Archive of Our Own

Baby, I'm yours (baby, I'm yours)

And I'll be yours (yours) until the stars fall from the sky

Arctic Monkeys - Baby I'm yours

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The Rolling Stone interview went much like most of the ones Jisung and Hyunjin had already done: a comfortable spot in a hotel lounge, a low table practically collapsing under the weight of assorted brands of bottled water, coffee, and French pastries.

Is it really necessary to have this many different brands of water? Jisung thought, biting the inside of his cheek. He blinked when Hyunjin pressed his knee against his, pulling his attention back.

The journalist didn’t seem to notice his momentary lapse.

“I’d like to say again, on behalf of the entire Rolling Stone team, that it’s a real pleasure to be able to interview you,” she began, sweeping her brown hair back over one shoulder. “Phoenix, the South Korean rock band, has just wrapped up its first U.S. tour following the release of your latest album, Swan Upon Leda—a melancholic, cohesive, deeply personal journey with incredibly creative melodies. Could you tell us a bit more about it?”

Without needing to confer, Jisung already knew Hyunjin would take this one himself.

“Swan—Jisung and I usually just call it that—is an album that feels like us, in its sound, its words, its truth. I’m not saying our first album wasn’t authentic, since we both handle the writing and composition, but I think Hymn to Virgil was partly driven by the need to succeed. To stand out.” He paused, and this time Jisung turned to look at him. “Swan is honest. It’s raw, and it exists purely for itself, without trying to please anyone but us and our fans.”

“And I think most people felt that,” the journalist replied with a nod. “Hymn to Virgil was excellent—pop rock like I hadn’t heard in a long time. It really brought back the 2000s and 2010s, and you pulled it off brilliantly. So it’s true that the release of Swan Upon Leda came as a real surprise. In a good way! It’s rare for a band to move so radically away from a formula that works.”

“Jisung likes to vary,” Hyunjin added with a soft laugh, his ferret ears twitching. Jisung rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. “And a challenge.”

“Honestly, I just didn’t want to box us into a single style,” Jisung cut in, speaking for the first time since the interview began. “Hyunjin’s really gifted when it comes to writing romance that feels… timeless, you know? I wanted to see what would happen if we combined his kind of romantic poet soul with—how do I put this?—my tendency toward melancholy.”

Beside him, Hyunjin let out a quiet snicker, and Jisung nudged his knee against his. He would’ve shoved him for that laugh, but he was trying to stick to what Chan—their manager—kept telling him: behave in front of cameras that aren’t ours. Because Chan was paid well. Just… definitely not well enough to deal with both Hyunjin and Jisung.

“And it’s a beautiful combination,” the journalist said with a smile. “One that’s been widely praised by critics who aren’t usually accustomed to hearing rock coming out of South Korea. Do you have any thoughts on that?”

“I think music doesn’t have borders, and people shouldn’t let themselves be intimidated by a language they don’t speak,” Jisung replied before Hyunjin even had the chance to open his mouth—his answer already, inevitably, less measured than whatever Hyunjin might have said. “There’s a whole part of the music industry that produces sounds, albums, just to satisfy a specific audience and its critics. I think that’s stupid. Why should a North American review matter more to me than one from France or from my own country?”

The journalist blinked, caught off guard, and Hyunjin chose that exact moment to step in gracefully, his tail swaying in a slow, steady rhythm behind him.

“What Sungie means,” he said smoothly, “is that he encourages people, whether they already like rock or not, to try listening to our music without worrying about the language barrier.”

Jisung bit the inside of his cheek, and the journalist immediately seized the way out Hyunjin had just handed her on a silver platter.

“And that’s a very beautiful message,” she concluded with a smile. From her body language alone, Jisung could tell she had just scrapped every question that came even remotely close to the validity of North American reception when it came to Phoenix’s career. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go back for a moment to the creation of Phoenix and your collaboration. You’ve known each other for many years, is that right?”

“Since kindergarten, actually,” Hyunjin replied, and it was a story they had already told dozens of times, in different interviews, in different countries, but Jisung figured another wouldn’t hurt. “I stole his strawberry milk, and he pushed me into the sandbox.”

Despite himself, Jisung smiled.

“He had it coming.”

“Maybe,” Hyunjin conceded, with the tone of someone who had never done a single wrong thing in his life. “From that day on, we hated each other. Up until high school. That’s when we realized we were reading the same manga. Nana, by Ai Yazawa.”

“We started talking about it,” Jisung continued with a shrug. “And then we realized we shared the same interest in music and fashion. Turns out we both had a knack for writing and composing, so we decided to form a duo.” He paused, meeting Hyunjin’s eyes. “Middle school me would never believe this, but Hyunnie is genuinely my favorite artist on this planet and it’s an honor to share this kind of crazy moment in our lives together.”

Hyunjin smiled at him, a smile that lit up the entire room, and Jisung was certain that if he had been a hybrid too, he would’ve been able to feel his scent shift. Lighten. Turn sweeter.

One day, Hyunjin had told Jisung that his scent was a mix of fruit and alcohol—peach, blood orange, rum, and cognac.

Like a liqueur-filled candy. Hyunjin had tried to describe it to him back when Jisung had wrinkled his nose, attempting to imagine what that combination might smell like.

There were no other hybrids in the room besides Hyunjin. It had been decades since hybrids were granted the same rights and were no longer treated as pets, but they were still a minority in certain roles, in certain parts of society.

Hyunjin was one of the only hybrids in the South Korean music industry.

And both Hyunjin and Jisung were aware that if Hyunjin had been given this opportunity, it was because Jisung was human—and because he had always refused any offer that didn’t include Hyunjin.

“Now that you’ve wrapped up your U.S. tour, what’s next for you?” the journalist continued, following the brief pause Jisung’s statement had left behind.

“We’re going to rest,” Hyunjin said with a soft laugh, though Jisung didn’t miss the pointed glance he shot his way. “I think that, in order to keep finding inspiration for writing and composing, you need to take the time to consume art in different forms. Creating, seeing art, reading, trying new things. I think we’re going to take some time to recharge our souls before diving into a new project.”

“One last question, if I may,” the journalist went on, something playful now glinting in her eyes. “A lot of people have been wondering about the love songs on your albums—especially on Swan Upon Leda. Do you draw inspiration from personal experience, or…?”

Hyunjin stifled a laugh behind his hand, disguising it as a cough, and Jisung felt himself flush—hard. Thankfully, the field of poppies blooming across his cheeks was hidden beneath the makeup he was wearing.

“Sungie and I probably find inspiration in similar ways,” Hyunjin answered, because he was the one best suited to handle questions like that. “By observing people, watching films, or reading books.”

“So you’re both single?”

“We are,” Jisung confirmed for the both of them maybe a little too quickly. It wasn’t that he was lying, exactly. It was more that he felt relieved to be able to say he wasn’t seeing anyone right now. It implied he’d had romantic experiences before, instead of being perpetually, hopelessly single. Han Jisung—the eternal single guy writing love songs based on movies. Pathetic.

The journalist nodded at their last exchange before bringing the interview to a close. She stood, shaking their hands one after the other, thanking them again for taking the time to speak with her before heading back to South Korea.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Hyunjin said as they followed Changbin, their bodyguard, through the hotel’s muted hallways toward the underground parking lot where a car was waiting. “You couldn’t just say you were happy American critics like what we do?”

“Hmmmm,” Jisung replied, as if he were genuinely considering the question. Then, as the elevator doors slid shut around them, he smiled. “No.”

.

.

Airports were one of the aspects of fame Jisung hated the most. He could endure interviews, fan sign events, and the more absurd constraints that came with being idols—the scrutiny over his weight, his appearance, the color of his skin—but airports? He could really do without airports.

“Are you going to be okay?” Hyunjin asked from beside him.

They were in the back of the van that had just dropped them off in front of the airport. Hyunjin was already wearing his sunglasses—Versace—and an oversized jacket loose enough to hide his tail. He’d only made the mistake once of going through an airport without keeping it carefully tucked away beneath his clothes, curled tightly against his back. Jisung still remembered the strangled, startled sound Hyunjin had made that day, when a young girl had taken it upon herself to grab it. Since then, Hyunjin had treated his clothes like armor, protecting the more fragile parts of his body.

“It’ll be fine,” Jisung replied, adjusting his beanie over his hair. Beanie, mask, sunglasses. At the very least, it was enough for him to feel somewhat shielded—comfortable enough to move through the dense crowd of fans, curious onlookers, and photographers that seemed to grow larger with every surge of their popularity. Chan liked to call it a morbid indicator of success.

Without giving them much more time—because if someone didn’t do it for them, Hyunjin and Jisung probably never would—Chan opened the van door, breaking the relative silence of the vehicle with the chaos of the world outside.

“Sorry to rush you, but we need to go,” their manager said with an apologetic smile.

Hyunjin shook his head, offering him a reassuring grin.

“It’s fine, hyung,” he replied, checking himself one last time—bag, phone, passport—before stepping out first.

Jisung followed almost immediately.

Chan had trained them well: polite waves to photographers, making sure to show off whatever brands they were wearing, whether or not they even had contracts with those luxury houses. Hyunjin had been approached by Versace not long after their debut because of course someone with Hyunjin’s face belonged to Versace.

Jisung knew he would probably never become an ambassador for Vivienne Westwood—because the brand couldn’t have ambassadors—but he still couldn’t help showcasing the Saturn emblem at every appearance, as if willing a collaboration into existence. He would’ve been satisfied with even the smallest photoshoot.

“Are you going to be okay?” Changbin asked him and Jisung couldn’t help wondering how Hyunjin and their bodyguard always managed to tell when he needed that question, even when they couldn’t see his face.

“I’ll be fine if I hide behind you, hyung,” he replied, grabbing Changbin’s bicep and squeezing the muscle, since Changbin couldn’t see the reassuring expression he would’ve tried to give him. If he’d been less stressed, Jisung might even have playfully lifted one leg and pressed a finger into his own dimpled cheek.

Changbin, used to every facet of Jisung’s personality by now, simply rolled his eyes before patting his hair through the beanie.

“Don’t worry,” he promised, “I won’t let anyone touch you or Hyunnie.” But Jisung didn’t need promises. He knew nothing would happen as long as Changbin was with them; nothing had happened since Chan had personally hired him.

“Okay,” Jisung exhaled behind his mask. When he met Hyunjin’s gaze, he gave a small nod. “Okay. Let’s go.”

.

.

They hadn’t recorded the Rolling Stone interview the day before their departure, but a few days earlier. Apparently, somewhere between the twelve hours of flights and transfers that had taken Jisung from New York back to his apartment, the interview had been published.

Jisung took his time unpacking his suitcase, putting his things away, taking a shower, and only then opening the article while waiting for the water for his instant ramen to boil. He knew Hyunjin wasn’t the type to reread their interviews. But Jisung had a very bad memory. If he could forget lyrics he had written himself, then no one could reasonably expect him to remember exactly what he had said—or not said—in an interview.

The photos accompanying the article were good. Hyunjin’s light hair was long enough now to tie into a half-up style, and Jisung’s had been curled for the shoot. They were both beautiful. In different ways—but beautiful all the same.

From: Hyunnie

you got home safely?

have you read the interview?

(22:25)

Jisung smiled when Hyunjin’s two consecutive messages pulled his attention away from the article.

To: Hyunnie

bin hyung dropped me off an hour ago

i’m reading it right now

(22:26)

Jisung abruptly set his phone down on the counter when the boiling water threatened to overflow and he let out a shit before turning down the heat. Once the water settled, he tore open a pack of instant noodles and dropped in two portions—Jisung was starving. He stirred them with chopsticks, watching the noodles swirl in the pot, before picking his phone back up and returning to the interview.

Jisung was confident that Rolling Stone was a serious and impartial enough magazine to not censor answers they disliked. So he wasn’t all that surprised to see that his entire section was still there—laid out in a full paragraph.

Jisung knew Chan probably wouldn’t be thrilled about it. Maybe some people would even say he was ungrateful. But honestly, Jisung didn’t care. It was nothing less than the truth.

When he finished reading the interview, he set his phone down and drained the water from the noodles into a bowl before adding the seasoning packet. If he hadn’t been so tired, he would’ve added beef and vegetables too—but that kind of luxury would have to wait for another time. He was in the middle of that thought when his phone vibrated again on the counter.

From: Unknown

Why did you lie in your interview, Jisung-ah?

You said you weren’t seeing anyone.

Why did you lie?

(22:40)

Jisung blinked slowly, then deleted the messages and blocked the number. It wasn’t the first time he had received texts from unknown numbers. Hyunjin did too. It came with the job.

At first, Jisung had made a habit of reporting them to Chan, hoping something could be done. He had quickly learned that even the proper authorities couldn’t do much against this kind of harassment either. Even when Jisung changed his number, or used one registered under someone else’s name, the most persistent fans always managed to find him again.

Eventually, Jisung had made peace with it. He could handle this kind of text. They were just words on a screen—Jisung spent his life dealing with words on screens anyway. Whether it was online or in his phone’s messaging app, it didn’t really make much of a difference to him.

As long as they stayed words, Jisung could survive them.

.

.

Irene’s hair was longer than the last time Jisung had seen her. Her smile had been polite when she opened the door to let him into her office, but her eyes were warm. She seemed genuinely happy to see him again, though Jisung wasn’t sure he could trust the way his mind interpreted what he saw on her face.

Irene, as a psychiatrist, could very well be genuinely glad to see him after months of absence while Jisung had been touring overseas—but she wasn’t his friend. She was just the healthcare professional he saw to prevent him from throwing himself off a bridge straight into the Han River on a Thursday night.

Not that Jisung thought he was depressed—he didn’t think he really was—but the urge to just disappear was there, sometimes.

“How were the United States?” Irene asked after setting two cups of tea down on the coffee table between their armchairs. Her office was always bright and open—a large bay window offered a pretty view of Namsan Tower and its park, and a tall bookshelf made it feel like they were just having friendly conversations, like Irene didn’t renew Jisung’s prescriptions at the end of every session.

“Thank you,” Jisung said, for the tea. “It was good, I think. Tiring. But it was really good. I’d like to go back for sightseeing sometime. I know Hyunjin was disappointed we didn’t have time to stop by the big museums.”

“And you? What were you disappointed not to see?” Irene asked, and Jisung bit the inside of his cheek as he thought it over.

“The museums too, I guess,” he said, before correcting himself. “No—actually, more like experiencing the museums with Hyunjin. He’s really passionate about painting, you know? He’s the one who taught me how to remember the difference between Monet and Manet.”

“But without Hyunjin, you wouldn’t go to a museum on your own?” Irene went on, and Jisung wrinkled his nose, because he knew how that would sound.

“Well, no. I don’t like going places alone, even if I’m not really allowed to go out in public by myself.” Jisung clarified. “I don’t have a problem with being alone.” And that was true. Mostly. Jisung didn’t have a problem staying alone—in fact, it was the opposite. If he wasn’t careful, he’d sink into his solitude and his silence until he realized he hadn’t left his place in days. And after that, he’d feel awkward and embarrassed about texting anyone, so he’d just retreat even further into his isolation.

It happened less and less these days, though. Now that Hyunjin and Jisung were too popular to ever have a full week free without something scheduled. Jisung didn’t know if that was for the better or for the worse.

Irene hummed, and Jisung had no idea what she’d just concluded in her psychiatrist’s mind.

“Are the meds still helping?” she asked then, smoothly changing the subject. “No side effects?”

“If I survived that tour, it’s because they worked like a charm,” Jisung said with an amused smile that Irene didn’t return, though she did roll her eyes. “They’ve been effective in helping me manage my anxiety—I’m really grateful for that.”

“Then we’ll stick with that for now.” She nodded, before continuing the rest of their session.

.

.

“How was it with your psychiatrist?” Hyunjin asked from the other end of the phone as Jisung closed his front door.

“The usual,” Jisung replied, setting down the still-warm bag of Italian food he’d picked up on the way back, asking Changbin to make a rare detour. Hyunjin had gotten his driver’s license recently, so he didn’t need Changbin as much as Jisung did anymore. “She renewed my prescription for the same meds I was on during the tour, since they worked well.”

“Did you tell her you’ve been less anxious because you let yourself fall asleep touching my ears?” Hyunjin asked, and Jisung didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling in that annoying way.

“Definitely not,” Jisung said, a note of embarrassment in his voice as he opened his fridge and took out a bottle of water. “Did you just call to make fun of me, or did you have a reason?”

“You wound me, Sungie. Can’t I just call because I miss you?”

“We spent the last few weeks glued to each other, I’m sure you’re relieved to not see my face anymore,” Jisung replied. He wasn’t serious—not really, at least. But Hyunjin knew him a little too well to just laugh it off and move on.

“Aww, Jisungie, your scent’s already fading from my clothes, can I come sleep over tomorrow night?” Hyunjin said in that pouty, almost childishly soft tone he slipped into sometimes, and Jisung rolled his eyes as he pulled a fork and knife from his kitchen drawer.

And he would have liked to say he’d answered something sarcastic or even that he’d said no, but Jisung knew hybrids were sensitive to scent. Hyunjin was used to Jisung’s smell—when he was stressed, it wasn’t unusual for Hyunjin to ask if he could press his face into the crook of his neck. More than once, Jisung had woken up in his hotel room with Hyunjin asleep on his chest in his ferret form.

(“What do I smell like?” Jisung had asked one day, back when they were still just two anonymous teenagers.

“Fruit and sugar,” Hyunjin had answered, brows furrowed as he focused on painting Jisung’s nails black. “Fig and tangerine, specifically.”

Jisung had frowned, unsure how those three scents could possibly go together.

“At the same time?”

“Fig is when you’re happy and relaxed,” Hyunjin had replied, meeting his gaze. “Like right now. Tangerine is when you’re more anxious.”

Jisung hadn’t really understood how a scent could be the equivalent of an emotion, but he was only human, after all.)

“You can come over whenever you want, Hyunnie baby,” Jisung replied softly—and maybe he, too, was already starting to miss Hyunjin’s presence.

“Then maybe I could come pick you up for lunch, and after that we could go see the Odilon Redon's exhibition?”

Jisung blinked before letting out an amused smile, putting Hyunjin on speaker so he could open the box of carbonara pasta.

“How did one night turn into a whole day out?”

“Because you love me, and you need to recharge your soul with some inspiration before you start composing again and you’re going to love Odilon Redon and thank me for introducing you to him,” Hyunjin replied, and Jisung rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Pick me up at eleven, okay?”

“I’ll be there with Binnie hyung!” Hyunjin said, before hanging up without any further ceremony.

Jisung smiled at his phone before finally finishing getting his meal ready.

.

.

Jisung had never heard of Odilon Redon before today. He’s a French artist, Hyunjin had explained in the car, turning around from the passenger seat so both members of his audience—Jisung and Changbin—could benefit from his knowledge. His painting has influenced mine a lot, and maybe you would’ve noticed sooner if you’d come with me to the Musée d’Orsay the last time we were in Paris together, Sungie.

Jisung hadn’t been in the right headspace to face the bustle of Parisian life the last time they’d had a concert there, the year before. Hyunjin hadn’t pushed, and afterward, seeing the photos on his friend’s Instagram, Jisung had regretted it. When Hyunjin had noticed his sulky pout, he’d quickly moved to sit on Jisung’s lap, rubbing his nose against his cheek. Don’t worry, honey, we’ll go back together next time.

Since then, Jisung had tried to not turn down going to all kinds of exhibitions with Hyunjin—Hyunjin usually had a good eye for spotting interesting ones, and Jisung always came out of them with his soul feeling a little lighter.

Jisung listened obediently to the explanations about Odilon Redon’s life, his creative process, and the underlying thread of depression in his work, until Changbin parked the car. The National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Seoul wasn’t a place Jisung would have gone to on his own before Hyunjin. But over time, he’d come to appreciate it; he kept each entry ticket in a notebook along with his movie stubs.

“You should’ve worn a beanie or a cap, Jisung,” Changbin said as Jisung stepped out of the car. “Your hair’s too recognizable.”

“They’re brown, I think it’ll be fine,” Jisung replied, adjusting his mask over his face. Beside him, Hyunjin was wearing a black-and-white Chrome Hearts scarf and the same kind of mask. The scarf hid the shape of his ears, and his black jacket was loose enough to conceal his tail as well. But even like that, he was still recognizable. There was something captivating, something unique in the way Hyunjin moved and took up space.

“Anyway, we’re in a museum, there’s very little chance we’ll get recognized,” Hyunjin said, resting a hand on Changbin’s bicep. “Everyone will be busy taking pictures of the artworks, or of themselves in front of them.”

“And I doubt anything could really happen to us in a museum,” Jisung added, linking his arm with Hyunjin’s. “Worst case, we run out through the staff exit and it turns into a funny story.”

Changbin let out a sigh that sounded more like an annoyed grumble, but he followed them toward the museum entrance without trying to argue further.

“If anything happens, I’m reporting you both to Chan hyung,” Changbin threatened, and Jisung just let out a soft laugh.

“What’s hyung even going to do to you? And if he’s too mean, you can always go cry to Seungmin. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to comfort you,” Jisung called over his shoulder, and Hyunjin’s laughter rang out behind him.

Hyunjin had been right during the first hour of the exhibition: no one seemed to pay attention to them, too focused on the artworks and taking photos in front of them. After an hour, Hyunjin felt comfortable enough to remove the band covering his ears, letting them show; there weren’t many people in the rooms. Whether it was because it was still relatively early in the afternoon, or because most people who weren’t interested in Western art history simply didn’t know Odilon Redon, Jisung couldn’t tell.

“Look at that couple over there,” Hyunjin said suddenly, his voice turning infinitely soft. Jisung let out a huh? before following his gaze and landing on an elderly couple standing in front of one of the paintings, holding hands. “Getting old is a privilege. I’d like to experience that with someone too.”

“I like the way you see the world,” Jisung murmured, squeezing Hyunjin’s hand between his fingers. “Don’t overwork that pretty head of yours, Hyunnie. There’s someone out there for you. And if that person doesn’t exist, then you’ll always have me.”

Because where Hyunjin was afraid he might never find someone capable of handling him, and the vastness of his emotions, Jisung simply knew he wasn’t lovable. People looked at him, admired him, but didn’t love him. Not really.

And it was a frightening realization, because Jisung was still convinced he was good at hiding everything that was wrong with him. But maybe the twisted machinery of his mind was more visible than he thought; maybe, instinctively, people could tell there was nothing worth trying to love about Jisung.

“Aww, Sungie, I knew you actually adored me,” Hyunjin said, draping himself around Jisung and pressing his head into his hair. Jisung let out an annoyed groan, but his arms still wrapped around Hyunjin’s waist.

