Chapter Text
The refrigerator hummed quietly, almost lost beneath the faint sound of traffic slipping through the apartment’s thin windows. Gihun stood at the kitchen counter, a dishcloth in hand, wiping the already clean surface for what felt like the hundredth time. The counter gleamed under the kitchen light, but his hands kept moving, the repetitive task filling the silence that always felt heavier when Sangwoo was late. The apartment smelled faintly of detergent and the simmering broth of Sangwoo’s favorite meal—sundubu, its rich, spicy aroma filling the air. Beneath it all was the delicate trace of pear blossom and cardamon, unmistakably Gihun’s scent, lingering in the space like a quiet echo of his presence. Gihun had spent the better part of the afternoon tidying every corner of their home, rearranging the pantry, and folding linens. The space was warm, comfortable; everything Sangwoo liked. Everything Gihun worked to maintain.
He glanced at the clock. Late. Gihun let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Then his gaze fell to the coffee table. A stack of old photographs lay scattered across the table, left out earlier when he’d gone looking for a lightbulb and found a memory instead. Before, he’d barely glanced at them. Now, with the apartment so quiet, he couldn’t seem to look away. He reached for the topmost photo, his fingers brushing the glossy edge. It was from a school trip, the bright blue sky framing a cluster of grinning teenagers. In the center stood a younger version of himself, messy-haired and rosy-cheeked, with one arm slung over Sangwoo’s shoulder.
He let out a quiet laugh. God, they looked so different. Sangwoo, even then, had been polished and composed, with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was headed. Next to him, Gihun looked like the boy who had tagged along, wide-eyed and out of place.
The click of the front door broke his reverie, and Gihun turned instinctively, placing the photo back down.
“You’re home early!” he called, his voice brightening.
Sangwoo’s scent of charred sage and white musk swept into the room as he stepped inside, his precise, unhurried movements exuding the calm authority Gihun had always admired. His eyes scanned the apartment, lingering on Gihun with an unreadable expression before shifting to the pile of photos laying on the table. “What’s all this?”
“Just some old pictures I found while organizing,” Gihun said, stepping forward to pick one up. “Look, this one’s from that school trip! Remember?”
Sangwoo took the photo from his hand, glancing at it briefly. “You look… different here.”
Gihun laughed, though his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his apron. “Yeah, I guess I do. I was such a mess back then.”
“You’ve always been a bit of a mess,” Sangwoo said, almost amused, handing the photo back with a faint smirk. Gihun’s cheeks warmed, a mixture of embarrassment and affection prickling under his skin. “But I guess that’s part of your charm.”
The words warmed Gihun, though he quickly turned away to set the photo back on the pile. “Well, you were always the perfect one,” he said, voice light, the truth sitting heavy just beneath it.
“Come on,” Sangwoo said, moving toward the dining table. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
Gihun broke the quiet. “I found that old scarf today, the one from our ski trip. Remember that? You lent me yours because I lost mine.”
Sangwoo glanced up briefly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Still going on about things like that?” He murmured, returning his attention to his meal.
Gihun let out a soft laugh, but his fingers tightened around his chopsticks. “I was always losing things back then. You said I left it on the bus—too busy talking to everyone, remember?” His laugh faded into the quiet when Sangwoo didn’t respond. “You were probably right.”
Sangwoo paused, then said simply, “I usually am.” He went back to eating.
Gihun flushed, warmth creeping up his neck as he took a quick bite of rice just to keep his hands moving. The soft note of cardamom in his scent spiked, sharp and instinctive. “Sorry. I guess I’m rambling again.”
“You always do,” Sangwoo said, not even looking up.
It wasn’t unkind, exactly. But the words settled somewhere low in his chest. Gihun forced a smile, though his stomach had already twisted on itself.
Gihun hummed quietly as he scrubbed the dishes, the warm water easing into the lines of his palms. He moved quickly, eager to finish and join Sangwoo on the couch. Just the thought of curling up beside him, even if Sangwoo stayed buried in work, made something flutter low in his chest. That’s enough, he thought, rinsing the last plate and setting it in the rack with a small clink. As he dried his hands, he peeked into the living room. Sangwoo was already seated, his laptop open on the coffee table, the glow from the screen casting sharp lines across his face. Even in casual clothes, he looked composed in that way only he could: shoulders squared, gaze steady.
Gihun smiled and padded into the room. He sat close, just enough to feel the faint warmth radiating off Sangwoo’s side. When Sangwoo didn’t look up, Gihun leaned a little more, resting his head on the alpha’s shoulder—careful, instinctive. A touch that asked for nothing but closeness.
“You’re working hard,” he murmured, his voice soft and laced with quiet admiration.
Sangwoo made a low sound in response. He didn’t look up, but his arm shifted, settling around Gihun with the ease of habit.
Gihun smiled into the fabric of Sangwoo’s hoodie, relaxing slightly as the warmth pulled him in. His gaze landed on a photo from their beach trip: Sangwoo in the center, impossibly put together, while Gihun stood off to the side, windswept and grinning too wide. His chest tightened. He remembered feeling sure of himself that day. It felt like someone else’s memory now.
“You’ve been staring at that for a while,” Sangwoo said, voice cutting gently through the quiet.
“Oh—I was just… reminiscing,” Gihun said, setting the photo down quickly.
Sangwoo shifted closer. His scent wrapped around Gihun, warm and grounding. He glanced at the photo, but didn’t comment on it. “You always looked good in pictures,” he said instead, tone calm but laced with something that curled possessively at the edges.
Gihun’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t know about that,” he murmured. His scent shifted, pear blossom curling faintly in the air, tentative as breath.
