Archive of Our Own

After weeks of tour chaos—early flights, late nights, adrenaline-fueled performances—returning to the dorm should’ve been relief. Home base. Rest.

But Seungmin didn’t feel rested. He felt... wrong.

The static behind his eyes wouldn’t stop. Every noise was too sharp, his limbs ached like they weren’t his, and the faintest shifts in scent around the dorm left him dizzy and raw, like his skin didn’t fit right.

He was careful. So careful. Always.

He’d only taken things when no one was around—quiet moments when the laundry was warm and unattended, when shirts were left in rehearsal rooms, when hoodies were draped over couch backs and forgotten. He told himself it wasn’t weird. He told himself omegas nested. Jisung and Felix did. It was biology. It was fine.

It wasn’t really a nest anyway. Not like Felix’s sprawling blanket-forts or Jisung’s habit of dragging Minho into a scented pillow pile and falling asleep drooling on his arm. Those were open and obvious and comfortable. Seungmin’s was tucked into the corner of his bed, a quiet collection of not-his-clothes under his own comforter, hidden behind a shut door and fake nonchalance.

Minho’s hoodie lay folded on top. He hadn’t even worn it in weeks, but the alpha's scent was still there, warm and sharp and so him it made Seungmin’s throat tighten.

He shouldn’t have taken it. He told himself that every time. But his hands kept reaching for it anyway, like muscle memory, like something instinctual. Like his body knew what his pride refused to admit: he was holding himself together by threads.

And those threads were fraying.

He stood too fast and the room tilted. Just a moment. Just a flicker of black at the edges of his vision. He gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles white.

“Get it together,” he muttered under his breath.

He wasn’t going to drop. That was stupid. He didn’t do things like that.

He barely heard the door open.

“You forgot to come over for dinner,” Jisung’s voice said, casual on the surface but off. Too soft. Too careful.

Seungmin turned, slow. Jisung stood in the doorway, one socked foot half over the threshold, expression unreadable.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

Jisung didn’t move. His eyes dropped to the bed, the careful pile, the hoodie in Seungmin’s hand. He stared just a second too long.

Then he blinked. “...Whoa.”

Seungmin’s entire body tensed. His jaw locked.

“Don’t,” he said, too fast. “It’s not—just—don’t.”

“I’m not judging,” Jisung said, stepping in and closing the door behind him. “I’m just... surprised. You’ve never—”

“I know.”

Jisung stopped halfway into the room. His voice was quieter now. “You’re nesting.”

Seungmin let out a breath through his nose, sharp. “I said don’t.”

“It’s not a bad thing.” Jisung’s tone was soft, not teasing for once. “It’s just—you’ve always acted like you didn’t need it. Any of it.”

“I don’t.”

“That’s not what this looks like,” Jisung said gently, tilting his head toward the bed.

Seungmin’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I didn’t mean to. It just… happened.”

The silence stretched. He hated it. Hated how it felt like confession. Like exposure. Like standing in front of someone naked and begging not to be looked at too closely.

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” Seungmin muttered. “I’ve been careful.”

“You took my rehearsal tee,” Jisung said. Not accusing, more curious than anything. “The one with the bleach stain on the sleeve.”

Seungmin looked away. “It smells like you.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

That startled Jisung. He blinked fast, processing, and suddenly he wasn’t frozen anymore—he was moving forward, slow and cautious like Seungmin was a stray cat that might bolt.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You look pale.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

Seungmin bit the inside of his cheek, hard. His legs didn’t feel steady. He sat down before they gave out, elbows on knees, hoodie balled tight in his hands.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t think straight. I can’t stop needing things I shouldn’t need.”

“You’re an omega,” Jisung said. “You’re allowed to need.”

“No, I’m me,” Seungmin snapped, too raw, too honest. “Everyone thinks I’m fine without it. That I like being left alone. If I ask for more, it’s going to feel fake. Or worse—they’re going to think I’m being dramatic.”

Jisung sat on the edge of the bed. Careful not to touch. Just close.

“They won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know Minho gave you that hoodie,” he said, eyes flicking to it. “You think he’d care if you needed it?”

Seungmin couldn’t answer.

Jisung exhaled. “Look, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I just came up to check on you because you missed dinner. But now that I know—” He paused, like he didn’t want to push. “I can help, if you’ll let me.”

Seungmin didn’t speak, but the tremble in his fingers didn’t stop either.

“Let me scent some of the clothes,” Jisung offered, voice low. “Maybe fluff up the nest a bit? I know how to make it feel better.”

Seungmin stared at him, unsure, overwhelmed, but—nod. Just once.

Seungmin didn’t speak, but the tremble in his fingers didn’t stop either.

“Okay,” Jisung said softly. “Come here.”

He didn’t wait for full permission—just moved slowly, giving Seungmin time to flinch or pull back. He didn’t. So Jisung sat beside him, warm and steady, close enough that Seungmin could feel the quiet hum of his presence.

“I’m gonna scent you a little,” Jisung said, voice low and unthreatening. “You need it.”

Seungmin didn’t argue.

He was too tired to pretend.

Jisung’s hand settled gently on the back of Seungmin’s neck, thumb brushing lightly against the skin just behind his ear—omega scent gland, sensitive and underused. It sent a soft jolt through him, instinct flaring and then settling under the weight of Jisung’s familiar, honey-sweet scent.

“You’re smelling off.” Jisung murmured, pressing his scent in slow circles, like he was painting calm into Seungmin’s skin. “No wonder you’re shaking.”

Seungmin made a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a sob. He didn’t even know anymore.

He felt Jisung lean in, cheek brushing lightly against his jaw, scenting in that slow, quiet way omegas sometimes did when words weren’t enough. Comfort offered without expectation.

It was warm.

It was terrifying.

Seungmin hadn’t let anyone close like this in so long—hadn’t let himself want it. But the ache inside him was louder now, rising like a tide. And Jisung wasn’t pushing. Just staying. Just being.

After a moment, Jisung eased back, eyes flicking over him with a soft kind of concern.

“Better?”

“A little,” Seungmin murmured. “I didn’t know I was that off.”

“You’ve been holding it in too long,” Jisung said. “It’s okay. We can… top you off. Slowly. No one’s gonna think you’re weak.”

“You don’t know that,” Seungmin said, but it came out without heat. Just tired.

“I know me,” Jisung replied simply. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Seungmin exhaled, slow and shaky.

He still didn’t know how to say thank you. He didn’t know how to ask Jisung to stay, not in so many words.

But when he shifted just slightly closer, hoodie still clutched tight, Jisung didn’t say anything. He just settled beside him, their shoulders barely touching, and let the quiet stretch out between them like something safe.

They had the morning off. No rehearsal. No calls. It should’ve been peaceful. But the silence felt too careful, like everyone was holding still in case the calm broke.

Seungmin sat at the kitchen table, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, fingers curled around a warm cup of coffee that had long since gone lukewarm. Jisung’s hoodie. Still faintly warm from sleep, soft with wear. The scent was comforting—too comforting. He should’ve changed. He should’ve put on his own clothes. But he hadn’t. Couldn’t.

He was tired.

Minho padded in with quiet steps, clearly just out of bed, hair messy and half-lidded eyes still soft from sleep. His presence usually didn’t make Seungmin feel like anything. That’s what he told himself.

This morning, it made something behind his ribs twitch.

Minho passed behind him without a word, heading toward the fridge, but then—he paused. Just a few steps behind Seungmin, his body stilled almost imperceptibly. Seungmin didn’t have to look to know the exact moment Minho’s nose twitched.

There it was.

A quiet, low inhale.

Minho’s brows knit, subtle but sharp.

“…What’s that smell?”

Seungmin blinked. “What smell?”

“You smell…” Minho’s voice trailed off as he stepped a little closer, just enough for Seungmin to feel the faintest prickle of awareness race down his spine. “Not bad. Just… off.”

Seungmin stiffened. “It’s Jisung’s hoodie.”

“No, it’s you,” Minho said, voice quiet. Not accusing—just… focused. “Your scent’s sharper than usual.”

Seungmin said nothing. He kept his grip tight on the mug.

Minho didn’t move away.

“You feeling okay?” he asked after a beat. The words were casual, but not quite casual enough. Like they’d been run through a filter. The question was real, even if he didn’t want it to sound like it was.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t smell fine.”

Seungmin grit his teeth. “Do you always analyze everyone’s scent first thing in the morning?”

“Only when something’s weird.”

Minho wasn’t being sharp or smug, which somehow made it worse. He was just standing there, watching him too closely, expression unreadable in that way that meant something inside him was spinning and he hadn’t quite figured out how to make it stop.

The air between them felt different. Charged.

“You’re wearing Jisung’s hoodie,” Minho said after a moment, nodding at the too-large sleeves. His tone wasn’t questioning. Just… noting.

“I was cold.”

Another pause. Minho blinked slowly, and Seungmin could practically feel the thoughts ticking behind his eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear someone else’s scent before,” he said softly.

Seungmin looked away. “Maybe I don’t care anymore.”

That landed like a dropped coin in a quiet room. Minho didn’t react right away. Just kept standing there, coffee forgotten, something tugging at his instincts like static under his skin.

“Did something happen?” he asked finally.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Minho looked at him for a long moment. Not prying. Not pushing. Just standing there like he didn’t know why this mattered to him, only that it did. Then, without a word, he turned back toward the kitchen counter and started making his own coffee like nothing had happened.

Except Seungmin could feel it—the weight of Minho’s attention, still there in the room, even after he’d gone quiet. Like a string tied between them, pulled taut.

And the worst part?

It didn’t make Seungmin want to run.

It made him want to curl into it. To stop pretending. To let Minho cross the space between them and stay.

He hated that.

He hated that so much.

By midday, the hoodie felt too loud against his skin.

Seungmin stood in the doorway of his room, fingers twitching at the hem. Jisung’s scent had faded a little, but it still clung — warm, sweet, grounding. Too grounding. The others would notice if they got too close. Minho already had.

He peeled it off with quiet care, folding it gently before placing it back into his nest.

His nest.

God, it was pathetic. Hastily built, layers of blankets and hoodies and shirts from every member, each one stolen in silence, tucked away like contraband. Some still smelled faintly of their owners, others dulled by time. It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t pretty. Just a cocoon of desperate comfort stuffed into the corner of his bed in his room one would think to enter.

He placed Jisung’s hoodie near the centre, gave it a quick, almost guilty nuzzle, then stepped away. Shoved it all out of his mind. He could be normal. Just for a little while.

He pulled on his own sweatshirt. Neutral scent. Faint detergent. No one would notice anything now. Probably.

The living room was too warm, too bright. Too full.

Chan was stretched across one side of the couch, Jisung curled easily into the alpha's side. Felix had tucked himself into Minho’s space, half-draped over his lap like it was instinct. Probably was. Minho had one arm slung lazily around him, absent-mindedly stroking Felix’s side. They were talking softly, easy laughter and praise flowing like water.

Felix looked glowy. His cheeks pink, eyes heavy-lidded, scent sweet and thick in the air. Caught somewhere between scent-drunk and sleep-drunk, and clearly in no rush to fight it. Jisung looked nearly as blissed, giggling at something Chan muttered into his hair.

Minho, ever the contradiction, looked bored and deeply settled at once. His fingers never stopped moving over Felix’s side. Slow. Gentle.

Seungmin’s chest ached.

He paused just inside the door, careful to keep his face blank. Everyone was here — Changbin, Hyunjin, Jeongin. Laughter. Movement. Comfort.

He didn’t sit.

He couldn’t.