“Are you a ferret or a cat, Hyunnie?”

“I’m yours,” Hyunjin replied, flashing him a smile, and Jisung shoved him lightly back into Changbin’s silhouette, who had been watching their exchange with an amused grin.

That was the exact moment someone quietly cleared their throat behind them, and Changbin’s shoulders tensed.

“Sorry, I really don’t want to disturb you,” one of the two women began as they approached. They were both wearing museum badges and looked only slightly older than Hyunjin and Jisung. “But we’re big fans and we were wondering if we could take a photo with you…?”

“Oh, you work at the museum?” Hyunjin asked with a smile, because if there was one thing he loved more than randomly meeting fans, it was meeting fans who worked in the arts field.

“Yes,” the other girl replied, her cheeks tinged a pretty shade of pink. “I—uh, I’m just an intern here, but my colleague here handles guided exhibition tours.”

“Good job to both of you,” Hyunjin smiled, exchanging a glance with Jisung. “Are you okay with taking a photo with them?”

“Of course,” Jisung replied, pulling his mask off his face. The fans let out small sounds of excitement before handing their phone to Changbin.

A short series of photos later, Changbin handed the phone back to them.

“Just wait until we’ve left to post them, okay?” he said in a tone that wasn’t exactly strict, but clearly meant to be obeyed.

“Of course!” one of the girls replied, bowing. “Thank you again for your time, and enjoy the rest of the exhibition!”

And just like that, they walked away again.

.

.

Jisung was in the middle of reading a Sailor Moon chapter on his phone when his attention was pulled away by a new text from an unknown number. It was late, far too late for it to be just some stupid joke. He took a slow breath, feeling the weight of Hyunjin’s face, long asleep against his stomach, before opening the message.

The first thing he saw was a photo of him and Hyunjin at the museum. It had been taken from a distance, zoomed in on him while they were taking pictures with the two people who worked there. Then he saw the message that came with it: why did you let that girl touch you, Jisung? You’re mine.

Jisung stopped breathing.

It was the first time the person who had been harassing him for the past few weeks had sent him a photo. A photo of him, on top of that. It meant that this person had followed him. Had found a way to follow him. It meant that this person might know where Jisung lived…

He lowered his phone, staring into the darkness of his room. Listening to the silence of his apartment, broken only by Hyunjin’s quiet breathing. Until now, Jisung had never really understood the emotions he’d seen described in horror movies—the feeling of suddenly no longer being alone in the dark.

There’s no one here, he tried to convince himself. No one can get into the building, it doesn’t matter if they know where I live. Because maybe they had managed to find where Jisung lived, but they didn’t know which floor, or which apartment. And Jisung’s apartment was secure. There was no one inside but him and Hyunjin.

There’s no one here.

“Sungie?” Hyunjin breathed softly, and Jisung jolted with a sharp inhale, nearly knocking knees with him. “Hey!”

“Sorry, you scared me,” Jisung said with a small, slightly forced, embarrassed laugh, guiding Hyunjin’s face back against his stomach, his fingers slipping into his hair.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asked, pressing his nose to Jisung’s stomach—the most sensitive part, the one that sent shivers up his spine. “You smell weird, it woke me up.”

Hybrids and their sense of smell…

“Sorry, it’s because I’m reading,” Jisung lied, because he definitely didn’t want to worry Hyunjin right now. They both needed rest, and worrying now wouldn’t change anything.

“Liar,” Hyunjin murmured, tightening his hold on Jisung.

Jisung rolled his eyes and locked his phone, setting it aside.

“Stop talking and go back to sleep,” he said, closing his eyes against the cushions, one of his hands still tangled in Hyunjin’s hair.

Hyunjin hummed a soft hmm before drifting off again. Jisung took a little longer to follow him.

.

.

Jisung wasn’t naive enough to think Hyunjin had forgotten that he had smelled fear on him in the middle of the night, but he knew his best friend was giving him the space he might need before talking about it himself. Hyunjin was too good for this world, too good for Jisung, and deserved a best friend who didn’t lie to him just to avoid worrying him.

All morning, he tried to find the right moment to bring it up, but it never came. And besides, it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. And surely, it wouldn’t be the last either.

It wasn’t something Chan could prevent, so why worry Hyunjin with something that had already happened to Jisung before, too? It was just one of the aspects of fame Jisung hated the most.

So when he finally walked Hyunjin back to the entrance of his building, he was determined to not tell him.

“I haven’t checked my mailbox since we got back from the States,” he said with a small laugh, and Hyunjin shook his head like he couldn’t believe Jisung was a tax-paying adult with voting rights. “Hey, don’t judge.”

“I’m not judging,” Hyunjin replied, using the exact tone he always took when he was, in fact, judging someone. “I’m simply questioning your ability to function as a competent adult.”

Jisung pouted before finally opening his mailbox. Unsurprisingly, there were several letters and small packages that had accumulated over the weeks. At the very top of everything, there was a final envelope—red, with Han Jisung written on the front in white, handwritten letters.

When Jisung turned it between his fingers, he noticed there was no address on it. Which meant someone had physically put it into his mailbox.

“Sung?” Hyunjin breathed, his tone losing all traces of amusement. “What is it?”

Jisung kept his eyes fixed on the letter, and he understood immediately what it was, who it was from, and that he couldn’t keep this secret any longer. Because Hyunjin was witnessing it too now.

“I think I have a stalker,” Jisung chose to say, his nose slightly scrunched like he was confessing something embarrassing.

“Sungie, what?”

“I think I have a stalker,” he repeated, handing the letter to Hyunjin. “And they know where I live now.”

.

.

Hyunjin was a dark storm when he shoved Chan’s office door open, dragging Jisung along by his ear with his other hand. Jisung’s pained squeak blended with Chan’s startled reaction as the door slammed against the wall, threatening to come off its hinges.

“Hyunnie—” Jisung whined, trying to pry himself free from Hyunjin’s grip, but Hyunjin forced him down into a chair.

“Sit.” he growled, in a tone Jisung had never heard from him before. Hyunjin was a predator, yes, but he had never been this angry at Jisung in his life. Even when they hadn’t liked each other, Hyunjin’s tail had never bristled like this. “Chan hyung, you need to listen to what he has to say.”

“You’re both worrying me,” Chan said, brows drawn together, his gaze sharp like he was already expecting the worst. “Did Jisung get trapped by the press or—”

“He’s had a stalker for weeks,” Hyunjin cut in instead of Jisung, dropping heavily into the chair beside him. “Weeks, hyung.”

“It was just texts until now, we all know there’s nothing we can do about texts,” Jisung tried to defend himself, raising his hands like he was pleading for absolution. “Technically, things only got serious yesterday…”

“You still should’ve reported it,” Hyunjin snapped, irritation baring his canines.

“Hyunjin’s right,” Chan sighed, siding with him, and Jisung felt a pout, both sulky and guilty, form on his lips.

“I get weird messages all the time, there was nothing unusual about this person at first…” Jisung began after taking a slow breath. “Then they started texting me like we were actually… together? Like, romantically together. After the Rolling Stone interview, they asked why I’d lied about being single. And then yesterday, when we were at the museum with Hyunjin, we took pictures with fans and they sent me a jealous message saying I belonged to them…” He paused, lowering his gaze to the wooden surface of Chan’s desk. “There was a photo with the message. Because they were there. They followed us, hyung.”

Silence settled over the office.

“And this morning, there was that letter in my mailbox,” Jisung continued, sliding the red envelope across the desk toward Chan. Chan took it, and Jisung didn’t need to see his face to know he’d be wearing the same expression as Hyunjin.

Jisung had only read the contents of the letter once before Hyunjin had snatched it from his hands, but the words were still dancing in front of his eyes.

My Jisung, my beloved,

I’m so happy I can leave you this letter and that I found your address! I’ll be able to write to you every day now, hehe 

I wish I could’ve left this letter directly at your place, but I still need to figure out your apartment number. Maybe one day~

I can’t wait for us to be together, my love. So everyone can realize that you’re truly mine, and that no one else has the right to see you or touch you.

It drives me crazy when people touch what’s mine. But I know it’s not your fault, my love. I know it’s your job. But one day, I’ll come and free you from it.

“I’m going to notify the police,” Chan said after long minutes of thick, heavy silence. “And we’re going to hire another bodyguard for you, Jisung. Ideally, you should move.”

“What?” Jisung breathed, but his question was ignored.

“He can come stay with me,” Hyunjin offered immediately, but Chan shook his head.

“I don’t want you to be put in danger too. I’ll look into apartments in secure complexes and—”

“Wait a minute.” Jisung protested, a little louder this time. “Moving? A bodyguard?”

Chan met his gaze, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, Sungie-ah. Moving and a bodyguard.”

“Isn’t that a bit excessive?” Jisung asked, his nose scrunching, cheeks flushed because he hated being a bother.

“Excessive?” Hyunjin echoed with a humorless scoff. “What, you want me to be singing at your funeral?”

And—well. Hyunjin’s blunt, brutal honesty had at least the merit of snapping Jisung into facing a truth he had always refused to consider. This person, his stalker, could hurt him. Kill him.

“Okay,” he conceded in a breath that cost him his pride, but was a small price to pay to reassure Hyunjin and Chan. It was nothing, compared to his life and his safety. “But I want to be there to choose my bodyguard. If I have to spend every hour of my day with someone, I want to make sure we’ll get along.”

“Of course,” Chan replied immediately, far too relieved not to have to argue with Jisung about it. “I’ll shortlist some candidates, and you can pick the one that suits you during the interviews, okay?”

“Okay.”

.

.

It took Chan about a week to narrow it down to around ten candidates who could work as Jisung’s temporary bodyguard.

Jisung received seven more letters during that time. Each one just as unsettling as the last. Never inside his apartment or slipped under his door—thankfully.

Come to the agency tomorrow so you can choose your bodyguard, Chan had texted him the day before, and Jisung would’ve been lying if he said he hadn’t felt a bit relieved reading it.

The relief, Jisung realized after Chan escorted the sixth person out, had been very short-lived.

“You didn’t say anything. I’m guessing that’s a no, again?” Chan asked, closing the door and crossing his arms over his chest.

“No,” Jisung confirmed with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being difficult for no reason, but I don’t want to share my day-to-day life with someone who makes me uncomfortable because I find them intimidating.”

“You do realize that being intimidating is kind of the point of being a good bodyguard, right?”

“I know,” Jisung replied with a groan, pressing his hands over his face. “I know. But it won’t work if I’m not comfortable around them. I’ll just want to run away, and that’s not what we’re going for.”

Jisung didn’t see Chan’s expression, but he heard his sigh.

“Come on, there’s only one left. Maybe he’ll be the rare gem, who knows?”

“Mm, who knows,” Jisung echoed, not convinced in the slightest, checking the time on his phone. He was already exhausted from all of this.

When Chan brought in the last candidate on his list, Jisung's eyes were glued to his phone. It wasn't very polite and generally, Jisung did try to be, especially since becoming an idol. But he'd also been sitting in the same meeting room, in the same uncomfortable chair, for hours now, and his patience was starting to wear thin.

He also knew it was partly his fault—if Jisung hadn't been so insistent on having a bodyguard he could befriend, then perhaps he and Chan would have been freed from this ordeal sooner. 

The door closed, and Jisung only looked up from his phone when Chan sat down beside him again.

“Sungie.” His manager said with a sigh, but there was an order behind him. Sit up straight. Jisung placed his phone face down on the desk as Chan continued, “Minho, take a seat please.”

“Thank you.” A soft, calm voice, light years away from all the falsely dominant voices he’d heard that day. A voice that made Jisung jerk his head up so fast his neck cracked and—oh.

Oh.

The man in front of him was a hybrid. A predator his mind whispered when his eyes met those blond ears speckled with sand-colored rosettes. A leopard. 

“Minho is an experienced bodyguard,” Chan introduced him as Jisung seemed unable to look away with his predatory gaze—blond hair the same color as the fur on his ears, fine, elegant features, dark eyes, and a tail with the same rosettes that swung slowly and attentively behind him. Minho was older than Jisung, perhaps by a decade. Minho could see it in the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the calmness in his gaze. “until now, he had served for ten years with a prominent family in Seoul.”

“Why did you stop?” Jisung asked, unable to stop himself, and it was the first question he asked a candidate that day. But it was a legitimate question, hybrid predators weren’t usually bodyguards. Or at least, they weren't a bodyguard after serving one person or family for so long. Hybrid predators were territorial; felines even more so. Minho was a rarity in himself.

Minho blinked, once, twice, and his ears twitched at the sound of Jisung's voice. It was an almost indiscreet question, and Chan took a breath to scold him as if he were just a small child pointing at strangers in the street.

“The person I was responsible for protecting is still alive, if that’s your question.” Minho replied before Chan could say anything.

“His references are excellent, Sungie.” Chan whispered to Jisung as if Jisung was worried that the reason behind Minho’s dismissal—or resignation?—was inappropriate behavior. “I checked with his former employers and—”

“That’s not why I asked.” Jisung interrupted, his eyes still fixed on Minho because he couldn’t, wouldn’t, look away. “Hyunjin is a ferret. Will you have a problem with another predator around?”

Minho blinked again, and his tail twitched with more interest.

“No.” He replied softly. “If he’s not a threat to the person I’m guarding, then his presence isn’t a problem for me.”

The person I’m guarding. Not the person I’m protecting.

“Okay.” Jisung said, nodding when Chan turned his head toward him in surprise. “I think Minho is the right person.”

“Really?” He asked, and it wasn’t a question meant to challenge Jisung’s choice, but rather, really? Just like that? 

“Really.” Jisung replied, meeting Minho’s gaze once more. “Does it suit you? To work for me?”

Minho blinked, the tip of his tail curling and uncurling as he offered Jisung a smile. And Jisung had never paid much attention to scents and pheromones before—he never even thought about them, only remembering they existed when he saw Hyunjin wrinkle his nose or sniff the air when he met someone new. Jisung almost never thought about it because humans' sense of scent was relatively weak and useless, but seeing the thin smile on Minho's face, he wished he could smell what his scent was and whether it was getting sweeter. 

“That suits me perfectly.” A pause. “I wouldn’t have responded to the ad otherwise.” He continued with slightly more marked amusement, and Jisung felt, despite himself, a smile stretching across his lips as well.

“I just have a few documents for you to sign, and then you can start. The sooner the better.” Chan then said, opening a portfolio and taking out some documents. “Employment contract, non-disclosure agreement, bonuses and compensation…” Minho took the documents, carefully and seriously glancing over each page before signing. When Minho signed the non-disclosure agreement, Chan continued. “Jisung has started receiving text messages from someone who’s been following him for a few weeks now. Unfortunately, there’s nothing unusual about that for an idol, but last week he received a letter delivered directly to his mailbox. At his private residence.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jisung saw Minho's tail stop moving as he listened to Chan's words. Then, it resumed its slow rhythm.

“Did you notify the police?” Minho asked, and Jisung let out a sigh.

“Yes, but apparently there’s nothing disturbing enough in the letters to warrant an investigation, so they can’t do anything until I’m dead and my body parts are found in a refrigerator.” Jisung said lightly, shrugging his shoulders, and didn’t flinch when Minho made a disapproving sound—a kind of soft growl deep in his throat, like the ones he’d heard mother cats make while raising their kittens in documentaries. Jisung wasn’t a kitten, but his lips curled into a guilty pout as if he were.

“That won’t happen as long as I’m here to guard you.” Minho promised. And—guard you. Again. Not to protect you. “Wouldn’t it be a good idea to move Jisung until the person is arrested?” He continued, turning his head to observe Chan.

“We thought about it, but…”

“But I said it was excessive for now.” Jisung said with a casual wave of his hand. “It was just my mailbox. The person doesn’t technically know which floor I live on, and it’s a very secure building.”

“It’s irresponsible. We need to find another apartment.” Minho replied, his voice firm. Not open to discussion. Chan nodded as if relieved to not suddenly be the only reasonable person in the room, and when Jisung opened his mouth to protest again, Minho cut him off. “Jisung.”

Jisung couldn’t even remember a time when his father would have spoken his name in that tone: firm yet gentle. As if Minho expected obedience from Jisung and there would be consequences if he didn’t behave.

Any hint of protest died in Jisung's throat like water spilled on a campfire. Jisung closed his mouth with a click of his teeth, and under Chan's surprised gaze—and inwardly, his own—Jisung nodded.

"Okay." He conceded with a sigh, and his shoulders sank into the chair behind him. "I guess it's for the best. Neutral territory like this means you won't have to get used to too many different smells all at once, Minho-ssi."

Minho's ears twitched on his head as if surprised by Jisung's consideration, but he didn't comment.

"I was hoping to change your mind, so I already have several places that might work," Chan said, only too happy to catch Jisung in a moment when he was seemingly willing to give up the comfort of his apartment. “I can send you the references this evening.”

Jisung stood up from his chair, and almost automatically, Minho followed suit.

“Thank you, hyung. I’m sure all the choices will be great. I’ll show them to Minho as well, and we’ll send you an answer before tomorrow.” He then turned his gaze to Minho, who was watching him, waiting for him. His pupils were round, and his tail swung slowly behind him like a cat watching something that interested it. Jisung tried to sound casual about it. “I still have some work to do at the studio before I go home. Is that okay with you?”

Minho blinked slowly, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Nothing bothers me, Jisung-ssi,” Minho replied, his eyes tender. “I’m here to watch over you and keep you safe while you go about your daily life.”

“Oh,” Jisung replied, running his tongue over his dry lips. He needed to buy more lip balm when he had the chance; he'd lost the last one in his bag without knowing how. "Oh, okay. Come on, I'll show you the studio."

.

.

The studios were supposed to be shared workspaces for producers and other artists at the agency, but everyone knew Jisung preferred the last room in the hallway, and they generally made sure to not go there. Jisung always felt a little guilty about this—he didn't think he was intimidating, honestly. Jisung saw himself as a bundle of nerves and anxieties who sometimes liked to wear makeup. Nothing particularly intimidating, all things considered. But he suspected that his success, and Hyunjin's, must have given him a kind of aura that discouraged people from talking to him or risking bothering him.

"This is where I spend most of my days when I'm not busy with Hyunjin and when Chan hyung isn't forcing me to go home and sleep in a real bed."

Jisung sat down in his chair and watched Minho enter the room, blink, and take a slow breath, his head tilted back slightly.

“What does it smell like?” Jisung asked slowly, his eyes sliding over how some strands of Minho’s hair were a darker shade than his blond—strands that matched the halos on the fur of his tail and ears.

“Fig.” Minho replied softly, his eyes returning to Jisung, a small smile playing on his lips. “And sugar.”

“Hm, Hyunjin once told me I smelled like that.” Jisung replied, as if it were a normal topic of conversation for him. Maybe it was for hybrids, but not for Jisung. “And tangerine, too, sometimes. When I’m anxious, apparently.”

“I like both of these fruits.” Minho said, his gaze now fixed on the various framed pictures on the walls: photos of Hyunjin and Jisung with Chan, and different demos from albums produced in this very studio, including Hymn to Virgil and Swan.

Jisung was glad Minho had looked away just in time to prevent him from blushing. And Jisung didn’t really understand his reaction, Hyunjin had already told him he smelled good. Good Lord, Jisung had seen Hyunjin press his nose to his neck when he felt stressed because Jisung smelled so good, and he’d never felt his pulse quicken.

“What do you smell like?” Jisung asked after a brief silence, his foot slowly swiveling the chair from side to side.

Minho blinked several times—a gesture that Jisung was already beginning to categorize as a habit of Minho's, without knowing if it was part of his human or animal side.

“Right now, I smell jasmine.” Minho finally replied, his tail slowly curling and uncurling.

“Oh.” Jisung breathed deeply, glad it was a scent Jisung could conjure up by drawing on his memories. He didn’t know what he would have done if Minho had told him he smelled a flower or fragrance he’d never experienced before. “Do you always smell sweet flowers?”

“No.” Minho replied with a smile that revealed his teeth—rabbit teeth, round and crooked, which served only as a distraction to mask the sharp canines Jisung could sense. “No, not all the time.”

“Oh.” Jisung repeated because, apparently, all songwriter he was, his ability to string several words together into a coherent sentence had suddenly evaporated into thin air. 

“You said you had work to finish.” Minho continued, settling onto the small sofa in the studio. “Just pretend I’m not here, Jisung-ssi.”

Jisung bit the inside of his cheek before turning his laptop screen back on.

“You don’t need any formalities to talk to me, you know? Just my name is fine.”

“Only if you agree to call me hyung.” Minho replied, and even without looking at him, Jisung could hear a smile in his voice.

“Of course, hyung.” Jisung replied, looking over his shoulder—Minho was already watching him. Attentive. “You know, I think you’re going to get bored with me.”

“Why’s that?”

“I know I’m a rockstar, but I’m not the type to sneak out of my bodyguard to go to a nightclub and appear the next morning in the tabloids with my reputation ruined.”

Minho smiled, his dark eyes shining with amusement, his ears perking slightly higher on the top of his head.

“Jisung-ah, even if you had tried to escape me, you wouldn’t have succeeded.”

“Really?” Jisung asked, because Minho’s voice sounded a bit like a challenge: try escaping, little prey. Jisung wasn’t prey; he wasn’t even a hybrid. But the light in Minho’s eyes and the rapid swishing of his leopard tail behind him made Jisung want to run for his life. To see if Minho was as fast as he seemed; as strong as Jisung could tell from the thickness of his thighs and the shape of his shoulders.

“Really.” Minho replied, tilting his head in a way that was purely feline and animalistic, his eyes crinkling into a smile as if he knew what Jisung was thinking. As if he could read Jisung's mind, wondering if he could reach the studio door and slip out of the room without Minho's knowledge.

Jisung wasn't foolish enough to try and escape Minho now. But maybe another day. When Minho was less attentive and vigilant. When he wasn't ready to intercept Jisung before he could even hope to take the first three steps toward the exit.

And since he didn't know what to say to Minho, he just cleared his throat before looking away, focusing again on his work.

.

.

Jisung received the email from Chan with temporary housing options just as Minho parked the company car he’d been assigned to take care of him. It was a discreet, sturdy vehicle with tinted windows—not the kind anyone would expect a celebrity to be riding in. Minho had a small bag of belongings on the passenger seat, and when Jisung had raised an eyebrow at it, he’d simply smiled.

“I like to be prepared.”

Which might have been a personality trait of Minho’s—always being prepared—or maybe it was just a habit he had trouble letting go of after spending so many years as someone else’s full-time bodyguard.

Habits that Jisung, on the other hand, was going to have a hard time fully adopting. It didn’t come naturally to him to let someone get out of the car first and check that the area was safe—it was, after all, just the underground parking of Jisung’s building; no one could get in that easily. It was even less instinctive to let someone walk ahead of him as they moved from one space to another—the elevator, the hallway, his apartment.

