Archive of Our Own ^beta

As catalysts go, it’s not actually the worst thing to have happened to Jihoon; the only people present are him and Soonyoung. And it’s an accident, too.

They’re alone in the studio working on a track featuring just the two of them, created solely to distract Jihoon from the looming fear that You Made My Dawn and “Home” will be ill received. What started as Jihoon fooling around in Pro Tools while Soonyoung lounged on Jihoon’s furniture like it was his own ended with Soonyoung in the second chair Jihoon is still pretending he didn’t acquire this evening specifically for Soonyoung, both their hands hovering over the mouse.

“Like that. Good,” Jihoon is saying over and over, similar to how he gets when they’re in the gym together, and then Soonyoung gets particularly excited about this new beat he’s created all by himself and overbalances in the chair. He has the good sense to hit the correct keys to save his work before he falls to his doom, which unfortunately means he doesn’t have the hands to save himself from faceplanting.

That’s the only reason Jihoon reaches out and steadies him.

Soonyoung has squeezed both eyes shut, his entire face scrunched up in preparation for face-meets-desk, when one of Jihoon’s hands lands in the fabric of his t-shirt, bunching it up in his haste to keep his idiot friend from fucking up his nose.

They both speak at the same time.

“Yah, Hoshi-yah⁠—⁠”

“Thanks⁠—⁠I⁠—⁠gawk⁠—⁠”

Soonyoung puts out both of his hands and uses them to right himself in the chair, but Jihoon’s grip on him is such that doesn’t do more than shift their points of contact. Jihoon’s bunched up fist drags up Soonyoung’s nape to land somewhere around where his hair starts. The collar of Soonyoung’s t-shirt has to be choking him, so Jihoon lets go immediately, fingers smoothing out and an apology forming on the tip of his tongue.

“Sorry⁠—⁠”

The fabric falls away from his palm and down Soonyoung’s neck towards his back, giving way to skin-to-skin.

Soonyoung gasps, shudders, then goes utterly, utterly still.

The air goes hot.

For a second neither of them seems to breathe, and then the strange silence shatters, and everything seems to start happening at once. Soonyoung stands up from the chair, sending it wheeling back and nearly tipping over, and starts sputtering out a surprising number of apologies. He doesn’t retreat across the room, but Jihoon can tell he clearly wants to, and he’d normally comment on that, but for some reason he can’t find the words.

Jihoon’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. He suddenly has to swallow a considerable amount of saliva, which is gross. And still the air feels wrong. The back of his neck seems unnaturally cool. When Jihoon opens his mouth to interrupt Soonyoung’s tirade, his dick . . . twitches in his pants.

Which is horrifying.

“⁠—⁠sorry, Jihoonie, I’m sorry,” Soonyoung is in the middle of repeatedly saying.

Jihoon takes another slow breath and rolls the sudden spike of arousal around in his mouth a few times, before exhaling and writing it off as a side effect of too much work. When was the last time he had enough time to even jerk off? Years ago, probably. Ergo.

“It’s fine, Soonyoung,” Jihoon says, interrupting. “You saved your work.”

Soonyoung still looks surprisingly shaken, but after a few more beats, he hurriedly nods. “Right, yes,” he says. “I did.” There’s a beat. “I mean of course I did. I rock.” It’s not quite up to his usual vigor, but Jihoon rolls his eyes regardless.

“Yeah, yeah. Is Mr. Rocker going to get back over here so that we can finish this song or is he bowing out and leaving me to do all the work again?”

Soonyoung finally seems to snap out of it fully, striding over and getting in his⁠—⁠in the chair with a great huff. “I do great work!” he says, rolling back and putting his fingers over the keyboard. “I am the main rapper and main vocal for our solo songs!”

He means Jihoon and Soonyoung’s solo songs, of course, but right now they only have one, and that really doesn’t count. Not to mention how he’s phrased it makes it sound like Soonyoung’s talking about all of Seventeen’s solo work period.

“Uh huh,” Jihoon deadpans instead of saying all of that. But he finds himself incapable of not grinning at him.

Soonyoung pouts, and Jihoon reaches around him to tap the spacebar, playing back what Soonyoung had been working on. Then he grins too evilly when the sudden barrage of sound makes Soonyoung wince.

The tips of Soonyoung’s ears have turned red. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” says Jihoon. But he goes back to coaching Soonyoung through making something out of all that noise anyway, because, well, the bones are there.

The neck thing would have been forgotten, but then when they’re done for the night (morning?) and Soonyoung is ecstatically telling Jihoon about how this song can be number five on their future duo album, Jihoon nods distractedly and taps him on the nape again.

He’s just trying to get the idiot out of his chair so that they can head back to the dorm before someone wakes up and realizes they’re gone and sicks a manager on them, but Soonyoung’s words cut off the moment Jihoon touches him. This time, the way he stops moving is even more apparent.

Jihoon squints at him, waiting it out, and two and a half seconds later, Soonyoung seems to snap out of it. He stands up. But he looks more than slightly flushed.

Jihoon stares some more, feeling slightly betrayed. “You’re not getting sick.”

If Soonyoung felt a cold coming on and decided to practice past midnight and then come bother Jihoon in a highly enclosed space for four more hours when they’re in the middle of end of year promotions and about to head into full album promotions, Jihoon will actually kill him.

But Soonyoung rapidly shakes his head. “I’m fine. What do you think about using an actual tiger’s roar for our next one?”

It takes a moment for Jihoon to recover from the incredibly fast change of subject, but he doesn’t have to think very hard before automatically bantering back. “I think it’s admirable that you’ve volunteered to go and record the sound in person yourself,” he says. Which isn’t a no, horribly enough.

Soonyoung’s too distracted by Jihoon offering him up to be eaten by tigers to notice. “Hey!”

Jihoon hides a smirk by turning off the computer and making sure he’s got his keys, his wallet, and his phone. “Come on,” he says, shrugging into his jacket and gesturing until Soonyoung gathers up his own. “Put that on. It’s cold.”

“Yes, darling,” Soonyoung simpers back, acquiescing. He opens the door to the studio and holds it for Jihoon, making a show of waiting to follow him out.

Jihoon shakes his head, too tired to pretend he’s not already smiling, and they start on the trek home. Those two moments where he’d touched Soonyoung and Soonyoung had some sort of weird reaction go totally out of his mind. They were probably just the product of too much sleep deprivation, or something, so Jihoon should hint to Seungcheol that Soonyoung needs to sleep more in a way that keeps their esteemed leader from getting on Jihoon’s case about that as well.

There’s no use in Jihoon thinking too hard about it, given it’s end of year award season and they’re about to have a comeback.

Soonyoung’s entire family are omegas. It’s an open secret; even the non-stalker fans know.

Soonyoung ended up blurting that fact out around the same time he revealed on live broadcast that he was getting his braces off on Friday, and Jihoon remembers that the company couldn’t decide which of the two to be angrier about.

The thing about idols is that a good portion of your exposure to fans is done with the protection of a screen, so there’s none of the usual information-transferring due to scent. And while most people go through adolescence waiting to see if they’re going to present⁠—⁠the alpha or omega of it all made rather evident by presence or non-presence of actual organs, etc.⁠—⁠Pledis offered complimentary genetic testing for their trainees just so they could put together the most optimally combined group. They knew what most of them were going to be before puberty had her final say-so.

So it wasn’t like . . . them being mad that Soonyoung had been hiding, or anything. More like: Soonyoung’s entire family are omegas (similar to how Wonwoo’s entire family are alphas), and that’s one of the few situations where parents-to-be don’t even need to wait for a prenatal sex discernment to find out their child’s designation; alpha is dominant over omega, after all. Now the whole world (or at least, the portions watching Seventeen TV) knew that one of them was most likely going to present omega. You could infer a lot about the rest of them, just from that.

Jihoon remembers seeing Soonyoung cry⁠—⁠big, silent, achingly painful tears⁠—⁠standing over in one of the few camera-blind spots, after he’d been returned from whatever chewing out the company had seen fit. He remembers the close-mouthed squabble he’d gotten into with Seungcheol about it, before the kid who would one day become their leader sent Jihoon across the practice room with barely more than a raised eyebrow.

“Hey,” Jihoon said. “Soonyoung-ah.” Then he stopped, at a loss.

It was a rare moment of weakness on Soonyoung’s part. Training was hard, so all of them cried more than once or twice, but rarely did Soonyoung or Jihoon. Usually they cried angry tears. Scary tears, to hear the others tell it. Tears about how this was the only thing the two of them wanted. Tears because they felt like they were holding up the weight of the world.

But this wasn’t that. And Soonyoung was only barely inside a camera-blind spot.

“Are you⁠—⁠you shouldn’t cry,” Jihoon said.

Soonyoung wasn’t looking at Jihoon, but when Jihoon spoke, Soonyoung laughed. It was a wet, involuntary sound that seemed much more like sobbing. Jihoon didn’t know what to say after that.

Eventually they’d ended up seated together on the floor, Soonyoung no longer crying⁠—⁠thank God⁠—⁠but instead tucked up under one of Jihoon’s arms. He’d already been too big for that (and realizing so made Jihoon uncomfortable for reasons he wasn’t grown up enough to unravel), yet it seemed to be the only thing keeping Soonyoung from crying. So Jihoon tolerated it. Enjoyed it really, if he were honest.

