Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As a kid, Jisung was quite the adventurous one, jumping over fences, taking shortcuts through the woods and climbing trees. 

At eight years old he climbed the tallest tree he could find only to fall two meters to the ground. Miraculously he’d gotten away with only a few bruises, but the shock of it all had left him stunned and silent as he made his way home where he broke down sobbing in his father’s arms.

One would think Jisung learned to be more careful after that but even after his fall, it didn't take long for him to go back to his old adventurous — and risky — games. 

Getting older opened up doors for new activities to try out. One he was particularly fond of was bike racing down the hills with his friends. It was always so thrilling. The wind in his hair, the uneven path under the wheel, the adrenaline fueling his heart to pump extra hard. 

For his twelfth birthday, he got a new shiny bike — red with fire stickers lining the frame. After that, he won every race he participated in until he lost control of the brakes and crashed into a wall.

This time neither Jisung nor his bike were as lucky. 

Jisung found himself with a broken elbow and the bike with a smashed front wheel. He’d been crying and snotty when his mother picked him up and frantically drove him to the nearest hospital.

The most impactful fall of his childhood took place when he was sixteen years old. But rather than Jisung, it was his heart that suffered the worst consequences when he laid eyes on a man so pretty that not even the delicate dew of morning spring could compare. 

Immediately he was falling — quite literally. In the few short moments his eyes strayed from the path in front, he walked right into a lamppost. The fall to the ground was harsh but rather than pain, Jisung felt more entranced than anything.

A dusty pavement and the throbbing on his forehead was the first sentence in their story. 

If Jisung were the author, he’d color the pages with metaphors and analogies and any other figure of speech he could get his hands on. Symbolism in spring and flowers blooming. Hope and growth for the future as the tale tells a story of new love. 

Birds chirp. Snow melts. Jisung finds Minho. 

In the end however, Jisung was no author and even as the pretty stranger jogged toward him looking concerned and panicked, helping him back up to his feet, Jisung never quite stopped falling.

The neighborhood he lived in was nosy and close-knit and gossip about any incident or new addition spread fast. It didn’t take long for him to hear rumors about the family that recently moved to town. A total of three, two parents and one child. A pretty boy, unpresented. 

Minho was his name.

They had moved into the house that used to belong to Silly Seojin, an old man who talked to birds and threw apples at kids. But last fall he fell down the stairs and was forced to move in with his son and grandchildren in the next town over. 

After learning who the pretty stranger was, Jisung often found himself sneaking past the house on his way home from school. Sometimes with friends, most times alone. He just wanted another glimpse of Minho. 

In the end, Minho caught him first. “What are you doing?” He hung from a sturdy tree branch, head peeking over the tall fence just enough for Jisung to see. “Wanna come inside? My mom is making oolong tea.” 

Jisung probably stared for too long, but he couldn’t help it. Minho really was pretty, even hanging from the apple tree like a monkey. “Can I also climb the tree?” Jisung ended up asking, after all he was notorious for climbing — and falling from — even taller ones. He wasn’t gonna let Minho steal his gig.  

The smile on Minho’s face rivaled a thousand blooming flowers. “Sure.” He hoisted himself further up the branch and rested his chest on the sturdy wood. “By the way, your shirt is inside out.“

Minho wasn’t quite like Jisung’s other friends. He felt extremely mature even though he was only two years older. The grace and confidence with which he carried himself were awe-striking, and Jisung couldn’t help but admire him. 

When they were together he spoke his mind but most of the time he let Jisung do the talking. It felt good, great even, to lead a conversation. As if Minho found the things Jisung said important; as if Minho found Jisung important.

With spring still clinging to the air, Minho presented. He stayed cooped up in his room for the entire week with a fever and stomach ache. The week after presenting, Jisung experienced firsthand how his scent changed shape and evolved. The already piquant fragrance turned even more potent—a heady sweetness, an intoxicating spice. 

And Jisung who was still sitting on that dusty pavement, found himself falling a little harder. 

— .☘︎ ݁˖𐦍 —

The door slams open and Jisung jumps in place. The blanket by his side becomes a shield and he holds up a throw pillow as a weapon. A very brave soldier this one — in his chest his heart skitters around like a terrified mouse. 

What looms by the front door isn’t a beast on the hunt to eat him however, but simply Minho; a cat pretending to be a tiger. 

He looks furious, walking with a small stomp to his step and a crease between his eyebrows. The pout on his lips looks adorable but Jisung knows that if he voiced that out loud Minho would bare his claws and hiss. 

Slumping down on the couch, Minho looks like a grumpy kitten — another statement Jisung would never dare utter out loud.

It’s not out of the ordinary for Minho to show up unannounced like this. He has a key to Jisung’s place and practically lives here with how often he stays the night. Jisung is the same, almost always staying at Minho's place when Minho isn’t sleeping at his. 

Seungmin thinks it’s stupid that they haven’t just moved into a shared dorm to save on expenses and live closer to college. While Jisung wouldn’t be opposed to living with Minho, a part of him feels lacking. He may put on a brave front, but the mouse inside is a coward.

Besides, he knows how happy Minho was when he moved out of the old dorm he shared with Hyunjin and Seungmin for his last year of studies. Jisung won't take that away from him. 

A loud sigh leaves Minho’s lips as he crosses his arms and sinks into the couch by Jisung’s side. As he wiggles around to get comfortable, an unfamiliar scent spreads through the air and the reason for his visit is immediately made clear. 

While Minho often occupies the space of Jisung’s home like this, showing up after sex is rarer — he’ll usually take to the phone to complain. He knows Jisung is sensitive to scents, especially unfamiliar ones in his own home. 

Minho sighs again, louder, and chances a glance Jisung’s way before he looks forward again. 

He’s fishing for a reaction, Jisung knows. But the unfamiliar smell makes his stomach curl and he can’t focus on anything other than the loathing and disgust traveling through his veins. The smell is unpleasant and overpowering and causes him such extreme jealousy he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

Obviously, Jisung has no say in who Minho can or can’t hang out with, nor does he have a say in what he can or can’t do. But he knows the scent doesn’t belong on Minho; it doesn’t deserve to cling to his skin. 

Not that Jisung is a fair judge. If he had the power, Minho would only ever smell like himself and Jisung would live in the scent. 

Jisung studies his face, the slope of his nose and the curl to his lashes. Minho is gorgeous. He's funny and witty and adorable. Charming with his tough exterior but soft heart. Of course alphas are lining up to court him — wanting to tame him.

Jisung hates it. He hates it so much. As if Minho needs to be changed in any way; as if Minho isn’t a complex and dynamic person who can be both soft and strong at the same time.

Minho carries himself with strength and pride. Minho displays a cuddly nature and even softer hands. Minho is Minho and Jisung wishes he won’t ever belong to an alpha.

This time when Minho huffs a sigh, he makes sure to elbow him lightly. A needy thing.

“Bad fuck?” Jisung says, finally giving into the charade. 

Despite playing nonchalant his fingers itch to touch, to soothe, and before he knows what he’s doing he has his arm resting over the backrest, skin tingling where the hairs on Minho’s nape graze him.

Minho groans, throwing his head back. Jisung pretends the muscles in his shoulder don’t jump at the contact.

“Terrible.” He turns his face, pressing his cheek into Jisung’s bicep. When he breathes out through his nose, air fans across Jisung’s skin. Warm. Soft. “He refused to put on a condom so I spent the first fifteen minutes arguing with him. And, get this—" Minho rolls his eyes “—When he eventually did put one on he couldn't even use his dick right.”

Clearing his throat, Jisung’s eyes drift forward. While Minho is good at not sharing explicit details, Jisung isn't necessarily unfamiliar with this kind of talk, especially when it comes to bad experiences. It doesn’t happen often, but one time is still one time too many — he doesn't like imagining Minho in bed with someone else.

Jisung frowns. “Why didn't you just leave when he refused a condom?” 

Minho sighs. “I did? I just- I felt bad when I thought about a future partner of his and wanted to tell him why it's so important to use one. It's when I got up to leave that he agreed to finally use it.” He groans loudly, snuggling further into Jisung's side, smothering his entire face into Jisung’s shoulder. It tickles where Minho’s nose presses into the muscle.

“You should have left.” He curls his arm so it rests around Minho’s body. His nose finds the crown of Minho’s hair and he tries to find any trace of Minho's scent only to groan in frustration when all he gets is a waft of that same awful smell. “And please take a shower,” he mutters petulantly.

“It’s not that easy,” Minho grumbles. 

“Do you need me to help you?”

“I'm not talking about the shower, you imbecile. I meant the,- you know. If only there existed a person out there who matched my needs the way you match me.” He sighs all dramatic, played up, hinting — it feels like he’s playing another game, except this time Jisung isn’t privy to the rules. “It’s not like I have a lot of options.”

Which is a lie. Minho has plenty of options — people are lining up, remember? Jisung himself is a prime example. He wasn’t exactly talking about the shower when he offered to help.

“There are plenty of people who want to fuck you?”

“Not in the way I want to do it, okay?” Minho huffs out, obviously feeling done with the conversation. Then he mumbles. “I was wrong about this one as well, he didn’t want sex the way I want it either.” 

It's mystic and vague and Jisung wants to ask how exactly Minho wants to be fucked if not even the most eligible handsome alphas do it for him. He won’t ever ask though because the answer would probably only further prove how completely unfit and unsatisfying Jisung would be.

Minho breathes out a sigh that lasts for a few seconds too many and has Jisung questioning his lung capabilities. “I don’t like alphas. They suck.”

“Yeah,” Jisung agrees thoughtlessly.

“They suck, yet they won’t even suck my dick.” Minho cackles loudly at his own joke and Jisung can’t help but chuckle. “If I take a shower will you cuddle me for real?” Minho’s hand slowly finds its way to Jisung’s stomach where he begins drawing small patterns with his finger. 

Jisung hums, bumping his head into Minho’s. He’s usually terrible at denying Minho and this time is no different. Selfishly he says, “You can borrow my clothes.”

It’s a small victory, Minho wearing something that belongs to him. It helps soothe the crude, possessive parts of his brain. A silent claim; for tonight Minho is his. 

They suit him well — or perhaps Jisung is just biased. But while they hang baggy on himself, Minho's build fills them out better. He's broad and strong and a little aggressive when he wrestles Jisung into the desired cuddle position, and holds him close with a grip hard enough to delude Jisung’s brain into thinking Minho wants him too. 

There’s a hand in his hair, a thumb rubbing circles into the tender muscle behind his ear. Minho smells like his soap and his skin is red and raw from the warm shower. They lie in a jumble of limbs and after some struggling Jisung manages to put on a random show to drown out the static in his brain. 

“Are you joining karaoke this weekend?” Jisung mumbles into the fabric of Minho's shirt before cuddling closer. It feels nice, the soft lines of his torso, the warmth of his hands, the spicy fragrance that makes Jisung burn. A painful comfort only Minho can give — and deprive him of in the very next breath.

“Nah, I have plans.” 

Even while held tight, rejection still hurts. “What plans?” 

Minho shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet.” 

“Then come?” Jisung snorts. “Why are you being difficult?” 

The only response he gets is another shrug. Minho spends the night though, sneaking off to Jisung’s bed while Jisung takes the couch. It’s stupid. He knows Minho wouldn’t mind if he crawled into bed with him, but he didn’t get an explicit invitation and now he’s worried about crossing a boundary that never existed in the first place. 

For a child who used to not think very much, he sure has grown up to receive a very noisy brain. It seldom shuts up and Jisung needs to smother his face in the pillow that smells like Minho to fall asleep. 

When Friday arrives, Jisung excitedly shows up at Minho's place unannounced with soju bottles in hand. Minho scoffs as his eyes land on Jisung but in the end, they drink the night away. 

“Aren’t you going out tomorrow?” Minho asks as he pours them another shot each. 

Jisung throws it back. “We both are, baby,” he corrects. 

“I told you I’m not going.” Softly shaking his head, Minho downs his shot as well. “You’re gonna regret this tomorrow.”

“Hungover or drunk, I’m gonna own that stage.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second. My little superstar.” 

“It’s the alpha pheromones,” Jisung stage whispers, elbow leaning on the table. “It has people falling over themselves trying to get to me.” 

Minho laughs, his right eye closing before the left. “Of course, alpha,” he teases back. 

Something bubbles in Jisung’s stomach at the nickname. Minho calls him that sometimes, in a specific tone of voice that he can’t quite place. It makes him embarrassed and horny at the same time — horny from the embarrassment or embarrassed because he’s horny; he doesn’t know. 

Usually, he doesn’t like it when others call him alpha. It makes him feel raw and itchy and like people are making fun of him. But it’s different with Minho. Minho is an exception to many of the rules he has. 

Come morning Jisung wakes up with a painful headache, but Minho's bed is a saving grace. It smells like heavy slumber and cloying sweetness. A mellow note of something spicier lingers in the in-between. It has him snuggling deeper into the sheets, thighs closing around a pillow and saliva pooling under his tongue. 

He aches. 

A hand on his forehead startles him upright. A giggle to his right has him turning his head and he comes face to face with Minho. 

“You look like a Wheathead,” he teases. “Your hair is a mess.” 

Minho runs his fingers through it, but despite ‘fixing’ it, Jisung is certain Minho is making his bed-head worse from the way he ruffles his scalp and giggles some more.  

It’s after breakfast that things take a turn for the worse — a tad dramatic perhaps but it’s the truth in Jisung’s humble opinion — because suddenly Minho decides to cancel their karaoke plans tonight. 

“I never said I was going,” Minho says as he pulls on his shoes and ties the laces. Jisung stands behind his back pouting. 

“You were supposed to see my awesome performance? I need you in the crowd!” 

“That’s a lie,” Minho snorts. “You’ve done this a million times without me. You can do it again.” 

“Where are you even going?” Jisung is still wearing pajamas while Minho is fully dressed.  

“Fishing.” 

“I can’t believe you choose fucking fishing over me.”

Minho pulls a hat over his head and drapes a thin jacket over his back. “You’ll survive.” 

“I hope you drown.” 

“I pray you fall off the stage and break your elbow.” 

Jisung gasps. “I only have one good elbow left! You know how the bike crash left me.” He pouts and soothingly pets his perfectly fine elbow in an attempt to comfort it. 

Minho offers him a failed wink before he is off. 

For the remainder of the day, Jisung lazes around in Mnho’s apartment. He’s sulky and bored. And maybe horny. 

A shower it is. 

Water pelts against his back as his moans get lost in the steam. One hand is on his chest pinching a nipple, and the other is between his legs where he grinds his dick against his palm. It’s a little desperate and very pathetic, but it’s easier to imagine himself getting off with Minho’s thigh between his legs than it is to picture himself fucking Minho. 

Afterward, all evidence of his indulging endeavors gets washed down the drain.

He meets up with Jeongin at the bus stop and Felix greets them the second they enter the karaoke bar. 

“Wow, there’s practically only old people here.” He whistles, hands in his pockets. It’s his first time at this specific bar, but the reviews of the place are good and Jisung is tired of the ones crowded with fresh eighteen-year-olds who are too shy to take the mic. 

Felix links their arms and points at an empty table. “Let’s sit there.”