“You can go in,” Minho told him once he’d checked the main rooms, making sure all the windows were properly closed. His ears were lowered against his head—not quite in suspicion or anger, but more out of focus. Attentive. Jisung couldn’t imagine what it must feel like for him to step into an enclosed space that wasn’t his own, filled with unfamiliar scents. Jisung’s, much stronger—Hyunjin’s, too, or even Chan and Changbin’s.

“Is everything okay?” Jisung asked softly, slipping off his shoes by the entrance and closing the door behind him. “We can open the windows if you want. Sorry, my scent must be a lot stronger and—”

“Jisung-ah, it’s fine,” Minho cut in gently as he took off his suit jacket. “Your scent doesn’t bother me.”

And Minho said it with such softness that Jisung had to look away to keep his flushed cheeks from being too obvious.

“Oh. That’s good,” Jisung murmured, and for a brief second he felt terribly awkward and anxious in his own space—then he heard Minho take a slow breath. 

“What do you want to eat tonight?”

Jisung turned back to him, blinking. Minho blinked back.

“You’re my bodyguard, hyung, not my butler. I should be the one asking what you want to eat tonight.”

“Do you even know how to cook?” Minho asked with a smile, his gaze following Jisung as he walked into the kitchen in search of something to eat, he still hadn’t gone grocery shopping since the last time he’d realized he had nothing left.

“I can manage,” Jisung muttered, but he felt the flush that had spread across his cheeks creep down his neck when he realized he had nothing to offer Minho. He sighed, closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead against the kitchen counter. “But my cupboards are empty. Sorry, Hyunjin and I just got back from tour and I…”

“It’s fine,” Minho cut in gently again, before Jisung could spend the next ten minutes apologizing for far more than just empty cabinets—sorry for the inconvenience, sorry you have to move apartments because of me, sorry about the Dubai chocolate, sorry about the labubu craze, and sorry about the entire capitalist system. “We’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow evening before heading back.”

We.

“Okay,” Jisung replied, breathing in, breathing out before straightening up and pulling out his phone. “What do you want to eat? And please don’t say ‘whatever you want,’ because if I make a bad choice and you don’t like it, I’ll throw myself out the window.” 

Minho let out a small laugh, light and soft, the tip of his tail curling and uncurling with his amusement. Jisung watched him, a little mesmerized despite himself, before handing over his phone, relieved to not be responsible for the decision anymore. Minho took it, and their fingers brushed for a fraction of a second—not long enough to be inappropriate, but not quick enough for Jisung to forget it.

“Any food allergies?” Minho asked, his thumb sliding over the screen, eyes focused on what he was reading.

“No,” Jisung replied, surprised by how attentive Minho was ; surely,  that wasn’t written in his job description. “I just don’t like spicy food.”

“Mm, no spicy food. Got it,” Minho hummed, keeping Jisung’s phone for a few more minutes before handing it back to him on the payment page.

Jisung didn’t even look at the order details or the total—he just confirmed the payment and tossed his phone onto the couch right after.

“I’ll show you your temporary room,” he said then, tilting his head toward the hallway.

When Jisung had bought his apartment, there had been three bedrooms. The space had been designed for well-off couples who wanted at least two children. Jisung had turned one of the rooms into a soundproof studio where he could play without bothering anyone. In theory, one of the other rooms was a guest bedroom—in theory only, because in reality, he never had people over, and Hyunjin always slept in Jisung’s bed anyway.

No one ever used that space, and Jisung found himself thinking that, for once, it was for the best: Minho wouldn’t be disturbed by unfamiliar scents there.

“Sorry if there’s dust on the furniture,” Jisung said in an embarrassed breath, scratching the back of his neck. “No one uses this room, so…”

“Jisung-ah, it’s perfectly fine,” Minho reassured him gently, and Jisung felt his shoulders relax despite himself. “And you had no way of knowing this space would be used anytime soon.”

And it was true, Jisung knew it was true, but he couldn’t help feeling guilty that nothing was perfect for Minho. He didn’t know what kind of image Minho had of him, but Jisung couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d failed somewhere between the lack of food in his fridge and the dust on the furniture.

Jisung didn’t say any of that. Instead, he said:

“Make yourself at home, hyung.”

.

.

Jisung had opened his laptop right in the middle of the Turkish mezze Minho had ordered on his phone, most likely inspired by the restaurants Jisung had saved as favorites. On the screen, they slowly scrolled through the housing options Chan had sent to his email just a few hours after Jisung and Minho had left the meeting room.

“I like this one,” Jisung said when his eyes landed on an apartment on the third floor of a building with a large balcony.

“It’s not high enough. Someone could climb up the façade and get in,” Minho replied before scooping up some hummus with a piece of pita bread and bringing it to his lips. Jisung watched his jaw move as he ate for a second too long before forcing his attention back to the screen.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” he asked, taking a spoonful of tabbouleh to keep his mind occupied.

“Since we don’t have a choice but to stay in Seoul, we need something higher up, with blackout film on the windows. Preferably no balcony.”

“Where would you have taken me if we could leave Seoul?” Jisung asked, genuinely curious.

Minho’s lips curled into a small smile.

“Probably somewhere in the countryside. Far from here. Somewhere so isolated there wouldn’t be anyone for miles around.” And when Jisung blinked at his answer, Minho met his gaze. “But I can be reasonable. Sometimes.”

There wasn’t really anything funny about it, and yet Jisung felt a soft laugh slip past his lips.

“If my stalker actually tries to kill me, I promise I’ll follow you to the countryside,” Jisung replied, and Minho’s ears perked a little higher atop his head. “I don’t really need to be in Seoul all the time while Hyunjin and I are working out the artistic direction of our new album anyway.”

“No one will get close enough to try anything as long as I’m here,” Minho assured him, and Jisung didn’t think he’d imagined the way Minho’s tail brushed against his back. Maybe it was deliberate, or maybe it was just an involuntary movement, something that followed Minho’s emotions.

And Jisung felt the urge to giggle again. Maybe even tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, too. It was ridiculous, and Jisung shoved another generous spoonful of tabbouleh into his mouth to make sure no sound could escape.

“What do you think about this one?” Minho said then, either not noticing his strange behavior or gracious enough to not comment on it. Either way, Jisung was relieved, and he swallowed, his attention returning to the screen. A different apartment was displayed now, perched at the top of a building in a neighborhood Jisung didn’t recognize, with a view stretching out from the windows. The listing claimed it was a quiet, secure building, with treated glass to preserve privacy. Perfect for people looking for discretion in a comfortable, low-profile living space.

“What kind of residents do you think they get, besides celebrities trying to escape their stalkers?” Jisung asked, for once not naïve about the kind of discretion the building’s owners and their security staff provided.

“Oh, I suppose if you were married, no one would be surprised to see you walking into your apartment with another man,” Minho replied casually, and Jisung felt heat bloom across his cheeks and down his neck. “And I’m guessing the soundproofing is excellent too, in case your lover happens to be the type to tie you to a bed.”

“Oh my God,” Jisung breathed, attempting to smack Minho’s shoulder, but cool fingers wrapped around his wrist before he could make contact.

“Sorry,” Minho apologized automatically, even though his grip around Jisung’s wrist was gentle. Maybe he thought he wasn’t allowed to touch him. Or something like that. Or maybe he thought he’d startled him. It was stupid.

“For having feline reflexes?” Jisung asked, one eyebrow raised. “My ego would only be bruised if I were actually annoyed.”

A smile spread across Minho’s lips. He still hadn’t let go of Jisung’s wrist, and he drew in a slow breath.

“What do I smell like?” Jisung asked before he could even try to stop himself.

“Still fig,” Minho replied softly. “And sugar.”

Jisung bit the inside of his cheek, and his wrist tingled as Minho slowly let go. He cleared his throat and forced his gaze back onto the apartment displayed on his laptop screen.

“Is it big enough for you?” Jisung asked, and he felt a flicker of pride when he realized his voice sounded almost normal. “I mean, I know predators like you usually need a lot of space and…”

“There isn’t enough space in all of Seoul to fully satisfy me,” Minho answered honestly, though he didn’t sound defeated or wistful for something else, for somewhere else. “But it’s worth it,” he added, meeting Jisung’s eyes again, and Jisung didn’t dare ask whether he meant his job in general or protecting Jisung specifically.

“I’ll tell Chan hyung we’ve made a decision, then,” Jisung said, taking one last spoonful of tabbouleh before reaching for his phone.

.

.

From: Unknown

Jisung-ah,

Who was the hybrid with you tonight when you came home?
Why hasn’t he left yet?

Jisung, answer me.

(21:10)

.

.

“Jisung?” Minho asked as he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel draped over his shoulders. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Without answering, Jisung held out his phone. After texting Chan the number of the apartment he and Minho had chosen, he’d cleared the empty food containers off the coffee table before collapsing onto the couch to scroll, scroll, scroll through TikTok until it felt like his brain was leaking out of his ears. He’d reached that almost-relaxed state when the messages came in. And Jisung liked to think he’d made peace with the unsettling messages he got from time to time, especially the ones from his stalker. But he hadn’t. Every time he realized just how closely he was being watched, it made him want to throw up.

Jisung didn’t have a hybrid’s ability to pick up scents from the people around him, but he didn’t need it to read the emotion written all over Minho’s face: anger.

“Put the important numbers in my phone,” Minho said, holding out both devices. “Hyunjin, Chan… whoever you want. Let me use your phone from now on.”

Jisung blinked, and Minho blinked back as if they were having a silent conversation.

“Let me filter the messages you receive,” Minho added softly, his eyes a little gentler, more patient. “I’m not just here to protect your body.”

Jisung pressed his lips together but took both phones, entering Hyunjin and Chan’s numbers into Minho’s.

“Does it not bother you, having your life in my hands?” Jisung asked, his eyes fixed on the unfamiliar wallpaper in front of him. Instead of a screenshot of Nana and Hachi asleep under a pile of blankets, he was looking at a picture of three cats on a couch.

“There’s nothing compromising on my phone,” Minho replied, and even without looking at him, Jisung could hear the amusement in his smile. “And I promise I won’t open your Instagram messages or look through your photo gallery.”

“There’s nothing compromising on my phone either,” Jisung said, lifting his head to meet Minho’s gaze again. “But if you want to read some truly terrible poetry, you can check my notes.”

Minho let out a soft laugh, eyes crinkling, lips parting just enough to reveal bunny teeth while keeping his sharp canines hidden. He looked cute like that. Almost harmless.

“I’m not sure you’re capable of writing anything bad, Jisung-ah,” he said, and Jisung felt the compliment spark at the back of his neck.

“Have you listened to our albums?”

“Before applying,” Minho replied, settling onto the couch beside him, close enough for Jisung to notice. “Is that weird?”

“No,” Jisung answered a little too quickly, his voice a little too high, making Minho’s ears twitch. “Did you like them?”

“Yes,” Minho said, his eyes soft, his tail curling neatly over his lap. Jisung watched it for a moment, wondering if it was as soft as it looked. Hyunjin’s fur was always soft. Jisung liked to bury his hands in it when he was cold, and Hyunjin had always let him. “I wouldn’t have applied to protect you if I didn’t respect what you do. It wouldn’t have worked.”

“Oh,” Jisung breathed, and it made sense, really. He knew felines needed to be interested in something to commit to it. And for a lyricist, Jisung often found himself at a loss for words around Minho. But it was only the first half-day they’d spent together, and he could try to comfort himself with the idea that it was just shyness, nothing more.

“You should go wash up and get some rest,” Minho continued gently, not seeming bothered by Jisung’s lack of response, probably reading his silence as fatigue.

“Mm, yeah, you’re right,” Jisung said, his stomach twisting faintly with disappointment, because in truth, he wanted to keep getting to know Minho. Still, he stood, stretching his arms over his head. He took three steps toward the hallway before pivoting back on his heels.

“Do you ever take your animal form?”

And it was an intrusive question, really. Not all hybrids could take an animal form, and not all of them liked to, either. Part of it came from the trauma and ostracization hybrids had endured for centuries, sometimes forced into being nothing more than exotic, extravagant pets. It was a matter of genetics, too. The animal side of a hybrid had to be strong enough for a transformation to even be possible. Hyunjin could transform, and Jisung didn’t think he was wrong to assume Minho could as well. He could see it in Minho’s eyes.

“Sometimes,” Minho replied, not seeming bothered by the question. Maybe he could read in Jisung’s scent that there was only genuine curiosity behind it, no ill intent. Or anything more… specific.

“Do—” Jisung started, but before he could finish, Minho gently shook his head.

“When you’re more familiar with me. I don’t want to scare you.”

Jisung ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed down the protest that had risen to the tip of his tongue. Minho was probably right. Jisung had never seen a leopard in his life, and he wasn’t entirely confident in his nervous system’s ability to not panic at the sight of a large, solid predator weighing over fifty kilos suddenly appearing in his living room.

“I won’t be scared,” Jisung said anyway, because he didn’t think he could ever actually be afraid of Minho. There was something in Minho’s eyes that was too soft for that. And as if to prove his point, Minho smiled.

“I don’t doubt it, Jisung-ah,” Minho replied gently, a patient smile on his lips.

And sensing that Minho wasn’t going to change his mind, Jisung bit the inside of his cheek and slipped into the bathroom.

.

.

There was a doorman in the building's entrance who was going to greet Jisung and Minho until his stalker was arrested. He made no comment after checking their identities, but Jisung could feel the weight of his gaze—he had recognized him, and he thought Minho was his lover. It would have made sense; Jisung, with his popularity, might not want to expose his partner to the media and would prefer to keep their relationship secret. Jisung felt his cheeks burn until the elevator doors closed behind them, the soft background music doing nothing to ease the tension in his shoulders. 

If Minho detected the nervousness in his scent, and Jisung knew Minho had, he made no comment, and Jisung was grateful for that.

“Every person we pass is going to think you’re fucking me.” Jisung whispered, his eyes fixed on the floor numbers.

“Hm.” Minho breathed in confirmation, and Jisung was jealous of how relaxed he seemed about it. About this realization. Jisung felt like he might turn into lava any second.

“I guess it fits with my rockstar image.” Jisung continued, because he was nervous, and when he was nervous, he couldn’t help but talk, talk, talk. “People will be more likely to believe I like being scratched in bed than to suspect I’m a virgin, ha ha.”

Minho's ears had a spasm on the top of his hair and he blinked several times while turning his head towards Jisung.

"Sorry, I don't know why I said that." Jisung mumbled, pressing the back of his hand against his eyes because, of course, he was going to say something stupid sooner or later, but he was mortified to realize he'd just admitted he was a virgin to someone he'd only known for a few days. To someone he was forced to share all his time and space with.

"I don't scratch my partners unless they ask me to," Was Minho's reply, and Jisung felt his heart leap in his chest as he raised his face to meet his gaze. "but I do bite."

Jisung was going to die in that elevator.

“Oh.” He breathed a strangled sound that was almost indistinguishable from the squeak of a frightened squirrel. “Oh, hm. Cool.” The moment Jisung was about to step into their temporary apartment, he was going to open the nearest window and throw himself out. It was sad for Minho, who would have to look for work again, but Jisung couldn't continue living like this. He was sure Chan would understand and, in his infinite mercy, would offer Minho a new job.

“Cool.” Minho replied in an echo, his lips stretched into an amused smile, his eyes shining as if he were about to burst out laughing. Jisung felt the flush spread from his cheeks to his neck.

The elevator doors opened with a bing and Jisung jumped into the corridor, his suitcase behind him, without waiting for Minho to go first.

It didn’t last long, of course. Jisung had barely taken two steps into the unfamiliar hallway before Minho grabbed him by one of the loops of his jeans to stop him. Jisung let out a sigh, lips pulling into a faint pout, but he knew better now than to argue with Minho when it came to his safety. He let him take the lead without complaint. Minho moved ahead, scanning the corridor before stopping in front of the correct apartment number and unlocking the door with his spare key. Jisung followed him inside and dragged both their suitcases into the living room while Minho inspected the rest of the apartment.

It matched the photos they had seen before choosing it: a living room, kitchen, and dining area with almost no separation in between, large glass windows flooding the space with light, and a hallway leading to the bedrooms. From here, it looked normal. Functional.

And when Minho told him he could look around, that was exactly what Jisung did, walking straight toward one of the two bedrooms.

“Do you have a preference?” he asked Minho, and when Minho shook his head, Jisung slipped into the one on the right. Minho followed him like the silent shadow Jisung still wasn’t quite used to. 

Jisung dragged his suitcase to the center of his temporary bedroom and pressed his lips together. The room was fine, really, if he ignored the bed that was a little too big—definitely designed for activities other than just sleeping. Minho probably picked up on his embarrassment through scent—or maybe he could just see it on his face—because he let out an amused breath.

“Wait until you see the bathroom,” he commented, and Jisung’s heart beat a little faster as he pushed the door open, and oh.

“Is this a joke?” Jisung said out loud when his eyes landed on the mirror facing the walk-in shower and the sink wider than the one in his own bathroom—Jisung could probably press his whole torso against it.

“There’s a bathtub in the other bathroom,” Minho added, one shoulder leaning against the door as if he were talking about the weather, not showing a single trace of embarrassment. “A large bathtub.”

“I’m going to throw myself off this building,” Jisung muttered, and when he caught his reflection in the mirror, he could see just how red he was, eyes bright with embarrassment and something else. Something he didn’t want to name yet.

“Only if you manage to be faster than me,” Minho replied, eyes soft and an easy amusement making his tail sway slowly behind him. “It’s only temporary, Jisung-ah. I’m sure you’ll forget what kind of activities the furniture is meant for when you take your first bath.”

Jisung wrinkled his nose because Minho was probably right—after a few days of enjoying the comfort of a massive bed and a bathtub big enough for two people, Jisung would probably even manage to forget the fact that everyone they ran into in the building would assume they were together.

Probably.

.

.

After unpacking their suitcases, Jisung put on a Chrome Hearts beanie, a black surgical mask, and let Minho drive them in his company car to the nearest hypermarket.

It was the second time they went grocery shopping together, and Jisung was starting to remember a bit of what Minho liked to buy and what he didn’t. He was also starting to anticipate what would earn him a disapproving look—instant noodles, and frozen food in general. Minho liked cooking, and it was a skill and an art Jisung didn’t possess. Not yet, at least, because Minho had made it clear that teaching Jisung how to take care of himself was something he was going to do, alongside protecting his life.

(“You know you won’t get paid more for this, right?” Jisung had asked on the second day when Minho had called him into the kitchen to show him how to properly roll an omelet.

 “I know,” Minho had simply replied.

Jisung hadn’t had anything to say to that.)

“Why are you looking at price labels when I’m the one paying?” Jisung asked after Minho had spent the last three minutes comparing the price per kilo of different packs of meat in the butcher section of the hypermarket.

“Are you so rich now that you don't remember the time when you watched your parents open their bills on the kitchen table? Minho replied calmly, and Jisung’s mouth snapped shut.

Jisung did, in fact, remember. His mother carefully going over household expenses, and his father paying close attention to prices before buying anything.

“Sorry,” Jisung sighed, embarrassed. “I don’t know why I said that. That’s really not like me to sound so…” spoiled. Jisung wasn’t spoiled, but he couldn’t deny the last time he had paid attention to prices was years ago, when his salary and in-kind benefits had risen alongside Phoenix’s fame. It was easy to get lost in luxury when luxury brands sent him entire boxes of clothes and he never had to pay for anything at official events.

“Hm, it’s okay, Jisung-ah,” Minho hummed, finally placing several packs of meat into the cart Jisung was leaning against. “We still need fruits and vegetables.”

Jisung didn’t feel like it was okay, but he followed Minho obediently through the different aisles of the hypermarket, the cart he was pushing slowly filling up with things he had only ever bought with his parents before. Fresh fruits and vegetables, rice and noodles, spices, flour, sugar…

“Can we get snacks?” Jisung asked, as if he needed Minho’s permission, in some way, to put whatever he wanted into the cart.

“Of course we can, Sungie,” Minho replied, his voice softer, and Jisung felt something in his chest loosen.

And that was how Jisung ended up stacking several packs of chocolate biscuits and sweet popcorn into their cart while Minho was studying the different brands of Japanese pudding on the shelves. Jisung watched him for a moment: the way his ears were perked up on top of his head, attentive, and the way his tail twitched in irritation at the image of his frown when he couldn’t find what he was looking for.

Minho was adorable, really. He was beautiful in a way that was different from Hyunjin’s almost unreal kind of beauty. Minho was real, human, tangible. Jisung could see it in the small imperfections of his skin, in the acne scars from a past phase, and the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. In a world where Jisung sometimes felt like everything was artificial, Minho was real.

And he was about to walk over to ask Minho why he was staring at puddings like they had personally offended him when Jisung heard a sharp intake of breath nearby. He turned his head quickly, expecting someone to have recognized him despite his beanie and mask, but his eyes landed on a little girl pointing directly at Minho. Minho, who had straightened his posture to scan the surroundings, and who hadn’t noticed he was the cause of it, because his gaze was fixed on Jisung.

“Yuna, that’s not polite. Don’t point at people,” hissed a woman in a low voice, probably the girl’s mother, grabbing her hand and forcing it down.

“But Mom, it’s a cat!” the little girl, Yuna, exclaimed again, her voice full of wonder. She must not have come from a big city if she was that surprised to see a hybrid.

Her mother’s cheeks flushed a deep red, probably embarrassed and mortified by her daughter’s behavior, and Jisung stifled a laugh into his sleeve before quietly joining Minho.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the woman apologized with a bow, and Minho gently shook his head.

“There’s nothing wrong,” he replied softly, and Jisung thought he had spent enough time with him by now to tell he meant it sincerely. The woman bowed again before pulling her daughter away, but the little girl turned around, waving her hand with a bright bye, kitty!

“Kitty,” Jisung echoed, and he didn’t need to hide his smile behind his surgical mask.

Minho pinched his side, and Jisung let out a surprised, indignant squeak.

“Usually children are scared of me,” Minho muttered, his gaze drifting back to the Japanese puddings before Jisung even had time to protest the attack.

“Well, there is something intimidating about you,” Jisung replied softly, and since Minho had initiated physical contact, he took the liberty of bumping his shoulder against his. “And then you smile and you lose everything dangerous about you.”

Minho let out a quiet laugh, rolling his eyes, but he couldn’t really argue with that. Minho was intimidating—when he walked into a room with those dark, focused eyes and not a trace of a smile on his face, he looked every bit the predator he was. But that intimidating aura disappeared the moment he smiled, his feline eyes rounding into something almost kitten-like.