“I’m glad you’re my alpha, Jihoonie,” Soonyoung mumbled. Then he’d blushed horribly and pressed even closer, before amending, “I mean . . . going to be an alpha.” He hadn’t said anything else, only dug his fingers into his thighs so hard that his knuckles looked white.

Jihoon remembers sighing, how he’d tangled their hands just to make sure Soonyoung wouldn’t cry anymore.

“Yeah,” he thinks he said. Agreed.

Because even at eighteen, Jihoon already knew that he’d do anything in the world to keep Kwon Soonyoung smiling.

Jihoon keeps thinking about it.

Or rather, Jihoon keeps seeing Soonyoung and then thinking about it, and seeing how they’re in a group that spends pretty much all their time together, this means Jihoon thinks about it a whole lot. It’s likely due to boredom, despite them being so very busy. It’s been a while since Jihoon’s had a puzzle that wasn’t music or choreography or the key to success.

So Jihoon picks at it, and he picks at it, and he picks at it, and eventually Jihoon determines that it’s got to be an omega thing, Soonyoung reacting to Jihoon touching him like that. That’s really the only thing that makes sense, because Jihoon’s been palmed on the back of the neck plenty of times and never had that response. Soonyoung being an omega and Jihoon being an alpha is the only glaring difference between the two of them, height and personality aside. At their core they’re the same sort of overbearing creatives, just ambitious and self-conscious enough to succeed in this industry.

Jihoon decides Soonyoung reacted like that to Jihoon touching him because he’s an omega.

And luckily, there are three other omegas in the group.

Jihoon rules out testing his theory on Seungcheol on the basis of not wanting to end up in an extremely painful headlock and turns his attention to the remaining two members of BooSeokSoon. He supposes to be fair he ought to attempt the same with the unpresented omegas in the group, but initiating skinship with Seokmin and Seungkwan is enough of a hardship without adding Hansol, Junhui, and Mingyu into the mix. Besides, a good scientist would run more tests before adding other variables.

At choreography practice for the first of their end of year festivals, Seungkwan and Seokmin don’t have Soonyoung’s reaction to Jihoon putting a hand on the back of their necks. So Jihoon tries it with Hansol and Mingyu, and neither of them react that way as well. He’d much rather know definitively, but Junhui proves too slippery to end up in his grasp. He’ll have to settle for four out of the five.

There are plenty of excuses to touch someone when you’re working upwards of six hours on very complicated and strenuous choreography, so by the end of it, Jihoon thinks he’s even gotten away with his little experiment. But then he ends up standing against a mirror with Jeonghan while Chan and Seokmin and Soonyoung work on one of the little variations that comes with an end of year performance as opposed to an individual comeback, and Jihoon realizes he hasn’t been subtle at all.

“You seem touchy today,” Jeonghan says.

Slightly to the right and in front of them, Mingyu and Minghao appear to be having a staring contest about who is going to get up off the floor to go and fetch water, while to their side Seungkwan repeats the second part of the chorus to their song in his head. Joshua is on his phone. Seungcheol is all the way on the other side of the room talking with staff. But no one is here filming them for a behind the scenes video, at least.

Jihoon glances briefly at Jeonghan warily, and Jeonghan stares right back at him. He lifts one exhausted hand and mimes putting it around Jihoon’s nape in the air between them demonstratively.

Jihoon flushes automatically in response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His ears feel hot, but that could just be because he did five minutes of cardio, or because he had to manufacture an excuse to feel Mingyu up at the end, and he’s never been great at that kind of subterfuge. It’s why he’s always been adamant that his role for fanservice be playing hard to get.

Of course, Jeonghan is unphased. “What is our Jihoonie doing, hm?” he says.

Jihoon continues to glare. “I’m not doing anything.”

Over by the main mirrors Soonyoung does something that has Seokmin barking out a bray of startled laughter, and Jihoon’s attention flicks to the two of them without his say-so. Soonyoung’s in rare form⁠—⁠radiant and bubbling with boundless energy and laughter⁠—⁠yet all Jihoon can think of suddenly is how he’d gone quiet and glassy when Jihoon got his hand around the back of his neck.

And now the practice room feels even more unnaturally hot and uncomfortable.

Jihoon looks longingly at Joshua’s water bottle, still held loosely in Jeonghan’s hand.

“Right,” says their second eldest and vice-leader. “You might want to look up scruffing on Naver, though.”

At Jihoon’s curious look, Jeonghan only smiles widely before holding out the water bottle and refusing to move until Jihoon grudgingly takes it. Joshua has his face buried in his phone anyway. Jihoon can put it back before he notices.

Someone coughs. It appears Jeonghan is waiting for Jihoon to say something.

“Thank you,” Jihoon says.

“You’re welcome,” Jeonghan replies. The smile he gives is unsettling, to say the least.

Scruffing, according to Naver, is a thing that you can do to cats. It’s an involuntary immobilization effect caused by pressure on the nape of the neck that’s left over from when a cat is a baby and its mother has to carry it around in her mouth. All the things Jihoon reads about it online suggest that doing this to a domestic animal can cause anxiety and behavioral issues. While experts seem to go back and forth about the voracity of such a statement, Jihoon is the one filled with anxiety.

And behavioral issues.

Because like.

Is Jihoon giving Soonyoung anxiety when he touches the back of his neck? Is that why his eyes got all big and blank and hazy? Why his breath hitched? Why the rest of his body did that little . . . shuddering wave? Jihoon thinks about it and has his own breath-stopping, body-shaking moment, and then when he purposely tries not to think too hard about it, he finds traces of the feeling in all the lyrics and music that keep pouring out of him, uncontained. Jihoon’s fingers want to write nervous, scared-for-you love songs, which are nothing like the meaningful ballads and rousing dance classics his career until this moment has demanded.

And that is too pressing of a concern for Jihoon to be content with not having a definitive answer, so he moves on to the next stage in his plan.

If it’s not an omega thing⁠—⁠and Jihoon has now touched so many of his members’ necks that he can say as much for certain and then some⁠—⁠then it must be an alpha and omega thing, in which case Jihoon needs to get one of the other alphas in the group to touch Soonyoung.

For science, and for the good of Seventeen.

Jihoon picks Wonwoo.

It’s a bit of a no brainer given his other options are Jeonghan, Joshua, Chan and maybe Minghao, who is technically still a beta, and a remarkably calm one at that. Wonwoo will give Jihoon crap and remember this for the rest of both their lives, but he’ll also mind his own business. He may also offer insight to Jihoon’s plight.

At least going to him won’t end with Jihoon in debt to one of Seventeen’s evil twins or with him scarring their maknae.

“You want me to touch Soonyoung’s neck,” says Wonwoo, somehow managing to make the statement sound much worse than it actually is.

They’re standing alone together in a practice room waiting for the Performance Team to arrive for group dance practice, and no one is close enough to overhear them, or they’re too distracted by their phones to pay attention to Jihoon and Wonwoo.

Small mercies.

“I need you to touch Soonyoung’s neck and then never talk to me about it,” corrects Jihoon gruffly, grateful for the fact that he’s decided to have this conversation on one of the days when they have so many schedules that Jihoon has ended up at practice still wearing makeup, because it means no one can see his blush. “Unless⁠—⁠uh⁠—⁠he gets weird about it,” Jihoon adds quickly, since it would be a waste of effort not to learn the results of his experiment, given this monumental blow to his pride. His skin itches, but he missed the window where he could bow off to the bathroom to wash off the foundation in the sink, so he’ll just have to deal.

For several long moments, it seems like Wonwoo is actually going to say “no” to Jihoon⁠—⁠or say nothing at all. But after a few more long seconds⁠—⁠in which Wonwoo continues to remain silent and doesn’t even appear to blink behind the menacing glint of his anime-fucking-worthy glasses⁠—⁠Wonwoo settles back on his heels.

“Okay,” he says. Then he fucking . . . walks off.

Jihoon is left staring after him, wondering if he should chase Wonwoo down to make sure he hasn’t ended up in a life debt to Seventeen’s fucking . . . gamer fox devil, or something, when the door to the practice room opens and admits the entire Performance Team. Of course, Soonyoung ends up immediately bouncing at Jihoon’s side.

“Oh, hey. You’ve still got⁠—⁠hang on,” Soonyoung says, then vanishes to beg a pack of facial wipes off of one of their managers, which he presents to Jihoon quickly after. The smile he gives Jihoon is sunny and wide. “Here. We wouldn’t want our darling vocal boss Woozi to get a pimple before award show season.”

Because makeup for stage is different from makeup for filming schedules, and Soonyoung⁠—⁠like all of them⁠—⁠intimately knows that; Jihoon’s heart has no business beating this fast all of a sudden. He’s probably still flushed underneath the foundation.

All the more reason not to take the offered item.

“Jihoonie?” Soonyoung’s head tilts to the side. “You’re okay?” He’s always been way too perceptive for his own good.

“Yeah, fine. Thanks.” Jihoon reaches out and snags the packet of wipes before Soonyoung can do something worse like inhale and slides one of his thumbnails underneath the adhesive. He pulls it open and takes out a couple of wipes. No one watches as Jihoon cleans off his face except Soonyoung, who Jihoon finds still watching him once he’s done and his skin feels a little raw and chilled in the cool air. They always keep the air conditioning in the practice room on high, and while everyone appreciates that by the end of the first full run through, right now Jihoon isn’t too fond.

But Soonyoung only keeps smiling, eyes kind.

“Thanks,” Jihoon repeats. He hands the wipes back to Soonyoung. Their hands touch, and there’s a little spark between them. Soonyoung doesn’t pull away.