He gets pulled across the floor and almost thrown into a chair by a very excited Felix. Only a few moments later Jeongin arrives with three mugs of beer dangerously balanced between his palms.

“Who sings first?”

“Innie, you and Jisung should do a duet!” Felix claps his hands. “I’ll be here guarding our drinks and cheering.” 

Under normal circumstances Jisung is the karaoke king, but the new environment makes him nervous. He shakes his leg and sips his beer. 

He knows he can perform without Minho, he knows he can overwin his nerves and put on a great performance without him here. But it would help. Minho has always had a knack for calming him down. 

“I’m gonna blow you away with my singing,” Jisung says, all false bravado as Jeongin goes to write down their names and song of choice on a slip of paper. 

“You always do,” Felix assures. 

A few people are before them in the queue and Jisung lets himself enjoy the show. An old couple sings a love song. A group of giggly teenagers sing a song that's been on repeat on the radio so many times Jisung’s gotten sick of it. Voices crack, lyrics get stumbled over, and soon Jisung finds himself completely relaxed.

When he and Jeongin get called he takes the lead, jogging up on stage and making a show of bowing to the audience, playing famous. 

Jisung sings many songs that night, varying from screaming into the mic with Felix, to doing a trot song with Jeongin paired with a slow version of the Little Frog dance. He ends the night with a solo — a heartbreaking love song filled with anguish. 

After a few too many beers Jisung stumbles home. Jeongin had been kind enough to call him a cab, but halfway through the ride home he’d gotten so nauseous he’d forced the driver to pull over. After spending ten — perhaps thirty — minutes crouched in a bush to calm his breathing and stop the spinning, he emerges from his hiding spot only to find that the cab driver has driven off without him.

He curses as he trips over an uneven path block and curses some more when he thinks about how long it’ll take for him to walk home. He misses his bed and a bath, and he could really use a glass of water right about now. 

By an intersection that looks vaguely familiar, he finds another groove of plants and bushes and settles down between some flowers. He wishes he was a mouse so he could build a house in the petals. 

A cold wind ruffles his hair and he curls farther into the corner. Then he pulls out his phone and dials the number of the person he knows would drop everything to come help him. “Hyung, hyung-ah. Hyungie.”

“Jisung?” Minho’s voice is as soft as ever. “Are you okay?” The grainy static makes it sound a tiny bit raspy. He must be tired. 

Shit, Jisung forgot how late it is. 

“I’m so thirsty,” he mumbles into the call. “My taxi drove away from me, I'm alone.”

“Where are you? Where's Felix? How much did you drink?”

Too many questions are being asked. Jisung just wants Minho to pick him up and take him home. “I'm by some flowers,” he grumbles, growing a little annoyed. “I- I need water, okay?”

Rustling can be heard on the other end, then the slam of a door and some keys jiggling. “I’m coming to pick you up,-”

“Water?”

“With water, yes.” Minho sighs, or perhaps it's a laugh. Jisung can’t really tell. “Where are you again?”

“By some flowers. They’re so pretty hyung.” He leans his head on his knees and lets one of his hands dig into the soil by his side. It’s cold and feels funny. Almost wet. Maybe it’s going to rain. “Bring an umbrella. What if it rains? You can’t get sick.”

This time he’s certain Minho laughs.

“I'm serious, you can't get sick!” He tries to sound scolding, stern.

Minho sounds just as jovial when he responds. “Of course Jisungie, I'll be careful. Can’t be getting sick, hm?”

Jisung nods, then nods some more when he realizes how nice it feels to scratch his forehead against the rough texture of his jeans.

“When I find you—” Minho’s breath is a little shaky, far away. Maybe Jisung is falling asleep “—I'm downloading a tracker on your phone, okay? That way I'll always have your location. You can just call me when you need and I’ll know exactly where to find you.”

Jisung hums. “I want your location as well.” He blinks his eyes open and stares at the deserted road. In the house on the other side, the lights are off. “So that I'll find you. Next time you leave, I’ll make sure to find you. You can’t escape,” he mutters.

“Okay,” Minho whispers. “Is it okay if I hang up while I drive, or do you need me on the phone? You guys were at that new place, right? I’ll go there first.”

“Okay, hyung.” Then, because Jisung isn’t an asshole. “Thank you, hyung. I’ll,- Next time I'll take care of you instead.”

Minho laughs, this sweet laugh that has flowers blooming in Jisung’s chest. “I’m looking forward to it.”

It doesn’t take long at all for Minho to find him.

“You found me!” Jisung stretches out his arms. 

Minho grabs him under the armpits and hauls him up. “What are you hiding here for?” he asks, a hand dusting off his clothes. From his pocket, he pulls out a napkin and starts cleaning Jisung’s muddy hand. “Have you been digging around in the dirt?” He asks.

Jisung grins wider. “You came for me.”

The hand in his freezes for a moment. When their eyes meet the lines of Minho’s body soften, his shoulders loosening and a smile forming.

“Of course I did.” The moon makes Minho’s eyes sparkle. He blinks before shaking his head fondly. The smile turns teasing. “Sung-ah, the karaoke bar is just around the corner. How did you lose a taxi?”

It takes a few moments for the words to register in his brain but when they do he giggles embarrassed, bashful, and starts scratching at his neck. Minho grabs his wrist, holds it still, and oh, Jisung got himself dirty.

“I thought the cab got a little farther than that before I got off. Although that explains why they drove off without my money.”

Minho’s eyes narrow. “You didn’t leave your wallet in the car, right?”

For a few sweaty seconds Jisung pats his body down to check that he’s still got it. Minho is lending a hand as well — touching his ass? They both sigh with relief when Jisung finds it and waves it around in the air between them. “Found it!”

"Great, good boy,” Minho praises. “Come on Wheathead, let’s get you out of these bushes.” He interlaces their fingers and Jisung giggles as he is dragged to the car.

“A wheat in the bushes. Oh wheat in the bush~” he sings, tripping over his feet.

Minho opens the door for him and Jisung stumbles into the car. Sinking into the car seat, comfort washes over him. Minho’s smell clings to the leather seats; the warmth of Minho’s hand is on his thigh; the radio plays his favorite songs. 

But as his body loosens up, so does his tongue. ”Why did you come over stinking of alpha last time?” He turns on his side, his cheek squished into the backrest. “I don’t like it. The alphas stink.” Minho always stinks of alpha after he’s ‘hung out’ with one. It smells too strongly, smells too much like Minho belongs to someone else.

When they stop at a red light Minho turns to him. He gives Jisung’s knee a squeeze, causing it to jerk. “I’m sorry,” he says, face soft. “I won’t do it again. Promise.”

Jisung nods and snuggles further into the leather. He breathes deeply. “They really stink. All of them.” This time when Minho's grip hardens he manages to remain still. “I like your scent better. You smell so good, hyung.”

"You're too sweet, Jisung-ah,” Minho says. “And from now on I'll shower after meeting with alphas. We don’t want to cause your little nose any discomfort.”

Jisung hums. “My alpha nose doesn’t like it.”

Minho giggles. “Of course. My little alpha.”

A hand on his shoulder shakes him awake. Minho is leaning over him. “We’re here now.” 

With the help of Minho, he stumbles into his,- no this is Minho’s apartment. After gulping down a glass of water he walks straight to the bedroom where he immediately starts peeling clothes off his body. 

“Ugh it’s so hot,” he whines. 

Wearing only his underwear and socks he falls into bed. Minho sits down on the edge of the mattress and starts petting his head. Short fingers gently pull at strands, trimmed nails itch from the crown of his head down to his neck. 

When Minho's fingers begin massaging behind his ear, thumb just above his gland, Jisung can’t help but groan. He presses his face into the pillow, smothering another moan when Minho’s fingers dig in deeper, reaching another sensitive spot. 

Jisung’s neck has always been particularly sensitive, on both good and bad. When he’s nervous or anxious, he can usually calm down by rubbing his scent glands, but at the same time, unexpected stimuli makes him squirmy and restless. Minho's dexterous fingers touching and tracing his skin delicately only serve to turn him on. 

This is bad, probably. Very bad. Before it can go too far though Minho removes his hand completely and Jisung's body slumps into the mattress — he hadn’t even realized how worked up he’d gotten. 

“Hyung?” He asks, blubbery and tired. He turns to look at Minho through blurry eyes. A conflicted look passes on his face, lips pinched. But when he notices Jisung staring, his features smoothen out. 

“Go to sleep.” 

Jisung knows what it is. A command. Caring and sweet in nature; no argument allowed. Three simple words and Jisung is out like a light. 

Morning finds Jisung with an armful of Minho. He lies with his hands curled under his chin, hair a mess on the pillow. A rich tantalizing sweetness clings to Jisung’s skin. It makes his brain numb and muscles loose — Minho’s scent is the nicest thing in the world. 

He’s not wearing his socks anymore, Minho must have taken them off for him while he slept. Jisung hates sleeping with socks on. It always feels like they cut off blood circulation and for some reason it makes his toes feel cold even though the added layer should be giving him warmth. 

A part of him feels guilty for making Minho pick him up. Another part makes him giddy Minho didn’t give it a second thought before rushing over. The last part — feeling more spiteful — is improperly smug over having Minho back by his side after he left yesterday morning. 

Suddenly Minho’s face scrunches up. His nose twitches, legs pushing toward Jisung. Lastly, his head follows as his forehead bumps into Jisung’s right clavicle. 

On his next intake of air, he gets a lungful of Minho’s scent. A drowsy thing he would willingly drown in. He cuddles closer as well, seeking more of Minho’s scent and warmth. One hand gets lost in the long strands of unruly hair on Minho’s head and the other finds its way in under his shirt so he can trace the knobs that crawl down Minho’s spine. 

Minho is always the softest during the mornings. Unguarded and vulnerable, his mind still half-lost under the blanket of sleep. 

He mumbles something. “Good morning,” most likely. Babbles on about things Jisung can't make out. The crease between his brows has Jisung assuming it’s a scolding. Or perhaps Minho is simply cursing the sun for existing. “I’m downloading that stupid tracker on your phone,” he grumbles. 

And well,- definitely scolding Jisung. But love exists in that too. Care and worry. 

He hums. “Yeah.” Presses Minho's head closer to his chest and prays he can’t hear how his heart is attempting jailbreak. His nose buries itself into the dark locks. “I’m getting your location, as well.” Minho has already left him once and Jisung refuses to let it happen again. 

Minho giggles, causing his lips to brush over bare skin; goosebumps ripple, a heart stutters. Jisung’s fingers dig deeper into the muscles of Minho's back. 

A sense of comfort in the excitement, or perhaps excitement in the comfort. Minho's thigh is warm, heavy. It slots between his legs and Jisung can’t tell if he wants to press closer to chase Minho’s warmth, or to chase something else — something much less innocent. 

Then teeth hook in the valley of his neck and Jisung flies out of bed before he can process what happened. Minho remains in bed, under the blanket which now lays askew from Jisung's escape. His eyes are wide, staring at Jisung with surprise and confusion. 

This is new. This is different. Minho has never bitten him before. He likes it, he realizes. He likes it a lot. 

He wants Minho to bite him all over, mark his neck and let everyone who spares them a second glance know that Jisung belongs to him. Jisung wants to bite back. He wants to scream from every rooftop that, ’Look! Minho is the prettiest person in the world and he’s all mine.’

In a stalemate, they keep looking at each other. But the more seconds that pass, the more ridiculous it all feels. 

The moment it dawns on Jisung that a pair of green alien underwear is the only thing keeping him from complete nakedness he breaks the silence with an awkward giggle. 

He prays his dick isn’t hard enough for Minho to notice. 

“I’m so hungry.” It’s as bad of an excuse as they come. 

Minho's eyes narrow but after another moment or two, he softens out completely, body sinking further into the mattress. “Sung-ah, come lie down. I’ll make you some breakfast, hm?” He pats the empty slot by his side, slowly sitting up. The duvet falls into his lap and Jisung wants to curl into the space. “I can make kimchi jjigae and heat some rice. Would you like eggs?” He throws the blanket off his legs and stands up to stretch. “I’ll make you some tea, as well.” 

One look at Jisung, eyebrows raised, inquiring, has him nodding his head. “Yes. To it all. Whatever you have. Whatever you will make. Thank you.” 

Minho passes him on the way out of the room and makes sure to ruffle his hair. “Rest some more. Hyung will take care of it all.” 

And he does. Minho always takes good care of him. 

— .☘︎ ݁˖𐦍 —

Chapter Text

The first summer after presenting, Minho told Jisung, “I don’t like being an omega.” 

They sat by the edge of a river, watching clouds unfold to reveal the warm setting sun. 

“How come?” Jisung bit into an apple picked from Minho’s garden and gazed out over the reflective water, squinting in the light. “You’ve only been an omega for a month.” He choked on a seed and regretted his words immediately. Without looking, he knew Minho was glaring. 

“Hajoon has called me a troll ever since I moved here. But now that I'm an omega he’s buying me flowers and shit, thinking he can court me.” Minho threw his apple into the water below, only half-eaten. It didn’t fly very far and Minho frowned at the rivets in the water. Then he found a rock by his side and threw it as well. “And the Ajumma at the chicken place took one whiff of my scent and complimented my hips. My ‘childbearing’ hips. Who the fuck says that?” Minho pulled air in between his teeth, seething.

Jisung looked away. A wet shine glinted in Minho’s eyes and he didn’t know what to do when Minho was sad. He didn’t like it at all. 

“I don't mind being an omega,” Minho said eventually, taking a deep breath. “I don't necessarily care about genders, but what I do hate is—” Minho’s hand dug into the dirt. A mound of grass and roots twisted in his fist, between his fingers “—I hate the way people look at me now. As if something has changed. As if I'm suddenly not me. I'm only eighteen, barely an adult. I don't want kids. I don't care about ‘childbearing hips’ or alphas or stupid Hajoon.”

Wind blew. A duck landed in the water, a shadow in front of the sun. It flapped its wings before ducking its head underwater. Minho’s breathing was heavy by his side. 

Jisung’s hand found Minho’s dirty one. The roots were stringy and wet, the dirt cold. He interlaced their fingers anyway. 

“I'm gonna be an alpha,” he announced suddenly. “My mom is one. My hyung, as well. Dad is a beta but my chances of being an alpha are higher.” He stated it like a fact, with conviction. “I'll present as an alpha and growl at everyone who makes stupid comments about you.”

When he braved himself to look at Minho, he seemed surprised, hair glowing in the sun, ears red, mouth open. Then his lips pressed together and he hid a smile behind his free hand. 

“I’m serious,” Jisung burst out. He felt too hot suddenly, a mixture of embarrassment and happiness swirling in his stomach. “I’ll,- I’ll protect you, hyung.”

Minho’s legs curled up toward his stomach and he rested his cheek against his knees. The smile he gave Jisung was more blinding than the sun. “I’ll be waiting then. How long will it take? A year? Two? Didn’t your Mother present at 23? Do I need to wait seven years?” He tsked, shaking his head. “I'm not very patient, you know?”

“Yah!” Jisung jostled their hands and twisted around so he sat facing Minho. “I’ll do it. I will!” 

Glittery-eyed and flustered, Minho giggled at his bold claim. “Jisung-ah, you know I don’t care about genders, right? It’s the inside that matters, even if you just consist of alien goo.” 

