Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Moonlight spills through open blinds like liquid silver, painting Jisung's childhood bedroom in shades of pearl and shadow. The hour is late—nearly midnight—but sleep is the furthest thing from his mind as he kneels beside his bed, methodically sorting seventeen years of memories into piles of 'keep' and 'leave behind.' His fingers tremble as they brush across familiar treasures, each one weighted with the gravity of choice.

A stuffed rabbit, worn velvet soft from years of love, its fur matted where countless tears have fallen. The scent of fabric softener still clings to its ears, the same brand his mother has used since he was small enough to toddle. He tucks it into his duffel bag, unable to leave behind this one piece of comfort.

Academic trophies gleam dully in the moonlight, their golden surfaces catching and holding shadows. First place in the district spelling bee. Top marks in literature. Perfect attendance. Proof that he was everything his parents wanted, before biology betrayed their carefully laid plans. These stay behind, too heavy with expectations to carry forward.

His fingers catch on soft cotton—old school festival shirts, each one marking a performance or celebration. The fabric holds ghosts of happiness, of times when his parents' smiles reached their eyes, when their pride in him wasn't shadowed by disappointment or disgust. He selects one, the most worn and loved, to take with him. The rest he folds with mechanical precision, laying them to rest like pressed flowers in a book of memories.

A photo album makes his breath catch. Between plastic sheets, moments of joy are preserved like insects in amber. Felix's bright smile appears in most of them, the two of them growing up together like twin saplings reaching for the same light. And there, in the corner of one faded print, Felix’s brother Minho stands watching them both, his expression soft with fondness. Jisung's heart stutters at the sight. Six years their senior, he stands heads above them, his dark eyes scrunched in mirth, his too-large front teeth perpetually poking out from between his full lips. The alpha is peppered throughout the album—group photos at awards ceremonies and holidays with the Lee family, candids at the beach, his skin tanned under summer skies, blurry holiday photos in dim lighting. Years of Jisung’s love documented through the lens of a camera. 

The album is too bulky to take, but he carefully slides out a few chosen photos, tucking them between the well-worn pages of The Giver.

His savings—carefully hoarded birthday money, holiday gifts, payment for chores—feels pitiful in his hands. The bills are crisp and new, barely touched, like unwritten promises. It won't last long in the city, but Felix has sworn to help him find work, to share his apartment until Jisung can stand on his own. The money disappears into an inner pocket of the duffel bag alongside his passport and birth certificate.

From downstairs, the scent of his mother's cooking still lingers—soybean stew, the kind she always makes on special occasions. His birthday is in less than an hour, but there will be no celebration tomorrow. No shared meals, no careful optimism, no pretending that the scent neutralizers can mask what he is. His stomach clenches around emptiness, mourning not just the food but the love that used to season every dish.

He misses her—not the ghost who moves through their house now, but the mother who used to sing while she cooked, who would read him bedtime stories of hard won battles and the flush of first love, who would brush his hair from his eyes and call him her little star. Before he presented, before his father's disappointment turned to iron bars and locked doors, before they realized their beta son would never arrive.

A floorboard creaks beneath his knee, and Jisung freezes, heart thundering against his ribs. But the house remains quiet, his parents' steady breathing audible through the thin walls. They sleep deeply these days, secure in their belief that their omega son is safely contained, unaware that their cage has only hastened his flight.

The duffel bag fills slowly—clothes chosen for practicality, a few cherished books, the small box of delicate earrings his favorite grandmother gave him before she passed. Each item carefully wrapped in silence, each choice a step toward freedom. What remains looks like a museum of childhood—trophies and trinkets arranged just so, as if their perfect order could somehow maintain the illusion of the son his parents wanted.

His phone buzzes once, nearly silent against his palm. Felix's message glows like hope. 

Lixie 

one more hour sungie~!!!! 

i’ll be waiting for uuuuu

oh don’t forget the key to the apartment i gave u!!!! remember it’s on the sasuke keychain ehehe 

be safe!!!!! ♡♡♡

Jisung takes one last look around the room that has been his universe for seventeen years. In the moonlight, it looks smaller somehow, like a chrysalis he's finally outgrown. Tomorrow, he'll emerge into something new—something free and fierce and entirely his own. The thought tastes like possibility on his tongue, sweet and sharp as the first bite of spring after endless winter.

Carefully, silently, he shoulders his bag. Its weight feels like wings against his back as he turns toward his window, toward the city lights that shimmer in the distance like earthbound stars. Toward Felix, toward freedom, toward a future unmarked by disappointment or shame.

Behind him, the perfect order of his childhood bedroom stands as his last gift to his parents—a museum of memories, preserved in moonlight and shadow, of the son they thought he would be.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Jisung is seven, small and clumsy as a newborn fawn, when the neighborhood boys corner him behind the convenience store. They’re older, looming over his small body with their lanky limbs aching from growing pains, their eyes gleaming with the first stirrings of testosterone. Their laughter cuts sharp as broken glass while they crowd him against the wall, rough brick rubbing his delicate, honey skin raw. 

“What are you reading, freak?” one of the boys laughs, shoving the small boy into the bricks again. 

“Probably one of those girl books. He’s so small, he’s probably an omega,” another sneers. 

“He’s not even gonna present for years yet and you can already tell,” the shortest of them says, his beady eyes roving over Jisung’s small body. 

“Omega or not, he’s a snot nosed weirdo,” another scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“St-stop,” Jisung squeaks out, wincing as his voice breaks in his plea. 

“What’s that? We can’t hear you, tinkerbell,” the shortest one says, shoving him again. 

“My dad says most omegas are only good for using once and throwing away,” another grins, stepping forward and gripping Jisung’s curls in a cruel fist. 

“Let’s see if he can french kiss. The least he could do is be useful for once,” another laughs, his eyes lit up in manic glee. 

“Gimme your little girl book, freak,” the shortest one spits, using his weight to shove the other boy out of the way, eyes narrowed in on Jisung. 

It isn’t until Jisung’s lenses start fogging up that he realizes he’s been crying. The tears fall freely from his wide, frightened eyes as the short, chubby boy with the beady eyes rips his worn paperback from his small hands, holding it over his head like a prize. One of the taller boys, older than the rest and already reeking of young alpha pheromones, grabs it, immediately ripping pages from the spine and throwing them into the air. Jisung watches on, heart breaking as they flutter to the ground like plucked butterfly wings. 

“Get the fuck away from him.”  

Jisung gasps and looks behind the shortest boy to see Minho–the teen appears like dawn breaking through endless night, his presence suddenly filling the narrow alley. Though only thirteen, he seems to tower over them all, his eyes dark as a tumultuous storm. 

”Don’t you fucking touch him or I’ll kill you," he says, voice steady, something flinty in his tone and his dark eyes making the other boys freeze. When they hesitate, his lip curls—just slightly, just enough—and they scatter like roaches, leaving the defiled book abandoned on damp concrete, surrounded by its insides.

Minho bends down to retrieve it carefully, brushing dirt from its cover before returning it to Jisung's trembling hands. 

"Are you okay, Sungie?" His fingers are gentle as he reaches out and straightens Jisung's crooked glasses. Jisung stands on the concrete, staring up at his savior with large, doe-like eyes shining with gratitude and adoration. His body still trembles in fear, shaking under the elder’s soft gaze. Minho’s warm hand runs through the smaller boy’s windswept curls, setting them, and the young boy’s gentle heart, to rights. 

“I want you to forget about everything they said, okay, baby? It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll deal with them later,” Minho says, cupping the small boy’s chubby cheeks in his large, warm hands. Jisung nods, his curls bouncing around his delicate face. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time to save your book. Let’s stop at the store on our way home and see if we can replace it, okay, Sungie?” Minho asks gently, twirling a soft curl around his pale finger. Something in Jisung's chest unfurls like flower petals reaching for the sun. 

“Thanks, hyung.” 

Jisung nods, still awestruck, and Minho’s concerned face breaks out into a smile before he slides his larger hand into Jisung’s and tugs the younger boy alongside him, safe and sound. 

If, weeks later, Jisung finds the group of boys nursing fresh wounds in the park as Minho, knuckles bloodied and bruised, meets him and Felix by the swingset, he forgets in favor of the gentle smile adorning the teenager’s handsome face. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

City lights pour through gossamer curtains like liquid gold, painting Felix's small apartment in strokes of honey and amber. Fairy lights loop across the walls like captured constellations, their soft glow making every surface shimmer. The air is sweet with vanilla and orange blossoms, the blond omega’s scent wrapping around the space like a tender embrace.

Felix flits around the apartment like a hummingbird bouncing from petal to petal, his long, golden braid catching the light as he makes last-minute adjustments. His hands smooth already-perfect blankets, adjust throw pillows, and fidget with the arrangements of fresh flowers he'd placed in crystal vases throughout the space. The nest he's built in the living room is a masterpiece of comfort–layers of soft blankets in gentle pastels, pillows that seem to compete with clouds in their softness, all arranged in a perfect circle like petals of an enormous flower.

"Everything has to be perfect," he murmurs to himself, straightening a string of fairy lights for the hundredth time. "Sungie deserves perfect."

When the key turns in the lock, the sound is soft as a fairy’s wing in flight. Felix's heart leaps as the door creaks open, revealing Jisung standing hesitantly on the threshold. The older omega looks small and uncertain, his dark curls windswept, his oversized sweater making him appear even more delicate. His saccharine scent carries into the apartment, juicy, plump strawberries bursting into the air souring with acrid anxiety. 

"Sungie!" Felix's deep voice rings out as he launches himself at his best friend. Jisung's duffel bag hits the floor with a quiet thud as Felix wraps him in a tight embrace, enveloping the older omega and overwhelming the sour strawberry with bright orange blossom and soothing vanilla. 

"Careful, Lix," Jisung laughs softly. "You'll knock us both over."

"I don't care," Felix declares, pulling back just enough to beam at Jisung, his freckles stretching across his face like scattered stars. "You're finally here! How was the train ride? Happy birthday!!! Have you eaten?? Come in, come in–I want to show you everything!"

He tugs Jisung inside, watching with delight as his best friend's eyes widen, taking in the transformed space. "Felix, this is…," Jisung's voice trails off.

"Do you like it?" Felix asks, bouncing on his toes. "I wanted it to feel like home. Look–I got those fairy lights you love, and there's a whole basket of your favorite snacks in the kitchen, and wait until you see the nest I built!" 

Jisung allows himself to be pulled further into the apartment, his steps careful as if with one wrong step, everything would be torn from him. His fingers reach out to brush the soft throw blankets, trace the delicate petals of the flowers, touch everything as if confirming its reality.

"You did all this for me?" he asks, his voice small and uncertain. 

Felix's expression softens. "Of course I did, silly. You're my best friend. I’ve loved you my whole life. I wanted you to feel safe here. Protected." He gestures to the nest proudly. "Try it! I used all the softest things I could find."

Jisung sinks into the nest like a flower folding its petals up for the night, his entire body seeming to melt into the softness. "Oh," he breathes, the sound barely a whisper. "It's perfect."

Felix drops down beside him, their bodies fitting together like twins in the womb, familiar after a lifetime of falling into one another. "I got extra pillows too, even though I know you'll just end up using me as one."

"That's because you're the best pillow," Jisung mumbles, already nuzzling into Felix's shoulder. His scent has begun to settle, anxiety giving way to contentment. Tendrils of ripe strawberry bloom in the air, twining with Felix’s own soft omegan scent. 

"Come on," Felix says after a moment, though he's reluctant to disturb their peace. "Let me show you the rest. You haven't even seen our room yet!"

Their bedroom is a haven of soft blues and lavenders, fairy lights and soft, translucent fabric creating a canopy of stardust above the bed they'll share. Dried flowers hang in delicate bunches from the ceiling, their subtle fragrance mixing with the omegas' natural scents to create something new and wonderful.

"We're sharing?" Jisung asks, his fingers twisting in his sweater sleeves.

"Just like when we were kids," Felix says, wrapping an arm around Jisung's small waist. "Remember our sleepovers? How we'd stay up whispering secrets until dawn?"

"And your mom would always find us asleep in a pile of blankets on the floor," Jisung adds, a smile blooming across his face like the first flower of spring.

"Exactly! Though this time we have an actual bed. And your dad didn’t yell at me to leave after we presented." Felix bounces onto the mattress, patting the space beside him. "And look what I got!"

He reaches under a pillow and pulls out a small music box, its surface painted with delicate flowers—freesias and irises twining together with ivy in pretty pastels. When he opens it, a familiar melody spills out—the lullaby Jisung's mother used to sing to them as children, before their lives were irreparably changed. 

Tears gather in Jisung's eyes like morning dew pooling on soft petals. "Lix….”

"I know it's not the same," Felix says softly, pulling Jisung down beside him. "But I thought...maybe it would help you sleep better."

Jisung burrows into Felix's side, his tears falling silent as a sun shower. "Thank you," he whispers. "For everything. For taking me in, for making this place so beautiful, for...for loving me even when my own family couldn't."

"Hey," Felix cups Jisung's face in his hands, his touch gentle as if handling something delicate. "You're my family too. You always have been. And this isn't just my home anymore—it's ours. Our little universe, just for us."

Jisung manages a watery smile, his eyes shining like stars reflected in still water. "Our universe?"

"Complete with its own constellations," Felix grins, pointing to the fairy lights above them. "And look—I even mapped out your favorite stars."

Sure enough, tucked in the corner is a star chart, carefully painted by Felix's own hand, marking all the constellations Jisung loves best.

"You remembered," Jisung breathes, wonder blooming in his voice like night flowers opening to moonlight. It had only been a few months, but the time away from Felix had left him unsure and nervous. 

"Of course I remembered, Sungie," Felix says, pulling his best friend close again. "Now, what do you say we order some takeout and break in our nest properly? I got all your favorite movies queued up."

Jisung snuggles closer, his scent wrapping around them both like a warm blanket. "That sounds perfect."

The two omegas curl together in their nest like twin stars sharing an orbit. The apartment fills with the sounds of their laughter, with the familiar comfort of their mingled scents, with the quiet joy of two souls finding home in each other after many months apart. 

Chapter Text

Jisung is five. He’s still learning how to read, but his hunger for the written word is insatiable. Rain taps gentle fingers against the windows of the Lee family’s living room and the fireplace casts a golden glow on the three boys, chasing away autumn’s chilly fingers with its cozy heat. Minho sits cross-legged on the couch beside Jisung, a leather-bound book balanced on his knees, its pages soft and worn at the edges from generations of handling. 

"Tell me a different story tonight, hyung," Jisung mumbles through a yawn, burrowing deeper into the blanket draped around the three boys, Felix snoring lightly from his position slumped against Jisung. "Not the usual ones please?"

Minho's delicate fingers trace the embossed cover of the book, his smile holding a secret. "I know just the one," he says, voice soft. "It's about a brave knight and a lovely princess."

The story unfurls like a tapestry in Minho's gentle voice: There was once an alpha knight named Minhee with hair like autumn leaves and armor that gleamed silver in the moonlight. She rode through the foreign kingdom far from home on a white horse, defending those who needed protection. But despite her strength and courage, something was missing from her life–a reason to lay down her sword and call somewhere home. 

In a tower wrapped in rose vines lived an omega princess with eyes like starlight. Her name was Jisu. Though she had everything she could want, she too felt incomplete. Every night, she would sing to the moon, her voice carrying across the kingdom like windchimes in a summer breeze.

One night, Minhee heard this song. It drew her like a moth to flame, leading her through forests and over rivers until she reached the tower. There, she saw Princess Jisu at her window, more beautiful than any painting could capture.

"Their eyes met," Minho reads, his voice dropping to a whisper that makes Jisung lean in closer, "and both felt something click into place, like the last piece of a puzzle they hadn't known they were solving."

Minhee began visiting every night, bringing Jisu stories of her adventures and gifts of the berries the princess’s scent reminded her of. The princess shared her dreams of seeing the world beyond her tower walls. Slowly, like flowers opening to the sun, they fell in love.

But Princess Jisu's family had other plans, wanting to marry her to a wealthy noble. On the night before the arranged marriage, Minhee climbed the tower one last time. "Come with me," she said, holding out her hand. "We'll write our own story together."

"And did she go?" Jisung asks, eyes wide with hope.

Minho turns the page with careful fingers. "Princess Jisu looked at the life laid out for her–safe, predictable, chosen by others. Then she looked at her knight, who offered freedom and love and adventure. She took Minhee's hand, and together they rode into the night, leaving behind a trail of rose petals and the princess's soft, strawberry scent."

"They lived happily ever after?" Jisung's voice is heavy with approaching sleep.

"They did," Minho confirms, closing the book gently. "They traveled the kingdom together, the knight and her princess, protecting others and sharing their story. And every night, the princess still sang to the moon, but now her knight sang with her."

“I hope I smell like strawberries when I present,” Jisung sighs, nose nuzzling into the older boy’s shirt. Minho laughs. 

“Strawberries are an omega scent, silly. You could present as a beta and not smell like anything at all,” Minho says, running his hand through Jisung’s soft curls. 

“It would be worth it, to smell so yummy. And to be taken care of like the princess,” the younger boy yawned, wide eyes closing behind his large glasses. Minho smiles and gently removes the clunky frames from the younger boy’s face. 

“I’ll take care of you no matter what you present as, Sungie,” the older boy says, rubbing soft circles into Jisung’s back. The younger boy lets out a sigh as he drifts off to those words, warm and content, while Minho hums softly beside him–a lullaby that might have been a princess’s song to the moon. In his dreams, he saw rose petals falling like stars, and heard the distant sound of hooves carrying two hearts toward their shared tomorrow.   

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The convenience store blooms like a phosphorescent flower in the midnight hour, its fluorescent lights humming a lullaby of artificial day. Inside, the shelves stand like soldiers at attention, each item perfectly aligned by Jisung's careful hands during the first quiet hour of his shift. The air is thick with competing scents—the sharp lick of bleach that stings his sensitive nose, the artificial sweetness of packaged pastries, and beneath it all, the metallic whisper of the constantly running refrigerators. His own scent is kept close to his body, juicy strawberry smothered under the sterile scent patches he only wears when he’s alone at work now. They pinch and irritate the delicate skin of his scent glands, leaving them red and raw, but they keep him safe now. 

Jisung leans against the counter, his delicate fingers tracing abstract patterns on its surface like a cartographer mapping terrain. The clock's hands crawl across its face with the languid pace of honey dripping from a spoon, each minute stretching like taffy in the sterile quiet. His own reflection haunts the glass of the display case—dark eyes large as new moons in his face pale with exhaustion, soft features painted in harsh relief by the overhead lights.

"Just two more hours," he whispers to himself, his voice barely disturbing the air. "You can do this."

The bell above the door chimes like broken crystal, shattering the peaceful silence. The scent hits Jisung first—sour alcohol and aggressive alpha pheromones taking the shape of burnt rubber and wet stone, a toxic cloud that makes his instincts scream in warning. The man stumbles in like a storm front, all dark intent and unstable movement.

Jisung straightens, his spine rigid as a young birch in winter. "Welcome," he says softly, though his heart flutters like a trapped bird. "How can I help you tonight?"

The alpha's gaze fixes on him with predatory focus, eyes glassy and dark as oil slicks. "Well, aren't you just the prettiest little thing?" His words slur together like watercolors bleeding on wet paper. "What's a sweet omega like you doing all alone at this hour?"

The compliment curdles in the air between them. Jisung's hands tremble, but he keeps them steady on the counter. "Just doing my job, sir. Did you need something specific?"

The man lurches closer, his bulk blocking out the rest of the store like a solar eclipse. His breath is heavy with soju and something darker, more threatening. "Need something? Yeah, I need your number, little omega. We could have some real fun together. You look young–ripe. Ever had a pup before? You still tight?"

Acid burns in Jisung's throat, but he swallows it down, keeps his voice light, though a quiver makes its way into his hollow words. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm working. If you're not here to make a purchase, I'll have to ask you to leave."

The alpha's face twists like storm clouds gathering, his scent sharpening with anger, the thick rubbery scent overtaking everything else in the small store like a tsunami obliterating a seaside town. "Think you're too good for me? Stuck-up little bitch. I'm a real nice guy, giving you my attention here." 

Fear blooms in Jisung's chest like frost flowers on glass, but he holds his ground. "Please leave, sir. I'm not interested."

The man spits on the floor near Jisung's feet, the sound wet and violent as thunder. "Fucking tease," he snarls, stumbling back toward the door. "Have fun finding an alpha who will take your sorry ass–You're not even that pretty."

The bell chimes again as he leaves, but Jisung can't move, his body frozen like a deer in headlights. His hands shake as he reaches for tissues to clean the floor, tears gathering in his eyes like morning dew.

"You're okay," he whispers to himself, the words trembling like baby birds poised to fall from their perch. "You're safe now."

The rest of his shift passes in a blur of stocking shelves and watching the clock, each minute a small eternity until finally, finally, midnight arrives like a benediction. Jisung gathers his things with shaking hands, his movements quick and precise with anxiety.

The night air embraces him as he steps outside, cool and clean after the humid store atmosphere still stinking of burnt rubber and acrid alpha anger. City lights sparkle overhead like fireflies, guiding him home where Felix waits, as constant as the North Star. As he approaches their block, the window to their apartment glows warm and golden in the distance, fairy lights like a constellation marking safety.

"Almost there," he murmurs, quickening his pace. His thoughts drift to Minho, unbidden as shooting stars—wondering if the alpha would have protected him, if he'd been there. But Minho is a childhood memory now, preserved in amber like pressed flowers, untouchable as distant galaxies.

The key turns in the lock like a music box winding down, and then he's home, surrounded by the familiar scent of vanilla and orange blossom that means Felix, that means safety, that means love.

"Sungie?" Felix's voice drifts from their nest in the middle of the living room, warm and sweet as honey in sunlight. "You're home early."

Jisung collapses beside him, letting Felix's arms wrap around his tired body. "Bad night," he whispers into Felix's shoulder, his voice small and shaky.

"I've got you," Felix promises, his words soft, his arms strong. "You're safe now. You're home."

And finally, finally, Jisung lets himself cry, his tears falling like stars from a midnight sky, each one carrying the weight of everything he can't say. Felix holds him through it all, steady as the moon holding the tides, until the storm passes and peace settles over them both like fresh snow.

Chapter Text

Jisung is nine and summer wraps around him like a golden shawl. The brunet is all big, doe eyes and gangly limbs, hitting his first real growth spurt. 

Nearby, Minho turns away for just a moment, helping Felix adjust his goggles near the pool's edge. Jisung stares at the older boy fresh from his first rut. He’s graceful and strong, water droplets catching the sunlight on his broad shoulders like scattered diamonds dripping down his sun pinkened skin. His scent is reminiscent of his mother’s–the sandalwood is pure alpha, but the vanilla he shares with his omega mother softens it into something gentle and comforting. 