Instead he grins wider, darting out his free hand to steal a fucking ruffle of Jihoon’s hair before practically bounding away.

Manager-hyung takes the wipes back from Soonyoung looking ear-splittingly fond, and Jihoon is left standing alone with his face still feeling funny. His cheeks are unnaturally hot.

Someone coughs.

When Jihoon looks to the left, he finds Wonwoo watching him with one eyebrow raised. He still doesn’t say anything, but Jihoon has the distinct impression that he is going to be in debt for the rest of his life and then some.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Wonwoo takes a few steps forward and gets pulled into doing stretches with Mingyu, all the while continuing to radiate smug knowingness.

Jihoon grits his teeth and goes about doing his own warmups, telling himself that it’ll all be worth it. Wonwoo will scruff Soonyoung and Soonyoung will react as he had when Jihoon touched him, and the mystery will be solved. Seventeen will have a successful award season, and may even finish out the year with more trophies to bring home to the dorm.

It’ll all be fine.

It’s not fine.

Wonwoo doesn’t use the cover of dance practice to go about scruffing Soonyoung. It’s only when they’ve finally been released to shower off all the sweat and exertion in between sleeping before more and more schedules that Jihoon notices him draping an arm around Soonyoung’s shoulders, his right-hand landing firmly on the back of Soonyoung’s neck.

What seems like every muscle in Jihoon’s body goes tense, waiting for the reaction that will surely come, only nothing happens.

Soonyoung doesn’t stop talking, doesn’t stop walking, and seems perfectly at ease with Wonwoo’s touch. For some reason Jihoon is the one who feels hot and bothered, who has the horrible urge to go across the hall and knock Wonwoo’s hand off of Soonyoung even though he was the one who asked Wonwoo to do it in the first place.

Wonwoo doesn’t know the intricacies of Jihoon’s request (thank God), so he has no way of knowing that Jihoon doesn’t need him to touch Soonyoung for an extended period of time, and so it would be unfair for Jihoon to remove all of his lines from the album. Or the one after this one. Or the next.

That thought is truly absurd, and Jihoon doesn’t know why he’s had it to begin with; it’s very out of character for him.

At least Jihoon knows now that it’s not a Soonyoung-and-an-alpha thing. It could just be that Soonyoung is different with Wonwoo, but Jihoon’s not so affected that he’s willing to risk involving anyone else. Maybe it is just a fluke. Maybe it’s not all that Jihoon is making it out to be.

But that night the songs still come out embarrassing and messy and very much unsalvageable, so Jihoon decides he has to be sure.

It is surprisingly easy to end up alone with Soonyoung again. All Jihoon has to do is send Bumzu-hyung home to his omega girlfriend with the assurance that Jihoon will also go home shortly, and a couple hours after that⁠—⁠Jihoon’s not counting, or anything, but the clock is on his computer screen and he has to stare at his computer screen as part of his workflow; so sue him⁠—⁠Soonyoung shows up, bringing food.

“Jihoon-ah?” Soonyoung lets himself in without the courtesy of knocking, and Jihoon knows he kicks his shoes off before coming into the room any further.

Jihoon is actually rather deep in it at this point, but he lifts the hand not on the mouse and sticks it in the air in acknowledgement regardless, grunting a little to show that he heard. He can also hear Soonyoung setting down his coat and the bags of takeout behind him, an unfortunate side effect of listening with his whole body to two bars of a song for several hours.

The food Soonyoung bought smells good⁠—⁠as usual, he’s chosen Jihoon’s favorites⁠—⁠but Soonyoung smells good too. A swarm of pheromones float their way across the room and are drawn up against the roof of Jihoon’s mouth, tickling his senses with an excess of information. Where Soonyoung is in his cycle⁠—⁠solidly in the middle of anestrus, given it’s early December⁠—⁠and his general health⁠—⁠fine, but could be better if they weren’t idols. Soonyoung showered before coming here. He probably sweated off the lingering amount of scent blockers when he was practicing, too. This late at night, he wouldn’t have seen the need to reapply.

To be fair, it’s not like Jihoon’s wearing anything either. He could probably go for a shower too, actually. So Soonyoung’s getting the worse end of the stick for sure.

Soonyoung finishes setting up a make-shift dinner table in the middle of Jihoon’s studio, and then he comes closer to look over Jihoon’s shoulder, something Jihoon becomes aware of because he still has his hand in the air from his greeting, and instead of being normal about it, Soonyoung high fives Jihoon and then attempts to take hold of Jihoon’s hand with his own. Soonyoung’s fingers are cold from outside and uncomfortably moist.

Jihoon shies away from the icy, sticky combination, hits stop on the track’s playback, and tugs off the headset to expose to his left ear. “What are you doing?”

Soonyoung is unrumpled by Jihoon’s prickliness, cocking his head to the side as he surveys Jihoon’s work. “Nothing. What are you working on? Are you sick?”

It’s like being hit in the face with the full brunt of a typhoon, talking to Kwon Soonyoung. Jihoon presses the necessary keys to save the travesty he’s been working on, fully aware he’s going to need both hands⁠—⁠and ears⁠—⁠to keep from drowning. “What? No.”

Soonyoung is still looking at the waveforms on Jihoon’s computer, but he bends down a little and sniffs Jihoon rather rudely with absolutely zero tact. “You smell tired,” he says, which is ridiculous⁠—⁠people don’t smell tired. They smell like an omega or an alpha or a beta. They smell like they’re mated. That sort of shit. “Are you sure you’re not getting sick?”

Jihoon finds himself inhaling before he can help himself, and while he doesn’t smell anything out of the ordinary, his throat suddenly starts to itch. Shit.

“I’m not⁠—⁠stop that⁠—⁠”

Soonyoung has stopped pretending to understand Pro Tools and is instead blatantly attempting to inhale Jihoon’s hair, dropping his full weight down onto Jihoon’s shoulders as part of his quest. His breath keeps hitting Jihoon’s scalp and forehead and the tip of one ear, which tickles.

Jihoon takes the headset off entirely and sets it aside, clicks save one more time to be sure, and then rolls his chair back. And then he becomes abruptly aware of how stiff his body feels. The rumbling displeasure of his empty stomach makes itself angrily known. For some terrible reason, all Jihoon can think about is a conversation he and Soonyoung had back when they were sleep-deprived trainees. How it was both a blessing and a curse that the human body could forget to be hungry when its mind was focusing entirely on something creative, because it made for stunning feats of choreography and oftentimes entire songs. But the moment the stimulus went away⁠—⁠the dance was finished; the composition was finalized⁠—⁠a person (like Jihoon or Soonyoung) was left with a debilitating, hungry ache.

To add insult to injury, Jihoon’s stomach chooses this exact moment to let out an audible growl.

Soonyoung’s eyes crinkle, and his lips twitch up at the corners. He’s clearly trying not to laugh. “I guess you are hungry, though,” he says.

Jihoon glares at him, but his stomach grumbles some more, so he can’t exactly argue.

Soonyoung gives in and laughs. “Come on,” he says, nudging Jihoon further away from his computer. “I got your favorites.” He makes a huge fuss of it, waggling both of his eyebrows and going in for a hug. Then he cackles even louder when Jihoon rebuffs him aggressively. He falls onto the couch beside Jihoon and starts patting his cheek over and over, asking for a kiss.

Jihoon reaches for one set of wooden chopsticks and breaks them apart, ignoring the spectacle. With one final, full-body laugh, Soonyoung settles down as well. They eat with very little commentary. It’s only afterwards that Soonyoung asks to hear the song.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s not finished and you’re weirdly precious about that sometimes, but I thought, since you seemed particularly frustrated, maybe I could help?”

He’s been doing that a lot recently, showing a surprising amount of insight to and consideration towards Jihoon’s feelings, but Jihoon still feels oddly giddy about it. It’s kind of how he felt the first time he tried to dismiss Soonyoung from the studio by explaining that he was actually in the middle of leaving to head to the gym, and instead of leaving him alone, Soonyoung asked if he could tag along, citing orders from his doctor regarding his shoulder. Soonyoung has continued tagging along, sometimes with other members, but more often than not it’s just the two of them and their trainer, hours permitting. Jihoon keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Soonyoung’s complaining about Jihoon’s night-owl timing to turn into outright denials and finally the breaking of that habit, but that hasn’t happened. Soonyoung continues to come. Jihoon . . . doesn’t want to like that as much as he does.

This feels the same.

It’s been too long now without Jihoon saying something.

Soonyoung’s cheeks have turned faintly pink. “Or not,” he says quietly, once he seems to confirm that Jihoon is actually looking at and seeing him. “I know I’m not as good as Hansollie at this sort of thing. Or Coups-hyung, of course.” Those two are Jihoon’s most frequent collaborators.

“You’re not.” The words come out truthfully and without any attempt to soften their blow, but Soonyoung takes them neatly on the chin.

“Right, well, I’ll just . . .” He stands like he’s going to start cleaning the trash from their dinner and then leave.

Jihoon’s heart does something ridiculous in his chest, feeling almost like it’s jumped up and landed in his throat. “But you’re still helpful, Soonyoung-ah,” he says quickly. “I . . . like your input. It helps.”

None of the other members will hold back when it comes to potential Seventeen songs, but no one else is as demonstrative as Soonyoung is when he likes something. It’s been slow coming, but Jihoon is starting to think he appreciates that the most. Of course, while logic says he shouldn’t be embarrassed about liking it, Jihoon’s heart seems to have missed that memo.