The scent in the air was too much — not cloying, but rich. Deep alpha tones threaded with familiar omega softness. Not his. Not for him. He could feel his own instincts pacing, pressing against his ribs, clawing to get out. Go to them. Get touched. Get held. Get seen.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned lightly against the edge of the wall, hands shoved in his pockets. Pretending to listen. Pretending he wasn’t vibrating out of his own skin.

“Seungmin,” Hyunjin called out with a smile, “you look like someone kicked your favourite plushie. Come here.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “I’m good.”

Jisung glanced up at that. Not full alarm, but a flicker of concern. His body shifted subtly in Chan’s hold, the way someone did when their omega instincts kicked in. His gaze stayed on Seungmin just a little too long before he stood up with a soft “be right back” and padded into the kitchen.

Seungmin tried not to breathe too deeply. But his heart was already pounding.

Chan's scent was on Jisung like a second skin. Deep in the fabric of his hoodie. Layered into the way Jisung moved, the way he carried the weight of it, like it had always belonged there.

It hit Seungmin like a punch.

By the time Jisung came back, carrying a water bottle and a banana he didn’t even pretend not to be offering, Seungmin was already floating — high-tension, low blood sugar, thoughts too sharp and too soft at once.

Jisung didn’t say anything. He just handed him the banana and gave him a loose, casual hug like it was nothing. Like they were still sixteen and didn’t know any better.

Seungmin nearly broke.

Jisung's scent hit him like a wave. And Chan's warm scent embedded in Jisung’s clothes, soft and warm and grounding, and not for him. He went stiff in the hug, but not from rejection. From wanting to fold in. From wanting to press his face into Jisung’s shoulder and just breathe.

Jisung held the hug a moment longer than he needed to. Gentle. Letting Seungmin take what he needed without naming it.

Then he pulled back. Didn’t comment. Just gave him a look that said I see you, then went back to the couch.

Seungmin stood there for a long moment, peeling the banana slowly.

Trying to ignore the ache in his chest. The tremble in his hands.

Later that afternoon, while the others had drifted off into their rooms or tucked themselves into quiet naps, Jisung passed by his room again. Said nothing. Just placed a folded hoodie and a pair of joggers just outside Seungmin’s door. No questions. No fuss.

The packs's scent was all over them.

Seungmin stared at them for a full minute before dragging them into the dark.

Into the nest.

Into the place no one knew existed but Jisung.

He should’ve known Jisung wouldn’t let it go.

All day, the older omega had hovered just enough to be subtle. Light hands on Seungmin’s shoulder. Glances that lingered too long. Gentle touches disguised as jokes, all loaded with unspoken questions.

Seungmin had ignored them. Or tried to.

But it was getting harder to fake stability. Harder to keep his voice even when his scent was frayed, when his limbs buzzed with tension and his thoughts twisted in on themselves like a storm.

By the time evening settled over the dorm and the others were watching a movie in the living room, Seungmin had quietly slipped away.

He wasn’t skipping dinner. He wasn’t hiding.

He was just tired.

The moment his bedroom door clicked shut behind him, the breath left his chest like it had been held all day. He turned toward his bed—the soft, dishevelled mess that had become his nest. The blankets were tangled, but there was something comforting about it. He had thrown his clothes across the mattress, layering his bandmates’ old shirts, jackets, and the worn-out hoodie he’d “borrowed” from Jisung. His pillows were scattered, half of them stacked in the corner like some unspoken defence.

He didn’t like calling it a nest. Not even in his head.

It felt... too real. Too omega. And Seungmin didn’t know how to be an omega the way the others were.

Felix glowed with it. Soft and touchy and unapologetically affectionate, always tucked under someone's arm or scenting the alphas without a second thought. Jisung too, in his own chaotic way—demanding cuddles and warmth, then darting off to destroy ramen and play video games. They never second-guessed their wants. They never looked ashamed.

Seungmin… did.

But he couldn’t deny the relief in curling up again, tucking the corner of Chan’s old hoodie under his chin. The fabric was worn and frayed, like it had been through a hundred tour stops, and it still smelled like grounding cedar and something steadier underneath. He burrowed into it, heart aching. He reached for Jisung’s hoodie too, the soft one he’d brought the day before. Warm, like honey and mischief and home. It helped.

He didn’t hear the knock.

He did hear the door creak open.

“...Seungmin?”

Panic surged like a jolt through his stomach. He scrambled upright, clutching the hoodie to his chest and throwing a blanket half-heartedly over the nest pile.

Jisung stood in the doorway.

And next to him—Felix.

“Oh my god,” Seungmin choked. “Get out—”

“No,” Jisung said, shutting the door behind them without giving him a chance. “Not happening.”

“I told you—”

“You didn’t tell me anything, actually,” Jisung said gently. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Felix was quiet. Not out of judgment, but something softer. His eyes flicked toward the bed, then lingered—really lingered—taking in the layered mess of blankets and shirts, the distinct folds and softened edges where someone had curled in again and again.

His lips parted slightly. “Oh…”

Seungmin saw it—the second it clicked. Panic surged in his gut. He scrambled upright on the bed, clutching Jisung’s hoodie to his chest and dragging a blanket halfway over the pile as if that would hide what he’d done. “Don’t. Say anything.”

But Felix didn’t look amused, or teasing. He wasn’t even smiling.

He looked... tender.

In awe, almost.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was hushed. “You made a nest.”

Seungmin looked away, jaw tight. “Whatever. It’s not—don’t make it a thing.”

Felix took a careful step closer, like one wrong move might make Seungmin bolt. “Min, it is a thing. Not a bad one. Just... this is a really big deal.”

“I know it looks—”

“It looks safe,” Felix said, cutting him off gently. “And soft. And yours.”

He knelt at the edge of the bed, eyes scanning the mess like it was something precious, not pathetic. “I didn’t know you were this close to dropping. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that alone.”

Seungmin’s throat tightened. He hated that he felt like crying again.

Jisung eased onto the bed beside them, all warmth and mischief that softened into quiet loyalty in moments like this. “You did good, Min. I mean, the aesthetic is questionable—”

“Shut up,” Seungmin muttered, voice hoarse.

“—but it’s yours,” Jisung continued, bumping their shoulders together. “That’s what matters.”

Felix finally smiled, small but radiant, and reached for the hem of the blanket. “Can we sit with you for a bit? If that’s okay.”

Seungmin didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no either.

He shifted enough to make space. That was enough.

Felix curled in slowly, mindful not to disrupt anything, settling near the center of the bed where the blankets still held Seungmin’s heat. Jisung followed, flopping beside him with practiced ease, tugging a hoodie over both their legs.

Their scents—sunlight and sugar, honey and warmth—filled the space around Seungmin like balm.

It was too much. But also not enough.

And when he pressed his face into Felix's shoulder, it nearly overwhelmed him.

Minho.

Minho’s scent clung to the fabric like it belonged there. Sharp and grounding, all evergreen warmth and something more possessive underneath.

Seungmin didn’t say anything. But Felix felt the way his breath hitched.

Later that night, Felix came back quietly and handed over the hoodie.

“Thought you might want this.”

Seungmin didn’t meet his eyes when he took it.

But he buried it in the center of his bed, where he could reach it easily in the dark.

And this time, he fell asleep.

The room was still again.

Felix and Jisung had left not long ago, padding out quietly with soft smiles and lingering glances, promising to be back in the morning with snacks and hugs. They didn’t push. They didn’t press. But the warmth they left behind clung to the air like a whisper.

Now, Seungmin lay curled in the centre of his bed-nest, arms wrapped around the hoodie Felix had brought back. The scent was stronger now—Minho, heady and grounding, rich with something that tugged at the base of Seungmin’s spine like instinct was trying to claw its way to the surface.

He buried his face deeper into the fabric and exhaled shakily.

The comfort was instant. Unwelcome.

His omega settled around the scent like it recognized safety, like it wanted to melt into it completely. Seungmin hated how automatic it felt. How easy. How much his body betrayed the walls he’d built.

Minho wasn’t supposed to be his safe place. Not really.

They bickered. Constantly. Minho rolled his eyes whenever Seungmin opened his mouth, and Seungmin shot back with sarcasm and stubborn pride. They were loud, competitive, impossible.

Everyone thought they were a joke. A fake-divorced couple dynamic that fans ate up. No one ever asked what happened when the cameras were off.

No one asked why Seungmin always stayed just a little too long near Minho’s side. Why he never said no when Minho barked at him to “just stay here already.”

He stared up at the ceiling, heart tight and aching in his chest.

Was it supposed to feel like this?

Was it always going to feel like this?

The scent helped, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the thoughts. He wasn’t even sure what they were about anymore—Minho, the others, the constant tension of being something people assumed he wasn’t. An omega who didn’t want to be touched until he ached for it. Someone who looked like he didn’t need anything until it all crumbled.

He turned onto his side, fingers curling into the hoodie like it might hold him back.

“I’m fine,” he whispered to the dark.

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

Eventually, sleep came—not easily, but deeply.

And even then, he dreamed in flashes: a heavy arm around his waist. A warm voice humming near his ear. A hand pressed over the small of his back, scent familiar and dizzying.

He woke once in the night, breath caught in his throat.

Minho’s scent still lingered on the hoodie.

It wasn’t real. Not really.

But he didn’t let go.

It was still early in the morning.  Too quiet, really — the calm before everyone came stumbling in from their rooms, half-dressed and grumbling, demanding coffee and breakfast like barely-functioning zombies.

Seungmin shuffled toward the kitchen, hoodie sleeves pulled down over his hands, eyes still hazy with sleep. His hair stuck up on one side, and the warm scent of Felix and Jisung still clung to him faintly under his own, along with something sharper—stronger.

Minho.

The hoodie had been too much to sleep in all night. He’d curled around it instead, face buried in the sleeve, instincts too frayed to let go.

Now, upright and moving, he already felt... off.

His limbs were heavier than they should be. Head too light. He hadn’t eaten much. Or drank enough water. But that wasn’t it.

His scent had gone bitter again, frayed at the edges, curling in a way that felt like his omega was digging itself deeper into his chest and folding him in from the inside.

The early signs of a drop. He knew them. He just didn’t want to name them.

“Morning, sunshine,” came a familiar voice — dry and half amused, from where Minho stood at the kitchen counter, pouring coffee into two mugs. “You look like hell.”

Seungmin squinted, blinking into the light. “Thanks.”

Minho pushed one of the mugs toward him with a flick of his fingers. “Don’t pass out before you drink that.”

Seungmin didn’t answer right away, just hovered near the edge of the counter, trying to breathe through the wrongness in his chest. The bitter fog. His hand trembled slightly when he reached for the mug.

Minho raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Fine,” Seungmin mumbled.

That clearly wasn't convincing.

Minho’s eyes narrowed slightly. He turned back toward the cabinet to grab something — sugar maybe, or a snack to force-feed Seungmin like he usually did when the younger one got too wrapped up in ignoring his own needs.

He brushed past him as he moved.

It wasn’t intentional. Just a hip bump. A touch of their arms.

But that was all it took.

Seungmin’s body reacted like it had been waiting for that single contact all night.

A sharp breath left him, almost a whine. His knees gave out halfway, hand slapping onto the counter to steady himself as his scent curled outward fast — overwhelmed, frantic, laced with omega distress. The mug clattered from his hand and rolled on the countertop, sloshing coffee over the edge.

“Whoa—Seungmin?”

Minho was beside him in half a second. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Seungmin didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

His eyes fluttered shut, and a quiet, broken sound left his throat — the kind of sound that came from somewhere deeper than language. Instinctive. Vulnerable. Needy.

Minho’s hands were on his shoulders, firm and grounding. His voice lowered instantly. “Okay, okay. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

He didn’t tease. Didn’t smirk. Just pure alpha steadiness.