On the back of Minho’s presentation, Jisung is desperate to prove his worth. The deep end calls to him like a siren song. Just a quick dip, just to prove he can. He’s not the best swimmer, but he’s been practicing with Felix, his pastel pink water wings keeping him afloat for the most part as he bobs through the shallow end of the pool. He takes one last glance at Minho and Felix, wrestling the goggles on the blond’s head, as Jisung turns towards the deep end with prepubescent determination. 

The deeper waters welcome him at first, cool as silk against his sun-warmed skin. He takes one step, then another, the bottom of the pool sloping away beneath his feet like a sudden betrayal. His toes scrabble for purchase on smooth tiles that seem to retreat with each passing second.

Then comes the moment–the terrible, exhilarating, terrifying moment–when his feet find nothing but water beneath them. His confidence evaporates like morning mist, replaced by primal panic. His arms shoot out in front of him as he flails, slapping the water hard as he grasps for something that isn’t there. He kicks his legs out, forgetting how to propel himself upwards and his head dips below the surface. His world turns into a chaos of bubbles and burning lungs, chlorinated water stinging his eyes and nose. Up and down loses all meaning in the cool aquatic darkness. 

Through the water, he hears it–his name, distorted but unmistakable in Minho's deep voice. Suddenly, strong arms are around him, pulling him up, up, up toward air and light and life. They break the surface together, Jisung gasping like a newly landed fish, his fingers clutching Minho's shoulders hard enough to leave crescent-moon marks.

"I've got you," Minho keeps saying, his voice tight with fear but steady as a heartbeat. "I've got you, Sungie. You're safe. I'm here."

The journey to the pool's edge feels both eternal and instantaneous. Minho lifts him out with gentle strength, wrapping him in a towel that Felix shoves into his older brother’s arms as he hovers beside the two older boys, staring at them with aborted panic. Jisung's teeth chatter despite the summer heat, his body trembling with leftover adrenaline and shame.

"I'm s-sorry," he hiccups, unable to meet Minho's eyes. "I just wanted…."

"Shh," Minho interrupts, pulling him close. His heart thunders against Jisung's ear, betraying the fear the older boy is trying so hard to control. "You're okay. That's all that matters."

They sit like that for long moments, until Jisung's breathing steadies and the world stops spinning so fast. Minho pulls back just enough to frame Jisung's face with warm hands, studying him with eyes that hold entire universes of concern and love. His warm sandalwood and vanilla scent encapsulates them, Jisung’s own milk sweet unpresented scent overwhelmed with the new pheromones pumping out of the older boy. 

"You scared me so much," Minho whispers, his voice rough with emotion. With infinite tenderness, the alpha presses his lips to Jisung's forehead–a benediction, a prayer of gratitude, a promise. "My sweet Sungie. Please be more careful with yourself. You're too precious to lose."

The kiss lingers like a seal of protection, warm against Jisung's skin even after Minho pulls away. The rest of the day is spent with Minho close by at all times, the alpha’s protective instincts in full bloom. While he doesn’t hover, his eyes do return to Jisung again and again, as if reassuring himself that the boy is truly safe.

As evening falls on their walk home in the warm light of golden hour, Minho turns to the curly haired brunet, stopping him short. 

“Promise me you’ll take swimming lessons, Sungie,” Minho says, large hand gripping the young boy’s bare shoulder firmly, his fear from earlier as difficult to remove as a spider web once walked through. "Next time," the alpha says, sliding his hand down and linking his fingers loosely with Jisung's, "you'll be the one saving someone else." His smile holds such certainty, such faith, that Jisung can’t help but believe him.

Once Jisung is home, tucked into his own bed, he takes a deep breath and remembers the alpha’s warm, damp lips pressed to the honey skin of his forehead. He immortalizes this moment, distilling every single second into a mental talisman of safety, a reminder that no matter how deep the waters, Minho would always be there to pull him back to the surface.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Jisung and Felix lie entwined, their bodies fitting perfectly into one another as the gauzy curtains of Felix’s childhood bedroom dance in the twilight breeze like ghostly butterflies, carrying the mingled scents of orange blossom, vanilla, and strawberries that perfume the air with sweetness.

Jisung nestles against Felix's chest, their hearts beating in tandem like twin stars pulsing in the vast quiet of space. The younger omega's golden hair catches the light, creating a halo that makes him look almost ethereal. Against him, Jisung feels small and safe, wrapped in the comfort of Felix's familiar scent and the soft quilts that cocoon them both. Felix idly caresses Jisung’s wrist, rubbing the scent gland gently as soft puffs of scent cloud the air around them. 

"Do you think it's weird?" Jisung's whisper barely disturbs the air, fragile as fairy wings.

Felix's fingers card through Jisung's dark curls, gentle with love. "What's weird, Sungie?"

"That I've never…," The words catch in Jisung's throat. His cheeks bloom pink in the dim light, warm against Felix's chest. "That I've never been kissed. Not properly."

Felix's laugh echoes through the room like windchimes in a summer breeze. "Oh, Sungie," he says, deep voice soft and warm. "That's not weird at all. You're just careful with your heart. Like a flower that takes its time to bloom."

Jisung's fingers twist in the quilt, his scent wavering with uncertainty like clouds passing over the moon. "But everyone else.…”

"Everyone else isn't you," Felix interrupts gently, tipping Jisung's chin up until their eyes meet. "And you're perfect exactly as you are."

The silence stretches between them like spun sugar, delicate and sweet. Then Felix's lips curve into a smile bright as the morning star. "Do you want to know what it's like?"

Jisung's breath catches. "What?"

"A kiss," Felix says, his voice warm as sunshine. "I could show you. If you want."

Jisung's heart flutters against his ribs like a bird testing its wings. "You'd do that?"

"Of course," Felix whispers, his breath sweet against Jisung's cheek. "What are best friends for?"

Their lips meet like flower petals touching in a gentle breeze. Felix's kiss is soft, careful, tasting of the vanilla lip balm he always wears. For a moment, the world narrows to this single point of warmth, this gentle press of affection pure as starlight.

When they part, Jisung's lips tingle. His large, dark eyes shine in the golden light of the bedside lamp, wide and wondering. "Can we...can we try again?"

Felix's smile is gentle and indulgent, warmed with years of love. "Of course, Sungie."

The second kiss is sweeter than the first, more certain, like the sun breaking through morning mist. Jisung melts into it, his hands curling in Felix's shirt like anchor lines to reality. Orange blossom and strawberry mingle until the room is filled with the delicate dance of omegan scents. Felix cards his hand through Jisung’s curls, tangling his fingers at the back of the brunet’s head. Their lips part and converge over and over, Felix taking Jisung’s bottom lip between his as Jisung suckles at Felix’s top lip. Jisung clings to Felix’s shirt, helpless whines coaxed out of his throat with each tug of his hair, each graze of Felix’s teeth against the older omega’s plush lips. 

The bedroom door creaks open like ice cracking across a frozen pond.

The sound shatters the moment into a thousand glittering pieces. Jisung jerks back, his heart stopping mid-beat as his father's shadow falls across the nest like an eclipse. Behind him, Felix's mother hovers like a pale ghost, her hands fluttering nervously at her waist, the omega rubbing her own scent glands at her wrists against one another, puffs of vanilla and jasmine quivering around her in an acrid cloud, taking up the space a scent would occupy around Jisung’s beta father. 

The air grows thick and heavy as storm clouds, charged with a tension that makes it hard to breathe. His father's anger fills the room like frost creeping across glass, cold and inexorable. Though his face remains still as carved stone, his eyes burn with a fury that turns Jisung's blood to ice. His father cuts a long line through the doorway—taller, broader than Jisung could ever hope to be. 

"What," his father says, each word precise as a knife's edge, "is going on here?"

Jisung shrinks back against Felix like a flower folding before frost. "Dad, I can explain—,”

"Get up." His father's voice is quiet as falling snow, but it carries the weight of an avalanche. "Now."

Felix's thin arms tighten around Jisung, protective instincts kicking in. "Mr. Han, please—,”

"This is unacceptable." The words fall like stones into still water, creating ripples of silent devastation. His father's hands tremble at his sides, contained fury vibrating through him like thunder waiting to break. "Jisung. You were supposed to be at the library with your tutor.”

“He cancelled at the last minute. Dad, I would have called, but Felix gave me a ride and you know I’m safe here,” Jisung started, his voice small, desperate. 

“I told you I didn’t want you to spend so much time with that omega. That he’s trouble. All he does is occupy time you should be spending studying,” his dad says, voice calm, eyes like flint. “I’m done with this. Come home with me now, or don't come home at all."

The ultimatum hangs in the air like a blade poised to fall. Jisung feels tears gathering in his eyes, each one a tiny crystal of distress waiting to shatter.

Felix's small hand finds his, their fingers weaving together like stems seeking support in a windstorm. "Stay with me," Felix whispers, his voice steady. "We'll figure everything out together. I promise."

Jisung looks at his father—this man who once hung the moon for him, now standing cold and unreachable as a distant planet. He looks at Felix's mother, her worried eyes swimming with unshed tears, her hands clasped before her as if in prayer. Finally, he looks at Felix, his best friend, his shelter in every storm since they were small enough to hide under blanket forts. 

The choice blooms in his chest like a flower turning toward light.

"I'm staying with Felix," he says. Though his voice trembles like leaves in a storm, the words ring with quiet certainty. In this moment of terrible beauty, surrounded by fairy lights like fallen stars, Jisung chooses his own path for the first time in his life.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

It wasn’t that easy. 

The bitter winter cold stings the windowpanes, faint sunlight painting the hardwood floors in pools of ghostly radiance. Jisung lies there, his honey skin drinking in what warmth it can find from the heater blasting overhead. The house echoes with emptiness—each footstep, each sigh, each turning page amplified in the sterile silence.

His mother drifts through the halls like a fading photograph, her movements mechanical as she straightens already-perfect picture frames and dusts spotless surfaces. The constant motion seems to be the only thing keeping her from dissolving completely, her presence as muted as the scent-neutralized air around them. Sometimes, Jisung catches her watching him with eyes that shimmer like disturbed water, but she always looks away before their gazes can meet.

The adhesive patches burn against his scent glands like bitter memories, turning his skin angry and red. He traces their edges in the mirror each morning, watching his reflection blur as tears gather in his eyes like morning dew. His father's heavy footsteps mark time in the pre-dawn hours—arriving home when the stars still hang like crystal teardrops in the sky, leaving again before the sun can paint the world in accusations.

Books become his refuge, their pages offering escape from the mausoleum his home has become. Words flow through his mind like river water, poems and prose and possibilities filling the hollow spaces his father's disappointment carved out. His tutor arrives each week like clockwork, bringing assignments that Jisung devours like a starving man at a feast. Each new fact, each solved equation, each perfectly crafted essay becomes a tiny rebellion—proof that he's still alive, still thinking, still growing despite the sterile air and suffocating silence.

Summer stretches endless as an ocean, each day bleeding into the next like watercolors left in rain. Jisung spends his afternoons sprawled on the dining room floor, the hardwood cool against his skin as he watches the world continue without him through the large window. People pass by like scenes from a movie he's no longer part of—couples holding hands, children chasing dreams, lives unfolding in technicolor while his remains paused in grayscale.

The scholarship letter arrives like the first ray of dawn after endless night. His father reads it at the breakfast table, his face carved from marble, while his mother's teacup trembles against its saucer. Permission to attend comes with conditions—a commuter schedule mapped to the minute, no phone, no freedom, no chance to spread the wings he's been growing in secret.

August arrives dressed in possibility, though the train schedule feels like another set of chains. Still, the station platform sparkles with promise as Jisung boards that first morning, his heart beating a rhythm of almost-freedom against his ribs. The university buildings rise before him like crystal castles in morning light, their windows catching sunshine and throwing it back in kaleidoscopic patterns.

It's his second day when his world turns technicolor. 

"Sungie!"

The voice rings through the English building's hallway like a bell calling him home. Before Jisung can turn, a familiar weight collides with his back, skinny arms wrapping around him like they have a million times before. The scent of orange blossom and vanilla engulfs him, and suddenly he's crying—sobs tearing from his chest, brow scrunched, and fat tears rolling down his plump cheeks like a toddler as he spins to pull Felix closer.

"I missed you," he cries into Felix's shoulder, his voice cracking like thin ice. "I missed you so much."

Felix's own tears dampen Jisung's sweater as they cling to each other. "Eight months," Felix whispers, his deep voice rough with emotion. "Eight months without my other half. Never again, Sung. I won't let them separate us again. I called every day for months. Came over so many times at the beginning before they threatened to call the police. I missed you."

They stand there, wrapped in each other's arms while students flow around them like water around stones. Eight months of silence dissolve in their shared tears, in the familiar press of Felix's hands against his back, in the mingling of orange blossom and strawberries that feels like coming home.

"I have to catch the 4:15 train," Jisung says eventually, the words tasting bitter as medicine on his tongue. "They time everything."

Felix pulls back just enough to cup Jisung's face in his hands, his eyes fierce despite their wetness. "Just until September," he promises. "Until you're eighteen. Then you'll come live with me, and they can't stop us anymore. I have an apartment near campus—I’ll get you a key and you came come as soon as you can."

Jisung nods, hope blooming in his chest like the first flower of spring. "Twenty-three more days," he whispers, and Felix's answering smile could outshine the sun.

Later, as the train carries him back to his gilded cage, Jisung presses his forehead against the cool window and watches the city blur past. His tears have dried, leaving tight trails of sorrow and relief on his cheeks, but his heart feels lighter than it has in months. Twenty-three days until freedom. Twenty-three days until he can finally write his own story.

The house looms before him like a paper cutout against the evening sky, all perfect lines and empty spaces. But as he climbs the steps, Jisung feels something new unfurling in his chest—something that feels like courage, like defiance, like the first breath of dawn after endless night. Soon, he thinks. Soon.

Chapter Text

The phone rings twice before Minho answers.

"Hey, Lix," he says, his light voice steady. The pen working over budget sheets stills in his hand.

"Hyung!" Felix's voice bursts through the speaker like sunshine through storm clouds, warm and golden even through the digital distance. "I miss you! Are you busy being important and successful?"

Minho's laugh is soft. "I'm always important and successful. What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want something?" Felix gasps, the sound theatrical. 

"You're as predictable as the phases of the moon, Lix," Minho says, his lips curving into a smile. "You only call when you need a favor."

"That's not true!" Felix protests, though laughter threads through his voice. "I care about you! I want to know how you are, what's new, if you're eating well..."

"If I can help you with something," Minho finishes, turning in his chair to face the window. The setting sun catches his reflection, setting his dark eyes ablaze with amber light.

Felix's sigh whispers through the phone like a warm breeze. "Okay, fine. I do need something. It's about Jisung."

The name settles in the air like the first snowflake of winter, delicate and weighted with intrigue. Minho's breath catches softly, memories unfurling like night-blooming flowers–a shy smile nestled between chubby cheeks, the milk-sweet scent of an unpresented child, large eyes that hold entire galaxies.

"Jisung?" he echoes, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

"Yeah," Felix's tone softens, becoming impossibly gentle. "He needs help, hyung. A job, specifically. At your café."

Minho's fingers trace abstract patterns on his desk, following the paths of sunlight that streak across the polished wood. "Didn’t you say he got a job at a convenience store? When he moved in with you? What happened to his last job?"

"People weren't...kind," Felix says, his usually bright voice dimming. "You know how some alphas can be, especially with male omegas. And after how his parents acted after he presented and then again last winter...." Felix trails off, leaving the weight of unspoken pain hanging in the air.

"They cut him off completely when he moved out?" Minho asks, his voice taking on an sharp edge.

"Everything," Felix confirms, sadness threading through his words. "No money, no support, nothing. He called a few times after his birthday, but I guess they read the note he left them and are still mad. He's been trying so hard, hyung. He's stronger than anyone gives him credit for, but he needs someone to give him a real chance. Someone who'll look out for him."

Silence stretches between them. Minho watches as the sun sinks lower, painting the sky in watercolor washes of pink and gold.

"He's changed, you know," Felix adds, his voice warming at the thought of how much his best friend has grown. "You wouldn't even recognize him. He's gorgeous now—I mean, he was always pretty, but now..." He trails off meaningfully.

"Gorgeous, huh?" Minho can't quite keep the interest from his voice. 

"Don't get any ideas," Felix laughs, the sound bright as wind chimes in a summer breeze. "He's way out of your league."

"We'll see about that," Minho murmurs, more to himself than Felix.

"So you'll help?" Felix asks, hope blooming in his voice. 

Minho sighs, but it's gentle, fond. "Bring him in next Tuesday at three. That should give us enough time to get his measurements and have a uniform ready. I’ll train him and see how he does.” 

Felix's joy explodes through the phone like fireworks, his voice scattering excitement. "Really? Oh my god, hyung, you're the best! He'll be perfect, I promise. He's so hardworking and sweet and—"

"Delicate?" Minho suggests, a smirk curving his lips like a crescent moon.

"Strong," Felix corrects firmly, though warmth still dances in his tone. "Stronger than anyone knows. You'll see."

As the call ends, Minho remains by the window, watching the last rays of sun paint the city in its radiant warmth. His reflection stares back at him, thoughtful, while his mind fills with half-remembered smiles and the phantom scent of summer strawberries.

"Han Jisung," he murmurs to the quiet room, the name falling from his lips like a wish upon a shooting star. "What kind of boy are you now?" 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Jisung's slow steps echo around him, the used bookstore's towering shelves bowing beneath centuries of stories like weary travelers seeking rest. Sunlight filters through dirt-veiled windows in golden rivers, turning motes of dust into nebulae that dance through the stale air. The light catches on book spines, illuminating titles worn soft by countless seeking hands. Each of the omega's breaths draw in the perfume of aged paper and leather bindings, a bouquet as complex as a garden in full bloom—dry notes from crumbling pages, the earthiness of old wood, and underneath it all, the sharp tang of preserving chemicals that catches in the back of his throat.

Mr. Park looms behind the counter, his weathered face creased with permanent disapproval. The old alpha's scent is sharp as winter frost, cutting through the musty sweetness of books. "Stop sighing," he barks, his voice crackling like autumn leaves underfoot. "Customers'll think we're hosting a wake."

Jisung's apology dissolves on his tongue, barely disturbing the dust that swirls around him in lazy galaxies. His fingers tremble as they dance across book spines, each one cold to the touch. The heating hasn't worked well since he started. The volumes slip through his grasp, scattering across the floor in a pile of forgotten poetry. Their pages flutter open like pale petals seeking light, and for a moment, they mirror his own scattered thoughts—fragments of dreams too delicate to hold.

His mind drifts like a dandelion seed on a summer breeze.

When he graduates—

He'll buy strawberries that shine like rubies in their velvet beds, each one perfect as a newly formed star. Their leaves will be emerald crowns, still sparkling with morning dew, and their sweetness will burst across his tongue like captured love. The scent will fill his lungs with memories of childhood summers, of laughter bright as bell chimes on the wind.

When he graduates—

He'll chase the horizon to where ocean meets sky in an endless watercolor embrace. The sand will be warm beneath his bare feet, the waves singing lullabies as they kiss the shore. No more dust-thick air, no more heavy ledgers or curmudgeonly old alphas yelling at him. Just the sun weaving gold through his hair like a crown of light.

When he graduates—

A shadow falls across his reverie like an eclipse.

In his mind's garden, Minho appears in the doorway like an answered prayer, his silhouette carved from the afternoon light. His presence fills the shop like moonlight flooding a midnight meadow, his scent—vanilla and sandalwood, faint, but still there, clinging to Jisung’s memories—wrapping around Jisung like a familiar embrace. The alpha's voice flows like honey over steel as he addresses Mr. Park: "You've been cruel to him."

The old man withers like frost-touched flowers. "T-This is my shop—"

"But that's not your boy." Minho says, eyes like flint. 

Then he turns, and Jisung's world shifts like planets realigning.

"Jisung." His name blooms like a night flower in Minho's mouth. The alpha approaches with the grace of starlight across still water, his gloved hand rising to cradle Jisung's face. His thumb traces the small mole on Jisung's plump cheek like an astronomer mapping a beloved star. "Come with me. Let me give you orchards, oceans, everything ."

Jisung's breath catches in his throat. The bookstore transforms around them—dust motes becoming fireflies, shelves sprouting jasmine that perfumes the air with impossible spring, violets pushing through floorboards like hope through concrete. Minho leans close, his breath warm as summer winds—

"Boy! "

Reality crashes back like a meteor strike.

Mr. Park's ledger slams against the counter with the finality of thunder, scattering Jisung's daydream like startled birds. "Stop gawping at the air and work! You're here 'til close!"

Jisung flinches, phantom sweetness dissolving into bitter reality. His fingers scramble to gather the fallen books, each one a small weight of responsibility. He tucks the daydream into the back of his mind to revisit later, alone, and continues shelving. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Fluorescent lights hum overhead like distant stars fighting through cloud cover, their harsh glow softening the edges of reality in the late-night grocery store. The endless aisles stretch before Jisung like rivers of possibility, each one flowing with its own universe of choices. The air is a complex tapestry of scents–the sharp tang of cleaning supplies, the artificial sweetness of packaged goods, and underneath it all, the promising freshness of produce that makes his empty stomach ache.

Jisung's fingers curl around the cold metal of his shopping cart, the wheels squeaking softly against sticky linoleum as he moves through the store like a ghost. The sound echoes in the near-empty space, mixing with the distant beeping of registers and the muffled conversations of the few other late-night shoppers. His cart holds the bare necessities–two cups of instant ramen that rattle quietly against each other, a loaf of bread laying limply to the side, and a carton of eggs he'd carefully checked for cracks.

The produce section glows like an oasis ahead of him. Under the specialized lighting, every fruit seems to shimmer with possibility–apples gleaming like rubies, oranges bright as sunset, bananas curved like gentle crescent moons. The mist from the automatic sprayers catches the light, creating tiny rainbows that dance above the displays.

And then, over his own muted scent, he smells them–strawberries. The fragrance hits him like a wave of summer memories, sweet and pure and heartbreakingly familiar. His feet carry him forward before his mind can catch up, drawn by that celestial perfume.

The memory unfolds like a flower blooming in fast motion: he's nine years old, sitting cross-legged on Felix's living room floor. Sunlight streams through the windows, dust motes dancing in the warm light. Minho is in the kitchen, his movements precise and careful as he slices strawberries. The fruit gleams like precious stones under his careful attention. The air blooms with the freshly presented alpha’s warm vanilla and sandalwood scent, thick in its newness. It wraps around him like a well-worn blanket on a cold night. 

"These are for you, Sungie," Memory Minho says, his voice warm as sunshine on bare skin. "You've been so good today. A special treat, just for you." 

Jisung's hand trembles as he reaches for the little bowl of strawberries. They're perfect–each one a tiny heart-shaped promise, their color deep and rich as garnets. He can almost taste them, can almost feel the way they'd burst with sweetness on his tongue, the way Minho had smiled at his delighted expression. 