In the time it’s taken Jihoon to think all of that, Soonyoung’s flush has transformed into a full blush. It colors his cheeks, his ears, and probably the back of his neck. It disappears down his shirt collar, most likely covering part of his chest.

“Oh,” says Soonyoung.

“Yeah,” Jihoon agrees.

Neither of them seems able to meet the other’s eyes.

Desperately, Jihoon searches for something to change the subject to. He comes up painfully blank. And then Soonyoung beats him to it, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly. He starts talking, but Jihoon isn’t listening. Jihoon is thinking about his little scruffing experiment. He’s thinking about the work he put into touching Seokmin and Seungkwan and Mingyu and Hansol. About how he now lives in fear of Jeon Wonwoo, whose touch had no similar effect.

Before Soonyoung arrived, Jihoon had to resort to fiddling with melody and chord progressions for something not even for the re-package, because every time he tried writing lyrics for the B-Side, the words came out wrong.

How kind of Soonyoung to show up here and touch his neck.

“Jihoonie?”

Jihoon returns to his body and finds Soonyoung tilting his head at Jihoon curiously.

“Are you not listening? You’re sure you’re not sick?” Soonyoung sniffs again, but Jihoon ignores him.

He stands up. “I’m not sick. Hey, listen. I’m going to try something. Don’t be weird.”

Soonyoung’s brow furrows with honest confusion, yet when Jihoon willingly reaches for him he holds Jihoon’s hand back. “What⁠—⁠what are you doing?”

Jihoon has the involuntary thought that their hands fit together rather nicely, before he banishes it in favor of tugging Soonyoung up off the couch.

“Jihoon⁠—⁠”

“I’m going to try something,” says Jihoon again quickly. He lets go of Soonyoung’s hand, but Soonyoung trips a little trying to follow him, so they end up much closer together than intended. In fact, Soonyoung is bent over so much that they’re nose to nose.

Soonyoung has very pretty eyelashes, Jihoon notes. For some reason Jihoon doesn’t think Soonyoung is even breathing. He needs to if he wants to talk, though, so after one beat, all that air comes out of him in one messy gasp. “Um. Okay⁠—⁠”

This time when Jihoon puts his hand on the back of Soonyoung’s neck, he makes no secret of it. He is carefully intentioned about the placement of his hand.

Soonyoung had been in the middle of standing back up, but the moment Jihoon touches him he freezes. His eyes grow large, his breath catching once more in his throat. For three seconds he stands there simply staring at Jihoon, not even moving to blink. And then he exhales messily⁠—⁠very loudly like he’d done just before. “Ji-hoonie?” Soonyoung’s voice cracks in the middle, the higher-pitched ending syllable of Jihoon’s name signifying his confusion.

But other than that, nothing seems to be happening so Jihoon heaves a great sigh of relief. “Right, okay, so⁠—⁠we’re going to pretend this never happened⁠—⁠”

Soonyoung still appears to be malfunctioning, but he’s not doing any of the other stuff he’d done previously, so Jihoon doesn’t really mind. He goes to take his hand away, and Soonyoung . . . whines. That’s all Jihoon can describe it as, this odd, high, complaining sound that ought to belong to a dog, and not a person. Certainly not to Jihoon’s friend.

Tigers don’t sound like that, Jihoon thinks, crazily⁠—⁠indulgently. He doesn’t know where that thought came from, but he knows that he doesn’t like that Soonyoung sounds like that. He doesn’t like that Soonyoung’s so unhappy to no longer have Jihoon’s hand on him; how Soonyoung seems hurt just because Jihoon let him go.

Jihoon needs to remedy that, suddenly. He’ll touch Soonyoung on the neck and then just keep touching him⁠—⁠he’d touch Soonyoung forever, honestly⁠—⁠just to make it stop. To get that look off his face.

But Soonyoung still seems frozen. Jihoon squints at him. Oh no. Is it happening again?

“Soonyoung?”

All Jihoon says is Soonyoung’s name, yet that breach in the silence makes Soonyoung startle as if he’d been shot. He moves⁠—⁠not away from Jihoon but still like he’s jumping⁠—⁠and his eyes (which are once again a bit glassy) look very wide. He pants, panicked breaths that seem startling to both Jihoon and to Soonyoung. He makes another strange, aborted noise.

Jihoon is immediately very worried and already moving towards him, his other hand⁠—⁠the one not holding him by the neck⁠—⁠coming up to feel his red forehead. “Yah, are you okay?”

“Stop! I’m⁠—⁠I’m fine, honestly!”

The volume Soonyoung speaks with has Jihoon wincing and taking half a step back. “Ah⁠—⁠”

“You were trying something?” Soonyoung’s voice is filled to the brim with nervous energy, and Jihoon imagines he can see something similarly frenetic buzzing under his skin.

He stares at Soonyoung, honestly baffled, but he cannot for the life of him figure out what’s causing this change.

And then, all of a sudden, Soonyoung’s scent shifts.

In actuality, it’s a slow, oozing sort of deepening that Jihoon can only liken to syrup being poured over pancakes, because by the time his brain determines what exactly is happening, Jihoon has already inhaled several lungfuls of Soonyoung’s pheromones, and it’s like they’ve completely bogged him down. His entire body feels sluggish. His hearing seems oddly affected. Jihoon imagines this is what it would be like to be a prehistoric bug entombed in amber, unearthed an eon later by a scientist with a dream.

Somehow, Jihoon speaks. “Did you just⁠—⁠”

While Soonyoung still seems immobilized by Jihoon’s hand on his neck, his lungs continue to suffer no such trouble. “I am so sorry!” he shouts.

He’s so fucking loud.

“Ow.” Jihoon tries to take a real step back but finds he can’t. It’s as if both his feet have been soldered to the ground. It’s on the tip of his tongue, what’s happening. It’s a slow-motion car crash and in two seconds Jihoon is going to stop dissociating and attempt to take control of the steering wheel. He is.

Soonyoung is still standing there in front of Jihoon with wild eyes and a mouth that won’t stop trembling. He shifts his weight onto his back foot and a new scent enters the room.

Realization comes tripping closer like rocks being skipped over water, and at the end of a run with enough beats to last an octave, it lands with a tremendous splash. Jihoon feels wet all over because of it. His chest hurts like it’s been filled up with water. He can’t remember how to breathe.

“Aren’t you on suppressants?” The words come out of Jihoon’s mouth sounding raw.

Biologically speaking, humans are designed to go into heat and rut during the spring and summer months, when the days are longer and there’s more light. It’s to make sure that children are born during those months as well, since winter isn’t safe for raising babies. Most people can get away with only taking suppressants during the mating season, or if they’re extremely lucky, by managing their symptoms during the actual days spent in heat and rut.

Jihoon and Soonyoung are not most people.

Jihoon takes suppressants year-round, even though his body has always favored only having two ruts a season with much-longer-than-the-usual-sixty-day periods of nothing in between. He knows the rest of the group⁠—⁠and therefore also Soonyoung⁠—⁠does the same.

This should not be happening.

Yet it clearly is.

Soonyoung still hasn’t moved.

“Soonyoung?”

Jihoon’s words clearly startle him. “I forgot!”

Jihoon winces at the volume. “What do you mean you forgot?” That was a lot louder than Jihoon intended, but whatever; he’s panicking. “You have SBS pre-recording tomorrow! Then we have SBS pre-recording the day after! And KBS on Friday! MBC!”

After each exclamation Soonyoung flinches as if he’d been hit, though he still hasn’t pulled away from Jihoon’s hand. “I know, I’m sorry!” he says, still mostly shouting. “It’s just a baby one! I’ll be fine again once I get a knot!”

Jihoon finally pulls his hand away from Soonyoung’s neck like he’s been burned, the images that sentence has conjured in his head making the tips of his ears feel hot. God, Soonyoung on someone’s knot . . . no, no, no, bad-wrong, Jihoon needs to hold that thought now.

At least Soonyoung appears equally horrified by his words. He covers his mouth with both hands and stares at Jihoon with a panicked expression on his incredibly pink face.

For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Then Jihoon exhales, and the noise must startle Soonyoung, who twitches, or something, and the room is flooded with the smell of what can only be Soonyoung’s slick, and Jihoon is not equipped to deal with this. Not at all. He scrambles to find his composure, but it escapes him. It fucking laughs at him, hightailing it out of the studio like the rabbit in that children’s story. The one with the hat and the cake and the cat with a smile.

The songwriter in Jihoon makes a note that something of that train of thought could be useful for their next album. The alpha in Jihoon insists this is all useless and unimportant information. With no one to wrangle it, Jihoon’s mouth keeps talking without his wherewithal.

“Right, so . . . I’ll just have to go to the convenience store and get you one⁠—⁠”

Jihoon comes back to himself in the middle of speaking and doesn’t even bother to finish that sentence, unable to keep from shuddering at the thought of being caught in a convenience store shopping for a fake knot. It wouldn’t look good if any of them did such a thing, but for it to be Jihoon, who has carefully cultivated an image of being an excessive homebody? That would be the worst of all.

It’s clear Soonyoung has reached the same conclusion. Both his hands are still covering his mouth, yet after a moment, he slides them further up like he’s hoping to cover his entire face. When he speaks, his voice is muffled by his own fingers more than his embarrassment. “Maybe it’ll go away on its own?”