“Why were you staring down those poor puddings anyway?” Jisung continued when he realized Minho wasn’t going to indulge him with agreement or contradiction.

“They don’t have the ones I like,” Minho replied, his lips twisting into something that wasn’t quite a pout, but close.

Jisung’s lips curled into another smile, and he was certain his scent betrayed his amusement even if he couldn’t actually smell it.

“I could pull a celebrity tantrum and ask Chan hyung to have them shipped directly from Japan, if you want,” he said, and he was mildly surprised to realize that Minho was seriously considering it instead of immediately shaking his head in refusal. “Wait… you like them that much?”

Minho’s ears lowered as if he was embarrassed, and a soft pink spread across the back of his neck.

“Oh my God,” Jisung breathed, genuinely awestruck, and Minho let out a low, awkward growl in response.

“Let’s go back. It’s getting late,” he muttered, already moving away and pushing the cart forward.

And Jisung realized the warmth settling in his chest might actually become a problem.

.

.

Minho was reading a book in his room, a towel draped around his shoulders, when Jisung knocked on the open door before stepping inside.

“Tomorrow I need to go somewhere,” Jisung began, closing the distance between the door and the bed and sitting down cross-legged on the mattress when Minho tapped the space beside him.

Minho blinked and tilted his head to the side, marking his page with his thumb.

“There’s nothing scheduled on the agenda Chan sent me.”

“It’s because it’s private,” Jisung replied, biting his lower lip even though he had no reason to be embarrassed. Or nervous.

“There’s nothing private when it comes to me, Jisung-ah,” Minho said, his eyes dark and attentive on him. “Is it something forbidden? Are you going to meet a girlfriend?”

Jisung’s heart started beating faster in his chest, and he shook his head quickly.

“No girlfriend,” he replied, his voice a little too high and nervous.

“A boyfriend, then? A little secret even Chan doesn’t know about?” Minho continued, his eyes never leaving Jisung’s face, making him feel like a mouse about to be pounced on.

“No boyfriend either,” Jisung said, clearing his throat. “It’s nothing weird or secret, hyung. It’s just…”

“Don’t be embarrassed with me, Sungie,” Minho breathed softly, and for a moment Jisung thought he heard a purr in his bodyguard’s voice, though it might have just been his imagination. “Come on, bug. Tell hyung.”

Minho’s purr might have been imagined, but the small squeak Jisung let out definitely wasn’t.

“Bug?” he asked, heat rushing to his face as his eyes dropped to Minho’s tail, which was swaying slowly and attentively on the mattress between them, almost brushing Jisung’s knee.

“Hm. You look like an insect. Or a squirrel. It’s cute.”

Jisung groaned and tried to hide his face behind his hands, but Minho’s fingers wrapped around his wrists—slowly, gently. Jisung felt his breath catch for a second before his whole body relaxed without him being able to explain why.

“I have a therapy appointment with my psychiatrist,” he said then, keeping his eyes fixed on the points of contact between them. Skin against skin. “Everyone knows, but I’m used to going alone.”

“Hm,” Minho hummed, and there wasn’t a trace of judgment in the sound. “I’ll wait outside for you.”

And Jisung should have expected Minho to say that, really. Minho only ever left him alone when they were inside the safety of their apartment—the moment they stepped outside, Minho melted into his shadow, never letting Jisung stray more than two meters away. It could have been suffocating, if Minho hadn’t managed the miracle of putting Jisung at ease so quickly.

“You’ll get bored,” Jisung warned anyway, though he didn’t try to talk him out of it; it would have been a waste of time and energy.

“Maybe, but it’s fine,” Minho replied, and Jisung tried to hide his smile by biting his lower lip as they held each other’s gaze in the silence that settled between them.

It would have been the perfect moment for Jisung to stand up and leave Minho’s room, but he didn’t.

Instead, his gaze drifted to the book Minho always kept closed against his stomach, his thumb marking the page. From what Jisung could see of the cover, it was Japanese literature—untranslated.

“Do you mind if I stay here?” he asked softly, because he liked the calm, serene atmosphere of Minho’s room. Jisung wasn’t sure if it was just Minho’s presence, but his room felt more welcoming than his own. Jisung’s room was painfully impersonal in a way even hotel rooms weren’t, because he knew he was only there for a few nights.

“You can do whatever you want, bug,” Minho replied, something gentle in his expression as he opened his book again.

And that wasn’t exactly the kind of answer Jisung’s brain liked—do whatever you want was too open-ended. It wasn’t quite a yes, and it wasn’t quite a no either. That kind of response tended to trigger the most anxious defense mechanisms in his mind, despite the therapy he was doing with Irene.

Minho blinked and turned his head back toward Jisung, his brows slightly furrowed, and Jisung had the sudden urge to run his thumb over that crease between them.

“Jisung-ah, it doesn’t bother me if you stay here,” Minho said then, more softly, and Jisung felt embarrassed by how quickly his anxiety melted away like snow under sunlight.

He lay down beside Minho, knees pulled up against his chest, and took out Minho’s phone to continue the Sailor Moon chapter he had started earlier.

.

.

If Irene was surprised to see someone accompanying Jisung into the waiting room of her office, she didn’t show it. She gave Minho a polite nod before taking Jisung in for his session. 

.

.

“Why don’t we try folklore?” Hyunjin said, opening the door to the recording studio Jisung had been locked in with Minho for the past four or five hours. Jisung jolted in his chair, and Minho barely looked up from his book—he had either heard him coming or smelled him when Hyunjin stepped out of the elevator. “Oh, hi hyung,” Hyunjin continued when his eyes landed on Minho, before pointing Jisung with his half-empty chai latte. “Folklore, Sungie!”

“Like what Taylor Swift did during the pandemic?” Jisung asked, using the foot that wasn’t tucked under him to spin his chair back and forth.

“Well, I guess, but our version. And with more guitars,” Hyunjin replied with a pout, his tail curling around his waist like a grey-and-white fur belt.

“Hm, that could be an idea,” Jisung said slowly, as if he wasn’t enthusiastic only because he enjoyed tormenting Hyunjin a little. And it made sense, really. After tearing his heart out of his chest to lay it across sheets of composition paper, Jisung could afford a break into folklore and ancient, timeless feelings. Hyunjin could too.

“That’s actually a great idea, you’re just being a bitch today,” Hyunjin replied, baring his teeth without real aggression. If it had been anyone else, Jisung was certain Minho would have already grabbed them by the neck.

“Okay, fine, I love the idea,” Jisung replied with a sigh, taking off the headphones around his neck and handing them to Hyunjin. “By the way, can you listen to this and tell me what you think…?”

Hyunjin sat down in the chair beside Jisung and didn’t get back up until three more hours had passed.

It was only when Hyunjin turned his head toward Minho, nose wrinkled, that Jisung realized Minho was frowning at his phone screen.

.

.

“Have I been getting messages from my stalker again?” Jisung asked when Minho closed the driver’s door of his company car.

“You should try to not think about it, Jisung-ah,” Minho replied softly, turning the key in the ignition and pulling out of the agency’s private parking lot.

“I wasn’t really thinking about it, and then I noticed Hyunnie kept glancing at you from time to time and I figured it out.”

Minho’s jaw didn’t visibly tense, but Jisung saw the way his chest rose with a deeper breath.

“Yes, you’re still getting messages,” Minho said, eyes fixed on the traffic, and before Jisung could speak again, he continued. “And no, I won’t tell you what they say.”

“But I want to know,” Jisung protested, driven only by a morbid curiosity he would definitely regret later. He didn’t need to know if things had escalated, if his stalker had grown more violent, frustrated at no longer being able to watch him come and go from his apartment.

“I know, bug. But it’s a no,” Minho cut in gently but firmly. It wasn’t something he was willing to compromise on, like anything related to Jisung’s safety.

Jisung bit the inside of his cheek, searching for words.

“It made you angry. Hyunnie could smell it.”

Minho took another slow breath, stopping the car at a red light before finally turning his attention to Jisung. It was late, and the city lights reflected in Minho’s feline eyes in the darkness of the car. Jisung knew he was right to think Minho looked like a predator watching its prey in the dark. But unlike what he might have felt if he were truly prey to Minho, he wasn’t afraid. His pulse quickened, but it wasn’t fear.

“Yes, it made me angry,” Minho replied softly, lifting a hand to brush Jisung’s cheek—cold fingers against the burning skin of his face.

“Was it that bad?” Jisung murmured back, because he couldn’t help it; he couldn’t fully silence his morbid curiosity, or the need to know what his stalker had said to make Minho that angry.

“I will never let anything happen to you, Jisung,” Minho replied, his whisper echoing the previous one, his hand sliding to the back of Jisung’s neck—not to restrain him, but simply to anchor him to this reality: Minho would never let anything happen to Jisung. “You’re safe with me.”

“I know,” Jisung said, his breath coming a little shorter than before, because aside from Hyunnie, no one touched him like this. Not in a long time—not since he had become famous and people had suddenly become afraid to approach him. “I’m safe with you.”

And this time, Jisung was certain the purring he could hear wasn’t coming from the engine. It was low, steady, and maybe Minho was desperately trying to mask it or suppress it, but Jisung was sure of what he was hearing. Still, he didn’t comment on it—he only let out a soft sound of protest when Minho finally let him go as the light inevitably turned green. 

.

.

It was raining a week later when Minho parked the car in front of the location chosen for the photoshoot Jisung had to do for Vivienne Westwood and their collaboration with Nana. The shoot was taking place two hours outside Seoul, in the countryside, in a traditional house that had long been abandoned. The weather was gloomy and wet, and Minho hadn’t stopped glaring at the sky as if he were personally offended by it. Jisung assumed it made sense for Minho to hate the rain, and he tried not to tease him too much.

Not too much, anyway.

“Do you want to stay in the car?” Jisung asked, fully aware it was pointless. Minho gave him an unimpressed look before simply pulling his coat collar up and getting out of the car.

Jisung was still chuckling when he followed him out to greet the members of the photoshoot team and the Vivienne Westwood representatives already talking with Chan. For an abandoned house, the walls were still in good condition—they looked worn down, but there were no signs of mold. Artificial lighting rigs had been installed in the living room, where most of the photoshoot would take place. Outside, several caravans had been set up so Jisung could get his makeup done and change into the collaboration outfits. Some of the clothes were feminine, but Jisung had never minded that. He and Hyunjin were used to wearing long skirts on stage sometimes.

It was the first photoshoot Jisung had done since Minho started working for him, and if he was more nervous or restless, he did a better job of hiding it than he did his annoyance at the bad weather.

Jisung let out a small giggle as a hairstylist curled his hair, and in the mirror’s reflection, Minho caught his gaze.

What? Minho asked with his eyes, and Jisung’s smile widened in response. He almost shook his head to tell Minho there was nothing, but he knew better than to distract the people working on his appearance.

“Here’s coffee and pastries,” said a woman with a badge, opening the caravan door and holding a paper bag with several coffee cups, and balanced on her forearm, a large white box with the logo of a French bakery chain that had recently been imported into South Korea.

“Oh, thank you. I didn’t want to eat this morning but I’m starving,” Jisung said, but before he could even reach for the pastry box, Minho intercepted it. “Uh?”

“I’m just checking,” Minho said simply in response, and Jisung didn’t even have time to protest before the makeup artist asked him to close his eyes again so she could continue her work.

“I went and bought them myself,” said the assistant with a slight pout, and Jisung didn’t need to see Minho’s face to know he wasn’t impressed—and that it wouldn’t stop him from checking what was inside before Jisung could touch anything.

Jisung had never thought about having his food tested before eating out of his apartment. Minho only needed his sense of smell to know whether something was safe or not.

And apparently, the food was safe, because a few minutes later Jisung felt Minho’s familiar cold fingers brush his hand before a cup was placed into it. He smiled anyway, because he knew Minho had given him the sweetest or most over-the-top option, and when he took a sip through the straw he almost laughed out loud—he’d been right. Minho had given him a caramel macchiato.

“Thank you, hyung,” Jisung said after swallowing another sip of coffee, his head still tilted so the makeup artist could finish placing rhinestones around his eyes. He blinked his eyes open when he felt the brushes and hands move away from his face, and his gaze landed on Minho leaning toward him, a piece of croissant between his fingers.

“Open,” Minho said under his breath, and Jisung blinked, aware that the makeup on his face was the only thing stopping Minho from seeing how much he was blushing.

“I can eat on my own, you know,” Jisung replied, his voice no louder than Minho’s, and he wished he could guess his mood from his scent. He wished he could know what the shy smile on Minho’s lips smelled like despite the intensity in his eyes.

“Open your mouth, Sungie,” Minho repeated, and Jisung let out a breath before parting his lips. No one around them commented as Jisung let Minho feed him bite by bite from an almond croissant. 

Minho probably would have tried to feed him another pastry from the box if the makeup artist hadn’t politely told him she needed to do Jisung’s lips or they would end up behind schedule. Minho frowned, but he returned to his spot in the corner of the caravan without making a fuss.

.

.

It wasn’t Jisung’s first photoshoot without Hyunjin, but it was the first one that mattered this much to him. The one he had secretly hoped he would get to do one day. He knew, for ethical reasons and the brand’s philosophy, that Vivienne Westwood would never take on an ambassador to represent them, but he had still hoped he might work with them someday. The fact that he had been chosen for their special collaboration with Nana was proof that he had carefully exposed his obsession with the brand and the manga over the past few years.

The morning passed without any issues, and actually quite quickly, until a lunch break was announced. Jisung stretched his arms above his head before stepping away from the lights, his eyes searching for Minho. Minho, of course, wasn’t far, and he stepped out of the shadows to wrap a warm blanket around Jisung’s shoulders.

“You don’t like what I’m wearing?” Jisung asked with a teasing pout, and Minho pressed his lips together, looking almost embarrassed. He hadn’t stopped looking shy since Jisung had put on the second-to-last outfit scheduled for the morning: a red Lochcarron tartan corset over a white shirt, short white shorts that left a strip of skin visible between the fabric, and fishnet tights worn to highlight a modern interpretation of traditional Japanese sandals. A multitude of jewelry had been placed around his neck and fingers.

“I’m just worried you’re cold,” Minho replied softly, and Jisung had to admit that now, without the studio lights on him, he could feel the dampness of the outside air creeping in. He had never worn so little during a photoshoot, and even though he had no issue showing skin, especially his thighs, the weather really wasn’t suited for this kind of eccentricity.

“That’s not an answer,” Jisung continued, looking up at Minho through his lashes. Minho bit the inside of his cheek, then slid his fingers along Jisung’s arms over the soft fabric of the blanket until he could cup his face in his hands.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Minho replied, and Jisung was the one who felt shy now. He hadn’t expected Minho to be so serious in his answer, but maybe he should have. Minho had never shown even a hint of casualness with him.

“Hyuung,” Jisung protested, and he wished he could hide his face against Minho’s chest, but he didn’t want to risk getting glitter and makeup on his suit jacket.

Minho smiled before letting go of his face, sliding one hand to the small of Jisung’s back.

“Come on, let me find you something to eat.”

And Jisung let himself be guided willingly.

.

.

It wasn’t unusual for celebrities to receive gifts during events or photoshoots: flowers from the brand, pastries, chocolates, clothing, jewelry. They weren’t gifts from fans, but from professionals, so there was no reason for Chan or Minho to check them before Jisung received them.

“Hyung, can you take this to the car?” Jisung asked, handing Minho two large brand bags—there was starting to be too much stuff around him in the caravan, and the assistants hadn’t finished bringing everything in yet. “And the flowers too, please.”

“Jisung—” Minho began, a clear refusal already on the tip of his tongue, but Jisung cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Chan hyung is right outside the door. Nothing can happen to me.” He gave him a smile he hoped looked reassuring. “You won’t be gone long, and I promise I won’t get up from my chair until you’re back.”

Minho pressed his lips together, and although it was clear he wasn’t thrilled about leaving Jisung out of his sight, he nodded, took the two bags, and left the caravan.

It would only be two short minutes—nothing serious could happen in that time.

“Jisung-ssi, we also received this for you,” one of the assistants said, stepping back into the caravan just seconds after Minho had left. “I think it was a last-minute addition because it wasn’t on my list…”

Jisung took the box gracefully and placed it on his lap, tilting his head slightly. There was no brand or logo on it, but he trusted the assistants and Vivienne Westwood’s security team to vet whoever was allowed this close to the artists working with them.

“I wonder what it is…” he murmured, more to himself than to the curious assistant who seemed just as intrigued. The box was black, his name written on it in elegant white handwritten calligraphy. Jisung opened it, then frowned when he saw another box inside—a smaller metal one, wrapped with a pink ribbon.

“That’s… unusual,” the assistant commented, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear, and Jisung had to agree.

“Maybe it’s a new way of giving gifts,” he said with a small laugh, shrugging. “Something to stand out and get attention?”

“Jisung-ssi, we never give gifts from other brands during our events.”

The uncertain reply twisted Jisung’s stomach with anxiety, and his eyes drifted back to the metal box. Instinctively, he knew it wasn’t from anyone in his circle. He knew it the same way he knew he should wait for Minho before opening it—there could be anything inside. Something that could genuinely put him, and everyone in the caravan, in danger.

Jisung knew he should wait, but he couldn’t deny the morbid curiosity that always lingered at the back of his mind—that unhealthy need to know exactly what kind of danger he was facing. The need to see how far his stalker had gone. Not knowing almost felt just as unbearable as knowing.

The box wasn’t empty—when Jisung lifted it, he could feel something slightly heavy inside.

He took a breath, and despite knowing he should wait for Minho, he opened it.

The next thing he did, once he understood what was inside, was scream.

.

.

Chan’s voice was furious as he demanded explanations over the phone from one of Vivienne Westwood’s senior representatives. Jisung was too far away to understand what he was saying—and in any case, he was certain Chan’s English was too fast—but he followed the sharp gestures Chan made with his free hand from where he was sitting in the open trunk of Minho’s car. Jisung hadn’t sat in the trunk of a car since he was eight years old, but Minho had dragged him—carried him—here, before wrapping the same blanket back around his shoulders.

Minho had the expression of a summer storm on his face—dark, and threatening to break at any moment.

It hadn’t left him since Jisung had screamed after opening the box to find three dead squirrels with their necks broken, and Minho had suddenly appeared at his side.

“Hyung?” Jisung whispered softly, tearing his gaze away from Chan to look at Minho. Minho hadn’t looked at him once since checking he was okay, frantically dragging him out of the caravan and into the only safe, familiar space he knew: his car.

Minho didn’t answer, but Jisung could see the way his jaw tightened, his tail still swaying side to side in a clearly irritated rhythm. Jisung’s mother had always told him to not bother cats when they showed signs like that. And maybe he should stay quiet, really. Wait until they were back home. But Jisung felt like he was about to cry. Partly because he felt guilty, and partly because he was scared Minho might be angry at him. And he would deserve it. Minho’s anger was the only thing he deserved, after willingly ignoring his instincts just to satisfy his curiosity. Minho worked hard to keep him safe from the twisted games of his stalker, but it all meant nothing if Jisung didn’t help at least a little.

“Hyung,” Jisung tried again, his voice breaking into a small, trembling whimper.

“Not now, Jisung,” Minho said at last, his voice soft but firm.

Jisung’s mouth snapped shut with a quiet click of his teeth, and he lowered his gaze back to his feet, which barely touched the ground.

“They don’t know how something like this could have happened,” Chan’s voice said as he came closer again, stuffing his phone back into his pocket in frustration.

“That’s because we moved Jisung away,” Minho replied, his back rigid, as if ready to spring at anything. “If his stalker can get this close, he can just as easily infiltrate the agency.”

Chan’s expression made it clear he had already thought about it, and Jisung couldn’t help but shiver, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

“I’ll restrict access to certain floors of the agency,” Chan continued out loud, though he didn’t sound entirely satisfied with the measures he could take. “And ask security to vet new employees.”

“Hm,” Minho hummed, also not looking convinced, while knowing it was all they could really do—there wasn’t much else Chan could change. “I’ll take Jisung home.”

Home.

“Sungie, it’s going to be okay. You’re safe with Minho,” Chan said then, placing a hand on top of Jisung’s head. Jisung took a slow, long breath before nodding.

“I know,” he replied, because it was true. He knew he was safe with Minho. He was always safe with Minho—except when he did something stupid and irresponsible.

“Let’s go, Jisung,” Minho said as he walked around the car, and even though his voice was still gentle, it was an order.

An order Jisung followed immediately, and only when he closed the passenger door did he realize tears were already running down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a shaky sigh. “Please, hyung, don’t be angry. It’s all my fault, I—”

“I’m not angry at you, Jisung,” Minho replied, starting the engine and keeping his eyes fixed on the road. “I’m angry at myself. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I failed my duty.”

“I was safe, you didn’t know what was going to happen,” Jisung protested, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “But I did. I understood it when I saw the box, but I still opened it. It’s my fault, not yours.”

“Don’t try to put my irresponsibility on your shoulders, Jisung,” Minho said, and Jisung was certain that if he had also been a hybrid, he would have been able to smell the way his scent changed. Both of their scents. Minho’s white flowers might have started to smell like rotting petals; Jisung’s fig like overripe fruit, seconds away from being infested.

Maybe Minho found the air barely breathable. But it was raining, and he couldn’t open the windows.

“But it wasn’t your fault, hyung,” Jisung insisted weakly, because it was important that Minho knew. That Minho didn’t spend hours or days blaming himself for something that wasn’t his fault. “It’s mine. Hyung, I’m—”

“Jisung, please,” Minho cut him off with a sigh, though his jaw was still tight.

Jisung pressed his lips together, shrank into his shoulders, and stayed silent for the rest of the ride.

.

.

Jisung had thought Minho would relax once he closed the door of their apartment.

He didn’t.

When Jisung stepped out of the shower, Minho was in the kitchen, making dinner, his tail twitching with nervous tension.

Jisung knew—because Minho had told him—that cooking helped him calm down. Something about keeping his hands busy. Jisung could understand that.

But it worried him to see that this time, it didn’t seem to be enough to ease the tight line of Minho’s shoulders.

“Would scenting me help you feel better?” Jisung asked, pretending the flush on his cheeks was just still from the hot steam drifting out of the shower.

Minho seemed to freeze, letting go of the metal chopsticks he was using with one hand to scramble the eggs.

“What?” he asked, turning his head over his shoulder, and Jisung had to force himself to not swallow his words and bolt for his room, disappearing entirely.

Would running trigger Minho’s hunter instincts? Would he chase after him even within the supposed safety of their apartment?

“When Hyunnie gets stressed, sometimes he likes to shift and sleep in the pocket of my hoodie. Would scenting me help…?”