"His favorite," Jisung whispers to the quiet store, his breath fogging the plastic slightly. His thumb strokes across the container's surface, the phantom feeling of the delicate fruit leaving a trail up his thumb like a shooting star. "I wonder if he still…," Jisung trails off, his thoughts many moons away as he stares into the artificial stillness of the supermarket. 

His cart looks desperately empty, the few items rattling with every small movement like lonely wind chimes, seeking their brothers to make merriment, but left bereft instead. The strawberries in his hands feel both impossibly light and heavy with meaning. They're more than fruit–they're a connection to something precious and lost, a thread of gold in the tapestry of his memories. 

His stomach clenches, a sharp reminder of his current reality. The price sticker seems to glow accusingly under the fluorescent lights. It's too much, really–an extravagance he can't afford, a luxury that belongs to a different life. A life where he still had his family's support, where dinner meant more than instant noodles and careful rationing.

And yet.

The strawberries rest in his palm like a challenge, or perhaps a promise. They're perfect, each one seemingly created by mother nature herself–plump and ripe, their leaves still fresh and green as spring mornings. In the harsh store lighting, they seem to glow from within, like they're carrying some of that childhood magic in their flesh. 

With a gentleness that surprises even himself, Jisung places the container in his cart. It settles between the bread and eggs like a jewel in a crown, transforming his meager groceries into something almost special. The plastic catches the light, sending tiny prisms dancing across his honey toned hands.

"I'll make them last," he promises himself, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet store. "One at a time." 

As he pushes his cart toward checkout, his natural scent mingles with the fresh burst from the strawberries, following him like a beloved ghost. It's not much–not the fresh meals he dreams of or the abundance he misses from his mother’s hands. But it's something beautiful in a world that often feels stripped of it. Something sweet in the midst of bitter reality. Something that connects him, however tenuously, to the warmth of Minho's kitchen and the taste of childhood summers.

His smile, when it comes, is soft as moonlight on water–small and precious and real. For just a moment, the fluorescent lights seem to soften, casting a gentle glow like starlight, turning the mundane aisles of the grocery store into something almost magical. And in that moment, Jisung allows himself to feel something like hope, fragile and sweet as the first strawberry of summer. 

Chapter Text

Jisung sits cross-legged on their nest of pillows and blankets, carefully slicing strawberries into a small bowl perched in his lap. His oversized cream sweater slips off one shoulder as he works, and his dark curls fall into his eyes despite his attempts to blow them away. His gaze is faraway, lingering in the bookshop still, Minho’s hand caressing his cheek, Mr. Park cowering in fear. 

"You're going to cut your finger if you keep daydreaming," Felix teases, sprawled nearby with his phone held above his face. His golden hair spreads around his head like a halo against the pastel pillows.

"Am not," Jisung protests, but he focuses more carefully on the knife. The strawberry juice stains his fingertips pink. "I just want them to be perfect."

"They're strawberries, Sung, not art pieces." Felix rolls onto his stomach, his eyes sparkling. "Oh! Speaking of perfect things--guess what?"

Jisung looks up, the knife pausing mid-slice. "What?"

"You got the job!" Felix's grin could outshine the sun. "Minho-hyung just texted me!"

The knife clatters into the bowl. "What? Already?" Jisung's eyes widen. "But you only just suggested it as an option—not even a concrete suggestion, just a silly what if proposal—the other day??”

"Because you're perfect for it, dummy!" Felix crawls closer, plucking a strawberry slice from the bowl. "Minho-hyung couldn't say no. You're officially going to be a café maid!"

Jisung's cheeks flush deeper than the strawberries. "But what if I mess up? What if I drop things, or trip, or-"

"Then you'll pick yourself up and try again," Felix says firmly, reaching out to cup Jisung's face in his small hands sticky with strawberry juice. His touch is gentle, familiar. "Listen to me, Han Jisung. You're going to be amazing."

"But-"

"No buts!" Felix squishes Jisung's cheeks playfully. "You're sweet and lovely and everyone's going to adore you. Including certain café owners who haven't seen you since you presented..."

"Felix!" Jisung whines, but he's fighting a smile.

"What? I see how you react when I mention him." Felix's grin turns wicked. "Like he’s hung the stars himself."

"It’s just that he’s always been so nice to me, when we were kids," Jisung mumbles, turning back to his strawberries. "It's been years though, he probably still thinks I’m the same dumb little kid I used to be..."

"You were never dumb," Felix says softly, serious now. "You were just growing into yourself. And now look at you." He gestures dramatically. "You're a whole butterfly, Sung!"

Jisung's phone buzzes, making them both jump. Felix snatches it before Jisung can reach it, his eyes widening with delight.

xxx-xxxx-xxxx

hi jisung. it's minho. felix gave me your number. i assume he's already told you that you got the job. 

he has all the details. i need your measurements by tomorrow. 

if you have any onboarding questions, just let me know. 

"Ooh, it's from hyung! I totally forgot! He needs your measurements for the uniform!"

"My what? Wait, hyung? Minho hyung? Texted my phone?" Jisung squeaks, nearly dropping a strawberry.

"Measurements! For tailoring! And yes, I filled out the job application as a formality, but it did have to have the correct information on it, silly," Felix is already up, rummaging through their junk drawer for the measuring tape. "Come on, up you get!"

"Can't we just...guess?"

"Absolutely not." Felix brandishes the measuring tape like a weapon. "We want it to fit perfectly. Stand up, Sungie."

Jisung sighs but complies, setting aside his strawberries to stand. His sweater slips further off his shoulder as Felix circles him with professional precision, humming a bright tune.

"Arms up!" Felix commands, slipping his hands under the older omega's sweater and wrapping the tape around Jisung's waist. "My goodness, you're tiny. Like a little hummingbird."

"I am not that small," Jisung protests, but he's smiling.

"You absolutely are." Felix measures his hips next. "The tiniest, prettiest little thing. Minho-hyung won’t be able to take his eyes off you."

"Lix..."

"What? I'm just stating facts." Felix steps back to write down the numbers in Jisung's phone, his expression softening. "You know I'm just proud of you, right? Watching you bloom into yourself... it's been beautiful, Sung."

Jisung's eyes get misty. "Stop, you're going to make me cry."

"Good! Cry all over your perfectly cut strawberries!" Felix tackles him back into the nest, both of them laughing as they fall among the pillows. "My best friend is going to be the prettiest maid in all of Seoul!"

"You're ridiculous," Jisung says fondly, but he hugs Felix tight, breathing in the familiar scent of his best friend mingling with his own. "Thank you, Lixie. For everything."

"Always," Felix whispers back, fierce and loving. "Now, are you going to tell me why you bought those fancy strawberries? The ones Minho-hyung always talks about? They’re even the same brand.”

Jisung's blush returns full force. "They were on sale!"

"Liar," Felix sing-songs, reaching for another slice. "You're not subtle at all, Han Jisung." 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

jisung 

thanks minho hyung! 

sadjkljd its nice to hear from you

my measurements are xx xx xx

i'll see you next week!!♡♡

minho hyung

it's nice to hear from you too, jisungie. 

i'll see you next week.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The café is bustling—men and women sharing small cakes and cookies, maids bypassing each other to hand out porcelain cups of coffee and tea. Tiny crystal vases sparkle on each table, cradling fresh flowers that give off a delicate, fresh scent. 

Minho stands behind the polished counter, absently clicking his pen against the clipboard in his hands. The afternoon is relatively quiet--just the gentle clink of cups, whispered conversations, and the soft whoosh of the espresso machine. The sound of the door chime breaks through his concentration, crystal-clear and delicate.

His head lifts automatically, a greeting ready on his lips. The words die in his throat.

Jisung stands in the doorway, haloed by morning light, and Minho's world stops turning as the scent of fresh, ripe strawberries hits him. 

"Oh," he breathes, barely a whisper.

Gone is the awkward middle schooler with oversized glasses and metal-filled smile who used to hide behind books to avoid seeking eye contact from anyone except Felix. In his place stands someone who steals the air from Minho's lungs. Jisung's dark curls fall softly around his delicate face. His eyes, no longer hidden behind thick frames, are wide and dark as midnight pools. The uniform--all soft fabric and delicate lace--frames his slight figure perfectly, making him look like he's stepped out of a watercolor painting. His small waist is cinched in with the apron, his slender legs remind Minho of fawns grazing in the forest, Jisung’s delicate wrists wringing in nervousness. 

"Jisung?" Minho manages, his voice rougher than intended. The clipboard clatters forgotten to the counter.

Jisung's fingers tighten over one another as he clasps his hands in front of him, his cheeks blooming pink. "Hello, hyung." His voice is soft as spring petals, sweet and tentative.

"You..." Minho steps around the counter, drawn forward like a moth to flame. Each step brings new details into focus--the gentle curve of Jisung's jaw, the flutter of his lashes, the way his bottom lip catches between his teeth. "You've changed."

Felix, standing beside Jisung, grins. "Told you he'd be perfect for the job, didn't I?"

"Felix," Minho acknowledges, but his eyes never leave Jisung. "You didn't tell me..."

"Tell you what?" Felix's voice carries a knowing lilt.

"How...," Minho searches for words. "Different he is."

Jisung shifts nervously, the movement causing the lace at his collar to flutter. "Is...is that bad?"

"No," Minho says quickly. Too quickly. He clears his throat. "No, it's...you...,” Minho trails off, eyes glued to the lithe boy in front of him. 

“Isn’t he pretty, hyung? I told you he’d be perfect for the job,” Felix smiles, eyes boring into Minho’s face, delighted with the turn of events. 

Minho’s lips twitch into the faintest smile. “Yeah,” he says, his voice low. “Pretty.”

"Felix!" Jisung hisses, his blush deepening. 

"What? It's true." Felix nudges him forward. "Even Minho hyung thinks so. Look at him--he can barely string two words together."

Minho would protest, but he's too busy noticing how Jisung's uniform skims his waist, how his fingers twist delicately around each other, how his presence seems to soften all the hard edges of the world around him.

"I should show you around," Minho finally manages, his professional mask slipping back into place. "The afternoon rush is winding down now."

"O-okay," Jisung says, taking a tentative step forward. His shoes click softly against the hardwood floor.

"This way." Minho gestures toward the back room, Jisung’s unsuppressed scent tangling his senses, enrapturing him wholly. It makes his head spin.

"I'll leave you to it then," Felix calls cheerfully. "Take good care of him, hyung!"

The words carry a weight that makes Minho's throat tight. Because how can he take care of Jisung when he can barely breathe around him? How can he be professional when every glimpse of the omega makes his heart stutter in his chest?

"The lockers are through here," he says, leading Jisung to the back room. His hand hovers near the small of Jisung's back, not quite touching. "You can keep your things...."

He trails off as Jisung looks up at him, those sparkling, dark eyes wide and trusting. This close, he can see the slight tremor in Jisung's hands, smell the nervous tint to his mouthwatering scent.

"Hyung?" Jisung's voice is barely a whisper. "Are you sure this is okay? Me working here?"

Minho swallows hard. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because...," Jisung fidgets with his apron. "Because of...before. When I was just an awkward kid who followed you around everywhere. I’m so clumsy, you know it, and you always had to help me with things and I just don’t want to bother you."

"You were never just anything," Minho says, the words slipping out before he can catch them. “You could never bother me, Jisungie...,” Minho trails off. Their eyes meet, and the air between them grows thick with things unspoken. 

The moment stretches, taut as a bowstring, until the distant chime of the door breaks the spell.

"We should...," Minho steps back, creating space between them. "The customers."

"Right," Jisung breathes, ducking his head. "The customers."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Jisung stands in the center of the café, fidgeting with the hem of his maid uniform. The fabric whispers against his thighs with each nervous movement, the lace trim impossibly delicate against his soft skin. His fingers trace the edge of his apron, seeking comfort in the crisp cotton.

"Stop fidgeting," Minho says, his voice carrying across the empty café. He approaches with measured steps, each movement precise as a dancer's. His suit fits him perfectly, dark as midnight and just as mysterious. "You look fine."

"I feel silly," Jisung admits, his cheeks blooming pink. "The skirt is so short...."

"It's exactly as long as everyone else's," Minho counters, circling him slowly. His eyes track every detail, sharp and focused. "Though I must say, it suits you better than most."

Jisung's blush deepens. "Hyung...."

"Now," Minho says, coming to stand before him. The distance between them crackles with unspoken tension. "Show me how you'd greet a customer."

Jisung straightens his shoulders, forcing a smile. "W-Welcome to Star Light Café. How may I serve you today?"

Minho's lips twitch. "Was that a question or a greeting? Try again. More confidence."

"Welcome to Star Light Café," Jisung tries again, his voice steadier. "How may I serve you today?"

"Better," Minho murmurs. He steps closer, and Jisung’s head is enveloped in the alpha’s sandalwood and vanilla scent, heady as summer nights. "But you're still too stiff. You need to make them feel special, Sungie. Like they're the only person in your world for that moment."

"How do I do that?" Jisung asks, doe eyes looking up through dark lashes.

Something flickers in Minho's eyes. "Here," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Let me show you." He takes Jisung's hand in his, the touch sending electricity through them both. "When you hand them their menu, or their coffee, let your fingers brush against theirs--just for a moment."

He demonstrates, his fingers trailing across Jisung's palm like butterfly wings. "See? Subtle, but effective."

Jisung's breath catches. "Like this?" He reaches out, letting his fingers ghost over Minho's wrist, honey skin glowing against the alpha’s fair complexion. As the omega blinks up at the older man, puffs of ripe strawberry encapsulate them in a warm cloud of soft affection. 

"Exactly like that," Minho says, his voice rough. "You're a natural."

They're standing too close now, close enough that Jisung can see the flecks of honey brown in Minho's dark eyes. The air between them feels thick with possibility.

"What else?" Jisung asks, barely above a whisper.

Minho swallows hard. "Your smile," he says. "It needs to reach your eyes." His hand comes up, thumb brushing Jisung's plump cheek. "Like when you used to get excited about your books, remember? Your whole face would light up like the morning sun anytime mom would bring one home for you from the bookstore."

"You remember that?"

"I remember everything about you, Sung." The words slip out before Minho can catch them.

Jisung's eyes widen. "Everything?"

"The glasses," Minho says, his voice soft with memory. "The way you'd trip over nothing. How you'd hide behind Felix whenever you got nervous. How much you loved when I shared my special strawberries with you." His thumb is still on Jisung's cheek, the touch burning like a brand. "You were adorable then."

"And now?" The question hangs between them like suspended stardust.

Minho's gaze darkens. "Now you're dangerous."

"Me?" Jisung laughs, but it comes out breathless. "I'm still that same clumsy kid, hyung."

"No," Minho says, his voice rough. "You're not." His hand drops from Jisung's cheek, and the loss feels physical. "You've bloomed into something else entirely."

The silence stretches between them, heavy with words unsaid. The café's soft music continues to play, a gentle waltz now, and somewhere outside a car horn honks, breaking the spell.

Minho steps back, his professional mask sliding back into place. "Try the greeting again," he says, but his voice isn't quite steady.

Jisung takes a deep breath, channeling all his feelings into his smile. "Welcome to Star Light Café," he says, letting his natural warmth shine through. "How may I serve you today?"

"Perfect," Minho murmurs, and something in his tone makes Jisung shiver. "Absolutely perfect."

They spend the next hour practicing different scenarios--dealing with difficult customers, handling multiple orders, proper serving technique. But underneath it all runs a current of awareness, electric and unavoidable. Every accidental touch feels like sparks against skin. Every shared glance carries the weight of years--of what was, what is, what could be.

And if Minho's hands linger too long when he's showing Jisung how to carry a tray, if Jisung's blush deepens every time their eyes meet--well, neither of them mentions it.

Chapter Text

Jisung's first paycheck from Minho sits heavy in his bank account, the numbers offering him respite after months of struggle. His shopping basket swings light and purposeful in his grip, no longer weighed down by the gravity of careful calculation, of counting every won twice before spending. 

The produce section blooms before him like an enchanted garden, each fruit gleaming under the fluorescent lights, but Jisung's feet carry him straight to his destination without deviation. The strawberry display stands pristine and perfect, each punnet holding rubies masquerading as fruit, their leaves still fresh and bright.

His long fingers tremble as they reach for not one punnet of berries, but two. The plastic containers feel light in his palms, yet heavy with meaning. These aren't the discount berries, the ones beginning to soften and darken with age. These are the premium organic strawberries—Minho's favorite, the ones that taste like summer distilled into juice and sweetness, from a family run farm not too far from the city. Each one perfect as a rare jewel, promising to burst across his tongue like captured sunshine.

"Two containers," he whispers to himself, the words carrying the weight of a prayer, of gratitude so deep it brings tears to his eyes. His own scent of fresh, summer ripe strawberries swells with joy, mingling with the fruit's natural perfume until he can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

The memory of past visits bubbles up like a spring in his mind—counting coins in his palm, choosing between necessities, putting back the things that made life sweet in favor of those that kept him alive. But now, his basket fills with more than just survival. Alongside his carefully chosen strawberries, he adds fresh chocolate croissants still warm from the bakery, a bag of fair trade coffee beans, eggs from chickens allowed to roam fields of grass with their sisters, milk in a glass bottle gleaming in the bright light of the supermarket, a pack of his favorite spearmint gum. 

At checkout, he doesn't hold his breath as the total rises. Doesn't feel the sharp sting of shame when he has to put something back. Instead, he watches the numbers climb with quiet wonder, knowing that his work—his own work, at Minho's café where the air always smells like vanilla and sandalwood and safety—has earned this moment.

He feels like floating on his walk home, his heavy shopping bags the only thing tethering him to the earth. Above him, the city lights shimmer like stars, and for once, they don't seem so far out of reach. In his bag, the strawberries nestle together, their sweetness a promise of good things to come.

Felix is waiting when he arrives home, their apartment warm, the air perfumed with their mingled scents. His best friend's eyes widen at the sight of two punnets of strawberries, understanding blooming across his face like sunrise.

"You got them," Felix breathes, his smile bright as breaking dawn. "The fancy ones—Minho-hyung's favorites."

Jisung nods, his own smile wobbling with emotion. "Two baskets," he says, the words still tasting like miracle on his tongue. "I can afford two baskets now."

Felix wraps him in a hug that smells like vanilla and orange blossoms, like home and safety and endless love. "I'm so proud of you, Sungie," he whispers, and Jisung feels tears spill over, warm as summer rain on his cheeks.

"I'm proud of me, too, Lixie," Jisung whispers into his best friend's shoulder. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Jisung moves through the café with practiced grace, the starched fabric of his maid uniform rustling softly with each step. His dark eyes catch the light as he leans down to serve a steaming cup of coffee, his voice gentle as he asks, "Would you like cream or sugar?"

Behind the counter, Minho absently polishes the same glass he's been holding for the past five minutes, his eyes following Jisung's every movement. The younger omega's presence is magnetic--the way his dark hair falls across his forehead, how his fingers delicately grasp each cup, the soft pink that seems to permanently stain his cheeks.

Hyunjin slides up beside Minho, his honey-sweet perfume announcing the beta’s presence before he speaks. "Earth to Minho," he teases, waving a hand in front of his face. "You're going to wear a hole in that glass."

Minho sets it down with a soft clink. "Did you need something?"

"Just curious," Hyunjin says, leaning against the counter. His eyes sparkle like morning dew in sunlight. "You always watch him like that? Or is today special?"

"I don't watch him," Minho protests, but his eyes have already drifted back to Jisung, who's arranging cookies on a display plate with careful precision, his movements delicate.

"Right," Hyunjin drawls. "And I'm the Queen of England. Come on, spill. How do you know him? There's obviously history there."

Minho's lips curl into a slight smile. "We grew up together. He’s my kid brother’s best friend—you’ve met Felix. Known him since he was this awkward kid with huge glasses and a stack of books taller than he was."

"No way!" Hyunjin gasps. "Our graceful Jisung? Awkward?"

"Used to trip over air," Minho confirms, his voice warm with fondness. "He'd get so excited talking about something that he'd forget to watch where he was going. Felix had to basically become his personal safety net."

"And now look at him," Hyunjin sighs. "He's like something out of a fairy tale. Must be strange for you, seeing him all grown up."

Minho's hands still on the counter. "Strange isn't the word for it."

"Oh?" Hyunjin leans closer, intrigued. "What is the word for it then?"

"Complicated," Minho admits, watching as Jisung tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, the gesture unconsciously graceful. "He's...different now."

"Different good?" Hyunjin prompts.

"Different dangerous," Minho murmurs, more to himself than to the beta.

The peaceful moment shatters as a chair scrapes harshly against the floor. Minho's head snaps up at the sound of Jisung's startled gasp.

"Hey, pretty thing," a customer says, his hand wrapped around Jisung's slim wrist. The coffee pot in Jisung's other hand trembles slightly. "Why don't you take a break and keep me company?"

"I-I'm sorry, sir," Jisung stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need to attend to other customers."

"They can wait," the man insists, tugging Jisung closer. The coffee pot wobbles dangerously.

Minho is already moving, the floorboards creaking under his swift steps. The café has gone quiet, the only sound the man's rough breathing and the nervous tinkle of china as Jisung tries to pull away.

"Is there a problem here?" Minho's voice cuts through the tension like a knife. Up close, he can smell the customer’s pine and earthen scent, see the sweat beading on his forehead. The alpha reeks of heady attraction. 

The man looks up, his grip loosening slightly. "Just having a friendly chat."

"It doesn't look friendly," Minho says softly, dangerously. His own sandalwood and vanilla scent permeates the air, overtaking everything else in its path, pine choked down to nothing in its wake. Minho’s hand comes to rest on Jisung's small waist, and he can feel the omega trembling beneath his touch. Minho’s jaw aches as he grinds his teeth together, keeping his lips shut in an attempt not to growl at the alpha in front of him threatening his omega. "Let go of my employee. Now."

When the man releases Jisung's wrist, Minho gently guides him behind the counter. "Go to the break room," he murmurs, his thumb brushing soothingly across Jisung's waist before reaching up and gently caressing the omega’s plump cheek. "Take a few minutes. I've got this."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

"He just appeared out of nowhere," Jisung says, his voice still carrying a note of awe. "Like he sensed I needed help. Like some kind of knight, just like when we were kids. I’m lucky I didn’t slick up in the middle of it! It wasn’t even that bad, either. I’ve dealt with way worse situations with weird alphas at my last job."

"Because he's always watching you," Felix calls from the kitchen. There's a clatter of pans, followed by the sweet scent of vanilla. "The way he looks at you, Sung--it's like you're the moon and he's the tide, constantly being pulled in your direction."

"You're being dramatic," Jisung protests, but his cheeks warm at the memory of Minho's firm grip on his waist, the low danger in his voice as his scent overtook the other alpha’s, strangling it in a nonverbal act of dominance. Jisung’s knees knock together at the memory and he can feel the slight wetness of slick trickling across his lips and into the soft cotton of his panties as he loops the moment in his mind, reliving it over and over. 

Felix emerges from the kitchen, flour dusting his golden hair. "Am I? Remember last week when you dropped that tray? He was halfway across the room before it hit the ground."