Regrettably Jihoon likes him, so he allows him the courtesy of several seconds’ consideration. In that time Jihoon inhales and exhales twice out of necessity and determines that, no, it will not be going away. Soonyoung’s in heat and no amount of wishing it away will change that. Even if Soonyoung insists it is just a “baby” one.

Soonyoung clearly realizes that as well. He doesn’t lower his hands, but he swears. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

Jihoon watches him with mild bemusement, trying to focus on the humor in the situation instead of anything else. If Jihoon thinks about it too closely, he’ll probably have something like a panic attack. The studio does not have good enough ventilation, and the smell of Soonyoung’s sli⁠—⁠Soonyoung’s pheromones are worryingly close to making Jihoon hard. He’s only been breathing through his nose, but that can only go so far, and unfortunately Jihoon still needs to talk.

Soonyoung moves both hands to press his palms against his eyes. “Are you going to call me someone?”

Jihoon stops trying to hold his breath and makes a strangled noise of protest. “Am I going to call you someone? Do you think I have the number for a prostitute on hand?” He thinks he may actually be blushing.

Soonyoung peels his hands apart and looks at Jihoon with both palms resting against his temples, which makes him look a little bit like a fish. “What?” he says. “No⁠—⁠my manager! I meant are you going to call my manager! Oh my God!”

Jihoon is definitely blushing now. “Oh.” He swallows. “I guess so.” He pauses, not really thinking, and then, because Soonyoung’s manager is actually an alpha: “You’re sleeping with Manager-hyung?” Jihoon asks.

The sentence sounds ridiculous the moment it’s finished coming out of Jihoon’s mouth, but he can’t take it back or anything so he may as well stand behind it, or something. Or maybe some deity will at last take pity on him and the ground will swallow Jihoon whole.

Soonyoung has let go of his head entirely and is now staring at Jihoon with his mouth open wide, but after two more painful seconds, he speaks. “What the hell, Jihoon? No! He’s, like, twice my age and married! That’d be gross!”

He’s just shrill enough⁠—⁠and just in heat enough⁠—⁠that all of Jihoon’s alpha-instincts start clamoring for him to hurry up and apologize and do everything in his power to make sure Soonyoung never ever yells at him again, because Jihoon is a good, understanding alpha who would be a fantastic provider. And also he’s much better than Soonyoung’s married, older alpha manager. Soonyoung ought to fire him and hire Jihoon, really. God.

All of that is so fucking annoying and ridiculous that Jihoon snaps right back.

“Don’t get mad at me,” he says. “I’m not the one who forgot to take my suppressants.”

Soonyoung closes his mouth and glares at Jihoon like a petulant toddler, which would normally be very funny and incredibly satisfying to the vindictive bastard that lives part-time inside Jihoon, but it is neither of those things because Soonyoung is giving off so many heat pheromones now.

Jihoon feels light-headed and little like he’s just run a marathon.

Soonyoung pouts even harder. “I said I forgot. I don’t usually need them at home.”

Right, because Soonyoung’s entire family are omegas, and that coupled with the familial connection would probably be enough to keep them from having out of season heats. Soonyoung’s parents are of course mated, so no doubt they have regular cycles, but Soonyoung and his sister wouldn’t be affected by their parents like that. And, great. Now Jihoon’s thinking about Soonyoung’s parents fucking, which is somehow just as bad as thinking about his own parents doing the deed.

“Thanks for that,” Jihoon tells Soonyoung, even though Soonyoung has no idea what he’s being thanked for. It makes Jihoon happy to watch the thoughts frantically hurry around behind his eyes when Soonyoung realizes he doesn’t understand. It’s also funny when he gets embarrassed, then mad.

“Jihoon!” That was almost a whine.

Jihoon tries not to be affected by that. If he is, he tells himself it’s just because Soonyoung’s in heat. “Yeah, well, you live with alphas now. All the more reason never to forget. Didn’t Seungcheol tell you?”

For some reason Soonyoung shudders at the mention of their leader. “Coups-hyung’s idea of sexual education is emotionally scarring,” he says.

Jihoon doesn’t know what to do with that. “Okay,” he starts. “So⁠—⁠”

“Wait, hold on. Jihoonie,” interrupts Soonyoung suddenly. “You said I’m living with alphas. You’re an alpha. So . . .” He trails off, but his meaning is crystal. All Jihoon can do is stare.

And stare. And stare. And stare.

And then⁠—⁠

“Oh, God, you’re serious,” Jihoon says.

For some reason, Soonyoung almost looks . . . hurt. But as ever, he covers it up with personality. “You said it yourself. Tomorrow I’ve got pre-recording. You’re an alpha. You’ve got a knot.”

After he says that Soonyoung stares down at the front of Jihoon’s sweatpants, which thankfully are dark enough not to be showing a wet patch.

Somewhere in the middle of the discussions Jihoon went fully hard, the combination of heat pheromones and talking about sex with prostitutes having done their part. It’s not like Jihoon has ever paid for sex⁠—⁠or goes around having sex at all given his very busy schedule as a reclusive, self-producing idol⁠—⁠but the thought of Soonyoung doing it did something for him. Especially because Soonyoung smells so fucking good. Liked fried rice or Coke Zero or writing a fucking song, not that any of that makes sense.

Jihoon breathes Soonyoung in, and Jihoon’s dick starts raising the metaphorical drawbridge so that it can ride out to meet him. Jihoon understands now why some of the older groups are mostly alphas and betas; biology really is the worst.

(A smaller part of Jihoon points out that it wouldn’t be the same if it were any other omega. That part of the reason Jihoon’s so insane for him now is not because Soonyoung’s an omega in heat but because it’s Soonyoung period. If Jihoon walked by a random stranger and smelled heat on them, he wouldn’t be affected at all. But those thoughts are frightening given that he and Soonyoung are world-famous idols, so Jihoon ignores them all.)

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? You’re here, and I like you. I trust you. We’re like family. That . . . sounded way better in my head.”

Soonyoung really is like a hurricane. No wonder he suited the song so well.

The only thing Jihoon can do is laugh at him. Because he’s the same kind of crazy, Soonyoung grins right back. “That’s not a no,” he hedges.

Jihoon gazes at him. “It’s . . . not.” Admittedly, he had thought about it. About all of them, but mostly of Soonyoung and Seungcheol. Not for any reason in particular⁠—⁠probably just because with them the power dynamics felt a little less . . . constrained, since the only other omegas in the group were younger, after all. The first man that Jihoon actually thought was attractive was unfortunately Bumzu-hyung, and even that he determined was because he liked the music the two of them made.

“So then let’s do it,” says Soonyoung suddenly. It feels like Jihoon missed a crucial opportunity to argue otherwise when he was lost inside his own head. But almost immediately Soonyoung colors, clearly from embarrassment and not just from the flush of his heat. “Or you could just let me down easy and call Manager-hyung and pretend this never happened,” he says. “I can tell you’re not into me. I mean.” He smiles, but it’s totally self-deprecating and not at all attractive; in fact, looking at it kind of gives Jihoon hives. “You’re capable of full sentences.”

Jihoon doesn’t know what to do with that. Of all of them, Soonyoung’s pretty much the least stereotypical. He’s loud and buoyant and no one believes it when the rest of them say he likes and needs his alone time. He talks back and he doesn’t have a filter and when he wants something he goes after it, hard.

The way Soonyoung is catering to Jihoon right now is distinctly like the omega stereotype, though.

Jihoon doesn’t like it. And then, of course, he does like it. And that makes him mad. “You’re clearly capable of full sentences too.”

Soonyoung’s control seems to snap. “Yeah, and it’s killing me, Jihoonie, fuck,” he says. “You’re standing there all you-like with your hair and your face and your fingers and I know you just got bored and made a song that will definitely chart on Melon in less than an hour and all I want to do is put your cock in my ass⁠—⁠” He stops talking and swears again, louder this time. Jihoon wonders for a second what for, but then Soonyoung doesn’t have a filter. “I really liked these pants.”

Jihoon really can’t help it when he inhales deeply in response. Soonyoung is wet and leaking and Jihoon can smell that. He’s fighting a losing battle to keep his mouth closed.

Something of that naked wanting must show on his face because Soonyoung finally reaches his limit and reaches for him, only Jihoon flinches away before he can stop himself, not expecting the move. But, as usual, Soonyoung stops immediately, an apology forming instantly on his tongue

“Oh, no, Jihoonie. You’re right. I’m sorry. We can just . . . look up the number for a prostitute⁠—⁠”

Jihoon glares at him because he hates anything resembling pity and steps closer so that he can put both of Soonyoung’s hands on his chest, as Soonyoung had clearly intended to do before. “No, you’re right,” he says. “You have pre-recording tomorrow. We’ve got to deal with this now.”

Soonyoung looks like all higher thought-function abandoned him the moment he got his hands on Jihoon’s pectorals, which is oddly flattering to Jihoon right now. He’s flushed and more than a little dumbstruck. He also hasn’t been able to close his mouth since they started speaking, and it’s terribly captivating when his tongue peeks out.

Three seconds go by, and Soonyoung shows no further signs of composure. He tries to say something but his throat must close up, so he wets his lips again, and Jihoon watches the second glide of his tongue with rapt attention. A beat after that, Soonyoung gives up on speaking. His fingers twitch against Jihoon’s chest, almost groping. He whines.

Hearing this, Jihoon flexes a little.

