’s not. A carefully honed façade that Seonghwa wonders what it takes for it to be broken.

“Hello?” He says, tilting his head with his hands clasped behind his back. “You must be our new housekeeper.”

Seonghwa bows, something he has just remembered to do. He feels eyes roam over him, silent and calculating. But the smile stays on, even if it doesn’t reach his eyes. The moment Seonghwa raises his eyes to meet the other’s, a blend of cedarwood and something lingering hits his face, and Seonghwa does everything to keep his ground and not flinch. Alpha. It takes him off guard, though, causing a slip on his own mask and a grimace. The tiniest bit.

And it’s enough for the man, and his grin widens, taking a step back. “Let’s go. We were all waiting for you.”

When Seonghwa watches him go, he is unable to move until Baekhyun comes up behind him and nudges him forward. Seonghwa quickly follows, the only bag he brought clutched tightly in his hands, heart jumping to his throat at every step he takes. They go through hallway after hallway, polished concrete floors making the dullest thuds as he walks, even if he feels like they echo off the walls. The alpha he follows, though, looks like he’s levitating with no sound of footsteps, and his long, leather coat is fluttering as if it’s made of chiffon.

When they finally stop in front of a matte-black wooden door with a minimalistic metal frame, the tall alpha looks back to him once before opening it.

And inside exists a chaotic silence that Seonghwa has never seen in his life before. Seven people sit in the lounge area of what is presumably someone’s office, with Kim Seungcheol at the head. He sits with ease, legs crossed, hands folded over his torso, head leaned back, and eyes closed, until he hears them stepping into the room. The rest, some still, some fidgety, sit in cushioned chairs lined outwards from him, face to face. All of them unmistakably, undeniably, alpha.

Seonghwa bows again, this time deep and respectful at Kim Seungcheol. The man has earned it from him over the course of one month.

“Seonghwa,” he greets, but doesn’t ask or gesture for him to sit. Quietly reminding him of his place. From this point on, they are simply employer and employee. He is no longer the father figure he has become to the omega in a span of a few weeks, and his heart tugs at the thought of it.

The tall alpha takes the seat to the head alpha’s right, looking bored and probably thinking of being anywhere but here.

“Hongjoong, this is Park Seonghwa,” Seungcheol says, pointing at him with a hand. “He will be your new housekeeper. I personally recruited him, so I hope you’ll treat him well.”

Hongjoong just stares at him. Too composed. Too clean. Not a flicker of an emotion on his face nor in his eyes. Something’s wrong with him, is Seonghwa’s first thought. He doesn’t even spare a glance at Seonghwa as he rests his jaw on one clenched fist balanced on the armrest.

“How long do you think he’ll last?” Is what he asks.

“Hmm…” Seungcheol locks gazes with Seonghwa, a smile playing at his lips. Dangerous. Like a prime predator that is holding prey over a bunch of runts’ mouths. “Hopefully long term.”

“Appa—“

“Hongjoong-ah,” the master of the house will not take no for an answer. “If you truly manage to make him leave… I will try no more.”

“It feels different this time,” the tall alpha hums, watching Seungcheol with a smile that means nothing at his lips. “You have faith in him. How? Why?”

A hum returned. “Why don’t you be the judge of that?”

Seonghwa feels like a trophy put on display, while people who look at him argue back and forth whether he was worth it or not. Still, he lets them speak, lets them see, and lets them imagine what kind of a being he is. After all, he isn’t here to teach people how to talk to him, how to view him, or how to handle him. He’s simply here to serve.

“At least he’s pretty to look at,” Someone says, and Seonghwa raises his eyes just enough to see the said alpha’s lips curled into a cheeky smile. Dimples adorn his cheek, giving him an innocent appearance at first glance. But Seonghwa knows he’s not.

They deal with guns. With illegal substances. With blood and people’s lives.

Those are known facts to him. What makes him truly bite his inner cheek is how hollow his eyes seemed. As if he has seen everything. As if he feels nothing. No one acknowledges what he said, but his grin widens when he sees Seonghwa twitch. Not full-body, but just his fingers—that the alpha somehow notices.

“Well, I’ve got things that need thorough cleaning,” the one beside him smirks, his eyes addled with sleep, his voice slurring like remnants of last night’s alcohol still linger in him. For most it must sound suggestive, and it does, but to Seonghwa, who has had his share of unappreciated remarks, those were just words of an attention seeker. And for that, he gives no reaction.

“Your mouth first,” the former says, wrinkling his nose.

“San,” the latter hisses. “Keep yours to yourself. Don’t yap like a dog.”

That’s all it takes for the former to stand up and grab a handful of the robe the other alpha is wearing. He’s seething, baring his teeth and hissing at the other like invisible leashes are blocking him from bashing the other’s face in. Now that he is standing, Seonghwa can see that the alpha is much broader and more thickly muscled than he appeared to be. The temperature in the room falls a few degrees, but no one else seems to be on edge. Like they have seen this particular scenario every damned day for years.

Seonghwa doesn’t move a fraction. Not because he has seen a multitude of aggressive alphas in his life who were all bark and no bite. But because he knows these ones can bite. Tension claws at his entire being, and he bites back the instinctive urge to escape.

At that moment, he feels the hair on the back of his neck rise. Someone’s eyes are on him, watching, observing. Seonghwa’s gaze wanders over the unimpressed and uninterested room before falling upon…Hongjoong. Who watches his every move now, like he has piqued his interest. Maybe it has been Seonghwa’s stoic face. Maybe it has been Seonghwa himself, daring to stand in the middle of a room full of bloodthirsty alphas with no quiver in his bones—at least the type that is visible—but he’s looking. Intensely. With a gaze that can bring a man to his knees.

“Sit,” Kim Seungcheol barks. San resists, but only for a second. Just until Seungcheol turns to face him. When he sits back down, face twisted to a scowl, Seonghwa sees that his body trembles. In rage or suppressed tension, Seonghwa doesn’t know, but it looks like he is holding back till he finds an outlet to release it.

“We can’t have one good day in this house,” Seungcheol mutters, rubbing his temples. “Yeosang, show Seonghwa to his room.”

Yeosang, an alpha that has been uninterested in everything and has been sitting in a corner with his equally uninterested companions to the left, glances up from the puzzle that he keeps twisting in his hands. He stares at Seungcheol like he has grown another head, but it’s not Seungcheol that budges. He keeps holding the stares, daring Yeosang to defy him, until the younger alpha gives in with a frustrated sigh.

Knowing that it’s time for him to leave, Seonghwa adjusts the weight of his bag in his hands and bows again. He waits till Yeosang storms out of the room to follow him. The man doesn’t speak on the way to Seonghwa’s assigned room. His shoulders are stiff, his back tensed at the unwanted task that he has been burdened with.

His room is located in the west wing of the house, where multiple bedrooms existed built solely for servants. But it’s empty, right at that moment, and Seonghwa feels unsettled at their echoing footsteps. Once they reach the end of the dark corridor, Yeosang turns around to face him.

“It’s one of these rooms,” he says, face as ethereal as an otherworldly being yet voice as cold as the depths of a glacier. His gaze falls upon Seonghwa, calculating, measuring. Like he’s trying to find an anomaly within the omega. “Go find it yourself.”

Then he brushes past Seonghwa, who stares dumbfounded at him, and catches a whiff of the alpha’s slightly sour, slightly fruity scent. Surprising for a man who looks like he kills silently.

“Thank you, Yeosang-ssi,” Seonghwa bows for the umpteenth time of the day, his voice steady along with his gaze. Yeosang stops in his tracks. He turns around again, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He closes their distance in a second, before Seonghwa can even think of stepping back. A hand grabs at his jaw—a bruising grip that has Seonghwa almost whimpering. Almost. But his breath hitches at the pain that spreads through his face, and he drops his bag on the ground as he grips Yeosang’s wrist with both of his hands.

“If you’re going to leave, leave now. At least you’ll get to keep your life. If you stay… well… I sincerely hope you know what you’re getting into.”

And then Seonghwa is released, the ache in his jaws throbbing even after the grip is gone.

“I’m here to do my job, Yeosang-ssi,” he says, voice coming out shaky despite him wanting to stand his ground. Yeosang’s eyes bore into him, searching for something. He finds nothing, so he shoves the omega back.

As he leaves without a response, Seonghwa takes deep breaths, arms hugging himself. It’s not only Yeosang, it’s all of them, he thinks, staring at the now-empty hallway. Not one of them seems to be in touch with morals, and…neither is he, Seonghwa realizes, because otherwise, he would not be in a place like this, bowing his head to the rotten power of the society.

By the time Seonghwa finds his room, his hands are shaking. In his bed are several sets of what is to be his uniform—a white turtleneck and pressed black pants, with a plain black apron on the side. As his fingers brush the soft cotton of the turtleneck that will cover his scent glands, Seonghwa wonders if Seungcheol is the one that chose it.

He lies down on the bed, belly up, taking shattered breaths to calm himself down after being in a room full of monsters.

He has realized that this isn’t simply a house belonging to Kim Seungcheol’s mafia.

This is a nest of alphas bred for war.

And he is the only omega in it.

But at the end of the day, it turns out to be a game of survival. One that will claw at his conscience, stab his body, and rip his soul. And Seonghwa is well versed in that art, whether he has been forced to learn or not. He just hopes that by the end of it, he will be there to see his hyung wake up.

Chapter Text

Seonghwa doesn’t sleep well. It’s fitful, tiring and he has turned around all night trying to find a position that settled his mind. It’s not the room-dark walls, mahogany furniture with the softest linens and laces, as much as it pleases the eye, it also feels luxurious. But it’s not lived in. Maybe that’s the reason. A room where every placement of furniture has been controlled so that it doesn’t feel like a home but a quiet display of power embedded in wealth.

When he finally blinks his eyes open after having a crashed sleep in the early hours of the morning, it takes a minute for his bleary mind and sleep-addled eyes to adjust to complete consciousness. And he stretches his legs under the covers, letting a small sound escape as he yawns in the space that is temporarily his—or so he thinks. Until he sees someone crouching next to the bed on the floor, eyes boring into every move Seonghwa makes. Every breath he takes.

San.

Gasping, Seonghwa shuffles away from him, the alpha being so, so close to him that it causes a shiver to run up his spine, staring into his soul as if he’s an object to be observed.

“Good morning!” He chirps, lips curling into a grin that makes his eyes disappear. Would have looked pleasant and adorable if it isn’t for the dead eyes and the invasion of space.

Seonghwa lets out a shuddering breath, pulling the cream-colored sheets around his body. He’s thankful for himself that he applied the neutralizer on his scent glands before going to sleep. San’s scent of warm, bright sunshine on linen—how ironic, the omega thinks—turns stale as he stands up, mood soured because Seonghwa did not respond.

Hastily bowing his head, Seonghwa clutches the sheets harder as he greets. “Good morning, San-ssi.”

It’s not like he’s naked underneath. In fact, he is wearing one of his pajama sets with long sleeves. It’s San’s gaze, raw and piercing, that has him being self-conscious. A grin appears on alpha’s face again as if somehow everything has gone the way he wants to. Seonghwa notices the bruised knuckles of both of his hands-something he doesn’t remember being there yesterday—and his mind wonders briefly what has caused the bruises.

“What are you?” San asks, rounding the bed and coming closer to where Seonghwa is. “I’ve been trying to figure it out for a while now… but I can’t.”

He speaks as if it’s childlike curiosity, and Seonghwa’s stomach churns. What does he mean by ‘for a while’? A few minutes in the early morning? A few hours? Or the entire night? Seonghwa curses in his mind at the last thought, his eyes flickering to the door that he doesn’t remember whether he locked or not. His mistake.

“I don’t think you should be concerned with that, San-ssi,” he says, slowly sliding out of the bed and backing up. San’s steps don’t falter. Till Seonghwa raises a hand, palm facing towards San. “You shouldn’t be here.”

San huffs, all breath and wind as he looks over Seonghwa. Oddly, it doesn’t feel sexual, nor does it feel lustful. Like it is, intrigued curiosity stemmed in a cat from seeing something it hadn’t seen before.

“Park Seonghwa… this is my house. There is nowhere I can’t be inside here.”

“Respectfully, you’re invading my privacy—“

“No one has privacy in this house,” San cocks an eyebrow. “What makes you think you do?”

Seonghwa does not know how to answer that. Instead, he is saved by someone who calls out San from a distance. From his bedroom, Seonghwa cannot identify who it is, but he’s grateful for him. San observes his face, where the tiniest bit of relief has probably seeped out. He steps back, annoyed, looking over to the direction from which he’s being called out. Then he looks at Seonghwa again.

“Make sure you do all your tasks, Seonghwa. All. Of your tasks.”

And he’s gone, striding straight and confident right out of the room.

The omega sighs deeply. The day hasn’t even begun and he’s already exhausted. Dragging himself into the bathroom after making sure the bedroom door is locked, he washes up, reapplies his balm, and takes the suppressants on an empty stomach. Now that he thinks about it, having them locked inside the bathroom drawer and the key kept hidden have been the best decision he had made within twenty-four hours of coming here.

Seonghwa stares at himself in the mirror, at his appearance, at his body, as if staring at it through the reflection might change his gender. His fingers brush over the new roll of bandage he brought into the bathroom with him, thumbing at it lost in thought before unraveling it. He wraps it around his chest, hiding the breasts that were barely a handful, tightening just enough so that he can easily breathe. He does not have the need to wear regular underwear like most other omegas, but he isn’t going to give the alphas of the house a need to open their mouths about it. 