"He has good reflexes," Jisung mumbles into his sweater, shaking off the memory. His heat is coming up—he needs to be more careful with his thoughts. 

"For you," Felix emphasizes, settling beside him on the floor. "Only for you. He’d never go that far for Hyunjin or even his other omega workers like Seungmin or Changbin. Sure, he’d help them out, but he only ever treats you with kid gloves. Come on, Sung, talk to me. What's really got you all worried?"

Jisung picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. "You’re right, Felix. He wouldn’t do that for Hyunjin or Seungmin or anyone else because he knows they’re strong and capable. He still sees me as that kid, Lix. The one who needed protecting. The one who used to follow him around like a lost puppy."

"Have you seen the way he looks at you?" Felix asks softly. "Trust me, that's not how someone looks at a kid."

"But what if-"

"No what-ifs," Felix interrupts. "You're not that scared little kid anymore, Sung. You've bloomed into something beautiful, and Minho's noticed. Everyone's noticed."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

In the quiet café, Minho wipes down the last table, the harsh cleaning solution mixing with the lingering scents of the day. His movements are mechanical as his mind wages war with itself. Part of him sees Jisung as he was--all gangly limbs and oversized glasses, small and precious and in need of protection. That part screams at him to maintain distance, to remember the gap in their ages, to see Jisung as the child he once was. Six years is a vast ocean of experience. He has two degrees, he owns a thriving business, and above all else, he’s lived an entire life in the time since he’d left home for college. 

But the other part of him sees Jisung as he is now--graceful as moonlight on water, sweet as spring’s first burst of blooms, an omega who moves through the world with an unconscious allure that drives Minho to distraction. This part of him wants to claim, to possess, to mark Jisung as his own in ways that make his alpha instincts howl with need.

The chairs are up, the floors swept, but still he lingers, breathing in the peace of the empty space, the lingering scent of strawberries that has permeated the air around him these last few weeks. The war inside him rages on--protector versus possessor, guardian versus potential lover. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees Jisung's face--sometimes the child with the sad eyes and metallic smile, sometimes the breathtaking omega who haunts his dreams. The images blur together like watercolors, making his head spin and his chest ache.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, so long now it’s starting to curl at the ends. The motion releases his own sandalwood scent that's seeped into his clothes, but underneath it all, he can still catch the faintest trace of Jisung's sweet, familiar strawberries lingering on his skin. It calls to both sides of him--the side that wants to protect and the side that wants to possess--creating a symphony of want and restraint that threatens to tear him apart.

The thought should frighten him. Instead, it feels like standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing the fall is inevitable but not knowing if he'll fly or crash when he finally lets go.

Chapter Text

Jisung wakes to pain unlike anything he's ever felt before. His body feels like it's being reshaped from the inside out, bones aching, skin too tight. The morning light filtering through his curtains seems too bright, every sensation amplified to an almost unbearable degree.

"Mom," he calls out, his voice cracking. The word comes out as barely more than a whimper. "Mom, something's wrong."

His mother appears in the doorway moments later, her normally calming presence carrying none of the comfort he suddenly, desperately needs. She takes one look at him, curled into himself on the bed, clutching his abdomen, skin shining with the heat of fever, and her face goes pale with understanding.

"Oh, sweetheart," she breathes. "This can’t be happening to us."

The words barely register through the waves of discomfort. His body feels foreign, aching in ways he’s never experienced before. There's a pressure in his lower abdomen that makes him want to cry, like his internal organs are rearranging themselves, fit to burst out of his flesh, leaving him broken and bleeding in their wake.

His father suddenly appears behind his mother, his face screwed up in a terrible expression Jisung has never seen before. "What have you done?" his father asks, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. 

"I don’t know what to do," his mother says, face pinched in alarm. "I’ve never even seen this before. I don’t even remember what I learned in school about this.” Her voice trembles as she comes to Jisung’s bedside, running the back of her hand over his skin, wincing at the heat radiating from him. 

“I’m not taking him to one of those motels masquerading as clinics,” his father scoffs, unable to even look at his son writhing in pain on his childhood bedspread. “Call Mrs. Lee. I’m going into the office,” he said, taking one last glance around the room before leaving Jisung and his mother behind. 

“Mom,” Jisung whimpers, scratching at the skin of his throat. “It’s so hard to breathe–mom, please,” he begs, eyes hazy and unfocused, staring unseeing in the direction of the one person who had pledged to love him no matter the circumstance. 

“I have a phone call to make,” she says before taking her own leave, abandoning Jisung in a vacuum chamber of his own suffering. 

The next hour passes in a blur of pain and confusion. Jisung drifts in and out of awareness, vaguely registering his mother's distant voice relaying information on the phone from the next room and then silence. So much silence. His skin feels like it's on fire, every touch of rough fabric against it too much to bear. 

When Mrs. Lee arrives, her gentle omega scent precedes her into the room—jasmine unique to her and warm vanilla, the same familial, soothing scent each of her sons carry, immediately soothing something raw and scared inside him. She takes one look at him and her face softens with understanding and pity.

"Oh, Jisungie," she says softly, coming to sit beside him on the bed. Her cool hand on his forehead feels like salvation. "I know it hurts, sweetheart. Your presentation is always the hardest with the change."

"What's happening to me?" he manages to ask through gritted teeth. His hips ache like they're being reshaped by a cruel god, his insides being torn apart and remade anew. 

"Your body is catching up with who you were always meant to be," she explains gently, running a soothing hand through his sweat-damp curls plastered to his head. "It's happening a bit late, which is why it's so intense. But I'm here, honey. We'll get through this together."

She turns to the empty doorway. "I need a few things, honey, so I’ll be right back,” she says, turning back to the boy writhing in bed. “I promise it won’t take long. I just need some ice water and some towels. I need to cool you down for a bit before we can run you a bath for the muscle aches. It’ll be easier to contain the blood as well,” the omega sighs, caressing the boy’s plump cheek. 

“B-blood?!” Jisung croaks, staring up at Felix’s mother in abject fear. 

“I’m not going to lie, honey. It’s not going to be pleasant. If we had gotten you to the clinic when it first started, we could get you some pain medication and make it go a lot more smoothly, but we need to make do. Everything will be okay,” she says, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

Mrs. Lee is only gone for five minutes, but it feels like hours with Jisung laying alone in bed, crying out for anyone to help him. The pain radiates from the inside out, his pelvis feeling like it’s being sawed in half, every muscle in his lower body cramping into tight fists of flesh. He can feel a hot trickle of something wet and tries to ignore it, shoving his stuffed bunny in his mouth to muffle his pained cries through the waves of agony and transformation. 

"Felix presented last year when you both turned fifteen," Mrs. Lee tells him softly as she walks back into the room, carrying a bowl of ice water and some towels. She sits beside him on the bed and sets the bowl on his nightstand before dipping one of the small towels in the water and dabbing it on the young boy’s face, his neck, his chest, attempting to quell the heat raging inside of him. "He was so scared too. But you're doing so well, Jisungie. So brave." She cards her hand through his curls and smiles down at him, letting out puffs of her soothing scent to calm him. 

"I didn't think—" he breaks off with a whimper as another wave of piercing pain rolls through him. "Everyone said I would be a beta like Mom and Dad. We don’t have omegas in the family. Or alphas, nothing but betas," he pants, nuzzling his face into the palm of her small, pale hand. 

"Our bodies know best," Mrs. Lee soothes. "And there's nothing wrong with being an omega. Or a late bloomer. Some of the strongest alphas and omegas present late."

The bath helps, the cool water soothing his feverish skin. Mrs. Lee helps him in, maintaining his dignity with practiced ease, explaining each change as it happens. She tells him about the dormant glands developing, about how his scent will settle into something uniquely his over the next few days, about the heat that will follow once his presentation is complete.

"I’ll stay with you through your first heat," she says firmly when his mother hovers just outside his bedroom, hours later, unsure what to do, mired in her own disappointment. "It's safer with an experienced omega to guide you. And Felix will be so happy to help take care of you—he's been worried sick since I called to tell him. He’ll be over as soon as the change settles."

Jisung manages a weak smile at that, even through the discomfort. Trust his other half to be worried about him even now.

As evening falls, the worst of the physical changes begin to settle. His body feels different—softer in some places, more defined in others. His scent, when it finally begins to emerge, is sweet like summer ripe strawberries. 

"Perfect," Mrs. Lee says warmly, helping him into fresh, soft clothes. "Just perfect, Jisungie. You're going to be such a lovely omega."

He curls up in his freshly washed sheets in his freshly made bed, exhausted but finally comfortable in his new skin. Mrs. Lee stays beside him, the gentle vanilla omegan scent helping to settle his newly developed senses. 

"Rest now," she murmurs, tucking a well worn blanket around his trembling body. "Tomorrow we'll teach you everything you need to know. But for now, just sleep. You're safe, sweetheart. We've got you."

As Jisung drifts off, he catches fragments of Mrs. Lee speaking softly to his reticent parents in the hallway, explaining about omega care and offering to help in any way she can. Her voice is kind but nervous. His parents are mostly silent but for his mother’s occasional, tense interjections. 

His last conscious thought is of gratitude—for Mrs. Lee's guidance, for Felix's friendship, for finally understanding why he's always felt slightly out of step with himself. As sleep claims him, his new omega senses settle into place, and for the first time in his life, even with his family’s cold reception, everything feels exactly as it should be.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

It’s a Tuesday afternoon and Jisung moves through the café, his fawn-like gait taking him from table to table like cherry blossoms on the wind, refreshing coffee and tea, taking orders, and smiling with customers. His uniform is crisp and perfect, hugging his delicate frame, the short skirt emphasizing his delicate legs, his small ankles, how sweetly his feet turn inward. 

Minho finds himself mesmerized by the way Jisung floats between tables, each movement a dance he's perfected over weeks of practice. The omega's chocolate curls fall in his eyes as he leans down to serve a plate of macarons, and Minho's fingers itch with the need to brush the tendrils back, to feel their silk-soft texture against his skin.

When Jisung laughs at something a customer says, the sound rings gently through the space, twining with his ripe strawberry scent in the air, drawing every eye in the room to the small, pretty omega. His eyes curve into crescents, his whole face illuminated with joy, and Minho has to look away before the sight overwhelms him completely. The alpha’s sandalwood scent spikes unconsciously, drawing a knowing look from Seungmin as he passes by with a tray of pastries.

Hyunjin—tall and elegant as a young willow—approaches Jisung during a quiet moment. They gravitate toward each other naturally, two beautiful things finding harmony in shared space. Minho watches from behind the counter, pretending to sort receipts while his ears strain to catch their conversation.

"Your hands are so small," Hyunjin marvels, holding his large palm up against Jisung's. 

Jisung's laugh is soft and sweet, his strawberry scent blooming with pleased embarrassment. "But Minho hyung's hands are even smaller," he says, laughing softly. 

"I've never met an alpha with hands that small before," Hyunjin agrees with a giggle. Minho scoffs quietly to himself. "I have to say, though, you do move around the café like you were made for it. I've been watching you all morning, trying to learn. I normally only work in the back, but Minho has been training me for the floor. The way you serve tea is like...like watching a performance."

The praise paints a pretty flush across Jisung's plump cheeks, pink as dawn breaking over the horizon. Minho's grip tightens on the receipt in his hand, crinkling the paper. He knows he has no right to feel possessive—Jisung isn't his, no matter how much his alpha instincts howl at the sight of another person admiring what he considers precious, even a beta—but the urge to cross the room and wrap himself around the small omega is almost overwhelming.

"You'll learn quickly," Jisung assures Hyunjin, reaching up to adjust the taller boy’s collar with careful fingers. "It took me weeks to stop tripping over my own feet. But now...," He does a small twirl, the skirt of his uniform flaring like petals in a breeze. "Now it feels like home."

Hyunjin catches Jisung's hand as he completes his spin, and they both dissolve into quiet giggles. The sight of them together is lovely—Hyunjin all long lines and flowing grace, Jisung compact and precise as a newly bloomed flower. They share the same otherworldly beauty that seems to belong in moonlit gardens rather than a mundane café. 

"Speaking of home," Hyunjin says, still holding Jisung's hand in his. "A bunch of us are going stargazing tonight. There's supposed to be a meteor shower and my apartment complex has a little courtyard that’s perfect for watching it. Would you like to come?"

Minho's ears prick up at this, his small hands stilling completely on the stack of papers. He watches as Jisung's eyes light up, his whole face brightening at the invitation.

"Really?" Jisung asks, bouncing slightly on his toes in excitement. "It’s been so long since I went stargazing. My parents were always so protective, so I could only do it when I went over to Felix’s, and then after I presented..." He trails off, but his scent remains sweet and hopeful. 

"Then you absolutely have to come," Hyunjin declares. "We'll bring blankets and hot chocolate and those little cookies Minho baked this morning. It'll be magical." 

The sight of Jisung opening up so easily to someone new makes something warm unfurl in Minho's chest, even as his protective instincts surge. The little boy he remembers from childhood would have shrunk away from such an invitation, too shy and uncertain to accept. But this Jisung—this lovely, blooming creature—simply glows with joy at the prospect of new experiences.

A customer calls for service then, and the two boys part ways with gentle smiles. Minho watches as Jisung practically floats to the table, his happiness evident in every graceful movement. His strawberry scent trails behind him like a fairy pass, sweet and inviting, making the whole café feel more alive. 

The sunlight catches in Jisung's dark curls as he bends to take the customer's order, creating a halo effect that makes him look almost ethereal. His small hands move with practiced ease as he writes in his notepad, and when he smiles, it's like watching the first star appear in the evening sky—pure and bright and full of wonder.

Minho realizes he's staring again only when Seungmin clears his throat beside him. "The receipts aren't going to sort themselves," he teases. "Though I admit, the view is rather distracting."

Minho tears his eyes away from Jisung's delicate form, but not before he catches the omega sneaking a glance in his direction, those dark eyes meeting his for just a moment before darting away, shy as a deer in a midnight clearing. The thought of Jisung out under the stars tonight, face turned up to the meteor shower in wonder, makes something protective and possessive curl in Minho's stomach.

He wonders if the starlight will make Jisung's skin glow like moonflowers in bloom, if his laugh will sound different echoing in open air rather than the confines of the café. He wonders if it's too much to hope that Jisung might invite him along, might want to share that magic with him too.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The night unfolds like black silk scattered with diamonds, stars winking into existence one by one as Jisung and Felix make their way up the hill between apartment blocks. The air is crisp in the early winter breeze. Jisung clutches a thermos of hot chocolate in his small hands, his steps careful in the growing darkness.

"There they are!" Felix's deep voice rings out like windchimes, and Jisung follows his gesture to where three figures are spread out on blankets near the hill's crown. Hyunjin's long form is unmistakable, moonlight catching in his dark hair as he waves them over.

"You made it!" Hyunjin's smile is radiant as they approach. He's arranged the blankets in a perfect circle, fairy lights strung between small stakes creating a magical boundary around their gathering. "Jisung, Felix, meet my boyfriend Chan and our roommate Jeongin."

Chan's dimpled smile is warm as summer twilight as he greets them. The alpha's presence is steady and comfortable, like the last rays of sun lingering on the horizon, his blond curls glowing in the low light, the scent of salt air and sunshine effusing his presence. But it's Jeongin who catches Felix's attention immediately—the young alpha’s fox-like features illuminated by the soft glow of the fairy lights, his smile sharp and sweet all at once. His own oakmoss scent delicately wrapping him in a sense of warm earthiness. 

"Hi," Felix breathes, and Jisung has to hide his grin at the way his best friend's orange blossom and vanilla scent spikes with interest. 

They settle onto the blankets spread across the once grassy courtyard, Jisung finding himself between Hyunjin and Felix. The ground beneath them is cold and slightly damp, the vestiges of autumn crickets beginning their evening symphony all around them. Above, the sky stretches endless and vast, a canvas waiting to be painted with falling stars.

"So," Hyunjin says, leaning close to Jisung with a conspiratorial smile. "Felix has been telling me all about your crush on a certain café owner."

Jisung's cheeks flame immediately, his strawberry scent flooding with embarrassment. "Felix!" he squeaks, shoving at his best friend's shoulder.

But Felix is too busy sneaking glances at Jeongin to properly defend himself. The young alpha has started unpacking a basket of snacks, his delicate hands arranging cookies on a plate with careful precision. Each time their fingers brush as they pass treats around the circle, Felix's scent grows sweeter with happiness.

"Don't be embarrassed," Chan says kindly, accepting a cookie from Jeongin, his arm wrapping around his boyfriend’s waist. "Minho's a good guy. And from what Hyunjin has told me, the way he looks at you—,"

"Like you hung the stars we're about to watch," Hyunjin finishes with a dreamy sigh. "It's so romantic."

"It's not—he doesn't—," Jisung stutters, fiddling with the hem of his oversized sweater. The night air has grown cool enough that his breath creates small clouds when he speaks.

"Oh please," Felix finally tears his attention away from Jeongin long enough to join the teasing. "He almost growled at that customer who touched you last week. And don't think I haven't noticed how he always makes sure you have fresh flowers in your section every morning."

"The gardenias," Hyunjin sighs. "Last week, they were primroses. He’s ordered red tulips for next week too. So sweet. And did you know he asks me about your favorite pastries? He's always making sure the kitchen has them ready for your breaks." 

Jisung buries his face in his hands, but he can't hide the pleased spike in his scent. The thought of Minho caring for him in such small, constant ways makes his heart flutter like moth wings against lamplight.

"Look!" Jeongin's excited voice breaks through their teasing. "The first one is falling!"

They all tilt their heads back just in time to see a streak of gold paint itself across the dark canvas of sky. Jisung gasps softly, his small hands clutching at Felix’s and Hyunjin's arms in delight.

"Make a wish," Felix whispers, and Jisung doesn't miss how the other omega has somehow ended up pressed against Jeongin's side, their hands nearly touching on the blanket between them.

More meteors begin to fall, like heaven itself is raining down on them. The fairy lights catch the wonder on their faces as they watch, creating halos around their huddled forms. Chan starts pointing out constellations between the falling stars, his deep voice mixing with the cricket song. 

"Oh Chan, you like astronomy too?" Felix asks, delighted. Chan turns to look at him with a smile. 

"Yeah, I minored in it in university. Do you like the stars too, Felix?" 

"About as much as anyone else, but Sungie has always been obsessed with them. He had this massive telescope when we were kids that he'd wheel out for stuff like this," the omega laughed, ruffling Jisung's curls. 

"Oh cool! Do you have a favorite constellation, Jisung?" Chan asks. Jisung blushes under the weight of the older alpha's stare and nods shyly. 

"Y-yeah...Well, it's not really a formal constellation, but I really like the Summer Triangle because of the Japanese legends about Orihime and Hikoboshi," the omega says, nuzzling down into his scarf. 

"Oh yeah, the two lovers? Altair and Vega?" Chan asks, intrigued. 

"Yeah! I read about it in a book when I wsa a kid. The sky god separated the lovers with the Milky Way, but every year for one day in summer, they meet again. I always thought it was romantic," Jisung says softly, eyes going misty. 

"And sad!" Felix interjects, jostling the older omega as he wraps his arms around him in a tight hug. 

"It's a beautiful legend," Chan nods, serious. 

"But not as beautiful as me, right, Channie hyung?" Hyunjin whines, laying himself over his boyfriend. 

"Nothing is as beautiful as you, baby," Chan says, pressing a soft kiss to the beta's forehead, his eyes alight with love. 

The meteors dance across the sky, a little hazy from the light pollution, but still visible to the group below. They all pass around snacks and drinks, settling into each other's warmth, basking in the hushed conversations unfolding around them. 

"I wish Minho was here," Jisung admits quietly, just to Hyunjin. "He'd love this."

"Why didn't you invite him?" Hyunjin asks, wrapping an arm around Jisung's broad shoulders as a cool breeze makes him shiver.

"I wanted to, but..." Jisung trails off, watching another star streak across the sky. "What if he still sees me as a dumb kid who used to follow him around all the time? What if—"

"Trust me," Hyunjin interrupts gently. "No one who sees the way he looks at you could think he sees you as a kid. The way his scent changes every time you laugh? Pure alpha attraction."

The omega’s blush deepens, but he can't help the smile that spreads across his face, sweet as a peach blossom. Above them, the stars continue to fall, each one carrying wishes and dreams and possibilities.

Felix's laugh rings out suddenly, bright and clear as bells, and they turn to see Jeongin feeding him a cookie, both of them glowing with shy happiness. Chan watches them with fond amusement, like a proud older brother, while continuing his impromptu astronomy lesson.

"Young love," Hyunjin sighs dramatically, making Jisung giggle. "It's everywhere tonight."

The evening wraps around them like a velvet blanket, stars falling like golden rain, fairy lights creating a magical circle of warmth and friendship. Jisung's phone buzzes in his pocket.

minho hyung 

did you get to hyunjin's safely, jisungie? 

The omega's heart swells like the moon rising over distant hills.

"Maybe," he whispers to the falling stars, "maybe some wishes do come true."

jisung

yes hyung ♡♡

all safe and warm~

but

i wish you were here 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Something feels different—like the air itself is charged with energy, making Jisung's honey skin tingle with awareness as the omega moves through his tasks with practiced grace, his skirts rustling softly with each step.

It starts with the tulips.

Fresh red blooms sit in the small glass vases in his section when he arrives, their petals still holding drops of morning dew. Jisung touches one delicate petal with a fingertip, remembering Hyunjin's words from the previous week.

His heart flutters like butterfly wings when he catches Minho watching him from behind the counter, the alpha's dark eyes soft and warm as he takes in Jisung's reaction to the flowers. When their gazes meet, Minho doesn't look away—instead, his sandalwood scent spikes with something rich and warm that makes Jisung's omega purr with contentment.

The morning unfolds like pages in one of his old fairytales, each moment adding another piece to the puzzle Jisung's heart is finally ready to solve. 

When he stretches to reach a high shelf, Minho is suddenly behind him, his broad chest nearly pressing against Jisung's back as he easily retrieves the ceramic jar of jasmine tea he was reaching for. "Careful, honey," he murmurs, his breath warm against the delicate shell of Jisung's ear. The pet name slips out naturally, unconsciously, and Jisung's strawberry scent blooms with pleasure.

During the morning rush, an alpha customer's scent grows sharp with interest as Jisung serves his coffee. Before Jisung can even process the shift in atmosphere, Minho materializes at his side, one hand coming to rest possessively at the small of his back. "I'll take over here," he says, his voice deceptively gentle even as his own scent floods the area, marking his territory as surely as if he'd left his mating mark on Jisung's scent gland.

When Jisung accidentally drops a stack of menus, papers scattering like autumn leaves across the floor, Minho is there before anyone else can move. He helps gather them up, his smaller fingers brushing against Jisung's larger ones with each pass. "Still clumsy after all these years," he teases, but his voice is gentle as flowering vines, wrapping around Jisung's heart with tender care.

