Archive of Our Own

Sometimes, Hansol feels like he’s born because of Seungkwan.

The realization happens every now and then. Like a rhythmic ocean wave, pushing in and rolling out. Or perhaps like a ray of sunlight, falling over the room. It gets really intense, sometimes, his guts churn and the back of his throat hurts. He looks at Seungkwan—like right now. He looks at him, Seungkwan’s eyes fluttering close as the drowsiness threatens to take over. They’re sitting next to each other, backs to the mirror in the practice room; not too far away, Seokmin is loudly bantering with Mingyu and Minghao. In a corner, Chan is running through the new choreography, most of the hyungs watching him as they rest. They kind of fizzle out from Hansol’s consciousness, though, his focus a lot like a fisheye lens. They stay on edge, yet fuzzy and barely there, his focus solely on the person next to him.

Chugging down his water bottle and looking to his side, he studies Seungkwan’s features: damp hair, cheeks puffed up as he pouts in exhaustion. He blinks a little when Seungkwan meets his gaze, and Hansol, as always, has to fight a little bit with his lungs in order for him to find his breath once again. And when he inhales—the tiniest, littlest bit of intake—it feels as if there’s a million scents floating in his psyche, but like always, he only focuses on one. This is what he’s learnt: to always cling to the smell of sea salt and tangerines as if his life depends on it.

Seungkwan grins at him, eyes tired but still so ridiculously bright. His presence, to Hansol, has always been akin to a healing balm. His exhaustion is immediately washed away; far, far away, and he no longer had any reservations—he let himself fall down, head on Seungkwan’s lap. Seungkwan just hums, fingers carding through Hansol’s hair.

“So pretty,” Seungkwan fondly says, “Tired?”

Hansol lets his eyes flutter shut, basking in Seungkwan’s scent and warmth. The sweat still feels sticky on his nape, on his forehead—gross, really, but Seungkwan never shied away from it. Hansol thinks that maybe they’re used to it now, and that’s why: Seungkwan knows all of him. He wonders if Seungkwan knows him more than Hansol knows himself. The fingers stay in his hair, carding through, and in the void of his sight, he turns and lets his ear rest on Seungkwan’s stomach.

Months ago, he started watching a movie—it was five hours long, and he had to watch it in fractions. Being an idol is so busy, so demanding that he barely could fit it in, but he was determined to make it through until the end. The opening of the movie was an hour and a half long segment where the main characters enter a workshop about communicating. They did exercises, but the one that hit Hansol the most was when they listened to other people’s stomachs. We have all these organs inside of us, the instructor said, listen to them. Maybe he’s a bit naive, but Hansol stays still, ear pressed against Seungkwan’s stomach. There’s only quiet, but it’s comforting—where he rests, it’s soft and warm, the heat from the practice flush against his face. Stomachs are the center of our bodies—Seungkwan’s scent is so strong like this, so all-encompassing. Hansol smells every bit of the life Seungkwan has lived, through it. It smells like Jeju-do, permeating through him, reminding him of each and every step Seungkwan took in his life. The smell of the ocean breeze stays at the edges. Not everyone can pick it up, Seungkwan said, the first time Hansol asked him about it. Can you really smell it?

It’s there, he said. It’s so strong, with his nose pressed against Seungkwan’s stomach like this. Other times, when he’s immensely tired out and exhausted and burnt out, Seungkwan would take Hansol in his arms and curl around him. As they grew older, the difference in their builds did, too, but that never stopped Seungkwan. And it never stopped Hansol from curling into himself, making himself smaller, fitting himself into Seungkwan. Those moments, in particular, really makes the ocean hit him like a truck. Sometimes, Hansol swears that he can feel the ocean licking against his ankle, the sand underneath his feet.

Sometimes, Hansol swears he feels as though he’s born to love Seungkwan.

“What are you doing?”

Seungkwan asks it with a little whine, the type he does when he wants to pretend to be annoyed. Hansol knows that, too; knows every little shift in his scent, knows every little change in his wavelength. The citrus is stronger, the salt underneath the sweetness. Whenever he’s close to Seungkwan like this, sometimes it feels a lot like having a tangerine to eat anytime, anywhere. Even if the tangerine, in all its physicality, doesn’t exist. It’s just there, always stuck on him, and Hansol doesn’t mind being constantly scented by it. He doesn’t mind it sticking to him, like the smell of the ocean is something that should always be mixed with the smell of oil paints and wood.

“I’m listening,” Hansol grouses.

“To what?”

Seungkwan pushes at his head, gentle but there. Hansol opens his eyes, just to see Seungkwan looking down at him fondly, an amused smile on his lips.

“The sound of your guts.”

“Isn’t that gross?”

Hansol purses his lips. No, he wants to say. I want to be closer to you. But instead, he settles with, “Maybe.”

“Stop,” Seungkwan laughs, trying to push him off with no force nor intent; he’s playing, indulging. “You’re gonna hear weird things!”

“Did you not eat lunch? I can hear it gurgling.”

“Hansol!”

It’s a lie—there’s nothing but quiet, when he listened to Seungkwan’s stomach—but Hansol laughs at Seungkwan’s fired up response anyway, finally pulling away and sitting up. Seungkwan pouts and pats his stomach, his shirt damp and warm underneath his palm.

“Now you have to pay.”

“Pay? How?”

“You have to let me listen to yours, too.”

Seungkwan smiles at him, and it’s the kind of smile that Hansol wants to put in a beautiful, vintage box. A small one, the size of his palm. Or maybe smaller. The size of a locket. Tiny and precious and something he can carry around everywhere. He thinks of it: opening a locket, having it with him for rainy days. For sunny days. All kinds of days, all kinds of years. He never understood why such a cheesy thing was so popular, so common, but he supposes that he understands it now.

“Any time,” he says, smiling back. He wonders what kind of smile it is to Seungkwan, and if it makes Seungkwan think of the importance of lockets and mementos and love.

My love, Seungkwan would call him. It makes his heart leak, fingertips cold and nape warm. The three syllables—nae sarang—stay with him. He wishes desperately that he can give a time span for how long, but the truth is that it never left. It stayed with him—stays with him, from when Seungkwan first said it to him in the room with stark green walls, until now with both of them sitting in the comfortable practice room with mirror walls. So many times, Seungkwan will call him that.

When he was a kid, the unfamiliar environment of the dorms would always push him to turn. A form not a lot of people see. He’d shuffle into the closet, whimpering at the plethora of scents and markings, nothing he’s used to at all. In his house, his family of alphas values their independence; Hansol is not an alpha. Not yet. It’s really all up to fate, how he’d present, but he needed the respite, he needed the space. Needed it back then, still needs it now.

Seungkwan used to find him all the time. Sweet, caring Seungkwan, hair in all directions and eyes bleary. He’d open the closet, seeing a small snow leopard trying to paw at the clothes and make a comforting nest. A cub. Hansol was so, so small. He’d fit into Seungkwan’s hand, shaking, tail whipping around.

“Ah, Hansollie,” Seungkwan would say. “My love. Can’t sleep?”

No, he’d cry, but he’s a cub, so he’d just meow and rub his face against Seungkwan’s cold fingertips. And Seungkwan would pull him up, cuddling him well into the night. Sometimes he’d sing quietly, barely a whisper, really. Sometimes he’d just fall asleep, the stress of the day too tiring for him to bear. But his comfort comes in waves, whether or not he’s conscious. Of course, is what the others would say, he’s an omega. Hansol hates it—Because he’s an omega, some of them would say, leering—because it’s not about being an omega. It’s just how Hansol has known Seungkwan, omega or not: Seungkwan is someone who has always been warm and friendly and familiar. Someone whom you will just want to come home to, just because that’s just how Seungkwan was made. It doesn’t matter; from when he was fourteen until he’s twenty-three. Almost ten years passed by as if it was Hansol’s whole life, and Seungkwan always felt like home.

“Maybe you just love him,” Seungcheol said once. It was an off-hand comment, a throw-away statement when the fourteen-year-old was ranting to him. “Maybe that’s why he’s so different for you. Aren’t you guys going out?”

“No,” Hansol said. “Maybe?”

“Weird.” Seungcheol studied him for a long, long time, before following up with, “But you like him?”

“Of course, I like him.”

“He likes you?”

He thought of Seungkwan. He was bright, funny, every bit of perfection. He smelled nice; to Hansol, he’s familiar, he’s safe, he’s everything. Few months after they met, Seungkwan looked at him with a twinkle in his eye, lacing their fingers together and pulling Hansol just out of view of the camera. What is it? Hansol asked, and Seungkwan held his hand tighter. Squeezing it like his life depended on it. Hansol, Seungkwan said, voice hushed and quiet and sincere. You know that you’re my favorite?

Seungkwan’s heart leaked into their palms, down the crevices of their joint hands. Hansol can never forget it, ever. He can never forget the warmth of it, the way Seungkwan’s ears popped out of his embarrassment.

“Yes,” He replied, because he thought that was the right answer, and Seungcheol just hummed.

What is love? How do you know what love is? He was just fourteen, the first time he felt like he wanted someone to stay for forever. How was he supposed to know? Then he was eighteen, and what he feels for Seungkwan is a lot like when you’re watching someone blow a balloon and it gets so big. You’ll think, Oh my god, it’s going to pop, and it doesn’t, so you look away. And then Hansol turns twenty, and he looks back and he thinks, Oh shit, it’s still growing? And it keeps on growing, and growing, and he’s left looking at his own two hands and the feeling of his heart wanting so desperately to get out of his chest. His stomach twists and turns in its own space. His lungs always find it hard to function, and it doesn’t matter if he’s twenty-three, now. He still crawls into Seungkwan’s bed, and Seungkwan still lets him. And Seungkwan still curls around him.

The anxiety from watching a balloon get bigger and bigger is only ever quelled when he basks in how their smell combines perfectly, like they were always meant to. It only gets quelled when he acknowledges it. I love you. I love you. I love you. It beats over and over, like a drum, like a chant. When he sees Seungkwan, his insides try to speak. If Seungkwan ever listens to his stomach, he wonders if Seungkwan will hear it all. Hansol is aware that he loves like a child; that is to say that he loves with simplicity that has a ferocity that lasts forever if he has any say in it. And, oh, how badly he wants it to stay. How badly he wants it to be kept.

“Hansollie, my love,” Seungkwan calls out, towel in hand. “Today was tough, wasn’t it?”

Hansol hums, letting Seungkwan pull him closer.

He doesn’t say anything and he lets Seungkwan dry his hair. He winces, just a tiny bit, readjusting his hold on his backpack. Around them, some of the staff and members are leaving, and he doesn’t dare move. Seungkwan smiles at him, and it makes Hansol feel like he accomplished a life task.

“You’re like a good puppy.”

Jeonghan laughs, drinking down his water and wiping at his own sweat. Practice just finished, and Hansol stays sitting on the floor as Seungkwan takes care of him. Seungkwan laughs a bit, and Hansol frowns.

“I’m not a puppy. I’m, like, twenty-three.”

“Meongmeongi,” Seungkwan teases, “It’s cute, Hansol.”

“Seungkwan’s cute little puppy,” Jeonghan sing-songs, and Hansol feels his stomach drop.

Because, as always, he wonders if that’s all that this is: that Seungkwan loves him because he sees Hansol as his puppy, and he’ll never see Hansol as someone like a mate. The thought creeps up at him, like it’s pouncing out of the shadow from the pits of his biggest fears. His frown deepens, and he shakes his head as if it’ll shake off the thoughts, too. It doesn’t, but it does make Seungkwan pause, the smile falling off his lips slowly.

“I have to go.”

It doesn’t feel like he’s the one speaking, and it feels a lot like he’s slowly pulling out of his body. There’s a frown on Seungkwan’s face now. Did he cause that? I’m sorry, Seungkwannie. But his chest is slowly tightening, slowly being painful, and it’s getting harder to really re-focus. He doesn’t want to make Seungkwan upset, but he feels his stomach flip upside down and he’s aware his scent, to someone as sensitive as Seungkwan, is throwing him off.

“Where? We were going to watch a movie after, remember?”

“Yeah, I forgot I have to work on something,” Hansol gulps. He’s bad at lying. Everyone can smell it. “Sorry.”

“But—” Seungkwan opens his mouth, then closes it again. His dainty hands pull at the towel. “You promised.”

He mumbles it, as if he’s saying it to himself. Seungkwan’s upset now, and Hansol almost, almost changes his mind, until another scent comes crashing down—clear, like water. Like a river. Morning dew. The apology dies on his tongue and he schools his face, cold and icy. He suppresses it all, because this is something he can’t afford to let bleed out.

“Is anything wrong?”

Seokmin steps in, a gentle smile on his face. Seungkwan turns to him and smiles—the kind of smile that makes Hansol want to break his own heart, because it stamps out the signs of a fight. And his throat is dry, his hands cold. He stands up and puts his hands in his pockets.

“Nothing, I’m just leaving. See you, hyung,” He nods at Seokmin and Jeonghan, then looks at Seungkwan. Seungkwan looks back. Hansol wants to hesitate, but it’s too late to choose, he thinks. “I’ll text you, Seungkwan.”

Then he leaves, because there’s anger in his veins, and anger is always an emotion that’s so much more terrifying than love.

It was never a problem, until Seokmin presented as an alpha.

They knew it was coming—Seventeen rarely had an omega, only ever had it in the form of Seungkwan and Mingyu. Seokmin was going to be an alpha or a beta, either way, and Hansol remembers it so distinctly that it hurts: how Seokmin burst through Seungkwan’s room, eyes bright as if it’s something that meant more.

“I presented as an alpha,” Seokmin said, breathless and wide-eyed.

Hansol felt his nape go cold, his ears hot. He was an amalgamation of all the emotions he could ever have. Why, Hansol thought. Why did Seungkwan have to be the first person to know? Why is it so important? It’s demented of him, sick and unreasonable—he didn’t want to think ill of his hyung who had been nothing but loving, and he didn’t want to be possessive of a person he doesn’t even own. Owning a person wasn’t even a concept that he supported—Seungkwan is his own person, omega or not—but it burns, burns, burns.

From then on, it’s a bit harder. Seungkwan looks at him, nurtures him, takes care of him. Seungkwan lovingly holds him, and he doesn’t have to guess it because Seungkwan says it constantly. I love you, Seungkwan says every time, without fail, and he says it with so much affection and sincerity. But Seungkwan says that to everyone. And Seungkwan takes care of everyone. And Seungkwan leaves his touch everywhere, his scent mingled with everyone else. And Seungkwan turns to Seokmin, who holds him a little closer, indulges him a little harder. And Seokmin knows Seungkwan, knows how to handle him, knows how to take care of him both as a person and as an alpha.

Because it doesn’t matter if Hansol is an alpha, too. He presented as one, a year after Seokmin did. They say it’s always good to meet the person you wanted to be your mate as a kid, because you’ll always grow together, change together. Hansol wants it, truly; wants to hold Seungkwan, wants to keep him. He thinks about it constantly—too much, maybe. Slowly, it’s eating at him, with every look and smile and touch from Seungkwan.

Selfishly, in a way that made him afraid of himself, Hansol wants to keep all of it to himself. Seungkwan’s smiles, Seungkwan’s tears. His fears, his ambitions, his dreams. He wants to be the only person to know all of it. He wants Seungkwan to see him. See him, truly, as himself. Not as a pup he took care of growing up, not as a kid he constantly guides in everyday life.

Just Chwe Hansol.

But that in itself is such a childish way to view love, Hansol thinks. Seungkwan likes him. Love is different from like, and while Seungkwan might love him, it’s different—he sees how Seokmin smiles at Seungkwan, and how Seungkwan smiles back, and both of them have that smile. The kind of smile that makes it feel like they both see each other, and it makes Hansol turn into a creature he doesn’t really want to turn into. He wonders, sometimes, if he’s the only one who can feel this deep and wide chasm between love and like. Love is hard, Hansol thinks. Love is hard when you’re late.

He wonders why they’re not mated yet.

If they wanted to, they could. They’re not like Mingyu and Wonwoo—Hansol thinks that Seungkwan is the type who latches on and never lets go, when he decides to love someone, and Hansol thinks that whoever Seungkwan sinks his little nails into is going to be the luckiest person on Earth. If there’s anything he can say about Seungkwan, it’s that no one else could express love better than he does.