Seungmin tipped forward without thinking, forehead pressing into Minho’s chest. His fists curled in the front of Minho’s shirt, breath hitching, scent rising in waves of overwhelmed instinct. His omega had fully surfaced, starved for touch and safety, desperate to anchor itself somewhere real.

Minho froze for half a second.

Then moved.

One arm wrapped around Seungmin’s back, the other hand coming up to cradle the base of his neck, fingers resting just above the scent gland. Protective. Careful. Instinctive.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice rough but steady. “You’re not alone.”

The sound that left Seungmin then was barely audible, a soft, broken noise as he leaned harder into the warmth, shaking slightly.

Minho didn’t say anything else. He just held him, scent slowly rolling out to soothe, to ground. His own instincts responded like it was nothing — like he was built to do this, to wrap himself around Seungmin and keep him safe.

And maybe, he was.

Minho didn’t hesitate for a second. He moved quickly, carefully, as though he had done this a thousand times — despite never really having done it at all. His grip on Seungmin tightened, his other arm supporting Seungmin's weight as the younger male trembled. He guided him to the sofa with a few swift steps, his gaze never leaving Seungmin’s pale face.

Seungmin’s hands were still gripping Minho’s shirt, his fingers almost trembling as though he was afraid to let go. The panic swirling in Seungmin's chest hadn’t fully settled, and the only thing Minho could do was get him somewhere soft, somewhere he could breathe.

“Easy, Min,” Minho murmured as he carefully guided Seungmin to sit down. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

Seungmin didn’t respond, his face still buried in Minho’s chest. His breathing was shallow, quick — the overwhelming rush of omega instincts making everything feel too much. Too loud. Too suffocating.

Minho brushed his fingers through Seungmin’s messy hair, his touch gentle and steady. “I told you to take care of yourself, didn’t I?” His voice had an edge of frustration now, but it wasn’t anger. Just concern, wrapped in that signature snark.

Seungmin’s breath hitched again, a soft whine slipping out of him.

Minho sighed, muttering under his breath. “Come on, Seungmin. Don’t do this to yourself.”

His fingers slid down to the back of Seungmin’s neck, pressing gently against the nape, where the scent gland was hidden just beneath the skin. Seungmin tensed at the contact, but Minho didn’t pull away. He knew. He knew it was exactly what Seungmin needed.

“Relax,” Minho coaxed softly, his voice low and full of that unspoken command that only an alpha could carry. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Seungmin whined again, quieter this time, pressing even closer to Minho as if he could melt into him. His omega was raw, frantic, desperate for comfort. Seungmin wanted to fight it. He wanted to hold onto the last remnants of control, but it was slipping away. His chest ached with the feeling of something on the edge — something primal, something too powerful to ignore.

Minho continued to scent him — a soft, reassuring motion as he exhaled against Seungmin’s skin, grounding him. There was no mockery, no teasing edge to his voice anymore. Just that low, steady hum of an alpha who knew exactly what his omega needed.

Seungmin’s shoulders sagged, the tension melting as Minho’s scent wrapped around him, swirling with his own in a delicate dance. It was as though the world was shutting out, and for a moment, all Seungmin could feel was the steady rise and fall of Minho’s chest beneath his cheek, his breath warm against Seungmin’s ear.

A door creaked open behind them, the sound sharp in the stillness. Minho didn’t turn his head — didn’t break his focus on Seungmin, who had finally relaxed enough to lean into the touch, his body going slack in exhaustion.

“Minho?” Chan’s voice, panicked, rang out as he walked into the living room, his eyes widening at the sight of Seungmin curled into Minho’s chest, his face pale and his breathing still shallow. “What’s going on? Is he—”

“Shh.” Minho raised a hand, eyes still fixed on Seungmin, his voice a low murmur that carried authority despite the softness of the moment. “It’s fine, Channie-hyung. Just… let him breathe.”

Chan hesitated, his gaze flicking nervously between the two of them. “Is he okay? What happened?”

“He’s fine.” Minho’s tone was calm, but there was a firmness to it, the kind that made it clear he wasn’t going to entertain any more questions for the moment. “His omega’s just a little… overwhelmed. He’ll be alright.”

Chan seemed to relax slightly, but there was still an undeniable trace of worry in his expression. He stepped forward, cautiously, eyes lingering on Seungmin’s flushed face.

“He should’ve said something,” Chan said quietly, his gaze narrowing at Minho, though there was no accusation in it — just concern. “He shouldn’t be this bad off without us knowing.”

Minho shrugged, but the movement was stiff. “He’s stubborn. Always has been.”

“But still,” Chan pressed, his voice softening. “We could’ve helped before it got this bad.”

“I know,” Minho muttered, finally breaking his gaze from Seungmin long enough to glance at Chan. There was no anger in his voice — just a heaviness, a tiredness that made it clear how much Minho cared. “But I’ve got him now. You don’t have to worry.”

Chan nodded slowly, though his eyes lingered on Seungmin for a moment longer. “Just… I’m glad you’re here for him, but if we can help, we should.”

Minho didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked down at Seungmin, whose eyes were closed now, face relaxed but pale, the faintest tremble still running through his body.

“Yeah,” Minho murmured, just loud enough for Chan to hear. “I will.”

Chan seemed to take that for what it was — a promise of sorts — before he gave a small nod and stepped back, moving to the kitchen to busy himself with whatever task he could find, giving Minho and Seungmin the space they both needed.

Minho shifted slightly, adjusting Seungmin’s position to make him more comfortable, pulling the blanket that had draped over the sofa tighter around them both.

Seungmin let out a soft exhale, the tension slowly draining from his body as the comforting weight of Minho’s scent filled the air around them.

“Stay with me for a bit,” Minho murmured, his voice a low rumble as he tucked Seungmin against his chest once more. “Let yourself rest.”

Seungmin didn’t say anything, but he pressed his face into Minho’s shirt again, as if it was the only thing that anchored him to the world.

Minho didn’t let go. Didn’t push. Just held him, scenting him with gentle care, protective and possessive in a way that only an alpha could be.

Seungmin’s breath evened out slowly, body going slack in Minho’s arms.

And for once, he didn’t fight it.

The soft murmur of voices in the living room didn’t register in Seungmin’s mind. Everything felt hazy, distant, like he was underwater. He barely registered Minho’s hand against the small of his back as they sat curled together on the couch. Minho was scenting him gently now, his Alpha instincts fully in control, grounding Seungmin without a word.

The door creaked open.

“Hyung?” Jisung’s voice was light at first, casual — but it caught mid-word the second he saw them.

Felix was a step behind, and the change in Jisung’s scent was instant — sharp with surprise and just a little panic.

“Jisung,” Minho said firmly, his voice quiet but commanding. “Don’t—”

But the damage was already done. Seungmin whimpered at the sudden spike in tension, curling tighter against Minho with a shaky breath.

Felix acted immediately. He stepped in front of Jisung, placing a hand on his chest to hold him back. “Stop,” he whispered, soft but serious. “Your scent is spiking.”

“I—shit, I didn’t know—” Jisung’s eyes were wide, flicking from Seungmin’s trembling form to the careful way Minho had wrapped around him.

“I know,” Felix said. “I didn’t either.”

But his voice cracked at the end, guilt seeping through. His own scent was tight with frustration — not at Seungmin, but at himself. At Jisung. At how blind they’d both been the night before. How close Seungmin had already been to the edge.

Felix stepped forward carefully, scent softening, calming. He crouched beside the couch, letting Seungmin smell him before he reached out.

“Minnie,” he whispered, his voice honey-sweet now, coaxing. “It’s me. Can I come close?”

Seungmin didn’t answer, not really — he just let out a quiet, broken sound and reached a trembling hand toward Felix’s hoodie. That was enough.

Felix leaned in, wrapping one arm gently around Seungmin’s shoulders and pressing his face close to the crown of his head, letting his scent slowly layer over Minho’s.

Jisung was frozen by the doorway, torn between guilt and fear. “Why didn’t I see it?” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

“Because he hides it,” Felix said, tone still gentle but with an edge. “You know he does.”

“He was so close to dropping last night. We were there.”

Felix just nodded, then looked up at Minho, who still had one arm anchored around Seungmin’s waist. The Alpha’s expression was unreadable, but his hand hadn’t stopped its steady rhythm at Seungmin’s back.

“We need to move him,” Minho said quietly. “The others’ll wake up soon. He won’t want them to see him like this.”

Felix nodded, already helping to shift Seungmin’s weight. “His room?”

Minho hesitated for a moment, then nodded once.

Together, the three of them moved Seungmin gently, supporting his body between them. He barely stirred, pliant and dazed from the drop, clinging more to scent and touch than thought.

As they stepped into Seungmin’s room, Minho paused in the doorway — and froze.

His eyes scanned the bed, the carefully layered blankets, the familiar hoodies and shirts tucked between pillows. His own scent — faint, but present — reached him immediately.

It took him a second to realize what it was.

A nest.

Seungmin’s nest.

Minho’s expression softened with something unspoken — a quiet kind of awe, maybe even guilt. This was sacred. This was the part of Seungmin he didn’t show anyone.

But the Omega in his arms didn’t flinch.

Seungmin’s fingers curled weakly into Minho’s hoodie and, with a tiny sound, he leaned closer, nose brushing the base of Minho’s throat.

“Please,” he whispered. Barely a breath. “Stay.”

Minho didn’t answer out loud. He just stepped forward.

Carefully, reverently, Minho lowered Seungmin into the nest. Felix helped guide the blankets over his legs, while Jisung gently tucked a familiar hoodie under his hands.

Minho hovered a moment longer. Waiting.

Seungmin blinked up at him with unfocused eyes. He didn’t smile, but his fingers reached up again — for him, for his scent, for his Alpha.

And Minho climbed into the nest.

He didn’t touch anything he didn’t have to. He kept his movements slow, careful. And when Seungmin curled into his side, finally relaxing completely for the first time in what felt like weeks, Minho just wrapped his arm around him and exhaled slowly.

Felix watched them for a moment, then gently tugged Jisung back toward the door.

They left without a word, pulling it closed behind them.

The nest smelled like safety. Soft and warm and layered with the familiar scents of the people Seungmin trusted most. But most of all, it smelled like Minho.

Minho, whose steady heartbeat thudded softly beneath Seungmin’s cheek. Minho, whose arms were wrapped around his smaller frame, holding him like he might fall apart otherwise. Minho, whose scent was so deep and grounding it made Seungmin’s chest ache.

He didn’t know how long he’d been drifting in and out. Everything felt thick, muffled — his thoughts slow and hazy as they swam through the quiet aftermath of the drop. But Minho was there. Minho hadn’t left. He was still here.

“…Alpha…”

It slipped out before Seungmin could even think to stop it. A low, barely-audible murmur, muffled against the curve of Minho’s shoulder. But Minho heard it — he stiffened, just a little, his breath catching in surprise.

Then he softened again.

“Yeah,” Minho murmured, voice calm, gentle. “I’m here.”

Seungmin’s fingers curled tighter into the fabric of Minho’s hoodie, and he tilted his head to nuzzle in closer, rubbing his cheek against Minho’s collar like he couldn’t get close enough. His omega was in control now — needy, seeking, no longer held back by pride or playful sharpness. It felt too easy to just follow instinct. To reach. To claim.

“…My alpha…” Seungmin whispered, voice smaller this time. More fragile. Like if he said it too loud, the illusion would break and Minho would disappear.

Minho sucked in a breath through his nose, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

He wasn’t good at this — emotions, softness, all the heavy, vulnerable stuff. But he knew Seungmin needed him now. Not the snark, not the sarcasm. Just him. Steady, strong. Something to hold onto.