Sangwoo smirked faintly, though it barely reached his eyes. “You always make them interesting.” He glanced at the photo again, mouth twitching into something like a smirk. “It’s the messiness, I think.”
Gihun let out a soft breath, unsure if he was meant to be flattered. His fingers hovered near the frame, then dropped. “Right,” he said quietly, not quite looking at him.
Sangwoo’s hand lingered on his shoulder, firm, almost reassuring, but gone too quickly to hold onto. “I’m going to get ready for bed,” the alpha said, already walking toward the hallway.
Gihun stayed right there for a moment, staring at the photographs. The apartment felt unusually quiet, the weight of nostalgia settling heavily around him. Finally, he sighed, turning off the light. With one last glance at the photographs, he followed Sangwoo into the bedroom.
The cafe was warm and familiar, lit by soft yellow light that made the wooden tables glow. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint sweetness of pastries behind the counter. Gihun had arrived early, he always did, and now sat fidgeting with his tea, unsure if this had been a good idea. It was Minyeo who’d reached out, a surprise message a week ago, out of the blue, after what had felt like years of silence.
“Gihun-ah! Found you by accident on social media. You haven’t aged a day. Coffee?”
At first, he hesitated, unsure if she really meant it. But Minyeo was always like that: bold, chaotic, and weirdly sincere. He couldn’t bring himself to say no. She was one of the only people who’d ever made him feel seen, even if she left him scrambling to keep up.
When Minyeo walked in, she scanned the room quickly before spotting him. Her smile widened, and she waved, her scarf slipping off one shoulder as she approached. “Gihun-ah,” she said warmly, sliding into the seat across from him. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You’re looking good.”
Gihun blinked, caught off guard. “Me? Really? I thought I looked a bit… tired.”
“Well, maybe you do,” she teased lightly, setting her bag down. “But it works for you. Like a tortured artist or something.”
He laughed, the soft note of pear blossom in his scent unfurling lightly into the air. “Tortured? More like… overly domesticated.”
Minyeo smirked, resting her chin on her hand. “I’m trying to pay you a compliment here, and you’re already deflecting. Some things never change.”
Gihun chuckled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “And you’re still good at sneaking in those little jabs.”
“Only because you make it so easy.” Her tone was teasing but soft, carrying none of the sharp edges he half-expected. She leaned back, glancing at him more closely. “But really, it’s good to see you. It’s been too long.”
Gihun nodded, his fingers playing with the edge of his napkin. “Yeah… it has. Life just gets busy, I guess.”
“Does it?” Minyeo asked, tilting her head slightly. “What’s been keeping you so busy?”
“Oh, you know… Sangwoo, the apartment… stuff like that.” He hesitated before adding, “I still help my mom at her stall sometimes, too. I don’t want her to overdo it.”
Minyeo raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Instead, she gestured to his tea. “So, how’s the tea? Still drinking the same thing as always?”
“Green tea,” Gihun confirmed with a small smile. “I don’t like coffee much. Too bitter.”
“Figures,” Minyeo said, a hint of a grin tugging at her lips. “You’ve always been a little soft. In a good way, I mean.”
Gihun laughed, his cheeks warming faintly. “Thanks, I think?”
Their conversation meandered through safer topics: old friends, funny memories from school, and even the latest celebrity gossip. Minyeo’s sharp humor drew genuine laughter from him, slicing through layers of tension he hadn’t even realized were there.
“Remember when we snuck into the art room after hours and you knocked over that whole rack of paints?” she said, her grin mischievous.
“Oh, don’t remind me!” Gihun groaned, covering his face. “I thought the teacher was going to kill me.”
“And then you spent the whole weekend scrubbing the floor because you felt so bad,” Minyeo added, shaking her head. “You were always like that - too sweet for your own good.”
Gihun’s laughter faded into a softer smile, his hands resting on the table. “I guess I haven’t changed much, huh?”
Minyeo tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “I don’t know about that,” she said thoughtfully. “You seem… quieter. Different.”
Gihun’s gaze flickered to his cup, and he shrugged. “I guess life changes you a little.”
Minyeo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she reached out and gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Yeah, it does. But you can tell me, you know. Whatever it is, I’m here.”
The words caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He glanced up, meeting her steady gaze. Something in her expression—warm, understanding, unflinching— made the words tumble out before he could stop them.
“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing at his cup. “It’s like I’m floating, kind of. Like I’m doing everything I’m supposed to, but… nothing’s really moving. I’m not really moving.”
Minyeo’s brows furrowed slightly, and her playful demeanor softened. “That doesn’t sound like you, Gihun-ah. What’s going on?”
He hesitated, his fingers tightening around his cup. “It’s nothing serious. Sangwoo’s great, our home is great. I just… I don’t know. I guess I feel like I should be doing more. But every time I think about it, I feel guilty. Like I’m being ungrateful.”
Minyeo leaned forward, her tone quiet but firm. “You’re not ungrateful. Wanting something for yourself doesn’t mean you don’t appreciate what you have.”
He looked at her, the soft notes of pear blossom and cardamom in his scent spiking faintly with unease. “It feels like that, though. I mean… Sangwoo didn’t have to pick me. I’m lucky he did. I’m just…”
"Stop right there,” Minyeo said, her playful tone vanishing as she leaned forward, her expression suddenly sharp and unwavering. “Lucky? You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re still gorgeous, still sweet, still the guy everyone couldn’t help but love in school. Sangwoo’s the lucky one.”
Gihun blinked, her words catching him off guard. “You really think so?”
The question made his chest feel tight. He wasn’t sure why, not really.