It's in the way Minho's eyes track his movements across the café floor, dark and intense as midnight storms. How his hands always find excuses to touch—adjusting the lace at Jisung's collar, brushing imaginary dust from his puff sleeves, steadying him with a grip on his slim waist when customers crowd too close.

During his break, Jisung finds his favorite pastry waiting at his usual table in the back—a custard filled croissant with heart shaped strawberry slices resting atop delicate whipped cream, perfectly fresh from the kitchen. He looks up to find Minho watching him again, something unbearably soft in his expression as Jisung's face lights up with delight. 

"He had them make it special," Seungmin whispers as he passes, his eyes twinkling like stars. "Came in early just to make sure it would be ready for you."

The revelation builds like dawn breaking over distant hills, inevitable and beautiful. Every memory reshapes itself in this new light—Minho's protectiveness, his constant presence, the way his scent wraps around Jisung like a shield whenever other alphas draw too near.

It crescendos in the quiet afternoon lull, when Jisung is arranging zinnias in a vase at the front of the café. The sunlight catches in his chocolate curls, and he hears Minho's sharp intake of breath from across the room. When he turns, the alpha is staring at him with such naked longing that it steals the air from Jisung's lungs.

"Beautiful," Minho murmurs, seemingly unaware he's spoken aloud. His eyes trace the line of Jisung's neck, the delicate bones of his wrists, the way his dress hugs his small waist. The alpha's sandalwood scent is thick with possession and desire and something deeper—something that makes Jisung's omega instincts sing with recognition.

Love. 

The knowledge settles into Jisung's chest like a bird coming home to roost. Everyone was right—Felix, Hyunjin, even Seungmin with his knowing smiles and the roll of his eyes. Minho loves him. Has maybe loved him for longer than either of them realized, the feeling growing like wildflowers in secret places until it couldn't be contained.

Jisung's hands still on the flowers as certainty blooms within him, sweet as his strawberry scent. He will tell Minho. Soon. Perhaps tonight, when the café closes and the world narrows to just the two of them in the gentle evening light. He'll find the courage to bridge this final gap between them, to put into words the love that's lived in his heart since before he even understood what love was.

For now, though, he simply lets himself bask in the warmth of Minho's gaze, in the symphony of small gestures that speak louder than words ever could. His omega heart swells with joy, with anticipation, with the certainty of requited love waiting to be claimed.

Outside, the first flakes of snow drift past the window in lazy wafts, and Jisung thinks they look like promises—delicate, beautiful, and absolutely perfect in their timing.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Jisung's bag hits the bench of the changing room with a soft thud as he opens his locker, the metal door creaking slightly. His fingers, delicate against the dark metal, brush against the familiar fabric of his uniform, still crisp from yesterday's ironing.

The quiet is almost tangible here, in this space between worlds, a stark contrast to the bustling lecture hall he'd just left behind. He can hear the muffled sounds of the café beyond the door—the whir of the coffee grinder, the gentle murmur of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter–filter through like a distant lullaby. His sanctuary of sorts, where, with the help of his favorite alpha, he's learned to move with grace instead of stumbling over his own feet. The afternoon light pours through the high windows of the café's back room like liquid gold, painting celestial patterns across the tile floor. Each ray dances in the quiet air like wishes waiting to be caught. 

He's halfway through unbuttoning his oversized, white shirt borrowed from Felix that morning when the door opens. The sudden rush of air carries with it the unmistakable scent of sandalwood and vanilla—Minho. Jisung's fingers freeze on his mother of pearl buttons, his heart stuttering in his chest.

"Oh," Minho says softly, the word hanging in the air between them like dandelion fluff on a summer breeze. He's silhouetted in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, his dark hair falling across his forehead in that way that makes Jisung's fingers itch to brush it back. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"It's okay," Jisung whispers, a pretty flush blooming across his cheeks. He doesn't turn around fully, but glances over his shoulder, dark eyes catching the light. His shirt slips slightly, revealing the graceful curve of his neck. "I'm just changing for my shift."

Neither of them moves, two celestial bodies caught in each other's orbit. The sunlight continues its slow dance across the floor, catching in Jisung's dark curls like a golden halo, making him look seraphic. His ripe strawberry scent, mouthwatering and juicy, mingles with Minho's deeper sandalwood and vanilla, creating something intoxicating in the small space.

"How were your classes?" Minho asks, his voice rough around the edges. His eyes trace the line of Jisung's broad, exposed shoulder, following the way the light plays across his honey tan skin.

Jisung's fingers resume their work on his buttons, slower now. Each movement is unconsciously graceful, making Minho's breath catch. "We discussed poetry today," he says softly, his voice musical in the quiet room. "Romantic poetry. Keats."

"Still the scholar," Minho says, fondness and something darker threading through his voice. His eyes haven't left Jisung's form—the way his tight jeans hug his slender waist, how delicate his wrists look as they emerge from his partially unbuttoned sleeves.

Jisung turns then, fully facing Minho. The movement is fluid, almost like a dance step, and the remaining buttons of his shirt slip open further like flower petals unfurling in moonlight, revealing the gentle slope of his collarbones, the soft rise of hit toned chest, the beginnings of his abs. A shiver runs through the omega under Minho's intense gaze, but there's a quiet, newfound confidence in the way Jisung holds himself, despite the pink staining his plump cheeks.

"Not everything stays the same," Jisung says, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a small, hesitant step forward, then another, each movement deliberate but tinged with an underlying nervousness that makes him even more enchanting. His plump lower lip catches between his teeth—a habit from childhood he never quite broke.

Minho's hand tightens on the ornate golden door handle, his knuckles white. "Jisung," he says, and it sounds like both a warning and a plea. "You don't—you're so young—,"

"I'm not a child anymore," Jisung interrupts. Despite his soft voice, there's determination beneath the sweetness, like the first trickle of a stream that would eventually grow into a river capable of carving canyons out of stone. He takes another step closer, close enough now that Minho can see the way his dark lashes cast shadows on his flushed cheeks. "I know you see that too."

The scent of strawberries intensifies, mixing with Minho's sandalwood until the air is thick with it. Jisung's hands fidget with the hem of his open shirt, a nervous gesture that draws Minho's eyes down to his slim fingers, his tiny wrists.

"Every time you look at me," Jisung continues, his voice trembling slightly but gaining strength, "I can feel it. The way your eyes follow me when I serve coffee, when I reach for things on high shelves in my short dress, when I laugh at Hyunjin’s jokes." He looks up through his lashes, and the gesture is so unconsciously seductive that the alpha has to bite back a growl.

"Six years," Minho breathes, but he's leaning forward now, drawn in by Jisung's sweet scent reminiscent of summers spent lounging together in the sun, by the way the omega seems to glow in the afternoon light. "You were just a kid when I left for college."

"But I'm not anymore." Jisung's voice is soft but sure, even as his hands tremble at his sides. The shirt slips further off one shoulder, revealing more of his honey tan skin–even in the deepest of winter, the omega moves through the world sunkissed and beautiful–and Minho's eyes darken at the sight. "I'm right here, Minho. I'm not that scared little boy anymore."

The air between them crackles with tension. Jisung sways slightly closer, his small frame almost brushing against Minho's broad chest. The omega has to tilt his head back to meet Minho's eyes, and the position makes him look even more delicate, more ethereal in the golden light.

"Tell me to step back," Jisung whispers, his sweet strawberry scent–in a world full of omegas smelling of delicate blooms, Jisung harbors the scent of rare beauties, of royalty, of ancient princesses and priestesses–sweetening with nervous anticipation. "Tell me I'm wrong about the way you look at me."

Minho raises a trembling hand, letting his pale fingers hover just above Jisung's exposed shoulder, taking in the stark contrast between their skin tones. "You have no idea," he says roughly, "how hard it's been. Watching you move through this café so effortlessly. Seeing you transform into this—this impossible thing that haunts my dreams. I spent years working here under my aunt and even longer running it myself, building it up into what it is now. I never dreamed you would walk in and change the very air that I breathe just by existing in it so beautifully."

"Then tell me," Jisung breathes, leaning infinitesimally closer to Minho's hovering hand, seeking warmth he's not sure he's allowed to have. "Tell me why you keep looking at me like you want me, but always turning away like I’m nothing, hyung," Jisung whispers, tears forming in his doe eyes. “ Please .”

"You’re not nothing. You could never be nothing to me, Jisung. I remember you at five, at eight, at eleven," Minho's voice breaks slightly. "Small and sweet, following Felix around with your stack of books. Because I was supposed to protect you, not—not want you like this."

Jisung's laugh is soft and a little bitter. "That was a lifetime ago, Minho. Do you know what happened after you left for college? After I presented and my parents found out I was an omega?"

The question hangs heavy in the air. Minho's hand finally makes contact with Jisung's shoulder, his thumb brushing across the omega’s delicate collarbone in an unconscious caress.

"I presented late. They already didn’t like Felix. When I was lying in the floor, screaming, my body going through the change, they didn’t know what to do. I come from a long line of betas–so long that we don’t think there’s ever been and alpha or an omega in my family at all. Your mom had to come over and help me through it. I think that’s what started the resentment towards your family. It wasn’t long after they cut me off from everyone," Jisung says, his voice quiet but steady. 

"No more Felix, no more hanging out at your house doing homework. They locked me in the house, threw away the key. They called the school and switched me to an at home learning model. No more teachers. No more walks through the neighborhood. No more midnight trips to the convenience store with Lix." The omega’s hands clench into tight fists. "I worked a bunch of awful jobs after I ran away and moved in with Lixie. Do you know how many alphas thought they could just—just talk to me however they wanted? How many more probably think they can take me and use me however they wish without my consent? How many of them talk down to me, like I’m nothing?"

"Jisung," Minho's voice is pained, his grip tightening protectively on Jisung's shoulder.

"But I got through it. I got my scholarship. I found my way back to Felix, back to—to you." Jisung's voice softens, and he reaches up to place his soft hand over Minho's where it rests on his shoulder. "I'm not that naive kid anymore. I've lived through things most people only have nightmares about.” 

The sound that escapes Minho's throat is almost a growl. "You didn’t deserve any of it. Every time I smell another alpha's interest on you, every time I see someone look at you too long—"

"Then why do you keep pushing me away?" Jisung asks, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears. "Do you know how long I've loved you? Since before I even understood what love was. Since I was a little kid who needed to be saved from the neighborhood boys or the deep end of the public pool. Since before I could read and you would tell me fairytales before bedtime."

Minho's other hand comes up to cup Jisung's face, his thumb catching a tear as it falls. "You deserve someone your own age. Someone who didn't watch you grow up. Someone who doesn't remember you small and vulnerable—,"

"I don't want someone my own age," Jisung interrupts, pressing his cheek gently into Minho's palm. "I want the alpha who used to check under my bed for monsters when I slept over. Who taught me how to ride a bike. Who defends me from creepy customers and looks at me like—like I'm something worthwhile."

"You are worthwhile. You’ve always been precious to me," Minho breathes, his resolve cracking. His thumb traces the soft curve of Jisung's cheek. "So precious it terrifies me. The things I want to do, Sung...the way I want to take care of you, protect you, make you mine—“

"Then do it," Jisung whispers, bringing his hands up to fist in Minho's shirt. "I'm not asking you to stop protecting me. I'm just asking you to love me too. To see me as I am now, not as I was then."

The scent of strawberries grows sweeter, more intense, mixing with the sharp tendrils of Minho's sandalwood and vanilla until the air is thick with their combined essence. Jisung tilts his face up, his full lips parting slightly, and Minho can feel his own control slipping away like sand through his fingers.

"If we do this," Minho says, his voice rough with emotion, "there's no going back. I won't be able to let you go, Jisung. Not again."

A smile blooms across Jisung's face, beautiful and bright despite his tears glistening in the sunlight. "Good," he says simply. "Because I've spent my whole life loving you. I'm not going anywhere."

Minho's hand slides from Jisung's cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the soft, dark curls there. He can feel Jisung's pulse racing beneath his palm, can smell the sweet anticipation in his scent. "My precious, brave little omega," he murmurs, finally letting himself acknowledge the truth of what Jisung is to him. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Kiss me," Jisung breathes, the words barely a whisper in the space between them. His fingers tighten in Minho's shirt, and despite his bold words, there's a tremor in his hands that betrays his nervousness. "Please, alpha."

The honorific slips out unbidden, sweet and desperate, and something in Minho snaps. His grip tightens in Jisung's curls, careful but firm, tilting the omega's head back further. "Say that again," he growls softly.

A pretty blush spreads across Jisung's cheeks, down his neck to his exposed collarbones. "Alpha," he repeats, softer this time, more shy. His dark eyes flutter closed, long lashes casting shadows on his flushed skin. "Your omega."

Minho makes a sound deep in his chest, something primal and possessive. "Mine," he agrees, and finally, finally closes the distance between them.

The first brush of their lips is gentle, almost reverent. It’s like stars aligning, like flowers opening to the first touch of spring. Jisung makes a tiny, breathless sound that has Minho pulling him closer, one hand sliding down to span his narrow waist, the other tightening in his chocolate curls. The omega fits against Minho’s body perfectly, small and warm and precious as a pearl, his strawberry scent blooming with happiness. 

It’s different from Jisung’s kiss with Felix. While the familiarity is there, the warmth of safety and love he finds in both of the Lee brothers, something sizzles along the omega’s skin, sparks electrifying his synapses in a way they’ve never done before. Their lips brush gently before Minho uses his grip on the omega’s curls to tilt the younger’s head gently, the alpha’s tongue slipping out to taste the soft skin of Jisung’s plump bottom lip. Jisung gasps and Minho takes advantage, slipping his tongue between the omega’s lips, teasing Jisung’s own gently. Minho pulls back, taking in Jisung’s pretty face–his kiss swollen lips, his flushed cheeks, his little chocolate chip mole, his mussed curls–before leaning back in for more, dipping his tongue back into the omega’s waiting mouth. The afternoon light wraps around them like a blessing, turning their small back room into a pocket universe where only they exist.

"I've dreamed about this," Jisung confesses when they finally part for breath, his voice trembling. His warm hands have migrated up to Minho's shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric there. "Every night I was trapped in that house for all those months, every time an alpha made me uncomfortable at work, I'd think of you. How safe you always made me feel."

"No one will ever make you feel unsafe again," Minho promises fiercely, pressing his forehead against Jisung's. His thumb strokes along the omega's waist, feeling the delicate curve there. "I'll tear apart anyone who tries."

A soft laugh bubbles up from Jisung's throat, bright and beautiful. "My protective alpha," he says fondly, reaching up to trace Minho's jawline with tentative fingers. "Always taking care of me."

"Always," Minho agrees, turning his head to press a kiss to Jisung's palm. "Though you've grown so strong on your own. So brave." His other hand moves to cup Jisung's face again, thumb brushing across his lower lip. "Do you know how proud I am of you? How amazing you are?"

Jisung's eyes well up again, but his smile is radiant. "Even when I was a kid?"

"Especially then," Minho says softly. "You were adorable then, and you're beautiful now. Every version of you, Jisungie, has been precious to me."

This time it's Jisung who initiates the kiss, pushing up on his tiptoes to press his lips to Minho's. It's sweeter than the first, filled with years of longing and love finally finding its way home. Minho's hands bracket Jisung's waist, lifting him slightly to ease the strain on his toes, and the omega makes a pleased sound against his mouth. 

When they break apart, Jisung's shirt has slipped even further down his shoulders, and his lips are pink and slightly swollen. He looks utterly kissed, utterly claimed, and the sight makes Minho's alpha instincts purr with satisfaction.

"I should probably actually change for my shift now," Jisung says with a shy smile, but he makes no move to step away from Minho's embrace.

"Probably," Minho agrees, but his hands tighten on Jisung's small waist. "Though I'm finding it very hard to let go of you right now."

Jisung's laugh is melodic, even as he blushes deeper. "The customers will wonder where their coffee is."

"Let them wonder," Minho murmurs, leaning down to nose along Jisung's long neck, breathing in his sweet scent. "I've waited my whole life to hold you like this. They can wait a few more minutes for their coffee."

"Minho," Jisung gasps softly as the alpha's lips brush his scent gland at the base of his throat. His hands clutch at Minho's shoulders, knees going weak. "We—we should probably talk about this. About us."

"We will," Minho promises, pressing one last kiss to Jisung's neck before straightening. "Tonight? Let me take you to dinner after we close."

The smile that breaks across Jisung's face is like sunrise, brilliant and beautiful. "Like a date?"

"Like a date," Minho confirms, finally forcing himself to step back, though his hands linger on Jisung's waist. "Our first of many, if you'll let me court you properly."

"Court me?" Jisung's doe-like eyes widen, sparkling with joy. "Really?"

"Really," Minho says softly, reaching up to brush Jisung's mussed curls back into place. "You deserve to be cherished, baby. Let me do this right." 

The pet name makes Jisung's scent spike with happiness, sweet and intoxicating. "Okay," he whispers, swaying forward to press one last quick kiss to Minho's lips, the feeling of their lips meeting like the beginning of a new constellation being written in the endless sky of their shared future. "Now go, before I forget all about work and just keep kissing you instead."

Chapter Text

Minho stands before the door to his little brother’s apartment, his knuckles hovering inches from the worn wood. He’s been here a million times before–to help him build flat pack furniture, to cook, to care for him when he’s sick, to watch movies together. Never to take his childhood friend out on a date. 

The alpha’s reflection wavers in the small brass peephole—dark hair carefully styled, cheeks flushed with anticipation, dark, feline eyes bright with a nervousness he hasn't felt since adolescence. His sandalwood and vanilla scent wraps around him like an invisible cloak, betraying the flutter of his pulse beneath his carefully pressed shirt collar.

Three gentle knocks, and the alpha holds his breath. 

The door opens to reveal Jisung, bathed in the gentle glow of fairy lights, the omega's chocolate curls falling softly across his forehead, his honey skin luminous against the cream of his oversized sweater. For a suspended moment, they simply gaze at each other, drinking in the sight like wanderers finding an oasis after a drought. Jisung's strawberry scent blooms between them, sweet and ripe and impossibly enticing, bringing with it memories of summer days of holding small hands and running after each other through sunshowers. 

"Hi," Jisung breathes, the single syllable carrying the weight of years of longing. His fingers fidget with the hem of his sweater, a tiny nervous gesture that makes something protective unfurl in Minho's chest.

"Hi," Minho echoes, his light. musical voice softer than he intended. "You look beautiful."

A warm blush spreads across Jisung's plump cheeks, and he ducks his head slightly, dark lashes fanning against his honey skin. "So do you," he murmurs, finally stepping back to invite Minho into his shared sanctuary.

The apartment unfolds around them like a storybook, each corner revealing something of Jisung's soul. Fairy lights drape across bookshelves crammed with well-loved novels, their spines creased from their handling. A small telescope sits by the window, star charts and poetry excerpts are pinned to a cork board above a small desk, handwriting flowing across the papers like gentle rivers. He can see his brother there, too, in the gaming setup shoved in the corner near the kitchen, stacks of baking utensils shoved in the glass china cabinet on the opposite wall, a mound of Felix’s shoes haphazardly tossed in the corner by the front door. 

"It's a little more cramped than usual since I moved in," Jisung says, his voice tinged with self-consciousness as Minho's eyes travel across the space. "I help with the rent now, but even with both our scholarships and my job..."

"It's perfect," Minho interrupts gently, reaching out to take Jisung's hand in the alpha’s smaller one. The omega's fingers are delicate against his palm, warm and slightly trembling. "It’s a distillation of my two favorite people. I love it."

The tension in Jisung's shoulders eases, his scent mellowing into something sweeter, more content. His thumb brushes across Minho's knuckles in a feather-light caress. "I just need to grab my coat," the omega says, reluctantly pulling his hand away from Minho’s. "Just a second."

As Jisung disappears into his and Felix’s shared bedroom, Minho notices a small pot on the windowsill—a strawberry plant, its leaves vibrant green, tiny white flowers just beginning to bloom. The sight makes his heart constrict with tenderness. Of course Jisung would nurture the very fruit that echoes in his scent, would coax life from small seeds with the same patience he's shown in his love for Minho.

When Jisung returns, a pastel blue wool coat draped over his arm, Minho is still looking at the plant. The omega follows his gaze and another blush colors his cheeks.

"Felix got it for me," he explains softly. "He says it was only right that I should grow what I smell like."

Minho reaches out, drawing Jisung close with gentle hands at his waist. "When it bears fruit," he murmurs, "I want to taste them. I want to know if they're as sweet as you."

Jisung's breath catches audibly, his strawberry scent spiking with pleasure and something deeper, more primal. His hands come to rest on Minho's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the expensive fabric. "You've tasted strawberries before," he whispers, his wide, doe-like eyes meeting Minho's with newfound boldness.

"Not ones you've grown," Minho says, his voice rough with emotion. "Not ones that carry your care in every cell."

The moment stretches between them, delicate and sweet. Minho's thumb traces the curve of Jisung's waist through his sweater, while Jisung's fingers curl slightly against the alpha's chest. It would be so easy to forget their plans, to stay in this little universe of shared breaths and racing hearts.

"We should go," Jisung finally says, though he makes no move to step away. "You promised me dinner, remember?"

Minho's smile is slow and warm as summer twilight. "I did. The first of many promises I intend to keep."

The night embraces them as they step outside, stars winking into existence above the city skyline like distant wellwishers. Minho's car sits waiting, its sleek lines gleaming under the streetlights. He opens the passenger door for Jisung with a flourish that makes the omega giggle—the sound bright as windchimes in the quiet street.

"Where are we going?" Jisung asks as they pull away from the curb, his hands folded neatly in his lap. The streetlights paint moving patterns across his delicate features, highlighting the gentle slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips.

"It's a surprise," Minho says, reaching across to take one of Jisung's hands in his, bringing it to rest on the center console without releasing it. "But I think you'll like it."

The city flows around them like a river of light and shadow. Jisung watches the world pass through the window, his profile ethereal in the shifting glow of passing storefronts and traffic signals. His strawberry scent fills the car's interior, mingling with Minho's sandalwood until it feels like they've created something entirely new between them—something precious and uniquely theirs.

When they finally pull up to a small, unassuming brick building tucked between larger office spaces, Jisung's brow furrows in confusion.

"This isn't a restaurant," he observes, peering through the windshield at the darkened windows.

Minho's smile is mysterious as he comes around to open Jisung's door. "Not exactly," he agrees, offering his hand to help the omega out of the car. "Do you trust me?"

"With everything," Jisung answers without hesitation, placing his hand in Minho's slightly smaller one.

The lock clicks open beneath Minho's key, and he guides Jisung inside with a hand at the small of his back. Darkness greets them momentarily before Minho flicks a switch, and suddenly the world transforms.

Stars bloom across the ceiling—not painted, but projected from hidden equipment, so realistic that Jisung gasps in wonder. The room is small but open, its walls lined with books and astronomical equipment. A couch and two wingback chairs are shoved against a bookcase, making room for a single dining table at the center of the room, set for two with candles already lit, their flames dancing like tiny suns in the artificial night.