If Seungkwan can love Hansol this much, how much more can Seungkwan love someone whom he wants to be mated to?

Hansol pulls his beanie lower over his ears, his jacket tighter over his chest. It’s almost November, and the cold is settling in. Seoul after dark is a cold, lonely place. He knows there’s almost a hundred percent chance of him meeting Seungkwan in Hangang River, so he absolutely had to take a detour, walking along Gangnam. His art friends—some of them, names he doesn’t even remember—called him up for a drink, and now they are all chatting around him. When he takes the last inhale of the cigarette he’s been smoking, he swears he can taste Seungkwan’s nagging. His heart glows, just a little bit, before he stamps that one out too. Just like the cigarette. Amidst all these, he feels like a lost child.

In his phone lies a single message he’s too afraid to open. It’s just one message. Seungkwan isn’t the type to spam Hansol with messages, definitely not when they tether too close into the area of having a fight. He used to be. But now, Seungkwan has the experience of almost ten years, and this is something that he had learned: he gives Hansol space. A thing that Hansol, when he was younger, was grateful for, but now there’s a weird churning in his psyche whenever Seungkwan willingly tolerates their distance like this.

Seungkwan used to be restless. He used to not be able to leave Hansol alone, too scared and too worried. His hold on Hansol used to be so strong that it’s almost tangible, like if you look at Hansol hard enough, you’d see marks that belong to Boo Seungkwan. But they’ve grown—people change, in increments. Slowly, over time, Seungkwan starts accepting Hansol wanting to be his own person, wanting to be an adult. Slowly, over time, Hansol starts craving for more affection, and in the depths of his being, he selfishly wants all of Seungkwan’s love. It’s not possible, he knows. Seungkwan has so much love to give to everyone. It’s just how Seungkwan is made. But he can’t stop this almost desperate, primal version of himself ripping through the veil, threatening to make his old self undone. It’s everything unfamiliar, everything unsure, and it’s terrible. It’s terrifying, because some days Hansol himself can’t even recognize his heart.

But in the core of it all, it’s just the same. He thinks that maybe ever since he was a kid, he just knew. Like the universe has promised his heart and soul to Seungkwan, and he’s bound to stay like that forever.

“Aren’t you drinking a bit too much?”

Changdong asks, voice flat. He’s already taking a bottle away, and Hansol is too tired to even argue it. He feels enough buzzing in his system, the alcohol hot on his skin. He waves his hand.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What’s wrong?” Jinseong hums, tilting his head to the side. “Mate problems?”

“He’s not even mated, hyung,” Changdong chides, and Hansol just snorts.

With clumsy fingers, he fiddles with his phone. Seungkwan’s name stares back at him, an unread message bearing down the notification. He takes a breath and opens it with clumsy fingers. The alcohol isn’t that bad, really. It’s a faint headache, right now, but he can manage. He’s still clear, more sleepy than drunk.

Call me

It’s one simple message. And Hansol is one, simple person.

“I’ll be back,” he sighs, standing up.

Maybe a little too quick; the room spins, just a little bit, and Changdong puts him upright. He laughs and waves away their concerns. Just going to call a friend, he says, and he ambles out of the place, straight into the cold air in the streets of Seoul. The back of the quaint bar is dimly lit, harsh afterglow from the neon lights just enough for Hansol to feel strength in dialing Seungkwan’s number.

Seungkwan picks up after one ring, and Hansol laughs a bit. Seungkwan is one, simple person, too.

“Hansollie. How are you?”

“Good, good,” Hansol breathes out, fog from the cold air escaping past his lips. “Why’d you ask me to call you?”

There’s a little pause, like Seungkwan isn’t expecting the question. “Just...wanted to check on you. Done with work?”

“Mhm.”

It’s a lie, and Seungkwan knows it is.

“Where are you now?”

“Somewhere in Gangnam.”

“It’s so late though…” Seungkwan hesitates asking the next question, Hansol can tell. But he waits, kicking at the cobblestone, because he knows Seungkwan never backs down. It comes, like it always does. “With who? What are you doing?”

“Are you my mom?” Hansol laughs, like it’s a funny joke; it’s not, not really, because he’s fully aware of how much bite he’s trying to hold back from asking it. “With the people from SNU. You know them.”

“Drinking?”

“Eung.”

“...Smoking?”

Hansol chews at his bottom lip. “...Just one.”

“Hansol-ah.”

“I know.”

He sighs it out, and the bite leaks out just a little bit. To any other person, it might be unnoticeable, but it’s Seungkwan so Hansol immediately closes his mouth. With regret, he shuts his eyes and frowns to himself, the silence more suffocating than actually having Seungkwan be mad at him. He wishes, sometimes, that Seungkwan will just yell at him. Seungkwan has been mad—it’s only normal, with how long they’ve known each other, but the worst thing to Hansol is when he knows he had hurt Seungkwan. Sometimes, when it gets really bad, he can feel the satisfaction, like a sick person. Whenever Seungkwan makes him upset, and he sees Seungkwan be upset too, it makes him feel good, even just for a split-second, because it makes him think that maybe Seungkwan still cares about him after all. It’s a bad habit, and he’s paying his dues whenever it comes out at random times. Like right now.

Hansol studies the brick wall in front of him, battered and moldy and old. He thinks of how nice it would be, if he can just say all the things he means without fear. He imagines just word vomiting everything, right here right now. You’re so beautiful, he’d say, that I’m afraid of you sometimes. I’m afraid of losing you when I don’t even have you. It’s so funny, isn’t it, Seungkwan? I’m sorry for the bittersweet resentment I feel whenever I get too selfish. And Seungkwan will laugh, because of course he will. Or maybe he’d do his dramatic little aghast expression, like what he tends to do whenever Hansol reveals something he had known all along. Because this, Hansol knows: Seungkwan knows Hansol loves and adores him, more than anyone else.

It takes quite a bit of a time before Seungkwan talks again.

“Want me to pick you up?”

It’s quiet, small, and unexpected. Like a creature desperate to feel, Hansol’s heart crawls.

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll text you.”

The call ends. The neon sign on top of the bar casts down violent reds and purples, no matter if they’re just the edges of it. Afterglows. They still make the shadows bigger than they deserve to be. He texts Seungkwan the address, and he waits for what feels like a decade.

Seungkwan appears like an apparition from his dreams, brown hair haphazardly shoved under a bucket hat. Round glasses atop his nose, Hansol has to swallow down a purr trying to rise up from his chest. Seungkwan looks cute, oversized jacket and all. It might even be his. Hansol is still a bit too dazed to be sure, and Seungkwan steps closer, reds and violets and blues all over his feature.

“Drunkard,” Seungkwan huffs, and Hansol sniffs from the cold and lets out a low chuckle.

“You look pretty.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

He says it with a warning tone, but it’s a front, and Seungkwan’s expression softens with the playful tone. Hansol reaches out a hand to pull him closer, but catches himself at the last moment and just decides to run his index finger across the side of Seungkwan’s cheek. Seungkwan squeezes his eyes shut for a split-second, whole face scrunching up, and Hansol puts his hands in his jacket’s pockets. It’s cold. Seungkwan’s cheek is cold, but for a very brief moment, when the pad of his fingertip ran across it, it was warm.

“There was something,” he motions, “on your cheek.”

Seungkwan lets the excuse pass. He grabs Hansol’s arm and they enter the bar, just to say goodbye; none of them dared to touch Seungkwan, and Hansol’s aware of the imposing presence he accidentally bears down on his friends. Or maybe it’s not accidental. He can’t help it, and Seungkwan doesn’t mind—if he did, he would’ve said something about it already. He lets himself be led away, and for the second time today, the breath of fresh air from the bar into the cold city nights refreshes his mind. With Seungkwan next to him, he feels coalesced, his fragmented mind pulling together into a more coherent train of thought.

Time, with Seungkwan, runs differently. He swears it does. They walk along the pavement, and he shouldn’t be surprised that they end up somewhere along Hangang River. There’s not a lot of people around, and the spaces in Gangnam are surprisingly quieter than most days. Maybe because it’s a weekday. Maybe because he’s lucky. Glittering high-rise buildings are reflected on the water. Despite the number of dazzling lights, the expanse of the river is lonely, vast and engulfing. Seungkwan loves this place so much; he brought Hansol countless times with him, so much so that Hansol learns to love it, too. On Seungkwan’s terms, and on his own. It’s nothing he can ever explain, like everything else that he has great and deep affection and appreciation for: music, his family, Seungkwan.

“If you wanted to drink, you could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t really want to drink.”

“But you did,” Seungkwan points out, pulling Hansol closer. I’m not mad, the gesture says. His sides press up against Seungkwan, the tangerine vivid and bright. “Unless you didn’t want to drink with me. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I think it’s just that I miss you.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—but...Seungkwan-ah, we see each other every day.”

Seungkwan looks up at him, like he’s trying to calculate what to say. A particularly strong breeze hits them, and he feels Seungkwan shiver, so he takes one of Seungkwan’s hands and shoves it into his jacket. Their cold fingers intertwine, warmth slowly ebbing where their imprints are pressed together, merging.

“Why didn’t you wear gloves?”

Seungkwan’s nose is red, cheeks flushed. He’s always been much more sensitive to the cold, skin easy to be icy and freezing. He shoves his face on Hansol’s shoulder, nuzzling against the material for warmth. Despite two layers, Hansol is so painfully aware of it. “Oh, don’t nag me. I rushed to go pick you up, you know.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere. You didn’t have to.”

“I don’t know,” Seungkwan murmurs, “Sometimes it feels like you are.”

“Like I’m what?”

“Always going somewhere. Far away.”

“I’m just here.”

“You’re like a ghost sometimes,” he continues. Hansol hums, prompting him to explain, and they both turn, watching the streetlight to turn green. They’re standing there, Seungkwan’s hand laced with Hansol’s inside his Alyx jacket. Seungkwan’s head on Hansol’s shoulder, like he belongs there. Cars pass by for what seems like forever. There’s no one else waiting to cross the street. “I just miss you, really. I sound like a child, don’t I?”

“No,” Hansol shakes his head. “I get it, I do. You can’t help what you feel, right?”

“Yah. You’re so mature now, Hansollie.”

Seungkwan sighs, like he’s amazed, and Hansol purses his lips. How mature has he really gotten? He wonders. He’s aware that he’s not—he still feels like a child, and it intensifies whenever he’s around Seungkwan. He’s stoic and relaxed, is the thing, but mature? If he rips his insides out and lays them all on the floor for Seungkwan to see, all Seungkwan will find is that Hansol is still a lot like the fourteen-year-old that he met back in 2013. Hansol is changing—and he can see that Seungkwan is changing—and that’s something that’s terrifying.

The streetlight turns green, and Seungkwan pulls him along.

“Do you remember when we were still young?”

Seungkwan starts talking as he executes his skincare routine on Hansol, both of them sitting on the floor of his room. Seungkwan is sitting with his legs outstretched, shorts and an oversized t-shirt on him. Hansol sits perpendicular to him, posture and clothes exactly the same. He has his eyes closed; chin tilted slightly up as Seungkwan carefully smears the cream on his face.

“When, exactly?”

“When you used to turn into a little cub and we’ll sleep together. When it’s a weekday and I have to go to school early, I used to always wrap you around in my hoodie and you’d sleep so soundly. You were so small, back then.”

The cream is cold underneath his eyes, over his nose. On his forehead. Seungkwan carefully applies it, fingers flat over the expanse of his skin. Hansol makes a non-committal noise, feeling himself melt into the sensation of Seungkwan massaging his face like this.

“I do.”

“You take care of yourself so well now,” Seungkwan murmurs, and Hansol doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that Seungkwan is smiling. “You used to hate these kinds of stuff.”

“It’s so sticky. And I was so lazy.”

“I mean, you still are.”

“Hey—”

Whatever retort he has dies on his tongue, because Seungkwan starts gently slapping down his cheeks, and Hansol whines. His eyes flutter open, greeted by an image that was already in his mind in the first place, and yet it still manages to stun him. Seungkwan’s face is so close—they’ve been in this position countless times before. He should already be used to it, but there’s no such thing as being used to having Boo Seungkwan this up close, in his most vulnerable. Most honest, like how he has always been to Hansol.

His eyes sweep over Seungkwan’s red cheeks and plump lips. His brown hair is a bit damp still, but it’s drying faster than he thought. There’s a coy smile on Seungkwan’s lips, like he just won an argument. And Hansol doesn’t have the heart to fight him on it right now, so he says, “Can I put it on you, too?”

Seungkwan blinks, and the smile morphs into something a bit more embarrassed, before he makes an affirmative sound, handing over the container to Hansol.

The product is significantly smaller on his hands, compared to how it looked in Seungkwan’s. Hansol carefully dips his middle finger into the cream, and puts all his focus into putting it perfectly on Seungkwan’s face; him, like this, is everything to Hansol. His eyelashes fluttered down, the sculpt of his face perfect and pronounced, his cheeks something that Hansol still holds the same affection for after nine years.

There’s something ethereal about how Seungkwan hums as Hansol does the same act, clumsy hands so much bigger, covering so much surface. Moments like this, where he’s technically cradling Seungkwan’s face into his palms, thumbs running across his cheeks, Hansol realizes how much he has grown. It’s not easy to recognize your own transformations. Seungkwan has talked about it—countless of times—and while Hansol acknowledges it, it’s the most striking in these fragile moments. Seungkwan’s cheeks perfectly fit against his hand, like they’re just meant to always hold Seungkwan this close, this delicately. The light in Seungkwan’s room is more white than yellow, so perfectly shining down like a halo. Seungkwan isn’t perfect, Hansol knows. Perfect people can’t change, and yet Seungkwan continues to be a better version of himself every time—but he is the closest to perfection for Hansol.

Seungkwan opens his eyes, looking up at Hansol, and Hansol feels his breath legitimately hitch.

Time, with Seungkwan, runs differently. Like right now. There’s a certain trust and affection that comes with letting yourself be studied, and in moments like this Hansol feels it. Like they’re two perpendicular lines running into the middle, melding into one. He doesn’t know what Seungkwan is thinking, whenever he looks back at Hansol like this, and Hansol wonders if Seungkwan knows what Hansol is thinking whenever he looks at Seungkwan like this. It shouldn’t be that hard, Hansol thinks, because as much as he wants to hide it, he inevitably wears his heart on his sleeve.

“I want to find your center line.”

Hansol blinks, and the magic still stays. It takes him a while to realize what Seungkwan means, and he can’t help the amazed gasp that comes. “How’d you know about that?”

Seungkwan laughs. “You sent me the clips from the movie, remember? I told you I actually watched them, Hansollie.”

“I mean...well. Why do you suddenly want to find my center line?”

Hansol stands up, and takes both of Seungkwan’s hands to help him up to his feet. Seungkwan is so light, barely a weight. He can so, so easily just carry Seungkwan over his shoulder and parade him around Seoul if he wants to. Hansol thinks that an insane part of him wants to.

He tries not to think of that, though, and walks after Seungkwan to the middle of the room. They stand across each other, an arms-length apart. Seungkwan doesn’t answer his question, and Hansol just stands as straight as he could, eyes never leaving Seungkwan’s focused, suddenly sharply observant disposition.

Supposedly, in your body, there’s a line that goes directly down your center. Everyone has it. You can try to find a person’s center line and match it with yours. If your center lines are aligned, they’ll start moving as you do, like you’re a unit. Seungkwan’s body starts tipping side to side—he looks incredibly cute, like a penguin, that Hansol can’t help but laugh a bit.

“You look weird.”

“Shh, don’t distract me,” Seungkwan waves at him, “I’m trying really hard.”

“I know,” Hansol says, drifting off as he watches Seungkwan’s upper body move like a pendulum. He’s swaying his torso almost rhythmically, eyes focused on Hansol, but Hansol feels like Seungkwan is seeing through him. Like he’s a ghost. But this might be the most tangible that Seungkwan has seen him, and him to Seungkwan. Slowly, the distance of the swaying becomes shorter and shorter, and Seungkwan’s eyes slowly creep up, and Hansol’s gaze is already waiting for him as he looks up. Then, the swaying stops. They look directly at each other, Seungkwan looking up at Hansol. He never realized, really, that Seungkwan had to tip his head back a bit to look him in the eye. Hansol’s heartbeat thuds loudly in his ears, and it feels a lot like Seungkwan can hear it, too. And if Seungkwan can, then Hansol can hear his, too. And that means their heartbeat is one and the same.