“Hyung!” 

Minho’s eyes scrunched up, his hand in Jisung’s was sweaty, his laugh was loud and free. If Jisung could, he’d dedicate entire chapters to the sound alone. Words upon words spun into the most beautiful literature. 

It was the sweetest sound in the world; the tingling of a snowbell, the coming of spring. 

— ｡˚ଳ☀︎｡｡ —

Jisung’s schedule is packed as is. He’s tired and grumpy but he had promised Changbin he’d go to the gym with him, so here he is, even grumpier and more tired. 

“Try not to bend your knees so much,” Changbin tells him while Jisung is in the middle of doing deadlifts. 

“I don’t like this,” he announces as if that isn’t obvious from the way he has spent the past thirty minutes whining and complaining. He wants to work his back and make it look more defined, but currently it feels like his legs are taking the biggest brunt. 

Changbin snorts. “Yeah yeah.” 

Then Chan arrives and he’s forced to do even more reps because he wants to see. It’s all so stupid. “Just one more Sung-ah,” he says for the fourth time.

Despite grunting and cursing at his friends, Jisung follows through with all the reps. He can only do so much though, and eventually he gives up and falls to the floor in a heap of limbs, only cushioned by the rubber mats. 

“You did good,” Changbin compliments him, handing over his water. 

Attempting to drink while lying down, Jisung ends up spraying his face and chokes. He jolts upright with a few hefty coughs. Chan dotes and fusses over him, dabbing a towel over his chin to soak up the liquid. On his other side, Changbin is stroking and patting his back till he stops coughing. 

“Well, good thing I didn’t invite Minho today,” he jokes when the threat of suffocation stops looming. Despite Jisung’s glare, Changbin only laughs some more. “How about some pull-ups now, eh?”

In response Jisung flops back to the ground. It may be uncommon, but even mice can play dead. It appears he’s lacking in practice though, because his friends aren’t buying the act. In the end Chan hauls him to his feet and Changbin adjusts the pull-up bar to the correct height.

Despite his complaints, hitting the gym isn’t necessarily the worst way Jisung could spend his day. Because while it may be grueling and tiring, he likes the results it gives. The way the muscles on his back will accentuate the dip in his spine. How his broad shoulders will emphasize his waist. After he works out he’ll usually feel more confident, more comfortable in his skin. He feels hot, sexy even — the fact that Minho likes to grope his muscles and compliment his chest is completely irrelevant.

Besides, he gets to spend time with two of his closest friends which is always a win in his mind. 

When Changbin finally deems the session over, Jisung is well and truly dead. His legs shake as he wobbles toward the car, steadied only by Chan’s hand on his shoulder.  

“I’m never coming back,” he says. A lie, they all know. 

“Okay.” Changbin shrugs nonchalantly. “Next week Minho promised to come with me. I’m gonna make him wear shorts and force him to work out his legs.” He gives Jisung a teasing smile. “We won’t need an audience.”

By his side Chan snorts and Jisung huffs and puffs, offended. “Excuse you? Audience? I’d be so focused. I’d,- I’d be the best at leg exercises. What do you mean Minho will be wearing shorts? How? Why? For scientific purposes, I need to see that.” 

Changbin bursts out laughing and Chan gently shoos him into the backseat of the car. When they’re out on the road, Chan turns around, eyes suddenly serious. 

“Jisung-ah,” he sighs, pitying almost. Jisung doesn’t like where this is going and instinctively adjusts in his seat, pressing his body toward the door. “For how long will you keep this ruse up? Don’t you think you should stop lying?”

Jisung squirms some more and looks out the window because he can’t bear to see the dip in Chan’s smile, the disappointment in his eyes. “It’s not a big deal. It’s stupid. Minho doesn’t care.” His fingers find his wrist, thumb starting the repetitive motion of rubbing across the thinnest part of the skin, where his gland breaks the surface. 

“Since it’s about you, Jisung, I can guarantee Minho does care.” His voice is firm but still careful. He knows from experience that Jisung will retreat completely if it borders into something akin to accusation.

“Minho said,- he told me before that he didn’t care about that stuff. He told me he didn’t care what I would present as,” he mumbles. As if that’s a good enough reason. He chances a glance forward and Chan is still turned to him, lips in a firm line and face the stature of seriousness. 

“Don’t you think,” Chan starts carefully, “Minho not caring is all the more reason for you to be honest with him? Perhaps tell him why you care so much?” 

Jisung doesn’t answer and turns to look out the window instead. His thumb digs into the gland, harsher this time. His nail finds a flake of skin and he picks at it, fiddling with the flap until he grows annoyed and just rips it off. It stings. 

“Jeez guys,” Changbin breaks the silence and Jisung jolts. He’d almost forgotten he was in the car with them. “We just left the gym,” he continues. “We should be pumping with adrenaline and endorphins. What’s with the mood?” He slaps Chan’s leg and he turns to look out front again. “Look at it on the bright side, why don’t you? This means Jisung thinks he has a chance with Minho. Otherwise, he wouldn’t go through the trouble.”

In the rearview mirror Changbin finds his eyes. Jisung huffs before giving a jerky nod. It’s apparently not good enough, Chan can’t see Jisung anymore.

“Jisungie, do you think you have a chance with Minho?” Changbin presses. 

This time Jisung glares at him. Voicing his hope out loud feels more pathetic than anything. It makes it more real and subsequently more heartbreaking when it all gets crushed in the end. 

Perhaps Changbin is right and Jisung thinks he has a chance with Minho. Used to at least, but then Minho left and Jisung had been too ashamed to contact him, and Minho hadn’t reached out either. 

Maybe they weren't as good together as Jisung thought they were.

“You do have a chance. Minho adores you,” Chan says. 

“I don’t know. Like this, I feel like I do,” Jisung admits. “But then…” he trails off. “Hope is a scary thing.”

When the car turns into familiar streets, Changbin asks, “Do I drive you home or to Minho’s?” 

Considering the conversation they just had, Jisung feels ashamed of his answer. But he’s tired and hungry and Minho always makes such good food. He pouts and Changbin snorts and a few minutes later they’re parked outside Minho's apartment. 

Chan rolls down the car window to catch Jisung before he disappears into the building. “Think about it. Please?” 

Jisung shrugs the gym bag up his shoulder. “Sure.” 

They both know he’s a liar. 

Jisung doesn’t bother knocking and simply presses the passcode. Since Minho is nowhere to be seen he heads straight to the bathroom and takes a shower. Wrapped in a newly tumbled towel, fluffy and warm, he drags his body to Minho’s bedroom.

There he finds Minho, lounging in bed with his headphones on. He startles when the door opens and slams his laptop shut. Jisung almost drops the towel wrapped around his hips in surprise.

“Jisung,” Minho exclaims. “What are you doing here?”

“I was taking a shower.” Jisung scrambles to hold onto the towel — he knows he’s not answering the question. Then he squints. “What were you doing?” A grin blooms on his face. “Something naughty?”

An ugly frown creases Minho’s face, a display of disgust. “None of your business,” he scoffs. 

“What are you doing then?”

Minho takes too long to answer. “Nothing,” he says eventually trying to seem indifferent, but a nervous twitch racks through his shoulders. A deep shade of red blooms across his ears, made even more obvious by the way one hand moves up to pull at the lobe.

The obvious embarrassment only serves to heighten Jisung’s curiosity and urge to tease. After all, it's unusual to catch Minho unguarded like this. 

He rummages through Minho’s closet and jumps around on one leg as he dresses in a pair of boxers and an oversized sleep shirt. Then he slowly stalks toward Minho, hands hovering in front, fingers slightly spread.

“Jisung,” Minho warns lowly. Pushing the computer aside, he hides it under a pillow. The headphones are placed on the bedside table.

When he reaches the foot of the bed, Jisung pounces. Stupid choice really; Minho is stronger than him. He’s also almost completely out of energy after today’s gym session. But while the odds may be stacked against him, Jisung has never been one to back out of a challenge; danger and adventure are in his blood — or perhaps that’s just stupidity. 

The corner of the computer sticks out from under the pillow, and Jisung’s hands shoot forward. Before he can get very far however, Minho catches him with a firm grip around his waist and begins pulling him down the bed.

He barely graces the computer before he’s grabbing at the sheets instead. Kicking his feet, he makes a valiant effort to ensure he remains on the bed. Minho stretches an arm over him, trying to grab the computer and run away with the evidence of his earlier misdeeds. But Jisung won't let him get away; neither of them will be leaving this room before he can find out the contents on the computer. 

In a desperate attempt he turns to his back and clings to Minho’s body instead. It’s easy to hold on, arms around Minho’s shoulders and legs around his waist. It proves to slow Minho’s movements down. Something he didn’t take into account for is the way Minho is able to lift his body despite the way his limbs are wrapped around him and weighing him down. 

Being hoisted around like this makes his tummy flutter, and he yelps and clings a little harder to deal with his pounding heart.

A mistake. Big mistake. 

Minho moves to sit up and Jisung falls half in his lap, both of them panting. A mean grin slowly spreads across Minho’s lips followed by teasing fingers itching up under Jisung’s shirt. It takes a moment too long for realization to dawn. When it does, Minho has already found that place that makes him squirm, where his stomach is at its softest. 

Soon Jisung is doing everything in his power to get away from Minho. He’s clawing at the sheets, getting his feet tangled in the blanket as Minho manhandles him around so he can sit on the back of Jisung’s thighs and tickle him to his heart's content.

While Jisung shrieks in horror, Minho is cackling like a madman.

“No, no please,” he gets out between gasps and laughs. “Hyung, I’m sore all over. Hyung!”

Minho just keeps laughing at his misery.

His stomach is cramping from laughing and his back can barely lift itself, but still he does his best to get away. He manages to get his hands under his chest and pushes upward. In the end it’s a failed attempt and he ends up face-planting into the mattress instead. 

He chokes on an inhale and thinks he might be drooling on the pillow. Feeling so helpless has something hot swirling in his stomach, and the lack of air makes his head spin.

As soon as the first cough leaves his throat, Minho stops. His hand finds the back of his neck, palm warm and fingers spread out — encasing, griping. His thumb rubs soothingly at his gland, his fore- and middle finger tickling on the other side. It’s caring and gentle, a juxtaposition from his earlier intense tickling.

When Jisung tries to lift his head, Minho presses him back down. “Stay,” he mutters while his thumb presses harder.

For a moment the entire world tilts on its axis, spinning three-quarters too fast. The commanding tone leaves Jisung breathless and disoriented. It’s unfamiliar and scary as his brain goes numb. But then the hand around his neck squeezes once and Jisung melts into the mattress. Minho’s got him; Minho keeps him safe. 

Minho’s weight slowly shifts off his body and technically Jisung finally has the chance to steal the computer. He can’t bring himself to care though, he’s too exhausted to move even a finger — maybe that was Minho’s plan all along. 

Despite the bone-deep exhaustion, he actually doesn’t feel too bad. It tingles where Minho’s fingers tickled him, a satisfying kind of hurt and Jisung relishes in the feeling. 

A minute or two pass where Jisung does absolutely nothing — he can’t decide if he wants to play dead or if he wants to rile Minho up again. By his side, Minho sits quietly observing, one hand still lightly tracing the back of his neck. 

Jisung turns his head, looking at Minho through his peripheral vision. Minho is staring back, something dark and calculating in his eyes. He seems far away, his focus on Jisung but not on the present. 

When his eyes catch Jisung’s, he returns to normal and squints. “Are you done being disobedient now?” 

Jisung whines, a high pathetic noise. “I was being very obedient,” he protests, huffing, still out of breath. “I,- I was just curious. You’re so mean, hyung. Now my body hurts all over,” he whines. Pouting his lips and blinking his eyes is an almost fault-proof tactic to get Minho’s sympathy.

Minho pouts back, eyes widening adorably. “Poor baby, why don’t we get some food in your tummy, to fill up some energy?” he suggests.

“Hyung,” Jisung says sternly, but since he’s still panting it sounds more breathy and whiney than he would have liked. “I can't move. I'm dead. Gone. Bye-bye.” Then he turns to plant his face back into the pillows. It’s slightly harder to breathe like this, but it’s reminiscent of being buried in the softness of Minho’s stomach so he finds that he doesn’t mind.

The mattress dips by his side, the hand beginning to more purposefully massage his neck again. It sparks something in the pit of his stomach. A tickling warmth as Minho keeps a steady pressure on that one spot that has Jisung eyes rolling back and toes curling in the sheets.

Suddenly Minho’s breath is ghosting right above his ear and Jisung’s entire body breaks out in shivers. “Need help?” He lies down on top of Jisung, punching a small ‘ouf’ from his lungs. Even if Jisung had planned to get up on his own, he can’t anymore with Minho’s weight distributed along the length of his body.

Jisung turns his head and frowns, trying to look as indignant as possible. “It’s your fault,” he grumbles.

Minho’s lips split into a wicked grin against his skin. “So you do need my help getting into the kitchen.” His nose presses into Jisung’s shoulder, nosing at the skin, making Jisung squirm. Not a single part of him trusts Minho to help. 

“Not by you,” he tuts stubbornly.

Minho huffs something back, then he lifts his head slightly and bites Jisung’s cheek. His fucking cheek. It’s not a hard bite, Jisung can barely feel it past the wet mouth and pressure of teeth. Still his entire body jerks in response. He’s burning up all over and he needs to get out of this situation fast before his body betrays him. 

He fears he’ll release some embarrassing horny noise, or worse, get a boner. Already his scent is growing heavy and he’s incredibly thankful for his earlier shower, the soap working to mask it. 

“Ow, ow hyung,” he whines playfully. “I’m sorry. I need your help, this little one needs your help.”

When Minho lifts himself up and off his body, Jisung breathes a sigh of relief. Then he’s lifted into the air and hoisted over one of Minho’s shoulders, swinging limply as Minho carries him like a dirty rag out of the room. 

Jisung lets himself be placed on the kitchen counter like a sack of grain, he even keeps up the act of an inanimate object by sitting motionlessly and staring at the floor. A moment or two later Minho pokes him in the stomach with the back of a spatula and he’s forced to break the ruse with a stupid giggle. 

“Cheer up,” Minho says. “Hyung is making you food.”

Humming, Jisung leans his head back against the cupboard and swings his feet a little. The countertop is cool under his bare thighs. “What are we having?”

“I’m thinking bulgogi.” Tapping his lip, Minho thinks some more. “And then my grandma sent me some Dasik we can snack on after. Thoughts?” 

Jisung grins, sending a thumbs up. “Sounds good to me.” 

Even as Minho moves on and begins cooking, the scene from earlier sticks with him. Being held down, a hand around his neck. Stay. 

Jisung crosses his feet and squeezes his thighs together. Silently, he watches as Minho moves around the kitchen. A natural in his habitat, shoulders broad and safe. For only a moment he wonders what it would be like had Minho been born an alpha instead. Would he want to hold Jisung down? Perhaps bite his neck and fuck him till he’s crying? 

He likes it when Minho touches his neck. He likes it when Minho holds him down. He likes it when Minho is being rough. A funny, tickling, almost unpleasant feeling spreads in his stomach and he pinches his inner wrist to snap out of it. 

