Archive of Our Own ^beta

It started with Felix being too tired.

Not just sleepy-after-chasing-Haneul tired, but full-body, dizzy, scent-flickering exhaustion. Chan noticed it first—how his omega would pause in the hallway with a hand to the wall, how he winced at the smell of spicy food (his favorite), how his scent shifted in the subtlest way.

One afternoon, while Haneul built a precarious tower of blocks nearby, Felix sat down with a soft sigh and whispered, “I think it’s happening again.”

Chan turned to him slowly, hope rising like a wave. “You’re…?”

Felix nodded, tears already in his eyes. “Yeah. I just feel it. Like I did with Haneul.”

A trip to their doctor confirmed it.

Two heartbeats.

Felix laughed and cried all at once. “Twins? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Chan held him close, shaking his head in amazement. “You really are built to grow the whole pack, huh?”

⸻

Telling Haneul was another story.

He was just over two years old—still full of baby cheeks and toddler sass, but already displaying strong early Alpha traits. He helped gather the plushies into the nest every night. He would walk with one hand protectively on Felix’s leg while they grocery shopped. And he could spot a falling cup from across the room like a hawk.

So when they told him, they kept it simple.

Felix knelt, taking his tiny hands in his own. “Baby, there are two more pups in Eomma’s tummy.”

Haneul’s eyes widened.

“Two,” Chan confirmed, smiling. “You’re gonna be a big brother.”

Haneul blinked. Then looked at Felix’s stomach.

Then back at them.

Then placed one small hand very gently over Felix’s belly and whispered, “Mine?”

Felix choked up. “Yes, baby. Yours too.”

⸻

The months passed in a whirlwind of preparing, nesting, and soft, overwhelming love.

Haneul never let Felix walk far without a hand to hold. He scented the nest nightly with a very serious look on his face. And as Felix grew heavier, slower, and more tired, Haneul began climbing into his lap more carefully—still snuggly, but gentle now, instinct already telling him to protect.

When the twins finally arrived—a squalling pair of wriggly omegas named Sora and Jin—Haneul was in the hospital room within hours, clutching his blue fox plush like a badge of honor.

Felix held one baby, Chan the other, and Haneul climbed between them both, wide-eyed and reverent.

“Mine,” he whispered again, pointing from one to the other.

“They’re yours too, little Alpha,” Chan said, ruffling his hair.

And from that day on—he acted like it.

If they cried, he was the first to alert his parents. If one lost their sock, he’d find it. He shared his toys (reluctantly but willingly) and scented them every night with gentle nuzzles like he’d watched Felix do.

Sometimes, Felix would wake in the middle of the night to find Haneul curled around one of the babies’ nests, thumb in his mouth, hand on a blanket.

A little Alpha. Guarding his pack.

⸻

One evening, long after the twins had drifted to sleep, Felix curled up beside Chan and whispered, “He’s so good with them.”

Chan pulled him close, rubbing circles into his back. “Of course he is. He learned from the best.”

Felix blushed. “You mean you?”

“I mean us.”

Outside, the stars glimmered faintly.

Inside, the pack had grown—five hearts now, nestled into one love-worn nest.

And in the middle of it all was Haneul, the little Alpha who had once pointed to the sky and said “Appa”… now quietly protecting the stars he’d waited his whole life to meet.