“Is this it?”

“Wow,” Hansol breathes out, and Seungkwan heaves a breath.

They keep each other’s gazes, holding it, never letting go of it. Hansol takes a slow, hesitant step to his right, and Seungkwan mimics the movement as if it’s hardwired into him. He moves his other foot, and so does Seungkwan. They move in a circle, eyes flitting down now and then to look at each other’s feet, at each other’s hands. Hansol, for what might be the first time, feels truly, deeply seen. Seungkwan has known him for years, has seen all of him, but something about this moment makes it feel like Seungkwan is seeing him. And him, to Seungkwan—he sees the faint blue veins on his hands, the slight wrinkle at the edges of his eyes. The way his hair parts so naturally. The way his eyelashes perfectly fan out. How striking his eyes are, and how captivating his expression is.

It is as if for a moment, they’re the only two beings that fully exist and matter right now. Perhaps what is the most important thing to him is the reassurance that Seungkwan is looking at him. That Seungkwan, right now, is seeing Hansol the same way Hansol is seeing him. Studying, becoming. As they move in a perfect circle, aligned and balanced, Hansol thinks of things. The fragile distance between him and Seungkwan that he has been fretting over ever since he presented—oftentimes, he asks himself, When did it become like this? And just as he feared to admit throughout these years, the answer is that it’s always been like this.

In March of 2013, he met Seungkwan, and Seungkwan was familiar. Natural. He saw Seungkwan and he thinks his heart immediately made a home in this person who was already presented as an omega way too early in life. Because he admired Seungkwan. And Seungkwan adored him. You’re my favorite. He wanted to be someone that Seungkwan could choose. Would choose. Worthy of being chosen.

From the very start, Hansol loved him.

“Hansol,” Seungkwan calls out, concerned. He looks blurry now, like he’s so far away. Hansol stops his movement, and so does Seungkwan. Seungkwan steps forward to him, and Hansol meets him halfway. “Hansollie, are you crying?”

“No,” Hansol says, but he’s close to crying. His throat tightens, his head hurting. He wipes the early tears off his eyes, and sniffs, then laughs.

“No?”

“No.”

Hansol nods in reassurance, and Seungkwan looks over at him before sighing, looking resigned. There’s a smile on his face now, replacing the frown marring his features earlier, and it brings relief to Hansol. It’s all he can ask for.

He reaches for Seungkwan, and this time, he doesn’t hesitate to pull him closer.

He was around eighteen, he thinks, when he presented.

When he woke up, his head was hurting, his teeth sore and itching. His snow leopard ears popped out without his consent, and Hansol felt a deep-seated irritation deep in him. He didn’t even know what happened; just that Seungcheol called for a doctor while Hansol curled into a little ball, a low growl coming up and out from the bottom of his chest. Everyone’s scents were way too strong, and he felt his insides twist around. No matter how many times he tried, his eyes were unfocused, and he had to clench his fists tight so his claws wouldn't come out.

Not all presentations are bad, but his was particularly horrid. He only remembers in fragments: his tail swinging around wildly, his roommates vacating, and the horrible, horrible fever that takes over his body. He was sweating under his comforter, but he refused to move. Then someone cradled his head, so lovingly and gently.

He flinched—the hands were cold. But he didn’t move, no. He didn’t, because it was Seungkwan. I’m gross, Hansol said, and Seungkwan laughed.

[No, you’re not. You’re just presenting.]

No, Hansol whined. His throat was too scratchy. Too dry. I mean, I’m sweaty.

[When did that ever stop me before?]

Maybe now is a good time to start.

[Now who’s being dramatic?]

There was just too much fondness, too much acceptance. So much so that Hansol whimpered and cried. This was perhaps the moment that made Hansol break. Ironically, this is the thing that will be so clear in his mind, about this day, even years after it happened. The pathetic purr that he let out when he realized, truly, truthfully, for the first time just how much he loves Seungkwan. And in return, just how much Seungkwan—whether or not it’s in the same vein—loves him. He doesn’t want this person to leave him, he thinks. No one else is going to love him the same way Seungkwan does. And that’s the only way he would ever want to be loved, and he’d die for Seungkwan, he would.

Seungkwan, don’t leave me.

[Why would I ever leave you?]

And because he’s Seungkwan, he fixes up Hansol’s fringe and looks down at him, scent ever so comforting even in a situation that neither of them even knew how to handle. It’s all instinct, now, but there was an uncanny calmness in Seungkwan, like he just knew what to do. It calmed Hansol down, like water over fire. He refused to let go of Seungkwan, and Seungkwan stayed as long as Hansol wanted.

Maybe Seungkwan didn’t want to let go of him, either.

When you lay down in the dark, your senses heighten. This is something Hansol has learned. There is nothing but the motion lamp on Seungkwan’s bedside desk, their phones charging on top of it. He blinks at the ceiling, waves of blue and green and whites casted along the white expanse of space. Almost like a canvas painted over by colors. It’s one of those 1950’s antique lamps that Hansol’s mom gifted to Seungkwan for his birthday.

Thank you for taking care of him throughout the years, she said. I’m thankful for your existence.

An intersection of life and art, executed with grace. That’s how she described Seungkwan. He thinks that that’s exactly what Seungkwan is, and that his mom explained Seungkwan’s existence so perfectly. Hansol feels Seungkwan hold his hand, and he’s aware that later on, Seungkwan would end up curling around him as he sleeps like a log. Not right now, though. Right now, they’re both very much awake. Hansol can’t see him—he’s focused solely on the ceiling, but Hansol can hear him. Feel him. Smell him. He can feel the up and down of Seungkwan’s chest as if it’s his own. He can feel Seungkwan’s fingertips ghosting down his arm, to the inside of his wrists. Seungkwan is spelling something out, or maybe he’s just drawing random patterns on Hansol’s skin. Either way, his touch feels like a wisp, like an affection from a ghost. Wrist, thumb, palm. He traces Hansol’s palm lines.

“Palm lines,” Seungkwan says out loud. “You’ve always had really pronounced lines on your palm. They’re pretty.”

“You and your mysticism stuff.”

“And yet you listen to me anyway.”

“It’s you,” Hansol mumbles, “How could I not listen?”

“That’s true. Thank you for loving me that much, Hansol-ah.”

His heart jumps up to his throat. He wonders briefly if Seungkwan felt that, too. Either way, Seungkwan continues tracing the one line in the middle of his palm that almost goes from one end to another. He controls his breathing, trying not to let Seungkwan fully realize how much he affects him. But every control escapes him, as always. He doesn’t need to hide how much he loves Seungkwan. He learned that too; it’s just that some habits are hard to break. He swallows, before speaking slowly.

“You’re there.”

“Huh? Me?” Confusion laces Seungkwan’s voice. “I’m where?”

“There, in my palm lines.” Hansol says it so softly, in such a small voice. His face is hot, but there isn't any discomfort. He blinks up at the ceiling that stays the same. “You’re engraved in my palm lines.”

It’s not a rare occurrence that he stuns Seungkwan into silence, so he closes his eyes and lets a smile spread on his lips as he hears a sharp intake of breath next to him. Seungkwan’s fingers pause over his palm, thumb lightly on Hansol’s pulse point on his wrist. Through the touch, it’s almost as if he can hear and feel how fast Seungkwan’s heart is beating. Or maybe that’s his own. But he feels a lulling sense of peace, like a dull beat resonating from the middle of his body.

“You, too,” Seungkwan whispers, after a long, long pause. “You’re engraved on mine.”

His fingers spread over Hansol’s warm palm, sliding ever so perfectly into the gaps between Hansol’s own fingers. They fit exactly, perfectly—like how they always do. Seungkwan’s palm pressed down against his as Seungkwan intertwined their fingers, thumb brushing over thumb. The beat inside of Hansol resonates deeper and deeper. He breathes in, and Seungkwan’s scent makes him feel like he’s by the ocean. It’s almost as if he’s sleeping on the shoreline, the waves hitting him and the sand on his back. This is something no one else smells, Hansol thinks. No one else knows this part of Seungkwan but him. And he takes it as if it’s his. He wants it to be his.

“Seungkwan,” Hansol calls out, nervously, impulsively; heart in his throat. But his instincts are telling him to say it, he has to say it. Say it. “Seungkwan-ah.”

“Yes?”

Seungkwan answers back easily, like he’s prepared for anything that Hansol might say. He squeezes Hansol’s hand, a reassurance to Hansol that he’s there. Seungkwan keeps their hands interlaced, as if he wants their imprints to merge. There are so many thoughts going through Hansol’s mind, so many words appearing and disappearing. His own heart feels like a maze that he’s so close to getting out of.

I’m sorry, he wants to say. I love you. I miss you, too. I miss you so much that sometimes I feel like even when you’re next to me, it feels like it doesn’t matter how close I am to you—I’ll just always, always miss you. Do you ever feel like that? Is the love you feel for me similar to that? Seungkwan-ah.

I’d die for you. Why aren’t I dead?

He closes his eyes.

“Seungkwan.”

“What is it?”

“Seungkwannie.”

“Hansollie,” Seungkwan laughs, matching the baby voice so effortlessly. “Hansollie, what is it?”

“It’s hard to grow up,” Hansol spits out, like it’s a confession. It’s going to be embarrassing, but his mouth is moving by itself. It’s years’ worth of confessions, tumbling out of his lips. “Sometimes. Sometimes, I feel like I was born for you. I don’t know what that means.”

Seungkwan lets out a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “You don’t know what it means?”

“No,” Hansol knows. He knows, but he opens his eyes and says, “Really, I don’t.”

“You’ve been telling me you love me and you don’t know what it means?”

Busted, he thinks. But he wanted to be. He’s tired of hiding his fears, when he knows all of Seungkwan’s. He’s tired of not telling Seungkwan what it is that he wants, and what it is that he wants Seungkwan to reassure him.

Deep inside, he feels like a child, but the voice from within that rings out is true: Please tell me that you love me more than anyone else. If Seungkwan listens to his insides right now, he’d hear that.

Seungkwan scoots closer, and Hansol feels him press up against his side. He finally looks away from the ceiling, and despite the darkness, Seungkwan’s face is so clear. His forehead is exposed, bangs swept to the sides. His eyes are so striking and captivating, holding what seems to be a million emotions at once. If Hansol looks close enough, he’d see that Seungkwan is flushed, but there’s a smile on his lips that Hansol just wants to kiss.

“I don’t feel like I was born for you,” Seungkwan says, a twinkle in his eyes. “I know it.”

Despite his bravado, the familiar red panda ears pop up on his head, twitching amidst the brown strands of hair. Despite his heart wanting to rip itself out of his chest, Hansol laughs. He’s well aware that his own snow leopard ears popped out, too, so stark against his own dark hair. Seungkwan presses the side of his face against Hansol’s chest. It should be embarrassing, Hansol thinks, how honest his heart is right now. It’s trying its hardest to reach out, as if it can embrace Seungkwan completely by itself.

“What are you doing?”

“Listening.”

“To what?”

Hansol realizes the answer before it comes. He fiddles with Seungkwan’s ears, the fur soft under his fingertips.

“The sound of your guts.”

“What does it say?”

He can feel Seungkwan’s fingers lightly drumming against his chest, light and comforting. “Hansol-ah.”

“Hm?”

Seungkwan’s voice is the smallest, quietest it’s been in a while. “Do you love me?”

The question is so silly, Hansol’s brain goes on a haywire. Do I love you? He wants to say so many things. He pulls Seungkwan closer, arm wrapping around Seungkwan’s waist. When did Seungkwan get so small? As he's growing, it feels like Seungkwan shrunk. They’ve changed. It’s like time passed him by, except not really, because Hansol can now feel each and every growing pain that crept up on him over the years. Repeatedly, they’ve changed. And repeatedly, Hansol has chosen Seungkwan, despite the uncertainties and insecurities and bitterness still stewing in him.

Suddenly, anxiety bubbles at the bottom of his guts. He can taste the admission on his tongue, but a strange fear grips him at the last second. It’s like there’s a door that he has to cross, and he can never go back from it ever again once he does. I love you is something he has said to Seungkwan, and while the number of times he did is sparse in comparison to how much Seungkwan says it to him, his affections are not any less genuine. They carry so much weight. Maybe too much. The older he grows, the harder it gets to say it, afraid that it will leak out and he won’t be able to take it back if it goes awry.

But if not now, when? Seungkwan is waiting, ever so patient, ever so sweet, but Hansol can feel the nervous twitching of his ears, can feel how the fingers stopped tapping against his chest, now just laying still with baited breath.

He makes up his mind.

“Do I love you?” Hansol can cradle Seungkwan so easily, and Seungkwan lets him. “I do. I love you. You know what I mean when I say I love you, right?”

“That you feel like you’re born for me?”

“It feels like I’ll live for you, too.” Hansol swallows down his fears, his nervousness. “Don’t you hear it?”

Seungkwan’s ear is right above his heart, and Hansol can hear his own. It’s beating so fast, so painfully. His insides are like a raging tempest, skin tingling and lungs constricting. It’s like all of him is trying to speak to Seungkwan, trying to say everything. Ten years’ worth of secrets that maybe Seungkwan himself knows already. It’s just the first time he’s confirming them.

“I’ve always dreamt that I’ll grow old with you.”

Hansol stills his movement, but he holds Seungkwan closer. The smell of oil paint mixing with the ocean permeates the air, and it calms both of them down, making them a bit braver. This is, after all, the person who has come closer than anyone. Hansol doesn’t say anything, thumb rubbing against Seungkwan’s waist, and Seungkwan continues speaking.

“When we were kids, I thought it’s just a silly dream. Why would you ever want to be with someone like me? I thought, Hansollie is going to be an alpha, and he’s going to find an omega who is so much prettier and nicer and funnier.”

There’s already a protest that’s about to come out of his throat, purely out of instinct as he breathes in, but Seungkwan taps him as if he knew that Hansol’s going to nag right back at him. Hansol just exhales, waiting for Seungkwan to say the rest.

“But I love you too much,” Seungkwan confesses, “And Hansol, you made me feel like I am that person. That I am beautiful and funny and worth choosing. Because you…” Seungkwan bites his bottom lip, stopping himself before adjusting his posture to look up at Hansol. “I love you.”

At this moment, Hansol thinks, of course. How could he be so stupidly blinded by his own doubts? Seungkwan has always been there. He looks at Hansol in a way that’s both familiar and new. He sees Hansol. Nothing has changed. Seungkwan still loves him the same. But there’s permanence that he has come to realize from this look. From this defiant, persuasive expression that Seungkwan is giving Hansol. It’s like he’s in a confessional, and he has to let it all out before he brings everything else in.

“I thought you’d never see me as someone like a mate,” he finally spits out, like thorns in his throat slowly being pulled out, painfully dragging. Every word feels like a scalding truth that he wants to quickly drop. “I thought you’ll always just see me as a kid. Like that time, when I told you to stop petting me too much.”

“I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I didn’t mean it. I love your pets,” Hansol laughs lightly, feeling a bit silly. A bit light. “I’d never hate anything about you. Just—I was scared.”

Seungkwan never looks away from him, eyes coaxing him to go on. “But?”

Hansol breathes in, then out. “But I want to be with you. I wanted you to choose me in everything. I want to be the only one who could be the closest to you.”

Seungkwan gives him a smile. It’s a smile he’s seen countless times, but it’s almost as if Hansol is seeing it in a new light right now. His hands move to cup Seungkwan’s face, and this time, it’s Seungkwan who rumbles quietly, leaning into the hand and sighing.

“Oh, Hansol,” he says, “for ten years, it’s only ever been you.”

Seungkwan had kissed him countless times before.