Minho opened his mouth, maybe to refuse, before snapping it shut again with a click of teeth and giving a small nod.

Jisung tried to keep control of his physical reactions—it wouldn’t help if Minho could smell just how anxious he was. Minho seemed to need him, and Jisung didn’t know if a situation like this would happen again anytime soon.

He took a breath and gestured for Minho to come closer.

“Where do you want me, hyung?” he asked, and it was only when Minho blinked that Jisung realized what he had just said. What he had just asked. “I mean—” he stammered, his heart leaping in his chest, and he could no longer rely on the hot water to explain the burn spreading across his cheeks.

Minho didn’t answer. He took a slow breath before stepping out of the kitchen, crossing the living room, and sitting down on the couch. Jisung followed every one of his movements with his eyes, and he almost let out a squeak when Minho patted his thighs.

Oh my God.

And Jisung knew Minho’s thighs were strong—thick and muscular—and it definitely wasn’t the first time he’d hoped he might get to sit on them. The way Minho leaned back against the couch, legs spread, did absolutely nothing to calm Jisung’s imagination. Or his heartbeat.

Well, he supposed he didn’t have to worry anymore about Minho smelling stress, anxiety, or fear.

His fingers trembled a little as he braced himself on Minho’s shoulders to keep his balance before lowering himself to sit on his lap.

“Like this…?” he asked, his voice trailing off into a tremor when Minho’s fingers wrapped around his waist.

“Closer,” Minho replied, his voice just as low as Jisung’s had been, and Jisung swallowed before shifting his body nearer to him.

“Mm.” Minho let out a soft purr, tightening his arms around Jisung’s waist. “Bare your neck.”

Jisung blinked quickly, and he wasn’t a prey, yet he felt like one. Terribly aware that Minho had canines sharp enough to tear out his jugular if he wanted to. And yet, he wasn’t afraid.

Jisung had never been afraid of Minho, and he doubted he ever would be.

So he tilted his head to the side, and the t-shirt he was wearing hung loose enough to expose the skin of his neck and shoulder. Minho took a slow breath, the purr in his throat low and satisfied before he buried his face against Jisung.

Jisung tensed for a fraction of a second before melting into him. He wrapped his arms around Minho’s neck, keeping him close, and closed his eyes. He could feel Minho’s purr against his chest and hear it by his ear; he could feel Minho’s body gradually losing all tension as he breathed in Jisung’s scent.

And Jisung had thought Minho would just be content with breathing him in like Hyunjin did; that’s why he let out a small startled whine when he felt Minho’s cold nose brush against his skin.

“Shh, bug,” Minho murmured. “I've got you, you're safe with me.”

“I’m safe with you,” Jisung replied with a soft breath, trying to sink even closer into him. He was safe here. Right where Minho could keep him.

Minho’s purring grew a little louder as he pressed his cold nose more firmly against Jisung’s neck. He stayed there for a few breaths before Jisung felt lips replace his nose. Jisung grabbed the fabric of Minho’s shirt, but he didn’t try to resist—he let Minho press open-mouthed kisses against his skin before dragging his tongue over it.

Minho’s tongue was rougher than a human’s; it was the tongue of a feline.

“Oh my God.” Jisung sighed, letting out a moan he wasn't yet ashamed of. “Minho hyung.”

“You smell so good, Sungie. It’s a shame you can’t tell how sweet your scent is.” Minho punctuated his words by gently nipping at Jisung’s skin, and Jisung found himself only mildly disappointed when he realized he hadn’t used his sharpest teeth. “How good we smell together.”

“What do we smell like?” Jisung asked, barely noticing the slight tremor in his voice.

“Like a very sweet tea,” Minho murmured, a smile threading through his voice. “Like a candy that doesn’t exist yet.”

Jisung drew in a slow breath, as if Minho’s words alone could rewrite his DNA, making his nose suddenly sharp enough to catch what had just been described—it didn’t.

Jisung was doomed to smell nothing but the laundry detergent they used to wash their clothes.

“Does it bother you that I can’t smell it?” Jisung asked, because of course he was bound to ask that question sooner or later. He had never felt like he was missing something when he was around Hyunjin, but with Minho? The idea of not being able to fully understand him, of missing everything his hybrid nature implied, suddenly made him nervous.

Because it was something that—even if Jisung learned through books or by listening to Hyunjin talk—he would never truly be able to grasp completely.

Because he was human, and he would never be a hybrid.

Minho lifted his head to look at him, his pupils blown wide, his irises reduced to thin rings only slightly lighter than the rest.

Anyone other than Jisung might have been afraid. Jisung, instead, raised one hand, letting his fingers get lost in strands of blonde and brown before brushing the base of one of Minho’s ears. The fur beneath his touch was soft and warm, and it gave a small twitch when Jisung’s thumb grazed over it.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Minho replied, and Jisung had almost forgotten he’d even asked. “I wish you could smell my scent on you, and yours on me… but it doesn’t bother me.”

“Do I smell like you?” Jisung asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as something warm spread from his chest through every vein in his body.

“Hm,” Minho confirmed, lowering his head again to rub his cheek against Jisung’s shoulder, like a cat marking its territory.

“You’re so cute,” Jisung breathed out, and he had a perfect view of the way Minho’s neck flushed red. “So, so cute, hyung. Adorable, even.”

Jisung felt the rumble of Minho’s growl against him and jolted only a few centimeters when he felt Minho’s teeth sink into his neck in a gentle reprimand.

“Hey!”

“Is that how you speak to your elders?”

Minho’s tone was slightly condescending—like he was one step away from questioning Jisung’s entire upbringing—and Jisung had a hard time keeping his hips still.

“I’m always polite,” Jisung replied with a pout. “Aren’t I the easiest client you’ve ever had?”

Minho rolled his eyes before cupping Jisung’s face in his hands. Jisung was used to Minho’s fingers being cold, but this time, they were warm.

“Of course you are,” he said, and neither of them mentioned that before him, Minho had only ever protected one other person. “My good boy.”

Even if Jisung had tried to stop it, he wouldn’t have been able to hold back the sound that slipped from his lips in time. My good boy.

Minho had never called him that before, and Jisung didn’t know if he said it because he meant it or because he knew Jisung had a praise kink—that he was starved for compliments, especially when they came from Minho.

Greedy little thing, Hyunjin would have said, pressing his index finger into one of Jisung’s cheeks. Thankfully, Hyunjin wasn’t there to witness this.

“Hyung,” Jisung breathed, the sound caught somewhere between an exhale and a soft whine. And Minho, instead of stopping to question the lines they were crossing, just smiled.

“You can pick a movie to watch while I finish making dinner,” he said, and it was absolutely not what Jisung had expected—to be honest, he had forgotten about everything that wasn’t Minho and every point of contact between their bodies.

“Aw, don’t pout, Hannie,” Minho added, his smile widening as he pressed Jisung’s cheeks a little harder between his palms.

Jisung sighed and pushed Minho’s hands away from his face before rolling off him onto the couch.

“Go on, abandon me,” he said with a sigh, burying his face into the cushions.

Minho just let out a soft chuckle, and Jisung felt his fingers brush through his hair in one last touch before he pulled away.

.

.

“Do you want me to sleep next to you?” Jisung asked as they dried the dishes they had just washed. Minho had been careful to not show his worry as the movie neared its end, but Jisung knew him a little too well now.

“What for?” Minho asked, frowning, and Jisung took a slow breath—cats could be stubborn sometimes.

“Oh, for nothing. Just like that,” he replied, lifting his brows and making sure to keep his tone casual. If he showed concern for Minho, he felt like it would only work against him; Minho didn’t seem like the kind of person who asked others for help, especially when he was technically in Jisung’s service. He would say something stupid like I’m here to take care of you, not the other way around.

From the corner of his eye, Jisung saw Minho press his lips together, but he didn’t ask any more questions. And Jisung mentally rolled his eyes, because it was obvious Minho wouldn’t be able to sleep without him nearby—Jisung could be naive sometimes, but not enough to miss the connection between what had happened that day and the way Minho struggled to let him out of his sight.

But if Minho had decided to be stubborn about it, there wasn’t much Jisung could do to help; ordering him to just sleep next to him wasn’t a solution Jisung wanted to use just yet. Though maybe later.

So after wishing Minho good night, he simply went to bed in his own room, closing the door behind him. 

.

.

When Jisung woke up the next morning, he tried to not feel disappointed when he realized that, contrary to what he had expected, Minho hadn’t slipped into his bed during the night. He closed his eyes again and took a slow breath—apparently, he had underestimated just how stubborn Minho could be for a feline—before forcing himself to get out of bed.

He probably didn’t sleep at all, Jisung thought as he fumbled in the dark to find a hoodie to pull over his head and face the chill of the apartment. If he has dark circles, I’ll make him sleep with me tonight. Jisung shook out his hair before lowering the handle of his bedroom door. Or I could text Chan hyung and tell him I’m too traumatized to go to work and leave my bed. For once I have an excuse to not—

“Oof.” Jisung let out a surprised breath as he stumbled over a dark shape in the hallway just outside his door. And before fear could fully take hold of him, the shape moved, and two bright eyes met his. “...Hyung?”

The shape stretched before rising onto four legs and—oh. Jisung had never seen Minho in his snow leopard form before. He had watched documentaries, of course, but nothing could have prepared him for the real size of Minho standing in front of him.

As if to confirm his question, the leopard let out a sound that resembled a purr before pressing his head against Jisung’s chest. Jisung let out his breath and buried one of his hands into Minho’s white fur—thicker than a house cat’s, but just as soft.

“Did you sleep outside my door, hyung?” Jisung asked, sliding his fingers up to one of Minho’s ears, massaging it between his thumb and index finger. A low rumbling sound answered him, and Jisung took that as confirmation. “Next time, just come sleep with me. Don’t stay in the hallway all night,” he continued, pinching Minho’s ear a little more firmly in a gentle reprimand before stepping around him to open the living room windows and let in the natural light.

Minho followed in his footsteps like an especially obedient house cat. A small, amused smile appeared on Jisung’s lips, and now that this part of the apartment was bathed in the soft glow of early winter sunlight, he could take in Minho’s animal form more clearly.

He crouched down and sat on the floor, reaching his hands out toward Minho again.

“You’re so pretty, hyung. Come here,” he murmured, and Minho blinked slowly—large, bright eyes, lighter than his human ones—before closing the distance between them and settling his body into Jisung’s lap. Jisung let out a fake protesting sound at the sudden weight on his legs, but he didn’t push Minho away or try to move. He was far too happy to finally see Minho in his animal form and run his hands through his fur to complain properly.

And Jisung had never had a cat in his life, but as they spent the next half hour with Minho’s purring encouraging the movement of his hands, he understood why that sound was used in certain therapies.

.

.

Minho didn’t question him when Jisung didn’t ask for a day off, but Chan still sent him a flood of messages, reassuring him that he could rest if he wanted, that Phoenix’s new album was still in early development and there were no deadlines to meet. Jisung was grateful to work in such a supportive environment, but he wasn’t going to reorganize his life around someone obsessed with him. He had already given up the comfort of his apartment; he wasn’t about to change his work routine too.

And besides, he had an anxious best friend to reassure.

“Sungie, oh my God,” Hyunjin said in a breath the moment the elevator doors opened. The next second, before Minho even had time to step out first, Jisung found himself pulled into his best friend’s arms. “Are you okay? Chan hyung told me what happened yesterday. Are you alright? I wanted to call you but hyung told me to wait a bit.”

Jisung took a slow breath before letting his body melt into the familiar warmth of Hyunjin.

“I’m fine, Hyunnie.” And it was the truth, for once. Not something he said just to reassure the people around him. He was fine. He had been shocked, yes, and it was stressful to know that someone could go that far just to reach him, but he was okay.

Hyunjin pressed his nose into his hair for five more heartbeats before letting go and stepping back, pulling his new favorite coffee brand’s plastic cup with its holder against his chest. Hyunjin had never been the type to have a favorite coffee place, but ever since Lee Felix—model, Korean-Australian, face scattered with a constellation of freckles and a pair of white wings on his back—had signed a partnership with them, Jisung had never seen him go anywhere else.

Jisung was still planning to tease him about it in a few months, reminding him that if he wanted a model’s number, as a rockstar, it could definitely be arranged.

“Okay,” Hyunjin said with a breath, and Jisung looked like he hadn't had a much better night than him: his eyes weren’t made up, his hair was messier than usual, and the outfit he was wearing, while still giving him the aura of someone stepping out of an afternoon with Donatella Versace, was a nice mix of nervousness and anxiety.

“I promise, I’m fine,” Jisung said with a small smile, cupping Hyunjin’s face in his hands and rising onto his tiptoes to kiss his forehead. And if he had been a hybrid, he would have known how to convince Hyunjin through his scent that he was truly okay. “I’ve got Minho hyung to protect me. I’ve got nothing to fear.”

And as if Hyunjin had suddenly remembered Minho existed, he blinked slowly and tilted his head to look past Jisung’s shoulder. He blinked again, and before Jisung could add anything, Hyunjin leaned in and pressed his nose into Jisung’s hair once more—but this time it was different. It wasn’t just Hyunjin seeking comfort in his scent; he was looking for something.

Curious, Jisung let him without protest, and it was only when Minho let out a low growl that Hyunjin pulled back again, a faint amused smile on his lips.

“Is there something weird about my scent?” Jisung asked, bringing his wrist up to his nose in a futile attempt to check for himself.

“Nope, you still smell great,” Hyunjin replied, and all the worry in his eyes had melted into something mischievous that Jisung had learned to be wary of. “You just smell a little more like flowers than fruit today.”

.

.

Neither Jisung nor Minho addressed Hyunjin’s remark, but Jisung let it follow him through the rest of his day.

You just smell a little more like flowers than fruit, today, while he sat in a meeting room, supposedly listening to the debrief about yesterday’s incident with Vivienne Westwood’s security team and his agency’s press department.

You just smell a little more like flowers than fruit, today, while he was eating with Hyunjin and Minho.

You just smell a little more like flowers than fruit, today, while his fingers spun a pen between them as he thought about the structure of a new song. A love song, about a cabin in a misty forest lit by a yellow torch.

You just smell a little more like flowers than fruit, today, while Minho’s eyes stayed fixed on the movie they had decided to watch that night, and Jisung couldn’t bring himself to stop watching his profile.

And in the privacy of his mind, Jisung allowed himself to wonder.

.

.

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves

Or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight

Jisung hummed over the lyrics he had just written down, sitting cross-legged on the couch, his favorite notebook resting on one of his knees. He hummed the tune that had been haunting him for the past few days—a melody that didn’t fit the mood of the album he and Hyunjin had decided on, but Jisung couldn’t help it. And yet, he had never been the kind to write soft, upbeat pop songs—until Minho.

“Your back is going to hurt if you stay like that.” Minho’s voice said softly, interrupting Jisung’s train of thought.

“Hm?” he asked, blinking, and a smile formed on his lips when Minho placed a hand at the back of his neck.

“Straighten your back when you write, don’t stay hunched over.” Minho repeated, pressing gently on Jisung’s neck.

Jisung let out a small chuckle and closed his notebook before straightening himself against the couch cushions.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked next, his eyes following Minho as he walked around the couch to sit beside Jisung. He set a cup of lemon green tea on the coffee table and Jisung thanked him by pressing his foot against his thigh.

“Since when do you ask for my permission?” Minho replied with an amused smile on his lips, wrapping his hand around Jisung’s ankle when he pushed his toes a little further into Minho’s thigh.

“Because it’s a sensitive topic, I think, and you have the right to not want to answer me.”

“My, my, what should I expect?” Minho asked, and there was amusement in his eyes ; Jisung almost felt sorry for risking making all the relaxed lines of his body disappear, but he needed to know.

“Why did you leave your last job?”

And he had made a point of asking in a soft voice, keeping his expression as relaxed as possible so Minho wouldn’t think he was asking because he had doubts about his job or his ability to keep him safe. Still, something passed through Minho’s eyes—too quickly for Jisung to identify—but he suddenly looked like a kitten that had been struck.
Jisung immediately hated himself for it.

“It’s nothing serious.” Minho finally replied after a short pause. “It’s… Ah. There’s a reason why feline hybrids are so good at protecting someone, but also why so few of us choose to take on this profession.” He paused again, seeming to hesitate on how to continue. “I got too… attached to the last person I was assigned to protect, and it became complicated. Especially when their family started looking a spouse for her.”

Jisung blinked slowly, and something heavy and unpleasant settled at the bottom of his stomach.

“Did…” Jisung started, biting the inside of his cheek to give himself courage he wasn’t sure he had. “Were you in love with her?”

Minho turned his head so fast in his direction that his neck cracked.

“What?” And his expression was so shocked that Jisung felt the burn of his embarrassment explode across his face.

“You said it became complicated for her family to find her a husband.” Jisung tried to justify himself, stuttering only at the beginning of his sentence.

“I’m talking about instinct, Sungie. I wasn’t in love with her, but I had spent several years preventing anyone from getting close to her, so suddenly leaving her in the company of strangers became complicated.” Minho explained quickly, his eyes still wide as if he was still shocked that Jisung could confuse instinct and feelings.

Except, of course Jisung would confuse the two: he wasn’t a hybrid, the instinctive part of people was so deeply buried by centuries of social codes that Jisung didn’t even think he was equipped with survival instincts. It was normal for him to think that the way someone protected another person to that extent was affection, not devotion.

Maybe Minho’s former client used to sit on his lap too when he was nervous. Maybe she had already found him asleep in his leopard form in front of her door because he wanted to make sure nothing could get into her room while she slept.

Maybe she had seen sides of Minho that Jisung couldn’t even begin to imagine yet, because she had known him longer than he had.

Jisung didn’t even have time to let jealousy take root in his heart when another realization came to him with a clarity that almost made him laugh: Minho was acting on instinct with him, too. The way Minho behaved around him was only driven by instinct and his need to keep Jisung safe—it had nothing to do with any possible feelings Jisung had imagined seeing, or hoped to see.

It was nothing, there was nothing. Only obligations and Jisung’s own disillusioned fantasies.

“Oh.” Jisung finally let out, lowering his eyes to the floor, and he wondered if Minho could hear his heart aching in his chest ; if Minho could tell why his scent had probably changed so suddenly.

“Hannie?” Minho asked, his eyes still curved in confusion, head tilted to the side.

He was so beautiful that sometimes Jisung struggled to breathe. It had been a mistake to hire him. Jisung had wanted someone he could be friends with, not someone he could fall in love with.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?” Minho asked, reaching out one hand to brush Jisung’s cheek with his knuckles. And Jisung’s reaction wasn’t fair. He didn’t have the right to shut Minho out like that. Minho hadn’t done anything wrong ; Jisung was the only one at fault.

So he took a slow breath and leaned his cheek into Minho’s fingers, eyes closed.

“Sorry, yeah I’m fine.”

“You smell like sadness.” Minho murmured, and Jisung had never been a good liar, but he was a public figure. Managing to lie during interviews had sometimes become a necessity. The key was to distort reality just enough to avoid saying what he truly thought.

“Sorry, I’m just sad for you,” he replied, deliberately moving closer until he could press his forehead against Minho’s arm. “It must not have been easy to leave your previous job with your instincts.”

Jisung couldn’t see Minho’s face and therefore his reaction, but he felt the moment his body shifted to accommodate him more comfortably—Minho wrapping both arms around Jisung to pull him almost onto his lap.

“It’s okay,” Minho replied against Jisung’s hair, a purr in his voice. “I’m satisfied with my current situation.”

Despite himself, Jisung let a smile form on his face and buried his face a little deeper against Minho’s shoulder.

“Oh? You’re happy being stuck with me in a rich people love hotel with the threat of a crazy person obsessed with me?”

Minho’s chest moved with a quiet chuckle.

“I would be even more satisfied the day your stalker is no longer a threat, but yes, I am happy,” he replied, and Jisung couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t said anything about it being because of their obligation to share a space.

.

.

Jisung didn’t realize that developing unreciprocated feelings for his bodyguard was a bad idea until he realized he couldn’t be alone without Minho to talk about it with Hyunjin.

In theory, Jisung could ask Minho to stay outside the door of a recording studio if he needed to, but that sounded a little… Jisung didn’t think he would feel comfortable enough to say everything on his mind knowing that the main reason for his complaints was just a few meters away, behind the door, standing guard.

He could always just send Hyunjin a text or call him safely from his bedroom, but even then, Jisung wanted to complain and cry while eating a cake they weren’t supposed to have. And then, in return, he would hear Hyunjin complain about his swan hybrid model boyfriend who didn’t even know he existed, and maybe they would even open a bottle of wine they had brought back from their last trip to France.

Jisung could probably have Chan give Minho the evening off—maybe Minho would take the opportunity to go back to his old apartment and see his own friends—but he wasn’t sure Minho would actually be happy with that opportunity.

Jisung wasn’t really sure he was actually happy knowing Minho was far from him. He had gotten used to the feeling of safety Minho gave him—to the certainty that nothing could ever happen to him as long as Minho was there.

What kind of situation have I gotten myself into again, Jisung thought with a silent laugh as he wiped his face with his towel after stepping out of the shower. Hyunjin would probably roll his eyes at that question, saying Jisung was an expert at getting himself into overly complicated situations. And for once, Jisung wouldn’t be able to argue: it was true.

Jisung sighed, shook his head, then brushed his teeth and put on what currently counted as his pajamas: oversized grey sweatpants and a Sailor Moon t-shirt Hyunjin had given him when they were 19. Jisung hadn’t really filled out since then. Not in a way that stopped him from still wearing his teenage clothes, at least.

Minho was in his room when Jisung came out—he had left the door open and Jisung could see him lying on the bed. Relaxed and comfortable under the blanket, eyes fixed on his phone. Jisung’s heart wasn’t big enough to contain the flood of emotions that overwhelmed him, and yet it seemed to swell in his chest just enough to make room for it.

He didn’t think he had made any sound in response to the overflow happening inside his body, but that was without counting Minho’s feline ears. When their eyes met, Jisung didn’t know what expression Minho could read on his face, but he lifted the blanket in a silent invitation.

Jisung’s feet carried him to Minho’s bed before he could decide whether it was a good idea or not. But even if he had decided it was better to refuse, he would have accepted anyway. Masochist that he was.

He pressed one knee against the mattress and Minho immediately pulled him down into the bed.

“Oof.” Jisung let out in a breath as he lost his balance and fell against Minho on the bed. Minho didn’t waste a second pulling the blanket over them before wrapping himself around Jisung. “You’re acting like a cat that needs attention.” Jisung said then, a soft amusement in his voice, one of his hands finding its way into Minho’s hair.