“You’re okay,” Minho said, lowering his voice even further. “You’re safe. No one’s gonna come in. You don’t have to push through this on your own.”

Seungmin nodded against him, but he was still trembling slightly. His hands moved again, slipping beneath the hem of Minho’s hoodie, his cold fingers seeking skin. Minho twitched in surprise — not because it was inappropriate, but because of what it meant.

Seungmin was touch-starved. Deeply, achingly so.

“Seungmin,” Minho said gently, shifting a little to catch his gaze. “You’re not thinking clearly right now.”

Seungmin’s eyes blinked open, glazed and glassy, but searching Minho’s face like he was trying to memorize it. “Don’t go,” he whispered. “Please don’t—don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Minho said firmly, his hand smoothing down the back of Seungmin’s head. “But you’re in a drop. You’re not yourself right now.”

“I am,” Seungmin mumbled, nuzzling closer. “I’m just… tired. And you make it better.”

Minho exhaled slowly. His Alpha instincts were tugging at him hard — to scent, to soothe, to claim and protect. But he had to hold the line. Seungmin deserved someone who would honour him, not someone who’d take advantage of a fragile moment.

“I’ll stay right here,” he said. “But we’re just resting, alright? I’ll scent you, hold you. That’s it.”

Seungmin whimpered softly, but nodded, burying himself in Minho’s chest again. “Okay,” he murmured. “Just don’t stop.”

“I won’t.”

Minho curled his arm tighter around Seungmin’s back and dipped his head low, pressing his nose into the crook of his neck. He let his scent settle over the Omega, anchoring him slowly, carefully, until Seungmin stopped trembling and started to truly relax.

No more teasing. No more pretending. No more keeping distance because of expectations.

Minho didn’t say it aloud, but he thought it clearly: You don’t have to hide anymore.

And if Seungmin called him “alpha” again?

He didn’t think he’d mind.

The scent of warmth and home still lingered in the nest — layered musk, soft florals, cotton and something distinctly Minho — but Seungmin’s head was clearer now.

Too clear.

He blinked awake slowly, muscles still heavy from the drop but no longer shaking. Minho’s arm was draped around him, steady, solid. He hadn’t moved. He’d stayed.

Oh no.

Seungmin tensed just slightly — not enough to wake Minho, but enough for a flush of bitter embarrassment to roll through his chest. The scent of it followed, creeping out before he could even attempt to suppress it: sour with shame, acidic with panic.

Minho stirred instantly.

His hand shifted to Seungmin’s back, rubbing slow circles without opening his eyes. “Easy,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep. “You’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Seungmin said too quickly. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Totally fine.”

“Mm,” Minho hummed, unconvinced.

“I mean, it’s not like I completely fell apart or anything,” Seungmin added, laughing under his breath — sharp and too thin. “Not like I cuddled up to my alpha hyung and begged to be scented like some cliché Omega romance drama or something.”

Minho opened his eyes then, one brow lifting.

Seungmin looked away immediately, busying himself with adjusting the edge of the blanket even though it didn’t need fixing. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered.

“Seungmin.”

The tone made him stop.

Minho wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t smug. He was just there, steady and quiet, waiting for Seungmin to stop hiding.

“You were in a drop,” Minho said plainly. “Your body needed care. That’s not embarrassing.”

“Well, it feels embarrassing.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to talk about it,” Seungmin said, softer now.

Minho nodded once, letting that settle. He didn’t push. He just shifted to sit up a little straighter, hand still pressed between Seungmin’s shoulder blades.

“Your scent's still bitter,” he murmured. “That’ll make your head spin again if you’re not careful.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Seungmin muttered, but it was barely a protest. More reflex than anything else.

Minho leaned in without a word and pressed his nose gently to Seungmin’s temple, exhaling slow and warm. His scent followed — steady and grounding — chasing away the bitter edges with something deeper, heavier.

Seungmin inhaled without meaning to, a quiet, shaky breath.

“…Thanks.”

Minho didn’t answer. He just rested his forehead against Seungmin’s for a second longer than necessary, then finally pulled back.

“You hungry?”

Seungmin snorted. “Wow. The romance.”

Minho smirked. “Don’t push it.”

He stood then, giving the blankets one last tug around Seungmin before stepping back. “I’ll bring you something. Stay here.”

“You’re not gonna let me pretend this didn’t happen, are you?” Seungmin asked as Minho reached for the door.

Minho looked back, his face unreadable — but there was something soft in the set of his eyes.

“No,” he said. “But you don’t have to explain anything. Just… don’t hide next time, okay?”

Seungmin didn’t answer right away. But as the door clicked shut behind Minho, he curled deeper into the warmth of his nest, Minho’s scent still clinging to his hoodie like a shield.

Minho came back with food but still didn't budge afterwards. He was still seated beside Seungmin, one leg tucked under him, the other hanging off the bed. Still watching. Still present.

Seungmin just sat there, the haze from earlier worn thin by clarity, by memory.

He remembered the dizziness. The way his body had leaned into touch before he could stop it. How he’d let go, just for a second. How it had felt so good — too good — to have someone take care of him. How he’d let Minho close.

The heat that rushed to his face was almost unbearable.

He shifted, fingers automatically tugging at a nearby blanket, tugging it higher over his lap. His cheeks burned. And worse, his scent was turning sour again — bitter embarrassment rising like steam before he could suppress it.

Minho noticed. Of course he did.

“You’re doing it again,” he said calmly. “Getting all in your head.”

“I’m not,” Seungmin lied, voice tight. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Minho muttered, “because passing out in the kitchen is peak health.”

Seungmin huffed and looked away. “I didn’t pass out. I just… temporarily lost vertical capabilities.”

Minho’s brow twitched. “Cute.”

Seungmin tried to sink further into the nest, hoping it would swallow him whole.

“You let me help you,” Minho said after a pause. “That’s not something you need to be ashamed of.”

“I didn’t let you,” Seungmin muttered. “My body short-circuited. You just happened to be standing there.”

“Sure,” Minho said dryly. “Just coincidence I was the one you clung to.”

That shut Seungmin up.

His fingers curled in the blankets again, hiding their tremble. His throat felt tight. His scent fluttered between sour and distressed before he forced himself to breathe — long, slow — trying to calm it.

Minho watched him, jaw working for a moment before he finally said, quieter, “I didn’t know you were struggling like that.”

Seungmin didn’t respond.

“I would’ve—” Minho stopped, eyes narrowing at the ceiling like he was mad at it. “I look after Jisung. Felix. Everyone. I would’ve been there if I knew you—”

“Well, I didn’t want you to know,” Seungmin snapped, sharper than intended. “Because this—this right here—is the last thing I wanted. Pity. Special treatment.”

Minho’s eyes locked on him. “It’s not pity.”

“Then what is it?”

A beat of silence passed.

“I like taking care of people,” Minho said plainly. “Not just the ones who ask for it.”

Seungmin’s chest clenched.

He looked down, cheeks burning, his whole body humming with the slow horror of having been seen so clearly.

“I didn’t want to be… like that,” he muttered.

Minho tilted his head. “Vulnerable?”

Seungmin didn’t answer.

“Too late,” Minho added, more gently now. “I’ve already seen you hoard Jisung’s hoodie and turn into a clingy blanket ghost. Can’t erase that.”

Seungmin’s laugh was more of a groan. “God. Kill me.”

“No thanks,” Minho said. “I’m busy watching over the emotionally repressed omega in my bed.”

Seungmin shot him a glare.

Minho just smirked faintly, but underneath it, something more serious flickered. A frustration that wasn’t aimed at Seungmin, exactly — more at himself. At how long it had taken to notice how close Seungmin had come to breaking.

“I’m staying,” Minho said simply. “So deal with it.”

Seungmin didn’t trust himself to speak.

But after a few seconds, he shifted slightly in the nest, just enough that his shoulder brushed Minho’s.

Eventually, the quiet in the nest grew too heavy.

Minho shifted first, slow and careful, glancing over at Seungmin like he was expecting him to resist. But Seungmin only gave a faint nod, eyes averted, and let Minho pull back the blankets. The air outside the nest felt colder than it should’ve.

They moved quietly — Minho stepping off the bed, stretching his arms overhead with a low groan, and Seungmin pulling one of the softer shirts from the edge of the nest to hold against his chest for a second before setting it aside. He didn’t say anything as he padded into the hallway and disappeared into the bathroom.

He locked the door behind him. Just in case.

The mirror didn’t flatter him. Pale skin, circles under his eyes, the ghost of dried salt at the corners of his lashes. He looked like he’d been cracked open.

The shame came rushing back in.

What the hell is wrong with you?

He turned the water on hot and stepped into the shower before it even finished heating up, letting it sear down his neck and spine. His fingers went to his glands first, scrubbing gently at the soft skin beneath his ears, then harder. Trying to erase the comforting, grounding scent Minho had left there. He didn’t even know why. Maybe because if it stayed, it meant something. And he wasn’t ready for that.

He watched the water swirl down the drain, unsure whether it was relief or guilt that twisted in his gut.

When he got out, towel slung around his shoulders, he stood at the sink for a long moment. His scent was barely present now, muted and scrubbed and sterile.

He thought, That’s better, but it didn’t feel better.

Just necessary.

Minho was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, waiting for the water to boil. He didn’t say anything when Seungmin walked past him — just glanced over his shoulder, gave a small nod, and gestured toward the stool by the counter.

Seungmin hovered for a second before finally sitting.

“I can make my own tea,” he muttered.

“Not today,” Minho said, tone flat. “Sit.”

There wasn’t much room to argue with that.

The sound of the water kettle filled the silence. Seungmin rested his arms on the counter, gaze low, still not sure how to hold himself. He’d convinced himself that after a hot shower and a clean shirt, everything could go back to normal. But his body didn’t feel normal — it still buzzed faintly, like the drop had loosened something he couldn’t pull back into place.

Minho set a cup in front of him without a word.

Then — before Seungmin could pull back or flinch — he leaned in and gently brushed his wrist across Seungmin’s scent gland.

Just once. A slow, careful scenting.

Seungmin froze.

He blinked at the tea. His fingers twitched. His scent hadn’t settled yet — still patchy and uncertain — but that one touch from Minho softened it just enough to ground him.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t want to see the expression on Minho’s face.

But he didn’t pull away either.

He was still trying to swallow past the lump in his throat when footsteps sounded behind them.

Chan entered first, yawning, hoodie pulled up over messy curls. Changbin followed, eyes still squinting from sleep. Their chatter faltered the moment they walked in and caught the edge of the scene.

Minho standing close.

Seungmin still rumpled, hair damp.

The air thick with the faint trace of Alpha scent — recent and deliberate.

Changbin blinked. “Uh. Did we miss something?”

Chan didn’t say anything at first. His gaze flicked between Seungmin and Minho, sharp beneath the tired. Concern, not judgment.

“You okay, Minnie?” he asked, soft and direct.

Seungmin nodded, quick and shallow. “Fine. Just tired.”

Minho stepped back slightly, but stayed close enough to feel like a wall at Seungmin’s side. Like a silent agreement.

Chan didn’t press. But he didn’t stop watching, either.

Changbin opened the fridge like he was trying to give them space without actually leaving. The atmosphere was tense, but only in a quiet, uncertain way.

Minho handed Seungmin a spoon and honey.

“Drink,” he said simply.

And for once, Seungmin did.

The world didn't go back to normal.

Not exactly.

The others acted like it had — like the last few days were just a blip in the haze of tour exhaustion. Felix smiled and gently bumped shoulders with him like nothing had happened. Jisung was extra chatty around him, making stupid jokes and filling the silence. Even Chan stopped hovering after that morning, though his glances lingered longer than they used to.