Cheek kisses. Air kisses. Nose kisses. Admittedly, Hansol had done them to Seungkwan just as much, in moments where it gets too unbearable. Over the years, he had done specks of affections that he probably shouldn’t have, not when he’s not even mated with Seungkwan. When the instinctive irritation gets too much of a cross to bear, he’d always find himself quietly slipping closer. A hand on Seungkwan’s lower back, or the pad of his fingertips swiping lightly on the pulse point around Seungkwan’s neck. In spite of himself, knowing how it’s such a dark thought, nothing beats the satisfaction of having the other scents dissipate. No traces of them the moment Hansol moves closer, as if they were never mingled with Seungkwan’s in the first place.

But this, right now, is something mind-bogglingly different. Seungkwan’s weight on his lap is nothing new, either, but right now it’s a whole different experience. In his arms, it’s as if Seungkwan will just vanish once he hugs him, engulfed and completely out of view from the world. With a shy smile, Seungkwan leans over and presses his lips against Hansol’s, and relief floods his insides.

With all things concerning Seungkwan, it feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, doing exactly what he was put into the world to do. He had never kissed anyone before—least of all, like this. His hands slip underneath Seungkwan’s shirt—his shirt, really—and roams on the smooth skin, holding Seungkwan closer, tighter. Seungkwan’s mouth is hot, tongue pushing in eagerly. Thank god, Hansol thinks, because it’s good to be validated that he’s not the only one who’s been waiting to do this for years.

He nips at Seungkwan’s bottom lip as they pull away, chest heaving and pressed up against each other. In the shades of blues and greens that the lamp is casting off from the right, Seungkwan looks like an angel, hair disheveled and mouth slightly open as he gasps. The tips of his ears are red, but there’s a shy, sheepish smile on his lips.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” he confesses, and Hansol’s head turns. He knew, but hearing it made his chest soar, his fangs aching to latch onto Seungkwan.

“Me too,” Hansol says, voice low and eyes sweeping over Seungkwan. The gentle slope of his neck, the beautiful sculpt of his face. He’s flustered, so impossibly shy, but also so impossibly fond. In the way he only ever becomes, just for Hansol. This, too, Hansol thinks. No one but him will ever see this. The thought makes him feel drunk. “The only person I wanted to kiss all these years is you.”

Seungkwan laughs, eyes wrinkling in delight, face heating up even more. “God, it’s like I’ve been dating you for ten years anyway.”

“That’s my truth now,” Hansol mutters, before pulling Seungkwan back for another kiss. It’s odd, just a little bit. He’s seen all of Seungkwan, and Seungkwan has seen all of him, and they’re more than aware how much the other changed over the years. But right now, it feels like he’s being reintroduced to Seungkwan. He doesn’t feel like a stranger, no, but there’s almost like an impossibly sacred feeling in seeing Seungkwan like this. Feeling Seungkwan’s hands slip under his shirt and tugging on it to make Hansol take it off, he’s almost sure that Seungkwan feels the same way.

“You’ve—” Seungkwan gasps against Hansol’s lips, and Hansol refuses to let up, kissing the corner of his lips, down his chin, to his jaw. “You really grew so much.”

“For you,” Hansol says, almost like he’s reminding Seungkwan something he should’ve known all this time.

It sounds like Seungkwan is trying to say something in retort, but it comes out as a choked moan when Hansol bites down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Teeth breaking skin, Hansol can taste the metallic tang on his tongue. Seungkwan’s nails scratch down Hansol’s biceps, hand holding on for dear life as Hansol laps up at the bite mark, kissing it before going for another one, right on Seungkwan’s shoulder. Seungkwan whines and moans and grinds down, Hansol’s shirt so big on him that Hansol can just pull it taut and comfortably latch on him like that.

“Of all things, it turns out that my mate is a biter.”

Hansol, this time, doesn’t respond. My mate. Hansol’s heart thuds loudly in his ears, but he realizes that this time, he’s sure that the heartbeats he is hearing are not just his. My mate. He pulls off the shirt, Seungkwan pliant and obedient, looking up at him through his eyelashes. He easily flips them around, gently laying Seungkwan down the bed, taking his opportunity to rid Seungkwan of all his clothes.

He pulls back to look at Seungkwan. Seeing him, in all that he is, and there’s a deep-seated pride and happiness in him when Seungkwan doesn’t curl up in embarrassment, or hide himself. Hansol puts his hand on Seungkwan’s stomach, faint abs on the toned stomach. His other hand runs up Seungkwan’s thighs, squeezing and groping. Seungkwan lays there, looking up at him like he trusts Hansol with what seems like his whole life.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. His hand runs up Seungkwan’s torso to his collarbones to his cheek, cupping the side of it. Seungkwan closes his eyes and leans into the palm.

“You’re the one who made me believe that.”

Hansol shakes his head, a low laugh coming out of him. “God, Seungkwan,” he says, his voice laced with sincerity and affection. “I love you.”

The look Seungkwan gives to him is priceless. For some reason, Seungkwan probably didn’t expect to hear it—but those three words make Seungkwan squeak, hands flying up to cover his face, and Hansol laughs, dipping down to kiss his hands all over. He doesn’t let up, and when Seungkwan moves his hands just a little bit to peek playfully, Hansol takes his chances and kisses his way in: Seungkwan’s nose, Seungkwan’s eyelids, Seungkwan’s cheeks.

“For someone so loving, you’re so bad at receiving affections.”

“I just didn’t expect it!”

“Okay,” Hansol placates Seungkwan playfully, hands taking Seungkwan’s, lacing their fingers together and pinning them against the pillow. “Seungkwan, my love.”

“Stop,” Seungkwan whines, but Hansol kisses it away, taking all of Seungkwan’s whining and pouting. “You’re just being mean.”

“No, I mean it. I love you. Don’t you love me?”

“I do—”

The answer comes out as a gasp, because Hansol—feeling a lot like a fiend, right now—grinds down his cock against Seungkwan’s. His sweatpants are still on, and the friction makes Seungkwan squirm, legs pulling up and squeezing against Hansol’s sides. The movement reminds Seungkwan that Hansol is only partially naked, though, so he wiggles a hand out of Hansol’s grasp and reaches down to pull at Hansol’s sweatpants.

“Off—Take it off,” Seungkwan mumbles, fingers swiping over the waistband. “I wanna see you, too.”

Hansol would do anything that Seungkwan asks him to. He pulls back just enough, and his breath hitches when Seungkwan—probably feeling like a fiend, too—lifts his legs, feet dragging down Hansol’s thighs as he takes his pants off, hand pulling at it impatiently. He’s aware that he’s so painfully hard, precum dripping down his shaft, cock twitching when he realized that Seungkwan’s staring at it shamelessly.

He grins. “Is it big enough?”

“Oh my god,” Seungkwan stutters, looking every bit teased. “Shut up.”

As an apology, he leans down to kiss Seungkwan again. In spite of himself, he feels like an overeager puppy, licking his way into Seungkwan’s mouth, biting and nipping at his lips. His hands slide down Seungkwan’s legs again—in the corners of his mind, he’s starting to think that it’s a habit that’s starting to develop. He palms Seungkwan’s ass, eagerly swallowing down the moans slipping out of Seungkwan as he squeezes the plump flesh, soft against his touch. He feels the way Seungkwan trembles when he easily digs a finger deep in, feeling just how wet Seungkwan is right now.

He groans, grunting at the thought that he made Seungkwan like this. He litters quick small kisses on the side of Seungkwan’s face before pulling back to look closer, hands pushing Seungkwan’s legs up by the under thighs. By instinct, he knows how much he can push before the fold becomes too painful for Seungkwan.

With Seungkwan spread open like this, Hansol feels his breath shorten. He made Seungkwan like this. His mate is leaking all over the bed, strings of slick slipping out of him. Despite how—dirty, is the word, this all looks, Seungkwan is so, so beautiful. Seungkwan’s ears twitch ever so cutely, and he gasps when Hansol swipes a finger over his hole, slowly pushing in, watching Seungkwan’s face for any sign of discomfort.

When there’s none, he pushes in another, in and out. He kisses up Seungkwan’s thighs, biting at the skin, his free hand sliding up to stroke Seungkwan’s own leaking dick. He had never heard Seungkwan make these sounds, and he finds himself almost getting addicted to it. Every part of him is in tune with Seungkwan; every gasp, every whine, every moan. As he slips another finger in and pushes all three as deep as he could, spreading them around and fingerfucking Seungkwan open, Seungkwan lets out a cry that makes Hansol turn so primal he almost can’t take it. The loud squelching in the room is almost unbearable, his cock twitching and drooling, but he refuses to touch himself right now—all his attention is on Seungkwan, and even if he wanted to, he can't even really look or pull away from him.

Seungkwan's hands are clutching at the bedsheets, and he writhes and watches as Hansol bites at his ankle. To Hansol, this feels almost like a dream. He kisses the last bite mark he gave, dipping down to lick a fat stripe at Seungkwan's ass, slipping his fingers out and spreading Seungkwan open. He blows a small breath into it, before tentatively licking it. His hands grip Seungkwan tightly, finding himself emboldened by how much Seungkwan is reacting to this.

He eats Seungkwan out like his life depends on it. It's not a surprise to him, he finds, when Seungkwan starts pulling at his hair whining and pleading and Hansollie, I'm really going to come, and he realizes that he wants Seungkwan to cum like this. He peers up at Seungkwan, sliding in his fingers alongside his tongue, merciless in his ministrations.

And Seungkwan—Seungkwan is, for the lack of better words, beautiful. Once Hansol pushes in his fingers as deep as he could and crooks them, tears burst out of Seungkwan's eyes, a loud cry slipping out his lips while his legs twitch. He cums messily on his own stomach, streaks of white painting himself, and Hansol pulls back and wipes his mouth and chin.

His hair is damp, and his chest is heaving, eyes unfocused for a bit. Seungkwan blinks up at Hansol so, so prettily, and Hansol smiles and nuzzles his face.

"You good?"

He asks it as he takes his cock in one hand, fisting it before pushing it flat against Seungkwan's ass. He's leaking so much slick still, both of them groaning at the feeling of Hansol pressing up against him, his length heavy and veiny.

"I've never done that before," Seungkwan sighs out, hips canting up and face nuzzling right back at Hansol. "I've never done any of this before."

"I haven't either," Hansol murmurs, and it's taking every bit of his self-control to stop himself from immediately fucking his cock in. "You're...I want you to be my first and my only, Seungkwan-ah, if you'd let me. Will you let me? Can I?"

Seungkwan laughs and sniffs, tugging at his hair.

"I'm all yours, Hansol. Of course."

Slowly, with bated breath, he starts entering Seungkwan, both of their faces pressed together as they gasp from the sensation. It's—even after loosening Seungkwan up, it's so tight. It's hot and pulsing and Seungkwan's walls are hugging his cock so perfectly. Seungkwan's nails dig into his skin, muscles on his back flexing as he pulls Seungkwan close to him, body completely engulfing him. As he bottoms out, Seungkwan's nails claw down, muffling his gasps and moans by biting down on Hansol's biceps.

"My mate's a biter, too," Hansol chokes out, nosing at Seungkwan's pulse point, inhaling his scent before licking at it and claiming him.

His pelvis is flat against Seungkwan's ass as he bites down, this time specifically for mating—he feels dizzy, chest beating its fucking heart out as he feels Seungkwan grow feverish, body getting warmer, the grip around his cock tightening as if it's sucking him in deeper. Seungkwan is mewling, crying, whining—but he just holds Hansol tight, clinging on him.

Hansol laps at the mark, admiring it.

"Mine."

Seungkwan smiles as Hansol wipes his tears away. It's insidious, maybe, but Hansol thinks that Seungkwan is so cute looking like this: teary-eyed, nose red. Seungkwan sniffs, closing his eyes as Hansol starts moving his hips, one hand at the back of Seungkwan's head and the other tightly gripping his thigh.

"Fuck," Hansol groans out, this time, forehead against Seungkwan's as he fucks in deeper, feeling how wet Seungkwan is, slick all over their thighs and his crotch. He feels his control slipping away slowly, far away, and his mouth moves by itself, feeling his own body seemingly be feverish as well. "Mine. You're my mate. You have no idea how long I've waited—God, Seungkwan, I love you. Wanted you to be mine for so long."

"Always yours," Seungkwan cries out, and if he was in a clearer state of mind, he'd be concerned with how much he's scratching Hansol down his arms and on his back. "Alpha."

Hansol whines at the acknowledgement, hips moving faster, pulling back and staring down at Seungkwan. Seungkwan looks back at him, small hands trailing down Hansol's broad chest. He squeaks when Hansol grabs his waist and leans forward, thrusting into him deeper, one hand hovering over his navel.

"Gonna marry you," Hansol mutters, like he's in a trance, eyes flitting between Seungkwan's face and his stomach. "Gonna marry you, make you pregnant, babe."

The unexpected thought made Hansol's head turn. Just the idea of it—Seungkwan carrying his child, Seungkwan carrying his surname, every part and inch of Seungkwan all his—intertwined with him—it's intoxicating. He latches on to it, brain refusing to let go of this idea. He wants it. It's almost like an obsessive thought, one that he doesn't have the heart to filter out.

But he doesn't have to. Seungkwan looks at him with wide eyes, his scent almost excited.

"You will?"

The small, hopeful voice kills Hansol.

"I will," he says, voice low, hand caressing Seungkwan's stomach and sides. "I'll marry you, make you mine forever. And I'll knot you again and again if I have to, make sure you'd be full and carry our children. Does my omega want that?"

My omega. It rolls off his tongue so smoothly. Seungkwan sobs out, nodding frantically and circling his arms around Hansol's neck.

"Yes, yes, please. I want it—I'll be good—I'll carry your litter and be good."

"My perfect Seungkwannie," Hansol gasps out, and he feels himself reach his limit. In the dark haze of his mind, he knows how crazy this is, how messy it would be, but right now he wants nothing but this. "You want me to knot you? Breed you deep and make sure it takes?"

"Please—need it badly, Hansollie, please."

He pushes up and folds Seungkwan as much as he can, his mate almost a little ball underneath him. He hovers over him completely now, caging him in his arms. Seungkwan has never looked so needy and desperate, voice so high pitched as Hansol keeps pounding into him. His hips drawing back smoothly, cock pulling out all the way to the tip, before slamming back into the base, deep and harsh and frantic.

"Your turn, babe," Hansol breathes out, voice at an edge, leaning down and willingly baring his neck at Seungkwan.

Seungkwan's mouth latches on to him, nosing at his pulse and taking deep comfort in Hansol's scent before he kisses the skin and bites down hard. Hansol takes Seungkwan's dick in hand and jerks him off as he feels his knot starting to inflate, his hips pushing and pushing. Seungkwan's muffled keening and squealing is so audible as he reaches his climax for the second time, just as he feels Hansol's knot push past his rim.

He whimpers and whines as he feels absolutely stuffed, the new sensation of literally feeling Hansol's cum splashing in him so vivid even when it seems like he truly did kind of fade a bit. He lets go of Hansol's neck, licking the mark he left and letting himself fall back on the bed. Hansol unfolds him slowly, gently, breathing so heavily as he kisses Seungkwan all over his face.

He whispers so many smitten, sweet nothings, and Seungkwan can't help but smile and giggle at how cheesy Hansol is. They're still intertwined, Hansol's knot steadily deflating in him, bodies pressed so intimately close. Seungkwan strokes his stomach, feeling how his belly is just absolutely warm and filled.

"You have to marry me; you can't take it back now." Seungkwan sleepily says, cheek against Hansol's chest. He's on top of him now, Hansol having no problem flipping and manhandling him around. Seungkwan, bless his heart, has no objections to that. "You proposed while knotting me, I can't believe it."

Hansol kisses the crown of his head, fixing Seungkwan's damp hair. "I can propose again if you want."

"You better."

"I'll propose as many times as you want. Do you want, like, ten rings?"

Seungkwan laughs and slaps Hansol's chest, and Hansol just simply holds him closer. The adrenaline ebbing away now, a wave of calm washes over him, and he bear-hugs Seungkwan tightly, careful not to jostle him too much.

“Anything wrong?”

Hansol shakes his head, and Seungkwan just lets himself be cuddled, never one to reject Hansol’s affections. He traces the bite mark on Hansol’s neck, and the reminder makes Hansol focus on the one that he made on Seungkwan’s. There are countless—so many marks all over Seungkwan’s otherwise flawless skin, and while it fills Hansol with glee, he feels obliged to apologize for them.