“I know so,” Minyeo said firmly, sitting back with a look of exasperation. Then, with a sly grin, she added, “And if Sangwoo ever forgets that, send him my way. I’ll remind him.”
Gihun laughed, head tipping forward. His shoulders dropped, just a little. “I don’t think he’s ready for you.”
Minyeo smirked. “No one is, sweetheart. But seriously, think about it, okay? You deserve to have something that’s yours.”
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks, Minyeo. I will,” he said, his voice quiet, but something steadier behind it now. As she smiled at him, Gihun felt a flicker of something he hadn’t in a long time—hope.
The laptop’s glow lit the kitchen, soft shadows stretching across the counter. Gihun sat hunched at the table, chewing absently on the end of a pen. The faint sound of a clock ticking somewhere in the apartment mingled with the distant hum of traffic outside. On the screen was a sleek ad for a set of noise-canceling headphones. He’d been eyeing them for weeks. His own were cracked at the edges, the volume unreliable, but they still worked. Buying new ones felt like a luxury he couldn’t justify, not really. He hovered the cursor over the “Add to Cart” button, his lips pressing into a thin line.
He could still hear Sangwoo’s voice, something offhand, weeks ago, when Gihun mentioned wanting something similar. “You don’t even use that kind of thing often, right? Don’t waste money on stuff you don’t need.” The memory stung, not because Sangwoo had been particularly harsh, he hadn’t, but because Gihun couldn’t shake the quiet certainty that he was right. He sighed and clicked away from the page, his chest tightening with that familiar pang of disappointment.
He glanced toward the half-open door of Sangwoo’s office. The faint clack of a keyboard told him Sangwoo was busy, probably preparing another report or reviewing some client account. Gihun leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. Maybe Sangwoo’s right. It’s not worth it. He clicked over to another tab, skimming an article about omega nutrition that he wasn’t really reading. His eyes darted absently to the side of the page where an ad caught his attention: “Omega Inclusion Program—Opportunities for Growth and Independence.”
The words seemed to pulse, drawing him in. Gihun stared at the ad for a long moment, his hand frozen on the trackpad. His first instinct was to ignore it, he wasn’t looking for a job. He didn’t even think he could handle one, not after all these years of being out of the workforce. But something about the phrasing tugged at him. Before he could overthink it, he clicked.
The page loaded slowly, revealing a banner emblazoned with the logo of Young Il Electronics. Underneath was a short message in clean, professional font:
"Empowering Omegas to take the first step. Our program offers mentorship, flexible roles, and the tools to succeed. Whether you’re looking for a fresh start or the chance to grow, Young Il Electronics believes in your potential."
Gihun’s throat tightened as he scrolled down. The program wasn’t aimed at highly qualified candidates or those with years of experience. It was meant for people like him, those who had little more than a willingness to learn. They even offered training as part of the onboarding process. His eyes flicked over a photo of a sharp-suited man standing at a podium. Beneath it was a caption: CEO Hwang Inho, speaking at the launch of the Omega Inclusion Program. The CEO’s expression was unreadable—detached, almost cold—but something in his eyes made Gihun pause.
His heart began to race as he read through the roles: part-time administrative support, customer service, entry-level project coordination. He felt a flicker of hope, faint and trembling, as if daring to grow in the shadows of his doubt.
He clicked “Apply Now.” The form loaded, but he just stared, hands hovering, suddenly still.
His reflection stared back at him in the black bar of the browser header. Could he really do this? Did he have any business applying for a job at a company like this? What if they laugh at me? What if Sangwoo finds out and thinks it’s ridiculous? But the thought of not trying was worse. He bookmarked the page with trembling fingers and shut the laptop with a soft click. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the grain of the table. The fridge hummed behind him, quiet and steady. Something stirred in his chest, not courage, not yet, but something close.
For the first time in a long while, Gihun allowed himself to imagine something different, a life where he wasn’t just Sangwoo’s shadow but his own person. The image was hazy and fleeting, but it stayed with him as he rose from the table and turned out the kitchen light.
Gihun had closed the laptop, but the thought wouldn’t leave him alone. As he washed the dishes and wiped down the counters, his mind drifted back to the bookmarked page. The thought of applying still felt absurd, almost laughable, but it wouldn’t go away. It tugged at him like an itch he couldn’t reach. By the time he sat back down at the table, the urge to look again had grown stronger.
With a deep breath, Gihun reopened the laptop, the screen lighting up the dim room once more. His fingers hovered over the trackpad for a moment before he clicked on the next article. The silence of the apartment wrapped around him as he scrolled through. His eyes darted across the words, though he wasn’t fully absorbing them. The headline read, “Building Confidence: How Omegas Can Thrive in the Modern Workplace.”
“Still awake?” Sangwoo’s voice broke the quiet, making Gihun jump slightly. He nearly fumbled the laptop, quickly setting it down before turning to see Sangwoo leaning in the doorway. His sleeves were rolled up, a faint crease in his brow. His posture was relaxed, but there was something about the way he tilted his head that always made Gihun feel small.
“Yeah,” Gihun said quickly, his voice a little too bright. “Just, you know, reading stuff!” He grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I got lost in one of those clicky rabbit holes, one article, then another, and suddenly I’m reading about… um…” His voice trailed off, the grin faltering.
Sangwoo stepped into the kitchen, glancing at the laptop screen before looking back at Gihun.
“What’s it about?” he asked, reaching for the glass he kept by the sink.
“It’s about how omegas fit into company roles and stuff, ” Gihun said, his tone softer now. He felt his cheeks flush, the earlier cheer draining slightly. Why did it feel so embarrassing to say that out loud?