Soonyoung gasps, finding his words. “That’s unfair, Jihoon-ah⁠—⁠”

“It’s why you should go to the gym with me⁠—⁠”

“I do go to the gym with you,” interjects Soonyoung petulantly, squeezing at Jihoon’s chest almost punishingly. He doesn’t put a lot of strength into it, kneading more like a kitten, but Jihoon’s breath catches a little regardless. “I have been going to the gym with you,” Soonyoung says. “I go to the gym with you all the time, and I still don’t look like⁠—⁠”

Abruptly he breaks off. Jihoon thinks the heat is finally getting to him. He doesn’t usually struggle this much with words. At least not when it’s just the two of them. On camera, Soonyoung’s a whole class act.

“Like?” Jihoon prompts eventually.

“Stupid,” Soonyoung growls, which surely isn’t the right answer.

He feels up Jihoon’s chest harder, palms pressing firmly against the points of Jihoon’s nipples. The fabric of his t-shirt covered only by a sweatshirt isn’t enough of a buffer. It isn’t enough to keep Jihoon from letting out another gasp.

Soonyoung looks smug and then unsettled and more than a little hazy. “Ha,” he says. And then, “Boobs.”

It would probably be mean to laugh at him. Rude, or something. Jihoon’s never slept with anyone before, let alone a gorgeous, talented, and world-famous omega who is also one of his members, but he knows he shouldn’t make fun. That might result in Soonyoung throwing him out and getting another alpha. Not that Jihoon cares.

“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay,” says Jihoon.

He’s not sure why that is the thing that gets to Soonyoung. Not any of the other stuff⁠—⁠just, Jihoon’s words.

“Yeah,” says Soonyoung. “You’re not my first kiss, though, sorry.”

“Idiot,” says Jihoon. “I was there for your first kiss.” He feels a little bad, and continues, “You were there for mine.”

“With Seungcheol.” Soonyoung says their leader’s name in a way that Jihoon’s never heard before, and when he tilts his head questioningly Soonyoung only looks ticked off, almost mad. “You’ve got to kiss me now, Jihoon-ah, or else I’m going to say something I can’t recover from⁠—⁠”

Jihoon leans up and pecks him on the lips, cutting off his sentence, then pulls back with his ears feeling extremely hot. “You’re in heat. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“He’s some kind of alien. One time I said his full name to my parents jokingly, and I swear he knew. He’d know.”

It’s quite possible this is Soonyoung’s heat talking, so Jihoon just nods. “Yeah, okay.” He looks at Soonyoung’s mouth again, noting that it’s closed now, and thinks that if he kissed it again it’d be better this time. “I didn’t hear you say anything. Did you need something from me?”

Soonyoung’s eyes crinkle happily, and he somehow smells grateful. Jihoon’s brain tries to argue that’s now how scent works, honestly, but the rest of him drowns that bit of logic out. Soonyoung happy is good. Soonyoung happy because of Jihoon is great.

“You were kissing me,” says Soonyoung.

“Mm.” Jihoon nods at him and hums. Then he fits their mouths together much more purposefully, eyes falling shut.

It’s good. It’s great.

Soonyoung kisses with the clumsy assuredness of someone who doesn’t go around doing it much with people who aren’t already interested in him because he’s a famous idol, but Jihoon doesn’t care that much because it’s not like he’s any better, it seems. It’s wet and awkward and a little too teeth-filled at the beginning, but Soonyoung’s their main dancer, and he immediately lives and breathes any new choreography. Jihoon picks up things so quickly he could have been on the performance team if he wanted to. Two minutes in and they’re practically flying, got it fully memorized to the point where they’d be capable of doing it blind.

Jihoon works his tongue behind Soonyoung’s teeth and Soonyoung yanks his hand through Jihoon’s hair, and all the while the two of them find their way together. Across the room, away from the chair, onto the couch. Soonyoung nearly trips and tries to take Jihoon down with him, but Jihoon refuses to lose his virginity on the floor.

He doesn’t say as much, but Soonyoung still acts like he heard him regardless, yanking away from Jihoon’s kiss with a pained little whine. “You can’t⁠—⁠Jihoonie!” he says, filling Jihoon’s name with so much more than the bare meaning. He gazes up at Jihoon from his place sprawled on Jihoon’s sofa, purple lights making odd shapes in his eyes.

Jihoon feels flushed and a little embarrassed but somehow manages to reply. “Who have you been sleeping with?” he asks.

“No one, Jihoonie, I promise.”

The rumbling green monster in Jihoon’s chest really likes hearing that. He kisses Soonyoung again, gentler this time. When he pulls back Soonyoung’s mouth is all red and shiny.

“And,” says Soonyoung. “And . . . you?”

The conversation only started because Soonyoung inferred about Jihoon’s chastity, so Jihoon doesn’t feel the need to appease him with an answer. But when he stays silent Soonyoung’s scent changes drastically, so Jihoon ends up rolling his eyes. “All I do is make music and go to the gym, you idiot.”

“Yeah, but you’re really handsome.”

“I’m too busy.”

“So? There are other people at the gym. And you’re hot.”

Soonyoung’s gone to the gym with Jihoon enough times now to know that he doesn’t pay anyone but his trainer and himself attention, so Jihoon feels comfortable just shaking his head.

Soonyoung’s mouth puckers automatically. “Well, if you had been with any other omegas I’d put a hit out on them,” he mutters darkly.

Jihoon can’t help but laugh. “Soonyoung-ah!”

“What?” Soonyoung looks flushed and unrepentant. “I’m in heat! It’s allowed!”

Jihoon can’t believe this is his life. He shifts on the couch⁠—⁠and Soonyoung shifts under him. They’re both obviously hard now, but there’s no longer any room to be embarrassed by that fact. Jihoon slips one of his thighs between Soonyoung’s own and grinds, smirking when the move makes Soonyoung tip his head back and stifle a moan, eyes falling shut. Dark hair really suits him. Jihoon knows Soonyoung enjoys the bright colors, but they probably wouldn’t look as pretty under the neon lights.

“Ngh, Jihoon-ah.” On the next rub of Jihoon’s thigh Soonyoung works his hips into it, which must feel amazing because the room floods with his pheromones. This close Jihoon can’t help but smell his slick. The base of his dick, where his knots sits, pulses automatically, an answering call.

An interesting thought floats to the top of Jihoon’s consciousness. Heating omegas can come more than once. Even if they have a cock.

Soonyoung still has his eyes closed, so he doesn’t see it coming when Jihoon reaches for him. He jumps when he feels a hand on his stomach, but only manages rapid blinking as Jihoon worms all five fingers inside his pants.

“Jihoonie. What?”

Jihoon pets further down underneath his boxer briefs, pleased to find that touching someone else’s dick is basically the same. The angle is different and Soonyoung’s definitely longer and thinner on account of him not being an alpha, but the erroneous zones seem to be mostly the same. Jihoon has to work a bit to remember that there’s nothing special to tease at the base of Soonyoung’s dick, but Jihoon also loves having his tip rubbed, so that part is mostly the same. It’s just that Soonyoung’s dick is less wet because his ass is what leaks.

When Jihoon brushes him there accidentally, Soonyoung whines. And then his eyes open somewhat blearily, searching Jihoon’s face with something resembling fear. “Condoms,” he manages finally.

Jihoon has a little trouble connecting his actions and the word. Then he thinks of putting his fingers in Soonyoung’s ass, of putting his cock in Soonyoung’s ass, and the reality of the situation hits him like a meteor strike.

“Right, because you’re⁠—⁠”

“In heat,” Soonyoung finishes for him. “So you’ve got to go get us alpha condoms right now, Jihoonie, and then you can’t let me anywhere near them because I swear right now I⁠—⁠I⁠—⁠I⁠—⁠”

Very kindly Soonyoung decides not to end that sentence, which Jihoon appreciates because he’s not sure he’s ready to face how he’d probably hear Soonyoung start dirty talking about getting pregnant with his children and stay hard.

“I don’t keep condoms in the studio.”

Soonyoung’s face shutters through a terrible number of emotions before settling on⁠—⁠admittedly flattering⁠—⁠frustration. “Well does Bumzu-hyung?” he asks. “Isn’t he dating some omega woman?”

“They weren’t together last season,” says Jihoon. “Also, that’s a horrible image to put in my mind, thanks; I basically live here⁠—⁠”

“Jihoon-ah,” Soonyoung interrupts with a growl. “If you leave me here to go find us condoms I will probably do something I’ll regret later like try to put my entire hand in my ass⁠—⁠”

The image is⁠—⁠unfortunately⁠—⁠not all together unappealing, but Jihoon does snap out of it long enough to get off the couch and start rummaging through places that he imagines Bumzu-hyung might have hidden condoms. He prays to God that it won’t be obvious that he’s used them for this. It’s bad enough that Jihoon is going to have to order a cleaning service after they’re done if he ever wants to let the rest of Seventeen back inside his studio to record. He could risk it, but they’re all too attuned to each other at this point. Jihoon would give Seungkwan (their most sensitive member) all of five seconds to figure out that Jihoon’s fucked someone and that someone was Soonyoung. Even Hansol⁠—⁠who scores the lowest on Jacobson’s tests given that he’s a beta⁠—⁠would figure it out.

Maybe Jihoon can imply to Bumzu-hyung that the condoms got lost when he had the place deep cleaned.

“Any luck?” Soonyoung’s voice sounds funny, and when Jihoon looks up from his latest attempt at rummaging, he finds him on his back on the couch with his sweatpants gone. His underwear is only part of the way off, hanging around his right foot. The left one disappears into the seam of the couch. They’re both spread wide and planted to give Soonyoung leverage. He’s got what looks like three fingers buried in his ass.