Seungkwan just snorts. “I would’ve told you to stop if I didn’t like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Seungkwan hums, chin on Hansol’s chest as he looks up at him, smiling bashfully. “It made me feel wanted. I thought, ah, Hansol wants to mark me. It’s nice.”

“I feel fucked up sometimes,” Hansol laughs, hand sliding down the curve of Seungkwan’s spine, resting on his waist. “God. You have no idea—sometimes it’s so irrational. Like, I know Seokmin-hyung doesn’t want to really mate with you, but when he’s there it’s like there’s a haze in my mind, you know?”

“Seokmin? As my mate? Seokmin.”

“Yeah, I know. Stop laughing.”

Seungkwan doesn’t stop laughing—he cracks up, like he just heard the funniest, most insane gossip of his lifetime. “Seokmin-hyung?”

“Stop,” Hansol groans, but he can’t help but laugh along. With all his fears so easily dismantled by Seungkwan like this, he can’t help but think that he was just so stupid for all the oversight. “I’m telling you; he loves you.”

“Oh, but I love you,” Seungkwan sighs out, wheezing the last of his laughs and squishing Hansol’s face with both his hands. “That’s all that matters.”

“Then maybe I’m just too greedy,” comes the mumbled reply, just a little bit sulky and bratty. This time, though, Hansol doesn’t care if he sounds like a kid. “It’s just that sometimes you two look at each other and it just feels like you love him.”

“He’s my friend, of course I love him. But the love I have for you is something else entirely. I’m all in on you, you know?” Seungkwan tilts his head, a small smile on his lips. “You know me. I’m going to spend my whole life with you, Hansol. We’ll have a house in that area around Hangang River where you can see it out of the window, and we’re going to have a family. A dog and a cat, right? And two kids. Chwe Dasol and Chwe Misol.”

Hansol swallows, trying his hardest to stabilize his breathing. It’s warm and stifling and dizzying in the best way possible, knowing that Seungkwan thought of them having children all this time. Giving them names patterned after him. “Dasol and Misol?”

“Mhm. Two girls.”

“What if we have sons?”

“No,” Seungkwan shakes his head resolutely, “two girls. Believe me. I feel it.”

Hansol doesn’t say anything, fearing that he’d cry if he does. There’s something magical about the way that he can see everything Seungkwan said so clearly. Seungkwan seems to sense it, because he kisses Hansol’s face all over, a victorious grin already plastered on his face. Seungkwan and his skill of always knowing what to say, always knowing what to do. With this thought comes another blinding realization that Seungkwan is his mate. That he’s going to marry Seungkwan, he will. And he believes what Seungkwan sees for their future, and believes that it’ll come true. He thinks it will all happen. He’ll make sure of it.

“You believe me now?”

“I always end up believing you,” Hansol answers, chuckling in surrender. He kisses Seungkwan’s face, before moving to carry him to the bathroom. “Now let’s go get both of us cleaned up.”

Woozi-hyung

holy shit

did you EAT seungkwan or something

jeonghan’s never going to shut up about this

Without his consent, a triumphant grin spreads on his face as he reads through the messages Jihoon sent him. The members know what happened. All of them, he’s sure of it. With the amount of noise he and Seungkwan made last night, he already expected it.

He winces just from thinking about the scolding that he’s going to get from Jeonghan—and by proxy, Seungcheol—but it’s fine. He’s texting his reply to Jihoon when Seokmin finally finishes his turn in the photoshoot, Wonwoo going up next. Seokmin stands next to Hansol as they wait for the schedule to finish, and while Hansol isn’t as good in reading the room as Seungkwan is, he wonders what Seokmin’s reaction is to all of this.

“Did Minghao tell you about what happened this morning?”

Hansol blinks at Seokmin’s sudden whisper, like he’s about to divulge a secret. He shakes his head. Seokmin looks at him, then back at Wonwoo. Wonwoo is effortlessly posing in front of the camera, hand in his pocket, chin up.

“Turns out Mingyu fought with Wonwoo-hyung.”

“Huh?” That’s odd. If it’s something Minghao and Seokmin are talking about like this, it must be something serious. “Did he say why?”

“Mingyu was probably having one of those days where he’d try to talk to Wonwoo about mating already. Maybe Wonwoo wasn’t in the mood? I’m not really sure.”

“Seungkwan’s with Mingyu right now. I wonder if Mingyu told him all about it.”

Seokmin shrugs. “Maybe. All I know is that it was pretty nasty. I think they drove separately when they left their house.”

Seungkwan must’ve rubbed off on Hansol so much now, because while it’s not really his business, he’s grown more curious about what could possibly be the cause for his friends to fight. He sends an out-of-context babe to Seungkwan, fully intending to ask when the omega replies, but for now he mulls over it.

He looks long and hard at Seokmin, and Seokmin must’ve sensed the intensity of Hansol’s gaze, because he looks away from Wonwoo and looks directly at Hansol with an uncertain expression.

“What?”

“Hyung…” Hansol trails off, contemplating backing off at the last second. He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do, nor is he sure if he knows exactly what it is that he wants to say. Or if it’s going to come across the way he wants it to. Seokmin straightens up his posture, his expression completely serious now as he regards Hansol.

“What is it?”

“Seungkwan and I,” Hansol licks his lips, “You know Seungkwan and I are mates now, right?”

An emotion flashes along Seokmin’s face, but it’s gone before Hansol can even truly ruminate on what it’s about. “Yeah, Seungkwannie told me earlier.”

It’s now or never, Hansol thinks, and he quickly says, voice low, “Hyung, do you love Seungkwan?”

The response from Seokmin comes just as fast, just a little bit shaky.

"Of course, I do. He's my friend."

"No," Hansol shakes his head, a hand waving a bit. "What I mean is. Are you in love with Seungkwan?"

"Seungkwan is in love with you."

"I know. But are you in love with him?"

There's a long silence, and deep inside, Hansol knows. He immediately knows. This, in and of itself, is an answer: the subtle way Seokmin's expression falls, the quiet that permeates the air.

"No," Seokmin answers weakly, and they both know he's lying, but Hansol doesn't want to wrestle this out of Seokmin.

Done!

The staff claps as Wonwoo finishes his photoshoot, and they both startle out of the serious conversation. They start bowing to the staff as they file out; Thank you, thank you for today, but Hansol pensively watches Seokmin from the corner of his eyes. Did he push too hard? Was it too much? He didn't want it to come off as something aggressive, he really didn't.

Wonwoo leaves first when they arrive at the parking lot, having brought his own car. Seokmin and Hansol stand there in silence, and the heavy atmosphere weighs down on Hansol that he just blurts out, "Hyung, I'm sorry."

Seokmin looks at him in surprise, before laughing a bit and pulling Hansol closer, arm around his shoulder. "What for?"

"I don't want you to think that I wanted to fight with you." Hansol thinks a bit longer, before admitting, "I was just...I've always been jealous, I guess. Worried."

"Aigo," Seokmin sighs out, before smiling at him. It looks a bit sad, but also resigned. It's the smile of someone who knew all along how things would all end up as. "You're cute. Have you ever told this to Seungkwan?"

"Yesterday. He kept laughing at me."

"Good. You deserve that."

"Yah."

The manager is taking a while to come. Seokmin hums a song, while Hansol stands there with his arms crossed. There's no one else in the carpark, no other movement except for the car backing up right in front of them. The stark red tail lights shine over them, glaring and vibrant, and Hansol squints his eyes.

"I never stood a chance, you know. It was never really a competition," Seokmin says, low enough for Hansol to hear it. He tries to look at Seokmin, but the tail lights are too bright, and Seokmin's expression is too vague. "For Seungkwan, it's always been you."

The car finishes backing up, driving off and away, and the red light slowly fades. Seokmin looks at Hansol, and Hansol watches as his expression grows more visible, more comprehensible. Still, he couldn’t quite figure out what emotion was on his face just a few seconds ago.

Seokmin smiles.

"I know I don't have to say this to you. But take good care of him, okay?"

Hansol can't help but give Seokmin a half hug, arm winding up around the older man. He nods, and Seokmin looks satisfied, and Hansol realizes that the bitterness that has always been at the back of his tongue is now long gone.

He doesn’t expect it to be easy.

Being newly mated means that he’s sensitive to every little thing Seungkwan does, and it goes vice versa. The members clear out and make sure to give as much space as they can—it’s hard with their line of work, but Hansol finds that he can manage just fine.

But sometimes someone would get too close to Seungkwan; Seungkwan would laugh at such an unfunny joke, or make his teasing face at someone else, and it’s harmless and it’s nothing but Hansol finds himself moving behind Seungkwan, arms winding around his waist and chin on his shoulder. Fortunately, no one takes offense. Unfortunately, because his members are the way they are, they use it as a gateway to tease reactions out of Hansol.

Hansol is...apologetic about the sudden escalations of things, kind of—they have to draft a letter to fans, have to hope that this doesn’t have a huge impact on the group, but the only, truly aggressive consequence came in the form of Jeonghan screeching a ‘you let him knot you?’. In front of everyone. Seungkwan's face turned red and he realized the mistake of oversharing with Jeonghan, and Jeonghan sulks a little bit, but he calms down when Seungkwan spends a whole day-off with him. He’s more than happy with proceeding to continue his friendly hostilities with Hansol. Hansol’s more than happy to absorb it all if it means he’ll be spared from another lecture about knotting his own mate.

Aside from that, it was all cheers and congratulations. Life still goes on the way it has always been going, just that this time, Hansol really, officially has Seungkwan, and Seungkwan has him.

While watching Seungkwan from across the room during a break, Wonwoo sits down next to him. His hyung sighs a bit, body visibly deflating as he slumps against the mirror. It might absolutely be from the physical exertion that they just did with the new choreography, but Hansol can sense the distress emanating from him. Much like himself towards Seungkwan, Wonwoo watches Mingyu from afar.

Seungkwan explained to him what Mingyu’s side was—and just as Seokmin suspected, it’s about the long-standing issue of Wonwoo not being ready to mate. It’s something that Hansol never understood, at least not fully. He looks at Wonwoo and wonders what’s going on in Wonwoo’s mind. Wonwoo isn't complicated most of the time, but sometimes he tends to get so convoluted with his thought processes. The older alpha feels the observation, and Wonwoo turns his head and looks at Hansol. He tilts his head.

Hansol shakes his head, looking back at Seungkwan just to make sure he knows where he is.

“What’s on your mind?”

Well, if Wonwoo insists on talking.

“Are you and Mingyu-hyung still fighting?”

Wonwoo’s lips drop into a flat line, resting his chin on his arms that are crossed on top of his knee. “I guess so?”

“You guess so?”

“I mean, we haven’t talked.”

There’s a nervous uncertainty hiding beneath Wonwoo’s voice, and it’s almost uncomfortable in its familiarity. He knows the feeling too well, and while it might not be the exact same, Hansol thinks that maybe there’s some similarity despite the difference in their circumstances after all.

“Can I ask why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don't you want to mate with Mingyu-hyung?” Hansol asks, before quickly adding, “Yet. Why don’t you want to mate with Mingyu-hyung yet?”

There’s silence, and he wonders if Wonwoo is going to be upset, or angry. He knows Wonwoo won’t—he’s not going to be angry at something like that, especially when Hansol is not pushing more than he should. But it’s obvious that it’s a question that stings. Wonwoo juts his lips out a little in a contemplative little pout, like he’s trying to decide what to say. Or maybe he’s trying to decide if he wants to say it. Hansol doesn’t take offense; he’s aware that Wonwoo usually talks it out with Seungkwan instead, and he’s aware that he doesn’t have much to offer when it comes to actually giving solutions.

Hansol is built to comfort people, not to fix them. That's Seungkwan's job.

But Wonwoo just says, “Do you know what it’s like to be afraid of breaking things?”

Hansol thinks back on the previous years, the feeling of always just dangling at the edge of balance. The anxiety of the hand holding him just disappearing into thin air. The sickness he feels from the smell of the ocean and tangerines being mixed with others.

“Yeah.”

“Honestly,” Wonwoo says quietly, even though there’s no one else around them in this corner of the practice room, “I’m just afraid it’ll end up like before, you know?”

“Before…?” Hansol trails off, before he realizes what Wonwoo is talking about. 2016. The absolute devastation that birthed Lies. The painful fragments scattered everywhere for you to step on and bleed all over after a broken relationship: Hansol never experienced it himself, but he watched. He watched how Mingyu tried to help, again and again, and he watched how Wonwoo was so filled up with anger that he never knew how to let go.

And then 2017 passed. And 2018. Before they knew it, it's 2021, and Mingyu is still there, and Wonwoo managed to heal. Over time, the hurt wanes. The anger gets tiring. Gentleness triumphs over any wounds, covering whatever you think it is that made you think that you will never find love again. Like water over fire. This, Hansol understands.

“Ah.”

“I love him.”

The quiet confidence just from that statement alone almost throws Hansol off balance. On the other side of the room, Seungkwan turns his head while mid-conversation with Soonyoung and finds Hansol’s gaze, grinning and waving at him. Hansol smiles and nods; in an unspoken question, Seungkwan points at the coffee maker with his head, and Hansol nods again. He watches as Seungkwan extracts himself from the small group and scoots over to make coffee.

“Don’t you think Mingyu-hyung loves you too?”

“I know, I know it. I feel it. He’s never short on anything, and I’d never want to make him feel that way. But somehow, I end up making him feel like that anyway,” Wonwoo’s voice is tinged with bitterness that Hansol thought he would’ve shed already, by now. “It’s me. I’m the one who’s too scared and who keeps running away. But I want it.”

“I don’t fully get it,” Hansol admits, honest and truthful. “I never experienced what you did, hyung, so I’m not gonna pretend that I know what you should do. But all I know is that you love him, and you sound like you just want to make sure you can love him properly so that you don’t fuck things up, right?”

“Right.”

“Right,” he continues, “and that part, I understand. And it’s scary. But isn’t it scarier if you lose them before you can even try?”

Wonwoo’s eyes, for a split second, turn glassy—Hansol looks away from Seungkwan’s hunched back just to look at Wonwoo, and he doesn’t need to know who his hyung is looking at with such a heartbreakingly fond expression. He’s always been a believer that he and Wonwoo share a lot of similar traits, but this one—this love and reverence for someone that always seems to threaten to consume oneself fully, raging and calm all at once—out of everything, Hansol believes that this is the one thing he understands more than anything.

“He loves you,” Hansol repeats himself. Sitting up, he sees that Seungkwan is walking towards them, a cup of coffee in his hand. God, Hansol thinks, I love you. “You have to trust him on that too, hyung.”

Seungkwan hands him his coffee and he settles on the floor, sitting between Hansol’s legs. He leans back on Hansol’s chest, sliding down with his legs outstretched until his head is comfortably tucked underneath Hansol’s chin. Wonwoo doesn’t answer, but the air clears, and he smiles at them.

“You two look good together,” he grins, reaching out to pinch at Seungkwan’s cheeks. Mindlessly, without even thinking about it, Hansol’s arm lifts up to block the touch from connecting. Wonwoo looks up at him, and Hansol sheepishly lets out a stilted laugh, slowly lowering his arm. “Down, boy.”

Wonwoo pinches Seungkwan’s cheek, his eyes watching with amusement as Hansol’s eyebrows twitch from the contact. He laughs, pulling away.

“You got yourself a guard cat, Seungkwan.”

“Speak for yourself, hyung,” Seungkwan defends, nuzzling Hansol’s arm, like he’s rubbing the touch away. Hansol—really, he doesn’t really care at this point—purrs. “Go play guard cat for your golden retriever.”

“He’s a fox, Seungkwan. He’s more of a guard dog than a guard cat.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “So, you agree, Hansol? You’re his guard cat?”

There’s a rare flare of pride in Hansol’s grin as he says, “Of course. I’m his mate.”

Speechless, Wonwoo lets out a surprised laugh as Seungkwan shoos him away, waving him to Mingyu’s direction. Mingyu has been watching them, but the moment he sees them look in his direction, he whips his head around and starts talking to Minghao rapidly. Wonwoo sighs and shakes his head, before he finally starts walking to Mingyu.

“You think they’ll be okay?”