Once the pants are pulled up and the turtleneck neatly tucked in, Seonghwa ties the plain black apron around him. He looks neat and clean, but not too colorful to standout. He blends in with the background in a seamless way that no one would notice him. Unless intentionally sought out.

Sunrays barely seep into the room from the closed window when Seonghwa steps out of the bathroom. He pushes the curtains aside and opens the windows to his room, letting the air in. The warmth of the sun falls on the stapled bunch of papers Seonghwa left on the table under the window, pages ruffled and corners folded messily like someone has gone through it. San, he thinks, and it suddenly makes sense. The way he has bidden farewell.

Locking the door behind him, Seonghwa makes his way inside the house. It takes him a couple of minutes, but he finds it. The kitchen. Somewhere that looks like it was built just because. Not to be used, but to be impressed by. It gleams with sterile perfection-cabinets with lacquered finishes, imported glassware and appliances, marble countertops and a dry sink.

Having dreamed to be a chef, Seonghwa’s heart tugs at the equipment left unused. He wonders what the previous housekeeper did if not at least made them three meals a day. Or maybe every trace of him has been erased, just as the man has been. Seonghwa touches the unopened bottles of spices placed in a cubed container inside one drawer, with some spices he has only heard of but have never seen.

Despite the prevailing situation, a small smile graces his lips as he thinks of all the foods he can make with them. A little burst of happiness for the inner child that he has long forgotten. Seonghwa runs the espresso machine before anything else, knowing that at least one or two would require caffeine to rush through the day. Out of all the choices he has in the third drawer of the first lower pantry cupboard, Seonghwa has chosen the Italian roast-Seungcheol’s regular—by instinct.

He's in the middle of making the third cup of coffee when he hears them approaching from the left wing of the house. The first to appear is Yunho, who he has gotten to talk with the most after the alpha has shown him around the house last night, registering his fingerprint in the biometric devices attached to each room. Right behind him is Hongjoong, who looks annoyed at Yunho for some reason even as the taller alpha tells him something with a grin on his face. They both stop when they see Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s face immediately turning dark. Seonghwa struggles to pull a mask over his face.

Hongjoong has that effect on him—like he can read through every one of Seonghwa’s moves before the omega can even lift a finger.

Despite the spreading unease, Seonghwa golds his hands neatly in front of him, lowering his eyes and his head.

“Good morning, Hongjoong-ssi, Yunho-ssi,” he wills his voice not to shake. “I made coffee. If you would like to leave instructions for breakfast-"

Hongjoong walks forward, grabs a mug and without even sparing a glance towards Seonghwa, he leaves. Seonghwa watches him walk away, taking the first step of the coffee. Then he freezes, only for a moment, before continuing on his way as if nothing has happened.

“I think he likes it,” Yunho says, winking at Seonghwa and smiling, though there is no mirth in his eyes. “By the way… Don’t make them black for everyone. Wooyoung likes milk in his and Mingi likes it extra sweet. And… for breakfast, I won’t have any. Make sure the sleeping ones are ready by ten. Or I’ll leave without them.”

Seonghwa stays looking down until a hand comes under his vision and taps the underside of his chin, causing him to look up.

“Don’t be so subservient,” he says, something in his eyes portraying a certain bottomless emotion that has Seonghwa’s breath catching at his throat. “I know you’re not. And I don’t like it.”

The alpha peers into Seonghwa’s eyes, as if making a point. Seonghwa raises a hand placing it on his chest, and gently pushes him back. It brings the alpha out of whatever mood he has put himself in, a tiny bit of surprise seeping into the hum he lets out.

“Understood, Yunho-ssi,” he says, going back to making coffee for the others. Yunho’s gaze on him weighs on the omega’s back as he watches Seonghwa working around the kitchen, silent and assessing. The next time Seonghwa raises his head, he’s gone—quietly disappeared from the kitchen without a trace as if he has never been there in the first place.

Seonghwa places the hot coffee in a trolley, accompanied by a pretty porcelain pot of milk and a sugar container. He pushes it towards the bedroom wing, heart stuttering at the nervousness creeping into him. He does not know how they will react, but he cannot hide behind ‘what ifs’ forever. So he decides to knock on the door before entering, keeping his eyes low and posture small just in case.

The first room he enters is Jongho’s. The alpha is already awake, room bright with opened curtains. He stands by the windows, fixing the sleeves of his shirt when he looks at Seonghwa who pulls a trolley in with an unreadable look on his face.

“Good morning, Jongho-ssi,” Seonghwa bows. “Coffee?”

Jongho stares at him for a long while, and Seonghwa stays in his spot, anxiety eating away his brain by the passing a second.

“Hmm.”

And he sighs a relieved breath. Seonghwa offers him a mug, asking if he needs any additions to the black coffee. He receives a silent shake of the head from the alpha, and Seonghwa bows again before leaving. Once he’s out of the room, Seonghwa breathes out. Out of all the ones he has met yesterday  Jongho seemed to be the quietest.

But Seonghwa knows not to underestimate. Often, the quietest ones are the strongest-something he learned when he worked at the run down brothel in the late nights.

Jongho looks the the part—with rippling muscles that Seonghwa saw the outline of underneath his shirt—and the youngest—with momentary mishaps to his stoic expression. He carries actions out in a disciplined manner, Seonghwa can tell, with the way he walks and with the way his fingers closed around the handle of the mug, like even the mere rhythm of his breathing has been taught to him.

The next room is Mingi’s. An alpha as tall as Yunho, who is equally as quiet as Jongho. But Seonghwa has seen how he looks when a conversation is held. He may move slowly, react slowly, but even if he looks like he rolled out of the bed at any given point of the day, his eyes observes. They hastily flicker here and there, assessing the speaker and their actions as if they can recognize things which the others cannot. Which is precisely why Seonghwa hesitates in front of the door before forcing himself to press his fingerprint and unlock it.

Mingi lounges in the couch at a corner of the room, headphones around his neck, half-asleep. Seonghwa doesn’t bring the trolley in, afraid that the sound of it will disturb the alpha. However, as soon as he steps in, Mingi wakes up, sharp eyes turned to him. Seonghwa freezes on the spot, hands folded over one another. He quietly greets Mingi, asking if he how many spoonful’s of sugar he needs in his coffee.

“Is it morning?” is what is asked of him as a response, and Seonghwa tilts his head to the side at the question before slowly nodding. Mingi stands up, striding over to the windows, pulling the curtains apart. Sunlight bleeds into a mess of a room that Seonghwa’s fingers itch to clean. Numerous gadgets thrown here and there, papers strewn over the floor, and a bed full of clothes that were already worn. Probably why the alpha fell asleep on the couch. Because there is no place to breathe.

“Four.”

Seonghwa looks up at him, puzzled.

“Sugar,” Mingi deadpans, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Seonghwa scrambles to prepare the coffee, while Mingi changes his clothes. Right in front of him. Averting his gaze, Seonghwa looks anywhere but at the alpha. Empty cans of energy drinks on the desk… an immaculate computer setup… a plethora of monitors fixed on the wall that are turned off… a small succulent on the stand by the window—the only thing green in the room… and a photo turned facedown as if Mingi never wishes to look at it.

“Mingi-ssi…   would you let me clean this room today?”

“Not while I’m not here,” Mingi says, nonchalantly, but Seonghwa hears the distrust laced in his voice. The omega nods, silently accepting it, and turns to leave. Only for him to be hit in the face with the clothes Mingi has worn just minutes ago. Nose full of a woody, musky scent, Seonghwa tries not to grimace in front of the alpha as he folds them up over his arm. “Wash it. Those too.”

Seonghwa follows the pointed finger towards the bed and nods. He moves fast and takes the worn clothes off the bed along with the bedding, all the while Mingi sipped on the coffee as he kept an eye on the omega. Seonghwa gathers all of the laundry in his arms, carefully making his way out of the door.

It slams behind him, causing him to flinch a little, but he doesn’t think twice about it as he hastily fills the hampers he put aside the storeroom in the basement before returning to the trolley. The steam of the coffee is barely wafting now, and Seonghwa needs to quickly distribute them. Neither San nor Yeosang ends up drinking coffee, and that leaves Wooyoung to be served in the end. He leaves the trolley in the hallway as he walks towards the end of it, the mug of coffee in his hands already mixed with milk. Since Mingi drank his own with no problem, Seonghwa assumes that Wooyoung will be fine too.

The door of the room is ajar when Seonghwa reaches it. The stench of the rotting alcohol is the first thing that hits his nose. Stale. Sour. Suffocating. Seonghwa winces at the mix of spilled liquor and unwashed clothes, stepping into the room with the mug of milk added coffee in his hands.

Wooyoung is sprawled out in an armchair, a bottle of whiskey barely hanging from his hand. He sits next to a floor-length mirror, his face turned towards it, staring but not really registering it in his alcohol-addled mind. The mirror is cracked on one corner, but no one seems to care enough to replace it—as if it’s a memory Wooyoung doesn’t want to fix.

There are bottles strewn across the room, some half empty, some full, and shot glasses with lipstick marks cracked. A long, marble ashtray with half-burnt cigarettes. Bed with thick black comforter rumpled and halfway thrown across the floor.

It's the room of someone who no longer cares.

Something tugs in Seonghwa’s heart at the lifeless look in Wooyoung’s eyes, which looked completely different from the other alphas of the house. Seonghwa slowly makes his way towards him, causing Wooyoung to finally take notice of the omega and look at him, a sluggish smile stretching his lips.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawls, motioning for Seonghwa to come close.

“Good morning, Wooyoung-ssi,” Seonghwa greets quietly, looking over at the dirty clothes the man seems to be wearing and the swaying bottle in his hands. The alpha takes a swig from it, his gaze fixated on the omega as he does.

“You made coffee for me?” he asks, eyeing the steaming mug cupped preciously in Seonghwa’s hands.

“I… don’t think you should drink it,” Seonghwa takes a step back.

“No,” Wooyoung gets up, abandoning the bottle in his hand. It falls to the floor, the remnants of alcohol in it pouring out and seeping into the deep red carpet on the floor. “You made it for me. I’ll…drink it for you.”

“You had whiskey on an empty stomach. You’ll get sick.“

“Aww, are you worried about me sweetheart?” Wooyoung sways dangerously, and Seonghwa almost drops the mug to catch him by the side. He grunts as he tries to balance Wooyoung, not wanting him to fall and hurt himself. The alpha stares at him with half-lidded eyes, subconsciously leaning his weight onto the omega.

In a second, the mug is yanked out of Seonghwa’s hand. Wooyoung chugs it down to the last drop, and then… freezes in shock.

“Seonghwa…” he rasps, dropping the mug to the floor. Seonghwa flinches as it shatters, dread filling his entire body at the tone Wooyoung used. “Did you… I’m allergic to milk…”

Seonghwa’s breathing shatters. “Wooyoung… I… God—“

“Calm down,” Wooyoung says, his earlier drunkenness disappeared as if he never touched alcohol in the first place. His fingers thread in Seonghwa’s hair as he makes the omega look at him, terrified and mindlessly lost. Then he snaps out of it. In a fraction of a second.

“No… No, you need to throw it up,” Seonghwa tears himself away from the alpha, pulling him towards the attached bathroom. Wooyoung follows obediently, a bit of shock in his face at something that Seonghwa cannot see. He makes Wooyoung kneel on the floor, forcing his mouth open before the alpha can even think about protesting, and shoves his fingers down Wooyoung’s throat. It takes two gags before Wooyoung is puking his guts out into the toilet. Seonghwa’s hands shake as he holds the alpha’s hair out of his face and rub his back, cursing at himself in his mind repeatedly as he sees the alpha heave.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” Seonghwa chants, praying to gods that Wooyoung will be alright. As he watches Wooyoung struggle to breathe in between vomiting, Seonghwa tries to choke back a helpless whimper. It reminds him of his own brother, who is severely allergic to nuts and had to be hospitalized every time he accidentally ingested them. Wooyoung doesn’t seem to be reacting fatally to milk, but it doesn’t ease Seonghwa’s heart even the tiniest bit.  

Groaning, Wooyoung pulls back after emptying his stomach. He leans heavily against Seonghwa’s side, who gathers him into his arms. The touch is oddly tender and soft, and it makes something ugly in Wooyoung’s heart raise its head.

Helping the alpha stand up, Seonghwa helps him clean up. His breathing is still uneven and his hands tremble while he washes Wooyoung’s face, taking in the worn out, haggard face of the alpha that didn’t reflect his youthful age.

“Where do you keep medicine?” Seonghwa asks, looking around while taking Wooyoung back to the bedroom.

“There,” Wooyoung grunts, wincing as he sits on the bed, palm running up and down his sternum. Seonghwa looks at the display of alcohol that he points at and exhales exasperatedly, tears of frustration gathering in his eyes.

“Wooyoung, please.”

It makes the alpha properly look at him, gaze unreadable. He takes a moment and then sighs, opening the bedside drawer and taking out a couple of bottles before popping them in, dry swallowing it.

“Wait, water—“ Seonghwa is yanked back by the arm when he attempts to run to the kitchen. He ends up kneeling on the floor, between the alpha’s spread thighs.

“Calm down, I’m fine,” Wooyoung means it this time; Seonghwa can tell. His heart takes time settling, and his hands stops shaking as he runs his eyes over Wooyoung’s weakened figure. “How did you think to add milk to it?”

Yunho. Seonghwa blinks, breath catching at his throat as he remembers. He had told himself that he will not play into any of the alpha’s hands when he entered the house, yet here he is, unknowingly tangled in one’s spider web.