Minho is no alpha so Jisung should stop thinking about it. The thoughts get pushed to the back of his brain, most likely to be rediscovered later when he’s alone — when shame and pleasure are one and the same, and guilt remains far far away.

Dinner is delicious. Minho is truly the best chef out there in Jisung’s very unbiased and humble opinion. He moans around every mouthful, making sure to tell Minho just how good it all tastes. If Jisung plays up the act a tiny bit just to see Minho’s ears turn a deep shade of red, then that's for only him to know. The way Minho will pinch his lobe, trying to hide the fluster, never fails to make Jisung’s heart beat faster. 

Despite it being summer, evening still has Jisung’s naked legs shivering. After the shower he was too busy teasing Minho to put on some pants. So while Minho prepares them tea to have with the sweets, he sneaks off to the bedroom and rummages through the closet for some sweats. 

Just before going back out, he catches sight of the computer on the messy bed. At first Jisung decides to ignore it, he doesn’t really want to know what kind of porn Minho watches to get off. But then he once again thinks about Minho's earlier biting and curiosity gets the better of him. 

Curiosity killed the cat, but nobody said anything about a mouse dying. 

Opening the computer and typing in the password — which of course he knows — he’s greeted by an unexpected sight. Jisung thought he’d find the browser in incognito mode, some sketchy porn video on pause. Instead, he finds himself staring at a wikihow article. It’s worse than any porn ever could be. 

Curiosity killed the cat, and satisfaction brought it back. But what about the mouse? Well, the mouse snoops on his best friend's computer and gets his heart fractured in the process.  

The article reads: ‘How to get over a crush’  

Jiusng wasn’t aware Minho liked someone. He can’t tell what hurts more, the knowledge Minho is slowly getting further away from him again or the fact that Minho didn’t tell him about his crush. 

— ｡˚ଳ☀︎｡｡ —

A ‘kiss the chef’ apron is neatly tied around Minho’s waist where he stands behind the grill. Somewhere in the background, Jisung can hear Changbin and Seungmin squabbling like a bunch of kids, probably fighting over the pool ball Chan blew up for them. 

His eyes can’t seem to stray far from Minho however — not that they ever really do, but today is different. 

Thoughts about Minho’s stupid crush keep resurfacing in his brain, especially now that a mark taints Minho’s neck, almost hidden under the stretched-out collar. Almost, but Jisung’s trained eye and embarrassingly obsessive infatuation with Minho have him noticing anyway. 

It wasn’t there yesterday. At least not when they said goodbye and parted ways after a late-night trip to the convenience store. Jisung found it odd when Minho went home to sleep alone instead of wrestling him into bed and cuddling him with a death grip. But it makes sense now.

He can’t stop staring and his brain won’t stop thinking. Was it someone waiting for Minho at home or did he go out looking? Was he with his crush? 

Jisung’s nails scrape against the side of his neck. It’s hot out and the smattering of the coal in the grill makes it feel even more so. His finger slips on a drop of sweat and he yelps when he accidentally nicks himself. 

Immediately Minho’s eyes are on him, but before he can come over a hand runs through his hair, diverting Jisung’s attention to Felix. A frown creases his face, lips in a small pout. His freckles glitter in the sun. 

And isn’t this embarrassing? Getting caught longing. 

“Hey,” Felix starts. 

“Later,” Jisung deflects. 

He knows what’s coming, concern. Pity. Perhaps even encouragement that Jisung should talk to Minho, tell him how he feels, as if that wouldn’t ruin their friendship and consequently today's barbecue and backyard camping. 

Jisung is working on it. Kinda. When he’s a little braver, when Minho doesn’t stink of some random alpha, that’s when he’ll do something. 

When they were younger, he used to be brave and a lot more straightforward around Minho. Constantly talking a big game about how he’d protect him, always bragging about how he’d be the best alpha for him. Surely he can channel some of that energy and confidence again. Not today. But someday. Definitely. 

Not-so-secretly he’s hoping Minho will make the first move. Kiss him or jump his bones or whatever — Jisung isn’t picky. 

Felix frowns, “Fine,” he mumbles, not looking satisfied in the least. But then Chan comes strolling over with chopped-up meat and vegetables balancing precariously, and Felix is rushing to his aid. 

When Jisung’s eyes return to Minho, he’s staring back. Something dark and calculating is poorly hidden behind his irises. It’s not necessarily an unusual look for Minho to have when he’s looking at Jisung, but this time feels different. Charged with a new kind of energy Jisung can’t pinpoint. 

He gives an awkward smile, feeling sheepish for being caught, but Minho doesn’t smile back. In the end, it’s Chan and Felix who rescue Jisung once again and Minho has no choice but to go back to grilling, releasing Jisung from his chilling stare. 

It’s a hot summer and evening cascades when it’s time to eat. Minho has grilled the meat to perfection and Seungmin smells of chlorine where he rests against Jisung’s side, fighting a jawn. He and Changbin must have had a real fun time in the pool since even Changbin looks drowsy. 

Jeongin won’t let them sleep however. “Time to drink!” he hollers, only to be scolded by Minho three seconds later. 

“Eat first.”

They pass the meat around and wrapp it in lettuce, adding rice and every other side dish they could find in Changbin’s fridge and pantry. 

“We need to get the tents up after this,” Chan says. “If it gets too dark it’ll be hard to see.”

“And if the kids get too drunk, they’ll be unhelpful,” Minho ads, looking only at Chan as if the rest of them aren’t there. 

“I’m not drunk,” Hyunjin protests loudly, not helping his case at all.

“Sure sweetheart,” Minho agrees with a teasing smile. Hyunjin obviously doesn’t catch it because he snuggles into Minho’s lap, silently begging Minho to play with his hair. 

It causes unsolicited jealousy to build in Jisung’s chest and he quickly needs to look away. Minho hasn’t touched him since yesterday; since he left to meet up with his crush. 

“Hyung smells nice.”

Minho responds with a coo. “Hyunjinie too,” he mumbles. 

Struggling to keep the pout from his lips, Jisung reaches out to hold onto Seungmin. Seungmin holds him back. 

Never has Minho told Jisung he smells nice. Jisung says it all the time because of course Minho would smell like the sweetest sin — the allure of a forbidden fruit.

Felix likes to compare Minho’s scent to a vanilla and raspberry pie where every ingredient has been measured to perfection. Seungmin takes a more teasing approach, usually saying Minho smells like the pudding he likes to stuff his face with. 

To Jisung however, Minho’s scent has always been richer than a mere ingredient in the grand scheme of things. Something more unfiltered and unapologetic. All consuming — Jisung wants to be consumed.

It’s a great thing his own scent matches that perfectly. Not.

Chan has compared his scent to the vast ocean. Changbin has told him it’s more like the calmness of a forest. Minho likes to call him Wheathead because to him, Jisung smells like an open field of wheat. Freeing was the word Minho used. 

Jisung finds it to sound boring and not at all up to par with the wonder of Minho’s scent. Maybe if his scent was more appealing, Minho would consider him an option. 

After they’re stuffed with meat and kimchi they split up, one half sorting out the dishes and cleaning up in the backyard while the other half puts up the tents. 

It might be a bit odd to go camping in your backyard, but Jeongin really wanted to sleep in a tent and Hyunjin argued for his case in a more compelling way than a senior lawyer. Changbin just found the entire thing hilarious. 

When they’re all decently sleepy and ready for bed, Jisung crawls into a tent with Felix. Before he pulls the zipper closed he sees Minho pull a sleepy Seungmin into the tent next to them. 

“Cozy little alpha tent we have here,” Jisung jokes, trying to break the weird tension between them. 

Felix glares. “We’re an alpha short,” he states bluntly before jumping straight to the point. “Why are you pouty over Minho?” 

Jisung gulps, trying to get comfortable in his sleeping bag. “I’m not,” he says like the liar he is. He can practically hear the way Felix rolls his eyes. 

“Right. As if you didn’t get all quiet and depressed when you laid eyes on him this morning. My mistake.”

“It was just a stupid hickey.” Jisung admits defeat embarrassingly quickly, but he’s never been good with confrontation. Nor lying for that matter, it’s a miracle he’s been able to keep up his stupid ruse with Minho for this long. 

Rustling sounds from the side as Felix shifts around. “That’s not stupid. You should tell him it makes you uncomfortable. He would stop. For you, he would stop.”

Jisung scoffs. “That’s a terrible idea. It’ll make things awkward and he’ll be uncomfortable.”

“He likes you,” Felix states simply. As if it's that easy. 

“He likes that I'm an alpha who keeps other stinky alphas away.” Jisung was the one who gave himself the role, yet he can't help but be upset about it. “Besides, he already likes someone else,” he mumbles, slipping his head into the sleeping bag.

“That’s not true at all,” Felix huffs. “Where did you hear that?” 

Jisung doesn't answer, too ashamed to share his snooping activities. 

Ignoring the silent treatment, Felix continues. “If there’s anyone he likes, it’s you. I think it’s your identity as an alpha that scares him away.” 

It’s a stupid theory in Jisung’s opinion. “Yeah, right.” 

Silence returns to their tent and Jisung twists and turns, closes his eyes and tries to sleep. The stupid hickey is the only thing on his mind though. He’s imagining different scenarios where Minho becomes increasingly naked and hates every single one. He doesn’t like people touching Minho and he certainly doesn’t want people marking him. 

“You think it was an alpha that left the hickey?” Felix asks suddenly. “That’s why you’re pouty, that's why you can't sleep. You think an alpha took Minho to bed, undressed him, fucked him, and then marked him up,-” 

Before Felix can finish, Jisung is already up and crawling out of the tent. He sniffles as he struggles with his shoes, swears when they refuse to go over his heels, and walks barefoot on the dewy wet grass till he reaches Minho’s tent. 

When Jisung crawls inside Minho is already sitting up, blinking bleary-eyed and confused. Seungmin lies next to him curled into a ball. One look at Jisung’s face is all Minho needs to wake him up and softly asks if he can go sleep with Felix instead. Seungmin looks barely awake and probably doesn’t know what’s happening, but still he nods and leaves with his sleeping bag dragging behind. 

When Minho opens his arms, Jisung falls into the embrace. 

“Nightmare?” he asks softly, stroking Jisung’s back and kissing his hair. 

Jisung nods because it certainly feels like one. He doesn’t like it, not one bit and now Felix has gone and planted stupid ideas in his head. Minho naked, Minho on all fours, Minho crawling on top of someone. A stranger, an alpha, the guy he likes; everything not Jisung. 

Minho holds him tighter and struggles to tuck Jisung into the sleeping bag with him — it’s only meant for one person. Eventually he gets it to work, folding Jisung into his side and pressing his nose into his throat. 

The feeling of Minho’s sweet scent in his lungs and warm breath against his skin has him melting within seconds. Minho takes advantage of his pliant state and licks over his scent gland, nibbling a bit, and biting down when Jisung gets fussy. 

With teeth hooked into his neck and Minho’s small thumbs stroking circles into his back dimples, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up the next morning Minho is nowhere to be found. Instead he has a Felix curled up into his chest. He’s warm and smells like sunshine and Jisung goes to wrap his arms around him completely. 

“I’m sorry for what I said last night,” Felix mumbles into his shoulder. “I just worry,” he continues. “That you both will end up hurt. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m sorry I walked away last night,” Jisung says back around a mouthful of hair. “The things you said made me upset. I know there’s truth in what you say and I know you only want what is best for us all. But it still hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Felix repeats. He shifts around a bit before his head emerges from between Jisung’s arms. “I should have worded my concerns differently and I’ll be mindful of that in the future.” 

Jisung smiles. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Felix smiles back. “Can we pretend to be asleep and cuddle some more before the others force us to help with breakfast?” 

“I love the way you think.”

— ｡˚ଳ☀︎｡｡ —

Chapter Text

Red leaves and withering flowers found Minho and Jisung sitting just uphill of the river.

“I’m leaving,” Minho announced suddenly. “After high school.” 

For a few moments, Jisung could only stare at him. “What? Why?” His heart shook as it cried out, ‘Please don’t leave me behind.’ An unpleasant feeling itched across his skin and he scraped his nails along his forearm to calm himself. He had many questions, but his tongue felt heavy and doubt had already begun crawling in his stomach. 

Minho came into his life like spring after a harsh winter, and now only half a year later he was leaving again. It didn’t make sense. 

Slowly Minho nodded. “It’s grandma, she’s getting worse. Tired.” He looked troubled as if he didn’t know how to explain it. 

He didn’t have to. Jisung understood — somewhat. 

Minho often talked about his grandmother, and from only the stories and memories he’d been told, he could tell Minho loved her a lot. He had grown up on the farm she managed, and her teachings played a significant role in his life. But while his mother had gotten a job opportunity in Incheon and the family had moved here, Minho's grandmother had refused to leave. 

Two months ago she’d fallen and broken a collarbone. Minho had been worried out of his mind, and he and his dad had booked the next train to visit her. 

Jisung had been worried too. About Minho and his family, but not about the two of them. He knew Minho was coming back, because why wouldn’t he? 

Perhaps it shouldn't have taken Jisung by surprise that Minho would leave again to take care of her. His parents had stable jobs and a house here. But after finishing school, Minho had nothing keeping him; selfishly, Jisung was hoping he’d be the thing Minho would stay for. 

“What about the cats?”

Even though Minho smiled, it was lacking in a way. Wry. Wistful. “I’m taking them with me. They always preferred running through the fields anyway. All the ticks will be a pain to remove but—” he leaned forward and hugged his knees, holding himself tight. “—but they’ll be a little more happy, I think.”

Jisung didn't argue. Didn’t ask Minho to wait. Didn’t beg Minho to bring him. Instead, he returned his gaze forward to face the river. A strong wind disturbed the calm waters, breaking the surface of the still water along with his heart. 

Even with Minho's graduation growing closer they didn’t talk about him leaving. It didn't stop the questions from forming in Jisung’s mind however. With each passing day, it felt like yet another uncertainty built a home in his brain. But cowardice is a hard feeling to battle and Jisung couldn’t bring himself to face their slowly approaching separation. 

He desperately wanted to know what would happen between them. Would they still meet up? Would they stick to only phone calls and texts? Would Minho ever come back?

But Jisung never asked and Minho never told. 

In the end, Jisung’s presentation came first. Earlier than anyone thought it would. 

He’d come home from classes one day feeling drowsy and immediately proceeded to black out on the couch. When he later broke out in a fever his dad carried him to his room. The entire night he tossed and turned, sweaty and uncomfortable in his own skin. 

Waking up the next morning in an outline of sweat, he figured he’d gotten a bad case of the flu that was going around. But when his mother came to check on him with breakfast in hand, she froze. 

Jisung blinked at her, flushed and dizzy.

“Oh sweetheart,” she muttered as her eyes glazed over with sympathy. “You’re not sick at all.”

“I am,” he whined. “I have a fever.” Even breathing was harder than normal. It felt as if he couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs no matter how many breaths he took. 

“That you do,” his mother muttered, a small smile gracing her lips. Still, she looked somehow sad. “But you’re presenting.”

Logistically Jisung knew the characteristics of a presentation. He’d read about it in textbooks and been lectured on it during sex education.