Seungkwan asks it with so much concern that Hansol finds himself smiling, free hand reaching down to intertwine with Seungkwan’s. Seungkwan, he thinks, is so full of love for everyone. For once, it doesn’t elicit an ache in him when he thinks about it. Seungkwan squeezes his hand, and Hansol kisses his temple. He thinks of the way Wonwoo looked at Mingyu earlier. He wonders—he knows the answer, but still, he wonders if he looks the same way, whenever he looks at Seungkwan. It feels like it.

“Yeah,” he says, and he means it.

A week or so after Seungkwan and Hansol mated, Boo Jinseoul came over and told them to pack their bags. Seungcheol categorized it as a family emergency and shooed them away—they've been thinking of how to break the news to the public, but that'll have to wait.

It was confusing. They went to the airport separately, under Jinseoul's orders—Seungkwan left first, just as confused, but he didn't fail to kiss Hansol goodbye as he got whisked away by Jinseoul.

"Your sister isn't mad at me, is she?"

Hansol asked nervously just before they left, and they both took a peek at her. She sharply looked back at them, an alpha in her own right, and they both quickly looked away.

"No, I don't think so."

Hansol doubted it, but if Seungkwan said so then it shall be what the truth is. When he finally arrived at the airport, he truly got the shock of his life when he saw his dad and his grandmother standing there, as if they had been waiting for him.

"What's going on?"

They looked at each other, then ignored his question. Instead, they asked about how Seungkwan is doing, and when were you planning to take Seungkwan home, Hansol? He laughed sheepishly as he answered each and every question, but his soul bloomed at the way their eyes glittered with excitement for him.

"Mom really wants us to visit soon," he said as they boarded the plane, "She had always loved Seungkwan, but now I'm afraid she's legitimately about to replace me for him."

In an even more confusing sequence of events, they landed in Jeju. They sweep him away, and they don't seem to be as confused as he is. His father made him wear a hanbok ser before they disappeared to change into their own traditional garments.

"Oh, shit," Hansol gasps, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Silver trimming throughout his grey-blue robe, with a light grey shirt underneath. His pants are dark purple. Around where the robe is tied is another rope, the front hanging down like embellishments. His dark hair is parted off to the side, looking like how it always does, naturally wavy as is. The longer he looks at his reflection, the more the realization sinks in. Do your best today, his dad told him before leaving his hotel room.

It's really happening.

He's about to get married.

"Hansol!"

Seungkwan runs at him, his matching hanbok waving in the wind as he throws himself at Hansol. Hansol easily catches him, spinning him around once before letting him go.

His mate looks frazzled, red face twisted in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry," he blurts out, looking up at him. "Oh, god, eomma contacted your family immediately when she found out that we mated and—well—there's a wedding now. But I don't want you to be too overwhelmed. I know we talked about it, and I'm ready, I want you to know that, but if you aren't—"

He stops Seungkwan short with a kiss, holding both of his hands. Seungkwan's lips are so soft, and he can feel how he's pouting into the kiss. Cute, really. He pulls back and squeezes Seungkwan's hands, smiling down at him. He can feel that he's calmed down a bit, and that's good.

"Hey, it's okay," he lets go of one hand just to brush Seungkwan's hair, fingers combing through the soft strands. "I just didn't know what was going on, but trust me when I tell you that I feel like I've been waiting for my entire fucking life just to marry you. This is like a dream to me."

"You mean it?"

"I mean it."

Seungkwan's voice is so small, like he was afraid that Hansol was just going to up and leave him. Sometimes, Hansol forgets that he's not the only one who feels unreasonable fears. He holds Seungkwan in his arms, realizing not for the first time how fragile Seungkwan feels sometimes. In his arms is his whole life in one person. How could he ever leave?

"We can have fifty more weddings after this one, I don't care. I just want to be with you."

"You're crazy," Seungkwan's muffled voice answers, face pressed against Hansol's shoulder. "You're truly crazy, Chwe Hansol."

"If you say so, Chwe Seungkwan."

Seungkwan pulls back and gives him a look. "Not yet."

Chwe Seungkwan sounds perfect. Like it's supposed to be like that. Like it's always been like that. The combined name echoes in Hansol's psyche, and he breathes out slowly. Suddenly, he can't wait—when the wedding is over, he has to thank Seungkwan's eomma for this.

"Let's go make it real, then."

He offers his arm, and Seungkwan smiles at him so prettily before hooking his own around it.

When they walk into the wedding hall, Hansol is stunned.

It's a wide place, windows opened to let the breeze in. It never occurred to him that the wedding location is in such a huge estate, acres of land spanning for miles just outside.

He spies his mom and Hangyeol sitting next to his dad and his grandma. She smiles at both of them so proudly, and Hangyeol does a cute, tiny wave. On the other side are Seungkwan's sisters and mother—they're all excitedly beaming at him, so he can truly be assured that none of them are going to bite his head off for mating with Seungkwan without them knowing beforehand.

Kneeling in front of the officiator, he feels Seungkwan's hand reach out for him, and he willingly moves his hand over for it to be within Seungkwan's reach. Seungkwan traces his palm lines. Line by line, both of them looking down. He hears Seungkwan whisper that the members are going to be so pissed because they weren't invited, and Hansol has to actually hold himself back from laughing.

We'll have another wedding. One that you'll actually get to plan.

[Me?]

I know you've always wanted to plan one.

Seungkwan looks at him with an expression that's filled with awe and gratitude, like somehow, he didn't expect Hansol to think of that. He is just about to say something when the officiator clears his throat, and both of them sit up straight as if they were children that were caught talking in class.

They look at each other from the corner of their eyes, biting their lips to stop the giggles as the officiator continues on.

Instead of having the kiss and vows, Seungkwan's mother suddenly stands up and beckons Seungkwan to follow her. As they leave, Hansol stands up as well, almost panicking that maybe something went wrong.

Jinseoul shakes her head, laughing.

"Don't panic. It's just a wedding tradition that the Boo family has."

"What tradition?"

"Instead of a vow and a kiss, you'd have to find him," Sojeong quips, gesturing at the window outside. Suddenly, the fields and trees make sense. "He has to legitimately hide and run away, and you have to find and chase him by scent."

"Oh, oppa, this is terrible," Hangyeol jokes, picking at her hanbok sleeves. "You're bad at hide-and-seek."

Usually, he is. But this is Seungkwan. Out of everything, this is one thing that he's confident about: he'll always, always be able to find Seungkwan. As their sisters start talking about Bookkeu and Leo and Jazz, his mom pulls him aside and takes his hands, cupping his face and patting his hair down.

"Han," she coos, voice so soft. "Look at you. I am so, so proud. You're all grown up now, aren't you? Married to Seungkwan. I knew you would be."

He laughs a bit. "You knew?"

"Mother's instinct, and all that. I always knew that you loved him, and he loved you. You have to do this final step by yourself, but I know you can do it."

"I can," Hansol says, the most resolute he's ever been. His mother studies him for a bit before smiling, hugging him so, so tight, pressing a loving kiss at the top of his head. For a moment, he feels like a child, and he closes his eyes. He thinks that he's all the richer for embracing the feeling in times like this.

"Go on," she gestures, after letting go. "Find your mate."

He walks out into the hallway they usher him out of, and he remembers the direction they give to him. Left, right, forward. He enters into what seems like a veranda that overlooks the massive stretch of land. There are windchimes on the overhang that extends for a little bit.

Seungkwan's mother is standing right outside, looking at the field. Her son's clothes are on the side, folded neatly. She turns around and beckons Hansol to come closer.

"My son is a handful," she starts, "but he has such a big heart. It makes it easy for it to break, I think, which is why I know he'll be perfectly fine with you. I know you so well, Hansol-ah. So well that it feels like you're my own son."

She opens her arms, and Hansol leans down and makes himself smaller to fit into her hug. She smells so similar to Seungkwan, the same comforting and loving aura. Oranges and mountain mist. Seungkwan grew up with this much love, and it all makes sense to Hansol how Seungkwan is the way he is.

"Thank you for loving Seungkwan."

She says it with so much genuine thankfulness, her voice emotional as she sniffs. Hansol shakes his head.

"No, thank you for loving Seungkwan," Hansol pulls back and smiles, "thank you for his existence."

She wipes her tears and laughs. "Ah, I promised Seungkwan that I won't cry again, but here I am. I'm just so happy."

"Did he cry?"

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind passes by, multiple wind chimes ringing at the same time. They both look up as the glasses ring, delicate little sounds simultaneously playing and creating what seems to be a song on its own. The breeze is cold, and it leaves a light movement in its wake. The windchimes continue playing even after the breeze is long gone.

She looks at Hansol, eyes bright.

"Why don't you find out yourself?"

He hasn’t been in his animal form in a while.

As Seungkwan’s mom leaves him to his own devices, the windchimes continue to ring. It’s magic to hear the tiny, lingering noises. He sheds his own clothes, untying his hanbok and shrugging his robe off, then pulling his shirt up. As he turns, he lets his psyche adjust and focuses his senses on Seungkwan.

He runs past the trees, only to find himself in what seems to be a literal forest. Choosing to go with his wolf rather than his snow leopard, he never noticed how much bigger he is now—there’s not really much reason to turn, growing up. And even less reason for him to show his wolf to people. He always had an aversion with how people react to it, only ever showing his wolf to his members once, as a pup. But this time, he wanted Seungkwan to see this part of him, too.

He stretches his limbs and walks around, trying to find a trail. A large black wolf gingerly stalking the forest, pointed ears twitching. Another strong breeze passes by, and what seems like a million scents get swept around him. The wind carried so much that for a moment he felt confused, unable to even identify one singular smell. He closes his eyes and tries to sift through everything, focusing as much as he can.

He imagines Seungkwan.

It’s been a while since he saw Seungkwan’s animal form. In his mind, it's still the cub that he held in his arms back in 2018. Small. Seungkwan was quivering, nervous about a performance, paws outstretched and resting on Hansol’s hand. Hansol remembers stroking down the length of his back, over and over, scratching his head as Seungkwan slowly calms down. His tail relaxed slowly, before lazily swaying up and down. The ocean, the tangerines, the reds and whites and blacks on his fur. So beautifully Seungkwan.

He catches the smallest, tiniest hint of citrus.

Found you.

He opens his eyes, and he runs.

The ground is a blur under him, greens and browns everywhere. He doesn’t care for anything else—twists and turns and branches and vines are nothing to him. The scent guides him, like Seungkwan is asking him to come home. He feels his wolf bolting through the paths, the soil and dry leaves crunching underneath his paws as he races to follow the distinct scent. It brings him to clearing, and he slows down as the scent gets stronger.

A lone rectangular building stands in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by hedges and flowers. Roses, camellias, peonies. The building is a one-floor cabin, half of it seemingly made of glass. A gust of wind blows, and so many colorful petals fly up against the clear blue sky.

Around the corner of the hedges, he sees the head of a small red panda take a peek.

The scent hits him. Seungkwan pulls back and scurries into the greenhouse, and Hansol wastes no time trudging carefully to the building. He ducks underneath the smaller archways, tail swaying leisurely as he puts up a paw and pushes the half-open door. The interior of the cabin is minimalistic and comfortable, a rustic kitchenette is tucked at the corner, with a rectangular floor table with two cushions. The far edge of the cabin is the glass part—glass ceilings, floor-length windows, paired perfectly with the wooden facade. The bed is right in the middle of it, fitting completely in that corner.

He sees a tiny movement at the corner of his vision, and he immediately runs after Seungkwan as the red panda scurries off to the bed. He pounces at Seungkwan, reverting to his human form as he cradles Seungkwan in his arm. He's grown just a little bit bigger—barely a change from the last time Hansol saw him in this form, and the petulant gaze makes Hansol think that Seungkwan knows exactly what he's thinking of.

"Caught you," Hansol says, patting his head. Small paws make a grabby hands gesture at him. "As cute as you are in this form, I wanna see my husband pouting as a human now."

Seungkwan's paws gently pad down at his eyes, and Hansol laughs lightly and indulges him, closing his eyes and waiting. The weight on him becomes heavier, and he feels Seungkwan grow in his arms, more and more into a much more familiar shape and size.

He feels Seungkwan kiss his right eyelid, then his left, and Hansol opens his eyes.

Seungkwan is smiling at him shyly, brown hair golden at the edges underneath the afternoon light. His eyelashes flutter as he blinks, and his plump lips are all but perfect. The mole underneath his eye is visible, and Hansol thinks that he wants to kiss each and every inch of Seungkwan that he could.

Hansol leans forward and kisses him. He can feel how warm Seungkwan's skin is underneath his hands, palm gliding up his thighs and around his waist, up his back and down again. Sucking on Seungkwan's lips and wrapping his tongue around his and licking into Seungkwan's mouth eagerly, a deep, gnawing desire manifests itself within Hansol. There's no such thing as too much Seungkwan, is there? To Hansol, it always seems like he will infinitely want more, more, more.

He slightly pulls back, a thin string of saliva connecting them as they pant, both of their faces still so close to each other. His eyes flutter down to Seungkwan's lips, already a bit swollen and red, up to Seungkwan's eyes.

"Hi," he greets breathlessly, "Chwe Seungkwan."

Seungkwan flushes furiously, giggling as Hansol kisses the edge of his mouth, then the side of his face. "Ah, I'm really a Chwe now."

"Yeah. Chwe Seungkwan." The name rolls off his tongue so well. His stomach twists and turns in the most wonderful way, hands tingling as they roam around Seungkwan's back down to his ass. "It makes me so excited saying it, I'm not gonna lie."

"I used to always write it at the margins of my notes before."

"What?"

Seungkwan laughs, fond embarrassment in his being as Hansol looks at him in surprise. He puts his palms over his cheeks. "I told you. I've been dreaming of this since forever."

And what else can he say to that, really? He imagines Seungkwan doodling the characters of Hansol's surname, right next to his name. 최승관. Just thinking of it makes his heart flutter like a little kid. He gulps, and Seungkwan puts his hands on Hansol's shoulders and looks up at him.

"I was surprised to see your wolf," he says softly, fingers fixing Hansol's hair. "You don't really like showing it off."

"I don't," Hansol hums, watching Seungkwan's face intently as he fusses over him. "But I wanted you to see it again."

"I haven't seen it in years," Seungkwan emphasizes, looking all over his face before saying, "Your wolf is so beautiful, Hansol."

He feels his cheeks heat up at the sincerity in Seungkwan's compliment. "Thank you."

Seungkwan inhales as he pressed his face against Hansol's, nose bumping against his. As if scenting him. Seungkwan's cheeks are so soft, like pillows against Hansol's face.

"Did you know that you smell like the rain?"

"The rain?"

"Mhm. Like a rainy, misty weekday morning. It reminds me of waking up to hear the raindrops pattering down the roof and my mom cooking in the kitchen, classes being suspended because of the heavy rain. And I'd open my window and watch the rain fall down."

Hansol digests Seungkwan's description, before saying, "No one has ever told me that. I didn't even know that."

"Must be just me who can smell it, then," Seungkwan smiles triumphantly, like he just won the lottery. "Oil painting, wood, and rain. You smell perfectly like home, Hansollie."

"Your home."

"My home," Seungkwan agrees, brushing his lips against Hansol's.

Hansol devours him. His lips coax Seungkwan to match his pace, lips slotting against each other like they were made to. He gasps as Hansol squeezes his ass and slips a finger down, pad of his fingertips rubbing against his wet entrance. He breaks away from Seungkwan, sighing, one hand moving up to caress Seungkwan’s waist.

Seungkwan pulls back and gasps. “Wait. Wait.”

He blinks rapidly and straightens up. “What? Does anything hurt? What’s wrong?”

Hansol is legitimately concerned, but Seungkwan just shakes his head and pushes him back slowly, further into the bed. He acquiesces and slowly reclines on the pillows, the sunlight streaming through the window. The crystals hanging along the mirrors that he never even noticed scattered iridescent refractions everywhere. Countless little specks of colors are casted along the expanse of Seungkwan, who is looming over him.