Jihoon nearly shuts his thumb in the drawer he’s looking through. His voice sounds utterly wrecked when he calls back. “No.”

“God.” It’s not clear if Soonyoung is reacting to Jihoon’s answer or if he’s done something to his ass that warrants such an exclamation, but Jihoon is not going to look and find out.

He gives up on being neat and quiet and reaches for the next drawer, no longer interested in trying not to seem desperate. His cock is so hard it feels like it’s actually going to fall off⁠—⁠like it could cut the diamonds his entire life has been built around since debuting in a band with a fanbase named after the things.

Soonyoung makes a muffled, pretty sound that Jihoon could definitely write an entire song around. “How about now?”

“No,” Jihoon repeats, but then he opens a drawer and unearths two staplers, a couple dozen paperclips, and a box he’s never seen before. Attached is a Post-it note with what Jihoon recognizes immediately as Jeonghan’s handwriting on it. There’s a little drawing of what Jihoon thinks is supposed to be a worm fucking another worm that has tiger stripes and ears. For our Woozi-worm, it says, with an annoyingly drawn pair of hearts and no signature. And it’s definitely a box of alpha condoms. Very unexpired⁠—⁠the use by date is almost two years from now⁠—⁠alpha condoms. So they had to have been bought recently as well.

“Jihoon?”

Jihoon doesn’t have time for this. He crumples Jeonghan’s horrible note and sticks it back in the drawer, tearing open the box and pulling out what he needs.

When he gets back to Soonyoung with the fruits of his expedition, Soonyoung grins up at him with honest joy. “Wow, I can’t believe Bumzu-hyung. What a dog⁠—⁠”

Jihoon slaps a hand over his mouth and shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “We’re not talking about this to anyone ever again.”

Soonyoung licks Jihoon’s palm.

Jihoon yanks his hand away, appalled. He’s still hard, though. And Soonyoung’s still got three fingers hooked in his ass.

Jihoon is only a man. He spends precious seconds just watching him, yet when Soonyoung realizes that’s what Jihoon is doing, he tries to close his legs without removing his fingers. His cheeks turn bright red.

“Jihoon-ah!” Soonyoung yelps. He’s clearly embarrassed, but Jihoon has no earthly idea why he ought to be. Jihoon thinks Soonyoung is the most beautiful thing in the world; red on the outside, pink on the inside, flushed and panting and precious⁠—⁠like a jewel.

Soonyoung only stops trying to close his thighs when Jihoon reaches out and purposefully parts them, settling onto the couch between them and looking down at Soonyoung with the pair of condoms held in one hand.

“Would you like some help?” Jihoon waves the condoms around pointedly in the air.

Soonyoung is clearly too far gone to focus on that entirely. “No⁠—⁠yes⁠—⁠no,” he snarls. He keeps fingering himself the whole time, but Jihoon can tell the angle’s not great. Soonyoung can’t get his fingers in that deep. The way he bends his fingers and tugs on his rim on the outstroke reminds Jihoon suddenly of diagrams he saw in sexual education classes.

All of a sudden Soonyoung whines⁠—⁠a noise of displeasure that he’ll no doubt keep making whenever he gets upset or frustrated or simply wants something from their hyungs in the future. Jihoon is going to have a lot of trouble not associating such a sound with this image going forward.

So he swears⁠—⁠under his breath, and not meant to be provoking.

But hearing it, Soonyoung frantically peels open his eyes. He takes his hand away from his ass, and Jihoon tries to ignore how his mouth waters when he sees how wet and sticky Soonyoung’s fingers are. “What is it?” says Soonyoung. “Are you⁠—⁠are you okay?” Am I okay? he doesn’t ask, but Jihoon sees it flitting behind his eyes anyway. Am I being bad? Am I being good?

Soonyoung chews on his own bottom lip to keep those terrible questions inside; Jihoon doesn’t know how they recover regardless.

“You’re fine,” he says, because he imagines he can smell Soonyoung’s potential distress now. There’s an odd spike in Soonyoung’s pheromones that ought to make no sense from a purely logical standpoint, yet sound alarm bells underneath Jihoon’s cool exterior regardless. Soonyoung is an omega, and Soonyoung is panicked and unhappy, and Jihoon would be remiss as an alpha⁠—⁠as a person⁠—⁠if he didn’t remedy such a fact now. “Soonyoungie, you’re fine⁠—⁠”

“I’m⁠—⁠I’m empty,” Soonyoung says suddenly, loud and demanding. “Jihoon⁠—⁠Jihoonie! Give me your cock!”

Jihoon can’t help but laugh at him. “Have you ever been polite in your life⁠—⁠”

“I’m a fucking gift to society,” Soonyoung growls at him, hands reaching for Jihoon’s clothed erection regardless. He seems too uncoordinated to do much to disrobe Jihoon, which actually seems like it may make him cry. “Jihoon-ah!”

God. Jihoon is ruined by that tone.

He shucks his shirt, his pants, his socks and underwear. He watches Soonyoung stare at him without doing similarly, then reaches out to take the boxers off Soonyoung’s right ankle. He pushes off Soonyoung’s hat. “I’m leaving the socks,” he tells Soonyoung oddly gently. Soonyoung’s hair still feels damp when Jihoon touches it, not having dried after his shower. He shouldn’t have gone out to get them food in the cold night air.

Soonyoung presses into Jihoon’s fingers then tears his eyes open almost frantically. “What?”

“Your stinky feet,” Jihoon tells him, his voice oddly affected before he swallows down such weakness. “There’s no way I’m going anywhere near to them⁠—⁠”

Soonyoung looks cross-eyed but somehow gets his socks off without reaching for them. He kicks with his legs until one of them lands on Jihoon’s head. “You were saying?”

Jihoon feels eyes twitch as he reaches up to remove the thing. “Soonyoung⁠—⁠”

“Don’t care.” Soonyoung somehow finds the dexterity to grab one of the condoms. “Your cock in my ass.” He rips the thing open and then seems to falter, holding it in one hand.

Jihoon takes pity. “You need some help⁠—⁠”

“Don’t”⁠—⁠Soonyoung yanks his hand away, then brings it back hesitantly, clearly prodding at the rolled up bit that’s for Jihoon’s knot⁠—⁠“these things work?”

It would only be fair for Jihoon to point out that Jeonghan would never give his dongsaengs anything but the best, but for some reason the words die in Jihoon’s throat. If Soonyoung knew there would be no chance of keeping a secret from the rest of them. Jihoon doesn’t know why, but that’s the opposite of what he wants.

“According to the internet,” Jihoon replies.

Soonyoung glares. He stops waving the condom around, and slaps his other hand out to smack against Jihoon’s right arm. “Get over here,” he says. “Give me your cock.” Then he tugs and hauls until Jihoon is all the way over him. He reaches down for Jihoon’s dick without a hint of shame.

Jihoon’s vision goes a little funny, and his memory glitches after that. He thinks that Soonyoung is having some sort of DVD style commentary as he goes about jerking Jihoon off enough to get the condom onto him and over his knot, but if he were quizzed on what exactly Soonyoung says while doing that, Jihoon would fail. All he knows is one second he’s staring at Soonyoung’s nose, the next Soonyoung’s got Jihoon’s wrapped up dick pointing at his hole.

But Soonyoung misses on the first try, failing to get it in.

All of Jihoon’s awareness comes back into himself like a poltergeist possessing a shelf. Things knock over that are vital. The owner of the house starts cursing their decision not to use the provided set of nails and wonders if there’s been an earthquake (though Soonyoung is, of course, a hurricane). When Soonyoung looks up at him, Jihoon sees that his eyes are wet.

“I got you, Tiger-ah,” Jihoon says. The stupid nickname just slips right out. Luckily Soonyoung is too preoccupied with Jihoon sliding home to comment on that fact.

He goes back into the couch with a full body gasp, one hand slapping to Jihoon’s chest as if to steady himself, and the other flailing backwards towards the backrest as if to hold on. Jihoon is looking down to guide himself, so he’s watching when Soonyoung’s cock kicks. He sees firsthand when it blurts out a streak of precum into his pubic hair.

“Jihoon-ah,” Soonyoung moans, panting. “Jihoon-ah⁠—⁠you⁠—⁠I⁠—⁠” He runs out of words.

Jihoon’s the wordsmith, the songwriter. He finds himself speechless as well. Would the company know if he wrote a song about this feeling? Could he spin it as being about love and romance, instead of Soonyoung’s sweat and skin and slick?

The condom prevents Jihoon from feeling much more than how Soonyoung is hot and tight and clenching, but the slide is too easy for Soonyoung not to be gushing wet. For Jihoon. With heat.

Jihoon drops his head down and buries his nose in Soonyoung’s hair immediately, chasing a high that is approaching far too rapidly. “I won’t last.” It’s kind of a wonder how easily they’ve fallen into a rhythm that works for both of them. Soonyoung doesn’t have that much leverage to fuck back onto Jihoon, but he’s managing to add little twists of his hips that really extend Jihoon’s reach and feel amazing against the skin of his knot.

“That’s fine.” Soonyoung’s voice is low and terribly raspy. Jihoon wants to write him an R&B solo just to hear more. “I just need you to come and stay there and knot me. Then I’ll jerk off.”

Something snaps in Jihoon’s chest when Soonyoung says that. He lifts his head, biting back a growl. Soonyoung watches Jihoon move with his mouth open mindlessly. All he does when Jihoon reaches down to rearrange him is groan, probably at the stretch of his inner thigh.