“I… heard you liked milk, and Mingi-ssi liked sugar in his, so…”

“Who?” Wooyoung asks, fingers threading through Seonghwa’s hair and curling into a grip. “Who told you that?”

Seonghwa purses his lips, averting his gaze. If he says it’s Yunho…will Wooyoung believe him? Will he take the side of a housekeeper that stepped foot into this house yesterday or his pack mate that he has known for years? So he keeps his mouth shut, even as the grip on his hair tightens at his silence.

“Loyal, aren’t you?” Wooyoung hisses, leaning closer. “Then tell me this, sweetheart…”

The way he growls the endearment has Seonghwa shivering.

“Who were you thinking of when you helping me? Someone precious enough for you to cry?”

It’s as if Wooyoung is looking for a reaction, as if he’s trying to rip feelings out of him. Seonghwa curls his fingers around Wooyoung’s wrist, gently prying his hand away from his hair.

“I didn’t cry,” he says, standing up. Already shutting him out.   “I will prepare something easy for your stomach digest, Wooyoung-ssi. You shouldn’t take medicine on an empty stomach. Again…” he steps back and bows from his waist. “I apologize for the danger I put you in. It will not happen again.”

Wooyoung stares at him for a second, for the man who waits bowing till he gives permission to stand. “Back to honorifics? Tsk. Get out.”

What happened leaves Seonghwa shakes. No matter whose fault it is, by his hand, someone was almost pushed into a fatal condition. Seonghwa prepares rice porridge in a trance, his hands moving while his mind is absent. When he brings it to Wooyoung’s room, the alpha is already dressed. Despite the annoyance twisting Wooyoung’s face, he finishes the bowl of porridge while Seonghwa checks his temperature and discreetly looks for any sign of a symptom occurring. As the spoon clatters into an empty bowl, Seonghwa’s jittery heart eases a little.

“Seonghwa!”

The omega freezes, one hand on the door knob as he closed the door of Wooyoung’s room, the other clutching the bowl to his chest in a death grip. He looks up at Yunho, who’s fully dressed in leather and cotton, hair pushed back and gloves in place. The alpha stops in front of him, an easy smile on his face. Yet minutes ago, he gave instructions for him to almost kill his pack mate. Whatever the alpha was going to say gets forgotten as he looks over at the hardened expression on Seonghwa’s face.

A heart beat. And a grin curling his lips. Seonghwa takes an instinctive step back.

“Is everything okay?”

What is Seonghwa going to say? No? Was that because of him he had his fingers down Wooyoung’s throat trying to make him puke his guts out? That he almost became a murderer on the first day of his job? Instead, the omega nods. Slow. Intentional.

The grin on Yunho’s face widens.

“Good job!”

Good job surviving his first task that is. Seonghwa tastes acid in his mouth. And then Wooyoung storms out of his room, grabs Yunho by his collar and slams his back against the wall. Seonghwa stares shocked, the few seconds of it happening a blue in his head.

“I knew it was you!” Wooyoung hisses, and Yunho’s grin doesn’t falter. “Fucking bastard, are you trying to kill me?”

Seonghwa flinches when Wooyoung gets slammed against the wall in a fraction of a second. The height and body of Yunho’s completely cover him from Seonghwa’s view.

“You think I’ll let you die?”

The worst of it? Yunho sounds like he means it.

Seonghwa turns his back to them, going back to the safe space he has claimed for himself-the kitchen. He crouches behind the working table, hidden from the view of anyone coming into the kitchen. He takes deep breaths, letting what Yunho has done sink into his heart.

It is what it is, he thinks, closing his eyes and counting seconds.

The house of Kim Hongjoong is a den for wolves. If he has to survive in it, he must bare his own fangs in order to protect himself-sharper than theirs, quieter than the whisper of betrayal echoing in the halls. Because it seems in this place, softness is weakness, and weakness is blood in the water. 

Seonghwa waits outside when the cars arrive for them to leave. Hongjoong drives away in his own, and the others get in the cars with drivers and guards at the passenger seat, staring through their sunglasses at him, who is waiting at the doorway with his head lowered.

None of them acknowledge his presence as they leave—they don’t have to, and it’s better if they don’t—and Seonghwa doesn’t raise his head to meet anyone’s eyes. The house is shrouded in silence after they leave, even the faint sound of Seonghwa’s footsteps echoing in the house.

His day is spent meticulously. The first thing he does is take worn clothes out of each room. It piles onto a huge heap in the hallway, something Seonghwa stares at with his hands on his hips for a hot minute. Then he closes the door of the last room he has gone to with a soft click. Hongjoong’s. By definition a room, but somewhere, like his own, looked not lived in. Lonely. Or obsessively pristine. Heart unsettled, Seonghwa brings the heap of clothes to the storage room, where the washing machine has been set up.

Rows and rows of boxes in metal racks fills the rest of the room, which Seonghwa is not curious to peek in. the more he doesn’t know, the better. Unless he has been given the right to look through or clean something, he shall not. Hence why he doesn’t touch anything other than the clothes in the alpha’s rooms. Seonghwa separates clothes into piles of same or similar materials, and puts the first batch in the washing machine. He takes the time in between the batches to dust the rooms and vacuum the floors, wipe the windows down and mop the marble floors.

Out of the entire house, Seonghwa falls in love with the rooftop area that he choses to dry the clothes in, high from the ground and with an opened space perfect to view a starry sky and have tea on a shady evening. Seonghwa waters the plants that are kept around the edge of the rooftop area, saddened by the drooping leaves of the flowering bushes that should have bloomed by now.

Despite the fiasco in the morning, delving into chores that he knows how to do well eventually calms his heart, bringing him a peace that he hasn’t felt in a while.

Preparing for dinner, Seonghwa looks over at the list of preferences in the task list that has been given to him. He wonders why anyone’s allergies or medical conditions have not been listed in it. Then again… if someone were to look at the list of preferences and their schedules, one would think of them as pure-blooded alphas with primal strength that dominate through force.

However… Either the person who prepared the details was not aware of Wooyoung’s allergy, or these alphas were not allowed to have any weaknesses.

Something claws at Seonghwa’s chest… that he ignores. Completely and undeniably. He reminds himself that he’s here for a job, for money, and nothing else.

Busying his mind and body in preparing dinner, Seonghwa lets the time pass by. Once he has done cooking, he sets the table. He is just in time for the alphas to return home, and he thinks they would appreciate seeing a table full of steaming food waiting for them. So he sets the table, cutlery in place, plates glistening with cleanness, bowls of kimchi jjigae, stir-fried chicken with vegetables, a few other side dishes and white rice filling up the middle of the table. By the end it looks like a table prepared for that one wealthy family in the dramas he used to watch, and he cannot deny the way his heart fills up at the appearance of it.

Seonghwa snaps a picture of it through his phone-something he wants to show to his hyung when he wakes up.

When he hears the cars pulling up the driveway, Seonghwa subconsciously neatens the subtle wrinkles of his outfit and practically runs to the front to greet them. Then he does it again-eyes low, head lower. He notices that not all who went out came home—Wooyoung is not there, along with San. His mind is not allowed to wander as he has to go after them.

Hongjoong cares not about the table of food, arguing under his breath with Yunho who trails after him in a sense of urgency. Yeosang shakes his head at Seonghwa, heading off towards his room as well, Mingi taking after him. The only one who remains…is Jongho.

Seonghwa cannot read his face at all. The younger alpha stares at the table as if it’s a dream. Time ticks by, minutes pass by until Jongho sits at the table. Seonghwa lets out a breath he has not known that he had been holding in. Jongho slowly helps himself with rice, staring at the steam coming off of it. He grabs a spoon, about to scoop a spoonful when Seonghwa stops him with a hand placed over his.

“Please let me…” Seonghwa trails off and then quickly takes a wet napkin. He gently takes Jongho’s hands in his, wiping the crooks and crannies of the hand. Not because he wants to invade Jongho’s space. Not because he wants to be subservient. Only because his eyes has caught of dried specks of blood in between Jongho’s fingers. He feels the alpha’s gaze on him, deep and quiet. The kind that Seonghwa doesn’t know what to think of. But he doesn’t pull away or push Seonghwa away, so the omega keeps going until the alpha’s hands are clean.

If there’s one thing Seonghwa likes to see, it is people enjoying his food. The people who have been his food critics all his life are no longer here. So to see Jongho eating well fills his heart with warmth, something he wasn’t sure he will ever feel again. Seonghwa discards the used napkin, washing his hands with his back to the alpha when he opens his mouth.

“Thank you,” he says, voice deep and soft. Seonghwa looks at him, the only person who hasn’t despised his presence, at least from the outside.

“You’re welcome,” Seonghwa says, just as softly, smiling at him.

“Don’t wait up for Wooyoung and San… They won’t be coming back tonight.”

“Thank you for letting me know,” Seonghwa says, wiping his hands dry. “Jongho-ssi, what would you like for breakfast tomorrow?”

Jongho sips on a spoonful of soup and then proceeds to bite on a piece of tofu, thinking. Somehow, his face when he wonders looks innocent, despite Seonghwa wiping blood off his hands seconds ago.

“Egg rice…”

“With soy sauce?” Seonghwa asks, his own memories of his mother making it for him resurfacing.

“Mhm,” Jongho takes the last spoonful of rice into his mouth.

Seonghwa hums appreciatively at the empty plate and bowl. Jongho looks up at him at the sound he made, making Seonghwa a bit self-conscious with his slightly widened eyes and lips parted in surprise. Cheeks feeling warm, Seonghwa waits until the alpha leave the table to take the used cutlery to the sink.

“You!”

Whatever bubble that he has created pops with Jongho’s quiet astonishment as Mingi marches in.

“Where is the blue remote that was on my table?”

Seonghwa blinks. “Mingi-ssi… I did not touch anything your room. I only vacuumed the floors.

“Then where is it?” He hisses, distressed and clearly angry at the fact that he cannot find the remote. “It’s used for the surveillance cameras. Why were the cameras off? Did you not want them to record what you’ve been doing in the house? Is that why you hid the remote?”

Jongho carefully steps aside, glancing between Mingi and Seonghwa. Then he leaves, unwilling to be in the middle of conflict that did not involve him. Turning his attention back to Mingi who’s running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Mingi-ssi… I did not know that the monitors in your room were for surveillance cameras, but they were turned off since before you left home. If you would like me to help you find the remote—“

“No. I definitely turned them on,” Mingi interrupts, coming closer towards him. Pheromones radiate from him, suffocating the air around the omega. Yet, Seonghwa holds his ground, head up high, staring at Mingi.

“Mingi…” Seonghwa switches his gaze from the tall alpha towards the person who’s standing in the way towards the left. Hongjoong. “What…are you doing?”

“He stole my remote.“

“I did not—“

“Why are you acting like a child?” The tone of Hongjoong’s voice silences both him and Mingi. He looks as if he was scolding petulant children, ones that knows better but acts just because. Seonghwa averts his gaze. “What is it that you really want? To search his room? Or to create a petty excuse to have him kicked out?”

“I’m not a child,” Mingi growls.

“Well… you’re certainly acting like one,” Hongjoong crosses his arms over his chest, looking pointedly at Mingi. Then, he looks at Seonghwa.

“Park Seonghwa,” the omega suppresses a shiver at the coldness in the tone of his voice. “Mingi is so adamant on you being a thief… Why?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Seonghwa says quietly, hands playing with the side hems of his apron. Hongjoong follows the fiddling of his hands, gaze cold and assessing.

“Open up your room.”

Dread settles in the pit of his stomach. Seonghwa swallows thickly, beads of sweat forming at his forehead.

“Why? You can’t?” Hongjoong tilts his head to the side. “You have something to hide?”

“N-no, sir,” Seonghwa says, his voice barely above a whisper. He wastes only a second before taking the lead, walking towards his room. Every step he takes the dread pooled in his stomach churn, causing him to feel sick. His own footsteps echoes in his ears, the closing distance of the hallway to the servants’ wing seeming like a dream. At the front of his room, his trembling hands unlock the door to his room with the heavy key he always keeps in his pocket.

Unlike the alpha’s rooms, the servants’ rooms do not have a biometric lock, and Seonghwa only has the access to his own room in the entire wing. As he steps aside, letting the two alphas in, Seonghwa subconsciously clenches his hands.

“Mingi,” Hongjoong says, stretching an arm out and blocking Mingi’s way-but his eyes are on Seonghwa, unmoving, the intensity of his gaze burning through Seonghwa. “Let me take over.”

Hongjoong observes the room as if he has never stepped foot in this area of the house. He probably hasn’t, Seonghwa thinks bitterly, as he watches the alpha’s fingertips brush over the edges and crooks of furniture with an ease that has Seonghwa fidgeting. Over the edge of the table, through the neatly folded sheets of his bed, and inside the drawers and the wardrobe, tension bleeds into every space that the alpha touches. All the while Hongjoong searches his room, he keeps glancing back at Seonghwa as if to coax a reaction out of him, as if to see an emotion flicker through his face. And

Seonghwa tries his hardest not to show anything as the alpha inches closer and closer to the bathroom.

The moment he touches the locked drawer, Seonghwa exhales shakily. Sweat now runs down from his temple, his throat oddly dry. He looks at the alpha who cocks an eyebrow at the unopening drawer.

“This is locked…” He states something that is obvious, like he wants everyone to know that he has found it. “Open it.”

When he receives no response from Seonghwa, Hongjoong looks up, his gaze smoldering with an icy fire that crackles down the omega’s spine.

“Open it, Seonghwa. Now.”