Sangwoo raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Workplace advice, huh?” he repeated, his voice smooth but carrying that undertone Gihun couldn’t ignore. “I guess it’s good to read things like that.”
Gihun blinked, caught off guard by the neutral response. He laughed nervously, scratching his cheek. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not like I’m planning anything or… You know…” He trailed off, his hands fluttering as if to dismiss the idea entirely. “It’s just interesting! Like… trivia!”
Sangwoo’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, unreadable. “You’ve been spending a lot of time on that thing lately,” he said, taking a measured sip of water. “Find anything good?”
“No, not really,” Gihun murmured, his throat tightening as his hands hovered near the laptop. “Just… passing the time.”
Sangwoo leaned a hand on the table, lowering himself slightly to meet Gihun’s eyes. “You know, sometimes people get ideas when they spend too much time reading. Things that might seem exciting but don’t really lead anywhere.” His tone was light, almost conversational, but there was a weight beneath it that made Gihun shrink in his chair.
He straightened, brushing a hand through his hair. “I just mean… you’ve got things set up in a way that works, hyung. You don’t have to deal with the stress and pressure other people do. Not everyone gets to live without that weight.”
Gihun hesitated, clinging to the earlier cheer like a shield. But it slipped, leaving him bare beneath the weight of Sangwoo’s words. “Right,” he murmured, his fingers curling slightly as he turned his gaze back to the screen.
Sangwoo placed the glass in the sink and turned toward him, brushing his hand lightly over Gihun’s shoulder as he passed. “Don’t overthink it. Sometimes, when people try to change too much, they forget how good they already have it.”
The faint trace of Sangwoo’s scent lingered in the air—calming, grounding, and suffocating all at once. In the quiet of the room, Gihun’s eyes lingered on the application tab. His chest tightened as the alpha’s words settled over him like a quiet warning, subtle, but clear: don’t upset the balance.
But the words didn’t stop him. If anything, they pushed him further. Gihun stared at the empty fields for what felt like forever before his fingers moved. Slowly, he typed his name, his address, and his contact information. Each keystroke felt heavier than the last, but he pressed on, his heart pounding.
When he reached the “Experience” section, his mind raced. He typed, dredging up every job he’d ever held, no matter how small: Driver at a logistics company: three months. Assistant at a corner store: six months. Temporary factory worker. Occasional helper at my mother’s food stall. He hesitated, then added: Flexible. Willing to learn.
The list looked pitiful, but it was all he had. He stared at the words for a moment before his hand moved almost on its own, clicking 'Submit' with a quiet finality. The confirmation message appeared almost instantly: Thank you for applying. We’ll be in touch soon. Gihun stared at the screen, his pulse racing. For the first time, he felt like he’d done something that wasn’t about meeting expectations, or defying them, but simply about himself.
Sangwoo’s scent still lingered faintly in the air, but this time, it didn’t feel so heavy.
Sangwoo chewed his food slowly, letting Gihun’s endless chatter wash over him like white noise. Something about a stray cat near the dumpster that the omega was trying to befriend, typical. He nodded, already thinking about the emails piling up in his inbox and the balance sheets he hadn’t finished. More pressing things.
“And then the cashier looked at me like I actually stole something!” Gihun’s eyebrows shot up, his voice full of incredulous energy. “What a terrible attitude, can you believe it?” He shook his head dramatically, pouring more tea into Sangwoo’s cup.
Sangwoo hummed low in response, lifting the cup to his lips. The bitter aftertaste of the poorly made jajangmyeon lingered. If Gihun spent as much time on cooking as he did on stray cats, Sangwoo wouldn’t have to force himself to finish these meals. He sighed faintly and drained the rest of his tea, already calculating how quickly he could excuse himself to his office.
“Oh, I also applied for this one job! I even wrote a resume and everything,” Gihun said, his voice carrying a note of both excitement and apprehension.
The words cut through Sangwoo’s thoughts like a cold blade. He froze mid-sip, his eyes snapping up to meet Gihun’s for the first time that evening. The omega smiled faintly, sheepishly, then dropped his gaze to the plate, suddenly fascinated by his rice.
"Didn’t realize your mom’s dumpling stall required a resume," Sangwoo said, his voice measured but laced with quiet mockery.
Gihun’s face registered a flicker of hurt before he forced out a small laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not it!”
Sangwoo raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze just long enough to make the omega squirm. Gihun’s scent spiked, tinged with unease. “You know that building we always pass on the way to your mother’s? The one I said looks kind of like a space rocket?” His voice faltered slightly as he added, “Well… that’s the one.”
Sangwoo didn’t bother suppressing the snort that escaped him. Of all the foolish things Gihun had done, this one might just top the list. How could someone so naive actually think they stood a chance in a place like that? Still, beneath his amusement, irritation simmered. He wasn’t rattled by Gihun’s ambition, not exactly. It was the secrecy that grated on him. How long had Gihun been planning this? And in all that time, he hadn’t thought to mention it to his alpha? That part stung more than Sangwoo cared to admit.
Sangwoo stared at him, disbelief etched into the sharp line of his jaw. He leaned back in his chair, the faintest trace of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, though his eyes betrayed none of the humor.
“You’re applying to Young Il Electronics?” His voice was calm, almost too calm, the way it always got when he was moments away from cutting someone down. “And what exactly do you think you’re going to find there?”
Gihun hesitated, his hand nervously brushing over the edge of the table. “They had an opening… for one of the assistant positions.”