But Minho…

Minho had changed.

Subtly. Deliberately. In ways that made Seungmin want to scream and curl into a ball at the same time.

It was in the way Minho always seemed to be standing between him and doorways now, a silent barrier. In the way his food magically showed up in the fridge labelled with sticky notes — always the things Seungmin liked, never asked for. In how Minho had started casually handing over his hoodies when Seungmin came into the room looking tired, like it was just a matter of course.

And scenting. God.

Minho didn’t overdo it. Never crowded him. But every few days, usually in some passing moment — a hand on Seungmin’s back as they crossed a hallway, a brush of fingers over his wrist when he handed him a drink — Minho would scent him. Subtle. Barely there.

But always deliberate.

It helped. Too much.

And that’s what made it worse.

Because it was getting harder to keep pretending that Seungmin didn’t crave it.

He told himself it was just an omega thing. Instinct. Hormones. The crash from the drop. That this would pass once his body caught up again and his scent stabilized.

Except it wasn’t passing.

Instead, he’d started watching Minho more than he meant to. Started noticing the soft curl of hair above his ears in the morning. The small, fond smile he reserved for Jisung when he wasn’t pretending not to like anyone. The way he always moved just a little slower when Seungmin was around, as if he was calibrating to his pace.

It was stupid.

Minho wasn’t acting like an Alpha claiming anything. He was just Minho — snarky and unreadable and quietly loyal to the end. Nothing he did screamed romantic. It was just how he looked after people.

And Seungmin hated how badly he wanted to be looked after.

He hated that he’d started dreaming about it — slow, dangerous daydreams where Minho held him without teasing, where Minho buried his nose in his hair and called him mine. Soft, impossible dreams.

And then he’d wake up alone. Always alone. Back in his own scent-soaked blankets and all the shame crashing down again.

He tried to act normal around Minho. Snarky. Detached. But his scent always gave him away — spiking whenever Minho was near, warm and bitter and longing.

Minho never said anything. Just kept acting like he didn’t notice.

That almost made it worse.

One evening, after dinner, Seungmin sat curled up in the far corner of the couch, pretending to scroll on his phone while the others talked. Minho was across the room, half-listening to Felix chatter and sipping from a mug. Seungmin didn’t even realize he was staring until Minho glanced over — just once — and their eyes met.

For a second, something passed between them. Unspoken. Like something they couldn't really name.

Seungmin looked away so fast his neck cracked.

His heart was a mess in his chest.

He pulled his knees tighter to his chest and tried to think of anything else. Of the next schedule. Of what hoodie he could steal back from the laundry pile tonight. Of how to stop falling for someone who already meant too much.

He was losing control again, and this time, he didn’t even have the excuse of a drop to blame it on.

It had been a few days since Seungmin had caught himself staring at Minho a little too long. The ache in his chest hadn’t gone away, but he was doing a damn good job of burying it under layers of normalcy. Or what he convinced himself was normal. He continued to avoid Minho whenever he could, mostly by hiding in the shared spaces when the others weren’t around. But that couldn’t last forever.

This time, he couldn’t avoid it.

The members had just finished a long practice. Sweat dampened the back of Seungmin’s neck as he grabbed his water bottle, pretending to be absorbed in his phone while he waited for the others to shower and get ready for dinner. The tension was starting to build again. His senses were already heightened, and it wasn’t just the usual exhaustion. It was Minho.

Minho, who kept slipping in and out of Seungmin’s orbit like an inescapable gravity. Every time he walked by, there was that quiet scent, like cinnamon and cedarwood, just enough to make Seungmin’s pulse race in a way that he hated.

“Hey,” Minho’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You okay?”

Seungmin glanced up, startled to find Minho standing much closer than he realized. Too close. That scent, his scent, was overwhelming.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Seungmin said quickly, almost too quickly, and returned his gaze to the phone screen. He felt the heat crawling up his neck again, but he fought it. He had to fight it.

Minho didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe of the practice room, watching Seungmin carefully. “You sure? You look… off. Kinda pale. You’ve been acting a little weird these past couple of days.”

Seungmin stiffened but kept his gaze fixed. “I’m just tired, hyung. Practice was a lot today.”

Minho’s expression softened a fraction, but only a fraction. Seungmin could see the subtle flick of his eyes — the brief look of concern before Minho shoved it aside with a smirk.

“You need rest,” Minho said simply. “And a real meal. Not just instant ramen.”

Seungmin’s heart skipped, and he almost dropped his water bottle. That’s what he’s noticed? The fact that he hadn’t been eating properly? Not how my scent keeps slipping out of control?

Minho stepped closer, hand brushing the edge of Seungmin’s shoulder, a casual touch, but there was something deliberate about it. And the way Seungmin’s scent spiked, even in that small gesture, made Minho pause. His eyes narrowed just slightly, the concern creeping back into his expression.

“You sure you’re alright?” Minho pressed again. “You’re acting like you’re holding your breath.”

Seungmin immediately pulled back, shifting away from the touch. The weight of the moment caught in his chest. “I’m fine. Really. I just don’t need anyone fussing over me.”

Minho studied him for a moment longer. “Okay. But if you need to talk—”

“I don’t,” Seungmin cut him off. His voice was sharper than he intended, but he couldn’t help it. He could feel the emotions churning inside him, and it was easier to build the walls up, to keep it all hidden.

Minho stood there, still too close, not quite backing off. The silence stretched, uncomfortable.

Finally, Minho sighed, something resigned and a little frustrated in the sound. “You’re making this more complicated than it has to be, Seungmin.”

Seungmin bit his lip, shoulders tensing. He couldn’t say anything else. If he did, if he let himself speak the truth, it would come out all wrong. That longing, that ache. He wasn’t ready to admit any of it — not to Minho, not to himself.

Instead, he stood up quickly, trying to give himself space. “I’m gonna head to the dorm. You should go shower. The others are waiting.”

Minho hesitated, watching him carefully before finally nodding, though there was something unreadable in his expression. “Alright. But you better eat something.”

Seungmin didn’t wait for the conversation to continue. He turned, heading out of the practice room with his phone clutched in his hand like it could give him some kind of escape.

The days bled together.

Seungmin tried to carry on as if everything was fine. He joked with Jisung. He teased Felix. He even allowed Chan and Changbin to drag him into their ridiculous group activities, just to pretend he was still part of the noise, the mess, the chaos of the group.

But when the lights dimmed and silence filled the room, that was when it hit him hardest. In the privacy of his own thoughts, Seungmin couldn’t escape it. Minho. He was everywhere.

In the way Minho casually placed his hand on Seungmin’s shoulder, making his chest tighten, in the way Minho’s eyes would linger just a bit too long, like he was measuring something that Seungmin could never quite decipher. In the subtle shifts of Minho’s scent — the cinnamon and wood that wrapped around him like a blanket, comforting yet unsettling at the same time.

Seungmin hated how much he craved it.

The affection. The touch. The warmth.

Every time Minho so much as brushed by him, his heart seemed to skip, his omega instincts surging up in a desperate bid for closeness. But it wasn’t just that — it was something more, something he couldn’t put into words. He longed for Minho's approval, for that quiet acknowledgment that he was worth being looked after, cared for.

More than that, though, he wanted to be wanted.

He wanted Minho to look at him the way Seungmin had caught him looking at others, soft and full of understanding. He wanted that gaze — not because he needed it, not just as an omega, but because, somewhere deep inside, he wanted to belong to someone. To Minho.

One night, as Seungmin lay in bed after a long day, he tried to think about anything else. He thought about the tour schedule. He thought about the music they were working on. Anything. Anything but Minho.

But it never worked.

His thoughts always wandered back to him — the way Minho’s fingers brushed against his skin, the way he would lightly tease Seungmin, never too much, but just enough to make Seungmin’s heart race. And, inevitably, Seungmin would wonder how it would feel — to be held by Minho, to feel his arms around him, his scent surrounding him, to feel that deep connection he didn’t even understand.

That night, as he finally closed his eyes, the exhaustion and longing overwhelmed him. Sleep came too fast, and with it, a dream he didn’t know how to handle.

A dream. Of Minho-hyung. Oh god...

The dream was vivid.

Minho’s voice, deep and soothing, called to him, pulling him close in a way that Seungmin had never imagined. His scent enveloped Seungmin, a mix of cinnamon and something warm — a subtle, intimate reassurance.

They were sitting together, alone in the nest, and Minho’s hands were on him, pulling him closer, pressing him into his chest. The touch was grounding, protective. Seungmin wanted to pull away, to keep his distance, but he couldn’t. The need was too much.

Minho’s lips brushed against his forehead, soft but unmistakably tender. It felt like everything Seungmin had been craving. The warmth, the comfort, the intimacy. It felt real.

And then, in the dream, Minho whispered something he couldn’t quite understand, but it didn’t matter. It was the way Minho touched him, the way his hands traveled over Seungmin’s body, pulling him in closer, urging him to relax, to let go. It was more than affection; it was something deeper, something that made Seungmin feel like he wasn’t just an omega, but a person. Someone worthy of being cared for in that way.

Seungmin moaned softly, the feeling in the dream both foreign and thrilling.

The next morning, Seungmin tried to shake the lingering thoughts. He told himself it was just a dream, just his omega instincts taking over. But it was harder now. Every time Minho brushed past him, every time Minho’s scent slipped under his nose, Seungmin felt his heart beat faster.

It wasn’t just longing anymore. It was desire.

Minho had somehow become the centre of everything Seungmin couldn’t put into words.

He was tired of running from it. But he was scared. So scared.

If I let myself fall for him, what happens to us?

He didn’t know the answer. But the longing, the ache, was starting to drown out everything else.

And deep down, he knew that when Minho was close, he couldn’t fight the pull anymore.

Seungmin tried to push it down, but the memory of the dream refused to let him go. Every time Minho was near, every time they exchanged a look or spoke, that image crept back into his mind. The feel of Minho’s touch, the soft press of his lips against his skin, the warmth of his scent enveloping him.

It was maddening.

He didn’t know how to handle it. He didn’t want to feel like this. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but every time Minho came near, his heart beat faster, and his body betrayed him. It wasn’t just his omega longing for affection. There was something else, something deeper. Something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

That afternoon, as Seungmin sat on the couch with his bandmates, he could feel Minho approaching. His scent hit him first — that familiar, comforting warmth of cinnamon and wood. Minho sat beside him, close enough that Seungmin could feel the heat of his presence radiating over him.

Seungmin tried to focus on the conversation around them, but he could feel his heart racing. His omega instincts were responding to Minho in a way they hadn’t before. It was the same feeling from the dream — that pull, that urge to be closer.

He couldn’t let it show. He couldn’t let anyone see how much it was affecting him. But his body betrayed him, as always.

The first sign was subtle — a slight shift in his scent. A soft undercurrent of slick started to fill the air, faint but unmistakable. Seungmin’s body tensed. He could feel it happening before he even realized. His face flushed in embarrassment, but it was too late to stop it now.

Minho, who had been casually leaning back against the couch, suddenly stiffened, his eyes darting to Seungmin. He didn’t say anything, but Seungmin noticed the brief flicker of surprise in his gaze. His scent, too, shifted slightly, just enough for Seungmin to catch it — a subtle spike of something intense, but controlled. Minho didn’t react out loud, but Seungmin could tell he’d noticed. He could feel the tension in the air now.

Seungmin’s mind raced. No. No, no, no. Why is this happening?

He quickly shifted his body, hoping to hide the evidence. He crossed his legs, adjusted his position, anything to make it seem like he wasn’t affected, like he hadn’t just let his body take over.