Behind him, Mingi shifts. Seonghwa hesitates just one more second, heart hammering in his chest as he comes closer to Hongjoong. His feet drags, his body quivers faintly, but he takes the key out of his apron pocket and puts it through the keyhole, twisting it. He blocks the view from Mingi, curling his fingers around the knob, and pulling the drawer down. It resists at first but falls open with a low groan.

Inside are Seonghwa’s suppressants, the neutralizer balm, and the rolls of unraveled bandages.

Seonghwa watches in horror as Hongjoong’s gaze slowly shifts from his face and falls upon the opened drawer.

Chapter Text

The soft click of the drawer closing makes Seonghwa’s heart jump to his throat. His arms are wrapped around himself, as if he’s shielding himself from an oncoming crash. His hands are clammy, clenched into fists, trapped under the hug. Trepidation claws at his chest, pulling itself up and hovering over him like a sword hanging over his head.

And Hongjoong…simply moves on to the next drawer.

Seonghwa runs his eyes over the unreadable expression on the alpha’s face. He may have tried to look nonchalant and at ease, but he knows that Hongjoong knew what he had seen. The barest flicker of recognition in his eyes before he closed the drawer, but he made no effort to announce it to the other alpha hovering above.

“It’s not here, Mingi,” he finally says, after looking into the final set of closed drawers.

Seonghwa shifts aside for the alpha to walk.

“First,” he looks up at the taller alpha, arms crossing over his chest. “You apologize to him.”

Mingi’s eyes widen when Hongjoong gestures to Seonghwa. “Hyung, he’s just a-“

“Mingi.”

The alpha in question frowns, jaws ticking as he observes Hongjoong’s unyielding posture and tone before huffing in frustration. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking away from the other two, his apology falling on a random spot on the floor. Still, Seonghwa silently nods when Hongjoong’s focus falls on him. He doesn’t want anything to escalate.

“Good. Have you asked the others?”

“Why would they take it, hyung? They have no interest in what I do unless someone actually gets past our security—“

“So, you didn’t?” Is that what Hongjoong concludes?" he asks with a cocked eyebrow. Something tells Seonghwa that he should not witness this. This discipline. This stern disassembly of someone’s pride under Hongjoong’s gaze. Hongjoong’s voice is not raised, but it doesn’t have to be. Because every word of his cut right through Seonghwa’s skin. And he is merely the bystander. “You made a conclusion that you took it based on your assumptions and bias and caused a scene?”

By now Mingi’s entire face is red, the color slowly spreading to his ears and neck. It’s not shame that is evident on his face; it’s the helplessness and reluctant admittance of his own mistake. He looks at Seonghwa properly, this time, eyes on eyes, and his voice is the faintest bit shaky. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright,” Seonghwa manages to say, finally letting out a breath that he hasn’t realized he has been holding.

“Better,” Hongjoong approves, his voice losing its tightness, and suddenly it looked like everyone could breathe again. Then he pats Mingi’s back, guiding him out of the room. Having the space to breathe again, Seonghwa leans against the bathroom drawers, a hand over his slowing heart.

He doesn’t know what to think and how to think. It feels like he has evaded a bullet, but also not. It feels like there’s a bigger, sharper bullet waiting to be shot. With the information Hongjoong has stored in his head, he is basically holding a knife to Seonghwa’s throat. A way to mold into anything Hongjoong wants. A way to puppeteer him into doing everything the alpha wants.

Seonghwa spends only a fleeting moment to wallow in it. He takes a deep breath and neatens his uniform. His day is not over yet.

The first thing he does is cover the food on the table. Jongho may have had his fill, but seeing most of it untouched causes his heart to ache, but he doesn’t let it get to his head. There are still a couple of hours till everyone retires to sleep, so he hopes at least a few others will have dinner. Or at least ask him to make what they want. He lets the warmth of Jongho asking for egg rice for breakfast bloom in his heart, something small but wrapped his exhausted heart in a cozy hug.

Later, when his feet carry him to the left wing, Seonghwa hesitates but a moment before knocking on the opened door of Mingi’s bedroom. The alpha is staring at his room with his hands on his hips, eyes blank and chest rapidly rising and falling like it’s the aftermath of conducting a full-scale bedroom excavation. The room is messier than when the omega has gone in to vacuum it. The bed is finally free of the pile of clothes that had taken its space, the somber grey bedding of it wrinkled. Instead, the clothes lay strewn over random places on the floor. The curtains are askew, the furniture pushed off from their formerly placed positions.  

Rapping his knuckles on the door twice, Seonghwa gains Mingi’s attention.

“What?” He asks, bitterly, his hands falling to his sides.

“Will you let me clean the room and find the remote for you, Mingi-ssi?”

Mingi’s face twists into an expression that looks ready to reject his offer.

“Please?” Seonghwa says, just as the alpha opens his mouth.

Mingi observes him for a moment, his gaze intense. Calculating. Trying to figure out what Seonghwa is trying to achieve. Then, he sighs. Resignedly. “Fine.”

Seonghwa brings the necessities that are needed for the task and ties his hair up so that it will not fall over his face. Even though it’s quite late for a cleaning session, Seonghwa feels like it’s a must. He feels eyes on the exposed bit of skin in the nape of his neck, but when he glances back, Mingi has already moved onto pulling the curtains over the windows, covering whatever rays of the moon have been quietly seeping into the room.

The trash bag he has brought fills up quickly. Wondering how Mingi has even survived surprise Seonghwa, but it still isn’t as bad as Wooyoung’s room. The laundry basket that he has emptied in the morning fills to the brim, not only with worn clothes but also with clean ones that lay around with the dirty ones too. Seonghwa cocks an eyebrow at a pair of shorts that has somehow gotten stuck under the couch but snatches it off the floor before Mingi comments on it.

A new set of light blue bedding is pulled over the mattress, with faint grey lines patterned into it. It reminds Seonghwa of hospitals, but the color still matches well with the deeper blue of the curtains in the room. Seonghwa moves on to wiping surfaces of the furniture in the room. Despite him dusting down what he can in the morning, it still ends up with a complete pack of wipes finished after he’s done. To his dismay, Mingi doesn’t let him touch the computer setup. So he leaves it be for now, organizing the things that were shoved out of place while searching for the surveillance system’s remote.

It's when Seonghwa is vacuuming the couch that he finds the remote wedged in between the small space in the metal frame of it that he sighs in relief. Seonghwa had just removed the cushions from it to run the upholstery vacuum over it when he saw the tiny black thing. A soft grunt escapes him as he squeezes his hand in to get it, followed by a sound of victory that he involuntarily lets out.

It makes sense. Mingi had slept on the couch the night before. He must have had the remote with him but eventually forgot about it as he fell asleep. But… How is it possible that the alpha didn’t check the couch as the first place to lose the remote?

Questioning Mingi’s short-term memory in his mind, Seonghwa walks over to the distressed alpha fidgeting in his high-back computer chair and hands it to him. Mingi stares at it as if he couldn’t believe the square little thing was real, but he immediately pushes a few buttons on it, and the surveillance setup’ comes to life.

 Seonghwa’s breathing hitches. It’s not one or two; it’s a plethora of cameras fixed inside the house, around the house, and outside. The front gate, the backyard, the porch, the garage, every hallway, every wing, and…every room. Including the non-using ones, and including his own. He sees Yeosang cleaning a gun, Yunho watching something on a tablet, and Hongjoong… reading some papers before he pauses and looks right at the camera as if he sensed the cameras turning on. Seonghwa has not seen even one camera the entire time he has been here. Not to the visible eye. The only places that were not monitored were the bathrooms.

Seonghwa looks at Mingi, who intently runs his eyes over the monitors, before locking gazes with Seonghwa. His eyes are immediately hardened, with a sharpened edge to them.

A silent warning.

That there’s no place Seonghwa can hide here.

Swallowing thickly, backing up. He finishes off cleaning the couch, his mind hazy, not used to the fact that someone will always watch him, twenty-four seven. Mingi leaves the room when he’s done with his job. Taking a minute to admire the pristinely cleaned room, Seonghwa let out a breath in contentment. He sees Mingi entering Hongjoong’s office from the camera while on the way out of the room, only to return with a plate of food for Mingi. He’s sure that the alpha would appreciate a hot meal after spending energy on creating chaos.

As he closes the door behind him, Seonghwa notices that the hallway is engulfed in darkness. The only light that is turned on is at the end of it, dim and falling over the room at the furthest. Seonghwa looks at the light fixed onto the wall opposite Mingi’s door, frowning at it. He taps on the touch panel embedded into the wall, turning the light on and dimming it to the perfect brightness for nighttime.

“Turn it off.”

Seonghwa looks up at Mingi, who has somehow crept up behind him unknowingly.

“O-oh, Mingi-ssi—“

“Turn the light off.” Mingi takes a step closer, his voice tight and clipped. He isn’t asking. He is commanding. Seonghwa quickly presses the touch panel again, turning the light off. In the tight, narrow hallway that stretches towards the faint light coming from the end of it, Seonghwa and Mingi are shrouded in darkness.

Seonghwa lowers his gaze when Mingi comes close, significantly aware of the height and broadness of the alpha’s body closing in the distance.

“Don’t ever turn it on.”

Seonghwa dares not to look up, the alpha’s musky pheromones bleeding into the air around them as he talked. So he lowers his head more and nods.

“Yes, Mingi-ssi,” Seonghwa says, his voice quiet. Satisfied, Mingi turns back to leave but then stops.

“I’m sorry I made a mess. I shouldn’t have pointed my finger at you needlessly like that.”

At that moment, Seonghwa feels the weight in his heart gradually lighten.

“It’s alright,” he softly assures. “I’m used to such things.”

Mingi doesn’t say anything, but he spares a long, considerate glance over Seonghwa and leaves. Well… Seonghwa isn’t wrong. It isn’t that odd for a workplace to accuse the less fortunate first when something goes amiss. An easy target despite them not committing a crime, a perfect pawn to use when someone needs to blame something on them. Though he believes Mingi to not have ulterior motives, his tendency to lose himself the moment he’s distressed unsettles Seonghwa deep within.

Sighing, Seonghwa relaxes, the tension in his body slowly releasing as he slacks against the wall. He hopes the alphas have now retired for bed—except maybe Hongjoong—and decides to end the first day full of mayhem with a firm full stop.

The next morning, he finds the plate of food he left for Mingi emptied and cleaned.

…

Seonghwa loves the smell of coffee. He loves how it signifies the start of a day, regardless of the time it can be enjoyed. It’s a breath of purpose, a gentle pull from dreams to waking life—a moment where it brings you to just be present, not asking to be anything else. Though he’s not sure what having a third cup of coffee within an hour of waking up will do to a body.

Unless Kim Hongjoong isn’t human.

Admiring the soft bitterness of the steam it wafts, Seonghwa brings the mug of coffee to Hongjoong’s office, where the alpha is wide awake and fluttering through document after document. He’s not sure if the alpha has slept the night before because there are no visible signs of sleep deprivation.

Unless Kim Hongjoong has managed to perfect a mask even for that.

Placing the mug on the small, round coaster, Seonghwa glances at Hongjoong discreetly. The only thing that disturbs the silence of the room other than the soft clink of porcelain meeting ceramic is the rustle of paper and the scribbling of the pen. The alpha is engrossed in the document that he’s reading and noting, as if he doesn’t sense the omega standing next to his desk. His eyes run over the printed lines of words on the paper, taking in the descriptions fast before jotting down things next to those paragraphs.

A moment of trepidation later, Seonghwa clears his throat. And in that second, the scribbling of the pen pauses. But Hongjoong doesn’t look up, yet Seonghwa knows he’s listening.

“Breakfast, Hongjoong-ssi?”

“No need. I’m going out,” a short, clipped answer that has Seonghwa nodding. The omega turns to leave, but it seems Hongjoong isn’t done with him yet. “Sit down, Park Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa freezes, his body locking down. The tick of the old-style wooden clock on the wall echoes inside the room. Should he make a run for it? His childish mind unhelpfully supplies, but Seonghwa sits down anyway. For a moment, Seonghwa stares at Hongjoong, and in return, Hongjoong does the same. To Seonghwa, it looks as if the alpha is analyzing him, not his body, but his expression. He hopes he’s not giving anything away, but with Hongjoong, it’s impossible to know.

He looks like a man of intuition—like his father, but also different from him. Something about him feels darker, unsettling, whether it’s because he’s at his prime holding power in his mere gaze or not, Seonghwa doesn’t know. But he’s the only alpha here that Seonghwa learned not to defy; kudos to his observations.  

“Who are you?” He asks, and Seonghwa remembers the question San asked him. But Hongjoong is more focused on who Seonghwa is, not what. And Seonghwa isn’t sure how to answer it. Before he can conjure up an answer, the alpha speaks again. “I looked into you…” he leans forward, slightly, his voice low. “And I found nothing. No records. No past. Nothing. Why?”

Seonghwa wills his heart to be calm. He has known that Seungcheol would cover his tracks so that no one would be able to throw a noose around his neck, but he had expected at least a bit of his life—childhood, maybe his schools’ details—would be left alone. But he had given nothing away. Does he not trust them even that much?

“Maybe… I’m not someone noteworthy, Hongjoong-ssi…”

The alpha scoffs lightly, leaning the weight of his head against his hand, propped against the arm of the chair. He twirls the pen in his hand, a motion that Seonghwa’s gaze momentarily flicks to.

“Maybe someone is protecting you…” Hongjoong pretends to think. “My father?”

Seonghwa purses his lips. “I’m just… here for a job. And nothing else.”

“Then why do you hide your second gender?” Eyes turn sharp. Voice sharper. “Do you think anyone in this house cares that you’re an omega?”