The alpha’s brow shot up. “An assistant,” he repeated slowly, as though the words themselves were too absurd to process. A short, sharp laugh escaped him before he could stop it. "And what makes you think you’re qualified for something like that?"
The omega flinched but quickly masked it with a faint, uneasy chuckle. “Well… I can learn. I’m good at picking things up fast, you know.”
Sangwoo’s eyes narrowed. “Right. Like you picked up driving for that chauffeur job you couldn’t hold onto? Or the learning experience in that factory you quit after a month? And let’s not forget your stellar management experience helping your mom sell dumplings at her food stall.”
Gihun’s cheeks burned, but he didn’t look away. Not yet. “I just… I thought maybe I could try something new,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Sangwoo’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile, but there was no warmth in it. “Try something new?” He tilted his head, studying Gihun like he was some strange, inexplicable creature. “Hyung, do you even hear yourself?”
Sangwoo's smile didn't waver, but something cold settled in his eyes. "Gihun-ah," he began, his tone taking on that familiar, condescending softness he reserved for moments like this. "You don’t have to worry about helping. I’ve got us covered. Everything you need is right here."
Gihun’s fingers tightened around his chopsticks. "It’s not about need," he said quietly, though his voice wavered under Sangwoo’s gaze. "I just—I want to do something more."
“More?” Sangwoo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as his smile thinned into something sharper. "You already do plenty. Keeping the house, making sure everything’s in order. That’s important work, Gihun." His words were syrupy sweet, but they oozed with a quiet dismissal.
"But it’s not enough," Gihun muttered, barely above a whisper. He avoided Sangwoo’s gaze, focusing instead on the edge of the table. "I… I don’t feel useful."
Sangwoo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of annoyance flashing across his face before he quickly smothered it. "Not useful?" He laughed softly, shaking his head as if the very idea was absurd. "Who told you that nonsense? You’re my omega,” Sangwoo said, not unkindly. “That role alone carries enough weight without you trying to reinvent it.”
Gihun flinched at the words, even though Sangwoo’s tone remained light. The weight of expectations—Sangwoo’s, society’s, even his own—pressed down on him, heavier than ever. He wanted to say it, to voice the thought that had been gnawing at him for months now: that they were nothing like the other couples their age, the ones with homes bustling with children. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak.
The silence stretched between them before Sangwoo broke it with another soft chuckle. "And besides," he said, leaning back in his chair, "what could you possibly do at Young Il Electronics? You don’t even like technology, Gihun."
“I could help,” Gihun blurted, his voice suddenly firm. “I just want to help.”
Sangwoo’s smile froze for a moment before softening again. He reached across the table, resting a hand on Gihun’s. "You already do, darling. More than enough."
The patronizing endearment sent a jolt of frustration through Gihun, but he didn’t pull his hand away. Sangwoo’s grip was firm, reassuring in the way it always was when he wanted Gihun to let something go. The Alpha’s voice settled into something final, the kind of tone Gihun had learned not to push against. "You don’t need to stress yourself over this. Trust me, nothing’s going to come of it."
And with that, the conversation was over.
The living room was quiet except for the soft rustle of papers and the occasional frustrated sigh coming from Gihun. A stack of printed documents sat precariously on the coffee table: tips for job interviews, sample answers to common questions, and a few poorly highlighted pages outlining the company’s promises to help omegas like him ‘reenter the workforce.’”
Gihun leaned over the table, squinting at the mess in front of him. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, tapping his pen nervously against his notebook. “What’s your biggest strength? Um… I’m… friendly? No, that sounds stupid. Reliable? That’s better. Yeah, reliable. People like reliable, right?”
He scribbled it down, circled it, then immediately crossed it out. “No, wait. Maybe dependable? Is that the same thing?” He groaned, dropping the pen and flopping back on the couch. The ceiling stared back, offering no answers.
What if they laugh at me? What if they ask something I don’t know? What if… What if Sangwoo—No, he wasn’t going to think about Sangwoo right now.
The guilt came anyway, curling low in his gut like it always did when he even thought about keeping something from him. The alpha wasn’t home; he was in his office, working late again, and Gihun couldn’t decide if that made him feel relieved or disappointed. Either way, it gave him space to prepare without facing Sangwoo’s quiet disapproval.
A loud buzz interrupted his thoughts, and he scrambled to grab his phone from the coffee table. It was Minyeo. His stomach flipped as he answered.
“Minyeo! Hi!” His voice landed with too much cheer, too sharp and eager, and he winced at the sound of it.
“Gihun-ah,” The omega replied, her tone warm but teasing. “You sound like you’re in the middle of a crisis.”
He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head even though she couldn’t see him. “Crisis? No, no. Just… you know, preparing. For tomorrow.” He glanced at the mess on the table and winced. “I might’ve printed a few too many things.”
“Let me guess. Interview tips?” she asked, a smile evident in her voice.
“And company history, and… uh, some stuff about what makes a good first impression.” He paused. “Minyeo, do you think I’m good at making first impressions?”
“You?” She laughed lightly. “You’ve got the puppy charm thing down to a science. People love you.”
Gihun’s cheeks flushed, and he grinned despite himself. “Puppy charm, huh? Is that… professional enough?”
“It’s who you are,” Minyeo said firmly. “And that’s what matters. Just be yourself. They’ll see you’re sincere, and that’s worth more than memorizing a script.”
Gihun nodded, her words settling some of the tension in his chest. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that. Be myself. I can be myself,” he said, as if repeating it enough would make it true.
“Good. Now stop overthinking it and get some rest,” she added, her tone mock-stern. “You’ll do great.”
“Thanks, Minyeo,” Gihun said softly. “I needed that.”