“Hoon-ah, I may be a dancer and technically built for this but, uh, ow⁠—⁠”

Jihoon slides his hand down the back of Soonyoung’s thigh to where he’s leaking and paints his fingertips through the mess. He rubs at where Soonyoung is stretched wide around his dick because it makes Soonyoung yelp, then does it again and again, gathering. When Jihoon thinks his fingers are wet enough, he wraps his hand around Soonyoung’s cock.

It works. The friction is perfect.

Soonyoung tries to keep his eyes open, asking, “Did you just⁠—⁠”

Jihoon gives him a hard stroke from tip to base using his own slick as lubricant and cuts him off.

“Oh God,” Soonyoung says, head dropping back and eyes staring up at the studio ceiling instead. “You did.”

Jihoon jerks him off again, slower this time. “Hmm,” he says. “Convenient.” Then he winces, what he’s just said registering along with a hot streak of embarrassment. Jihoon had not meant to voice such a thought.

Soonyoung struggles to pick his head back up, gazing at Jihoon with sweat-mussed hair streaking his forehead in wet clumps. Sometimes he looks like that when they’ve been on stage for hours, and Jihoon doesn’t need to associate such disarray with this. With fucking. He twists his fingers cruelly around the head of Soonyoung’s cock almost in punishment, but Soonyoung is very good at multitasking. Sure he gasps⁠—⁠and moans, and tightens around Jihoon’s slowly-forming knot in a way that is far too distracting⁠—⁠but he doesn’t lose focus. It’s like he’s using Jihoon’s eyes as a spotter, because no matter how Jihoon rearranges him after he releases Soonyoung’s cock, Soonyoung doesn’t stop meeting Jihoon’s eyes.

“Did you just say it was convenient?”

Jihoon humps into him a little harder, not even bothering to hide his smirk when Soonyoung’s mouth snaps shut so fast that he may have bitten off his tongue at the feeling. In for a penny, or whatever the Americans say. “What? It is?” says Jihoon. “You probably don’t even know how expensive lube is.”

Soonyoung glares. “I do so,” he says, an odd thing to be mad about.

Jihoon just nods patiently, fucking him with leisure. His knot feels about two seconds from when it’ll start to catch, but when Jihoon looks down the slide is easy. Or maybe Soonyoung’s just . . . easy. Open.

All for Jihoon.

Soonyoung’s clearly trying to get the upper hand in their conversation, but he’s doing a terrible job at it. He lets Jihoon bend down to kiss him, and then he half-sobs when Jihoon reaches down and rubs his cock again; eventually he finds his words. “You’re just⁠—⁠jealous.”

Jihoon pulls away from his mouth so that he can look at him judgmentally. “I mean, that is what began this talk⁠—⁠”

“You sound like⁠—⁠a speechwriter⁠—⁠”

“Songwriter.” Jihoon takes his hand off Soonyoung’s dick again and puts both hands around his hips, fingers leaving imprints on both globes of his ass. “We’ve been over this⁠—⁠”

“Engine,” Soonyoung snarls back, fucked out and clearly angry about it. “But you are.”

Jihoon has no idea what to say to that.

“Jea-jealous,” Soonyoung repeats, the word stuttering. “Cause I can⁠—⁠” He breaks off and resorts to miming, right hand moving lewdly in the air.

At last, Jihoon’s mouth rounds with understanding. “Ah,” he says. It’s taking all his self-control not to give in and just knot. “Well, I can always find some other omega to supply me⁠—⁠”

Soonyoung’s eyes snap open and he looks very much like his stage name. Jihoon images him with stripes and claws before he stops himself.

“You will not!” Soonyoung roars. Then he stops lying back and letting Jihoon give it to him, and uses that black belt he’s so proud of to roll Jihoon over.

And then, well.

Soonyoung’s in heat. He wants Jihoon’s knot. When he looks like that⁠—⁠radiant, glowing, special⁠—⁠and fucking him feels like that⁠—⁠transcendent, earth-shattering, better than making music⁠—⁠who is Jihoon not to give it to him? They lock, and in the middle of that Soonyoung comes, without any touching or pressure on his dick or anything, and after that he falls down over Jihoon and sobs because through all of that his cock has stayed hard.

“What’s⁠—⁠I don’t⁠—⁠”

“Sh, Soonyoung, Soonyoung⁠—⁠Soonyoung⁠—⁠you’re okay⁠—⁠you’re in heat⁠—⁠”

“Jihoon-ah,” is all Soonyoung gets out, evidently miserable.

Jihoon shushes him and wraps around him and kisses him⁠—⁠on the lips, on the nose, on the cheek, and the neck. Each time Soonyoung shudders, lost in the never-ending aftershocks from finally getting Jihoon’s knot in him. Each time Soonyoung jolts, reacting to the never-ending wave of Jihoon’s cock in him.

“I want,” says Soonyoung, a bit nonsensically. “Let me feel⁠—⁠” He cuts himself off.

Jihoon doesn’t tease him for it to save his own peace of mind.

It’s a bit awkward in the immediate aftermath.

Soonyoung was right about him only needing one knot, because Jihoon can already smell that he’s no longer in heat. It’s very satisfying. Jihoon’s instincts know that the end of heat signifies a job succeeded, and to have managed it with only one try is incredibly affirming. There are still residual heat pheromones in the room, however, because immediately after determining that fact⁠—⁠and being a big, bad, arrogant alpha about it⁠—⁠Jihoon thinks about how it means that Soonyoung has ovulated, and if Jihoon were a better alpha he wouldn’t have worn Jeonghan’s stupid condom, and Soonyoung would be very knocked up.

It’s traumatizing.

This is why Jihoon says nothing for the first five minutes of them being tied.

He’s not sure what’s Soonyoung’s problem. Although he did spend the last few minutes coming out his brains no fewer than twice.

Eventually, Jihoon’s knot goes down enough for them to separate, and they take turns doing the walk of shame. Jihoon wanders off to find them something to wipe away the messes they’ve made. Soonyoung gives his underwear one long, considering look, and then starts using it to sop up the mess on his stomach, the crease of his ass. The condom gets tied off and put in the trash can. Jihoon even finds a pack of unopened pheromone diffusers in the closet, which he tears open and plugs into all the outlets he can find. The artificial chemicals immediately make Jihoon’s nose wrinkle, but that means they’re working so he supposes it’s fine.

He’ll order that cleaning service first thing in the morning.

Or later in the day, he supposes; it’s nearing five a.m.

The sun may or may not be rising soon.

Through that all, Soonyoung has remained oddly quiet.

Jihoon looks at him after he’s dressed and finds him putting on his own clothes without speaking, movements subdued.

“Hey.” Oh, Jihoon’s voice sounds awful; that’s a problem. He goes for the bottle of water on his desk, and realizes he never shut his computer down. With one hand he drinks, the other he unlocks the computer so that he can save his work.

Soonyoung continues to stay quiet.

When it’s done, the room is a little darker.

Jihoon and Soonyoung speak at nearly the same time.

“Are you okay?”

“Jihoonie, I’m sorry.”

Jihoon wasn’t expecting that, so he waits for Soonyoung to go ahead.

Soonyoung suddenly dips forward into an incredibly deep bow. “I⁠—⁠I know you’re straight.” He speaks hurriedly and quietly and then stays there, face nearly to his knees.

Jihoon just stares at him, not sure he even heard him correctly, because . . . well, given the circumstances, that’s absurd? But Soonyoung only continues barreling on. He stands up again and is much left muffled when he speaks. He’s still not meeting Jihoon’s eyes.

“I⁠—⁠appreciate you doing this for me. I promise not to make things weird.”

“Ah,” says Jihoon eventually. Soonyoung clearly expects some sort of answer. “Me too?”

For one split second, Soonyoung looks and smells like this is breaking him. Like just by speaking Jihoon has cracked him irrefutably in two. But it should be impossible. People like Soonyoung shouldn’t ever look like that; they shouldn’t break.

And then Soonyoung smiles. It’s just as radiant as ever, just as polished, just as whole. “Awesome,” he says, tone similarly bubbly. Jihoon feels like he’d just imagined it⁠—⁠the expression, the despair.

Soonyoung crosses the room to their abandoned bags and leftover takeout and starts shoving it all into one of the bags. He goes to the trashcan where Jihoon put the condom and opens it. He fishes the wadded-up condom out and puts it in the bags as well. “I’ll just take this to the dumpster. See you back at the dorm?”

Jihoon can only nod.

They don’t see each other until the next day’s pre-recording, which is always too crazy for more than a few minutes of behind-the-scenes footage. It doesn’t seem like Soonyoung’s told anyone what happened⁠—⁠not even the other members or his manager or any other staff. He’s definitely fully recovered from his heat, and his scent has gone back to normal underneath the usual scent blockers. At hair-makeup, one of the noonas tells him his hair and skin seem particularly healthy today, but otherwise he’s the same.

There’s a moment during the ending stage for MBC Gayo Daejejun itself when Soonyoung appears to be avoiding Jihoon whenever they’re herded together by the group of too many other idols. But that passes soon enough. And Soonyoung continues to go to the gym with Jihoon. Keeps showing up uninvited to the studio to bounce ideas around, to learn Pro Tools, to insist that Jihoon eat.

They’re still best friends.

They’re okay.

Probably?

At least the songs Jihoon writes because of it are a hit.