“I think you do,” Seonghwa bites his inner cheek hard as soon as the words fly out of his mouth. But he can’t stop. “Otherwise you won’t be asking about it right now.”

Hongjoong scoffs again, this time louder. “You’re in my house, Park Seonghwa. And I don’t know who the fuck you are. I only know your name and something that I found accidentally. Don’t you think I need to know who’s under my roof? Walking around and mingling with my pack? You might as well be a spy, and I wouldn’t know.”

“I’m just a housekeeper, Hongjoong-ssi. Nothing more and nothing less,” Seonghwa says, fixating his gaze on Hongjoong’s, and the alpha’s eyes bore through him. Intensely observing him as if he’s a puzzle to be solved.

Silence lingers between them, uncomfortable yet electric.

“No, Seonghwa… You don’t understand…” Hongjoong stands up and slowly rounds the table like a prowling panther. He leans his weight on the edge of the desk front and bends forward from the waist, peering into Seonghwa’s face. “It has barely been a couple of days since you have been here. And I see them changing. One by one. For the better. Or the worst.” 

Genuinely curious, Seonghwa tilts his head to the side. “Is that…bad?”

Hongjoong straightens, eyes hardening as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you want me to say no?”

Seonghwa stays silent. Hongjoong walks away from him, stopping in front of the floor-length window and looking out. But his gaze is distant, as if he’s not here, present in the square walls of his office. “As long as you don’t become their weakness.”

“Isn’t it a good thing then… that I hide that I’m an omega?”

“Seonghwa…” Hongjoong chuckles humorlessly. “I told you. You being an omega or not doesn’t matter. Did we get this far with them knowing that?”

“Hongjoong-ssi…” Seonghwa stands up, hands neatly placed one over the other on his lower stomach. “Do you really believe what you say? Can you…guarantee that everyone in this house will not care about my second gender?”

Hongjoong turns to face him—the light seeping in from outside casting on one half of his body, bright and glowing. Yet his eyes contain a thinly veiled uncertainty that Seonghwa clearly sees despite his words. A crack in the alpha’s perfectly honed mask. Seonghwa smiles. Just a little.

“That’s what I thought.”

….

Rice.

Lean meats.

Eggs.

Leeks.

Seonghwa jots down the list of ingredients that need to be refilled in the storage, with the quantities needed. Not all of them are eating all three meals a day, but he has gained a regular at the dining table—Jongho. And Mingi, most of the time. The alpha always preferred to eat in his room, just like Wooyoung.

Wooyoung has come home early that morning.

Drunk. Unsteady on his feet. Reeking of alcohol—the smell so rancid that it takes Seonghwa a moment to realize that it’s a blend of multiple brands. He has guided Wooyoung to his room amidst the drunken blabbering, where words are slurred and incomprehensible, and the alpha has gone cold the moment his head hits the pillow. He doesn’t wake until that evening, when Seonghwa has stood menacingly still in the middle of his room with a plate of food in his hand until Wooyoung whined and whined like a child before giving in.

The alpha hasn’t stomached much, but Seonghwa thinks a few mouthfuls are a great start. So he brings Wooyoung dinner too—finding him surprisingly sober, though he avoided meeting Seonghwa’s gaze as if his life depended on it—before retiring to his room for the night.

Now, though, sitting at the dining table in his navy pajamas and scribbling down the list of necessities, he does the task he has almost forgotten. The only bright light is in the kitchen. The storage room door is left ajar so that he can go in again to double-check the items he made a note of. The house is quiet. The hush of the night has settled into the walls and floor, still and serene, like nothing would disturb the tranquility of it.

Or so Seonghwa assumes.

The slam of the front door against the wall startles him. Whoever comes in has barely waited till the security panel unlocks it. The only thread of safety that hangs onto Seonghwa’s heart is that no one outside will be able to come in. Seonghwa jumps to his feet, notebook and pen abandoned, hands clenching at his sides uselessly.

In storms San, who Seonghwa saw leaving the house two days ago. The sight of him leaves the omega breathless. He’s still wearing the same clothes he did when he left, not a thread askew. His hair as well, slicked back, forehead exposed, still in place probably with the grime and sweat that has matted into the hair strands. Seonghwa swallows—his throat suddenly dry at the sight of something else.

Blood.

Coating San’s forearms where his shirt sleeves have been folded up, messily wiped, but enough remains on the skin—clinging like tendrils of violence. Not like—probably are. The splatters on his face, dried and forgotten. Like sins that linger until water dares to erase what time cannot.

San doesn’t see him, his feet carrying him towards his room, his mind in a daze. His tensed body, tight jaws, and haunting eyes make Seonghwa’s breath hitch, and he stays still as if his mere breathing might disturb the alpha.

Only when the sound of another door shutting in the left wing does Seonghwa exhale, wasting just one more second before moving. Grabbing a plain wooden tray that he doesn’t usually use, Seonghwa messily throws in antiseptics, gauze, bandages, and anything else that might be needed. He’s not sure if San will even accept him invading his space, but he’s at least going to try. He’s here for that.

Seonghwa may be a housekeeper, but a house is no home if the warmth has long since bled through the walls.

When he hurries over to the bedroom wing with the tray in his hands, feet padding over the floor, he comes face-to-face with Hongjoong. He’s standing right in front of San’s room, finger hovering over the touch panel as he watches Seonghwa. His gaze drops to the tray Seonghwa is carrying, then rises back up to meet the omega’s.

Wordlessly, he takes it from Seonghwa. His thumb presses into the panel, and when the door unlocks, he goes in without knocking to announce his presence. Seonghwa shakes his head at himself. Why would Hongjoong ever need to make himself known? He’s the head alpha of the pack. And when the door shuts to his face, Seonghwa’s worries are left unsettled.

Pressing his back against the wall next to the door, Seonghwa sits on the floor. He won’t be able to have a good sleep without knowing if he will be needed at any point. And maybe… just maybe… he’s worried about the alpha himself. Though San is definitely not normal, Seonghwa can’t find the heart to leave him alone. Even if Hongjoong is right by his side. So he stays there for God knows how long, picking at the skin around his nails till they become red. He can’t hear anything, probably because of soundproofed walls, but he definitely convinces himself that the one time he hears a dull thud is an object hitting the wall right on the other side of where Seonghwa is.

When Hongjoong comes back out, he’s empty-handed. Seonghwa doesn’t ask where the tray is, or what happened to cause a scratch mark deep and red on the alpha’s arm, or what the faint sound earlier was. He just grabs the hem of Hongjoong’s shirt before he pointedly ignores and walks past Seonghwa and whispers.

“Is he okay?”

Hongjoong looks at him silently, and Seonghwa wonders if he looks desperate because the alpha gives in. And answers.

“He will be.”

It’s an answer that Seonghwa doesn’t know how to react to. The alpha walks away, leaving Seonghwa by himself to figure out what it means. Overnight? A few days? An infinite time?

Settling back to his spot on the ground, Seonghwa draws his knees towards his chest, curling himself into a ball. How can he sleep? What if San calls for someone, and no one hears? What if he needs something, and no one is there to help him?

You care too much, his mind hisses, but Seonghwa ignores it. Tries so hard to. Yet his body refuses to move, as if it’s glued to the ground. As if he’s waiting for permission.

Unknowingly, he falls asleep.

Right there on the floor, tucked into himself. Head lowered at an awkward angle, spine stiff from staying in the same position. Seonghwa doesn’t even have a clear mind to wonder how he even fell asleep when he sees San.

Sitting next to him.

On the floor.

Seonghwa’s neck makes a grimacing cracking sound as he double-takes, eyes widening at the proximity.

“Good morning,” San says, coolly, tilting his head. “What are we doing?”

Seonghwa is speechless. With the way the hallway has brightened in the slightest, he believes it’s morning. He has knocked himself out like death in a crouched position, and his muscles and bones were screeching at him. But his focus is on the alpha, casually sitting cross-legged in a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt. The reddened rims of his eyes hold an untold story, to which Seonghwa doesn’t have the right to ask him.

The exposed skin of his arms leaves nothing to hide—a plethora of scars deeply embedded into the alpha’s skin, some light, some dark, some raised, and some sunken. As if he has fought for his life for years just to survive. Reminders of memories never to be forgotten.

Seonghwa blinks. And blinks. Until he meets San’s gaze.

“How are you feeling?”

San stares at him for a second, then looks away, slacking against the wall. “Fine.”

Seonghwa looks over him again. No bandages, no injuries visible. But is he truly fine?

You care too much, his mind hisses again.

“You… the blood…”

“Not mine,” San closes his eyes, as if hiding something. But in his hollow eyes, Seonghwa wonders if he can truly portray emotions. Then he grins and opens his eyes. “Is this a new way of seducing?”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, even if it appears impudent. “Absolutely not, San-ssi…”

San tuts and goes silent again. The quiet between them is oddly comfortable, much to Seonghwa’s surprise, but he doesn’t want to let his guard down. Not yet.

Grunting a little as he gets up, Seonghwa stretches before holding a hand out for San to take. The alpha stares at it blankly and then stands. Seonghwa retracts his hand, awkwardly letting it fall by his side.

“See you later, sweetheart,” San throws the words over his shoulder, disappearing behind his bedroom door again.

…

Jongho is actually the definition of a sweetheart. He sits down every morning at the dining table and requests the same breakfast as the day before. Egg rice with soy sauce soaked into the warmth of the rice. And it may or may not be the third day of Seonghwa wishing he had the time to make a big batch of kimchi so that Jongho can munch on that in between mouthfuls of egg rice too. He has also started to help Seonghwa by bringing the used dishes into the sink, but Seonghwa assumes that it is majorly because of him almost dropping a plate to the ground in courtesy of Yunho sneaking up on him.

Speak of the devil.

Yunho comes striding down, with Yeosang in tow, before he halts.

“Jongho…” he calls the other alpha like a warning. “Aren’t you coming?”

“…I’m staying in today,” Jongho says, not turning towards them as he stays by Seonghwa’s side. Something tells the omega that Yunho did not like that response. And by the way the corner of his eye twitches, Seonghwa’s assumptions are confirmed.

“Have fun playing the baby then,” he storms off, Yeosang following behind with a frown deeply marred into his features. Seonghwa quickly bows as they leave, not wanting to give them a chance to criticize his actions.

After the encounter that happened on the first day, Yeosang has been keeping his distance from Seonghwa. He never speaks, never asks for help, and he hasn’t approached Seonghwa either. But Seonghwa leaves him be—he can’t force interactions, nor can he make them do anything unless they themselves give in. He’s more concerned about Jongho, who has gone deadly silent beside him, absentmindedly wiping cutlery.

The alpha may be silent most of the time, but it is the type of quiet that leaves Seonghwa a little shaken.

“Jongho-ssi?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you taking a day off?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you won’t be in trouble?”

“What for?” Jongho looks up at him, curious.

Because Yunho looks like he wants to strangle me, Seonghwa thinks, but opts to say something else. “Just… Yunho-ssi’s reaction.”

Jongho goes back to his task again. “Don’t worry about him.”

So Seonghwa doesn’t. Or at least tries to. Yunho’s face haunts him—the glare, the distaste, the barely hidden anger. But the omega distracts himself with chores and with worrying over San’s meals left untouched on the trolley parked outside his room.

The morning passes by quietly. Seonghwa has scrubbed the kitchen clean, the faint smell of lemon and bleach invading his senses. He has also sent the list of necessities to Jung Baekhyun, from whom he received the reply of a date, which Seonghwa assumes is when his order will arrive. He has also just piled up the clean but wet laundry into a basket, struggling but carrying it to the rooftop.

The water he has fed the plants has vaporized under the heat of the sun, and the flowers bloomed, swaying lightly in the gentle but warm breeze. Seonghwa pulls the clothesline where he keeps it tucked in and hangs the clothes one by one. Though most of the clothes are branded ones that each may cost a few months of his salary, he assumes that a bit of sun might not harm them.

Once he’s done, he puts his hands over his hips, admiring the hanging clothes that sway like the petunias under the breeze. Nothing brings him satisfaction like a task done well. Rubbing the sore spots over his aching arms, Seonghwa sits down on one of the chairs of the rattan lounge set under the canopy. He groans at the much-needed rest his body is screaming for, knowing that he can’t really have a proper sleep until he finishes that day. So he pulls out his phone, needing a bit of comfort. The soft pad of his index finger taps on the gallery, swiping till he finds the album created for his family.

He misses them… very much. Too much, that his heart feels the barely healed wound reopening at the sight of his parents’ proud and happy smiles as they stand with his brother after him winning second place in a swimming tournament. He swipes, admiring each and every photo for the thousandth time, until he finds a photo of him and his brother. A selfie where his brother has tricked Seonghwa into making a funny face, but he himself remained still. He chuckles weakly, brushing a thumb over the phone screen as if it will reverse the time and allow him to go back to them.

Sighing, Seonghwa puts the phone aside, leaning his head back against the headrest.

Unintentionally, he dozes off.

When his eyes flutter open, the sun is still high up in the sky. The breeze is less, but hotter, and his turtleneck isn’t adapting well to the heat. What prevents him from moving is a subtle weight on his knee. Jongho is sitting on the ground, leaning his weight against the omega’s leg, eyes closed as if he were asleep.

He looks so peaceful, so serene that Seonghwa is reluctant to wake him up. But he must. Without realizing what he's doing, Seonghwa gently cards his fingers through the alpha’s soft hair.

“Jongho-ssi…” he calls, quietly, watching Jongho stir awake. “You shouldn’t sleep here,” he says, withdrawing his hand.