And they were far too familiar with this situation for something they had never done before. But everything in the way he let Minho curl up against his chest, their legs tangled together, felt natural. Right. This was the kind of domestic routine Jisung could get used to far too easily—only to end up like a lost child in a world too vast once it would all be taken away from him.

Jisung hadn’t yet thought about what he would do when Minho would leave him.

“You’re smelling like sadness again.” Minho murmured softly, his nose brushing the spot between Jisung’s ear and the birth of his jaw.

“Sorry, it happens sometimes.” Jisung replied, a half-truth, because the sadness he felt wasn’t tied to the bouts of melancholic depression that seized him when he least expected it.

“What can I do?” Minho asked, and Jisung blinked to keep himself from crying.

Stay, he wanted to say. Don’t leave me, not even when your work here is done.

Jisung swallowed the treacherous words that tried to slip past the barrier of his lips and said instead:

“There’s nothing to do. It’ll pass.”

Minho stayed silent after that, and all Jisung could hear were the furious beats of his heart in his temples. And then, he felt Minho’s lips press against his neck.

“Let me scent-mark you.” he breathed, and Jisung didn’t have the heart to tell him no. He didn’t have the energy either to remind Minho that he couldn’t smell the pheromones he would leave on his skin. And most of all, he didn’t have the will to refuse having Minho this close to him one more time. 

“Yeah, okay.” Jisung answered, tilting his head to the side to bare his neck and offer it to Minho’s gaze and lips.

Minho moved, pushing himself up onto one elbow so he could lean over Jisung. He slowly threaded his fingers through Jisung’s hair before lowering his face to press an open-mouthed kiss against his skin. Jisung took in a short, sharp breath—a physical manifestation of his surprise—and he hadn’t even noticed his back had arched against the bed until Minho pinned him down by pressing one of his hands flat against his stomach.

Jisung wondered if he could manage to discreetly push up the t-shirt he was wearing so he could feel Minho’s nails dig into the soft, fragile skin of his belly.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby.” Minho said in a low purr and baby. Baby, baby, baby, baby. “I’ve got you.” he continued before rubbing his cheek against Jisung’s neck with a frenzy that betrayed his desperation to erase the sad scent clinging to his skin.

Jisung knew, for a fact, that a human couldn’t be influenced by a hybrid's pheromones. So he couldn’t explain the way his body gradually relaxed other than because Minho’s hands were on him. He closed his eyes and, in the space Minho had created for him between his arms, Jisung forgot everything.

He forgot his stalker, he forgot his career, he forgot he was supposed to have his heart torn apart over feelings that would never be returned.

“That’s it, baby, stop being sad.” Minho said in a sigh so low Jisung was almost convinced it was part of the dream he was starting to fall into. “Let me take care of you. Only hyung can take care of you.”

Jisung let out a small whine when he felt Minho suck at the skin just behind his ear and the next second, he was asleep.

.

.

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves

Or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss

How I long for our trysts 

.

.

Hyunjin and Jisung hadn’t taken a flight since they came back from the United States at the end of their tour, almost a month ago now. And Jisung hadn’t expected to have to pack his bags again so soon because he had forgotten about the commitments their agency had made for Phoenix with the end-of-year ceremonies.

It wasn’t very professional—and Jisung should probably focus a little more on the categories and awards he and Hyunjin were nominated in—but he had never really been the type to care about what people might say about his music.

There were screams and camera flashes when Jisung stepped out of the van after Hyunjin. Behind the fake Gentle Monster prescription glasses Jisung had decided to wear today, he found himself unconsciously searching for Minho before even focusing on the photographers and the fans who were there for them.

Minho wasn’t far—standing next to Changbin, who was there with his arms crossed, puffed up against his chest. Usually, Changbin would always lead the way behind the airport security staff, Jisung right behind him and Hyunjin bringing up the rear. With Minho’s new presence, they had one more person to act as a barrier between them and the crowd.

(“Stay close to me.” Minho had told him, his fingers holding onto Jisung by the strap of his bag. Jisung had received a message from Changbin a few minutes earlier to let them know the van that would take them to the airport was about to arrive in their building’s parking lot. “Changbin’s with Hyunjin, so stay with me, okay?”

Eyes locked with Minho’s, Jisung had only been able to nod. He hadn’t planned on straying from Minho anyway—he didn’t know if Minho had ever experienced something as hectic as navigating an airport alongside celebrities, but Jisung didn’t want to risk making him unnecessarily nervous.

“Of course, hyung.” he had promised with a smile.)

And Jisung kept his promise. After he and Hyunjin had posed long enough for the photographers who were there, he stayed close to Minho. And it wasn’t difficult: people were naturally afraid of predators. So it wasn’t surprising that a safety bubble instinctively formed around them in the crowd. That, and the fact that Minho wore a severe, authoritative expression on his face—an expression Jisung was seeing for the first time but whose existence he had been able to guess from the moment they met. Minho was intimidating when he didn’t look like a house cat asking to be scratched behind the ears.

It was only when Jisung found himself seated on the plane, next to Minho, that he realized it had been a long time since he had felt this little anxiety and nervousness in an airport.

“Are you okay?” Minho asked, sensing Jisung’s gaze on him.

“Hm hm.” Jisung hummed, his head resting against his seat. “But you look nervous.” he continued, his eyes studying the way Minho tapped his knee with his index finger and the general way he just seemed more restless than usual. His tail curling and uncurling in a nervous tic, his ears twitching at every sound around them.

“I’m not.” was the instinctive answer Minho gave him before sighing when Jisung raised an unconvinced eyebrow. “I have acrophobia.” A pause. “And apparently, that includes planes too.”

Jisung blinked before something in him just melted.

“It’s going to be okay.” he promised softly, knowing it probably didn’t help much. “Do you want me to hold your hand during takeoff?” he then offered, and Minho turned his head sharply back toward Jisung. He blinked several times and Jisung’s gaze dropped to the way Minho was worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“Please.” Minho finally answered softly in a whisper, as if it cost him something to admit he needed help.

It was perfectly ridiculous, of course.

It’s just me, Jisung wanted to tell him. You don’t have anything to be afraid of me, hyung. Instead, he offered Minho a reassuring smile before reaching out to take Minho’s hand.

Minho looked at their joined hands, the way his was bigger than Jisung’s, the way Jisung had thinner, longer fingers. Musician’s fingers.

Minho intertwined their fingers, his thumb moving in a soft back-and-forth motion along Jisung’s index finger, and when he lifted his gaze again, there was a silent question in his eyes. And if Jisung hadn’t known for sure that the plane hadn’t taken off yet, he could have sworn the feeling of his heart dropping into his stomach was because of that.

“Is it okay?” Minho asked in a breath that was only for Jisung, and Jisung nodded a little too eagerly.

“It’s okay.” he replied, and he couldn’t help but bring their joined hands down onto his lap, as if he were suddenly the one who needed to be reassured. Minho let him do it, a smile on his lips and at the corners of his eyes.

Jisung didn’t let go of Minho’s hand when the plane took off, and for the one hour and forty minutes that the flight lasted.

.

.

Minho’s brows were furrowed as he stared at the phone in his hands—Jisung’s phone, which Minho only gave back when he received messages from people saved in his contacts. It hardly happened anymore since Jisung’s close ones had saved Minho’s number to talk to him instead.

“Is it my stalker again?” Jisung asked, since he was alone in the car taking them to the hotel—Hyunjin and Changbin in the vehicle right behind them—and he didn’t think the driver spoke Korean.

“Sungie, you shouldn’t worry about that.” Minho said with a sigh, and Jisung rolled his eyes.

“It’s a bit complicated when you’re murdering my phone with your eyes like that.” A pause, and Jisung pressed his knee against Minho’s. “You know I don’t like being left in the dark. Just tell me what’s going on, hyung.”

Minho hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek before locking Jisung’s phone and sliding it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

“They were at the airport to watch you leave.” Minho finally said, and Jisung’s breath caught in his chest—that wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting. But maybe he should have been prepared for it, in the end. That person had sent him a dead animal; following him to a public place wasn’t something that would scare them off. “I don’t know if they took a flight to China as well, but I’d rather we stay careful anyway. Which means no sightseeing with Hyunjin, I’m sorry.”

“Ah.” Jisung let out, feeling disappointment and frustration replace his fear, but he understood why these measures were necessary. “Don’t worry, hyung, I’ll stay with you nicely at the hotel.” A pause. “I’m sure we’ll find something to do to keep ourselves busy.”

Minho blinked at him, and he didn’t even need to comment—Jisung’s mind did it for him.

“That’s not—” Jisung stammered, a poppy field of red exploding across his cheeks. “I didn’t mean—”

“No?” Minho asked, his eyes like those of a predator who liked to play a little with its food before eating it—a lazy kind of mischief that immediately twisted itself around Jisung’s insides.

“N-no.” Jisung confirmed, shaking his head in a nervous, frantic motion. “Please stop looking at me like that or I’m going to jump out of the moving car.”

Minho’s smile widened, and his fingers dug into Jisung’s thigh as if he were genuinely afraid Jisung might panic and open the door to escape.

“You’re so cute,” Minho said in a purr that wasn’t sorry at all, and Jisung let out a small, animal-like squeak. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

Keep me, Jisung thought automatically.

Luckily, he didn’t get the chance to embarrass himself again—the taxi had just arrived at the hotel.

.

.

When Jisung realized he wasn’t going to share a hotel suite with Minho, his heart tightened in his chest and he felt his cheeks heat up again in embarrassment. He and Hyunjin always shared their space when they were on the road, and naively, Jisung had thought it would be different this time.

Jisung didn’t know whether he should feel relieved or anxious.

In the elevator, he met Minho’s gaze, and there was something strange on his face—almost distant—and his heart tightened a little more.

“Don’t make that face, hyung, it almost looks like you don’t want to stay with me.” Changbin said lightly, gently bumping Minho with his shoulder as they headed toward the two suites facing each other down the hallway. “I promise I don’t snore.”

“Even if you do snore, I can smother you in your sleep with a pillow.” Minho replied, forcing his tone to sound normal, but Jisung could read the tension in his jaw and the line of his shoulders.

Hyunjin let out a giggle, his arm looped through Jisung’s.

“Have fun, don’t cause too much trouble!” he called out to the two bodyguards before opening the door to their own suite and pushing Jisung inside. Jisung barely had time to exchange one last glance with Minho before the door closed.

Hyunjin turned around, leaning back against the door, and in his eyes there was a bright glimmer full of mischief that Jisung had learned to fear—and that always triggered a defensive reflex in him.

“Jisungie.” Hyunjin said in a purr that ferrets weren’t capable of producing. “I think you and I need to talk.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Jisung asked, spinning on his heel as if to casually explore the suite: a large bay window, Western-style interior, a sofa with a TV, and two open doors leading to bedrooms.

“About Minho hyung.” Hyunjin replied, dropping onto the sofa after kicking off his shoes. “What’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing at all.” Jisung said too quickly, but it wasn’t a lie. Technically speaking, nothing was going on between them.

“Okay then, tell me what’s going on in your head.” Hyunjin continued, undeterred. And before Jisung could find another way to dodge the topic, Hyunjin pointed a finger at him. “And don’t try to lie to me, Han Jisung. Not when Minho’s scent has been stuck to your skin for days now.”

Jisung flushed, and instinctively brought his wrist up to his nose, as if he could somehow smell Minho’s scent on his own skin—but of course, he couldn’t.

“It’s because we live together.” Jisung tried to answer weakly, but it was a genuinely fragile defence. Hyunjin, more than him, knew it.

“Sungie, his scent isn’t just mixed with yours. You smell exactly like Minho.” A pause, Hyunjin letting his words make Jisung blush all over again before continuing. “Are you two having sex?”

Jisung jolted, wrapping his arms around his torso.

“What? N-no. What are you even imagining?” he stammered, and he was sure the red on his cheeks was so dark it had turned brown. With slightly shaky, weak legs, Jisung sat down on the other side of the sofa and, because he actually wanted to get through this conversation, he forced himself to meet Hyunjin’s gaze.

Because Jisung couldn’t be emotionally honest without first trying to bite and fight—even if his heart desperately wanted to have this conversation with his best friend. He wasn’t like Hyunjin; he didn’t know how to wear his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see.

Of course, Hyunjin understood immediately what his look meant, and the mischief in his eyes faded, replaced by something softer.

“What if we order food, hm? I brought way too many skincare products in my suitcase and we could also paint our nails while you explain what’s really going on between you and Minho hyung.”

.

.

Half an hour later, Jisung was completely submerged in a bath filled with pink, flower-scented foam while Hyunjin sat on the bathroom floor. His hair tied up in a short ponytail, Hyunjin adjusted the sheet mask on his face before wiping his hands and grabbing a french fry from the tray on the floor beside him. Salty french fries, a mountain of pancakes covered in maple syrup and red berries, avocado and salmon toast, and strawberries with melted chocolate.

“Did Minho hyung specifically say he had the same behavior with you as he did with his previous client?” Hyunjin asked once Jisung had finished talking, and after Jisung had very dramatically tried to drown himself.

“Well, not really. But he said he had become too protective of her, and Minho is protective of me, too.” Jisung replied, arms crossed over the edge of the bathtub, and he opened his mouth when Hyunjin held a french fry out to his lips.

“Okay, but are we talking about the same thing? Because I’m not sure Minho hyung was the type to leave his scent all over his last client.” A pause, and Hyunjin scrunched his nose. “Or maybe he’s the type to fall in love with every person under his protection, but that doesn’t really sound like him.”

Jisung blinked, his fingers holding a strawberry above the chocolate sauce.

“What?” he asked, and Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Minho hyung isn’t in love with me.”

“Honey, are you stupid?”

“H-hey!” Jisung protested weakly, resisting the urge to splash water on Hyunjin. “I’m not stupid.”

“Clearly you are, if you think what Minho hyung is doing with you,” Hyunjin gestured vaguely in Jisung’s direction, “is platonic. He made sure no other hybrid could look at you without smelling him. If you were a hybrid too, everyone would know you two were together.”

“Oh,” Jisung breathed, his treacherous heart pounding furiously in his chest. “But… what if he acted exactly like that with his former client…?”

“I sincerely doubt it, but I suppose if you want to know for sure, you’ll have to ask Minho hyung directly, Sungie.” Hyunjin replied, his tone a little softer—because Jisung was someone who needed gentleness. “But, baby, if you can’t believe my human side, at least trust my instinct. I’m not as intimidating as Minho hyung, but I’m a predator, too. And you can believe me when I say that the way he marks you with his scent is a signal—it’s his way of claiming you. Even if you’re not aware of it.”

Jisung felt his lips curl into a pout, absentmindedly dipping the strawberry into the melted chocolate before bringing it to his mouth to chew slowly.

“Have you ever marked me like this before?” he finally asked after swallowing, and behind his face mask, Hyunjin’s nose wrinkled.

“Ew, no.”

This time, Jisung didn’t hold back from splashing him.

“You might look a little less disgusted by the prospect!”

“Sorry, Sungie, I love your scent and I love kissing you even more, but if I were ever to mark you like this, it would be because I want to fuck you.” Hyunjin explained, removing the face mask before helping the serum soak into his skin with his fingers. “And permanently and exclusively.”

“Oh.” Jisung said again, like a malfunctioning CD player. 

“And even if I wanted to, it’s too late now. I’m insignificant in Minho hyung’s eyes and he appreciates me as a person, but I know that if I left my scent too strongly on you, he’d come for my head.”

Despite himself, Jisung let out a chuckle.

“I think you’re exaggerating.”

“Minho hyung is a predator, my love.” Hyunjin said, getting up from the floor and pulling his shirt over his head. “And I have to admit he’s much gentler than other felines I’ve met, but I wouldn’t bet on my safety if he sensed I was trying to steal you from him.” He then removed his pants and underwear, and they had known each other for so long that Jisung didn’t even flinch. “Now make room for me in the bath.”

.

.

Jisung thought he was doing a good job pretending he was perfectly relaxed on the couch, watching the movie Hyunjin had chosen, but barely an hour later, Hyunjin got up and disappeared into his bedroom. Jisung followed him with his eyes, puzzled, and his confusion only grew when Hyunjin came back a few minutes later with his things tucked under his arm.

“I’m going to sleep with Binnie hyung so you can ask Minho hyung to come here.” Hyunjin said with an exasperated sigh.

“Hey, wait—”

Except Hyunjin didn’t wait. He headed for the door, opened it just as Jisung jumped off the couch, and both of them froze when they found Minho already standing in the hallway. Minho blinked, and even from here, Jisung could see the way the skin of his neck flushed red with embarrassment.

“H-hm—” he tried to justify himself in a way that was uncertain and not like him at all.

“You can take my place, hyung.” Hyunjin cut him off with a mischievous smile. “I’d rather sleep with Changbin hyung anyway.” he added before crossing the hallway and stepping into their bodyguard’s suite without a backward glance.

Like an insect drawn to light, Jisung’s eyes found Minho’s.

Minho was already looking at him.

“Hi.” Jisung heard himself say, just as shy and nervous as he felt inside.

Minho blinked a few times before a smile slowly spread across his lips.

“Hi, baby.” Baby, baby, baby, baby. Minho took a step forward, then another. He walked into the suite, closing the door behind him without taking his eyes off Jisung. And Jisung knew—because he could feel it—that if he took a step back to put distance between them, it would trigger the most instinctive part of Minho’s brain and push him to give chase.

“Were you planning to sleep in the hallway?” he asked, his voice tight, but he was just proud of himself for managing to speak and string words together coherently.

“Eventually I would have found a way to make Hyunjin leave.” Minho replied, his smile showing his teeth, and it was ridiculous. They were ridiculous. And despite himself, Jisung let out a small laugh.

“Did you miss me that much?” Jisung couldn’t stop himself from asking, and in the stars shining in Minho’s eyes, he couldn’t help but hope.

“Yes.” Minho answered, as if the seriousness of it hadn’t just shifted the rotation of the earth for Jisung.

“Hyunnie left because he couldn’t stand seeing me nervous without you anymore.” Jisung admitted with the devotion of a confession. He hadn’t confessed in a long time, not since he stopped going to church on Sundays with his family, but maybe Minho could be his altar instead. “Isn’t that a little too pathetic?”

“No,” Minho replied softly, his eyes still fixed on Jisung. “no, it isn’t.” A pause, during which all Jisung could hear was the movie still playing on the TV and the pounding of his heart in his temples. And then— “Come here, Sungie.” Minho continued, opening the space of his arms.

Jisung was on him the very next second.

“Hm,” Minho breathed in a purr, his nose buried in Jisung’s messy hair. “You smell like roses.”

“I took a bath with Hyunjin.” Jisung replied, and Minho tightened his hold on him, simply lifting him up. Jisung let out a small yelp of surprise, his fingers tangling in Minho’s hair as he was carried to the bedroom. 

“It’s time to go to sleep, baby.”

Jisung let out another soft laugh, and he didn’t protest when Minho tipped him onto the comfortable mattress. And he didn’t let Minho pull away either, his fingers clutching at his clothes to drag him under the covers with him.

“Needy thing.” Minho breathed out on a soft exhale, but the way his body curled around Jisung, holding him against his chest, betrayed the same eagerness, the same need.

And the voice in Jisung’s head wouldn’t quiet down. Minho hyung is in love with you. He is.

“Hyung,” Jisung started softly, his cheek pressed against Minho’s collarbone, his fingers slipping under his t-shirt to rest his hand flat against his stomach. His soft and strong tummy. “did you do this too with the person you were taking care of before me?”

“Where is that question coming from?” Minho asked, his fingers tapping out a slow rhythm where they rested in the dip of Jisung’s lower back.

“Just answer the question, hyung.” Jisung replied in a breath, just a little annoyed because he didn’t feel like explaining himself to Minho. He just wanted to know if he was right to feel so unreasonably jealous and possessive.

“No, Sungie. I’ve never been like this with anyone else.” Minho finally answered after a few seconds of amused silence.

“Oh.” Jisung breathed out, and he felt something inside him loosen, settle. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Minho echoed, amused, and Jisung felt his cheeks burn even more with embarrassment.

Jisung let out a low groan, pressing his face into the crook of Minho’s neck, and he resisted the urge to bite him—he didn’t know yet how Minho would react if he gave in to that impulse, and he didn’t want to trigger anything.

Instead, he was just brave enough to press his lips against Minho’s shoulder—not his neck, not his skin. His shoulder, over his t-shirt. A neutral enough place that Jisung wouldn’t spend five nights overthinking it, and a gesture intimate enough for Minho to understand the implication.

Minho almost immediately started to purr, and Jisung felt himself smile.

.

.

The stage was bigger than what Hyunjin and Jisung had been used to performing on since the start of their career—which made sense, this wasn’t a regular concert but a ceremony. These kinds of events weren’t Jisung’s favorite: everything felt too long, too heavy for his anxiety. But he had signed up for this kind of inconvenience, he supposed.

He was sitting in the middle of the stage in gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, a mask over his face and a microphone in hand while the technicians made their final adjustments. Hyunjin stood nearby in a similar outfit, except he wore a beanie on top. Hyunjin was a perfectionist in a way Jisung wasn’t—Jisung always tried to not overthink the things he did, the things he wrote, the things he composed, otherwise he wasn’t sure any of his music would ever see the light of day.

Looking toward backstage, Jisung met Minho’s gaze—calm, quiet, but attentive. Jisung knew he was alert, ready to cross the stage and reach him if the situation ever called for it.

His devoted bodyguard, Jisung thought, his Minho. Jisung would have to find a way to make him stay by his side forever, even if his stalker disappeared. Jisung could give him anything he wanted, even his own heart, if that was something Minho wanted. Jisung could—

“I hope you’re not going to be that focused on Minho hyung tonight too.” Hyunjin commented away from his mic, just for Jisung. “Or at least warn Chan hyung so he can be mentally prepared to see rumors start about you and your new bodyguard.”

Behind his mask, Jisung flushed.

“I’ll be perfectly professional, don’t worry.” he said with an embarrassed grumble, and Hyunjin snickered.

“I know, Sungie, I know.” A pause. “But I notice you didn’t deny the way you look at Minho hyung.” he added, pressing an index finger to Jisung’s forehead before naturally going back to rehearsals as if nothing had happened.

.

.

The next day, like an echo of the Vivienne Westwood photoshoot, Jisung watched Minho in the reflection of his mirror while two makeup artists worked around him. The ceremony had been going on for a few hours now, and it was almost Phoenix’s turn to go on stage. Jisung wasn’t nervous about performing and singing in front of an audience, but he felt strangely intimidated at the idea of showing his rockstar image in front of Minho.

Minho had never seen him on stage before. Not yet. A guitar in his hands, a pleated skirt over ripped jeans, eyes lined in black and lips tinted red like someone had just kissed him. The thought alone was enough to make Jisung uneasy.