"What is this place?" Jisung breathes, his eyes wide as galaxies as he turns in a slow circle, taking in every detail.

"My uncle's home in the city. It’s more observatory than a townhouse, though," Minho explains, his voice soft with affection as he watches Jisung's wonder unfold. "He teaches astronomy at the university. He and my aunt have their permanent home in Gimpo where our parents are, but he hated the commute so much he bought this place early on in his career. You probably don’t remember him—he was always too busy with work to come to the family functions. When I told him about you—about your love for the stars—he offered to let us use it tonight."

Jisung's eyes, when they return to Minho's face, are bright with unshed tears. "You remembered," he whispers. "About the stars."

"I remember everything about you," Minho says simply, reaching up to brush a dark curl from Jisung's forehead. "Every dream you've ever shared with me, every fear you've trusted me with."

The omega's strawberry scent blooms with happiness so intense it's almost tangible, filling the space between them like invisible flowers. "This is perfect," he says, his voice breaking slightly. "More perfect than I could have imagined."

Minho leads him to the table, pulling out his chair with old-fashioned chivalry that makes the omega blush again. Above them, the projected stars shift slowly, mimicking the real night sky hidden beyond the city's light pollution.

"I made the food myself," Minho admits as he removes the cloches from their plates. "Nothing fancy, but..."

"You cook?" Jisung asks, delighted surprise coloring his voice.

"I own a café," Minho reminds him with a gentle smile. "And I've been baking for you since you were small." Jisung smiles and remembers. 

The meal unfolds like a dream sequence—bossam laid out on the table with the pork on one dish, stacks of napa cabbage adorning another, small bowls of ssamjang and salted shrimp, kimchi and sliced hot peppers, and wine that catches the candlelight like liquid rubies. They talk about everything and nothing as they assemble their wraps, their conversation flowing as naturally as breathing. Jisung's laugh echoes in the small space, bright and clear as bells, making Minho's heart swell with each precious sound.

Between bites, Minho points out constellations above them, their stories woven together with myths and legends. Jisung listens with rapt attention, his eyes reflecting the artificial stars until it seems he's carrying galaxies within himself.

"The Summer Triangle," Minho says softly, noting how Jisung's attention immediately sharpens. "Altair and Vega—the lovers separated by the Milky Way."

"You remember that too?" Jisung whispers, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

"Of course I do," Minho's voice is tender, his eyes never leaving Jisung's face. "Chan mentioned it after the meteor shower. But even before that...I remember how your eyes would light up whenever you told the story. How you'd trace the stars with your small finger, connecting them into pictures only you could truly see."

Jisung sets down his fork, emotion making his hands tremble slightly. "No one has ever listened to me the way you do," he says softly. "Even when I was just a kid babbling about stars and fairytales, you always made me feel like what I had to say mattered."

"Because it does matter," Minho says, reaching across the table to take Jisung's hand. "You matter, Jisungie. You always have."

After dessert—strawberry tarts that make Jisung's eyes close in bliss with the first bite, a delicacy he hasn’t had at the café yet—Minho leads him to a small platform where a professional telescope awaits, already aligned with the night sky.

"Your uncle won't mind?" Jisung asks nervously as Minho guides him to stand before it.

"He suggested it," Minho assures him, his hands warm on Jisung's shoulders. "He said anyone who loves the stars should see them properly at least once."

The omega's breath catches as Minho helps him adjust the eyepiece. When he leans forward to look, a small sound of wonder escapes his lips. Through the powerful lens, the heavens unfold in all their glory—stars no longer distant pinpricks but vibrant, living things, their light traveling across unimaginable distances to reach this very moment.

"It's beautiful," Jisung whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "Like we could reach out and touch them."

Minho's arms circle Jisung's small waist from behind, drawing the omega against his broad chest. His chin rests on Jisung's shoulder, their cheeks nearly touching. "Some things are worth waiting for," he murmurs, his breath warm against Jisung's ear. "Worth crossing any distance to reach."

Jisung turns in the circle of Minho's arms, his dark eyes luminous in the gentle light. "Like us?" he asks, vulnerability and hope tangled in the simple question.

"Exactly like us," Minho agrees, one hand coming up to cup Jisung's plump cheek. "Six years I've waited. I’ve never told anyone this, but I’ve thought of you every single day since I left for college. You were so young, but I spent my whole life taking care of you, spending every hour outside of school with you. You’ve grown from a shy, bookish pup into the incredible omega before me. Six years of dreaming, of wondering what you’ve grown into, wondering if you were thinking of me, too."

Jisung's hands clutch at Minho's shirt, wrinkling the expensive fabric. "I used to think loving you was like loving a star," he confesses. "Something beautiful and distant that I could never really reach. Something that would burn me if I got too close."

"And now?" Minho asks, his thumb tracing the curve of Jisung's cheekbone.

"Now I think maybe stars aren't meant to be admired from a distance after all," Jisung says softly. "Maybe some of them are meant to be caught, to be held—to be loved up close."

The kiss, when it comes, feels as inevitable as the gravity keeping their feet on the ground. Minho's lips meet Jisung's with gentle reverence, tasting the sweetness of strawberries and salty skin. The omega melts against him, his hands sliding up to encircle Minho's neck, fingers threading through the short hairs at his nape.

Above them, the projected stars continue their eternal dance, witnesses to a love story written long before they were born—a story of a lovesick pup with stars in his eyes and the alpha who waited patiently for those stars to align. 

When they finally part for breath, Jisung's lips are pink and slightly swollen, his eyes dazed with happiness. "Take me home?" he asks softly.

Minho's heart stutters in his chest at the implication, but Jisung places a gentle finger against his lips before he can speak.

"Not for that," the omega clarifies with a shy smile. "Not yet. But I want to fall asleep with your scent around me tonight. I want to wake up tomorrow knowing this wasn't just another helpless dream."

Relief and tenderness flood Minho's expression. "Whatever you want," he promises, pressing his forehead against Jisung's. "However long you need. We have all the time in the world now, baby."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The kitchen table is littered with crumpled bills and neatly stacked coins that catch the afternoon light like tiny bronze and silver moons. Jisung's fingers move methodically, sorting and counting with a precision that feels like the only control he has left in a world spinning too fast around him. The wooden chair creaks beneath him as he shifts his weight, the sound merging with the soft clink of coins and the occasional rustle of paper.

"That's everything?" Felix asks, his voice gentle as dawn light. His freckles stand out against his pale skin in the warm glow filtering through the half-drawn blinds, constellations mapping a face that has always been Jisung's compass point in uncertain times.

Jisung nods, not trusting his voice with the lump forming in his throat. The final tally sits before him in neat rows—physical manifestations of birthdays where his grandmother slipped crisp bills into cards with shaky handwriting, holidays when relatives who barely knew him defaulted to money as gifts, and countless summer afternoons pushing a lawn mower across neighbors' yards until his hands blistered and his shirt clung to his back with sweat–to make their omega son into a man, his father had said.

"Just about two million won," Jisung finally says, the number falling from his lips like a prayer or perhaps a funeral dirge. "That's all I have left."

Felix doesn't say what they both know—that in this city, with rent and utilities and food, the money will vanish like morning dew under a ruthless sun. Instead, he reaches across the table, his fingers briefly touching Jisung's wrist, offering silent solidarity.

"The applications?" Felix asks, nodding toward the stack of papers at the edge of the table, their corners dog-eared and smudged from constant handling.

Jisung's laugh is hollow, a sound that doesn't belong in his chest. "Nothing. Not even a call back." His scent shifts subtly, the usual sweet strawberry notes souring with frustration. "I've applied to seventeen places this week alone. Cafés, bookstores, convenience stores—places that shouldn't even care that I'm—," He stops, the words sticking in his throat like thorns.

"That you're an omega," Felix finishes for him, his own omegan scent steady and unchanged, his scent glands effusing soft streams of sweet orange blossom and vanilla.

"A male omega," Jisung corrects, the designation feeling like a brand sometimes, a mark that sets him apart in all the ways that matter to potential employers. "The liability no one wants to take on." His fingers drum against the table, a restless rhythm matching the anxiety pulsing through his veins. "They look at me and see potential problems—heats that might disrupt schedules, alphas who might cause issues, the possibility I'll eventually want time off for children even though I’m literally eighteen."

Felix's eyes, warm as amber in sunlight, hold no pity—only understanding coming from his own personal experience, and a fierceness that reminds Jisung why they've been friends since childhood. "They're idiots," he says simply.

A small smile tugs at Jisung's lips despite everything. "Maybe. But idiots who won't hire me."

The sunlight shifts as a cloud passes overhead, momentarily dimming the room. In that brief shadow, Jisung feels the weight of everything pressing down—his father’s irate face as he dragged Jisung home from Felix’s bed so many months ago, his mother’s hollow eyes she kept downcast for the following three seasons as her only child was forced to rot in a prison of her making, the cold silence that echoed around the house as they made it clear he was to submit to their control, the terrifying freedom of making his own way with nothing but a duffel bag and Felix's open arms to call home. 

The blond omega is quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Then his expression shifts, eyes widening with a sudden idea. His scent brightens with excitement, orange blossom blooming around him, cutting through stale air.

"What about Minho's place?" he says, the words tumbling out in a rush. "My brother's maid café—he's always saying how hard it is to find reliable help."

Jisung's heart stutters in his chest, a bird suddenly trapped behind his ribs. "Minho?" he echoes, the name like honey and glass on his tongue, sweet and sharp and dangerous. The memory of warm vanilla and sandalwood washes over him unbidden, a phantom scent from childhood that still haunts his heat dreams.

"He wouldn't want—," Jisung begins, but Felix cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

"Of course he would. He's always liked you, Sungie. And he doesn't care about secondary genders—he's got other male omegas working there already."

Jisung's fingers find a coin, turning it over and over, the metal warming against his honey skin as he tries to steady the sudden trembling in his hands. Minho. It's been years since he sat in that sunlit kitchen, watching slender fingers slice strawberries with impossible precision, overwhelmed by the first hints of an alpha scent that seemed made just for him. Years of carrying that memory like a secret treasure, untarnished by time or distance.

"But it's a maid café," Jisung mumbles, heat creeping up his neck as the implication settles between them. "I'd have to wear—,"

"A uniform, yes," Felix says, his full lips so much like his older brother’s quirking up at the corners, amusement dancing in his eyes. "And you'd look adorable, by the way. Those ruffled aprons were practically made for your figure." 

The blush on Jisung's cheeks deepens to a rich crimson, his scent fluctuating with embarrassment and something deeper, more complicated. "I couldn't. He'd see me like that—all dressed up and ridiculous. And he'd know I need the job desperately, which is even worse."

Felix softens, reaching across to still Jisung's fidgeting hands. "He'd see you working hard, Sungie. Being brave. Taking care of yourself even when the world makes it harder than it should be."

The afternoon light slants longer across the table now, turning the coins to gold and the shadows to velvet. In that gentle illumination, Jisung allows himself to imagine it—walking into Minho's café, surrounded by the scent that has lived in his memory for years. Seeing those eyes, those hands, that smile directed at him. The uniform is a distant concern compared to the terrifying possibility of Minho seeing straight through to the truth Jisung has kept hidden since he was four years old—that his heart has always belonged to Felix's brother, like a gift given before he understood the value of what he was offering.

"He might say no," Jisung whispers, the words a shield against hope that feels too dangerous to embrace.

Felix's smile is knowing, a little sad around the edges. "He won't. But even if he did, you'd be no worse off than you are now."

The truth of it sits between them, simple and undeniable. Jisung looks down at the money that represents his entire safety net, spread out like a story of his life written in currency. Two million won. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

"Okay," he says finally, the word barely audible over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. "You can ask him."

Felix's smile blooms across his fey-like face, full of excitement. "He might even give you extra shifts when he sees how the customers respond to those pretty eyes of yours."

Jisung groans, dropping his head into his hands, but there's a lightness in his chest that wasn't there before—a tiny spark of possibility, of future, of hope. It flickers like a candle flame, fragile but persistent, casting just enough light to see by in the gathering darkness of uncertainty.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The afternoon lull settles over the café like a comfortable blanket, the earlier rush of customers replaced by a gentle quiet broken only by the occasional clink of porcelain and the soft hum of conversation from the few occupied tables. The air is sweet with the lingering scent of fresh-baked pastries and brewing tea and coffee, underlaid with the mingled scents of the café's staff.

Jisung adjusts the headpiece of his uniform for the thousandth time that day, the white frilled band still feeling foreign against his curls even after two weeks of wear. The take on a French maid outfit no longer makes him blush quite as fiercely as it did on his first day, but the feeling of vulnerability that comes with the short skirt and frilly apron remains a constant companion to his shifts.

"Stop fidgeting," Seungmin says without looking up from the silverware he's polishing at the service counter. "You're making me nervous."

Jisung's hands drop immediately to his sides, a reflexive response to the other omega's blunt tone. Seungmin's scent—fresh cotton with hints of camellia—carries no real irritation despite his words, but Jisung has learned that Seungmin's face and voice rarely betray his true feelings. Only his scent offers clues to the emotions he keeps carefully guarded.

"Sorry," Jisung mumbles, moving to help with the polishing. "Still not used to it."

Seungmin's eyes flick up briefly, assessing. "The uniform or the job?"

"Both," Jisung admits, picking up a fork and buffing it with careful attention. "Mostly the uniform."

"You look cute though," comes a voice from behind them, bright as a sunbeam cutting through thick clouds. Hyunjin emerges from the kitchen, carrying a tray of freshly frosted cupcakes that match the pastel aesthetic of the café perfectly. The beta’s rose perfume fills the air around him like a personal atmosphere clinging to its planet. "The customers love you. I heard two alpha girls at table seven specifically requesting, 'the adorable new omega with the cheeks,' earlier."

Heat crawls up Jisung's neck at the comment, his own sweet scent fluctuating with embarrassment. "They did not."

"They absolutely did," Hyunjin insists, carefully arranging the cupcakes in the display case with an artist's precision. Each movement is somehow both dramatic and graceful, as if even the simplest task deserves theatrical interpretation. "I'm a little jealous, honestly. I've been here fourteen months and I've never been asked for by my cheeks."

Seungmin snorts, the sound startlingly unrefined coming from someone whose appearance is so meticulously put together. "That's because they ask for you by your hair or your height or your dramatics. 'The tall one who looks like he belongs in a historical drama and cries when we compliment him.'"

"I do not cry," Hyunjin protests, pressing a hand to his chest, his dignity wounded. The effect is somewhat undermined by the slight wobble in his lower lip. "I get emotional. There's a difference." 

"There really isn't," Seungmin counters, but there's a fondness beneath his dry delivery that Jisung has begun to recognize over the past weeks—the subtle softening around Seungmin's sharp eyes that betrays his genuine affection despite the barbed words.

Jisung watches their familiar bickering with quiet fascination. There's a comfort in their dynamic that speaks of long friendship, of boundaries tested and respect earned through countless shifts shared in this pastel-colored world of frills and formality. He finds himself envying it—the ease between them, the certainty of where they stand with each other.

"Don't mind him," Hyunjin stage whispers to Jisung, leaning close enough that his honey-sweet scent temporarily overwhelms Jisung's senses. "Seungminnie's just cranky because Minho hyung changed the playlist again. All those ballads make him emotional, but he'd rather die than admit it."

"I can hear you," Seungmin says flatly, not bothering to look up from his polishing. "And I'm not cranky because of the music. I'm cranky because someone used all the lavender syrup making unauthorized drink experiments after closing yesterday and didn't order more."

Hyunjin's gasps loudly, eyes widening in horror. "That was for artistic growth! I was creating! How can you put a price on creativity?"

"About twenty-eight thousand won per box, according to our supplier," Seungmin replies, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might almost be a smile.

Jisung laughs despite himself, the sound surprising in its genuineness. A few weeks ago, he'd entered this café with trembling hands and a racing heart, terrified not only of facing Minho after years of carrying a silent torch, but also of fitting into the established dynamic of a workplace that seemed as foreign as another planet. The maid uniform had felt like a costume, the role of cute server an impossible performance for someone who had spent his life trying to blend in. He had felt like an alien in a frilly dress. 

Somehow, between Hyunjin's immediate and overwhelming friendship—complete with daily hugs, dramatic declarations of how absolutely adorable Jisung looked in his uniform, and heartfelt confessions about everything from his childhood pets to his existential fears—and Seungmin's more reserved but steadfast presence, Jisung has begun to find his footing on this strange new terrain.

"Stop encouraging him," Seungmin tells Jisung, though the reprimand lacks any real heat. "Hyunjin thrives on attention like a houseplant does on sunlight. Give him too much and he'll grow completely out of control."

"Too late," Hyunjin says cheerfully, abandoning the cupcake arrangement to drape himself dramatically across the counter. "I'm already unstoppable. A force of nature. A—,"

"Pain in my ass," comes a new voice, warm and light as honey over a bird’s wing.

Jisung freezes, the fork in his hand suddenly slippery in his grip. Even after all these weeks, he hasn't developed immunity to Minho's presence—to the way the alpha's scent seems to fill every corner of a room, to the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, to the graceful precision of his movements as he navigates the space he's created.

Minho stands in the doorway to his office, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrow raised in mock sternness. His white button-down shirt and black slacks are a stark contrast to the frilled uniforms of his staff, his only concession to the café's aesthetic a small pin on his collar in the shape of a strawberry cupcake. 

"Hyung!" Hyunjin cries, immediately abandoning his dramatic pose to bound across the room like an overexcited puppy. "Tell Seungminnie that my lavender-rosewater-honey creation was worth the sacrifice of our syrup supplies. It was transcendent. Life-changing. A beverage revelation."

Minho's lips twitch with barely contained amusement. "Was it worth the angry calls I got this morning from the three customers who specifically come in for lavender lattes every Wednesday?"

Hyunjin deflates slightly, lower lip protruding in a pout that would look ridiculous on anyone else but somehow suits his delicate features perfectly. "Maybe not," he admits reluctantly. "But in my defense, I didn't know we were out until I'd already used it all."

"That's literally worse," Seungmin mutters, but there's no real judgment in his tone. He sets aside the polished silverware and begins organizing it in neat rows. "At least Jisung checks inventory before he experiments."

The unexpected compliment makes Jisung's cheeks warm, a pleasant surprise that momentarily distracts him from Minho's presence. Two nights ago, after closing, he'd tentatively asked if he could try creating a new drink recipe—a peach and ginger soda concoction that had been floating in his mind since he and Felix saw a similar drink made on TikTok. Seungmin had watched with critical eyes as Jisung carefully measured and mixed, his expression revealing nothing. When Jisung had finally offered him a taste, heart pounding with anxiety, Seungmin had taken a careful sip, considered for a long moment, then given a single, approving nod. It had felt like passing an impossible test.

"Jisungie is meticulous," Minho agrees, his gaze finding Jisung's across the room. There's something warm in his eyes, something that makes Jisung's heart stutter in its rhythm. "It's refreshing."

Jisung ducks his head, unable to hold that gaze for more than a few seconds without feeling like he might combust. It's still disconcerting, this strange new reality where Minho speaks his name with such casual familiarity, looks at him with something that might be approval. After years of Minho’s absence in his life, hearing the alpha address him so sweetly again is as thrilling as it is terrifying. 

"He's also amazing with the customers," Hyunjin adds, seemingly recovered from his brief moment of contrition. "You should have seen him yesterday with that group of high school students. They were so nervous, but he had them laughing within minutes. One of them even left him her number."

"I didn't take it," Jisung clarifies quickly, eyes darting to Minho and then away again. "That would be unprofessional."

Minho's expression is unreadable, but something shifts in his scent—a subtle deepening that makes Jisung's omega instincts stand at attention. "Good call," he says simply.

An awkward silence threatens to descend, but Hyunjin—apparently constitutionally incapable of allowing quiet to exist for more than a few seconds at a time—claps his hands together with renewed enthusiasm.

"We should all go out after closing on Friday!" he declares, eyes bright with excitement. "To celebrate Jisungie surviving his first two weeks. There's a new place that opened near the university—they have the most amazing cocktails and these little dessert flights that are to die for."

"You say that about every new place," Seungmin points out, though his scent betrays a hint of interest at the mention of desserts.

"Because I have excellent taste," Hyunjin retorts, tossing his long, dark hair back with practiced drama. He turns pleading eyes to Jisung. "You'll come, right? It'll be fun! We can even invite Changbinnie from the kitchen! And Minho hyung always pays for the first round."

"I do?" Minho questions, eyebrow raised.

"You do," Hyunjin confirms with absolute conviction. "Because you're the best boss ever and you love us and you want us to be happy."

Minho rolls his eyes, but there's unmistakable fondness in the gesture. "Fine. First round only."

Hyunjin whoops in victory, throwing his arms around Seungmin, who tolerates the embrace with the resigned expression of someone long accustomed to such displays. "Jisung?" Hyunjin prompts, turning expectant eyes his way. "You'll come?"

Jisung hesitates, torn between the growing desire to belong in this circle and the terror of spending time with Minho outside the structured safety of work hours. Here, he has his uniform and his role to hide behind. Out there, he would just be Jisung—the omega with the childhood torch for his best friend’s older brother, who still sometimes catches himself staring at Minho's hands and remembering summer strawberries.

"I—," he begins, uncertainty making his sweet strawberry scent fluctuate between saccharine and sour.

"You should come," Minho says quietly, his voice, high and sweet, cutting through Jisung's internal panic. When Jisung meets his gaze, there's something gentle there, something that eases the tightness in his chest. "It's tradition for new staff. A proper welcome."

"And we want to get to know you better," Seungmin adds unexpectedly, his usual bluntness softened by genuineness. "Outside of this place and these ridiculous outfits."

"Speak for yourself," Hyunjin says, twirling to make his skirt flare dramatically. "I look fantastic in this ridiculous outfit."

The tension breaks as they all laugh, even Seungmin allowing a full smile to grace his features, his face transformed into a boyish grin, softening his features prettily. In that moment, surrounded by the warm scents of people who are somehow becoming more than just colleagues, bathed in afternoon sunlight that turns the café into something magical, Jisung feels a sense of belonging he’s only ever experienced with Felix.

"Okay," he says, the word feeling like a step into unknown territory. "I'll come."

Hyunjin cheers, Seungmin nods with satisfaction, and Minho—Minho smiles, a small, private thing that seems meant just for Jisung. His alpha scent wraps around them all like a protective blanket, steady and sure.

"Good," Minho says softly.

Chapter Text

"One lavender latte and one strawberry cream cake," Jisung smiles, carefully setting the items before a young alpha woman whose eyes linger a moment too long on the delicate curve of his wrist. He's grown accustomed to the attention, learned to accept the appreciative glances with a practiced smile that reveals nothing of his discomfort.

"Thank you," the customer says, her scent—sharp cedar and something metallic—flaring slightly with interest. "You're new here, aren't you? I don't remember seeing you before."