Minho, ever observant, remained quiet. But there was something in the way he sat now — a slight tension in his posture, his jaw clenched in the slightest way. He was trying to be respectful, to give Seungmin space, but Seungmin could tell he was aware of the shift. It wasn’t just Seungmin’s scent that had changed. There was something in the air, something charged.

The band gathered in the living room for their usual meeting. Everyone was still recovering from the constant rush of rehearsals and performances, but today, there was a certain focus to the meeting. They had schedules to discuss, things to finalize.

Chan stood at the front, a few papers in hand as he scanned the group. Felix sat next to Jisung, smiling softly as he tugged at his sleeve, clearly in a better mood despite the stress of the past weeks. Seungmin, however, felt a certain heaviness in his chest as he watched them. Something about the way Felix’s mood was lifting made Seungmin’s gut churn with unease.

“We’ve got a lot coming up,” Chan began, his voice steady and calm. “But before we get to that, I need to remind everyone that we’ll have to take a week off soon. Felix’s heat is coming up, so we’ll need to plan around that.”

Seungmin’s stomach dropped.

Felix, as if on cue, smiled softly, his eyes soft. He seemed genuinely relaxed about it, even in the midst of everything. His calm was palpable, and it made Seungmin’s own feelings of discomfort stand out even more.

Chan nodded with a reassuring smile, addressing the group. “I know we don’t normally do much during each other’s heats or ruts, but we’ll need to make sure Felix is comfortable during his time off. We’ll all be around, but let’s give him some space to rest and recharge.”

But as Seungmin sat there, trying to keep his face neutral, the thought of Minho being near Felix during his heat sparked something deep within him. His omega instincts stirred, and for the first time in a while, they felt... wild.

His mind raced. Will Minho be with Felix during his heat?

The thought alone made him tense. He couldn’t quite explain it, but the idea of Minho spending that time with Felix — being with him — felt wrong. He knew the band was close. Maybe not this close. And it wasn't usual to spend heats or ruts with each other. But his heart fluttered uncomfortably, jealousy building in his chest, and his scent shifted slightly. There was an undercurrent of sharpness in the air, something almost territorial, though Seungmin couldn’t fully control it.

He tried to suppress it. He couldn’t let anyone see how shaken he was by the thought of Minho being with Felix like that.

He swallowed, keeping his expression neutral. His eyes darted to Minho briefly — the man who had become the focus of so many of Seungmin’s thoughts, the one who unknowingly stirred something deep within him. Minho was watching Felix, listening to Chan’s words with that ever-present calmness of his, unaware of the turmoil inside Seungmin.

Get a grip, Seungmin told himself.

His omega whined softly in his mind, the idea of Minho with someone else tugging at him like an invisible rope.

Seungmin’s scent shifted again, but this time, he made no attempt to hide it. The bitterness of jealousy filled the room, faint but distinct enough for Minho to notice. Seungmin couldn’t control it. He was trying to keep his emotions in check, but the idea of Felix and Minho being close — in that way, at that moment — was unbearable.

"Hey, you okay?" Jisung’s voice broke through his thoughts, a slight frown on his face as he looked at Seungmin, his gaze questioning.

Seungmin forced a smile, shaking his head slightly, trying to laugh it off. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But the tightness in his chest wouldn’t loosen. He wanted to leave. He wanted to escape the tension building inside him, the jealousy he couldn’t name.

But more than that — he wanted Minho. His alpha. The one he couldn’t have.

Later that evening, after the meeting had ended, Seungmin found himself wandering aimlessly around the dorm. His mind was buzzing, consumed by everything that had been discussed. He couldn’t shake the image of Minho with Felix. Couldn’t stop imagining them together — Felix, needing his alpha, and Minho, stepping in to care for him. His omega was restless, desperate for comfort, but also… possessive. Territorial.

Seungmin froze as he entered the kitchen. Minho was standing by the counter, preparing some late-night snacks. The simple act of Minho moving around the kitchen — humming quietly to himself — made Seungmin’s chest tighten again. His scent filled the room, rich and familiar, and Seungmin felt a soft pull, a desire to be closer, to feel his presence more strongly.

But then it hit him again. The thought of Felix’s heat, the reminder that Minho could be with someone else. Seungmin couldn’t shake the thought.

Minho looked up, catching Seungmin’s gaze. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. There was something there — something unspoken. Minho’s gaze softened, almost unreadable.

“Something on your mind?” Minho asked, voice low, as though sensing Seungmin’s inner turmoil.

Seungmin opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just looked at Minho, his scent subtly changing again — sharper now, edged with a mix of frustration and desire.

Minho noticed. His eyes flickered to Seungmin’s face, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were trying to read him. There was no judgment in Minho’s expression — just quiet concern, the kind of care Seungmin hadn’t realized he needed.

Seungmin swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to flee. He knew that if he didn’t leave now, he might do something he’d regret. But before he could move, Minho’s voice broke the silence again.

“Seungmin…” Minho’s tone was gentle but firm. Seungmin’s heart raced at the words. He wanted to say something, anything, but his mouth felt dry. He turned his back on Minho, taking a shaky breath.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though the words felt hollow, even to him.

Minho didn’t press further, but his silence spoke volumes.

As Seungmin walked away from the kitchen, his mind was a whirlwind. The jealousy, the longing, the desire to be close to Minho — it was all so much, too much.

He couldn’t ignore it anymore. The way he felt about Minho, the way his omega responded to him — it was impossible to pretend it didn’t exist.

But how could he face it? How could he tell Minho, or anyone, what was really going on in his heart?

He wasn’t ready to let anyone in. Not yet. But the longer he waited, the harder it became.

After an exhausting day of rehearsals and recording, the members had retreated to their rooms, lights dimmed and doors shut, leaving the living room bathed in low amber from the standing lamp near the window.

Seungmin sat curled up in a corner of the couch, knees drawn to his chest, chin resting on his arms. His hoodie—one of Chan’s older ones, though no one would know that unless they caught the faint whiff of his scent—swallowed his small frame. His eyes were tired, dark lashes fluttering as he fought off sleep and something else far more unsettling: the creeping edge of desperation.

He hadn’t meant to stay out here this long. He’d just needed space. But now that the quiet had settled around him, he wasn’t sure how to move without falling apart.

He heard the soft pad of footsteps before the scent reached him—warm and familiar, pine and bergamot, faintly spiced in a way that never failed to settle something low in his gut.

Minho.

Seungmin didn’t lift his head.

He hoped—no, prayed—Minho would just pass by on his way to the kitchen. But the steps slowed, then stopped behind the couch.

“Seungmin?”

His name, spoken low and unguarded, made his chest tighten. Seungmin forced a breath through his nose and shifted slightly, keeping his face hidden. “M’fine,” he muttered.

Minho didn’t move away. Instead, he came around the side and lowered himself slowly into the couch beside him. “You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Seungmin huffed, a short, bitter sound. “Thanks.”

“You usually insult me back by now.”

A beat of silence. Seungmin stared at the fabric of his sleeves, watching his own fingers curl into the worn hem. His scent slipped—he felt it the moment it did, the way it soured and thickened with anxiety and need.

Minho's body tensed beside him, barely noticeable—but Seungmin caught it.

“Seungmin,” Minho said again, a little more careful now. “Your scent is weird.”

That word—weird—made him wince, but it wasn’t meant cruelly. Minho’s voice held no judgment, only concern, buried beneath that even, measured tone he always used when he wasn’t sure how far to push.

Seungmin clenched his jaw. “I said I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Minho said. “You always do.”

Seungmin couldn’t stop the tiny whine that broke free, his omega finally slipping through the cracks. He squeezed his eyes shut, mortified.

And then Minho was closer.

He didn’t speak this time. He just reached out—slow, deliberate—and placed a hand on Seungmin’s back. The heat of it bled through the fabric. Grounding. Familiar. Too much.

Seungmin shivered.

“I’m not gonna leave,” Minho said, low, soft. “You can be mad at me for staying later. But I’m not leaving.”

It snapped something in him. The wall, the pride, the endless exhausting effort to pretend he didn’t need anything at all—it all cracked open.

His fingers reached blindly, clutching at Minho’s shirt. His scent flared again, desperation and longing, heavy with omega need. It filled the space between them, thick and impossible to ignore.

Minho didn’t pull away.

Instead, he shifted, arm sliding around Seungmin’s shoulders, tugging him gently until he could press against his side. “Okay,” Minho murmured, rubbing slow circles against his arm. “Okay, I got you.”

Seungmin buried his face into Minho’s chest. "Fuck... I'm so weak..." His whole body trembled, but he didn’t let go.

“You’re not weak,” Minho said quietly, fingers threading through Seungmin’s hair.

“I hate this,” Seungmin whispered, voice muffled. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Minho’s voice dipped, low and fierce. “I should’ve seen it sooner. I should’ve known.”

Seungmin didn’t respond—not with words. His body sagged into the hold, and for a moment, he just let himself feel it: Minho’s warmth, the safety of his arms, the comforting weight of being seen.

He didn’t notice the change in his scent until Minho shifted slightly. A deep inhale, a pause, and Minho’s grip subtly tightened. Not enough to scare, but enough to anchor.

Minho’s pulse was quick where his chest pressed against Seungmin’s cheek. He didn’t say anything about it—didn’t acknowledge the clear shift in Seungmin’s scent, the embarrassment creeping into the air.

But he didn’t pull away either.

Seungmin didn’t remember at what point his breathing turned into hiccupped whimpers. All he knew was Minho’s scent was everywhere now — a steady, grounding balm that seeped into his skin, curling low in his belly and wrapping around his omega like a tether.

He should’ve been humiliated. Maybe he was — some distant, rational part of his brain was already cataloguing the embarrassment that would come later. But right now, all he could feel was need.

Minho’s arms were warm, steady around him. His chin rested lightly on Seungmin’s crown, voice a near-whisper.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I know,” Seungmin managed. His voice sounded small. Tired. Frayed at the edges. “I can’t— I don’t know why it’s so bad.”

“You’ve been holding it in too long,” Minho said, his tone softer now, edged with something almost like guilt. “Let me take you to your nest, yeah?”

Seungmin froze. Just a second.

Minho didn’t move.

“You don’t have to let me in,” he added gently, as if sensing the hesitation. “I just don’t want you out here like this.”

Seungmin nodded, barely. That was all it took.

Minho stood in one smooth motion, and before Seungmin could think to protest, strong arms slipped under his thighs and shoulders, lifting him easily. His instinct told him to curl in — not from weakness, but comfort — and Minho cradled him closer, scent spilling out in calming waves.

It was... too much. Not enough.

Minho made it to Seungmin’s room with practiced quiet, nudging the door open with his foot. The soft lighting from the hallway spilled over the space and for a second, Minho stilled in the doorway.

His chest rose slowly.

“…Seungmin.”

Seungmin didn’t answer.

The nest was unmistakable now. Layered hoodies and pillows, shirts too large for Seungmin’s frame, smelling of everyone but strongest of Minho. A soft haven carved into the middle of his bed, dishevelled and warm, tucked like a secret.

Minho didn’t speak again. He adjusted Seungmin in his hold and stepped forward carefully, like crossing some sacred line. When he lowered Seungmin into the nest, it was slow, careful, reverent.

But as soon as Seungmin touched the softness, his omega shattered.

He whined low in his throat, hands tugging at Minho’s hoodie, scent flaring with longing.

“Minho-hyung— please…”

Minho hovered, bracing his hands on either side of Seungmin’s hips.

"I need you close.”, Seungmin admitted, quiet and hushed.

Minho exhaled slowly, eyes warm but steady. “Okay.”