Which was ridiculous, but Jisung wasn’t exactly known for not being that. Ridiculous.

“Five minutes!” a technician called out in the room, and the makeup artists around Jisung made their final touch-ups before he was guided out with Hyunjin, guitar and mic pushed into his hands, in-ears fitted into his ears.

Hyunjin met his gaze, eyes focused but a smile on his lips. Jisung smiled back at him.

When they stepped onto the stage, Jisung could hear the crowd’s screams through the feedback in his in-ears.

.

.

Jisung liked being on stage. He liked playing the guitar, Hyunjin pressed against his back like they were in a club flirting with each other and about to make out in front of everyone. Jisung liked it; it was fun, it was harmless, and it was part of the act. Letting people imagine that Hyunjin and he had that kind of relationship.

And then, the idea that Minho was a few meters away, backstage, watching the whole performance, made Jisung feel like his insides had turned into molten lava. The redness in his cheeks wasn’t only from the makeup and the adrenaline—there was also anticipation. And excitement. At the thought of seeing Minho again right after.

The fans’ screams were still audible even as Jisung and Hyunjin stepped off stage. Hyunjin laughed before pressing their foreheads together.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, because that was always what seemed most important to Hyunjin. That they had fun together. The day we don’t have fun on stage is the day we have to stop.

“Yeah.” Jisung said, out of breath and grinning ear to ear.

“Sungie.” Minho’s voice echoed softly right behind him, and Hyunjin let out a giggle, pressing a kiss to Jisung’s forehead before stepping away.

Jisung was still smiling when he turned around, intoxicated by adrenaline and by the way Minho’s eyes were fixed on him.

“Hyung, did you like the performance?” he asked as he stepped closer. “How was I?”

“You were beautiful, as always.” Minho replied softly, and it wasn’t exactly professional the way he slid his index and middle finger over the hem of Jisung’s skirt to pull him a little closer. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“You never take your eyes off me.” Jisung replied, his lips naturally forming a pout that wasn’t really sulky, his head tilted to maintain eye contact with Minho.

“Because I can never look away.” Minho answered quietly, his other fingers brushing damp strands of hair away from Jisung’s face. And for a brief moment, it felt like they had forgotten that Minho’s role was precisely to never take his eyes off Jisung.

“Flirt.” Jisung said with a laugh, and Minho tugged him a little closer by the fold of his skirt.

“Sungie.” Minho breathed, in a voice meant only for him. “Jisung.”

“Yes, hyung?” And they were so close now that if Jisung stood on his tiptoes, Minho wouldn’t even need to lean down to kiss him.

“Let me walk you back to the dressing room.” Minho said, and it was ridiculous, really. Minho wasn’t allowed to leave a place without Jisung. Jisung didn’t point it out. Instead, he nodded.

“Of course, hyung.”

And Jisung thought, a little naively, that Minho would take advantage of the relative privacy of the dressing rooms to push him into the first available restroom and finally devour him against a wall. But that was without taking into account the fact that Minho was older, more patient, and more disciplined than Jisung. And that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—Minho being more responsible than Jisung. Someone had to think about his career and Chan’s early white hairs, after all.

So Jisung let Minho guide him back to the dressing room. He changed again, let someone retouch his makeup without really paying attention, and then, with a level of willpower Jisung hadn’t realized he possessed, he waited. He waited until the end of the ceremony and all the way through the ride back to the hotel, wrapped in a charged silence between him and Minho.

He waited until the elevator doors closed, his gaze locking with Minho’s. Next to them, Changbin and Hyunjin were talking about what they were going to eat because I’m starving, hyung. I’ll tell Seungmin if you let me starve to death.

Jisung bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hide his amused smile, but all his effort was ruined when Minho tilted his head, his eyes shining with a kind of mischief that was anything but innocent.

“Sungie.” Minho’s lips moved without a sound. “Cute.”

Jisung let out a sound that came out far too close to a squeak, trying to cover it with a cough when he felt Hyunjin’s eyes slide over to him.

“Love, are you okay?”

“Yes, yes.” Jisung replied quickly, his voice slightly higher than usual. “I’m just—” he cleared his throat again, wondering if Hyunjin could somehow smell the excitement in his scent. “I’m just tired.”

“Aww, baby.” Hyunjin said with a pout, like Jisung was a child. “Minho hyung, make sure he removes his makeup properly before going to sleep.”

“Don’t worry, Hyunjin-ah, I’ll take very good care of him.” Minho replied with a smile that showed his rabbit teeth, just as the elevator doors opened again.

Jumping out of the elevator would’ve been too suspicious, so Jisung endured Hyunjin’s giggling and forced himself to wish him and Changbin a good night before following Minho like a shadow to the door of their suite.

Minho opened it, let Jisung in, then locked it behind them.

Their eyes met again, and now that they were alone, Jisung wondered if Minho could hear the way his blood was pounding through his entire body. If he could pick up the heat and tension in his scent.

“H-hyung…” he managed on an inhale, and the next second, Minho was on him.

“Sungie, my beautiful Sungie, tell me to stop.” Minho breathed, his hands framing Jisung’s face, not letting him pull away even as Jisung’s back hit the closed door.

“Don’t stop.” Jisung replied in a small whimper, his face so scarlet in the dark of the room that his cheeks looked maroon. “Hyung, please don’t stop.”

Above the pounding of his heart in his ears, Jisung heard Minho purring as he pressed kisses to every inch of his face and the corners of his lips.

“Hyung,” Jisung said in a plaintive whine when he realized Minho was deliberately avoiding kissing him. He tried to tilt his head away on his own, but Minho’s grip was tender and firm, preventing him from moving.

“Aw, does my baby want to be kissed?” Minho asked softly, pressing his lips to Jisung’s chin. “I think you can call me something other than hyung now, don’t you think?”

Jisung arched his back against the door, a moan already on the tip of his tongue as Minho tilted his head to suckle the skin on the back of his neck.

“Ah,” he moaned, loud and clear in a way that would make him want to jump out of a window when he thought about it later. “B-baby…”

“Hmm, no.” Minho replied, his lips sliding along Jisung’s jawline, gently nibbling at the surface.

Jisung felt like he was about to cry.

“Please, sweetheart,” Jisung continued, desperate to feel Minho’s lips on his. “Honey, darling…”

Minho’s lips lingered somewhere near Jisung’s ear and the curve of his face, and Jisung didn’t think it was a hallucination, the way Minho seemed to purr a little louder.

“Darling?” Jisung asked, repeating the last word he remembered saying. “Darling, please. Please, please.”

And that seemed to be how Minho wanted to be addressed because the next moment, Minho finally kissed him. Minho kissed him the way he held Jisung—gently, methodically, and precisely. As if he had all the time in the world to appreciate him, to savor him. Jisung had never been kissed like this. He leaned his head against the door, opening his lips obediently as Minho's tongue gently became authoritative, as if entering land that was his birthright, not something he had to conquer.

Jisung let out another moan as Minho tugged his lower lip between his teeth.

“Can I take you to the bedroom?” Minho asked, and oh my god, holy shit. “Baby, let me take you to the bedroom, please.”

Shit, Jisung hadn’t anticipated that Minho might want to take his clothes off tonight. If he’d known, he would have made an effort to wear some sexier underwear instead of something more comfortable, and fuckfuckfuck, he was still sweating from the performance on stage. But may Jisung be cursed for the next three generations if he lets those details discourage him.

He didn’t reply. He pulled Minho back to him, kissing him with renewed fervor, his fingers wrapping around the nape of his neck. Minho smiled against his lips, and his hands slid from Jisung’s face down his sides, the curve of his hips to his ass. Jisung didn't think he was the type to whine and moan that much—really—and yet it was still a pathetically high-pitched sound that escaped his lips when Minho squeezed his buttocks before simply lifting him.

And it wasn't the first time Jisung had been lifted like this by Minho, but it was the first time he'd had the opportunity to have his legs wrapped around his waist.

"You're so hot, holy shit," Jisung said in a low breath, his lips kissing every inch of Minho's skin he could reach—his jaw, his forehead, his cheeks, his right ear… "And so so strong, darling. I want you so bad I feel like I'm going to die."

Minho growled—a growl that wasn't a purr and was unusually deep for him. Jisung was used to the soft, gentle sounds Minho made around him; his woolly, caressing voice, his high, airy chuckles. It had been weeks since Jisung had been intimidated by Minho, and yet, his growl startled him like it would startle a frightened rodent with a wolf. Minho wasn't a wolf. He was a far more terrifying predator.

"Stop talking, Sungie." He hissed, his teeth scraping the skin behind Jisung's ear, and Jisung could feel the sharpness of his canines—the canines Minho always took care to hide. "If you keep saying things like that, I'm going to—" Minho broke off abruptly, turning his face away from Jisung's neck to sniff the air around them; Jisung let out a moan, his fingers tangling in Minho's hair.

"What are you going to do?" Jisung asked, rubbing his nose against Minho's temple.

“There’s someone else’s scent in the room.” That was all Minho replied, and Jisung blinked, tilting his head back to study Minho’s face. His brows were furrowed, his lips red, and his eyes fixed on something Jisung couldn’t see—he was attentive, focused, trying to discern if he had actually detected a different scent. It couldn’t be easy being so close to Jisung—aroused and impatient. Jisung felt like he was about to roll his hips against Minho if the other didn’t give him attention again.

“It’s probably someone who came to clean,” Jisung replied, forcing Minho’s face toward him again, pressing their lips together once more. Minho took a few seconds before kissing him back, and for a moment, Jisung thought his explanation had been enough to reassure Minho. 

“No, I specifically asked that no one enter your suite.” Minho breathed on Jisung’s lips, and Jisung groaned, pressing his face against the back of Minho’s neck.

“Okay, let me go.” He sighed, knowing that Minho’s mind would be distracted by the unfamiliar scent in their suite. With a rueful expression, Minho let Jisung’s feet touch the floor again and pressed a kiss to his hair.

“Let me just check that there’s nothing strange—okay?” he said, and Jisung nodded, leaning against the hallway wall while Minho walked off to check every room in the hotel suite.

One minute passed, then two. Jisung followed Minho with his eyes as he crossed the living room again to enter the last room he had left to check: Jisung’s bedroom.

He opened the door—and froze completely.

“Darling?” Jisung asked, and when he took a step toward him, Minho raised a hand to stop him without even looking at him.

“Jisung, I’m going to take you to Hyunjin’s room and you’re going to stay with Changbin, okay?” he said, gently closing the door without letting Jisung see what was inside.

Jisung’s blood ran cold.

“What’s inside, hyung?” he asked, his voice tight, and he felt himself go pale when Minho opened his jacket so the gun at his side was within reach. Jisung had never noticed that Minho was armed, but it made sense—bodyguards were often people with military or police training.

“Let me take you to Changbin first, baby,” Minho said, his voice softer than his face was, and Jisung knew now wasn’t the time to argue or complain, so he nodded.

Minho kept one hand at the small of Jisung’s back during the short walk to Hyunjin and Changbin’s suite. He knocked on the door, and a few seconds later, Changbin opened it, looking confused.

“Is everything okay?” he asked when he noticed Jisung’s expression—lips flushed but face pale—and Minho’s—grave and serious.

“Keep Jisung for me, please. I need to call the police and Chan.” It was the only explanation Minho gave Changbin, but it was enough. Changbin opened the door a little wider to let Jisung in.

“Keep me updated,” Changbin replied, even though it was clear that—just like Jisung—he wanted to ask more questions, maybe even offer his help.

Minho nodded quickly before his gaze lingered on Jisung for one second longer, then he turned on his heel. The last thing Jisung saw before Changbin closed the door was Minho heading back toward their room, his phone already in his hand.

.

.

Changbin had locked Jisung in Hyunjin’s room—with Hyunjin—for about an hour when the door opened again to Minho. Jisung wanted to sit up immediately, but Hyunjin had fallen asleep twenty minutes earlier, his face pressed against his stomach.

“I packed your things and mine, we’re leaving in ten minutes,” Minho said softly, and his tail behind him was strangely still—Jisung couldn’t remember the last time he had seen it so motionless since they’d met.

“What?” Jisung whispered, but Hyunjin still let out a small sound in his sleep. Reflexively, Jisung’s fingers found Hyunjin’s hair, smoothing the strands until he settled again. “Hyung, why are we leaving early?”

“Because I don’t want you anywhere near this hotel—or this city,” Minho replied a little too sharply before closing his eyes and pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “Please, Sungie. Just do what I tell you.”

Jisung pressed his lips together, and for a moment, he wanted to protest—he knew perfectly well that the problem was probably related to his stalker, and the idea of letting that stranger dictate his life and stop him from doing what he wanted made him sick, but…

But Jisung didn’t want to cause Minho any unnecessary stress. So he let out a breath through his nose and nodded.

“Let me just tell Hyunjin and then we can go.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Minho said softly, disappearing behind the door again.

Jisung took another moment to breathe before running his fingers more insistently through Hyunjin’s hair.

“Hyunnie,” he said softly, watching the way Hyunjin’s ears twitched in his sleep. “Hyunnie, baby, wake up.”

“Hm?” Hyunjin murmured, stretching slowly before blinking his eyes open. “Sungie?”

“I’m going back to Korea early with Minho hyung,” Jisung said softly, and the words were enough for Hyunjin to roll away from him, rubbing his eyes.

“What?”

“We’re leaving in about ten minutes,” Jisung continued, licking his dry lips. “I’ll see you again when you get back, okay? Send me pictures and be careful, alright?”

And Jisung could see in Hyunjin’s eyes that he was still too sleepy to fully understand the words he was hearing, but there was still a hint of protest when he grasped the essentials: Jisung was leaving without him.

“I’m going back with you,” he said, and Jisung smiled, shaking his head.

“No, no. Please, enjoy the rest of your stay, okay?” he breathed, leaning down to press his lips to Hyunjin’s forehead. “I’ll call you when we land in Seoul.”

“I hate it when you’re not with me,” Hyunjin mumbled, and Jisung loved his best friend so much he could’ve started crying as if they were never going to see each other again. It was ridiculous, really, but Jisung could understand the anxiety that came with the idea of being apart.

“I hate it too, but we’ll see each other again in a few days, I promise,” Jisung said before rolling out of bed. He checked that he had his phone on him, having to trust Minho to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything while packing his bags.

“Be careful,” Hyunjin mumbled, clearly unhappy to see Jisung leave but knowing there was nothing else he could do. Jisung’s safety mattered more than a few days of vacation abroad.

“You too,” Jisung replied before leaving the room.

Minho was in the middle of a low-voiced conversation with Changbin when Jisung stepped into the suite’s living room. The two of them stopped talking immediately, and Jisung felt the apprehension sharpen into a needle at the back of his neck.

“See you in Seoul,” Changbin said, pulling him into a familiar hug before patting his back.

“Yeah, be careful and take care of Hyunjin, he’s a little upset.”

“I can handle our Hyunjin when he’s upset,” Changbin said with a small laugh before letting him go so Jisung could put on his shoes.

And then Minho helped him into his jacket before placing a hand in the small of his back to guide him out of the hotel room and toward the elevator.

“Hyung—” Jisung started when the doors closed behind them, but there were a million thoughts crowding at the edge of his mind and he didn’t know where to begin. What did you see? Why do we have to leave so fast? Do you still want to kiss me? But Minho cut him off before he could decide, unknowingly answering one of Jisung’s questions as he cupped his face in his hands and kissed him.

Jisung let out his breath before wrapping his arms around Minho’s neck, pulling him closer and kissing him back with a different purpose than an hour ago—Jisung had wanted to be fucked until his legs felt like those of a newborn fawn. Now, he just wanted to kiss Minho to feel him against him.

“Your stalker got into your room and left a message on the wall,” Minho said against Jisung’s lips, and Jisung froze. “I’ll show you the pictures when we’re back, okay? I’m not going to hide them from you if you want to know.”

“What made you change your mind?” Jisung asked, because Minho had always chosen to hide the things his stalker wrote from him until now.

“Because I need you to stay on your guard—even with the people you work with every day,” Minho said after a few seconds of hesitation, and Jisung felt something inside him go still—cold and terrifying. Minho noticed, of course, and pressed another series of short kisses to his lips. “I won’t let anything happen to you, baby. You’re safe with me, always. But I need you to be fully aware of the risks.”

Minho straightened when the elevator came to a stop, opening again onto the hotel’s underground parking. He kept a hand at the small of Jisung’s back, guiding him to the car already waiting for them, their luggage in the trunk.

The weight of Minho’s hand shifted from his back to the inside of his thigh during the drive to the airport.

.

.

When Minho closed the door to their apartment hours later, Jisung was ready to sleep for the next eighteen hours—at least. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but it wouldn’t be long, and Jisung was dreaming of a shower and sleeping until hunger woke him up.

“The suitcases can wait until tomorrow, love. Go take a shower,” Minho said, pressing a kiss to his temple as if he could read his mind.

“Hm,” Jisung mumbled, eyes half-closed. “Will you join me after?”

He felt Minho smile against his hair.

“Of course.”

Jisung disappeared into his bathroom.

When they had moved in, Jisung remembered with biting clarity the mortification he had felt at how everything in the apartment had been designed to optimize the surfaces against which two people could fuck. The bed, the kitchen, the shower, the bathtub in Minho’s bathroom…

Now, Jisung’s eyes settled on the sink, wide and large enough for him to press his entire upper body against it, and he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. Minho could easily hold him in place, right here, and force him to take everything he was given. The bathtub, Minho had said, was big enough for two. Jisung could probably ride him in it—the steam and the effort would dust his body in pink, and the water around them would muffle the sound of their breathing.

Jisung felt his cock twitch in his underwear and pressed a hand over his face. He was too tired to start anything. Unless he wanted to let Minho continue without him. And while Jisung didn’t have anything against the idea of Minho using him in his sleep, he preferred being awake and aware the first time he felt Minho inside him.

He sighed, undressed, and forced his mind to focus on something else while he removed his makeup with less care than usual before going to shower.

When he finally stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in clean pajamas, Minho was already in bed, under the covers.

Minho also looked like he was seconds away from falling asleep, even though his eyes were still sharp and attentive on Jisung.

“You smell so good,” Jisung whispered when Minho pulled him into bed. “I know I can’t actually smell you, but you always smell so good, hyung.”

Minho ran his fingers through Jisung’s still-damp hair and didn’t comment on the fact that he probably shouldn’t sleep without drying it properly—there was a time to do things properly, but today wasn’t one of them.

“I bought a body wash that smells like my natural scent,” Minho admitted after a couple of seconds of silence, a hint of shyness in his voice. “I wanted you to be able to smell me…”

Jisung realized there was a volcano about to erupt in his chest only when he finally felt it burst.

“You’re so…” Jisung started, propping himself up on his elbow to lift his face and press kisses along Minho’s jawline, the tip of his nose, the arch of his brow. Minho let out a sound—something between a whimper and a purr—tilting his face until Jisung caught his lips again in another kiss.

And now that he knew what to look for, what to feel, he could sense it: the scent of white flowers on Minho’s skin. Minho, who had made an effort so Jisung could still smell him despite his human nose. Minho, Minho, Minho.

Jisung realized he had climbed onto Minho’s hips, pressing him into the mattress while still kissing him, when Minho’s hands came to his waist—either to hold him or to stop him, Jisung wasn’t sure.

“Baby, my baby,” Minho murmured against his lips, eyes half-lidded. “You’re tired.”

And Jisung was, truly. Jisung had resolved in the bathroom to behave himself until at least the next morning. Losing his virginity could wait at least twelve hours—just enough time for his body and mind to rest and for Minho to figure out how to get him to eat a full meal.

Nevertheless, and because Jisung was nothing if not stubborn, he tried to kiss Minho again.

“Not that tired.” He lied and thought he’d won this battle when Minho allowed him to rut their hips together, letting him slide his tongue against his own. And when Jisung had felt Minho’s tongue in his mouth the first time, his  mind had been too foggy to fully appreciate the sensations of having something rougher and wetter against his. But now that he was fully aware of it, Jisung felt as if the lava in his torso would eventually turn all his organs to ash until nothing remained of him but the trace of spontaneous combustion. His hips moved with a little more force, his fingers sliding down Minho's chest, determined to slip under his sweatpants… When Minho grasped his wrist between his fingers, stopping once again, Jisung let out a whimper that was the complaint of a spoiled child.

“Baby,” Minho said, his voice low and soft, but there was an order in his tone. A warning Jisung wanted to ignore. “I said no.”

“Why?” Jisung asked, his abused, red lips puckering into a pout. And because he felt himself floating outside his body in a way he’d never experienced before, he continued. “You can just say so if you don’t want me.”

Obviously, that was the wrong thing to say. In one swift motion, Minho flipped Jisung onto his back, holding him still with his hands gripping his waist. And there was something instinctive about the way Jisung kept his legs open, welcoming Minho between them without any resistance. 

Minho’s gaze on him was burning in a way Jisung had never imagined he could reach such intensity. When he lowered his hips to bring their two clothed cocks together in a slow, rolling motion, Jisung threw his head back against the cushions, a moan escaping his lips.

“Can you feel that, baby?” Minho asked softly, pressing his lips against Jisung’s open throat, gently sucking on the skin. “It’s only for you. Because of you.”

“H-hyung…” And he felt like he was about to cry as he tried to push his hips up to meet Minho’s again, but Minho’s grip on him was strong, powerful.

“Are you going to keep asking stupid questions, baby?” Minho asked, his cheek rubbing against Jisung’s neck to apply his scent again. “Or are you going to keep being my good boy and listen to me?”

“Your good boy.” Jisung replied immediately with a submissiveness that would have made Chan, Hyunjin, and practically everyone who knew him blink.

When Minho lifted his face, his eyes had softened, and he kissed Jisung’s forehead gently. And then, Minho moved them again: forcing Jisung to lie on his side, pressing his back against his chest. Jisung blinked as Minho wrapped his arm around his waist, holding him close.

“Sleep, baby.” Minho breathed on the back of his neck, and Jisung felt like laughing. How could Minho possibly expect him to sleep in his condition? His blood was like lava in his veins, and he was so hard between his legs that he was tempted to find some friction against the mattress.

Yet, after forcing himself to close his eyes, exhaustion finally overcame him, and Jisung fell asleep.

.

.

When Jisung woke up several hours later, the sun was high in the sky and there was the smell of tomato sauce and meat in the apartment. His stomach growled and he took a deep breath, stretching his arms above his head before forcing himself to sit up in bed.

When he checked his phone—Minho’s phone—he saw it was a little past one in the afternoon, and that he had three missed calls and about ten unread messages from Hyunjin. A miracle there weren’t more, and surely Changbin had played a role in keeping him in check: he’s probably sleeping, Hyunnie, Minho told me they arrived safely, everything’s fine.