Jongjo’s fingers suddenly curl around his wrist, holding it in the air for a moment, making Seonghwa’s breath stutter. Then he lowers it again and rests it on top of his head.

“Go on,” Jongho says, just as quietly, as if raising his voice a bit above might disburse whatever illusion they were having. Seonghwa’s hand quivers ever so slightly as he does it again—touching the soft strands of hair, pressing the fingertips into the scalp, gently scratching. And he watches Jongho close his eyes. He looks so young, so innocent, despite the invisible blood on his own hands, and Seonghwa’s heart clenches at the thought. In another life, he imagines Jongho to be a college student, learning things he likes and going out with his friends. But the reality is entirely different.

“Who is he?” Jongho asks, breaking Seonghwa from his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“The person in your phone… I saw it just before the screen locked.”

Seonghwa’s hand pauses its movement, frozen for a fraction of a second before moving again.

“Someone very dear to me…” He finds no harm in revealing this much.

“Your… mate?”

Seonghwa chuckles softly. “He’s family.”

“…You’re smiling.” Jongho states, with calm clarity.

“Should I not?”

Jongho hums, a sound that neither agrees nor disagrees. Then he looks up again, something dark hardly hidden in the depths of his eyes. “Does he make you happy?”

Seonghwa pauses again. “He… does…”

“You sound not so sure…”

“Lately… We have been a bit distant, Jongho-ssi.” Seonghwa settles onto that, and he sees something like mirth coating Jongho’s eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it comes, so Seonghwa is left wondering if he has really seen it.

“Don’t call me that,” Jongho settles back down to his position, head resting on Seonghwa’s bony knee. “It’s just Jongho…”

Seonghwa stares, and stares, and stares. Then nods. Even if Jongho doesn’t see it. Something about the conversation leaves him in disarray, but he can’t quite put a finger on it. At least…not yet.

Chapter Text

Lemon.

It is what Seonghwa is hit in the face in full force as soon as he opens the white, hard plastic can. Harsh, and stinging his nostrils. Still, Seonghwa prefers it over the smell of mixed pheromones in the air, which has yet to subside after many minutes of opened windows.

Rows of gleaming machines stand still—treadmills, ellipticals, and weight benches sticky with sweat, all waiting to be cleaned and polished. With a sigh that barely disturbed the stagnant air, Seonghwa pushes the sleeves of his white top up to his elbows, breaking a new pack of wipes. He takes the can of disinfectant and pours it in a spray bottle, and takes it in one hand. The wipes are in the other. And starts his job.

The motion quickly becomes robotic—spray, wipe, spray, wipe. The texture of the leather seats under his touch is rough, though they look slightly worn from constant use. The metal, on the other hand, is cool, which he quietly appreciates on a hot  afternoon.

It takes Seonghwa around an hour to wipe them all, but he does so without any disturbance. Surprisingly. Because a certain someone has been popping out at the most random times, following him around, and analyzing every move he makes. Like if he lets Seonghwa go amiss for a couple of hours, the omega might plot to blow up the entire residence. He has almost gotten used to the behavior that not having Yeosang’s scent making its presence known for the day has his mind wrapped in a thread of unease.

Today is one of those days where almost all of them had gone out. Only Mingi and Yeosang are in the house, quietly tucked in their rooms. Hopefully so. Seonghwa has left their lunches on the table for Mingi and in the trolley parked outside of Yeosang’s room.

Seonghwa takes a minute to stretch his back, throbbing with a dull ache after bending for so long. His mind briefly wanders to Yeosang, who still refuses to eat a meal prepared by him. No problem with the laundry, no issues with him cleaning the room, but no food prepared by him. Weird, and Seonghwa is still unable to figure out why. Yeosang is quieter than most in the house, but he’s hiding a sort of intelligence that only his eyes cannot contain. The gleam as he looks over documents, the satisfaction as he balances out a certain amount of bills, the calculative look that crosses his face whenever he ponders for a solution to whatever he deals with between colorful files spread out in front of him—all those that Seonghwa has only glimpsed while he cleaned.

He's the type of alpha that smells soft and inviting and trusts no one but his brain. The type of alpha that carries a pistol tucked safely in his waistband but uses words to kill instead.

Seonghwa has seen the way he corners someone, purely by logic, simply by spewing words that have tightened the already tied noose around their client’s neck even through the screen of the laptop. Word by word, second by second, dragging it out like he savored the friction of them against that man’s neck until he gave in to their demands. And Seonghwa, holding a tray about to serve coffee to the two alphas, has seen the way Hongjoong’s lips curved in triumph as whatever the deal that they have negotiated sealed with the weight of benefit for their side.

Taking a dry piece of cloth, Seonghwa starts to wipe the equipment again. Moisture left on metal and leather erodes, so he makes sure not to leave even a drop of wetness behind. He’s about to be done with the last machine when Yeosang comes in. Seonghwa pauses, looking at him. And the man stares back.

“Yeosang-ssi,” he greets softly, though his fingers grip the cloth tightly.

“You…” he starts, but trails off as he thinks a little. “I thought you’d be gone in a couple of days. But you’re still here…”

“I…don’t know about others who were here before me,” Seonghwa gathers the things he brought, hugging them to his chest like a barrier between them. As if somehow a can of disinfectant, a brush, and a wet wipe pack can defend him against an alpha. “But I will be here till my services are needed.”

“Your services… do they include warming beds too?”

Seonghwa’s mouth drops open in disbelief at the meaning of those words.

“I see you getting closer to Jongho, Seonghwa,” Yeosang states, eyes sharp and words sharper. He leans against the entrance of the gym, posture nonchalant like he hasn’t just called Seonghwa easy.

“And you think I let myself be used that way to get what I want?”

“How do you explain him then?” Yeosang frowns, his almost-ethereal features twitching ever so slightly as he tries to figure something out. “He runs to you whenever he comes home. He helps you whenever he can… and he used to never do chores. Mainly because we had people to do things around here, but he never talked to them like he does to you. Or…touch them…or think about them. All. The fucking time. Out loud, in fact. I’d have preferred if he kept it to himself, but it’s slowly becoming our problem too.”

“Oh,” Seonghwa breathes, throat feeling dry. He hasn’t known that. He probably wouldn’t have known that if not for Yeosang. With how Jongho acts around him, he would never have guessed. Sure… Seonghwa will say that Jongho is the warmest out of them, a person like a cozy blanket that he’d drape over himself when it’s cold. But his little touches, his soft-spoken words, and his quiet accompaniment… Seonghwa has never thought of him that way. Until Yeosang planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

“You went quiet…” Yeosang’s voice sounds much louder, and Seonghwa snaps out of the trance he put himself in only to see that the alpha is standing just a foot away from him. Breath hitching at his throat, Seonghwa takes an instinctive step back.

“It’s not what you think—“

“Omega,” Yeosang growls, and Seonghwa takes another step back, keeping his face neutral.

“I’m not—“

“My parents were both omegas,” he hisses, anger twisting his beautiful face. Seonghwa gulps, feeling helpless as the tension bleeds into his senses. “Don’t think I’d not recognize the stench of one no matter what you do to cover your scent.”

“Still, I would never—“

“Please,” Yeosang peers close, his alpha pheromones clogging Seonghwa’s nose. His body starts to quiver, slowly descending to instinctive submission. Why is Yeosang so angry? What has Seonghwa done to warrant such animosity? Why is his scent so strong that it creeps up in the omega’s brain? Wait—his scent—

“I see Wooyoung can’t take his eyes off of you… and Hongjoong—“

“Yeosang-ssi… Are you… Are you in a rut?” Seonghwa whispers, the feather-like sound echoing in the gym walls. It explains him seeking Seonghwa out of instinct. It explains the constant lingering and the dislike towards him for being around his pack mates. Yeosang freezes, eyes widening ever so slightly in shock. And something like realization dawning in his gaze. He steps back, creating distance.

“No… There’s still time… a few more weeks until it should come,” Yeosang rakes his brain, while Seonghwa curls in on himself as if he’s waiting for something. “It’s… is it because of you?”

Seonghwa, pained, shakes his head. “I… don’t know… I didn’t mean to…”

“Fuck…” Yeosang runs a hand through his hair in frustration, a sheen of sweat coating the visible skin of his body.

“Let me help you,” Seonghwa says, putting the things in his arms back on the floor and taking a tentative step towards Yeosang. He sneaks a hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers tightly around it as if it’s a lifeline. It’s his only source of communication, the only way to call someone if Yeosang goes out of control, so it might as well be a lifeline.

“Stay away,” Yeosang says, a rumble deep from his chest ringing through the white walls.

Seonghwa watches him drag his feet out of the gym, following him with a safe distance behind. They go all the way through the house to the north wing, where Seonghwa rarely visited. Because it’s an area specifically for those in rut. Room after room with scent-blocked, soundproofed walls so that one can leisurely get lost in the throes of their ruts and heats. Seonghwa waits till Yeosang disappears behind one door and quickly takes out his phone, dialing Hongjoong’s number. His heart beats loudly in his chest, so much so that it drowns out Hongjoong’s voice from the other side until he realizes the alpha has been calling out to him a few times now.

“Seonghwa!”

The omega jumps, startled, and chokes on his words. “H-Hongjoong-ssi… He’s in rut… what… what do I do?”

“Who?”

“Yeosang-ssi,” he breathes, as if saying it out loud will summon a demon.

“I’m coming,” is all Hongjoong says before the line goes dead. Seonghwa stares at the phone as if it will magically make Hongjoong appear out of it, but it doesn’t. With shaky hands, he puts it away in his pocket before rushing towards the storage room. He picks up a few packaged food items, filling up a basket with them. Then he moves onto where extra bedding and blankets are kept, pulling out clean ones. As soon as he has heaps and heaps of necessities in his arms, Seonghwa balances his hold on them as he walks towards the north wing again.

When he stops on the outside of the door, he takes a breath to calm his mind. He is the one who chose to come to the house, knowing that all that reside are alpha. He is the one who chose to stay, knowing that he might have to face days like this. So he has no right to complain. Even if his body trembles, even if his heart quivers, he must hold on. Seonghwa knocks on the door twice before using his thumbprint to unlock it. He doesn’t hear anything as he enters, and his roaming eyes fall on the alpha, who sits at the edge of the bed, hunched over, arms resting over his knees and head down.

Beads of sweat run down Yeosang's hair at the front, the skin of his arms glistening with perspiration. The pheromones he emits have gotten thick, consuming, and slowly spiraling Seonghwa’s mind into incoherence. He shakes his head, breathing from his mouth to lessen the impact on his senses. He places the food on the table nearby, the bedding in the small cupboard, and bottles of water with wet and dry tissues on the nightstand.

“Yeosang-ssi, I brought you food, water, and extra blankets, and I called Head Alpha… he’s on the way-ah-“ Seonghwa finds himself lying flat on the bed. He blinks, a little dizzy and struggling with forming a proper sentence when his vision gets blocked by someone. Like an imminent threat, Yeosang hovers over him, eyes dark and hazy. Seonghwa’s instincts scream warnings at him, his body losing strength at the surge of primal need of Yeosang washing over him. “I—Yeosang—“

“Why did you come in?” Yeosang asks, voice deep, a faint growl coating each word. His warm breath puffs over the omega’s face. “You know I’m so close to losing myself… and yet…”

“I’m sorry, but… but you are going to be here, locked in this room until your rut is over… a-and… and it’s … it’s my job to give you what you need.“

Maybe it’s a bad blend of words, Seonghwa realizes as soon as he stops talking, seeing the way the alpha’s eyes darken even more.

“So…” a humorless grin stretches Yeosang’s lips. His hand grips Seonghwa’s thigh, swallowing the omega’s gasp with a simple look. “This too?”

“No,” Seonghwa’s voice trembles, and his fingers curl around Yeosang’s wrist tightly, despite the alarms blaring in his head. “I… don’t know what type of people you have met in your life, but… even if I did work at a brothel, Yeosang-ssi… I have never lowered myself to let someone touch me like that.”

Yeosang’s grip on him tightens, just a little bit. Breath hitching, Seonghwa tightens the hold on the alpha’s wrist too. His touch burns through the material of Seonghwa’s pants, as if it’s making a permanent mark on his thigh, trying to reduce him to what most of the society saw him as. The air between them becomes suffocating—the scent of it becoming tart, thick, and… and… Seonghwa needs to get out as soon as possible.

“Please move. Or I will use force on you, Yeosang-ssi.”

Yeosang’s eyes widen in the slightest, and he huffs. “You? Will you use force on me?”

“D-don’t take me for a fool.”

“You are one though, Seonghwa.”

The omega feels Yeosang’s splayed fingers on his thigh, weighing down, silently telling him what the strength of it can do. He feels the reducing proximity between them, the gaze of an alpha trying so hard to rein in what he’s fighting back. And Seonghwa’s traitorous, responsive body, inch by inch surrendering to the inevitability.

The small whimper he is unable to hold in slips out, and Yeosang’s grip tightens on him even more. He reads Seonghwa’s expression like he hasn’t seen anything like it before—cocking his head to the side, pressing just a bit closer, roaming his gaze over Seonghwa’s form. The alpha is hot against him, the skin scorching as the rut gradually spreads through his body.

“Yeosang-ah… What are you doing?”

Seonghwa’s gaze switches to Mingi, who has appeared in the doorway. His fingers grip into the doorframe, the tips of them red with the force he’s using. His eyes burn with a heat that didn’t flicker, and Seonghwa feels his throat locking down. He takes the chance to slip away from under Yeosang, and the alpha, surprisingly, lets him go. Because now, his attention is on Mingi, and Mingi alone.