After they hung up, Gihun sat on the couch for a moment, staring at the chaos on the table. He reached over, carefully stacking the papers and setting them aside. He didn’t need all of them, not really. He kept one page, though: a list of questions he’d jotted down about the company.
He stood and stretched, then headed to his wardrobe. Pulling out a neatly folded shirt, he held it up with a critical eye. “Too plain?” he muttered, swapping it for another option. After a moment, he picked up a tie, a simple one, dark with subtle stripes. He held it against the shirt, tilting his head.
“I don’t know…” He caught his reflection and grimaced. Did he really look like someone who belonged in an office? But then he smiled, forcing himself to stand a little taller. “No. This works. It looks professional. Right?”
He practiced a quick knot, adjusting the tie until it sat perfectly. He nodded at himself in the mirror. “Just breathe. Be yourself. And remember what Minyeo said—puppy charm.” He barked a small laugh at his own joke, his confidence growing.
Satisfied, he hung the outfit carefully on the back of the chair before heading to bed. His heart was still racing, but the knot of anxiety had loosened, leaving behind a quiet, determined hope.
Gihun adjusted his tie for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. He hated wearing ties, they always made him feel like he was being strangled. The small meeting room felt too cold, the air conditioning humming faintly above him. He clutched the folder containing his barely formatted resume, already regretting his decision to come here. He adjusted his grip on the folder. What the hell was he even doing here?
The door opened, and a woman in a sleek navy suit stepped in, clutching a tablet. She looked like she didn’t have time for nonsense, everything about her was sharp, from her suit to the perfect line of her eyeliner.
“Seong Gihun-ssi, right?” she asked with a polite smile, taking her seat across from him.
“Yes, that’s me,” he replied, rising a little awkwardly to shake her hand before quickly sitting down again.
“I’m Kim Jiyeong, one of the HR managers here at Young Il Electronics. Thank you for coming in today.” She placed her tablet on the table, fingers poised to type. “Shall we begin?”
Gihun nodded, his throat dry.
“So,” the alpha began, scanning his resume briefly before looking at him. “Your experience… is quite varied. Could you tell me more about your time as a driver and in your family’s business?”
Gihun felt the heat rise to his face. He knew this would come up. Clearing his throat, he forced a smile.
“Ah, well, yes. I’ve done a bit of everything. As a driver, I learned punctuality, navigating under pressure, and, uh, multitasking. And at my eomma’s stall, you know, it was chaos every day: customers everywhere, orders flying in. It’s like running a small empire.” He chuckled nervously.
Jiyeong raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but not entirely dismissive.
“And how do you think that prepares you for this role? Executive assistant positions require strong organizational skills, communication, and the ability to manage multiple priorities.”
Gihun straightened up, determination flickering in his eyes. “I know it sounds silly, but I’m really good at dealing with chaos. That stall? It never stopped. You’ve got customers shouting, orders piling up. You either figure things out fast or everything falls apart. I don’t have the degrees or whatever, but I’m quick. And I don’t quit.”
Jiyeong leaned back slightly, studying him. He hadn’t practiced it. Maybe that’s what made it land.
“Why this job, specifically?”
Gihun blinked. His mouth opened, then closed again. Of course it had to go this way.
“I… I guess I’m just tired of feeling like I’m waiting for something.” He paused, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. “Honestly… I want to prove to myself that I can do more. I’ve spent so much time wondering what I’m even capable of, and now I just want the chance to try. I don’t want to sit at home forever, waiting for life to decide for me.”
Jiyeong’s expression softened slightly, though she quickly masked it.
“Well, that’s a refreshingly honest answer,” the alpha admitted, though her tone remained professional. “This is a junior position, so we’re looking for someone eager to learn and grow with the company. You’ll need to hit the ground running and adapt quickly. Do you think you’re up for the challenge?”
“I am,” Gihun said firmly, meeting her gaze. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Jiyeong gave him a long look, then smiled faintly. “Alright, Gihun-ssi.” Her tone lightened, just slightly. “Thank you for coming in. We’ll be in touch soon.”
Dumplings sizzled behind the counter. Somewhere nearby, a car horn blared, and voices drifted past the stall. Gihun stood behind the stall’s counter, apron tied lopsided, trying to stack the bamboo steamers without knocking anything over. His mother was already halfway through a dozen dumplings, her fingers moving like muscle memory.
“Eomma, slow down!” Gihun chuckled, fumbling to keep up. “You’re going to run out of filling at this rate.”
His mother shot him a look over her glasses, her lips twitching in amusement. “If you spent less time talking and more time working, maybe we’d keep up with the orders.”
He laughed, scratching the back of his head. “I’m doing my best, okay? You’re like a dumpling factory on legs.”
The phone in his pocket buzzed, cutting off his next joke. He fumbled to fish it out, nearly dropping a steamer in the process. “Ah, just a second! You keep rolling while I—”
“Gihun-ah!” his mother scolded, but he was already stepping away, the phone pressed to his ear.
“Hello? This is Seong Gihun,” he said, his tone bright but distracted as he tried to balance the phone and wipe his flour-dusted hands on his apron.
“Good afternoon, Gihun-ssi,” a calm voice replied. “This is Kim Jiyeong from Young Il Electronics. I’m calling to let you know that you’ve been accepted into the Omega Inclusion Program. Congratulations!”
The words landed and for a second, everything else stopped. His eyes widened, and he nearly dropped the phone. “W-Wait—what?” he stammered, stepping farther from the stall to hear better. “You’re saying I got the job?”
“Yes. We’re thrilled to have you join us.”