He slid in beside him, letting Seungmin curl around him instinctively. One arm draped over Seungmin’s waist, the other burying fingers into his hair, scenting him slow, grounding.

Seungmin pressed closer, clinging to him like a heartbeat. Minho’s scent flooded the nest—rich and anchoring, curling around every edge of Seungmin’s jagged emotions.

Seungmin’s breath hitched. “I didn’t mean to— it’s just—when you’re close I—”

“I know,” Minho cut in softly. “I know.”

He kept scenting him, rhythm steady, grounding. He didn’t press for anything more.

Seungmin’s desperation slowly eased into something softer, his instincts sated for now, his omega soothed by the presence of his alpha.

And maybe that was the scariest part.

That it didn’t feel strange anymore to call Minho that in his head.

Minho’s warmth pressed against Seungmin’s side, steady and strong, scent settling over him like a weighted blanket. It should’ve been enough to calm him, and in some ways, it did. But the more grounded he felt, the more present his omega became — not wild or panicked anymore, but focused. Anchored. Aware.

Minho had come when he needed him most. He had scented him, protected him, held him like Seungmin mattered.

And now that the haze had lifted, Seungmin couldn’t pretend it was just instinct anymore.

His fingers moved — slow, deliberate — tracing the curve of Minho’s shoulder beneath the shirt. He could feel the warmth of skin underneath, the way Minho tensed slightly at the touch but didn’t pull away. He was waiting. Letting Seungmin take the lead.

Minho turned his head just slightly, brows drawn. “You sure?”

Seungmin shifted closer. “I know what I’m doing.”

His voice was steady. Not dreamy or dazed. Just honest.

“I can feel my omega,” Seungmin added quietly. “But this isn’t just him. I want to touch you, Minho. I’m choosing this.”

Minho froze.

His breath hitched so subtly that Seungmin might’ve missed it if he wasn’t watching for it.

Minho's eyes searched his face like he was trying to see past every word, every scent. “You’re not just caught in the moment?”

Seungmin shook his head. “I’ve been wanting to touch you for days. I’ve just been too ashamed to admit it.”

A slow breath left Minho. He was still fighting some internal war — the urge to protect versus the desire to have. It was written all over him.

“I just… want to feel close to you.”

That, finally, seemed to get through.

Minho’s hand came up slowly, sliding over Seungmin’s side, his palm flat and warm. His thumb moved in gentle circles, grounding, but this time he didn’t stop Seungmin’s touch. He welcomed it — the way Seungmin pressed a palm to his chest, fingers fisting gently in the fabric there.

“You’re so warm,” Seungmin whispered. “You always smell like home.”

Minho’s throat worked around a silent response.

Instead, he pulled Seungmin closer, nuzzling against his temple, exhaling slowly as if surrendering to the moment.

Neither of them spoke again for a long while.

And when Seungmin’s hips shifted closer, when the scent in the nest changed — warm and sweet and edged with something unmistakably slick — Minho didn’t pull away. He stiffened slightly, but stayed.

His body was definitely reacting — heartbeat thudding hard under Seungmin’s hand, pupils dilated, breath gone tight — but still, he didn’t push forward.

He leaned in, just enough to brush his lips against Seungmin’s hairline, his voice low.

“You tell me if this gets too much,” he murmured. “You’re in control.”

Seungmin’s fingers tightened on his chest.

“I don’t want control,” he whispered. “Not when I’m with you.”

And Minho — steady, careful Minho — let his hand slide up Seungmin’s back, cradling him into his chest, scenting deep and slow.

Not claiming.

Just holding.

Seungmin’s face was buried in Minho’s neck now, lips brushing skin as he inhaled — deep, purposeful. He was scenting him. Not out of distress or need for grounding, but out of sheer longing.

It was a quiet, deliberate claim. And Minho felt every second of it like a brand across his skin.

Seungmin’s hand slipped under the edge of his hoodie, resting bare against his waist. His nose grazed the slope of Minho’s jaw, breath warm. “You smell so good,” he whispered, like he couldn’t stop himself. “You always do.”

Minho’s restraint cracked.

It wasn’t a sudden thing — no sharp lunge, no rush. Just a shift of his hand, a tilt of his head, the narrowing of space between them. His fingers found Seungmin’s jaw, thumb brushing along his cheekbone, and for a moment he just looked at him.

“You’re really okay with this?” he murmured. “No haze, no instinct fog?”

Seungmin met his eyes, pupils wide and wanting. “I’ve never been clearer.”

That was all it took.

Minho leaned in slowly, letting his breath fan over Seungmin’s lips before he finally kissed him — soft, almost reverent, like he was scared Seungmin might vanish if he pressed too hard. But Seungmin didn’t pull back. He melted into it with a tiny sound that made Minho’s chest ache.

When Minho pulled away, just a fraction, Seungmin’s fingers were still curled in his shirt like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I didn’t think—” Seungmin started, voice a little breathless. “I mean, I thought you liked taking care of everyone, but not like—”

“Not like this?” Minho finished, still close enough for their foreheads to touch.

Seungmin gave a shaky nod, gaze flickering.

Minho let out a low breath and smoothed his hand down Seungmin’s side. “I do take care of everyone. But with you... it’s different.”

Seungmin blinked up at him, and Minho reached to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“There’s nothing I’ve wanted more than looking after you like this. Letting you curl up in my scent. Feeding you. Holding you when you fall asleep. Being your alpha. Not just an alpha — yours.”

Seungmin’s breath caught, his lips parting in stunned silence.

He couldn’t hide the way his scent shifted — not anymore. It spiked warm and sweet, filled with overwhelmed emotion, laced with the sharp salt of something close to relief.

“Minho-hyung…” he whispered, and then, quieter: “Alpha.”

Minho exhaled, pressing his forehead against Seungmin’s again, fingers tracing gentle shapes on his hip.

“You don’t ever have to be alone in this again,” he said. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine, or strong, or above needing care. Not with me.”

Something in Seungmin broke open at that — not painfully, but like a door finally unlatched. His hand came up to cup the back of Minho’s neck, holding him there, grounding them both.

“Then don’t go,” Seungmin whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Minho leaned in again, kissing him softer this time, not as a promise — but as something already his.

Seungmin’s breath came in shallow waves, chest rising and falling where it pressed against Minho’s. The scent between them had thickened into something unmistakable — warm, sweet, edged with want. His body was buzzing, his thoughts swimming, but not lost. No haze. No confusion.

Just need.

He rocked his hips forward again, slower this time, deliberate. The friction made his lips part on a shaky gasp, and Minho felt it — all of it — the way Seungmin’s body sought him, trusted him, wanted him.

Minho’s hands smoothed down his sides, anchoring him gently. “Seungmin.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Seungmin murmured, voice low, rough around the edges. His nose brushed against Minho’s jaw, lips finding the skin beneath his ear. “I want this. I want you.”

That was all Minho needed.

He moved with practiced care, guiding them with slow, reverent touches. His fingers slid under Seungmin’s shirt, tugging it up and off, revealing flushed skin and a faint tremble that had nothing to do with fear. Seungmin’s hands were on him almost immediately, eager but unsure, sliding over his chest, gripping lightly at his sides as if anchoring himself to reality.

Minho leaned down and kissed him again, this time slower — deeper. Their mouths met in soft gasps and quiet groans, teeth grazing lips, tongues sliding together with a growing hunger.

Seungmin whimpered into the kiss, the sound needy, raw. “Hyung…”

“Yeah,” Minho whispered against his lips. “I’ve got you.”

Seungmin helped pull Minho’s shirt off, palms smoothing up his torso like he was mapping every inch. Minho shivered under the touch, heat curling low in his stomach. His jeans felt too tight already, breath catching as Seungmin traced a slow path with his fingertips along the line of his hip.

They undressed each other in careful, unhurried motions. Every layer discarded revealed more skin, more heat, more desire barely held in check. When they were finally bare, pressed skin to skin, Seungmin’s scent bloomed again — richer, thicker, slick-sweet and impossible to ignore.

Minho hissed, hips twitching forward. “Fuck… you smell so good.”

Seungmin’s cheeks flushed deeper, but he didn’t hide. His fingers curled into Minho’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Touch me. Please.”

Minho obeyed, hand slipping between their bodies, down Seungmin's thighs, dipping between them. His fingers found slick, hot and wet, and Seungmin’s entire body jerked in response, a breathy moan spilling from his mouth.

“God, hyung—”

Minho groaned, forehead pressed to Seungmin’s. “You’re perfect. So ready for me.”

His gentle fingers found their way back between Seungmin's thighs, between his cheeks.

He teased him open slowly, fingers gentle but firm, curling just right until Seungmin was writhing beneath him, gasping and moaning, legs trembling as his body arched off the nest.

“Please, please—”

“I’ve got you,” Minho repeated, voice hoarse. “Just a little more.”

When he finally lined himself up and pushed in, Seungmin’s breath hitched — a broken sound that ended in a choked moan.

“Ah—fuck, Minho-hyung,” he whimpered, nails biting into Minho’s back. “You’re—god, you’re big.”

Minho kissed his neck, soothing, grounding. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“No,” Seungmin gasped. “Don’t stop. I want it. I want all of you.”

Minho buried himself fully, groaning as slick made the glide near effortless, warm and snug around him. Seungmin’s legs curled around his hips, holding him there, his eyes glassy with pleasure.

They moved together in a slow rhythm, the pace more about connection than urgency. Minho kissed him through every thrust, whispered praise between moans, his hands constantly touching — stroking his face, brushing through his hair, mapping every reaction.

Seungmin’s voice broke on every thrust, every grind of Minho’s hips. “Feels so good—don’t stop, alpha, please.”

Minho shuddered, voice rough. “You drive me insane, Seungmin. Been wanting this—wanting you—for so long.”

Seungmin cupped his face, pulled him in for a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and heat. “Then take me. I’m yours.”

Minho didn’t need to be told twice. He deepened the thrusts, still measured but firmer, and Seungmin responded like he’d been waiting his whole life to be unravelled by him. Moans spilled freely now, tangled with gasps and soft cries of Minho’s name.

Seungmin’s breath hitched as Minho’s movements grew more intense, each thrust pulling him closer to the edge. His hands clutched at Minho’s back, nails digging into the smooth skin. There was something new now, something heavier, deeper, as Minho shifted, pressing in a little more. The feeling of fullness — of being completely surrounded by Minho — sent a wave of heat through Seungmin, making his body tremble.

“Hyung—” Seungmin moaned, his voice a mixture of desperation and awe. The intensity of the moment overwhelmed him, his body responding to Minho’s touch as if it had always known how to do this, how to give in. His scent spiked again, thick and sweet, layered with slick as his omega instincts surged with want.

Minho groaned in response, his hands gripping Seungmin’s hips, holding him steady. The shift in their rhythm was subtle at first, but then Minho pulled him closer, a low growl escaping his throat as he started to slow down, pushing deeper. Seungmin gasped, feeling the knot form, thickening, pushing inside him, making him gasp for air. The overwhelming sensation of being fully claimed, of Minho marking him so completely, made his head spin.

“Minho-hyung… More... Please, knot me...” Seungmin whimpered, breathless. His body reacted uncontrollably, pressing back against Minho, craving more, not even sure what more he wanted but knowing he couldn’t get enough. The knot swelled inside him, creating a beautiful tension that Seungmin couldn’t escape — and, in this moment, didn’t want to.

Minho’s hands moved to his face, cupping Seungmin’s cheeks gently as he kissed him softly, just as Seungmin moaned into his mouth, his body clenching around Minho in waves. “You’re mine, Seungmin,” Minho whispered, his voice raw with desire. “Mine. Always. No one else.” The possessiveness, the heat in his words sent Seungmin’s heart pounding, a swell of affection and need coiling deep inside.