“Mingi…”

Mingi, who has probably watched everything unfold till he found the perfect minute to step in. Acid burns Seonghwa’s tongue as he moves away from them. From the corner of his eyes, he sees the absolute submission of Yeosang—despite him being an alpha—practically melting against Mingi’s hold as the taller alpha cups the back of his head. Every muscle in Mingi’s jaws is tight, like he’s holding back more than words. He looks at Yeosang like the smaller alpha is something he considered his. Possessive. Cold and consuming. Seonghwa feels something curl in his guts, and he looks away, exiting the room and closing the door behind him like he has left a different world behind him.

“Seonghwa…” The omega flinches, not having seen Hongjoong approach. Still in the pure black suit he wore before he left, Hongjoong walks towards him. The alpha stops what he was going to say, taking in Seonghwa’s appearance, the heavy breathing, and the faint tremble of his body. “Is he inside?”

Seonghwa manages to nod.

“Alone?”

“M-Mingi-ssi just went i-in…”

Hongjoong takes a long, considerable look at him and nods, dismissing him. Seonghwa is lost in his thoughts as he goes to his room. He strips off the clothes he’s wearing, letting them fall uselessly on the floor. Yeosang’s scent has soaked into them—the soft smell of peach turned tart and taunting under the layers of desire, invading the omega’s senses even after he has discarded his clothes. Like it has seeped into his skin, lingering, no longer subtle.

What scares him isn’t the predicament that he just escaped. Not the scent that can be washed off, not the touch that he will eventually forget. It’s the way his body has reacted. Despite the trepidation, the unwanted curiosity has bloomed inside him.

His fingers trail down, breath quickening as they go lower and lower…and lower. Seonghwa gasps, feeling breathless at the wetness that is coating his folds. Not enough to drip, but enough to moisten.

“No,” he whispers to himself, taking his fingers off of his warm, wet skin, jolting slightly at the spark of sensitivity that rushes up from between his legs. This is just his body giving in to instincts. This…is what a week without his suppressant shot does to him, Seonghwa thinks, as he nearly punches the knob on the wall to turn on the shower. He has naively thought that because of the piled-up work he had to adjust to, one week of missing his shot would make no difference.

Oh, how wrong he is.

Seonghwa shudders a breath, letting cold water cascade down his back.

He will have to visit the hospital soon, if not tomorrow. For the suppressants…. And for someone else.

…

Waking up early to clear his evening might not have been the best idea, because Seonghwa is now yawning profusely while putting up the last set of curtains on the clothesline. He’s already dressed in his clothes for going out—a soft, lavender sweater and washed jeans with his trusty tote bag readied in his room. He has made both lunch and dinner in advance for those who are at the house today so that if he gets late, there will be no inconvenience to the others.

Running his palm down the light grey curtain, Seonghwa hums at the dampness of the cloth pressing coolly against his skin. He exhales deeply, looking up at the bright sky. It hasn’t rained for a few weeks now, and he hopes it stays the same today. The heat is high, perfect for quickly drying the clothes, but not so perfect for the flowerpots placed on the railing. Walking over to them, Seonghwa cups pots of petunias in his hands and places them on the floor under the canopy one by one.

Seonghwa sits at the edge of the railing, the last pot in his hands, lost in thought for a moment. He’s sitting right above the exit to the garage, where Hongjoong’s car has been parked just a little to the side. Seonghwa had already informed him yesterday that he would be going out, and the alpha had quietly nodded at him, buried in a pile of papers that needed his attention.

It’s the third day of Yeosang’s rut. Seonghwa doesn’t know who is with Yeosang today, but he knows it’s not Mingi, whom he saw last night coming out of the room. Though they were adopted by Kim Seungcheol at different points in their lives, Seonghwa has come to realize that none of them consider each other as actual brothers. They may have shed blood like brothers and fought like brothers, but Seonghwa sees how none of those invisible rules bound them when they touched and how no code explained the way their gazes lingered.

Still… there lingers a certain hesitance… a quiet reluctance when it came to showing affection that Seonghwa notices. As if no one had told them how to respond when someone softened their voice. As if no one had taught them how to show gentleness without apology or how to hold someone without bracing for impact.

And the realization… leaves a hollow in his chest.

So lonely.

Not for himself. But on behalf of the others.

Sighing, Seonghwa curls his fingers around the edge of the pot, brushing at the dirt spots that cover the hand-painted patterns around it. The flowers bloom beautifully, the greens lush with color and life. Just a few days of regular watering has done that. A bit of care. A soft touch. Seonghwa wonders why it isn’t easy for humans, then shakes his head at himself.

“Someone’s being lazy.”

Seonghwa slides off the railing, startled, gripping the flowerpot like it’s his weapon of choice. Yunho stood a few feet away, his eyes never leaving Seonghwa’s face as he spoke.

“Dressed pretty too… Going out?”

“Y-yes…”

“Where?” a casual tilt of the alpha’s head.

“Personal errands,” Seonghwa settles on that answer after a thought.

“Hmm…” Yunho hums, stepping closer. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his pants, his oversized t-shirt bunching up around the pockets. He seems to be staying home, much to Seonghwa’s unease. He hasn’t spoken directly to Yunho after the disaster on the first day, and the prickles of it still linger under his skin. Though Seonghwa holds no grudges against an alpha being wary of a stranger suddenly coming into his house, the lengths that he would go to protect his personal space make something stir deep in Seonghwa’s guts.

And it has been the reason why Seonghwa has kept his distance from Yunho, appearing in his vicinity only when necessary. Yet here they are, standing face-to-face, staring at each other. Seonghwa with a growing sense of unease. Yunho with a widening grin of mischief.

“Yunho-ssi…” Seonghwa steps back, wary of the slowly approaching alpha. He looks like he’s prowling towards a cornered rabbit. But he doesn’t know that the rabbit can kick, Seonghwa thinks as his back hits the railing.

“Where did Appa find you?”

“Curious?” Seonghwa asks, tilting his own head and mimicking Yunho’s movement.

“Yeah. It’s not every day that you see him offering a position to a random passerby” at least the man is honest. “Specially for a job here in the house.”

“What matters is that right now I’m here to take care of you.”

Yunho’s grin drops, and Seonghwa tries not to let a shiver run through his body. He pulls his hands out of his pockets, and his fingers twitch, as if they are itching to curl into fists. “Take care of me? Of us? In this house? We’re not pups.”

Seonghwa swiftly moves the flowerpot in his hands out of Yunho’s reach when the alpha tries to snatch it. “Apparently you are. You don’t eat when you should. You don’t sleep when you should. Don’t you think someone should at least be here to see if you’re alive?”

“People didn’t care about that ten years ago; why would they care about it now?”

Seonghwa freezes. His mouth opens and closes as if he can’t form a proper answer. But he snaps out of it when Yunho reaches for him again, this time grabbing his waist rather than the flowerpot. Seonghwa gasps, almost tipping over the railing if not for him steadying himself with one hand against the thick concrete of the railing. Yunho’s eyes lock on to something lower, and Seonghwa follows his gaze to see his waist disappearing under the alpha’s large hands.

Flustered, Seonghwa tries to pull away from his grasp by jabbing at Yunho’s ribs, a point between his chest and waist that he has been taught to hit, only to get trapped between the railing and Yunho’s taller body. It pressed ridiculously hard against him, the space to move becoming nonexistent.

“Your father…” Seonghwa struggles to breathe, leaning back and holding the pot as far away from Yunho as possible with one hand, and digs his nails near where the alpha’s scent gland is. Yunho’s pupils dilate, a faint quiver in them flashing recognition. But he doesn’t let go. “He cares about you all much more than you think.”

Yunho stops inches from his face, his face twisting into a snarl. But his voice, as quiet as the tones of sound can get, was cold and chilling. “He should have cared when he put a gun in my hand before I even got my first rut.”

Yunho’s words suck the breath out of him. His eyes run over the alpha’s face, trying to find a trace of softness—anything to contradict the venom that had just spilled from his lips. But there’s nothing. Just a shadow carved deep between his brows, a tightness in his jaw that speaks of years sealed shut behind silence. The anger isn’t wild or raging; it’s still. Frozen. The kind that grows sharper the longer it's buried.

Seonghwa swallows. The weight of Yunho’s confession settles between them like ash—silent, heavy, inescapable. He wants to reach out, say something, and offer some kind of balm. But the air between them feels untouchable now, humming with an ache that does not feel like his to soothe. The alpha takes it as a chance to grab Seonghwa’s outstretched wrist and bends it back. Gasping in pain, Seonghwa releases his hold on the pot, the strain on his wrist becoming fractions close for his bones to snap. The pot… drops from his grasp.

One second, two seconds…

The distant sound of it crashing against the ground reaches Seonghwa’s ears.

“Yunho!” Seonghwa complains, heart thudding loudly in his ears as he cranes his neck to look down at the damage. And he sees… Hongjoong.

Seonghwa’s blood runs cold. He stares, stunned, at the alpha, who is now looking up at him from the ground. He and Yunho are a mess of limbs, which Hongjoong probably can’t see from the ground. The alpha’s gaze is locked into his backward-bent form, eyebrows knitted in a frown and lips twitching as if he’s holding back profanities.

Suddenly, his arms are released, and Yunho backs away, an uncontrollable burst of laughs bubbling up his throat. Seonghwa wastes one second on him, giving him a look of incredulity, and dashes. Nerves fraying in anxiety and lungs burning from panic, Seonghwa runs down the stairs and outside, his mind set on Hongjoong and Hongjoong only. When he finally reaches the garage, he pants, gulping down a breath before frantically looking over Hongjoong.

“Ho-Hongjoong-ssi, I’m sorry,” he stutters, eyes roaming over every nook and cranny his sight can find on the alpha’s body. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No,” Hongjoong says, his voice calm and steady like seconds ago a flowerpot hadn’t flown inches from his face and crashed on the floor.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been careful—“ Seonghwa breathes, dread settling into his bones at how collected and composed Hongjoong looks.

“Seonghwa…” the alpha interrupts, dropping his gaze to Seonghwa’s hands that the omega hasn’t realized are trembling in apprehension. “Calm down. No one’s hurt.”

Seonghwa hesitates but eventually nods. His heart is still fluttering in barely contained nervousness, but as long as Hongjoong isn’t hurt and his car isn’t damaged, Seonghwa supposes he has evaded a noose around his throat.

“It’s just a flowerpot,” Hongjoong says. Seonghwa purses his lips, looking at Hongjoong’s unreadable expression. The alpha sounds as if he’s trying to soothe Seonghwa’s nerves, but that’s just his wishful thinking. He’s probably trying not to have a sobbing mess in his hands, Seonghwa thinks, as he bends down to pick up the pieces of the pot and put them away.

“Stop,” Hongjoong sighs, blocking Seonghwa’s view. The omega looks up at him, still crouched, fingertips fractions away from touching the broken pot. “Your… Wear gloves… they might cut your hands.”

Seonghwa blinks. He’s not a child. He knows how to pick up a few sharp pieces without letting them cut into his skin. Is Hongjoong…concerned about him?

“I’ll be fine…” Seonghwa replies, trying to move around Hongjoong, only for the alpha to block him again.

“Aren’t you going out?”

Seonghwa blinks again, speechless. His brain goes static for a moment before he nods wordlessly.

“You have five minutes to get in the car.” Hongjoong turns around, unlocking his car. “Or I’ll leave without you.”

“But… I can walk?” Seonghwa supplies, unhelpfully.

“I wasn’t asking, Seonghwa,” and then the door to the driver’s seat slammed shut. Seonghwa stares at it for a few seconds. The one thing alphas in this house know is to make him speechless.

Seonghwa moves the broken pieces of the pot to a side so that no one will step on them, cups the plant in both of his hands, and places it in a shaded area for the time being. He hopes by the time he comes back he will be able to report it. It’s sort of a fleeting thought, something useless to many, but the thought of not giving the plant a second chance dampens his heart.

By the time he rushes back with his tote bag, the car is purring with life. A gentle hum, like it doesn’t want to disturb the air that it shifts. Seonghwa also doesn’t really want to wrap his mind around the fact that it is definitely past the five-minute mark that Hongjoong had set for him.

“Am I your driver?” Is what the alpha asks while rolling his window down when Seonghwa tries to get in the back. Pouting a little, Seonghwa slides into the passenger seat, buckling up the seat belt.

He tries not to think about how small the space between them is and how the faint scent of cinnamon and coffee filled the car. His jumbled nerves calm a little. Like a soothing head pat, the alpha’s scent coats him. It makes Seonghwa’s thoughts wander into a territory that he had blocked and chained long ago.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

Seonghwa looks at Hongjoong, puzzled. He cocks his head in a silent question.

“Saying sorry for something you didn’t do.”

So… Hongjoong has seen Yunho?

“He was… He was just playing around.” The omega’s fingers play at the loosened threads of the embroidered bunny on his tote bag.

“Don’t excuse him either.”

Seonghwa presses his lips to a tight line. Then he lets out a soft breath after a moment.

“You…are a good leader.”

Hongjoong’s hands twitch on the steering wheel.

“I’m not,” he says, eyes scanning the road ahead. “I’m not,” he says again, this time, his voice barely audible, as if he’s trying to convince himself.

 The city blurs in passing. The hum of the car is the only disturbance to the silence that has settled between them—soft but heavy. Seonghwa thinks of the choices Hongjoong made, has made, and was forced to make; the burdens he might have carried without asking for help; and the way his voice thinned on that second denial, as if guilt had started to fray the edges.