A grin spread across his face. His scent unfurled before he could stop it, all bright warmth and disbelief. “Oh my… Thank you so much! I—uh—wow, I don’t even know what to say. I’m so happy. Thank you!”
His voice drew a few curious glances from passersby, but Gihun didn’t notice. He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, his hand flailing like it had a mind of its own. “I’ll do my best, I promise. Thank you again.”
As the call ended, Gihun lowered the phone, his chest tight with exhilaration. He stared at the bustling street for a moment, the sounds of the world rushing back in: voices, clinking coins, the hiss of frying oil. A giddy smile tugged at his lips, and he let out a quiet laugh, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he turned back to the stall, his steps lighter than before. His mother glanced up briefly, raising an eyebrow at his distracted expression.
“Finally done with your little break?” she teased, her hands never pausing their swift work.
“Yeah, sorry,” Gihun said, his voice unusually cheerful as he grabbed a fresh stack of bamboo steamers. “I’m here now. Let’s get these dumplings moving.”
His mother shot him a curious look but said nothing. Gihun’s grin widened as he focused on his work. Something fluttered in his chest, too new to name, too good to give away just yet.
Gihun’s voice broke through the quiet of the evening, his excitement palpable. “I got the job,” he said, almost shyly, as if waiting for some sort of approval.
Sangwoo paused, his chopsticks hovering in mid-air. The news hit him, but he kept his expression neutral, studying Gihun’s face more than listening to the words. He could see the flicker of hope in the omega’s eyes, that childish gleam that, despite everything, still managed to break through.
“That’s... interesting,” Sangwoo said, lifting his cup. He took a slow sip of the tea, carefully hiding the brief flash of irritation that rose within him. It wasn’t about the job, not exactly. It was the fact that Gihun had gone behind his back to get it, as if he could somehow build a life beyond the one Sangwoo had already so meticulously created for him.
“You must be proud,” Sangwoo continued, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “Though I’ll admit, I’m a little surprised. A place like that, it’s not exactly what I imagined you aiming for.”
Gihun’s shoulders tensed, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his lips. Sangwoo didn’t miss it. He never did. The shift was subtle, the way Gihun’s eyes dropped, the faint change in his scent, instinct curling inward. All so familiar now, like a well-rehearsed dance. Sangwoo said nothing more, just smiled, as if it had been an innocent remark.
“I—” Gihun hesitated, the uncertainty creeping in, and Sangwoo could feel it, the vulnerability hanging in the air. He leaned back in his chair, watching, waiting, letting the silence stretch just long enough for the doubt to settle in.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting more,” Sangwoo said. His voice had that quiet softness that always made Gihun second-guess himself. “But, sweetheart... you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You already have everything you need right here.”
Sangwoo watched the flicker in his eyes, that quiet little war he thought he’d already won. Gihun wanted to believe there was something more, something beyond the confines of Sangwoo’s control, but the alpha had made it so simple, so clear. All Gihun needed to do was stay close, let him take care of everything.
“You’ve always been good at looking after us,” Sangwoo’s voice was syrupy, the way it always got when he wanted to sound kind without giving up control. “I’m sure the job will be fine, but... I just think you’ve already got more than enough on your plate.”
Gihun’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak right away, his gaze lowering as if the weight of the conversation was too much to carry. Sangwoo noticed the slight tremble in his hands, the hesitation.
“I just thought...” Gihun finally whispered, his voice small. “I just thought I could do something different.”
Sangwoo’s eyes softened just enough, the facade of care slipping momentarily as he observed the uncertainty in Gihun. The need for control flickered beneath the surface, but he kept it hidden, his smile never wavering.
“Different?” Sangwoo echoed, a quiet laugh escaping him, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hyung, you don’t need to go looking for different. You’re already exactly where you belong.” His hand found Gihun’s on the table. His touch was firm, almost possessive, as his fingers brushed against Gihun’s hand. Sangwoo's gaze lingered on the omega’s face, his expression a mask of understanding and gentle encouragement.
"Go ahead and try it," Sangwoo said, his voice still soft, though the edge of something more dangerous lingered beneath. "But you know, hyung.. you might find it harder than you think."
Gihun nodded, but there was something in the way his eyes darted away, some invisible thread pulling him farther from Sangwoo’s reach. It was subtle, so subtle that only Sangwoo, who had spent years perfecting the art of control, could sense the shift.
He let out a breath, keeping the smile plastered on his face as he squeezed Gihun’s hand just a little too tightly. "If you ever need help," Sangwoo continued, his voice laced with thinly veiled possessiveness, "you know where I am. But I’m sure you’ll manage on your own. You always do."
Gihun adjusted his tie nervously as he stepped off the elevator and into the sprawling executive floor of Young Il Electronic’s headquarters. Marble floors stretched out beneath him, catching too much light. The place buzzed quietly: phones ringing, heels ticking against tile, the soft click of keyboards. Everything about this place screamed refinement and control, a sharp contrast to the chaotic world he had left behind. His palms were damp, and he cursed himself for his nerves. After all, this was supposed to be a fresh start, wasn’t it?
Most of the employees bustling around him looked sharp, young, and impossibly polished. He caught a few glances. One or two held a little too long, not unfriendly, just… measuring. A pair of betas walking past exchanged a hushed comment he couldn’t quite catch, leaving him feeling self-conscious. It wasn’t the first time he had felt out of place in a professional setting, but this time, the stakes felt higher.