Jisung nods, maintaining the polite distance that Minho had coached him on during his first week. "Yes, ma'am. I started a couple of months ago. Is there anything else I can get for you today?"

The alpha opens her mouth to respond, but the words never reach Jisung's ears. Instead, a sudden wave of warmth washes over him, starting at his core and radiating outward with such intensity that the tray in his hands trembles. The sensation is followed immediately by a cramping pain that has him doubling over, a pained gasp escaping his lips before he can contain it.

No. The word echoes through his mind, panic rising like a tide. Not here. Not now. It's too early.

His heat isn't due for another two weeks—he's been meticulous with tracking the cycles since he presented. The suppressants he takes should have prevented this, should have kept him safe for another fourteen days. Yet there's no mistaking the telltale signs–the sudden blazing warmth beneath his skin, the ache spreading through his lower abdomen, and worst of all, the change in his scent. 

The sweet strawberry notes that normally characterize his omega scent intensify dramatically, becoming headier, more potent, laced with the unmistakable pheromones of a heat beginning. It's like someone has uncorked a bottle of concentrated perfume in the middle of the café—impossible to ignore, impossible to contain.

The effect on the alphas in the room is immediate and horrifying.

The woman at the table before him goes completely still, her pupils dilating until her eyes are nearly black, her own scent sharpening in response. At a table near the window, two alpha businessmen in crisp suits abandon their conversation mid-sentence, heads turning in perfect unison toward Jisung like predators catching the scent of prey. A college-aged alpha near the counter stands abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor in the sudden, tense silence that has fallen over the café.

Jisung takes a stumbling step backward, the tray slipping from his shaking fingers and crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering porcelain seems to come from very far away, muffled by the roaring in his ears and the increasingly urgent pulses of heat spreading through his body. Distantly, he's aware of Hyunjin's voice raising in alarm somewhere behind the counter, of Seungmin appearing at his side with a steadying hand on his elbow. 

"Jisung?" Seungmin's voice cuts through the fog, sharp with concern. "What's—" He stops abruptly as the scent hits him, understanding dawning immediately in his eyes. Being an omega himself, Seungmin isn't affected the same way the alphas are, but he recognizes the danger of the situation instantly. 

"I need to go," Jisung manages, the words scraping painfully from his throat. His skin feels too tight, too hot, and there's a growing slickness between his thighs that makes him want to die of mortification on the spot. "I don't—I can't—,"

He tries to take another step back, but his legs have turned to water beneath him, uncooperative and weak. The room seems to tilt, the faces of the customers blurring into a smear of expressions ranging from concern to naked hunger. One of the businessmen has risen from his seat, taking a deliberate step in Jisung's direction, his scent aggressive and demanding in a way that makes terror spike through Jisung's heat-addled system.

"Stay where you are," Seungmin says firmly to the approaching alpha, his usual calm demeanor hardening into something fierce and protective. He positions himself slightly in front of Jisung, the other omega offering his body as protection. 

The businessman pauses, but his eyes remain fixed on Jisung with an intensity that makes the omega’s skin crawl even through the growing haze of heat symptoms. "He needs help," the alpha says, his voice rough with barely restrained instinct. "I could—,"

"He needs nothing from you."

The voice cuts through the tension like a blade of ice, quiet but carrying an authority that silences the room instantly. Minho stands in the doorway to the kitchen, his presence filling the space in a way that has nothing to do with physical size and everything to do with the overwhelming power of his alpha scent—vanilla and sandalwood turned sharp and commanding, laced with unmistakable warning.

He crosses the distance to Jisung in four steps, each one deliberate and controlled despite the tension evident in the set of his shoulders. Without hesitation, he removes his black suit jacket and drapes it around Jisung's shoulders, the fabric still warm from his body and saturated with his scent—a makeshifkt barrier between Jisung's heat pheromones and the room at large.

"My office. Now," he murmurs, the words meant only for Jisung despite the absolute silence that has fallen over the café. His hand on Jisung's lower back is firm but gentle, guiding rather than pushing.

Jisung's body responds to the alpha’s command and soft touch with embarrassing eagerness, another wave of heat flooding him so intensely that his knees nearly buckle, strawberry scented slick bubbling past his labia, through the thin fabric of his panties, trickling down his exposed thigh. Only Minho's steady hand keeps him upright as they make their faltering way toward the back of the café.

"Seungmin, notify our customers that we're closing early for an emergency," Minho says, his voice carrying the unquestionable authority of an alpha protecting his territory. "Hyunjin, I need Jisung's things from his locker. Start the closing procedures after you bring me his bag."

The businessman who had approached takes a half-step forward, his scent still aggressive despite Minho's clear warning. "You can't just—,"

Minho turns, and something in his expression makes the other alpha stop mid-sentence. "I can and I am," he growls, each word clipped and precise, echoing in the deep rumble reverberating out of his chest. 

There's a moment of tension where Jisung, even through his increasingly foggy consciousness, fears the other alpha might challenge Minho. Then the moment breaks, the businessman’s gaze dropping in submission, his shoulders lowering as he steps back.

"My apologies," he mutters, though his eyes flick once more to Jisung with naked longing before he turns away.

The rest of the journey to Minho's office passes in a blur of sensation—the brush of fabric against hypersensitive skin, the steady pressure of Minho's hand at his back, the overwhelming presence of the alpha's scent surrounding him from the jacket. Each step sends fresh waves of cramping pain through Jisung's abdomen, his body responding to the proximity of an alpha, his alpha, with increasingly urgent demand.

The office door closes behind them with a soft click that sounds like salvation. Jisung stumbles to the small couch against the far wall, collapsing onto it with a moan he can't quite suppress. Minho keeps his distance, moving to the opposite side of the room where he opens a window, allowing fresh air to dilute the increasingly potent scents filling the small space.

"I'm sorry," Jisung gasps, curling in on himself as another cramp seizes him. "I don't know what happened—my suppressants—I've never missed a dose—"

"Shh," Minho says, his voice impossibly gentle despite the tension evident in every line of his body. He remains by the window, hands gripping the sill with white-knuckled restraint. "It's not your fault. Sometimes they fail, especially if you've been under stress."

A knock at the door interrupts before Jisung can respond. Minho growls before catching himself, moving to answer it, careful to keep the opening minimal. Hyunjin's voice filters through, uncharacteristically subdued.

"Jisungie’s things," Hyunjin says. "And I brought water and some of those cooling patches from the first aid kit."

"Thank you," Minho replies, taking the items. "How's the situation out there?"

"Seungmin has everyone leaving. I've put up the closed sign and locked the front door."

"Good. Tell Seungmin to call Felix and let him know we're bringing Jisung home."

The door closes again, and Minho turns back to Jisung, approaching slowly with the gathered items. He sets everything on the small coffee table, then retreats again, maintaining a careful distance that Jisung appreciates even as his omega instincts howl in frustration.

"Your emergency suppressants," Minho says, nodding to a small pill bottle. "They won't stop the heat completely since it's already started, but they might take the edge off until we get you home."

Jisung reaches for the bottle with trembling hands, struggling with the cap until Minho steps forward to help, their fingers brushing briefly in an electric moment of contact. The alpha's scent takes on a hard edge before he quickly steps back again, his discipline evident in every carefully controlled movement.

"Thank you," Jisung whispers, dry-swallowing the pills and following them with a long drink of water. The cool liquid provides momentary relief against the inferno building inside him, but he knows from experience that the emergency suppressants won’t take effect for a while yet. 

Minho nods, his eyes never leaving Jisung's face despite the state he is in. The respect in that restraint brings tears to Jisung's eyes, a small kindness that feels monumental in his vulnerable state.

"I'll wait outside while you change," Minho says, moving toward the door. "Take your time. No one will come in."

"Wait," Jisung calls, surprising himself with the desperation in his voice. "I—I don't think I can do it alone. The uniform—the buttons—" He gestures helplessly at the complicated fastenings of the maid outfit, his fingers too clumsy with heat symptoms to manage the delicate work.

Minho goes perfectly still, a war of alpha instinct and human decency playing across his features. "Jisung," he says, his voice strained. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I wanted to take things slow with you."

"Please," Jisung whispers, hating the neediness in his tone but unable to suppress it. "I trust you, hyung."

Something shifts in Minho's expression—a softening, a decision made. He approaches slowly, movements deliberate and telegraphed. "I'll help with the buttons," he says, each word carefully measured. "But then I'll turn around, and you'll finish changing yourself. Okay?"

Jisung nods, relief flooding him. "Okay."

Minho kneels before him, bringing those beautiful hands—hands that have helped Jisung off the ground, have brushed through his curls in comfort, have placed bandages on scraped knees, have held books as he read stories of love and conquest and hope—to the first button at Jisung's throat. Each touch is clinical, efficient, yet still sends sparks of heat through Jisung's oversensitive skin. Minho works quickly, his breathing controlled and even despite the way his scent betrays his body's response to Jisung's heat.

"Last one," he murmurs, fingers brushing against the warm skin at Jisung’s naval as he undoes the final button. Then, true to his word, he rises and turns his back, giving Jisung the privacy to struggle out of the uniform and into his street clothes.

The process is agonizing—every brush of fabric against his skin either painful or producing embarrassing waves of pleasure. By the time he's fully dressed in his loose t-shirt and sweatpants, Jisung is panting, sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip, slick leaking through his panties and creating a wet spot in his freshly donned sweats.

"Done," he manages, the single word carrying all his exhaustion and discomfort.

Minho turns, his eyes assessing Jisung's condition with concern that cuts through alpha instinct. "We need to get you home," he says. "Can you walk, or should I carry you?"

The thought of being carried in Minho's arms sends a fresh gush of slick out of Jisung’s pussy, making him whimper. "I can walk," he says, though he's not entirely certain it's true. "Just... maybe help me?"

Minho nods, approaching to offer his arm for support. Jisung takes it gratefully, trying to ignore how right it feels to touch the alpha, how perfectly their heights align, how Minho's scent wraps around him like a shield against the world. 

Minho freezes, arm around the younger boy squeezing taut, his dark eyes snapping to Jisung’s face as his nostrils flare, taking in the fresh gush of slick steadily leaking out of the omega. 

The journey through the now-empty café is easier than Jisung expected, though each step sends fresh pulses of discomfort through his body. Seungmin and Hyunjin wait by the back exit, their faces masks of concern.

"Felix is meeting you at the apartment," Seungmin says, his usual bluntness softened with worry. "We told him what happened."

Hyunjin steps forward, uncharacteristically hesitant, offering a small bag. "I packed some snacks and water," he says. "And I added those pastries you like, the ones with the peach filling."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture brings fresh tears to Jisung's eyes. "Thank you," he whispers, touched by the care his new friends are showing him in his vulnerable state. Care his own family had never shown him a day since presenting. 

"I'll bring him back safely," Minho assures them both, his arm steady around Jisung's waist. "Finish closing up and take tomorrow off. I'll handle things."

Outside, the cool autumn air provides momentary relief against Jisung's fever-hot skin. Minho guides him to a sleek black car parked in the small lot behind the café, opening the passenger door and helping Jisung inside with gentle hands. The leather seat is cool against his overheated body, another small mercy in a situation filled with discomfort.

Minho slides into the driver's seat, immediately adjusting the air conditioning to blow cool air toward Jisung. "Everything will be okay, Jisungie," Minho murmurs, passing a hand through the omega’s curls before turning to the wheel. 

Jisung nods, too focused on fighting another wave of heat symptoms to form words. His world has narrowed to the cramping pain in his abdomen, the slick discomfort between his thighs, and the overwhelming presence of Minho beside him—so close yet maintaining a careful distance even in the confined space of the car.

The drive passes in a haze of sensation, the city blurring outside the windows as Jisung drifts in and out of lucidity. Sometimes he surfaces to find Minho glancing at him with concern, other times he loses minutes to the fog of heat and desire washing through him in relentless waves. Through it all, Minho remains a steady presence—his scent controlled but comforting, his occasional quiet questions about Jisung's comfort anchoring him to reality.

When they finally reach the apartment building, Felix is waiting at the entrance, his familiar face tight with worry. He rushes to the car as Minho parks, pulling open Jisung's door before the engine is fully off.

"Sungie," he says, his own omega scent, comforting in its familiaritu, cutting through the haze of heat pheromones. "I've got you. Let's get you inside."

Between Felix and Minho, Jisung manages the journey up the first flight of stairs, though each step is increasingly difficult as the heat intensifies. By the time they make it to the second floor landing, he's nearly delirious, clinging to consciousness by a thread. Suddenly, his feet are out from under him, his hazy gaze meeting the ceiling as his head is rested on a strong shoulder. 

"I've got you, baby," Minho says, holding the omega in a princess carry, cradling his small body to his broad chest. They make it to the third floor much easier, Jisung's breaths coming out in short pants against Minho's neck, eyes shut tight against the pain and heat roiling inside of him.

"Our room is this way," Felix directs, guiding them down the short hallway. "I've already set it up with extra water and cooling packs."

Jisung and Felix’s shared bedroom is a sanctuary of familiar scents and comforts—their nest of blankets and pillows already arranged on the bed, waiting to envelop him. With the last of his strength, he breaks away from the supporting arms and stumbles toward it, collapsing into the soft embrace of fabrics that Felix chose specifically for their heats.

"Thank you," he manages, the words directed at both Felix and Minho, though his gaze lingers on the alpha standing awkwardly in his doorway, looking both protective and uncertain.

"I should go," Minho says, his voice rough around the edges. "You're safe now."

"Wait," Felix says, stepping into the hallway and gesturing for Minho to follow. Their voices drift back to Jisung, muffled but still audible as heat-enhanced senses pick up fragments of their conversation.

"...not since his presentation..." "...don't know what to do..." "...needs you..." "...he wouldn't mind, hyung..." "...nothing else will help..."

Jisung loses track of the exchange as another violent wave of heat crashes over his small body, drawing a moan from deep in his chest. He curls tighter into his nest, seeking comfort that isn't there, his body aching for something it can't have.

The door opens again, and Felix approaches the bed, sitting carefully on the edge. The soft sweetness of his scent calms Jisung's racing heart if only slightly. "Minho's going to stay and help, Sungie," he says softly. "Is that okay?"

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

The television bathes the dark living room in a soft, ever-changing glow, painting Felix and Jisung's faces in flickering shades of red and green and blue and gold. Empty popcorn bowls and scattered candy wrappers litter the coffee table before them, casualties of their movie night. On screen, a rain-soaked alpha runs through city streets towards an inevitable confession of love, the musical score swelling with hope. 

"This is so unrealistic," Felix whispers, though his eyes remain transfixed on the dramatic reunion unfolding on screen. His scent, gentle as spring flowers after rain, betrays his emotion despite his critical words. "No one looks that good after running through a downpour."

Jisung hums noncommittally, fawn-like legs tucked beneath him on the couch, a worn throw blanket pulled to his chin despite the warmth of the summer evening. "Maybe that's why it's called movie magic."

The alpha on screen finally reaches his destination—a dimly lit apartment where his beloved omega waits, unaware of the declaration about to change everything. The music softens as they stand face to face, the tension between them palpable even through the television screen.

"Would you want that?" Jisung asks suddenly, his soft voice barely audible over the dialogue. "Someone who runs through the rain for you?"

Felix's lips curl into a dreamy smile, his freckles dancing across his cheeks like constellations when he turns toward Jisung. "Maybe not the rain part specifically, but the gesture? Absolutely." He shifts, pulling his knees to his chest, mimicking Jisung's protective posture. "I want someone who would cross oceans if that's what it took to reach me."

On screen, the couple finally kisses, years of misunderstandings and missed opportunities dissolved in a single moment of perfect clarity. The camera pans away to the rain-streaked window, offering them privacy in their newfound understanding.

"What about you?" Felix asks, nudging Jisung with his tiny, sock-covered foot. "What's your ideal romance?"

Jisung's heart stutters, the question unlocking a door he typically keeps firmly shut. Behind that door lives a collection of forbidden dreams—dreams of strong hands and kind eyes, of a scent like vanilla and sandalwood that has haunted him since he first encountered it at nine years old. Dreams of dark, catlike eyes shining with mischief, strong hands that lift him so easily onto the kitchen counter to be his hyung’s taste tester, a light, musical laugh echoing in every memory and every dream he’s had since he could remember. 

"I don't know," he lies, picking at a loose thread in the blanket. "Someone handsome, I guess. Nice. Kind." 

Felix snorts, throwing a stray piece of popcorn that bounces off Jisung's forehead. "That's the most generic answer ever. Give me details! What kind of scent? Alpha? Beta? Omega?"

The question sends a chill down Jisung's spine, ice water in his veins despite the summer heat pressing against the windows. In the artificial glow of the television, he can almost pretend this conversation isn't dangerous, that the words trying to claw their way out of his throat won't change everything.

"I—" he starts, then stops, the confession lodging somewhere behind his ribs. "I know I want it to be a guy," he finally whispers, the admission small but monumental in the quiet room.

The movie continues its predictable march toward happily ever after, oblivious to the moment unfolding on the couch. Felix's scent shifts subtly, not with surprise but with something warmer, something like pride and protection intermingled.

"Yeah?" he says simply, his voice free of judgment or shock. "Alpha? Beta?"

Jisung swallows hard, the image of Minho flashing behind his eyelids like summer lightning—beautiful, brief, and impossible to capture. "Alpha, maybe," he admits, the word both a truth and a shield. It's safer than saying the name that lives in the corner of his heart reserved for impossible things.

Felix nods, his expression thoughtful. "An alpha like Minho would be nice to you," he says casually, and Jisung's heart nearly stops entirely, certain for one terrifying moment that Felix has somehow read his mind. "Not that I'm suggesting anything," Felix continues, seemingly oblivious to Jisung's internal panic. "Just thinking about all the alphas I know." His eyes are unnaturally bright, his lips curving into a teasing smile. 

The credits begin to roll on screen, the spell of the movie broken as the lights come up on the fictional couple's perfect ending. Jisung uses the distraction to compose himself, to push thoughts of Minho back into their designated closet in the back of his mind.

"It doesn't matter anyway," he says, reaching for the remote to scroll through their watchlist for the next film. "You know what my parents want."

Felix's expression darkens slightly, his scent souring with displeasure. "Yeah, I know. Beta girl, right? Preferably one with connections to help your dad's business. Educated, works a corporate job. Boring.” 

The bitterness in Felix's voice is a mirror to the ache in Jisung's chest. Just last week, his mother had pointed out a girl in the grocery store—the daughter of some work acquaintance, her dry, powdery perfume filling the vacuum of where an alpha or omega’s scent would be, her future presumably aligned with the path Jisung's parents had already paved for him.

"Did you see how she selected those apples?" his mother had whispered, as if the careful inspection of fruit was somehow indicative of wife material. "Such attention to detail. That's the kind of partner you need, Jisung." 

And at his father's company dinner the month before, he'd been seated beside the CFO's daughter, another beta with ambitious plans for law school and a laugh that never quite reached her eyes. His father had nudged him afterward, winking conspiratorially. "She'd make a fine match, son. Stable. Sensible. No messy omega heats or alpha posturing to deal with."

"They mean well," Jisung says halfheartedly, the defense worn thin from repetition. "They want me to have a stable life."

Felix's snort is eloquent in its disbelief. "They want you to have their version of a stable life. There's a difference."

On screen, the opening for another romantic comedy comes on, this one featuring an unlikely pair—a workaholic executive from the city and the free-spirited artist who disrupts his carefully ordered world as he crash lands in her rural town. The formula is familiar, comforting in its predictability even as it remains hopelessly distant from Jisung's reality.

"Maybe in another life," Jisung murmurs, settling back against the couch cushions as Felix hits play. "Maybe then I'd be brave enough to do what I actually want."

Felix reaches over, his hand finding Jisung's beneath the blanket, squeezing gently. His orange blossom and vanilla scent wraps around them both, steady and reassuring. "Maybe in this life," he says quietly, "you just need a little more time." Jisung gives his best friend a tired smile, squeezing the younger omega’s much smaller hand in his own before turning back to the television. 

The new movie begins, drawing them into another world where love conquers all obstacles, where people find the courage to choose their own paths despite the expectations placed upon them. Jisung lets himself be carried away by the fantasy, by the possibility that somehow, somewhere, there might be a happily ever after waiting for him too—one that smells like vanilla and sandalwood, one with kind eyes and gentle hands that once carefully sliced strawberries just for him.

Chapter Text

Jisung feels like he’s burning from within, as if starlight had gathered beneath his skin and is seeking escape through his every pore. Each pulse of his heartbeat sends waves of heat cascading through his body as the air around him shimmers with the almost tangible weight of his scent. The fever wraps around him like summer heat, each breath punched out of him. Perspiration kisses his forehead, his curls clinging to his temples like flowers pressed between book pages, damp with the salt of his fevered sleep. Each strand catches what little light filters through the gossamer curtains, creating a halo of gold and amber around his delicate face. 

“Lix?” His voice floats through the air like dust, the word escaping his lips like a prayer whispered in cathedral silence. His eyelids, heavy as storm clouds ready to burst, flutter open—lashes like butterfly wings caught in thick honey. Through the sleep haze of his vision, the world appears painted in watercolor–edges soft, colors bleeding into one another like dreams half remembered. A deep ache blooms in his abdomen, an emptiness vast as the space between constellations. 

“Lixie?” He calls again, his voice carrying the weight of longing, deep and resonant as church bells tolling across misty moors. 

“Jisungie! We’re coming, coming, we’re coming!” Felix’s voice arrives before he does, his presence like summer rain on parched earth. He slides into the bedroom on socked feet, the time-worn wooden floors squeaking beneath him. 

“How are you feeling, Sungie?” He asks, flopping down on the bed beside his best friend, his small fingers finding their way into Jisung’s damp curls. The touch is salvation–cool fingertips against fevered scalp, gentle as dewdrops on spring petals. 

“Not wonderful,” Jisung whines, melting into the tender touch of the younger boy, the omegas effusing orange blossom and strawberry, the air thick with heat pheromones. Felix is an anchor in the storm of his suffering, solid and real when everything else feels ephemeral as morning mist. 

“What can I do to help?” 

Like a comet pulled into celestial orbit, Jisung’s gaze drifts toward the doorway where Minho stands like a sculpture crafted by the gods. The air shifts, suddenly thick with unspoken words and electric with want. The alpha’s presence fills the small room like incense, heady and intoxicating, making Jisung’s breath catch in his throat as sandalwood and vanilla overtake his every thought. Minho holds a hand to his nose, his feline eyes squinted down at the omega lying before him in bed. 

“Do I smell that bad?” The words tumble from Jisung’s lips before he can catch them. He turns away from Minho like a small animal seeking shade from the scorching sun, nuzzling into Felix, letting the omega’s orange blossom and vanilla scent bathe him in familiar comfort. 

“You’ve only ever smelled delectable to me,” Minho breathes. Every word is a caress, soft as silk against the omega’s fevered skin. The alpha enters the omegas’ bedroom carefully, like stepping foot on hallowed ground for the first time. His footfalls are cautious, his body a long line of tension—warring desire and restraint clouding Minho’s face. 