There were the internal changes that often went unnoticed. Swelling of certain organs, the heart pumping more blood, dermis glands producing more sweat. Then there were the more noticeable changes. Scent glands secreting pheromones in the form of liquid — an overload of sorts — and a fever burning through the body as it struggled to adjust and fought to fend off any infections.

“Didn’t you and dad present very late?”

His mother sat down on the bed and placed the plate on the bedside table before she started petting over his hair. He was warm and sweaty, and her cool hand brushing the wet strands off his forehead was a nice welcome. 

She hummed. “Maybe it has something to do with Minho presenting recently?”

It wasn’t uncommon for friends and siblings to present subsequently if they were close in age. Something that had remained in biology from the time when people lived in packs in the woods.

“Am I,-” Jisung sat up, leaning on wobbly arms. Gently, his mother's hand squeezed his shoulder. “Am I an alpha?” 

Now that he knew what was happening, he suddenly became hyper-aware of the way he was stinking up the room. Something earthy. Heavy. It was dripping with confusion and nervousness.

Rather than providing an answer, his mother’s lips remained sealed, a pinch between her brows and oh,- she didn't need to say anything for him to understand. The look in her eyes said enough — sympathy, sadness. Perhaps even pity. 

Jisung was no alpha, he wasn’t going to be the perfect match for Minho. 

“Minho is here to see you,” his mother started slowly, carefully. “He heard you weren’t feeling well,-”

“No!” The thought of meeting Minho like this seized him with fear. He had said,- he had promised Minho he would present as an alpha. Minho deserved an alpha who could care for him, who could keep all the bad things away. Jisung wanted to be that, and yet– suddenly everything was falling apart.

Slowly the room began stinking with panic. “No,” he repeated, voice wobbly. “I,- I’m gonna,-” He didn’t finish the sentence, flopping back down into bed and burying himself under the blanket. Tears burned in his eyes and he couldn't breathe.

After one more tentative pat to his shoulder, his mother stood up. “Okay,” she whispered understandingly.

The next day Minho showed up again. And again the day after. Again and again. All the while Jisung didn’t know how to face him. 

How utterly humiliating, the way he would brag and boast about presenting as the strongest alpha. Minho would always laugh; maybe he knew Jisung never would be, maybe he thought Jisung was pathetic for his false claims. 

On the fifth day Minho stopped visiting, and on the seventh day Jisung’s fever broke. He wanted to take another day to simply wallow in self-pity, but in the end his desire to see Minho won out. 

With shame crawling over his skin he slowly made his way to Minho's house. It took him a few minutes to decide what to say in apology and then even more minutes to gather the courage to actually knock.

It was Minho's mother who opened the door. She looked surprised. “Jisung! Are you all better now?”

He shifted from one foot to the other. Nails scraped at the newly sensitive gland on his wrist. 

"Yeah, kinda. I’m a little tired.” He looked behind her shoulder into the dark hallway. It was odd to find the lights off — Minho always preferred them on since it was more welcoming for the cats when they came home from a hunt outside. “Is Minho here?” An uncomfortable silence filled the air as Jisung stood there waiting for the familiar steps to run down the stairs, for the light to turn on as Minho would come out to greet him. “I wanted to apologize,” he said, only to cringe at the words. “I mean, I haven’t seen him. I wanted to hang out.” 

Minho's mother remained silent. Then she sighed, this heavy thing. “Oh dear.” 

Jisung blinked at her before he took in the dark circles under her eyes. The weight resting on her shoulders. The silence in the house. “Where’s Minho?”

“The hospital called. Two days ago. Minho and my husband took the train yesterday morning.”

“When will he come back?” His nails scraped harder, faster. His glands stung but he didn’t care. An unfamiliar desperation sunk its claws into his lungs. The frantic beating of his heart was unsettling as it did its best to supply oxygen to the cells despite Jisung’s lack of breath. 

“Oh, dear,” she repeated and Jisung didn’t realize he was crying until she hugged him. “You can always visit. You’ll see him again, I promise.”

Despite her comforting words, Jisung couldn’t find it in himself to believe her. 

His perfectly crafted story was falling apart as drafts of the future slowly got deleted and rewritten into versions without Minho. 

— 𖥧𓋼𓍊𖥧 —

No part of Jisung wanted to be here. 

Before even making it out of Seungmin’s apartment and arriving at this stupid party, he wanted to go home. Now with alcohol in his system and sweat running down his back, the feeling is growing even heavier. 

The only thing keeping him anchored is Hyunjin’s arm wrapped around him and Jeongin’s pleasant scent wafting from his other side, almost — keyword almost — drowning out the stinky smell of sweat, lust, and bodily fluids Jisung is frankly scared to figure out. 

Parties aren’t really his thing, overpowering and unfamiliar pheromones even less so, and this mix is making him nauseous. He’s always had a stupidly sensitive nose for a beta. 

The only reason Jisung came is because he wants to have a fun night out with his friends — and maybe keep Minho in check. It’s not weird, Minho promised to make him soufflé pancakes for breakfast tomorrow and Jisung needs to make sure he doesn’t get so wasted he can't get out of bed in the morning. The fact that he can bare his teeth and scare off any potential fling that comes Minho’s way is just an added bonus. 

“Jeez, you're so possessive,” Hyunjin mutters. 

“Am not.” Jisung musters his best glare as a tall alpha dances too close to Minho. 

Hyunjin jostles his arm. “Just go out there and bite him or something. That ought to keep them away.”

The comment has Jisung turning all kinds of pink. “I can’t do that,” he hisses. 

“Yeah, too late,” Jeongin interrupts and Jisung’s head jerks back to the dancefloor so fast his neck cracks. 

There in the middle of it all, Minho is dancing with some random girl — an alpha most likely. She’s not very tall but her heels make her the same height as Minho. They’re giggling about something and Jisung thinks he might have swallowed acid. 

It’s stupid, really. Jisung knew what he was getting into, he did, but seeing it unfold before him is completely different. Watching Minho whisper something in her ear, seeing the way she reciprocates by squeezing his shoulder. Then they both throw their heads back in laughter. 

Bitterly Jisung sips his drink. He doubts it was that funny. 

It turns worse when Minho strokes away hair from her neck and leans in to get a whiff of her scent. When she returns the gesture, lips tracing Minho’s skin, Jisung must force himself to look away lest he does something stupid. 

In his chest the mouse shakes in protest, letting out a territorial scream. The can dents from the pressure of his grip. He chugs his drink and tries to focus on the conversation taking place between Jeongin and Hyunjin instead. 

“We better meet up at Felix’s place next weekend,” Hyunjin says. “If he makes us go out in this weather I’ll cry.” 

Jeongin snorts. “It’d be pretty entertaining to watch you dance around in the cold though.” His smile quickly turns upside down when Hyunjin acts it out, clinging to his shoulders.  

“Please hold me tight, please warm me up,” he whines into Jeongin’s ear who does his best to shake him off. 

“I know it’s cold out, but it’s literally a sauna in here!”

Jisung laughs at their antics and pretends he doesn’t care about Minho making out with some random alpha. 

When he’s on his fourth blueberry cider a girl approaches, brown hair and bunny teeth. An omega. 

“You’re pretty,” she tells him and he kisses her in return. 

Late evening finds Jisung with the girl in his lap in some corner of the house, making out with her all the while pretending she’s Minho. She doesn’t smell the same, she doesn’t feel the same, but she calls him ‘alpha’ in a breathless voice and Jisung pretends he likes it. 

He lets his eyes crack open and across the room, through the crowd, he silently watches Minho press the alpha against the wall. His hands are on her hips, one slowly moving down to lift her thigh. Almost in a trance Jisung’s own hands fall to the omega’s hips. 

When Minho forgoes kissing her to bite down her neck instead, Jisung does the same. The omega moans into his ear at the action, rocking her hips. All the while Jisung feels like he’s burning with anger; how dare Minho bite her?

He leans away and looks into the hazy eyes of the girl in his lap. “Let me take you home,” he whispers.

Distantly he recognizes that what he’s doing is stupid, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to care. The alcohol in his system makes it easier to convince himself that fucking the omega and imposing as something he’s not will push him one step closer to Minho. 

If Minho wants an alpha, Jisung can be an alpha. For Minho, Jisung will be anything — even if it hurts.

It hurts when she moans his name. It hurts when he pushes inside. It hurts when she kisses him and begs for a knot.

It hurts, but he doesn’t stop. In some sick twisted way, he wants to be in control of the pain inflicted on himself. Minho can only hurt him so much when fucking someone else hurts infinitely more. 

When he cums, there’s iron on his tongue and acid in his stomach. 

The morning after, Jisung wakes up not quite knowing where he is. It takes a moment or two of simply staring at the ceiling for the puzzle pieces to fall into place, but when they do he wants to scream in frustration. 

He is known in their friend group for being smart. Because he is, academically — acing every one of his essays and assignments. Being smart doesn’t ensure he always makes good decisions however. Right now is a prime example, naked in bed with an equally naked girl while Minho rummages around in his kitchen making breakfast.  

Guilt crashes into him. Before the party last night Jisung had been all over his ass about not forgetting. Teasing and taunting because Minho owed him breakfast. Regardless if hungover or still drunk, he made Minho promise.  

Now Minho is making him soufflé pancakes just like he asked, yet all Jisung can feel is guilt. He shouldn’t, it’s not like he and Minho are dating, but still the feeling festers and he wants to go back to yesterday and redo the night. 

Regret won’t fix anything though. 

Closing his eyes and taking three deep breaths, he prepares himself for his inevitable meeting with Minho. 

Doing his best not to rouse the sleeping omega, Jisung slowly crawls out of bed. His back is sore and a pounding pain persists behind his eyelids. He powers through and throws on a random pair of shorts and a loose tank top. 

By the stove Minho sways from side to side, hips moving in tune with the music, a cute whistle sounding from his lips. 

Tentative and calm, Jisung begins his approach with cuddles. Minho melts into his arms, a warm scent wafting around the room. In return, Jisung holds him a little tighter. 

“Good morning my little Wheathead,” he says, soft all over. 

Jisung pets his stomach, noses his shoulder, and feels nauseous with guilt. “Thank you, hyung. You’re too nice to me, hyung,” he mumbles back just as softly. Then he grows pouty. “I’m not a Wheathead.” He knows it will make Minho laugh, and he does. Minho laughs, a tinkling snowbell that has Jisung’s stomach feeling fuzzy and bursting with butterflies. 

“Okay, stop touching me with your rodent hands and let me finish breakfast for you.” He escapes Jisung’s hold, shooing him a bit to the side with his foot. For a brief moment his eyes rake over Jisung’s body, his eyes lingering a moment too long across his sides, where the tanktop exposes ribs. 

A short moment of panic strikes. What if the girl left marks? But then Minho goes back to flipping the wobbly pancake and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief. 

“Aye aye, captain.” He does an awkward salute and Minho snorts despite not looking at him. After that Jisung just– stares, brain pondering. 

He should probably bring it up. ‘It’ being the very real, very naked omega in his bed. “How did it go for you last night?” he asks instead. Then he huffs, a little sardical. “You went home with that alpha, right?” He doesn’t actually want to hear it. 

Minho shrugs. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You guess?” 

Minho shrugs again. “We went back to her place, and then—” he bites his lip, slides the pancake onto a plate “—we mostly talked. It was nice. Not compatible, uhm, sexually?”

“Oh.” Jisung pictures it even though he wishes he didn’t. Clothes slipping off, naked legs and naked arms tangling together before they realized it wasn’t working. How much did she see? How much of Minho did she taint? “Well, her loss I’m sure,” he says as he opens a cupboard. 

A soft chuckle leaves Minho's lips as Jisung brings forth syrup and jam. 

Feeling lost, he awkwardly stares back. “What?”

“No, just,- it was me who denied her.” Minho shakes his head. “I quickly realized it was going in a direction I wasn’t comfortable with.” Pink colors his neck and ears, a hand coming up to fiddle with the earlobe. 

Jisung blinks. “What? Why? Did she do something?” He comes closer, wanting to touch and soothe. But Minho looks embarrassed and he doesn’t want to cross any lines.

Minho only laughs, this shy thing. “Jagiya, don’t worry. If anything, I feel bad. I let her know on the way over that we most likely didn’t want the same thing, so she invited me over for some tea instead. It was lovely.” He pours a new batch of batter into the skillet. “We had a lot in common, which is why it wouldn’t work.”

“Like what?” Jisung can’t help but ask — relief floods him at the knowledge that no alpha touched Minho last night. 

“No,” is Minho’s answer, simple as that. “I'm not telling you my kinks and sexual fantasies.” He pouts, ears turning a darker shade of red. “Not while I’m making you breakfast at least.” 

It’s honestly for the better that Jisung remains unknowing. Still, he can’t help but pout back. 

If Minho revealed he wanted to be pressed down and pushed around, Jisung would probably revert a little further into his shell. Still, he would try to be whatever version of himself Minho needs and wants — regardless of whether it comes naturally to him or not. 

Minho could tell him what to do, how to do it, lead him through the steps and eventually he’d be able to do it himself. Maybe. With a little praise along the way.  

“Can you take out the milk?” Minho asks him, breaking him free of his thoughts.

Nodding slowly — still half-caught in a daze — Jisung moves toward the fridge. 

When he has his back turned, Minho’s warm hand suddenly clamps around the nape of his neck. At first Jisung jumps, but then he relaxes into the touch and feels how Minho fiddles with the stretched collar of his shirt. 

He makes a noise at the back of his throat, a question that dies when Minho kisses his shoulder. Then he moves away completely and Jisung is left frozen and transfixed on the touch until Minho breaks the spell with his words. 

“The tag on your shirt was sticking out. Just tucking it back in.”

Jisung hums in false calmness before he turns back around and places the milk carton on the table. No one would see it, only he and Minho are here — a stray tag peeking out is the least of his problems. But the caring action has warmth spreading through his limbs and so he keeps his mouth shut, letting himself bask in Minho’s silent care.

It’s while sharing soft looks and even softer smiles that the door to Jisung’s bedroom creeks open. 

Protectively Minho grabs his shoulder, hiding him behind his back before eyeing the door with suspicion. Meanwhile dread and anxiety keep Jisung rooted in place. 

He’s not breathing when the girl peeks her head out and it feels like his soul leaves his body when she stumbles out in only a shirt. Minho’s shirt to be exact. The grip on his arm tightens and Jisung begins counting the seconds til his doom. 

At ‘one’ the girl is rubbing sleep from her face. At ‘three’ she locks eyes with Jisung’s terrified ones and at ‘four’ she has a staring match with Minho. 

Five, six, seven seconds pass and suddenly she’s apologizing. Except she’s apologizing to Minho. “I’m so so sorry.” She looks mortified, understandably, and just when Jisung thinks things couldn’t get worse she continues with baseless assumptions. “I didn’t know he had a boyfriend, shit,- I,- I’m gonna– Yeah.” 

At ‘ten’ she’s back in Jisung’s room and when he gets to ‘thirty’ she is sprinting out the apartment door, Minho’s shirt still clinging to her back. “I’m sorry!” she shouts again before the door clicks shut. 

“Well then,” Jisung coughs awkwardly, trying to break the tension. Perhaps if he pretends everything is normal Minho will as well. “Breakfast?” 

Minho is still gripping his arm as he slowly turns around to face him with a tight smile. “I am going to have breakfast.” He says, all petty and cruel. ”Alone.”