“You must be Seong Gihun-ssi,” a voice broke through his thoughts. He turned to see a young woman approaching him, her sharp heels clicking against the floor. Tall, even for a beta, she moved with a quiet confidence that settled the space around her. Her warm, professional smile put Gihun instantly at ease. “I’m Cho Hyunju, one of the executive assistants. Welcome to the team. It’s a small one, but things move fast. Stay sharp and ask questions.”
“Thank you,” Gihun said, bowing slightly. His voice was soft, almost timid, but laced with an underlying sincerity. “I’m eager to learn.”
“Good.” Hyunju handed him a sleek tablet and gestured for him to follow. “I’ll give you a quick tour before we dive in. You’ll be assisting primarily with scheduling and correspondence. Occasionally, you might need to deliver documents to the CEO’s office. Speaking of which, try to stay out of his way unless absolutely necessary.”
Gihun’s brow furrowed slightly. “The CEO?”
“Hwang Inho-ssi,” Hyunju replied, lowering her voice slightly as they walked. “He’s… let’s just say he’s not the warmest person. Brilliant, though. Some say he’s a genius, but I’d wager he’s more machine than man. You’ll figure out how to work around him soon enough.”
By midmorning, he’d already forgotten half the names he’d been introduced to. Hyunju talked fast, moved faster, and expected him to keep up. His hands fumbled with the tablet more than once, and he winced when he sent a reminder to the wrong department. “I’ll work on that.” He meant it. He always meant well, even when he wasn’t sure what he was doing.
Hyunju corrected his mistake, reassuring him, that he’d improve. Taking copious notes, Gihun absorbed everything like a sponge, determined not to mess up again.
By lunchtime, he had already organized several schedules and sent out meeting reminders. Each task felt like climbing a hill, but he tackled them with quiet persistence. While others might have rushed through, Gihun double-checked his work, rereading every message to make sure it was accurate. His attention to detail stood out, even if it slowed him down.
“You’re thorough,” Hyunju remarked, glancing at the neatly sorted stack of reports he handed her. There was a note of approval in her voice. “Just don’t get too hung up on perfection. Sometimes, speed matters more.”
Gihun nodded, his sincerity shining through. “I’ll work on that. Thank you.”
As the day wore on, Gihun’s nerves gradually gave way to cautious optimism. It wasn’t easy to keep up, but he reminded himself why he was here—a fresh start, a chance to prove he was more than just a shadow of his old self. Each small victory fueled his determination, and though the work challenged him, it also sparked something he hadn’t felt in years: hope.
He was going through a stack of papers when one of the other assistants, a young beta named Jihoon, approached him.
“Hey, new guy,” Jihoon said with a grin, holding out a folder. “Can you run this up to the CEO’s office? It’s the quarterly projections. Hyunju’s swamped, and I’m about to jump on a call.”
Gihun hesitated, glancing between the folder and Jihoon. “Are you sure? It’s my first day.”
“It’s just a delivery,” Jihoon said, already walking away. “Knock, leave it on his desk, and get out. He probably won’t even notice you.”
Taking a steadying breath, Gihun picked up the folder and made his way to the CEO’s office. The heavy oak doors at the end loomed like a gate to another world.
Knocking lightly, Gihun pushed the door open when there was no response. The office was vast and impeccably designed, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city. A massive desk dominated the room, but its occupant was nowhere to be seen.
Feeling slightly relieved, Gihun stepped inside and placed the folder on the desk. He was about to leave when the sound of a door opening made him freeze. Turning, he saw Hwang Inho emerging from an adjacent room, likely a private conference area. The CEO walked to his desk with an air of complete control, his movements precise and unhurried.
“The projections, sajangnim,” Gihun said softly, bowing slightly. He wasn’t sure if he should say more or simply leave.
Inho didn’t respond immediately. He picked up the folder, flipping through its contents with practiced efficiency. His eyes flicked up briefly, sharp and assessing, before returning to the papers.
“You’re new,” he said finally, his tone neutral.
“Yes, sajangnim. Seong Gihun. I—”
“That’ll be all,” Inho interrupted, his tone dismissive. His gaze didn’t linger, but the brief flicker of acknowledgment stayed with Gihun.
He turned to go, but found himself glancing back. Not out of curiosity—at least, that’s what he told himself. The man barely looked at him, but there was a weight to his presence. A calm authority that made something in Gihun’s chest tighten without reason.
From his chair, Inho looked through the glass wall—just a glance, at first. Reflex. But his eyes didn’t move on. Seong Gihun was back at his desk, fumbling with his tablet again. Quiet. Unassuming. The kind of presence that should’ve disappeared into the background. And yet, something about him... lingered. Not flashy. Not precise. But he caught the eye anyway. Pulled it.
Inho’s fingers drummed once against the desk before he leaned back, expression unreadable. He was good at people, slicing through them in seconds, filing them into categories: useful, ambitious, desperate. The omega didn’t quite fit. That was the problem. He was soft, a little awkward, but there was something else there too. Not submission, Inho could sniff that out in an instant, but a kind of stubborn vulnerability, like someone who’d learned how to endure rather than disappear.
Inho’s gaze drifted back to his folder, though his mind stayed elsewhere. He kept seeing the way the omega had looked when he handed over the documents, shoulders drawn in, but eyes steady. Scent pulled tight around him like he didn’t want to be noticed, but couldn’t help it anyway.
“Seong Gihun,” Inho said under his breath, testing the shape of it aloud. Not out of curiosity. Out of instinct. Something about the name made his jaw tense.
He reached for the call button. “Keep an eye on the new one,” he said when his assistant entered. “I want updates on how he handles things.”
The assistant nodded and left. Inho didn’t watch them go. His eyes had already returned to the window. There was time. There was always time. And some things were better understood slowly.