There are times where Seungkwan seems so much bigger than what he appears to be. It happens a lot. He shines, Hansol thinks, in a way that no one else can ever replicate. Seungkwan seems small, but in reality, he is a colossus. His presence blankets Hansol’s. In this moment, looking at the way the shadow falls over Seungkwan’s face, soft afternoon light casted along the edges and curves of his features, Hansol can almost see his smell like it’s tangible. Like thousands of sunflowers and tangerines wrapping around his limbs, melting into him. Perfectly draped over. Mingling with his own.

Seungkwan runs a careful, dainty finger, index finger running over his eyebrows. He’s looking down on Hansol with so much focus. There are flecks of light refractions across his cheeks, a soft pink and green dot right where his mole is on. Stands of his brown hair seem golden, skin so soft and lips so red. To Hansol, there’s no one who is more beautiful, no one who can be as close to perfection as Seungkwan is.

“What are you looking at?”

“You.”

“Me?”

Hansol watches Seungkwan’s eyes roam around his face, colored the same as his hair in the sun—radiant brown and gold, each and every attention it holds all just for him.

“Unfair if you’re the only one who can watch,” Seungkwan teases, a faint and fond smile on his lips. It’s a soft, small and gentle quirk up the edges of his lips. “I can pay attention to you too.”

“You pay attention to things more than anyone else that I know.”

“I mean the way you pay attention to me. I want you to know what the love in that type of attention feels like.”

There’s a warmth in the middle of his chest that bleeds outward, like it’s threatening to engulf his whole body. Like Seungkwan is building a nest within him. Love, sometimes, is feral—not quite literally, but he feels it in his bones. The trembling of his organs, the shakiness of his heart. A tiny touch from Seungkwan’s finger paired with the intensity of his gaze feels more like Seungkwan is digging his nails into him, molding Hansol into something that’s sure to have a space that’s shaped exactly like Seungkwan. A nest, a home. It shouldn’t be a person, people say a lot, but if that’s the case then why does it feel like it’s exactly how things are meant to be?

Seungkwan continues speaking in Hansol’s silence, eyes glinting. He’s looking down, eyes tracing Hansol’s features, and Hansol can’t look away from him. In the whole ten years that he knew Seungkwan, he had never been able to, and he’s not about to learn how now.

“You’re so perfect,” Seungkwan says, in the way he always does when he talks about Hansol. Like he’s holding something precious in his hands, like any sudden movement or raised voice will make it all vanish. “I love every part of you. Your brown eyes, the little scar on your right eyebrow.” He feels Seungkwan traces the patch scarred. “I look at every inch of you and think, wow, I know every single thing about you, every story behind every blemish and perfection. And yet I keep on finding more and more about you. And I fall in love over and over again even when you turn into a person so completely different from who I knew you as. Do you ever feel like that?”

“I—” Hansol’s voice deepens, breaks. “You have no idea. You have no idea.”

“I think I do.”

“No,” He croaks, hand caressing the side of Seungkwan’s face. “I’ve always hated it. I love you so selfishly. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t—”

Hansol shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry because this won’t change, Seungkwan. I need you to understand that I love you in such a selfish way that I’ll honestly willingly rip someone apart. Even you. I’m not perfect. The truth that I’ve accepted from a long time ago is that we all, to some degree, love the same way. I love you differently from what we know. I love you like I’m ripping you apart. I love you as if I want every part of you in my hands.”

He grips Seungkwan tightly, like he’s afraid Seungkwan will just disappear from his hold. He feels like he’s been cracked open, everything he ever hid spilling over the floor. Seungkwan is quiet, but he’s looking. And Hansol knows that look. The look of devotion, of amazement, of affection. He has seen it countless times in the mirror.

“I love you in such a revolting way,” Hansol sighs, like a last resort. “I want to. I don’t know. I want to devour you. I’ll kill for you. Do you understand that?”

He imagines, for a moment, Seungkwan saying no. Seungkwan backing out of the room, fear in his eyes, realizing that maybe he married a monster. The ache from this fake scenario doesn’t even register, because he sees Seungkwan’s eyes glint with a hint of danger. For the first time, Hansol realizes that he’s seeing a part of Seungkwan that he hasn’t ever seen.

Seungkwan whispers, voice low, “Don’t you ever think, even for a second, that you’re the only one capable of thinking and doing much unpleasantness.”

Hansol’s breath hitches. Seungkwan’s nails dig into his chest, and he watches as Seungkwan slides down, never breaking eye-contact with him. The burn of the scratches Seungkwan leaves on his wake, across Hansol’s biceps and pectorals and abs, is something that’s starting to be quite addicting. Some of the scratches and bites on his back from a few weeks ago still have yet to fade. If it were up to Hansol, he wouldn’t want them to ever disappear.

“Alpha,” Seungkwan purrs, and Hansol whines as he watches his husband settle in between his legs, cheek pressed against his leaking cock. “won’t you let me devour you, too?”

He says a strangled yes, because any other answer would be a lie.

He didn't even think that his cock would fit in Seungkwan's mouth—but just like in everything else, Seungkwan surprises him. He shudders when Seungkwan traces the veins on his cock with his tongue, holding the base as he starts to gorge himself in it. The most inhuman noises he had ever made rips themselves out of his throat as Seungkwan just keeps taking in more and more of him, fighting through his gag reflex.

All that while definitely looking up at Hansol. Defiant. As if he wants to prove a point.

Hansol draws his legs up and pants. "Don't push yourself too hard, babe."

Seungkwan frowns, lips swollen and spread around his base, and Hansol doesn't have time to prepare himself—Seungkwan starts sucking hard, nails digging into his thighs to steady himself. He deepthroats Hansol with what seems to be vengeance, and while it's something so ridiculous and seemingly laughable, it's exactly what Hansol probably should've expected from Chwe-Boo Seungkwan.

He cums so violently that his vision turns white for a second, a loud ringing in his ear. His lungs hurt as he pants, the whole ordeal almost like a fever dream.

But he never once looked away from Seungkwan.

Seungkwan tries to swallow all of his cum down, but Hansol comes too much. He catches the rest with both his hands, as Hansol shakily grasps the base of his cock and aims it at his lips, gritting his teeth.

The image of Seungkwan, like this, is sacred to him: on his knees, Hansol's cum on his lips and down his chin and pooling on his hands, looking up at Hansol with so much pride and accomplishment.

No one else will ever see this. No one.

Seungkwan, looking like a cat that ate a canary, laps at the tip on his cock. He smiles so, so sweetly, so innocently, as if he didn't just accidentally tilt Hansol's worldview a few angles.

"You're really something else," Hansol croaks, pulling Seungkwan up to him.

"You're never going to find someone else like me."

"No," Hansol agrees, closing his eyes as Seungkwan kisses him. He doesn't even care that he's tasting his own cum. "And I won't ever even want to."

He feels someone stir next to him, and his muscles flex as his arms pull the warm body closer, enclosing around Seungkwan’s waist tighter.

“This is going to be a problem when I go back to filming, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hansol answers flatly. “Won’t let you go to that stupid show.”

Half-truth and half-lie. Seungkwan laughs, considering if he should tease Hansol by asking which show exactly is it that he’s referring to. He hums, turning in his husband’s hold and stretching his legs, skin gliding across each other. His cheek is pressed up against Hansol’s arm, biceps flexed as he pulls Seungkwan unbearably closer. Hansol opens his eyes and tries to blink the sleep away, looking down at him.

Seungkwan, after all that, decides to tease him.

“Which show?”

“All of it.”

An unexpected answer, Seungkwan brings up a hand instinctively to hide his mouth as he giggles. “All?”

“All,” Hansol smiles, playing his part. “The one where we’re both going is fine. The rest can choke.”

“How about the one that I’ll go to with Kim Mingyu?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Hansol says resolutely, knowing that this is all just a play. Seungkwan smiles at him, flustered and incredibly happy under the moonlight, and there’s both disbelief and gladness that comes with knowing that Seungkwan loves him being like this. “And I hate that badminton show. There’s way too many alphas—”

“How did you know?”

“I—” His face feels hot at the admission he’s about to spill. “I looked them all up.”

Seungkwan’s giggles turns into an actual laughing fit, and trying as he might to keep up his pout, Hansol finds himself laughing alongside him. He noses at Seungkwan’s neck, curling around him as much as he could, and his heart feels weak realizing that Seungkwan is doing the same. Mirroring him, Seungkwan grins up, looking so much like the puppy that he actually isn’t.

“You’re so cute when you get like this.”

“Stop.”

“My husband,” Seungkwan breathes out, and while he’s obviously teasing Hansol like this, his own breath seems to catch at the realization of the weight that the word he just uttered carries. “You’re my husband.”

“My husband,” Hansol agrees. The word tastes like candy. Like it’s completely self-indulgent, moving over his tongue. “Mine. You’re a Chwe.”

A million emotions flash through Seungkwan’s face. Hansol, for all his attunement to every bit and pieces that make up what Seungkwan is, cannot catch all of them at once. Instead, he watches Seungkwan like how he would watch a light show. Even in the dark, only with the moonlight, the crystals in the room cast down specks of light. Seungkwan is beautiful. Glassy eyes and intricate moles. How can someone be so delicate yet so strong? So fragile yet so tempered?

“Scent me,” Seungkwan demands, trying to be the brat he always turns into whenever he plays with Hansol, but a slight waver underneath his voice betrays his tone. But Hansol complies, because he’ll never pass it up, not even for the world.

He easily lifts himself up, hovering Seungkwan as he dips down. Smooth skin gliding over and against his face and he works himself around. Seungkwan pulls him closer, and even in the limited lighting Hansol can see the marks he left, marring Seungkwan’s otherwise flawless skin. Patches of red and purple and green.

He wants to leave more, so he does.

Seungkwan moans when Hansol’s lips press against his shoulder, opening just to lick at the skin before biting down. "Biter," Seungkwan chastises, but ironically it lacks any bite at all. If anything, it's fond. It definitely is, coupled with the way his fingers curl into Hansol's hair.

Hansol licks at the mark he left, and idly he thinks about how much he wants to just scent Seungkwan to the point of no return. And he wonders if that's already the case. He licks and nips at the skin as he travels further down, taking a particularly nasty bite at Seungkwan's collarbone that caused his mate to jolt. Seungkwan—he doesn't complain, doesn't stop him. Simply whines when Hansol licks at his nipple and gently bites at it with his teeth, lightly pulling before letting go.

"You like it," he hums, and Seungkwan doesn't even deny it. Somewhere between scenting and biting, he started leaking, and Hansol is too aware of that. He kisses down Seungkwan's body like he's worshipping him, big hands splayed under his thighs as he pushes them up.

He can feel Seungkwan's anticipation, his omega's eyes watching intently, trying to see what the alpha will do next. Hansol merely opens his mouth bites at his ankle gently, letting go and nosing at the skin, following the lines of his legs.

"Tease," Seungkwan whimpers, waist twitching when Hansol reaches the curve of his ass. He licks and sucks at the supple flesh, but not daring to get near the clenching hole that's demanding so much attention. "You're a bully."

"Play nice," Hansol sing-songs, and Seungkwan frowns and pouts.

"Alpha…"

He never continues whatever threat he's about to say, because Hansol—for all his patience and self-control, Hansol can't leave him waiting for too long like this. Not when Seungkwan sounds so undone and looks so ravished, just from Hansol spreading him open and greedily lapping up his slick.

Hansol didn't even know that slick tastes like something. The citrus hit his tongue and he groaned, pulling back in surprise, thumb pushing in. He watches how Seungkwan looks at him with an arm across his mouth, eyes teary and fists clenched. He watches how his hole flutters, twitching as he hooks his thumb and pulls it open just a bit, Seungkwan's eyes half-lidded as muffled cries escape him.

It's still puffy from all the things they've done earlier, but so, so willing. The taste lingers in his mouth, and as if it's a growing addiction, he ducks down and slips his tongue in. He had—Hansol had never done this, but this all feels right. This feels like this is exactly what he should be doing. Sure, he spent years being an absolutely feral man simply because Seungkwan's ass is too amazing for him to not be, but work and feelings always got in the way from even considering how these things go, in depth.

But this? He could do it forever, he thinks. Eating Seungkwan out, his slick viscous and sweet and tangy. Hearing him cry out loudly with no reservations, back bowing off the bed, feet planting themselves on Hansol's shoulder and back as he pulls at Hansol's hair. He slurps as hard as he could and pulls back, saliva and slick glistening his lips and dripping down his chin, and he feels his cock twitch at how fucked out Seungkwan looks.

Hair matted with sweat, eyes dazed and lips swollen from being bitten in an effort to contain his noises. He's breathing heavily, whining when he finally realizes that his alpha is staring down at him. Hansol glances at his stomach covered in cum and coos.

"You came already, babe?"

"Oh, shush," Seungkwan groans, before biting his bottom lip and asking, almost reluctantly, "Is that really the first time you've done that?"

Hansol detects the slight insecurity that tinges the edges of the question. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, kissing Seungkwan's thigh, then his neck, then up his cheek.

"Everything I've done with you, I've never done with anyone else," Hansol sincerely says to him, gripping Seungkwan's waist. "And you're the only person I'll ever do these with."

The insecurity that Hansol can feel on behalf of his mate's uneasiness vanishes bit by bit. Seungkwan purses his lips cutely, aegyo to get rid of the atmosphere that he created, and Hansol gives him this one.

But not without his own game.

His voice drops into a deep whisper as he brings up a hand and curls it into Seungkwan's hair. "And you?"

He can feel their connection in him, Seungkwan's nervous excitement like a distant throb in his consciousness. "Me?"

"You've never done any of these before with anyone, have you?"

"No," Seungkwan manages to answer without a stutter, but it comes out breathy. His eyes flutter shut as Hansol starts kissing along his jaw. "Only you."

Another thing that Hansol has discovered about himself is that he does not shut up. Not even when he's aware that the things he's saying are things he'd be ashamed of later, keeling over as Seungkwan laughs at him with a coffee mug in hand. The words go from his brain out his mouth, filter broken and disarmed. Seungkwan's own words hit him like a freight train, and his cock feels so, so painfully hard, pressed against the inside of Seungkwan's thighs and smearing it with pre-cum.

"Only me," Hansol agrees, and in an instant, he flips Seungkwan. His husband lets out a little oof, but he's pliant and obedient, laying down on his stomach as Hansol kisses his back. He runs his palms down the length of Seungkwan's spine as he nuzzles his nape.

Seungkwan smells like wood and oil paints. He groans at the realization. "Shit. Babe, you don't even smell like your own scent anymore."

"What." Seungkwan gasps, lifting his own wrist up to his nose, and he whines. "Oh."

Yeah. Oh. Hansol hears his own growl from the depths of his chest to his throat, rumbling as he pushes down on Seungkwan. With a cry, Seungkwan clutches the blanket underneath him, chest flat on the bed and ass raised. Hansol pulls back and kneads the flesh, a happy little purr out his lips as he watches Seungkwan continuously gush out slick. His ass cheeks perfectly fit Hansol's palms, soft under his touch, and Seungkwan's body line is something Hansol had to fight to look away from.

"Perfect little omega," Hansol blurts out, before he can even ruminate on it. Seungkwan nods rapidly, turning his head and looking up at Hansol, desperation on his face as he feels Hansol take his cock and teasingly rub it over his hole. "You want me to mount you, babe?"

He isn't sure which one exactly is making Seungkwan insane—the babe that slips out of Hansol's mouth so perfectly and effortlessly, or literally every other vulgarity that he says that people would literally never expect to come from him. Either way, Seungkwan cants his hips back, panting and nodding.

"Please—please, alpha, I want you inside."

The squelching sound should be embarrassing, really, when Hansol nudges at Seungkwan's entrance and starts pushing the tip of his cock in. Seungkwan sighs in relief, happily smiling as Hansol groans, a big hand fisting his hair for purchase.

"Still tight," Hansol murmurs, dipping his head down to kiss the corner of Seungkwan's smiling lips as he keeps pushing his cock in. "I want to ruin you."

Seungkwan glances at him, eyes almost glaring in amusement. Like a challenge.

"Then do it."

The fond irritation that's been the norm for him to feel for years makes a surprising appearance. Seungkwan's habit of goading and riling Hansol up is an acquired skill, and this time is no different; Hansol falls for it. Hook, line and sinker. His grunts as his hips immediately starts thrusting, drawing back all the way to the tip before brutally fucking in to the hilt. There's a grin on Seungkwan's face that should be unnerving, especially with how Hansol is pulling at his hair, but the realization that Seungkwan wants to be fucked roughly makes Hansol let out a laugh.