“Wha,- what about me?” 

Minho shrugs, sitting down and pulling the plates of pancakes all over to his side of the table. 

“Come on, you made those for us. To share.”

“Who said that,” Minho responds haughtily. 

“We planned this yesterday. You said you were making me pancakes literally a minute ago? Besides, that’s like five hundred pancakes. No way you’re eating them all on your own.”

“I woke up very hungry this morning,” Minho drones on, a faux nonchalance in every one of his movements. 

Except Jisung knows Minho. He knows him better than anyone else and Minho is far from unbothered. The lines of his shoulders are stiff, a heated flush is present on his collarbones. He huffs and puffs as he stuffs more bites of pancake into his mouth. 

The biggest giveaway however, is the change in his scent, the usual sweetness bordering on rancid. 

“Minho,-” An icy glare makes him backtrack. “Hyung, I’m sorry.” 

“What for? I'm not upset,” Minho says, like an absolute liar. “Aren’t you gonna run after her? Clear up the misunderstanding. If you tell her we’re not boyfriends you might score yourself a date. Take her out to breakfast or something.” 

Jisung huffs. “I’m not,- it was just a one-time thing.” 

“Oh really? She must have been a bad lay if you don’t wanna do it again.”

“You’re being mean.” It’s a clear-cut statement and Minho's entire body tenses at the words. 

Now Jisung is the one being purposefully spiteful. Minho has pretty thick skin, he can take most insults hurled at him. It’s when people call him mean or cruel that he cracks. 

"I'm sorry,-"

“You’re right,” Minho starts. “If you lent her my shirt then obviously she couldn’t have been that bad. Speaking of, I want it back.” 

“No.”

Minho turns to him, all incredulous looking. “What do you mean no? Of course I want my shirt back, you thief?”

“No!” Jisung repeats because he didn’t lend her Minho's shirt. He’d never. Even if Minho was fine with it, he’d hate to see someone else wearing Minho's clothes — those are only for him to borrow. “I didn’t give her the shirt.”

“Then why was she wearing it?” Minho snaps. 

“I’m not upset,” Jisung mimics Minho’s earlier words. “I don’t know, okay? She was naked when I woke up.” 

“Oh, fucking great,” Minho mutters, rolling his eyes and stuffing some more pancakes into his mouth.

The chair squeaks as Jisung drags it toward himself. When he has sat down, he places his hands on the table, palms down. “You went home with an alpha last night,” he points out and watches Minho flinch at the memory. “So what if I had a naked omega in my bed this morning?” 

Minho huffs and opens his mouth to speak when suddenly he freezes mid-action. Then he’s coughing, slapping hard at his chest. 

Jisung is immediately by his side trying the Heimlich maneuver — incorrectly. He gets batted away pretty quickly, but by then the threat of Minho choking and dying is over. 

Defeat registers easily in Jisung’s body and he sighs. “Please hyung, let me have breakfast. Please.”

For a few moments Minho simply stares at him, teary-eyed and red in the face before he croaks out a weak, “Okay. Whatever.” 

After that, they don’t mention it again. 

Not as they quietly do the dishes together. Not while Jisung puts on a horror movie and wordlessly taps the couch for Minho to join him. Not when lunch passes and Minho bids him farewell with a nod. 

Despite trying not to think about it, Jisung is failing rather miserably — he simply doesn’t understand why Minho got so upset. It’s not like he thought Minho would be super cool about it, but at most he expected some huffing and playful scolding about giving him a heads-up next time. 

Jisung thinks about it even more when he comes home a few days later to find a plastic bag hanging on the doorknob containing Minho’s shirt. There’s a small slip of paper as well which he doesn’t bother reading. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t be too surprised. Ever since they reunited in college, he and Minho have been closer than ever. Being close doesn’t excuse the jealousy though. While Minho can be both a clingy kitten and a playful tiger, jealousy isn’t a part of the equation. It’s foul play. 

How can Minho show tendencies of possessiveness when he already likes someone else? 

If he acts like this, Jisung will only get his hopes up and come to the wrong conclusion. It’s hard enough to keep a sane mind when all of their friends are trying to convince him Minho likes him back. 

A deep sigh leaves him as he toes off his shoes and throws the shirt into the washer. He doubts Minho wants it back if it smells like an unknown omega. Jisung doesn’t want to wear her scent either. 

When he is making himself a cup of noodles, Felix starts blowing up his phone. 

Felix

Whos in the mood to party tonight

You are

I know

you are

You should sing with Minho

Do a love song 

And 

Propose after the song is done

Shit, Jisung forgot that was tonight.

He’s been incredibly off kilter since his argument with Minho. Everything is fuzzy around the corners. It feels weird; he feels wrong. As if the intervals between his heartbeats have grown shorter and the air filling his lungs is never enough. 

It’s the first time something like this has happened and it’s making him nervous — the unknown. If only he could get a grasp on how Minho feels about it all. Should he tread carefully, or pretend as if nothing happened? 

Jisung

Yeah right

I'll be over in 30’

Will there be brownies?

 

Felix

Chris made

Cookies

We getting wsted tonight

Oh, Jisung is certain he will. 

As a saving grace, tonight is pretty casual. They’re doing karaoke at Felix’s place, just the eight of them. 

When he gets there, everyone else has already arrived except for Seungmin and Jeongin. 

Minho is occupying one end of the couch and Jisung tries not to overthink it when he falls into his side. It's normal. It's fine. If he pretends like everything is okay then it will be. 

Chan serves the cookies while Changbin messes around with the TV to pull up the karaoke options. Beside him, Minho only remains silent. Eventually though, his hand falls around Jisung’s waist and he finds comfort in contact. The gesture may be small, but it carries significant meaning. 

“I got the shirt back,” he mutters when the silence feels too stiffening and he thinks he might throw up. 

Beside him, Minho’s entire body grows rigid. “You met her again?” 

“No,” Jisung’s head turns swiftly to face him. Minho remains looking forward to where Changbin pulls up a music playlist and giggles gleefully at his own success. A pout paints his lips and Jisung thinks the entire situation is unfair. “I found it hanging on my door. I put it in the wash,-”

“Burn it. “

“What?”

“Burn it. Throw it out. I don’t want it.”

“But you said you wanted it back,-?” 

He gets interrupted by the door when Jeongin and Seungmin stumble inside, pink coloring their cheeks and shoulders unnecessarily close. 

“What have you two been up to?” Hyunjin asks suspiciously. 

“Yeah.” Felix puffs up beside him. “You guys are late.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes. “Oh please, barely ten minutes.”

A loud noise startles them all as Changbin finally connects the TV to the speaker. “Time to party!” he sings loudly. 

Hyunjin is excited to go first and drags Chan up with him. 

They decide to play a drinking game where they all choose a word for each other before the song is announced, and every time their word is sung they drink. 

Seungmin is being a prick and gives Jisung ‘you’. Felix decides to be an even worse prick and gives Minho the word ‘love’. After hearing this, Hyunjin proceeds to pick the most repetitive love song of all time. 

“Oh, come on!” Minho argues. “You’re just doing this to vex me.”

Chan sticks his tongue out like a child and Hyunjin giggles like a thirteen-year-old with a crush. 

By the end of the night, they’re all positively wasted. Jisung’s throat is hoarse from all the singing and Minho needs to lean on him to make sure he doesn’t fall.

It’s natural, the way they gravitate toward each other. It’s good, great even, to feel Minho’s body against his. They go home together like they always do after an outing with friends, and for a brief moment it seems as if all is back to normal.  

Jisung feels like a giggly mess as he pads into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. He finds some orange juice in the fridge instead. 

When he turns around to announce his find, Minho is leaning against one of the kitchen counters staring. The stare leaves his skin flushed and tingly, and he can’t look Minho in the eyes. It has Jisung giggling even more. The attention makes him giddy; the stare makes him nervous. 

Usually when they get drunk they’ll sit and talk and laugh between every breath they take. But now that Jisung realizes he’s the only one laughing he gets shy. 

“What’re you starin at?” He fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie, an oversized thing. He thinks it might be Minho’s and one sniff of the collar confirms it. 

When Minho takes too long to answer, Jisung turns around and pours himself the juice. 

“Just you,” Minho says eventually. 

This time Jisung is more prepared. He turns around with the glass in hand, holding it to his chest and pretending it’s a shield. 

In the face of a beast, one should maintain eye contact. The one who looks away first loses, and for a small mouse like Jisung, such a loss could be fatal.

It appears they’re not playing the same game however, because while Minho stares, it is not Jisung’s eyes he is focused on. They drift around on a journey of their own. 

Minho stares as he drinks, looking at his fingers and the way his knuckles blanch when he grips the glass harder. Minho stares at his throat when he gulps down the drink. Minho stares at his lips when he licks up the sweet orange residue. 

“Thirsty?” Jisung asks. This is strange, his brain screams. It’s weird. This isn’t their usual routine while drunk. “Come on, hyung,” he chuckles awkwardly. He puts the glass down and drags himself to the couch while Minho stalks after him. 

Jisung commonly refers to Minho as a kitten pretending to be a tiger; this time he truly feels like a mouse trapped in a tigers game. 

“I just wanna cuddle,” Minho mutters as he presses himself into Jisung’s side. 

Jisung perks up at that. He likes cuddling, specifically with Minho. “Yes!” he announces gleefully. His arms fall around Minho’s shoulders, pulling him in. “You smell like yourself,” he speaks into Minho’s shoulder. It feels like a small victory, cuddling Minho when he’s not been with anyone else. 

“You too,” Minho returns. His lips find the dip in Jisung’s shoulder where he mouths at the skin. 

It tickles and tingles and Jisung feels like he’s on fire. His neck is sensitive and the way Minho has started to bite him recently is not helping. He’s nibbling and Jisung feels dizzy and disoriented. His hands grip Minho’s shoulders, fingers getting tangled in the fabric of the shirt. 

A shaky breath is punched out of him, embarrassing and pathetic. He wonders if he should push back and take the lead. Be dominant in the way Minho surely needs. But it feels too good to just lie there and take it. Take everything Minho is giving to him. He wants it all, a blank canvas for Minho to paint and mold and taint in his colors. 

Minho’s teeth scrape down his neck and bite one of his clavicles. This time Jisung can’t even pretend to hide his moan. His body jerks, his feet kicking out. 

Minho grunts, one hand falling to his waist and squeezing, pushing him down into the couch cushion. It tickles and he wheezes and squirms some more. 

The tickling hurts in a good way, and never before has Jisung thought he’d be turned on by it. But his limbs lose strength, breathing becomes difficult, and he’s rutting forward, trying to find friction against Minho’s thigh. 

He feels powerless in a way he hasn’t before. No decisions fall on his shoulders, he is just a slave to the pleasure. 

“Jisung,” Minho rumbles, sharp. His hand moves further down to grip his hip, keeping him still. “What are you doing?”

That's the question Jisung should be asking. What are you doing? Why are you doing it? Am I the one you like? Please be mine. Please never stop.

Minho pulls away from his shoulder. His face is red, his eyes glazed, and Jisung thinks he’s the most beautiful person in the world. 

One of his hands moves up to push the hair away from Minho’s face. He cradles the back of his head, holds his neck, and strokes a thumb across his cheek. Then he leans up and kisses him. 

Three things happen after that. 

Minho shoots away from him as if he’s been burned. 

They both stare at each other in horror and shock. 

Minho apologizes and leaves him with a broken heart, much like he had eight years ago. 

— 𖥧𓋼𓍊𖥧 —

Chapter Text

Jisung’s initial reaction to Minho moving away was sadness. A lonely, empty feeling took root in the space of his chest, the mouse feeling lost and deserted. But the deeper the roots dug, the quicker the sadness and pain turned to anger instead. How dare Minho move away without saying goodbye? How could he just leave Jisung behind? 

The anger was mostly fleeting though and when it settled, he was left with heavy regret. If only he had let Minho in, if only he hadn’t been so hung up on gender, if only he hadn’t presented in the first place. But Minho was long gone and no amount of regret would bring him back.

Paralyzed by the chill of winter, Jisung waited for Minho to text him first. Many times he found himself staring at his phone waiting for any sign of life; an update, a berating, anything. He waited for a week, a month, two months, and yet Minho never reached out. 

Was he angry? Did he feel betrayed? Did he even care?

When the first snow hit, Jisung was too much of a coward to be the one to reach out first. 

Time is a fickle thing and memories are untrustworthy. The past that Jisung had painted in every color of spring now felt gray and dull. Perhaps promises of a future whispered in the sunset were nothing more than meaningless jokes. Maybe apple picking and tree climbing were only a means to pass the time. Jisung was a neighbor close in age; Minho’s only option. 

Was Jisung the reason for their demise when he pushed Minho away, or was this simply how their story was always supposed to end? The chapter limit reached, word count expired, their fate already stamped. 

Time continued to pass whether Jisung wanted it to or not. Dark skies, pouring rain. Blooming flowers, bright sun. The seasons repeated. A ticking clock. Spring was never the same.

In the end Jisung didn’t stay either, bidding goodbye to his hometown by throwing stones in the river. 

He moved to Seoul for college, rooming with Jeongin who soon became his best friend. He had classes with Changbin and Chan who took him under their wings and attempted to parent him. He picked fights with Hyunjin, studied with Felix, played piano with Seungmin. 

Before long, thoughts of Minho became memories full of longing; discolored by regret, or perhaps that was just the passing of time. 

Most definitely though, six years was far too long to still be hung up on your puppy love. But just when Jisung thought he had forgotten it all, the pages started turning again. 

Under flashing lights and blaring music, Jisung found Minho. He danced a bit away, swaying to the music and laughing with Seungmin. Seungmin of all people.

The sight had the breath catching in his throat and warmth spreading through his limbs. A rush of blood made him dizzy. Everything around him slowed — for only a moment he was back in time, his forehead throbbing faintly. 

An overexcited Hyunjin bumped into his shoulder and snapped him back into the present. 

“Whatcha starin at?” He shouted to be heard over the music. 

Jisung didn’t answer, too busy staring. 

Even if Minho had grown his hair out and gotten more angular in his features, he still laughed with his eyes. Even if he had grown taller and filled out his clothes more, he still carried himself with the same energy.  

No matter how much he had changed, Jisung knew. How could he ever forget? The prettiest Omega, even more beautiful with time. 

“Seungmin?” Hyunjin asked. Then he slapped Jisung’s shoulder and giggled obnoxiously. “Oh, I see.” He leaned in to whisper in Jisung’s ear. “Minho.” 

Hyunjin dragged him over to introduce them. 

Minho was a friend of a friend, roommate to Hyunjin and Seungmin — it was honestly a miracle they hadn’t run into each other earlier. It felt a little surreal. Jisung had heard about their roommate, how he cooked, made them coffee in the mornings, and forced them to take turns cleaning the toilet. 

Minho turned to him and gave a shy smile. It looked a bit like he was expecting an introduction and Jisung didn’t know why he thought Minho would remember. The feeling hung heavy in his chest. Half a year together, that's all they had before Jisung’s cowardice took over. 

“I’m Jisung,” he mumbled into his drink, shame taking over. 

But then Minho laughed, hitting his shoulder in a starkly familiar manner. “Don’t be so formal, Jisungie,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all about your Hyung?”