“That’s why hyung can barely contain himself,” Felix laughs. “You smell like a ripe bowl of strawberries begging to be devoured.” 

”Felix,” Minho reprimands his brother, scowl firmly set on his beautiful features. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Jisung murmurs, “as long as it’s Minho eating me.” The omega curls into himself, his face flushed with his heat and the words tumbling from between his plush lips, barely more substantial than moth wings against window panes. 

“I thought we had more time,” Minho says, voice tight with frustration. “You deserve better. I want to take my time with you, Jisungie.” Minho’s words fall like gentle rain on drought-parched earth, each one weighted with longing and reverence. “I want to court you and spend time with you–slowly, carefully. I wanted our first time to be special.” 

“But it would always be special with you, hyung,” Jisung whines, rolling away from the brothers, showing them his sweat soaked back. 

“I told you he’s ready, hyung. Just listen to him,” Felix sighs, rubbing his best friend’s back with gentle fingers. “He’s not even in full heat yet—he’s still lucid.” 

“This isn’t a conversation I’m having with my little brother,” Minho grouses, his voice laced with the kind of exasperated affection one only bears for a sibling. 

“Fine, I’ll leave you two alone. Sungie, if you need anything, I’ll be at Jeongin’s,” Felix says, rising from the bed and skipping out of the room, the scent of orange blossom and vanilla trailing behind him. 

“Since when—“ Minho began before the omega cuts him off. 

“They’ve been together for weeks,” Jisung says before he flinches, the cramps overtaking him, turning his insides into a swirling sea of sensitivity. ”I need you, hyung, please,” Jisung whines, writhing on his back in the middle of the bed, his hands pressed to his abdomen as if holding it together. 

“Are you certain, baby? I wanted to court you properly, give you time to acclimate first,” Minho says, worry laced in his tone. The alpha’s fingers find their way into the omega’s curls and Jisung’s chest immediately begins vibrating with the force of his purr. It feels like coming home for the first time in a very, very long time. 

“I’ve loved you since I can remember,” Jisung confesses, tears gathering on lashes like dewdrops on butterfly wings. “I’ve dreamed of this—of being seen by you, of being yours—since before I was even old enough to realize it.” Jisung gazes up at the alpha, skin glowing like captured sunlight, cheeks flushed like sunset clouds, full lips parted like petals opening to the warmth of summer morning. His shirt has slipped from one delicate shoulder, curls falling across his eyes as they peer up at the alpha, beseeching. 

“Hyung will give you what you need, baby,” Minho murmurs, his touch gentle as he cups Jisung’s plump cheek in his palm. The alpha leans down, his feline eyes meeting Jisung’s wide, wondering gaze as the space disappears between them like mist in the morning sun. 

Their lips meet in a kiss that feels like coming home after a long journey—soft, reverent, full of words they had never dared to speak. It was tender as the first fall of snow, sweet as honey straight from the comb. 

The alpha slides his hand to cradle the back of Jisung’s head, fingers nestling in his thick curls, Minho’s other hand skimming across soft cotton until it finds the dip of his omega’s waist. It rests there briefly before continuing its journey down, down, until it slips under soft cotton to find the flush of warm skin. He drags the tee shirt up, the material scratching at the omega’s sensitive nerve endings like the rough bark of a tree forgotten to time. 

Their lips slide together in a gentle kiss, Jisung pressing in further every time Minho pulls away, the alpha keeping it delicate as a meadow breeze. A needy whine slips from the omega’s plush lips and Minho chuckles before parting his lips. He takes Jisung’s lower lip between his own, giving it a gentle suck. The omega moans, his voice rising like nightingale songs at twilight, echoing in the small room. Minho smiles, letting Jisung’s lip go with one last, soft suck. 

The alpha gazes down at his omega, feline eyes full of tender affection. 

“Stop teasing me,” Jisung whines, staring up at his alpha with desperation, a pout on his lips. 

“But you’re so cute when you’re denied immediate gratification, baby,” Minho smiles, all teeth. He leans in, short, thick fingers gripping the curls at the back of the omega’s head, tangling into the thick locks before he leans back down, angling his plush mouth over Jisung’s delicate lips, taking what he has waited so long for. 

The breath is sucked from Jisung’s lungs in a high whine as Minho’s tongue bullies itself past plump lips. The alpha takes, laving the inside of the omega’s mouth with a hunger that makes Jisung’s heart stutter. Minho methodically replaces the omega’s taste with his own, dragging his tongue along Jisung’s, sliding them together, mapping the position of each tooth, the shape of his gum, the soft fleshy inside of his plump cheek. 

The alpha bites Jisung’s bottom lip harshly and the omega lets out a squeak, jolting under Minho’s strong hands. He pulls back from his omega, his lips lighting on Jisung’s face in soft, butterfly kisses as he makes his way to the omega’s jaw before trailing small nips over to his ear. He tugs the omega’s earlobe between his teeth, giving it a soft suckle before washing his long, delicate neck in a flush of quick nips and bites, littering it with bruises. Jisung whimpers with each sharp stinging bite, mewling with each soothing kiss pressed to the reddened skin. The omega leans into the pleasure pain of each mark blooming across his skin like cherry blossoms opening to the sun at the first touch of spring. 

Jisung’s moans crest into the air, his head thrown back in pleasure, his voice breaking like dawn over lavender fields as Minho’s mouth finds his mating gland. The alpha slows, dragging his sharp teeth lightly over the swollen skin, saccharine strawberry dripping into the air like waves of liquid ecstasy. Jisung whines high in his throat, his head thrashing against the pillow below him, hips canting as the alpha’s teeth dig into the gland, suckling on it roughly, a growl rippling from Minho’s throat as the omega’s pheromones wash over him. 

The alpha shifts his weight, pulling back slightly, his hand dragging the shirt off of the omega, tossing it behind him carelessly before leaning back down and attaching his mouth to Jisung’s collarbone, flushed with heat, pooling like captured sunlight below the rosy surface. 

“So beautiful,” the alpha murmurs. “Never even dreamed I’d ever get to see you like this, baby,” he says, lips dragging across skin, sucking the delicate flesh between sharp teeth before moving down, down, across the plane of the omega’s pec, straight for his perky nipple, standing proud with arousal. 

“Never thought you would ever want me like this,” Jisung replies, his words trailing off into a moan as Minho attaches his lips around the delicate nub with single minded determination borne of desperation and longing. Jisung’s breath hitches like wind rushing through aspen groves, his voice high and sweet as his whimpers blanket his alpha alongside the thick syrup of his scent. 

Minho rolls the nub between his lips, tongue coming out to flick at it gently before picking up speed, working over the little nub until a cry is pulled out of the omega like melodies from a songbird. Jisung’s hands tangle in the alpha’s hair, short nails digging into the skin of Minho’s scalp, his slim hips squirming underneath his alpha as the heat continues to spread throughout his body like the burning flash of dying stars. 

“Please, please, hyung, I can’t,” Jisung cries, fat, wet tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, thick lashes barely holding their weight. 

“You’ll take whatever I give you,” Minho murmurs against the omega’s skin, giving his nipple one last flick of his tongue before moving across the short expanse of his omega’s chest to find its twin. 

The alpha focuses his attention on his new conquest, laving over the small nub with his tongue, the rough texture causing electric whispers to zip along Jisung’s spine. 

“A-alpha, hnf, please,” Jisung whines, arching his back prettily under Minho. The air thickens with the perfume of fresh, ripe strawberries heavy with delectable juices, soft, comforting vanilla, and deep, spicy sandalwood. Their scents mingle together until one note blends into the next, becoming indistinguishable. 

Minho lets out a growl, his voice rough like autumn leaves scattered by wind, pulling back from Jisung’s chest, gripping the omega’s hands in one of his own, slamming them above the younger’s head. 

“M-Minho?” Jisung asks, his voice trembling in confusion. 

“Say it,” Minho murmurs, eyes dark, pupils eclipsing his irises, his sharp features turned more dangerous as the sun outside descends below the skyline. 

“Minho?” Jisung asks, wide, wet eyes blinking up at the older man. 

“Say it, Sungie,” Minho growls, leaning in to drag the tip of his sharp nose along the omega’s jawline, his chest rumbling with pent up desire. 

“A-alpha?” Jisung whimpers, tilting his head back, his long, lean neck on perfect display, his heart shaped adam’s apple creating the perfect bite. 

Minho lets out a low growl before leaning in, laving over Jisung’s scent gland nestled between his neck and shoulder, just below his pulse point. Sharp teeth dig into honey tan flesh as Minho uses his other hand to divest Jisung of his sweatpants, gripping the omega’s tiny waist as he leans further into his space. 

“Alpha please, please, I need you,” Jisung moans, leaning his neck into the nips and bites the alpha places on his mating gland. 

The older man uses his teeth, coaxing the scent of strawberries out of the gland, grinding it out of his skin until the air is thick with it. Sandalwood and vanilla tangle with strawberry in the air until it’s almost a palpable thing. 

Minho pulls back, sliding down the omega’s body until he settles himself between Jisung’s knees, letting go of the younger’s hands in the process. 

“‘M gonna eat you out,” Minho murmurs, jerking Jisung’s knees over each broad shoulder, the omega’s long, clumsy legs squirming over thick, taut muscle. Minho kneels there, staring at the wet spot at the crotch of Jisung’s thin, white panties, the way the lace clings to his lips delicately, the tiny pink bow framing everything beautifully. Time stretches, elongated by the fever, the haze threatening to cloud the omega’s mind. Sound becomes distant—faint traffic from the street below, the rustle of sheets beneath him, the faint thrum of his own heartbeat blurring together. His face heats as the alpha stays between his legs, his sharp gaze boring into him, taking in every single inch of skin and cloth, unblinking. 

“Hyuuuung,” Jisung whines, squirming in the alpha’s hold. He’s hot with shame, squirming under the elder’s gaze, his center pulsing with want. Slick dribbles out of him at the scrutiny, his little hips wiggling in embarrassment. 

“Be a good boy and take what hyung gives you, baby,” Minho reprimands before leaning in, running his nose along the damp fabric, feeling Jisung’s lips part slightly under the gentle pressure. Here, the scent of strawberry is overwhelming, the sticky, saccharine scent washing over the alpha in a slow, steady wave of arousal. 

Minho pokes his tongue out, laving the fabric over Jisung’s entrance slowly, dragging his tongue with gentle pressure up the seam of his lips through the lace, swirling around the top where his clit is before dragging it back down toward Jisung’s hole. 

The omega is writhing under Minho, small body squirming underneath the elder’s ministrations, hips wiggling as tingles run up and down his spine. 

“P-please alpha, please need you—need you inside please fuck alpha, please Minho pleaseee,” Jisung whines, his voice high and tight, his back arching, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The omega’s soft curls lay in disarray on the pillow, framing his delicate face as he looks down at the alpha with big, wet eyes shining in the dwindling sunlight. 

“Gonna make you feel good, baby,” Minho growls, gripping the waistband of Jisung’s panties between his teeth before tugging them down just far enough to get his face over them, hooking them under his chin before laving Jisung’s lips with his tongue. 

The omega lets out a squeak, jerking at the sudden contact, and Minho slips his hand between Jisung’s legs, running his thick finger along the seam of his omega’s lips. 

Jisung lets out a shudder as Minho’s finger slips between his labia, gently pulling them apart and taking in the sight of the omega’s hot, flushed little hole swollen with pent up desire. 

“Mfng, alphaaaaaa pleaseeee,” Jisung whines, squirming under the older man. With his other hand, Minho smacks the omega’s plump ass cheek, watching as it jiggles from the impact. Jisung jolts, his pussy pulsing with the sharp pain of the slap, a low moan shoved out of his throat, his head falling back against the pillow. 

“Told you I was gonna make you feel good, baby,” Minho murmurs, his single eyed focus on the omega’s hole now. His fingertips dip into the glistening wetness, feeling the desperate heat of his omega’s walls gently sucking him in. The alpha inhales sharply as he leans in, his tongue gently dancing across Jisung’s opening, gathering the sweet, thick slick oozing from the omega’s pussy, the air thick with the wet heat, overwhelmed with the scent of plump strawberries, ripe and ready for taking. 

Minho gently glides his tongue around the omega’s hole in a light tease, carefully dipping inside before dragging it up, circling Jisung’s clit before wrapping his lips around it, giving it a gentle suck. 

“Minhoooooo, hnng—please,” Jisung jerks, his back arching under the alpha’s touch, his doe eyes rolling back into his head as he rushes headfirst into climax. The omega’s small body shakes and trembles under the weight of pleasure received from another for the first time, each nerve alight with foreign pleasure, cries and whimpers pulled from his plump lips as he shakes and shivers beneath his alpha’s tongue. 

“Fuck, baby,” Minho bites, taking in the view of his omega falling apart underneath him. Honey skin shining with sweat, damp curls sticking to his flushed face, plump cheeks puffing up with each breath, chest heaving with exertion, an earth angel writhing in bliss. Jisung’s thoughts drift, unanchored. The twinkle of the fairy lights, the overwhelming smell of slick and pheromones and sweat, the heat lapping at his body all fall into each other, melting into one low hum of sensation, eclipsed by the cloud of euphoria blanketing his mind and body. 

Minho leans back in, wrapping his plump lips around Jisung’s clit as he continues to suckle, teasing the flesh with the pointed end of his tongue, using the sharp sides of his bunny teeth to gently scrape along the side of the omega’s clit. Minho spends his time pulling sweet sounds from Jisung’s lips—soft sighs, sharp whines, guttural moans. He pulls orgasm after orgasm from the younger boy until he’s lying in a puddle of slick and sweat, the sheets clinging to his damp, sticky skin, his chest heaving, his pussy throbbing, his mind a haze of pleasure. The hard wetness of Minho’s tongue, the softness of his cheek pressed to Jisung’s inner thigh, the slight scratch of light stubble on skin–Jisung dissolves into it all, every inhale drawing in sweet ecstasy, each exhale releases stifling heat. 

“Gonna fuck you now, Jisungie,” Minho says, getting to his knees before his omega, letting Jisung’s legs fall to either side of him in the bed. 

The alpha gently slides the soaked panties from Jisung’s legs, fisting the scrap of lace before bringing them to his face, dragging his delicate nose through the wet fabric, filling his lungs with the sticky scent of his omega, letting the thick, musky skin scent and strawberry overtake his senses. Jisung whimpers, his hazy eyes tracking the alpha’s every move. 

Minho drops the panties to the bed and undoes the buckle on his slacks, sliding them down just enough to free his cock. 

Jisung immediately flinches. 

“How is that gonna fit??” he whines, staring at the massive cock in front of him. 

“Don't worry, baby, you were made for this. I'll make it fit," Minho says before leaning down, capturing Jisung’s lips with his own in a quick kiss before guiding the omega to turn over, lifting his slender hips into the perfect presenting position. “Look at you, so beautiful,” Minho murmurs, fondling Jisung’s plump ass cheek gently before giving it a slap. Jisung jolts as it bounces back, jiggling under the alpha’s intense gaze. Minho groans before gripping Jisung’s tiny waist, pushing the omega’s shoulders into the mattress as he guides his thick cock to Jisung’s entrance. 

Jisung whines as the thick head is pushed inside of him, the girth of it stretching him open more than he ever has before with his own fingers. His pussy throbs at the intrusion, slick gushing out of him to instinctually ease the way. 

He lets out a high whine as Minho slowly, gently slides inside of him, his cock dragging along the omega’s walls, hitting every nerve ending perfectly. The omega tenses, feeling the full girth of his alpha filling him up, reaching parts of him even he hadn’t before. 

“Fuck, so tight,” the alpha grunts, his high voice wavering as he pulls back slightly, thrusting in harder than before. A high whine is punched from Jisung’s throat as he arches his back into it, Minho’s arms coming around his waist, pulling the omega flush to his broad chest. Jisung is surrounded in safety, surrounded by his alpha—caged in his arms, back flush to his chest and abdomen, full to the brim with the person he’s loved most since he was a pup. 

“Min, min please, feels so good,” Jisung cries as he’s filled up completely, blanketed in vanilla and sandalwood, the alpha’s pheromones permeating the air, wrapping around the scent of heat and slick and strawberries, effusing the air with love, with safety, with security, with acceptance. “Mmf, hyuuung,” Jisung whines, his words stretched and fluttering, carried on the edge of a cry. 

“You’re perfect for me baby,” Minho sighs, pressing a kiss to the omega’s shoulder before nuzzling his head in his neck, nose pressed to the scent gland there. The touch grounds Jisung, pulling him back into his body, just enough to tether his floating mind. “Knew you would be, knew you were the one for me, knew I had to have you,” he pants, tonguing the gland, incisors scraping the skin lightly, causing the omega to shiver beneath him. 

“Please, please, want it, want so bad, please, bite me, wanna be yours,” Jisung babbles, his body jostling in the alpha’s arms with each thrust, the alpha’s thighs resting on either side of the omega’s, knees digging into the mattress for better leverage. The alpha hums, licking up Jisung’s scent gland slowly as his hips pick up the pace, slamming into the omega fast and hard. The edges of Jisung’s vision soften, his senses narrowing to his alpha–the hot flush of skin, the sweet, high voice murmuring sweet filth into his ear, the smell of sandalwood and vanilla filling him up from the inside–condensing Jisung’s world down into a steady presence, warmth, and the feeling of being held fully, completely, tenderly. 

“Do you really?” Minho asks, dragging the tip of his nose along the side of the omega’s neck, fucking up into him roughly. 

“Yes yes yes, please yes, hnng, wanted it all my life, hyung please,” Jisung cries, fingers clawing at the sheets below him, grinding his pelvis into the bed, seeking any sort of relief from the constant battering inside of him, his pussy full to the brim and dripping. The pressure is ever building, his small body held tightly as he’s made to take it, every inch filling him up to bursting. The omega trembles, his body wracked with tremors ripping outward, carrying his heat fever and the weight of his desire in gentle undulations. His hands drift from the sheets to grasp at the alpha’s own hands on Jisung’s hips, searching, grasping, needing the anchor of solid presence to tether him to reality, to remind him that this is real, that he’s not dreaming of what could be. 

“All your life, hm? Is that right, sweetheart? Wanted hyung since before you can remember?” Minho asks, biting at Jisung’s shoulder now, his hips picking up speed, each thrust shaking whimpers and moans from the omega underneath him. 

“Since always, always wanted you, wanted to be yours, wanted you to own me, to save me, to have me, please, alpha,” Jisung cries, his doe eyes welling up with fat tears that pool in his thick lashes before dripping down his delicate face, his plump cheeks wet with his own desperation. 

“Fuck, say that again, baby,” Minho groans, pulling his arms back to grasp at the omega’s hips, angling himself just so before hitting that spot deep inside of Jisung that makes him cry out, body going limp beneath the alpha, face shoved into the mattress, twitching with each wave of pleasure that overtakes him. 

“A-alpha, alpha, alpha please,” Jisung sobs, the sheets dampening below his face. “S-so full,” he whines, a hand coming down to press against his abdomen, feeling the alpha’s cock there, distending his stomach. He shudders, a sob tearing from his throat as he feels just how his alpha is filling him up so well. “Alpha, feel, so full, please,” he moans, dragging one of Minho’s hands down to feel his distended abdomen too. The alpha’s hand feels as he enters his omega, as he fills him up, as he retreats. He imagines the feeling of his pup growing there, filling Jisung up in a different way, marking his territory in a way he’d only imagined until now. 

“Fuck baby, you’re so small,” Minho groans, “I can feel myself inside of you. So tiny, taking me so well, such a good boy, baby.” Jisung whines, the tears sticking his face to the sheets below him, every nerve ending on fire simultaneously. 

“Can’t believe I’m the first to fill you up like this. Dreamed of being your first, your only. Wanted you since the day you walked into my cafe. Wanted you every day, every hour, every second since you came back into my life. So sorry I was gone so long. Should have stayed, should have protected you. I’m here now–I won’t let anything happen to you. Not now, not ever. My beautiful boy,” Minho says, nuzzling back at his omega’s scent gland, laving over it with his tongue. 

“Gonna make it up to you. Gonna make you mine, gonna fill you up with my pups, gonna fuck a baby into you, make you walk around and show everyone how well I bred you, how good a boy you are for taking me so well,” he grunts as he fucks up into the omega, his thrusts coming quicker yet, the wet slap of his hips into Jisung’s plump, slick soaked ass echoing obscenely in the small room. 

The words blanket Jisung, thick and warm, carrying him deeper into the haze of his heat. As the alpha fucks into his tight, dripping hole, his breath becomes shallow, fluttering lightly in his lungs as he presses his face into the mattress, letting the alpha’s warmth consume his own, feeling the tangible safety and care wash over him, finally letting go of the worries he’s harbored since he presented. Everything else melts away, swallowed by the luminous, warm blur of sensation and pleasure. Heat pools in his veins, the scent of strawberries entangling with sandalwood and vanilla until any distinction fades. Jisung floats, suspended, in his own pleasure and desire. The desire to be held, to be kept, to be owned, overwhelms any other feeling inside of him. 

“Please please bite me, fill me up with your pups, breed me, alpha, hnng, wanna be full of you, wan’ everyone to know how good I can take you, fuck, please, I wan’ it, it’s all I’ve ever wan’ed, alpha, Minho, mnnf, please,” Jisung cries, tilting his head to the side, baring the honey skin of his throat to the alpha above him. 

“You want it that much? Want me forever?” Minho whispers, giving him a final out. 

“Want you always, want you forever, want you to finally bite me, fuck, Minho,” Jisung gasps, digging his fingers into the alpha’s hand still rubbing over his distended abdomen, still feeling him fill his omega up so well. The alpha thrusts in once, twice, before sinking his teeth into Jisung’s neck, perfectly enclosing his bite around the omega’s scent gland. Blood trickles into his mouth as he fucks up into the omega a few more times before finally pushing his knot into the tight, wet warmth beneath him. Jisung sucks him in fully, Minho’s fat knot catching in the omega’s warmth, locking alpha and omega together. Minho’s cum fills Jisung full, bathing his insides repeatedly until he’s so full it starts dribbling out alongside his slick. 

“Hnng, fuck, Minho, alpha,” Jisung cries as he follows the elder into bliss. His back arches as much as it can while being held down so tightly, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, every nerve in his body lighting up like a clear night sky. Pleasure washes over him in wave after wave, his senses overwhelmed with the feeling of safety and love and satisfaction. It feels like a consecration, like Jisung is dedicating his body to pleasure and love, to a higher purpose than the suffering he has known at the hands of others. It feels like ending a hunger strike with a feast, like his soul coming home after years of wandering. He feels complete in a way he never thought he could. 

"I love you, Jisungie," Minho murmurs, teeth still sunk into the omega's mating gland. Jisung shivers, his insides twitching at the pull of teeth in his flesh. 

"I love you, too, Minho," he sighs, his body slumping into his alpha's arms, warm and content.