"Fuck, Seungkwan. You're a little slut, aren't you?" The warm walls tightening around his cock is enough for an answer. "Always so coy and teasing because you want to be my knotslut, is that it? Want me to ruin you for everybody else?"

Seungkwan sobs as Hansol lets go of his hair and sneaks a hand under him, wrapping around his neck and lifting him up to his elbows. He pushes back on the fat cock, whimpering at how deep Hansol actually gets in him, one hand instinctively moving to stroke his stomach.

"Be a good omega and answer me, Seungkwan."

Chills run down his spine at Hansol's tone, and Seungkwan kisses the thumb that leaves his neck and strokes his lips.

"I do," He whines, squeezing his eyes shut and letting two of Hansol's fingers slip into his mouth. He struggles to speak as his alpha starts playing with his tongue. "want—ah—everyone to know I belong to you. Want it so bad, Hansollie."

Hansol hums, kissing his ear and nipping at his earlobe. It's red. Cute. "Then should I knock you up, hm? What do you think? That way all the assholes who look at you will know it immediately. What do you think, babe?"

Seungkwan gasps sharply around his fingers. He's a mess, saliva down his chin and dripping off Hansol's fingers as he licks and sucks as if they're his cock. Hansol doesn't let up his thrusts, groaning at the way that Seungkwan is clenching down on him as if he doesn't want to let him go.

"Yes."

Mounting Seungkwan like this, his mate so completely engulfed by him, Hansol feels the surge of protectiveness and possessiveness like no other. He feels his climax mounting, the sound of skin slapping against skin mingling with the wet, vulgar sound of Seungkwan's slick so loud in his ears. He forces his knot in and buries his cock as deep as he could as his orgasm hits, fangs baring as Seungkwan cries out and pushes back against him, ass flat against Hansol's pelvis.

But he doesn't give Seungkwan time to breathe. He carefully maneuvers Seungkwan to face him, a hoarse wail coming out of his omega when the motion seemingly twists his insides. Hansol immediately goes right back to moving his hips, cock grinding in his knot as he takes in the image of what a wreck he has made Seungkwan into.

Wet brown hair strewn over the pillow and matted against his face, Seungkwan is beautiful. The most beautiful Hansol has seen him be. Face streaked with a mixture of tears, saliva and sweat, he still looks up at Hansol with so much devotion, dainty fingers intertwined together on top of his stomach. His skin is flushed red, ever so visible underneath the clear moonlight. Red plump lips, long eyelashes. Hansol's dream came true in human form.

Seungkwan spreads his legs, and reaches out a hand to stroke Hansol's chest. With a cracked voice that will surely get them scolded, he asks, "More?"

Hansol takes his hand and kisses it. "Well, do you want a baby?"

He grins when Seungkwan immediately nods, leaning over to kiss his lips, this time.

"Then I'll keep breeding you until I fuck a baby in you, Seungkwan."

Here’s another thing Hansol didn’t know about:

In him, now, there are two hearts. Two lungs. Two stomachs. Not literally, of course, but apparently when you get mated, that’s what happens. Before he opens his eyes again, he can feel the steady heartbeat of his mate. The steady lull of his breathing. Up, down. Up, down. Like a wave.

It’s an odd feeling. With his eyes closed, he tries to envision Seungkwan, and it’s weird how it feels like there’s two people in his psyche. Twenty-four years of being alive, and obviously he lived that life alone. It’s always just been him, Hansol. No matter how many people he is close with, no matter how many there are that he considers as family, there’s always a space in your existence that you only keep for yourself. It’s a safe space. A fenced part of you that will never be encroached by someone else.

But he can see it. A small thread of light. Just a hair, a small crack in his consciousness. But he clings on to it. He tries to look deeper, but there’s nothing left to do in him but to admire it. A thread of light against the dark sea. Like a seam. A crack. The edges are iridescent, and for a moment it feels like a tangible shard.

[You’re awake?]

It’s Seungkwan’s voice. Is he dreaming?

[Hansollie?]

He feels Seungkwan shift next to him. Just his legs stretching. He doesn’t move nor speak. Yet, Hansol can hear him in his head, loud and clear. Is he dreaming? He tries to speak into the abyss of his mind.

Seungkwan?

[You can hear me?]

Am I dreaming?

Even here, Seungkwan’s laugh is infectious. Even when all he can see is that light, the image of Seungkwan laughing with his hand over his mouth as he looks sideways is too vivid.

[No. I think we have actual telepathy now.]

You’re kidding.

“No, I’m not,” Seungkwan says, this time out loud. His voice is clearer, much more present. Like it’s next to him, instead of within him.

What.

[Isn’t it cool? I told you we have telepathy.]

Is this normal? He laughs at Seungkwan’s obvious glee. He can hear the tiny little giggles. Wow.

[Not sure,] Seungkwan says, [But all I know is it feels right that it’s with you.]

Feels like I’m constantly inventing something new with you, he says, and in the physical, waking world, he moves to hold Seungkwan close.

[But not this. I feel like this was always part of me. Just waiting for me to find it.]

Hansol doesn’t know what he means by this. It could be a lot of things: the telepathy; the touch; the mating; the feeling of someone other than yourself being in a space you’ve been in alone for your whole life. Hansol himself.

But Hansol finds that at the very core of his being, looking at this single thread of light, he gets it.

He dreams of the day he presented. Rather than a dream, it’s more of a recollection, really.

He remembers the horrible fever, the unbearable mixture of scents. The heat that came from being in a small and enclosed room that he shared with at least five other people. The bed he had no concept of familiarity with, the shirt that was too small. Too tight. Too sweaty. Everything was too much, until that one singular scent entered the room.

He latched on it like a moth to flame. What happened there? To Hansol, it was a blur. Many voices, many people, many presence—but all that he could really, definitely remember was the oranges. The sea. The blinding light that falls down on Seungkwan from the window. The hands carding through his damp hair. Steady breathing and the soothing melody someone was singing as if taming down his fever.

Hansol felt, in that moment, that if he was dropped in the middle of a burning crowd with a million perfumes going on, he would’ve been able to pick Seungkwan’s scent out. It just felt like a natural thing. A thing he was equipped with since he was born. If scents were tangible, then it’ll be a million threads weaved together in an indistinguishable pattern—and yet, he can always single out where Seungkwan’s is. As if it’s a trail to follow home, or a part of him that he never knew he had until he found it.

[Why would I ever leave you?]

Did they even speak out loud, back then? The only thing he remembered from the time he presented was his voice. His touch. He doesn’t know if they spoke—doesn’t remember if Seungkwan’s lips moved at all, doesn’t remember if his throat made any of those words.

All he knows—and all that matters—is that he heard Seungkwan.

Aside from the expected screaming that came from the rest of Seventeen during a phone call—and what a disaster that was, ending with them hanging up and looking at each other with sheepish smiles—they had the whole week to themselves, in a way that they never had the chance to experience before.

The end of the week marks that they have to go back into the actual, real waking world.

The beginning signs of what seems to be worry starts manifesting on Seungkwan. Hansol watches as his ears twitch, out so early in the morning even when he’s not being fucked into the bed. Seungkwan fusses over the coffee he made, and Hansol feels what seems to be nervousness and anxiety gnawing at the edges of his insides. This feeling, he recognizes, is not his. It dances along his bones, the strings of being. This is Seungkwan’s.

“What’s wrong?”

Seungkwan jolts, and Hansol has no choice but to smile softly at how his eyes are so animated. Seems like Seungkwan didn’t even notice him, or feel him. Whatever he’s thinking of, it’s something that’s worried him deeply.

“You’re awake?”

“Mhm,” Hansol doesn’t attempt to move, though. He stays on the bed, nothing but the blanket to cover his lower half. When he stretches, he realizes he’s just as marked as Seungkwan is. Animals, both of them. “Since you left the bed.”

“That long?”

“I’m going to be honest,” Hansol starts talking, catching Seungkwan as he unceremoniously lands into his arms, “I don’t think you’ll ever slip away from the bed without me knowing, Chwe Seungkwan.”

“For someone who doesn’t call my full name a lot, you’ve been the new one so much lately.”

“What, you don’t want me to?”

For his efforts at teasing, he gets a weak slap at his arm. They settle into a quiet, and Hansol decides whether or not he wants to ask about the feeling that he recognized from earlier. It’s gone, now—not completely, but if he didn’t feel it earlier, he would’ve never recognized it now. He holds Seungkwan tighter, and if Seungkwan felt his mental conundrum, he never showed it.

“When do we leave?”

“Around noon. We’ll have lunch with eomma before we leave for Seoul.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Why would I not be?”

“We’ve just been having sex the whole week. Can you walk?”

Hansol says it in a tone that says I’m the most tactless person in the room right now. Seungkwan makes a sound akin to a squeak, and Hansol laughs out loud as his husband starts razing hell, tips of his ears red and he pretends to flail around in Hansol’s arms. It wasn’t even close—even when it’s just play-fighting, Hansol suspects that Seungkwan is actually using all the power he has in his body, and he holds him down like he’s paper. They tousle around the bed, blankets and pillows tangled and misplaced as they shriek and laugh and giggle like kids.

When Seungkwan ends up taking his face into his hands and pulling him down roughly for a kiss, Hansol decides that his questions can wait.

With a lot of kisses from the Boo family, they departed Jeju. From the airplane window, the island slowly becomes smaller and smaller. Seungkwan called dibs for the window seatㅡHansol, the forever loving husband that he is, challenged him to kai-bai-bo. He threw a rock and Seungkwan threw a paper. As with all things when it comes to challenging Seungkwan, Hansol lost.

Their hands are clasped together now. on their ring fingers are their Seventeen rings. They never took it off. But underneath his ring is a simple, thin band. A band of white gold over rose gold. On Seungkwan's ring, a small blue diamond is inlaid. When they hold hands, the rings cross over each other gleaming in the sunlight.

He can still feel Seungkwan's anxiousness.

"Babe."

"Hm?"

He can feel Seungkwan's sleepiness, fuzzing over at the edges of his own consciousness. But the anxiety is still there, dancing around like wisps, and Hansol wants to take Seungkwan away from it. He has always known that Seungkwan always fusses about thingsㅡalways worries about the small and the big. But to actually be able to have an inkling of what it's like to be in his mind, Hansol wishes harder than ever to protect this sliver of light. Even from itself.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," is the quick reply, and Hansol is firmer this time.

Do you really want to do it like this?

Seungkwan pouts, looking at him before squeezing his hand. [Not a bad idea.]

Seungkwan looks at the movie playing in front, and Hansol looks out the plane. An expanse willed with clouds and sunlight. The clear blue stretches for forever.

What got you so worried?

He can feel Seungkwan hesitating, which is why he gives his hand a gentle squeeze. Go on. I'm just here.

[I'm just scared that we did everything too fast and that you'll regret it. I don't know. It's stupid. I'm just nervous about how this will affect your life andㅡ]

My life is your life too, Hansol reminds him, and yours, mine. And for the longest time, that's the way it has been for me. Do you want this?

[Of course I do.]

Hansol swallows a lump in his throat that he didn't even know was there. And when you get pregnant?

There's a pause, and he acknowledges that this little thread of fear is something they both share, especially with the line of work that they have. He feels the hair on his nape rise just at the thought of anyone harming Seungkwan, harming their pups, but the stress dissipates with Seungkwan's thumb stroking his knuckles.

[Then,] Seungkwan finally answers, [Dasol and Misol are going to be really lucky to have a dad like you.]

Like a balloon, all the tension blows out. He breathes in, breathes out.

We're really gonna do it, he says. Wonder and amazement unable to be hidden. We're really going to do it together.

[The company's gonna be so mad.]

Well, yes.

They both look at each other, long and hard, and while there's no words exchangedㅡnot through the sliver of light, not through their mouths, not through their lungs, the gaze is enough. Hansol looks at him, and Seungkwan looks back. He cracks a smile, and Seungkwan mirrors it, fondness the same as it has been for years. Maybe even more now. The edges of anxiety slowly crumble into dust.

As the plane descends to Seoul, they both squeeze their eyes shut, hands intertwined tightly.

Seungkwan sticks his tongue out at the rest of Seventeen peeking into the door, pointing and laughing at them. Hansol just shakes his head and taps his pen against the table, chin resting on his knuckles.

"I feel like an elementary student in detention."

The manager says something, but it doesn't register to Hansol. He just thinks of chubby little Seungkwan, cute and pouty and small, just sitting at his desk while the rest of the class goes out and plays.

[I can see what you're imagining, Hansol.]

Good, he thinks back, aren't you cute?

[I know I'm cute.]

They giggle as if they're children passing notes to each other secretly, shoulders bumping and knees knocking into each other gently.

"Yah, is now really the time to laugh like this?" He's been their manager long enough, so this, too, is just him sighing out of exasperation. "Did you even finish writing yours?"

"Yeah."

"Really? Let me see."

"Wait," Hansol's confidence wavers a bit at Seungkwan sliding his paper over to him to read it. "No."

But Hansol doesn't have the heart to take it back, and Seungkwan reads fast anyway.

"Hello, this is Seventeen's Vernon," Seungkwan reads outloud, and Hansol is a deviant who can only focus on the way his dainty fingers spread out, pressing against the paper where Hansol's draft is messily scribbled on. "I would like to share some good news, though I would like to first apologize…oh my god."

"What? Is it bad?"

Seungkwan giggles, and Hansol whines. He tries to snatch it but Seungkwan takes it away and gives it to the manager. "No, I think it's perfect."

"You think it's a PR statement that should be written in crayon."

"...No?"

"You're not good at lying."

Seungkwan smiles at him, playful and mysterious but all so familiar. Hansol's heart jumps up to his throat.

"No, I'm not," Seungkwan says, before spinning his pen and writing down the last sentence in his statement. "And never to you."

[NOTICE]

Hello, this is SEVENTEEN's Vernon.

I would like to share some good news, though I would like to first apologize for it being sudden.

A week ago, Seungkwan and I got married. We have been mated, and it's a very joyous occasion that's been like a dream to me for years. Now, it's finally come true. Sometimes, I feel like I was born because of him. Have you ever felt like that towards someone?

While I apologize for this being a surprise, I can't apologize for loving him, or for being his husband. Amidst all this, having your support would mean a lot to me, to us.

Thank you.

"You two don't smell any different than how you smell before."

Jihoon says it offhandedly while they're both working in the studio. Hansol looks at him, then at Joshua, and Joshua just shrugs and nods.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means no one's really surprised it happened."

Joshua's nod is firmer this time, much more assured in his agreement. "The only thing surprising is that you both eloped."

"You'll never let that go, will you?"

"Noㅡpe," they both said at the same time, same intonation.

"Anyway, it'll be funny that you're gonna have 2 Minus 1 out right after you announce the marriage."

"It's poorly timed."

"I mean, you were really angsty back then. Now look at you. Full grown man."

"I still feel like a child."

[We all feel like a child sometimes, yeobo.]

Were you listening?

[No, you just thought about that last sentence way too hard and it flew in my brain.]

Jihoon looks at him once, twice, then says, "Tell Seungkwan-ah to buy chicken before they get back."

[Tell him no.]

"He said okay."

[Betrayed by my own husband.]

I want chicken, too.

[I feel used.]

I love you.

[And I, you.]

"God, stop flirting," Joshua whines, hitting his forehead with his notes. "The aura is disgustingly blatant."

Seungkwan just laughs in his head. In the edges of his being, Hansol can hear Jeonghan's faint teasing.

[Tell him no.]

"No," Hansol says this time, making a face at Joshua. Seungkwan's laughter rings in his head like a dream.

"What are you doing?"

"Listening to the sound of your guts."

"What does it say?"

Hansol closes his eyes. There's a tiny sliver of light. Just a thread. And yet, he holds on to it. It never burns itself out, never dims, never goes out.

Then he sees another light. And another. Smaller. Way smaller. Almost like dots. Like small fireflies, fluttering around.

He feels his throat tighten, his lungs constrict.

He doesn't answer the question, and Seungkwan doesn't need him to.