Jisung’s eyes widened, then he turned red all over as his heart missed a beat. The smile that split his face was completely involuntary. 

“Yah!” he called back, slapping Minho’s shoulder. 

Minho smelled wonderful, better than he remembered. He wanted to lean closer, but the way Minho’s eyes swept over him froze him in his spot. Eyes dark and calculating. There was something hungry behind it, and when Minho stole Jisung’s drink and brought it to his mouth for a sip, Jisung swallowed in tandem. 

“Fruity,” Minho noted, smacking his lips. Then he leaned in to take a whiff of Jisung’s scent. “And you smell…” He blinked and Jisung panicked.

“Like an alpha!” he squeaked out before he could stop himself. 

“Like a wheat field,” Minho corrected, fondness weaving its way into his words. “Wheathead,” he said, ruffling Jisung’s hair. “I haven’t seen you since you presented.”

Jisung puffed his chest out to mask his guilt. 

“I see you’ve grown big and strong.” Minho snorted sarcastically.

Jisung’s lungs felt like they were filled with water, his skin as if on fire. “I have. I’m not the same little pup that used to chase you around, you know?

Minho’s ears turned red. He looked a little confused. Then he narrowed his eyes like he didn’t believe him. “Grown some teeth, have you?” After a moment's consideration, he added, “Alpha.”

— ⋆ ❆ * ⬫ ⋆ —

“Okay, spill.” Seungmin’s hand slams onto the table as he sits down opposite a startled Jisung. 

For the better half of the night he’s been wallowing in self-pity, playing with his drink in a lonesome corner of the frat. His bad mood must be spilling from every pore because no one seems keen on approaching — sans Seungmin apparently. 

“What?” 

“You and Minho.” Sipping his drink purposely, Seungmin looks out over the drunk college students. A meaningful look shadows his eyes when they return to Jisung. “You’ve been weird and awkward with each other for a while now and it’s making literally everyone uncomfortable. They’re just too kind to point it out.” 

“We are not,” Jisung argues back, venom in his voice, a pout on his lips. 

Seungmin lifts an eyebrow as if to say ‘Yeah, right.’

“Okay. Fine,” Jisung grumbles. He’s been feeling like shit actually and not being able to talk to Minho is just making his sour mood worse. “I kissed him,” he states. Plain and simple. As if it was just that; a kiss and not the end of their friendship and the breaking of his heart. His lower lip wobbles and he wipes his eyes. 

Shit, he hates this so much. 

“You,- what?” Seungmin looks stumped for words for once, and Jisung can’t even savor the victory. 

“Yeah, I kissed him and now he hates me.”

“That’s… are you sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Jisung snaps. “It’s pretty hard not to notice how he’s avoiding me like the plague.” 

“No I mean,- Minho wouldn’t hate you for that?” 

“What are you talking about?” Jisung shoots back. 

Seungmin licks his lips and looks around as if unsure if he’s allowed to talk about it. “Look, Minho likes you. A lot. A kiss wouldn’t change that?” 

“Well.” Jisung’s nails nip at the scent gland of his left wrist, picking at a scab and breaking the newly healed skin; usually Minho will stop him before he bleeds. “Obviously you’re wrong. Besides, it’s not me he likes.”

“Have you talked to him since?”

“How could I? He ran out on me!” 

Seungmin purses his lips and hums thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s scared?”

“Huh?!” Jisung can’t help but shoot up at the comment. The chair screeches as it moves over the floor. “That’s bullshit. I’m the one who should be scared? I took a leap of faith and kissed him because I thought he liked me back and then he fucking– ran away.” 

“With his tail tucked between his legs? Like a scaredy cat?”

“What kinda stupid ass question-? I’m done,” Jisung announces. It feels like he’s being mocked and he doesn’t like it one bit. 

After downing his diluted drink, he stomps his way to the front door. He hates college parties anyway. 

People bump into him from all sides, sweat clings to his back as he elbows his way through the crowd on the dance floor. He wants to scream, wants to find Minho and demand answers. He wants to run far far away, wants to run back to the past when they were only Minho and Jisung without subgenders or complicated feelings. 

He rubs his forehead and blinks his eyes when suddenly he catches a glimpse of Minho. Beautiful as always. He’s at the edge of the living room, crowded against the wall by some redhead. 

Jisung’s first instinct is to look away, he doesn’t want to see Minho flirting and having fun with someone else, especially not after his humiliating rejection a week ago. But then Minho's voice has him backtracking. He sounds upset, angry, and all thoughts of heartbreak and rejection get pushed to the side. 

He knows Minho can take care of himself. Still, seeing Minho in an uncomfortable situation will always have him moving to help. Before he knows it his legs bring him closer. 

“I already have a boyfriend who can satisfy me plenty. And even if I didn’t, I’d never fuck the likes of you,” Minho growls. 

The redhead huffs, cracks his neck, and invades every part of Minho's personal space. “Who? The tiny alpha who always hangs around you? What’s his name?”

“Like I’d tell you that?”

“Ah!” The redhead hits his palm with his fist, realization dawning. “It’s Jisung, right?” 

Every muscle in Jisung’s body freezes when he hears his name. 

…What?

“Yeah, and?” Minho counters. “He fucks me so good. Even needs to gag me so the neighbors don’t come complaining. You wish it was you, huh? I bet you’ve never even tasted the slick of an omega before,-“

Rather than being intimidated, the guy throws his head back and cackles loudly. 

The sound has bugs crawling across Jisung’s skin. His heart pounds in his throat and something pricks his eyes. He hates this. He hates this so much. 

Minho is lying through his teeth, making up stuff about Jisung. Painting a picture of what he wants Jisung to be, something that will never be a reality. It feels crushing. 

The fact that this stranger is mocking his existence while he’s not even there makes it worse. He’s probably laughing because he knows Minho is lying. Laughing because he knows Jisung will never be able to satisfy an omega in the way that matters. 

“You know he’s not a fucking alpha, right?” 

The words have Minho freezing and Jisung realizes that whatever discomfort he felt before can’t even compare to the current fear bubbling over. If Minho finds out he’s been lying all this time. If Minho realizes that Jisung is just a beta. If Minho,- 

“I know.” 

It turns Jisung’s world upside down completely. The breath is knocked from his lungs, a spark fizzles in his brain; every cell in his body screams at him to flee, run until he can’t run anymore. Yet he remains rooted to the ground, ice at his feet. 

It’s scary, it’s wrong, Minho isn’t supposed to know. 

“He’s not an alpha, yet he still treats me better than any other alpha could.” Then Minho suddenly has the redhead pinned to the wall, elbow to his neck. He doesn’t just sound angry anymore, he’s downright pissed. “And if you ever, ever make fun of him for what he is or isn’t, I’ll rip that useless tongue out of your throat.”  

When Minho backs off the guy doesn’t move, nor does he follow as Minho turns to walk away, frowning deeply as he drags the back of his hand across his nose. Jisung can’t hear him, but he’s certain he’s muttering a colorful variety of profanities. 

Then he looks up and immediately his eyes find Jisung’s; through the crowd, under the blinding lights, Minho finds Jisung. 

Jisung’s heart stutters, Minho’s eyes widen, and they both freeze. 

Minho must see the horror twisted in his features, but Jisung can’t allow himself to break eye contact. The moment he looks away will be his doom, and so he moves slowly, cautiously, praying the ice will hold till he finds someplace safe. 

He starts with one step back. Takes another two.

But then someone bumps into his back and the ice fractures. The eye contact is broken. He turns around and starts running; the mouse skittering away from danger while the tiger begins its approach. 

Every time his feet hit the ground, the reverberation shakes his knees. A painful weight. The heavy steps sound too loud in the quiet of the night, or perhaps the thumping belongs to his heart currently clawing at his ribs. 

It hurts. Everything hurts. 

The asphalt is hard, the air smells of winter, the surroundings are unfamiliar. It’s pitch black, but even with light he wouldn’t know where he’s going. 

If he could, he’d be in bed with Minho’s arms wrapped around him, drowning in his scent. Minho would complain about the weather, Jisung would tell him to dress warmly, and they’d cuddle closer. Instead he’s without a jacket, running in the dead of the night. Where to, he doesn’t know — Minho’s arms aren’t an option. 

He steps out onto the street. A car honks, lights blind him. The shock and fear make him jump and he slips. The car swerves right and he rolls to the left, stumbling into a ditch. 

Rolling the window down, the driver shouts at him. “Idiot. Fucking stupid.” They don’t stop, they don’t ask if Jisung is okay. 

When the car has driven off, the quiet returns. 

It’s a beautiful night out, the sky vast and deep and covered in millions of stars. He could spend an eternity and still not count them all. The moon is a judging eye, so he doesn’t even attempt to try.

He lies in the frozen mud, longing and hopelessness filling his chest. In the stars he finds traces of Minho, eyes always shining brighter than a thousand suns when he smiles. 

Despite already having figured out that Jisung is a lying pathetic beta, he still smiled at him. Glittery-eyed and pink, soft all around. Beautiful Minho. 

The knowledge makes it better; worse. 

Hiding in a hole is a small respite. He wishes the earth would consume him until flowers grow in his spot. The remnants of Minho found in the soil; his spring. 

Wilted flowers cling to his back, but in the end even the earth doesn’t want him. He doesn’t know how long he waits — till his fingers go numb, till his legs start prickling. The stars still wink at him, mocking. He can’t bear to see. 

Wind blows, eyes close. In his chest, his heart still beats a mile a minute. 

It's a good while before he hears evidence of another person, this time on foot rather than in a car. With rushed steps and heavy breathing, they approach. 

Jisung attempts to sink deeper into the mud, but it is frozen solid and unwelcoming of his presence. Still, stubbornness prevails and he pretends he doesn’t exist. 

The steps come to a stop, and then they never leave. 

“Jisung.” 

Kitten or tiger, a hunter will hunt. Minho has always been a most refined predator in the face of Jisung.

It takes great effort to peel his eyelids open. Then he turns to the sound. 

In the glowing moonlight, Minho stands. He’s breathing harshly, face red, hair windswept. One jacket over his shoulders, another one in his arms. 

Has he been running? How did he find Jisung? Why does he look so scared?

Minho balances down into the trench and crouches before Jisung's frozen form still lying in the mud. He reaches for him, but after crossing the distance halfway, he stops as if unsure if he’s allowed to touch. 

Jisung doesn’t understand. The only thing he manages to say is a croaked, “You knew?” 

“Oh.” Minho looks surprised. Then he softens all around. One knee buries into the earth below and the jacket falls into his lap as his hands come to hold his cheeks. A burning contrast to the cold air. “Oh, Jagi.” Carefully he holds Jisung as if he could break any moment; he feels like he might. 

Slowly Minho pulls him up, Jisung follows mindlessly and lets himself be engulfed in warmth. Minho’s arms are strong, squeezing him tight, holding him close. A suffocating embrace that releases all of the tension — Jisung feels like he can breathe again. One intake. Two. He chokes on the air, tries to speak and breathe and not cry at the same time. 

His body is freezing but Minho’s scent burns through him. It smells like home. 

He can’t stop sputtering out apologies, getting snot all over Minho's shirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

All the while Minho keeps shushing him, comforting and understanding. Thumbs hook in his glands, massaging the spot. He licks at Jisung’s tears and the cold makes his skin chill under the saliva.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Minho whispers against his cheek and Jisung slumps his entire weight against him. 

Except he does, he has a lot he should be apologizing for — being a liar, turning Minho away all those years ago, never reaching out. But tiredness seeps bone deep and the relief of having Minho back by his side is bigger than he could have imagined. He decides that apologies can come later. 

Gently Minho lifts him to his feet, giving him one tight hug, nose pressed hard into the valley of Jisung’s neck before he moves back. 

His hands stroke down Jisung’s arms before they come to rest in his palms. A conflicted look creases his face as he studies Jisung. His eyes wander from his face to his shoulders, down to their intertwined hands. Then he sighs this soft, sad thing, and looks back up into Jisung’s eyes. 

Bending down he picks up the jacket and covers Jisung’s shoulder, helping him get dressed. The zipper is pulled up entirely. The hood is covering his head. 

“Let’s get you home,” he says when Jisung is all bundled up. With one hand still in Jisung’s, he helps him from the ditch, away from the frozen mud. 

Now that they’re away from his hiding spot, an unpleasant feeling grows in his chest, roots slithering around his lungs, robbing him of his breath. 

Will Minho bring him home only to leave again? Is this another rejection waiting to happen? What if the ‘boyfriend’ mentioned actually wasn’t Jisung? 

A comforting squeeze to his hand snaps him back to the present. 

“Count the stars on the way,” Minho tells him. “I’ll make sure you don't fall.”

Hand in hand, Minho guides him while Jisung stumbles behind, neck craned toward the sky. The moon is still judging, but with Minho by his side it is easier to turn a blind eye. 

Minho unlocks the door to Jisung’s place. The place where he will be most comfortable. The place he won’t have to run away from because he’s already where he wants to run to. 

“Sit down,” Minho tells him, and Jisung stumbles to the couch wordlessly. Shortly after, Minho joins with a glass of water and plain bread which he motions for Jisung to eat. 

He ignores it all to ask, ”Do you hate me?“

“No? Why would I?” Minho is speaking so softly it makes his heart ache. 

“How long have you known? Are you disappointed? Did you ever see me as an alpha?” Desperation seeps into his voice and quickly he clamps his mouth shut lest he show an even more embarrassing side of himself.

“I don’t see you differently,” Minho answers carefully, but it’s not an answer to the question and he seems to know this as well. “You’re Jisung. You’re my Jisung. That won’t change. You’ve always been an alpha in my eyes even if you aren’t one. I don’t care, I’ve told you so, many times.”

Ever since Jisung presented all those years ago, this is exactly what he has been waiting to hear. Minho sees him as an alpha. It’s what he wanted, it’s what he thought he needed. 

Instead of relief, fear strikes him and he panics. 

“No. Nonono. I can’t,-” Air enters his lungs too fast, yet only small puffs leave his lips when he breathes out. His head spins. “I thought I could– for you, I’d be anything. But I can’t be an alpha anymore. I don’t want to be an alpha.” Every breath leaves him feeling dizzier and soon tears well in his eyes. 

Minho looks so confused. “What? Jisung-ah, what do you mean?” A hand brushes away the tears, and he squeezes his eyes shut when Minho rubs his cheek. “You’ve wanted to be an alpha ever since you were a kid.”

He shakes his head. “For you. I wanted to be an alpha for you,” he admits. Holding Minho’s hand in place he nuzzles the palm and wrist, seeking out where Minho's scent is richer. 

“Jisung…” Minho pinches Jisung’s cheek and he yelps. “Why would you do that?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he scoffs, still holding Minho's hand. But perhaps it isn’t as obvious as he thought because Minho remains quiet, still looking confused. “Because I like you.” Then to be a prick. “You idiot.” 

“What?” 

“I kissed you? Why did you think I kissed you?” 

“Uhm,” Minho starts intelligently, slowly flushing red all over. “I panicked before I could think about it.” He itches behind his ear. “And I was also worried I forced you into something. I know I got a little, uh, handsy. That wasn’t my plan, I’m sorry.” 