Seonghwa swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat. He wants to reach out and place a hand on top of his head. Like a soft weight to soothe his mind. But Seonghwa can’t. For some reason, the walls of the man beside him felt sky-high, overbearing, towering over him, still and unbreakable. And Seonghwa has no right. With him merely being a worker that shouldn’t even look them in the eye, Seonghwa knows that he should keep his own boundaries up.

You broke them a couple of days ago, his mind nags, and Seonghwa has to look away to quiet his mind as it cruelly makes him remember him giving in to Jongho’s whims.

“Where are you going?”

Seonghwa realizes that they are already in town. “Oh… Just… Just drop me off here.“

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong sighs. “Where are you going?”

Seonghwa’s fingers curl into the material of the tote bag. “…City Hospital.”

In a few minutes they are at the basement parking of the hospital. Seonghwa unbuckles the seatbelt, eyes running here and there unfocused as Hongjoong gets out of the car before him. Hurrying out of the car, Seonghwa closes the door behind him without taking his eyes off of the alpha who’s walking towards the elevator. The car beeps as it locks, and Hongjoong pockets the keys in the inner pocket of his coat.

“What…are you doing?” Seonghwa breathes, stopping the alpha when he’s about to press the ground floor button. He snatches his hand back as if it burned the moment he made contact, his breath coming out shattered.

“Going to the reception.”

“You shouldn’t,” Seonghwa winces at the plea in his own voice.

 “You think I came here for you?”

Seonghwa actually winces in embarrassment as he wishes the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Heat spreads across his face and neck, and he quickly turns his back to Hongjoong, not wanting the alpha to see him. Hongjoong, on the other hand, presses the G button and shoves his hands in his pockets, watching the elevator go up with ease.

When the elevator pings, Seonghwa practically runs out of it as he tries to escape the imposing figure in black that is Hongjoong. He heads straight to the reception, gives his name in a strange sort of politeness to channel his regular doctor, and goes to the consultation room without looking back.

“Oh, Seonghwa-ssi!” The doctor greets him as she sees him entering, a small smile on her face. “I didn’t see you last week, so I thought you had finally—huh? You’re here with your alpha?”

Shocked, Seonghwa looks at the doorway, where Hongjoong is stepping through.

“He’s not-Hongjoo-“

“Kim Hongjoong,” the alpha completely ignores him and walks past Seonghwa towards the doctor with a hand stretched for a shake.

“Lee Nayeon, Seonghwa’s regular physician.”

“Doctor, he’s not—“

“Sit,” Hongjoong says, while the doctor opens up. And Seonghwa does, just when Hongjoong’s scent spikes a little at his resistance. The doctor silently watches the exchange, her smile dropping bit by bit. Then she turns to her computer screen, pulling up his profile.

“Seonghwa-ssi, if you’re hoping to come next week, I want you to bring these reports. It’s nearing your eighteen-month limit, so… It’s better if we keep an eye on your body. But then again, in my field of work, it’s better if I don’t see my patient again.”

Seonghwa lets the words come and go from one ear to the other. He doesn’t have the luxury to think about his body. He needs to work. He needs to earn money. Before his housekeeping job, his bosses cut his salaries for the days he had to take off for his heat and preheat. Fair for them but unfair for Seonghwa. Though his new job doesn’t have such specified rules, Seonghwa doesn’t want to let his second gender become a hindrance. And if it risks the health and fertility of his body, then that would be the end of it.

Holding onto a thread of hope that is his brother opening his eyes may sound ridiculous to most, given his situation. But to Seonghwa, his brother is the only speck of color left in his life. Protecting him is the only thing he can do in his life.

“Listen to me,” the doctor says, pinching Seonghwa’s cheeks. Seonghwa hisses, looking at her accusingly. “Your body can’t handle this much longer. I think you should—“

“Later,” Seonghwa interrupts, before she says anything she shouldn’t in front of Hongjoong. The alpha observes him like a knot to unravel. His gaze is locked onto every action the omega makes, his hearing latching on to every word he says.

“…Fine,” the doctor sighs, her features twisting into resignation. “But we stop, Seonghwa; at eighteen months we stop. Whether you like it or not.”

Seonghwa silently nods, watching the doctor gesture to the nurse who has been quietly watching them from a corner of the room. When they both go to the backroom to prepare, Seonghwa turns to Hongjoong.

“I thought you didn’t come here for me…”

“I lied,” Hongjoong simply says, roaming his eyes over Seonghwa’s face.

“You should… you should leave,” Seonghwa breathes, clutching the tote bag with both of his hands, knuckles white from the grip. Hongjoong doesn’t answer. “Please, Hongjoong-ssi…”

Yet Hongjoong looms over him, quiet and still. Seonghwa lets out a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “I…don’t want you here…please…”

His voice is tiny, breathy, and high-pitched as he begs. Still… in contrast to the words, the meaning of it doesn’t quite settle within Seonghwa the way it should. He has gotten too used to the fact of doing everything alone, having no one to watch over him, to accompany him, or to help him where it’s needed. And now Hongjoong is here, his presence unwanted but also the only thing that has him grounded to this moment.

Every part of him aches for distance, for space to breathe, think, and accept the fact that he’s abusing his own body. He wants Hongjoong gone. He also doesn’t. He wants someone to say that it’s okay that he’s putting chemicals in his body even if it really isn’t. But he also refuses to accept the fact that he himself is ruining his future. Seonghwa’s throat tightens, and he hates how familiar the ache feels—the longing pressed up against self-preservation, neither strong enough to drown out the other.

When the doctor comes back and the nurse leads him to the procedure table that smelled like bleach and over-washed cotton, Seonghwa braces himself. He lies down on the cold, cushioned table, blinking up at the lights that almost blind him. The nurse quietly asks him to turn to the left first, and Seonghwa does so, his fingers gripping the edges of the table.

The first two injections are what Seonghwa is used to. They are placed at the base of his scent glands every week, suppressing his scent. He can go through them with gritted teeth and clenched fists, taking the needles penetrating his delicate skin as they pump acrid chemicals into his nerves. What he can’t do is get the quarterly injection for his heat suppressant.

As the cold and wet cotton ball is wiping away the residue from his scent glands, Seonghwa blinks to retract his swirling vision.

“Hongjoong-ssi, don’t just stand there and wait. Please hold his hand,” the doctor asks, and Seonghwa almost curses under his breath. He appreciates the gesture, but he absolutely refuses to let the alpha see his face when the next

Something rough but warm encloses his right hand. Seonghwa slowly focuses on the hand that is intertwined with his, drawing his eyes up to the owner of it. Hongjoong stands much, much closer to him than he expected, locking hands with him as if they had known each other for years. His steady, unwavering gaze falls upon Seonghwa, making him catch his breath, lost in the subtle intensity of them when his sweater is pulled up until where his bandages on his chest end. The doctor gives him a look but doesn’t say anything as she proceeds to clean a spot just below his belly button with a surgical spirit-soaked cotton ball.

The press of the needle is instant. Sharp pain shocks through Seonghwa as it pierces into his abdomen, his toes curling and breath hitching at the pain. His grip on Hongjoong tightens subconsciously.

“Relax,” the doctor says, placing her hand over Seonghwa’s stomach as if the subtle weight of it can stop making the stomach clench. The omega sighs deeply once the needle is out, his breath coming out broken. “It’s done.”

Seonghwa puffs out the air in his chest a few times, feeling his hairline getting dampened by cold sweat. The burn he feels in the pit of his stomach feels sharper than the last time he took it, but he will never admit it out loud. Another insignificant thing to erase from his mind. He lets go of Hongjoong’s hand, pulling down his sweater to cover his stomach. It’s unbelievable that the alpha is still there, standing next to the procedure table and hovering over him.

Two fingers take hold of his chin, tilting his face up, halting Seonghwa’s attempt to get off the table.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

He must look quite a sight—with shallow breaths, nails gripping the edge of the table, and body angled awkwardly as his shoulders twitch with the effort to not curl inwards and hide.

“Because I want to survive, Hongjoong,” it’s the first time Seonghwa addresses the alpha without honorifics, but he doesn’t care. Not at this moment, when he barely holds himself together. “I want to survive… until my life goes back to what it was before.”

Even to his own ears, the words sound hollow. They lack the weight of meaning; they lack the warmth they should have. Still, he refuses to take them back.

A frown etches deeply into Hongjoong’s features, but he steps back when the nurse helps Seonghwa off the table.

“Stay in the lounge for half an hour before leaving,” the doctor advises as he writes down the list of tests that he needs Seonghwa to try. “Just in case, Seonghwa. Make sure to have your meals on time and balance them out with additional nutrition. If you want, I prescribe you a multivitamin“

“No, thank you,” Seonghwa says quietly, thumbing at the embroidery of his tote bag.

“Don’t be stubborn,” Hongjoong steps closer.

“A lot of things you don’t want me to do, Hongjoong-ssi,” Seonghwa looks away from both the doctor and Hongjoong.

A moment of silence falls, heavy and unbearable.

“Take better care of yourself, Seonghwa,” the doctor finally says, sighing like she has seen his type many a time before. Probably a common occurrence in her field, but Seonghwa refuses to yield.

Once the consultation is done, Seonghwa bids her a quiet farewell and leaves. His feet absentmindedly patter to the lounge room, his mind still counting the throbs of pain that run through him. They have dulled into aches now, tremors of them pushing against his skin from the inside.

Just a little bit more, he promises himself. You’ll get through it. You always have.

Hongjoong doesn’t sit beside Seonghwa in the lounge. He stops in front of Seonghwa as he sinks into the dull cream-colored armchair, looking down at him. The unreadable expression he almost always has on his face has settled over, and Seonghwa hates it. A part of him wants to read Hongjoong, but there’s also a part of him that doesn’t want to.

“Can I trust you to go home by yourself?”

Home?

Seonghwa resists the urge to make a face. He nods instead, clinging onto his old tote bag as if his life depended on it. Hongjoong takes his wordless answer and turns around to leave. For some reason, Seonghwa catches the alpha’s long coat in a pinch. And for some reason, Hongjoong stops at the small gesture.

“Why did you come?”

Seconds tick by. The alpha stays silent, like he’s pondering on what answer to give. “Your doctor pulled up your profile in her computer… like it has always been there.”

“Huh?”

“I told you before. I couldn’t find anything about you. But this hospital has your information... So I realized… that it was me who isn’t allowed to, Seonghwa…”

“So… you were only here to confirm that I’m not a ghost.” It isn’t a question but a mere statement. Seonghwa lets go of Hongjoong’s coat, feeling a horridly familiar stinging in his eyes. He blinks furiously, not wanting to let Hongjoong see.

“Is that so bad?” Hongjoong asks, voice low, deep, but also light like a whisper in the wind.

Instead of answering, Seonghwa withdraws into himself, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, hiding his face. A moment later, he hears Hongjoong’s fading footsteps. He has left. The air in the room feels somehow colder without Hongjoong in it, though Seonghwa knows it’s just his body reacting, the aftershocks of pain and restraint rippling beneath his skin. He presses his forehead against his knees, willing everything—the pain, the shame, the memory of Hongjoong holding his hand—to disappear into the darkness behind his closed eyes.

Half an hour later, when his body is back to normal, Seonghwa slips out of the lounge towards the elevator.

He goes to ‘that place’ in a trance.

Fourteenth floor.

Second ward.

Room three-o-three.

His hyung lies on the bed, sleeping. At least that’s what he likes to call it. He’s just taking a break from dealing with his pest of a bothersome dongsaeng. The thought makes it easier to bear the pain of seeing a man who was so bright and lively now laid on a bed, unconscious. Seonghwa pulls the chair at the side closer to the bed, resting his head right above the palm that is faced upwards because of an IV drip on his inner wrist.

And he moves his head back and forth, ever so slightly, not to jostle the hand underneath and disturb his hyung.

Like a head pat.

Under the warmth that Seonghwa barely feels anymore, he breaks.

He doesn’t remember how he gets into the taxi. He doesn’t remember how much he gave the driver when he got off at the house, amidst the terrified but curious glances the driver gave him when he didn’t answer the man’s nosey questions. He doesn’t remember how he dragged his feet towards the front entrance of the house.

But he remembers Jongho.

The young alpha looks like he has been waiting for a while at the front porch—like a puppy waiting for its master to come home. But Jongho is not a puppy, nor is Seonghwa his master.

Even so… When Jongho catches him as he stumbles and mumbles “You cried…” into his forehead as he locks his arms around him, Seonghwa doesn’t have the heart to pull away. He doesn’t have it in him to push Jongho away like he had made up his mind hours ago. So he lets himself fall deeper into the embrace, surrounded by the kind of warmth that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

….

“Poor thing,” someone in an attendant’s uniform stops by Hongjoong, her eyes sad and pitying. Her gaze is locked into the view behind the door, where a glimpse of it can be caught through the round, glass panel. Seonghwa has fallen asleep with his body in a visitor chair, leaning awkwardly forward with his head on the mattress. A man lies on the bed, whose relationship with Seonghwa he doesn’t know, but it’s definitely close enough for the omega to let himself go.

Something twinges in his chest. And he ignores it.

“He comes here every week, and he looks skinnier every time.”

“Ahjumma…” Hongjoong asks, despite tasting acid in his mouth. “Who is he?”

“Which one?”

“The one on the bed,” Hongjoong’s eyes flicker to the man motionless, a couple of tubes plastered into his wrists, and monitors keeping tabs of his every breath. No sound seeps outside, but Hongjoong can almost hear the quiet beeps and soft hums of the machines around him.

“Family,” is all the woman says, giving Hongjoong a small smile before rolling a trolley full of cleaning equipment away.