Seungmin’s body quivered, his scent spiking even further as he felt Minho’s knot expand inside him, locking them together. They came together, tension snapping like a taut string. Seungmin first — clenching around him, crying out, slick spilling down his thighs. Minho felt Seungmin clenching around his knot, spilling inside him with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he held Seungmin tightly.

The sharp, blissful ache of it made Seungmin's body tremble, but it wasn’t just the physical sensation that left him breathless. It was the weight of Minho’s presence, his steady heartbeat against Seungmin’s chest, his touch grounding him, marking him in ways that Seungmin hadn’t even realized he craved.

“I—” Seungmin breathed, a low, needy sound escaping him as his hands pressed against Minho’s chest, trying to steady himself. His mind was hazy with pleasure, but there was a sense of clarity that came with it. Minho wasn’t just giving him what he needed physically. He was giving him something deeper — something Seungmin hadn’t known he could have. Trust. Security. A place to belong.

Minho held him, his breath ragged as he kept them close, not moving yet, just letting the knot keep them tangled, keeping them there together. His voice was hushed, a bit strained with the intensity. “I’ll take care of you, Seungmin. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m right here. Always.”

Seungmin closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to Minho’s with a soft whine, trying to ground himself in Minho’s scent, in the heat of the moment. His body still trembled from the aftershocks, but something in him stilled, too — a deep sense of belonging, of being wanted. Not just in this moment, but forever, if Minho would have him.

“Alpha,” Seungmin whispered, his voice small, a little broken with emotion, but it was enough. It was everything. He felt Minho’s arms tighten around him in response, as if sealing the moment between them.

Minho’s hand ran through Seungmin’s hair, tender despite the rawness of everything. “Yeah, Seungmin,” he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m your alpha. Always.”

And as they lay there, slowly starting to come down from the intensity of their bond, Seungmin knew, in that hazy afterglow, that there was no going back. This wasn’t just about physical need. This was about something deeper, something they’d both been craving without even realizing it — a love forged in their connection, in every kiss, every touch, every scent shared between them.

They remained connected for a while, the world outside of their little bubble fading into nothingness as the warmth of their bond enveloped them. Seungmin was still dazed, his mind hazy and content as Minho’s steady presence kept him grounded. His body was still recovering from the intensity of everything, and the knot between them only added to the deep, unexplainable sense of security that filled him. Minho’s steady breaths filled the space between them, soft and rhythmic, as they both gradually drifted into a calm, peaceful state.

Seungmin’s eyelids fluttered, the weight of his exhaustion pulling at him. His body felt heavy, his limbs relaxed and loose in the aftershocks of what they’d shared. The faint scent of Minho still clung to him, a mixture of their bond, but also the lingering, protective warmth that Minho gave off. Seungmin could feel his body growing warmer, sleep pulling him under, but before he completely gave in, he became aware of the knot beginning to loosen, the pressure slowly easing.

Minho sensed the same thing — the natural shift in their connection. Carefully, he shifted his body slightly, keeping them close for a moment longer. His hands rested gently against Seungmin’s back, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breath. He could tell Seungmin was becoming drowsy, so he took the opportunity to slowly and carefully pull back. The knot wasn’t completely down yet, but it had loosened enough for him to move without discomfort.

Seungmin barely noticed, his eyes already fluttering shut, his body sinking deeper into the softness of the bed, but Minho’s absence didn’t go unnoticed. The shift in the air hit Seungmin almost immediately. He blinked his eyes open, confused and disoriented. The familiar warmth and comfort he’d been holding onto vanished with the absence of Minho’s presence.

His heart jolted in his chest, and a small wave of panic washed over him, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed. He instinctively reached out, but his hand met only the empty sheets. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d been relying on Minho’s closeness until it was gone. His breathing quickened, and the panic crept in, the cold fear of being alone creeping up his spine.

It wasn’t logical, and Seungmin knew that, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. His omega side, so used to Minho’s scent and his protective presence, demanded more. More comfort. More closeness. His body ached with the need to feel anchored, to be held.

“Minho-hyung?” Seungmin’s voice cracked, weak and uncertain.

The sound of footsteps quickly followed, and Minho’s warm presence returned to Seungmin’s side. His familiar scent filled the air, and Seungmin’s tense muscles immediately relaxed as if Minho’s mere proximity was the balm to his unease. Minho carefully sat back down beside Seungmin, his hands reaching to smooth Seungmin’s damp hair from his forehead.

“I’m here,” Minho said softly, his voice steady. “I just went to get a washcloth. You’re okay.”

Seungmin didn’t respond immediately, his heart still racing slightly. The relief at hearing Minho’s voice, seeing his face again, was overwhelming, but there was still a lingering thread of embarrassment. He had panicked over something so small, something so fleeting, and it made him feel weak. His omega was craving Minho, and that feeling left him exposed in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Minho noticed the change in Seungmin’s scent — the nervousness, the vulnerability — and immediately sought to soothe him. His hand reached out, gently cupping Seungmin’s face, his thumb running across his cheekbone in slow, tender strokes.

“Hey,” Minho murmured softly, his voice full of quiet reassurance. “You’re okay. I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’m right here. You can relax.”

Seungmin’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, but he nodded, trying to shake off the last remnants of panic. “I— I didn’t mean to—” he began, but Minho cut him off with a soft, affectionate chuckle.

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Minho said, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re fine. You’ve been through a lot. I’m here, and I’m staying.”

Minho reached for the washcloth, gently wiping Seungmin’s forehead and neck, his touch soothing and patient. He moved carefully, checking for any signs of discomfort or pain on Seungmin’s body. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice still steady, still wrapped in warmth. “Are you sore?”

Seungmin shook his head, the sensation of Minho’s hands on him easing the tension in his body. He wasn’t used to this kind of care, to being attended to like this. It made him feel both small and cherished, and that paradox stirred something deep within him — a longing he wasn’t sure how to deal with.

“I’m okay,” Seungmin mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. He hated that he needed this. That he wanted this. But at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Minho’s touch.

Minho’s eyes softened at Seungmin’s words, his movements gentle as he finished wiping away the last traces of their earlier intimacy. He ran the washcloth across Seungmin’s chest, checking for any discomfort. When he was finished, he tossed the cloth aside and met Seungmin’s gaze, his expression serious but caring.

“I’m staying with you,” Minho said, his voice low and steady. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll take care of you.”

Seungmin looked up at him, feeling a swell of emotion rise in his chest. He was still trying to process everything that had just happened, the way his world had shifted in a matter of hours. But one thing was certain — Minho was there for him. And for the first time in a long while, Seungmin felt like he could be vulnerable and still be loved.

“Thank you,” Seungmin whispered, his voice barely audible.

Minho smiled, leaning down to place a soft kiss on Seungmin’s forehead, a final reassurance. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “I’m just looking after you. Always.”

The warmth of Minho’s body next to his made Seungmin feel safe in a way he never had before. The exhaustion from the night’s events caught up to him quickly, and before long, he was sinking into a peaceful sleep, wrapped in the protective cocoon Minho had created around him. Minho, too, drifted off, his breathing steady and deep, content in the knowledge that Seungmin was safe and well.

They slept like that for a few hours, their bodies pressed together, the rhythmic rise and fall of their chests the only sound in the quiet room. Minho’s arm was draped protectively over Seungmin’s waist, his hand lightly resting on the small of his back, and Seungmin instinctively nuzzled closer, his head tucked into the crook of Minho’s neck. He had never felt so secure, so held in all his life. For the first time, he allowed himself to fully let go, surrendering to the warmth of their connection.

When Seungmin woke up, it was late in the morning — nearly noon — and the soft light of the room made everything feel peaceful. He stirred gently, the feeling of Minho’s presence beside him pulling him into a relaxed state. His body still felt the lingering effects of their intimacy, but in a soothing way, like the aftermath of a storm that had passed.

Minho was still sleeping, his arm heavy over Seungmin’s waist, and for a brief moment, Seungmin just allowed himself to lie there, listening to the sound of Minho’s breath. But then, as he shifted to get more comfortable, the small wince of discomfort from his body made itself known. It was a reminder of everything they had shared the night before, and Seungmin immediately felt his face flush with embarrassment.

Before he could react further, he heard the soft sound of footsteps outside his door. The door creaked open gently, and Felix and Jisung entered, looking concerned. They were both wearing expressions of worry, clearly on edge about Seungmin’s well-being, and maybe a little bit nervous to find out how he was doing after the events of the previous night.

“Seungmin?” Felix’s voice was soft, but it carried a note of caution. “We were worried about you. It’s already noon. Are you feeling okay?”

Minho stirred beside Seungmin, his hand instinctively tightening around his waist at the sound of voices. His protective instincts were immediate and sharp. He sat up slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he surveyed the situation. His gaze flickered between Felix, Jisung, and Seungmin.

Seungmin, still groggy and a little embarrassed from his earlier wince, immediately sat up, but the moment he moved, a small, faint wince escaped his lips. The action didn’t go unnoticed. Felix’s eyes darted to Seungmin, and then to the way Minho’s posture had shifted, tense and almost territorial. Felix raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Did you two...?” Felix started, the teasing tone in his voice making Seungmin’s face turn bright red.

Jisung, who had been standing off to the side, blinked a few times, clearly processing what was happening. He was still a little shocked, but the surprised look was quickly replaced by a soft smile. “Oh,” he said quietly, still processing the situation. “Well, uh... That explains the scent,” he added, his voice gentle but with a hint of amusement.

Seungmin immediately buried his face in his hands, mortified. “We didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” he muttered, his voice small. The embarrassment of everything hit him in full force now, and he couldn’t bring himself to look them in the eye.

Felix, on the other hand, was grinning from ear to ear, a look of pride in his expression. He glanced at Minho and Seungmin with approval before turning to Jisung, nudging him playfully. “I’m happy for them,” Felix said, his voice light and teasing, though there was a deeper warmth in his tone. “I always thought they’d be perfect for each other.”

Minho, still sitting at Seungmin’s side, shot Felix a glance, his expression still protective, but there was a warmth in his eyes that spoke volumes. “We’re fine. Don’t make him feel worse than he already does,” Minho muttered, his voice low but filled with a kind of quiet authority that made it clear he wasn’t about to let anyone make Seungmin feel embarrassed about this.

Felix held his hands up in mock surrender, though his smile never faltered. “I wasn’t going to, I promise. Just happy to see you two finally figure things out.” He turned to Seungmin, his voice softening. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, you know. We’re all here for you.”

Seungmin’s cheeks flushed even more, and he glanced at Minho for reassurance. Minho gave him a small, encouraging nod, his hand still resting protectively on Seungmin’s back.

Jisung, who had been standing quietly by, finally spoke up, his voice gentle. “Just... take care of each other, alright?” he said, his words heartfelt, though still a bit awkward in his usual Jisung way. “I’m happy for you both.”

Felix’s smirk widened. “We’ll leave you two alone,” he said, giving them a wink before stepping back. Jisung just smiled and followed his lead.

Once the door closed behind them, the room fell back into a comfortable silence, and Minho glanced at Seungmin with an almost amused smile. Seungmin looked up at him, still blushing, but the embarrassment had lessened, especially with Minho so close.

“Are you alright?” Minho asked softly, his tone now tender, not wanting to make Seungmin feel uncomfortable again but still needing to check on him.

Seungmin nodded, though his voice came out a little unsure. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he whispered. Then, after a pause, he added, “Thank you.”

Minho smiled and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Seungmin’s forehead. “I’ll always be here for you.”