“Right,” Jisung snorts. “Only a little handsy,” he teases, and much as expected Minho turns even more pink. Then it’s Jisung’s turn to feel warm. “I didn’t mind,” he mumbles. “I don't mind when you're touchy or cuddly, or rough with me like that.” 

“Okay,” Minho whispers softly. “Why did you think I needed you to be an alpha?”  

And, well. “Because you’re an omega?” He receives a nasty look. “Wha-! You fuck around with alphas though, don’t lie and tell me you don’t.” Jisung can’t help but jump to his own defense. 

Minho sighs. “Omegas often think I smell too sweet. That’s why I don’t fuck them.” Then he scoffs. “But alphas don’t think I’m omega enough, which is why I don’t really fuck them either.” 

Jisung blinks. “What? But you’re the prettiest omega I know? How are you lacking in their eyes?” 

With his lips in a line, Minho looks everywhere but at Jisung. “Because I’m too much for them to handle. They want to pin me down and have their way with me. And I,-” He gulps. “And I usually want it the other way.” 

It takes Jisung, admittedly, way too long to realize what Minho is implying. When he does he feels like his body is on fire. “Oh,” he says as Minho gets progressively more red and flustered. He’ll end the night as a tomato at this point. 

“Yeah, okay, great. Glad we cleared that up. Now we can move on and…” Minho doesn’t seem to know where they go from here though. 

“Hyung,” Jisung starts. Decides to be brave again. “You have someone you like, right? Who is it? I thought it was me, that’s why I kissed you. It felt like you liked me after you got all—” he makes a vague gesture “— possessive around the girl.”  

Minho makes a nasty grimace at the mention of her. 

“See!” Jisung points out. “You still get weird about it.”

“Well.” Minho purses his lips. “I never said I didn’t like you.” 

“You ran away?” Jisung points out. 

It has Minho sighing. He pulls his legs up to his chest and hugs them. “It… it scares me.”

Frowning, Jisung asks “What does?”

“You?” Minho snorts. “I like you. But I’ve been trying really hard not to.” 

“Why?” 

He shrugs. “Because I’m an omega, people expect me to be a certain way. Usually, when alphas come to me they want things I can't give. I didn’t want to disappoint you or ruin what we have. I like you as a friend a lot. I don’t want to ruin that.”

“But I’m not an alpha.” Never did Jisung think he’d sit and argue with Minho over how much he isn’t one. But here he is. “You knew that.”

“What you are or aren’t isn't what scares me. I don’t care what your gender is. I’m scared because I like you.” Minho turns his head so his cheek rests on his knees, looking out over the room. “A random person calling me strange or a terrible omega wouldn’t hurt.” He hugs his legs closer, blinks wide eyes at Jisung. “If you stopped seeing me as your precious hyung and instead looked at me like I was some freak, I’d break.”

The words simmer in the air for a moment as Jisung takes his time to process them. 

“What in the world are you talking about?” he ends up asking. “What would change? Do you transform into a tiger during the full moon or something? Because honestly, I might just find that hot.”

His comment has Minho laughing, and oh what a wonderful sound it is. 

“What would you want?” Minho asks suddenly. “If I like you, and you like me.” Nibbling on his lower lip, his eyes roam around the room, decidedly not looking at Jisung. “Instead of what you think I need, tell me what you want?”

“I'd wanna mate with you,” Jisung blurts out before he can think. It takes them both by surprise. Minho’s mouth falls open and Jisung slaps a hand over his own. “I’d court you first!” He tries to clarify. “I'd give you flowers and letters, and I’d scent and kiss you and take you on as many dates as you want. And then when you’re ready I’d want my bite to linger on your neck for eternity.” He’s beat red by the end of his speech but Minho is hardly faring any better. 

“Would we have sex?” he asks, voice a little hoarse. 

“Yeah. I’d do anything for you, be what you need. Although, I wouldn’t be a very good alpha in bed.” Jisung is not comfortable taking the lead. He’s not comfortable making people do things. “...maybe I wouldn’t be able to do anything for you,” he settles on and this time the embarrassment is not as sweet. It’s humiliating and awful and his skin itches. 

Minho stops the hand that’s scraping away at his gland, leaving it red and sensitive. “I don’t want an alpha.” He looks into Jisung’s eyes. “I just want a pretty boy who’ll listen to me.” 

“Listen?” 

Minho smiles. “Jisung-ah. Come here.” He unfolds his legs and opens his arms and Jisung crawls into his lap without a second thought. “A good boy who’ll listen,” he repeats meaningfully and,- oh. 

He squirms a bit. Minho's face is close. His scent is all around. He’s warm and soft and this is the Minho Jisung knows. 

Minho tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and smiles softly. “You’re wonderful. I’ve always found you to be so wonderful. It’s a little frightening actually.” His eyes travel across Jisung’s face, his thumb gently following along to stroke across the different features. “You’re smart and funny and beautiful. You take care of me in the ways I want, in ways I don’t always realize I need. You make me feel good about myself, I like the person I am around you because you make me feel like it’s okay to just be me.”  

For a moment Jisung sits stunned. “Wow hyung,” he can barely get the words out, his tongue too thick in his mouth. His head spins from the pretty words. He wonders if he’s dreaming. “You really have a way with words.” 

“Oh shut it.” Minho is attempting to glare, but he’s tomato red so it doesn’t feel all that threatening. “When you act all sweet it makes me want to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you till you’re crying. When you’re embarrassed or sleepy or happy you turn pink and it makes me wanna bite you all over.” He sighs. “I like being in control and I hate having a dick up my ass. But alphas don’t like that, and I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want either.” 

The hands around Jisung’s waist fall away and he misses the touch immediately. “I want to try!” He blurts, grabbing the hands and placing them back on his body. “I’ve never,- uhm I only topped because I thought you would want… that.” 

Minho’s eyes are wide. “What? For me?” 

Shyly, Jisung nods. 

“Jesus,” he mutters. “This is what I mean, you’re too good to me.” 

“I’m not,” Jisung protests. “You’re the one who’s too good for me! I'm not doing this only for you, I’m doing it for me as well.” Despite his embarrassment, he powers through. “I don’t think I like sex all that much, mostly because I’ve been doing it wrong. I’ve always tried to be an alpha, but I don’t like it. I don’t want to be one. It feels weird and unnatural, and every time someone asks me to take control I get so nervous I think I’ll puke.”

“Well I don’t need you to control me, I don’t need you to fuck me or lead me around.”

“Good!” 

“Good,” Minho agrees. 

Jisung feels like he’s burning and Minho is still flushed red. This entire talk feels ridiculous and now that neither of them have anything else to say Jisung can’t help but burst out in laughter. Minho is laughing too, his body shaking against Jisung’s. 

“Argh, hyung,” he whines, shaking his head and hugging Minho close around the shoulders. “What are we doing?” Then he remembers something. “How did you even find me?” 

Softly Minho traces his cheek. “I have your location. You have mine as well, remember?” He giggles. “Although I should have known you’d find yourself a muddy plantation to hide in.” A thoughtful look crosses his face. “Watching your back as you ran away from me was terrifying. I won’t let you get away again.”

“What if I run far far away?”

“I’ll still chase you,” Minho promises.

Biting his lip, Jisung shifts around a little, grinding down purposefully. The idea of Minho chasing him actually turns him on. “What would you do when you find me?” He smirks. “Fuck me?”

A startled chuckle leaves Minho. “Would you want that? You love digging around in the dirt so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised that you’d want to be fucked on it as well.”

“Not the dirt,” Jisung whines. “It’s the flowers. Would you ever fuck me on a bed of flowers? That sounds romantic.”

“Yeah?” Arching an eyebrow, he looks awfully smug. It’s a good look, Minho looks hot when he’s confident like this. “Chase you through the woods and then fuck you in a field of flowers. That’s dirty Jagi, kinda animalistic. Should I also force your face into the mud and bite till I draw blood?”

“Yes. Yes yes yes.” Jisung is shaking his head so fast he grows dizzy. It all sounds amazing actually. “Will we have sex now?” he asks. “It’s so hot when you tell me what to do.” 

Minho’s arms pull Jisung closer. Gently he rests his forehead against Jisung’s. Like always his eyes are intense and dark, but for once he feels like he has a better understanding of the feeling hiding behind. 

"Not tonight.”

Jisung pouts. “Why not?”

“Well.” The hand strokes across his cheek, squeezing the fat a little. “I want to take my time with you.”

A shiver racks through him. “Oh,” he breathes, surprised by his body’s reaction. “I like that.” 

“Yeah?” Minho looks a little amazed, and so so happy. “You’re just perfect, aren’t you? So good.” 

The praise washes over him warmly, a tingling across his skin. Jisung thinks he might like this even more. “I like it,” he says because Minho needs to know. “I like being good for you.” This is all better than everything else he’s ever tried. He and Minho haven’t kissed but it’s better than anything he could have imagined. 

”You are,” Minho assures. 

“If I kiss you —“ Jisung licks his lips. Minho's eyes drift down at the motion “—will you run away again,-”

His words get muffled against Minho’s lips. Warm, plush, and soft. Just a simple press, yet it’s a kiss unlike any Jisung has had before.  

They’re merely a hair width away when Minho speaks. “I won’t.” 

This time they meet in the middle, a little more force behind it, and their noses accidentally squish together. Jisung tilts his head at the same time as Minho, heads at the same angle, and their noses stay pressed. 

Minho giggles into his mouth and holds Jisung still as he leans his head to the other side. They slot together perfectly like this, molding around each other. 

The kiss remains a soft thing. A slow exploration. Slightly uncoordinated as they get to learn a completely new side to the other.  

Not once do Minho’s hands lift from his body. He holds Jisung close and gently as if he’s scared he will break, or grow teeth and bite. Truly a kitten and no tiger, just as scared as the mouse pittering in Jisung’s chest. 

“I’m scared too,” he admits. Minho isn’t alone in this. “That you won’t be satisfied with me.” 

Minho's thumb strokes over his lip and presses against the plump bottom. Jisung swipes his tongue against it and tastes salty sweat. 

A conflicted look crosses Minho’s face, but eventually he says, “We'll figure it out. Please just be yourself.” 

“Okay.” Jisung nods. “Yeah, okay. You too, hyung. Not like you’re with everyone else, I want you to be yourself with me. I get jealous too, you know. I’m possessive.” He bites down on Minho's thumb to prove a point. 

Unhinging Jisung’s jaw, Minho tucks his thumb over his tongue, pressing it down. He’s drooling, surely, but Minho still kisses the corner of his mouth and licks a stripe up his cheek. Whispers in his ear, “Tell me if it’s too much.” 

It’s different, but it’s so good. 

A hunger persists in every one of Minho’s movements. But despite being rough, his hands wander with reverence and wonder.

Jisung’s chest gets pinched and a hand slips into his pants to grope at his ass. All the while kisses and nibbles are painted into the skin of his neck.

“Shit, you sound so good like this. Why have you been hiding?”

Meanwhile, Jisung can’t keep still. Open-mouthed, moans and hot breaths escape him every few seconds. Minho kisses him anyway, hot and wet. 

“Min,-” He gasps. “My neck, can you bite it?” Lava burns hot in his belly while his hips grind down into Minho's lap involuntarily. 

Ever since Minho started that stupid habit of biting him, he’s been doomed. The feeling of teeth against his skin always makes him fuzzy and tingly. He can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if he bit down fully, piercing skin, drawing blood. Marking him forever. 

“Where? Here?” Minho lips drag across his heated skin, searching. Behind his ear, over his clavicle. “Tell me what you like, I wanna know.” 

“There.” Jisung’s arms wrap around Minho's head, guiding him, pulling him near, holding him so so close. “Where you always bite.”

His voice cracks on the word, a moan breaking free. A rush of glitter tickles across his entire body when pain sears in his neck and warmth gathers at the wound. Everything turns hazy around the corners, soft lines and bright light. 

Blinking slowly, he comes back to the present. Minho's hand is kneading his left asscheek, the right hand drawing patterns into his back. Over the bite, his tongue laves lazily. 

“Did you just?” Minho mumbles into the skin. 

He startles. “No!” Then he buries his face in Minho’s neck and needs a moment to collect himself because what the actual fuck. It’s embarrassing, so embarrassing. Cumming in his pants like some teenager. He’s shaking and sensitive and Minho's scent just makes his dick leak more. 

“That’s so hot, what?”

“Fucking mortifying is what it is!” Jisung corrects shamefully. 

Minho ignores him. “Was it because I bit you?”

Jisung just shakes his head, too embarrassed to form a coherent response. Minho’s having none of it though, grabbing his chin and pulling him back to get a good look at his flushed face. 

“Fuck,” he curses, pupils eclipsed and breathing labored. “If only you could smell yourself right now.” His tongue licks across his teeth, a certain hunger to it. With a firm grip on Jisung’s jaw, he keeps him still as he leans in and takes a deep whiff. “You smell absolutely amazing.”

Jisung tries to squirm away but is unable to move. “I don’t.”

“You do,” Minho counters, still nibbling over his gland. Now sensitive and broken.

“Liar.”

Slowly Minho pulls back. “Why?” he asks, soft suddenly. “You do.” 

It's a sensitive subject, Jisung’s always been a little insecure about his scent. “It’s so… bland. Hyung, you smell like heaven, and I just smell like—” he scoffs “—like fucking wheat?”

Minho takes a deep breath. “Jisung,” he starts slowly. “It’s not just wheat. To me, it’s not. I grew up on a farm, remember? Where acres of wheat stretched further than my eyes could reach. Approaching harvest, it would glow golden in the sun and dance in the wind.” Closing his eyes, he breathes in deeply “Seeing the fields change with the seasons was just as fascinating every year. And the smell of harvest is just—” when he opens his eyes, they’re sparkling “—Amazing.” He chuckles and releases Jisung’s jaw in favor of stroking a thumb along the curve of his cheek. “To me, your scent represents freedom and home. I can’t put into words how much I love it.”

Sniffling, Jisung gets the urge to hide again.

“I should show you sometime,” Minho says. 

“You're the wheathead, idiot,” Jisung bites back. The words get muffled as he buries himself in his hands. 

“Don’t hide,” Minho murmurs softly, but Jisung knows it's more than a simple request. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”

The hands fall into his lap and he pouts his lips. It’s always so easy to give in to Minho’s demands.

Minho kisses him again, hard and bruising, and Jisung whimpers. Not knowing what to do with his body, his limbs useless jelly, he simply squirms. Sensitive and overwhelmed all around. But trapped in the claws of a beast, he can’t do much other than let Minho have his way with him. 

“Hyung,” he moans. “Hyung,” he pleads. 

“Shh, let hyung do the thinking,” Minho answers and Jisung’s brain logs off, only a faint fizzling static left. 

When Jisung wakes up he’s cold and sore and sensitive. A pleasant memory thrums under his skin. Rolling to the side, he finds Minho curled up. For a moment he stares. Then he shuffles forward and takes him into his arms, interlacing their legs and sharing warmth. Nose in Minho's neck while Minho breathes against his. 

It’s funny how the story goes, a lamppost and a dusty pavement. A man so pretty that not even the delicate dew of morning spring could compare. 

In the end, a fall was inevitable. 

— ⋆ ❆ * ⬫ ⋆ —