Jisung quickly replied to Hyunjin, promising to call him later, before leaving the phone on the bed again and heading out of the room.

In the kitchen, Minho was slowly stirring a pot of tomato sauce, right next to another one letting out steam.

There was no world in which Minho hadn’t heard Jisung approaching with his feline ears, but he played along anyway, letting Jisung come up behind him and wrap his arms around his waist.

“Bolognese pasta?” Jisung asked after pressing a kiss to the back of Minho’s neck.

“Hmm, I needed to do something with my hands, and I figured you’d wake up hungry,” Minho replied, leaning his back against Jisung’s chest. “There’s coffee, if you want.”

“Thank you.” Jisung said, pressing another kiss against Minho’s skin before stepping away to pour himself a cup of coffee. A storm of emotions surged through his chest as he realized he was adding milk and two sugars. He didn’t want to ruin the quiet atmosphere of the kitchen by asking Minho to show him the photos of what his stalker had left in the hotel room, but he was curious. The same morbid curiosity Jisung didn’t think he’d ever be able to shake, and that he’d probably have to discuss with Irene on their next date. On the other hand, it would be wiser to bring it up now rather than during the meal or after Jisung managed to convince Minho to press his head against the pillows, his cock buried deep inside him.

“I can hear you thinking about it from here.” Minho said with a small smile, his eyes still fixed on the pan of bolognese sauce he was stirring with a wooden spoon.

“I was just asking myself in what order I wanted to do things this afternoon.” Jisung answered honestly, taking a sip of his coffee. “If I want to know what happened yesterday before or after eating, or before or after losing my virginity.”

Minho blinked rapidly, as he always did when surprised by something he heard or saw, and his tail behind him twitched more frantically.

“You’re impossible,” he finally said in a small, amused breath, shaking his head from side to side. “Don’t worry, bug, I’m going to fuck you before the sun sets again.” And that was a promise. A promise that rekindled the heat in his chest that had gone languid during his sleep.

“Oh.” He inhaled. “Cool.” He went on—because he could change the color of his hair, he could change his makeup, he could switch guitars and his musical style, but he would never be able to change the fact that he was just a nervous boy. A loser, really. It made him wonder what Minho even saw in him.

“Cool,” Minho echoed, turning his head to catch Jisung’s eyes with an amused look.

Jisung took another sip of his coffee to steady himself before setting the cup down on the counter and starting to set the table.

“So? What did you see last night?” he asked, opening the cutlery drawer to take out forks and knives. And he was proud to notice that his voice sounded almost nonchalant—as if he’d just asked Minho what the weather would be like tomorrow.

“Your stalker left a message on the wall of the room,” Minho finally replied after a short pause that made Jisung feel like he was gathering his thoughts. “It’s the smell of blood I caught.”

Jisung felt himself go pale, but he forced himself to walk to the table and place the cutlery on either side of the plates in a mechanical motion.

“My stalker wrote messages on the wall with… blood?” he repeated—because maybe it was his fault, and he’d misunderstood.

“Hm.” Minho confirmed on a breath, and Jisung could feel his blood pounding in his temples. “It said He’s mine, give him back to me.” he continued and Jisung could feel a growl building at the back of his throat.

“Ah, they must’ve followed the car from the airport to the hotel…” Jisung said, biting the inside of his cheek, aware that Minho had probably reached the same conclusion. “We’re so careful about our movements from the agency to here, but we forgot to do the same in China.”

“That’s negligence on my part, Sungie,” Minho said with a sigh, pressing a hand over his eyes. “Chan had assured me the hotel was perfectly secure.”

“You can’t keep blaming yourself, hyung,” Jisung replied, stepping back into the kitchen. “This person is determined and obsessed. Sometimes I think we’d save time by going back to my old apartment and letting my stalker get close to me.”

Minho’s head snapped toward him so fast his neck cracked:

“What?”

“I mean… we could set a trap for them, right? Make them think I’m alone in my old apartment, and let them get close to me again…? Wouldn’t that be the fastest way to catch them?”

In a split second, Minho was on him. He lunged at Jisung like a cat pouncing on a mouse, hands outstretched to seize its prey. Except instead of being torn apart and devoured, Jisung felt Minho gently cup his face, as if he were holding the most precious thing in the world, and then kiss him. Jisung felt his eyes fall shut, his hands reaching until he could thread his fingers into Minho’s hair, careful of his ears.

“No,” he breathed against Jisung’s lips. “I will never let you do that. I’m fast but not faster than a knife or a bullet, jagiya. I will never let you put yourself in danger.” A string of short kisses brushed against Jisung’s lips. “And you won’t do it either. Okay, Sungie?”

“But hyung—” Minho kissed him more urgently, cutting off the protest. And Jisung wasn’t cruel, not really. He could feel just how shaken Minho was at the thought of him willingly putting himself in danger. So Jisung relaxed in his hold, one of his thumbs sliding gently just behind Minho’s ear. “Okay. Alright.” he breathed into the space between them before pressing a series of small kisses along Minho’s jawline.

“They’ll make a mistake eventually and I’ll catch them like that,” Minho promised, his cheek brushing against Jisung’s hair. “And then you won’t have to be afraid of anything anymore.”

“Hyung…” Jisung wet his lips with his tongue to gather his courage. “You’ll stay with me, right? Even when all of this is over…?”

Minho didn’t answer his question with another: Is that what you want? Do you want me to stay? Instead, he brushed his nose against Jisung’s, eyes half-lidded.

“There’s nothing in this world that could take me away from you,” he breathed softly, and Jisung felt tears rise straight to his eyes, clinging to his lashes. “Shh, don’t cry, jagiya. Bug. My Sungie. I’m yours. You can’t feel it but I’m yours. And you’re mine, hm?”

“Of course,” Jisung replied in a breath, and it might have been the most important inhale of his life. More important than the first time he’d sung into a recording mic, more important than his first concert. “Of course I’m yours, hyung.”

Hybrids sometimes choose companions for life. Hyunjin had explained that to him when they were both eighteen, sprawled in different positions across his teenage bed. There’s a spot on our neck that another hybrid can bite to claim us… right here. He’d added it while tracing a place on his skin with his index finger, his gaze turning brighter, like that area was especially sensitive. It’s a bite that never really fades. It’s like… marriage, I guess.

And Hyunjin had done his best to explain what that bite meant, but Jisung hadn’t truly understood the weight of it until now. Until Jisung realized he would never know what it felt like to be bitten by Minho; he couldn’t feel it, and there was no place on his neck that Minho could bite to claim him as his.

Jisung wondered if Minho was just as frustrated as he was, if the impossibility of biting him made Minho’s gums ache, tender with want. 

“If I could, I’d let you bite me, hyung,” Jisung said anyway, because Minho deserved to know. He deserved to know how serious Jisung was about this. About him.

“Sungie—” Minho’s voice was rough, still low and soft despite the emotion. “What are you talking about?”

“I know what I’m saying,” Jisung replied, letting out a soft, amused breath, a smile pulling at his lips. “I’m not a hybrid but you feel it too, don’t you?”

That connection, Jisung didn’t say because the words felt too big on his tongue, too monumental to be spoken aloud. This invisible string, tying you to me.

“Of course I feel it too,” Minho finally replied, reverence threading through his voice, adoration bright in his eyes. Jisung understood that feeling because he carried the same one deep inside himself. “From the very first day, baby. I always knew you were mine, but I wasn’t sure you could feel it. I didn’t know how much it could affect you…”

“From the very first day, hyung,” Jisung cut in softly, rising onto his tiptoes so he could brush his nose against Minho’s. “I promise you… I swear, darling, from the very first day.”

Minho answered him with a purr he didn’t even try to hide. A purr like the ones big cats make—the kind Jisung had heard in documentaries about animal sanctuaries, with their caretakers. Jisung had always loved that sound, even before he realized his soul belonged to a snow leopard.

“Let me feed you, my mate,” Minho said then, and Jisung felt his heart leap in his chest because holy shit. Minho had just called him his mate.

“Is that, like, a predator thing ? Wanting to feed me this much?” Jisung asked, trying to hide the fact that he was on the verge of breaking down and he meant full-on ugly crying, not just a few discreet tears at the corners of his eyes that might make him look pretty.

Minho let out a soft laugh, pressed a kiss to Jisung’s forehead, and stepped away. Jisung didn’t protest—not even with a faint whine—only because he knew it would be pointless: taking care of him clearly mattered to Minho, and Jisung could let him do what he wanted without too much resistance.

“If we were less civilized, I’d have gone out to hunt something for you. I’d have used its meat to feed you and its fur for our nest,” Minho replied, a smile on his lips as his hands busied themselves adding a spoonful of the pasta water to the bolognese sauce.

“That’s strangely romantic,” Jisung said with a sigh, and Minho drained the pasta before adding it to the sauce. “Maybe we could make a nest in one of the rooms in my apartment when we get back,” he went on, naturally following Minho as he carried their meal to the table. “Oh, wait, do you want us to look for somewhere else to live for… after? I don’t need to be in the middle of Seoul, and there are way bigger apartments than the one I have, or maybe we could buy a house…?”

“Jagiya, eat,” Minho cut in, serving him a plate of pasta, his smile flashing his rabbit teeth.

“Mm, yeah, of course,” Jisung mumbled, feeling his cheeks flush because they hadn’t even officially been together for ten minutes and he was already talking about buying a house together. In any other situation, his mother would definitely call him insane. So he forced himself to pick up his fork and start eating obediently under Minho’s satisfied gaze.

“I’ll go wherever you go, jagiya,” Minho finally said once Jisung swallowed his first bite of pasta with an appreciative hum. “Nothing in this city will ever be big enough for me but I’d trade every mountain and every forest to be with you.”

Jisung felt his throat tighten, and before he could try to hide his emotion by taking a sip of water or finding something funny to say in response, a traitorous sob slipped past the edge of his lips.

Minho was out of his chair the next second, purring like the menace he truly was—because Jisung was convinced he had planned all of this. That making him cry had been the goal all along, for reasons Jisung still couldn’t understand.

“Shhh, jagiya, come here, don’t cry,” Minho murmured, his voice wrapped in honey and affection, and before Jisung could even process it, he was being lifted up and set onto Minho’s lap, pulled against his chest. “It’s okay, my Jisungie, I’m here, hyung’s here.”

“You’re so mean,” Jisung said through a sob, pressing his face into Minho’s neck. “You’ve been trying to make me cry this whole time, I know it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, bug,” Minho replied, pressing his lips into Jisung’s hair but the purr in his chest never stopped.

Jisung didn’t answer. He just let Minho’s purring calm his sobs, until his tears were nothing more than dried traces on his cheeks and his breathing had finally evened out again.

“Do you feel better?” Minho asked softly, and only then did Jisung realize that crying had made his mind clearer. Less fogged, less heavy.

Crying had helped him understand that he wasn’t dreaming. That the curse he’d always believed he was living under had finally been lifted, because there was, at last, someone in this world who could love him. Want him. Someone Jisung loved and wanted in return.

Jisung had never thought it was possible—he had drowned pages upon pages in ink, writing about that loneliness, about the certainty that he didn’t have a soulmate.

“Hm,” he hummed, his cheek pressed against Minho’s shoulder, his body now fully relaxed against him—his Minho, who called him his mate even though Jisung had no scent gland for him to bite.

Minho didn’t let him leave his lap. Instead, he pressed another kiss into Jisung’s hair and fed them both from the same fork. Jisung flushed, a small embarrassed sound caught in his throat, but he didn’t protest.

He had always fantasized about someone taking care of him, so refusing Minho’s attention and affection would’ve been nothing short of foolish.

.

.

“Like a river flows surely to the sea,” Jisung hummed softly in time with Elvis Presley as he dried the dishes Minho had just washed. “Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be.” 

“You’re too young to know that song,” Minho commented, a smile in his voice, and Jisung gently nudged him with his elbow. 

“My mom always loved Elvis,” he commented before letting out a small smile. “And that scene in the second Conjuring movie when Ed dances with Lorraine in their kitchen? I wrote a song just based on that moment.”

“No one has ever made you dance in a kitchen in the daylight or by the refrigerator's light?” Minho asked, not to be mean but simply because he was curious.

“Very, very single, darling. Have you somehow forgotten?”

“I could never forget that.” He replied with a satisfied purr in his voice that made Jisung blush despite himself. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Minho drying his hands on a towel before making him set down the glass Jisung had been holding.

Jisung blinked as he was pulled away from the counter, and the realization settled into his mind as Minho made him wrap his arms around his neck.

Oh.

“Seriously?” he asked, and Minho smiled in response. 

“Dance with me, jagi.” And who was Jisung to deny Minho anything? He let Minho draw their bodies closer, his hands on his hips, before they gently swayed together.

Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

Cause I can’t help falling in love with you. 

Jisung pressed his face into Minho’s shoulder—Minho, who used products meant to mimic his scent so Jisung could still smell him. Without being able to stop himself, Jisung let his nose glide along Minho’s neck as if he were a hybrid who could scent him too. As if he could leave his own scent on Minho’s skin and mark him as his.

He had to rise onto his tiptoes for his lips to reach the back of Minho’s neck, the spot Hyunjin had once shown him where a bite would be used to claim someone.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Minho asked in a whisper barely louder than the music, but he did nothing to stop Jisung from reaching that fragile, precious place. Worse, he tilted his head aside, baring his neck, and Jisung felt his heart slam against his ribs.

He didn’t answer—he couldn’t. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the patch of skin that felt slightly different from the rest of Minho’s neck. Less smooth, a little more sensitive. Minho’s reaction was immediate. His body shuddered, his knees going weak, and a low sound slipped out of him.

“Baby,” he breathed, his voice a little higher than usual, and Jisung never wanted to stop hearing him sound so breathless from something so small.

His fingers slid into Minho’s hair, winding strands around his knuckles, making sure Minho kept his neck exposed for him. Jisung remembered a moment when he’d been afraid to even bite Minho’s skin—not knowing what it would awaken in him—when he’d been too intimidated to even brush his lips against him. He felt a little stupid now. Stupid for ever believing that what he felt for Minho wasn’t returned. He was so stupid.

Jisung let out a breath against the fragile line of Minho’s neck, against his scent gland, before sucking gently. Minho’s purring shifted into a low growl, like a warning Jisung knew was harmless. Jisung was certain Minho had never let anyone get this close to such a sensitive part of him before; he was a predator, and predators didn’t submit to anyone else.

But Jisung wasn’t just anyone else. He belonged to Minho. So Minho would tolerate it.

“Jagiya,” Minho said on a breath, his fingers digging into Jisung’s clothes to keep him close. And Jisung didn’t have teeth sharp enough to break Minho’s skin, but he could still leave a pretty bruise on his neck, could still make him feel the scrape of his teeth against his skin. “Fuck, baby. My Jisung.”

It was the first time Jisung had ever heard him utter a swear word, and the word made his dick twitch. He felt his blood rush to his veins, and with a boldness he only displayed on stage, he gently sank his teeth into the back of Minho's neck.

The next second, his feet were no longer touching the ground—Minho had lifted him with his hands under his thighs and was carrying him toward his room. The rooms with the large beds, because everything in this apartment was designed so that someone could be easily pressed, bent, and pushed against as much surface as possible.

Jisung hoped Minho would want to take him in the bathtub too. The bathtub that was big enough for two people. Maybe Jisung could convince him to let him ride him amidst the bubbly water and steam. 

His back gently touched the surface of the mattress, and he let out a giggle that Minho caught with his lips.

“Did you leave a mark, baby?” Minho asked between kisses. “Did you leave your mark to tell everyone I’m yours?”

“Of course.” Jisung replied, his lips red and his eyes shining, his arms wrapped around Minho’s neck. “You’re so handsome, hyung. My darling. And kind, and funny, and strong. Everyone would want to steal you from me. I can’t take that risk.”

“You have no competition, jagi.” Minho said, showering Jisung’s face with a myriad of tiny kisses. “I only want you.”

“So what are you waiting for to take me?” Jisung asked, wrapping his legs around Minho's waist, pressing down with his heels to force him to bend over him. "I've waited for you my whole life, hyung. My darling."

“You’re so impatient.” Minho said with a slightly condescending, slightly mean sigh. As if Jisung were just a small, impatient, capricious thing. Jisung liked him that way. “Do you want a cock that badly, needy thing?”

“Not just any cock.” Jisung stammered, his cheeks burning red because he’d never heard Minho speak to him like this before. “Just yours, hyung. You said it was mine, hm? Can I have it now?” He continued, arching his back against the mattress to find a source of friction between their two bodies.

Minho closed his eyes, pressed his forehead against Jisung’s, and indulged them both, allowing his hips to rub and roll, bringing their two clothed cocks into contact. Jisung moaned, his eyes half-closed because he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He couldn't miss the sight of Minho, his cheeks flushed, his breath coming in short gasps, his lips parted, and the veins in his hands bulging up his forearms where he gripped the sheets.

“Of course you can have it, jagiya.” Minho replied, pressing his lips against Jisung’s jawline. 

“Then give it to me. You can do whatever you want with me, hyung. Darling. Anything, I promise.” Jisung said, quickly, and Minho smiled—crooked bunny teeth and corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Are you sure you want to give me this freedom, baby? I might want to chase you like a predator looking to mate with a fertile partner.”

Mate. Hng.

“I’ll try not to fall to make your hunt interesting.” Jisung replied, and he couldn’t help but lift his hips to meet Minho’s. “I’ll do whatever you want, I just want—hng, please, hyung, darling, I just want you so much I feel like I’m going to die.”

“Not die.” Minho blew against Jisung's skin, biting a mark on his jaw before straightening up, pulling off his shirt in one fluid motion, and—oh. Jisung wasn't prepared for this. Wasn't prepared to see Minho's bare chest. The defined, muscular line of his shoulders, the visible strength in his pecs…his stomach, without abs, which wasn't flat like Jisung's was.

Minho was strong in a way Jisung wasn't. Jisung's muscles were just vanity, just for photos and because Changbin had been right to tell him that exercise kept the mind sharp too. Jisung was certain that even if he used all his strength against Minho, he wouldn't be able to budge him—he wouldn't be able to roll him off his back. Minho was strong, massive. Jisung's mouth went dry, and his fingers tingled with the urge to touch him.

And then he realized he could touch Minho. He had the right. He was allowed.

Jisung propped himself up on one elbow and extended his hand until he could slide his fingers along Minho's torso, feeling the texture of his skin and the muscles beneath.

“You’re so gorgeous, hyung.” He breathed and smiled when he heard Minho purr under his fingers. “I’m so lucky, I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” Minho confirmed, his fingers slipping under the elastic of Jisung’s pajama bottoms. “I’m yours, always. Now lift your hips for me, love.” And when Jisung did, Minho pulled them off, sliding the garment down his legs.

Jisung was painfully hard in his underwear, and his cheeks flushed a new shade of red when he noticed a wet patch on the dark fabric. He tried to cover his face with his hands, but Minho stopped him—grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the mattress above his head. Minho made a disapproving sound with his tongue, his gaze dark and intense.

“I forbid you to hide what’s mine, baby.” He breathed, pressing another series of kisses all over Jisung’s face. “If you try to hide again, you’ll leave me no choice but to tie you up, understand?”

Jisung swallowed hard before nodding, and he let out a squeak as Minho slid his face down to Jisung’s neck and bit him.

“Use your words, jagiya.”

“I won’t hide anymore.” Jisung replied quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth because the very idea of ​​not being able to touch Minho was unbearable. “I’m sorry, hyung, I won’t hide anymore, I promise.”

“Good boy.” Minho blew on the area he had bitten before kissing him and sitting up. And before Jisung could protest the sudden distance between them, Minho pulled off his underwear.

He took a sharp breath as his cock bumped against his lower abdomen, red and wet, betraying just how desperate Jisung was for Minho. Embarrassment tightened his throat again, but he resisted the urge to hide once more because Minho had forbidden it; instead, he redirected his attention to Minho's lips against the skin of his inner thighs and the words he breathed over them. You're so pretty, Sungie. The prettiest little thing I've ever seen. You smell so good—the perfect prey for me. And Jisung could only endure the onslaught of Minho's teeth on his skin as he bit and sucked his way up to the curve of his ass, his breath coming in short gasps and his fingers gripping the hair on his head between his legs.

“Can I eat you out, baby?” Minho asked, lifting his gaze to Jisung and—oh my god.

“Yes.” Jisung replied a little too quickly, his thighs trembling at the mere thought. “Y-yes, please, hyung, please.”

Minho smiled—a smile that revealed his bunny teeth without showing his canines, as if he were trying to make Jisung forget just how badly he could hurt him if he decided to bite into his flesh. It was utterly ridiculous, of course. There was no world in which Jisung could or would forget that Minho was a predator capable of drawing blood. Capable of seriously injuring him.

The shiver that ran up his spine at the thought of Minho’s canines so close to his femoral artery wasn’t solely due to fear. And Jisung had thought that Minho would simply tilt his face between his open legs again, so he blinked in confusion when Minho rolled them onto the bed.

“Sit on my face.” Minho said as Jisung tried to regain his balance above Minho, his hands pressed flat against his chest.

“W-what?” he stammered, and he was certain that by now the redness on his cheeks had spread to his neck. “I can’t—” He tried to refuse, shaking his head because how would Minho breathe if he sat on his face? Would he hurt him? 

“Jagiya,” Minho cut him off gently, but there was a rumble in his chest that vibrated under Jisung’s hands. “I told you to sit on my face. Don’t you want to be my good boy anymore?”

“N-no, I want to.” Jisung quickly said with a moan because he didn’t want to disappoint Minho. And Minho slid his hands from Jisung’s waist to his ass, gently pressing his fingers in as if to coax him to come closer. 

“So be nice and come here.”

And with a trembling body, Jisung complied. He still had his t-shirt on, and he had to hold it with one hand to keep it from touching Minho's face as Jisung moved closer, up to his neck. Minho encouraged him by pressing his lips against his thigh again, come on, baby. And then, finally, Jisung sat on his face.

Despite himself, he tried to keep some of his weight on his knees—the fear of suffocating Minho still nagging at him—but Minho wouldn't let him. He shifted the way his hands held Jisung, forcing him to actually sit on him. The protest that was about to form on Jisung's tongue vanished the second he felt Minho's mouth and tongue against his hole.

"Oh—" he said, his breath catching in surprise because he had never felt anything like it before. He closed his eyes, dug his teeth into his cheek to try and control his reactions, but it was nearly impossible as Minho gently pushed his tongue inside him. “H-hyung—”

His fingers, which weren't holding his t-shirt, found their way back to Minho's hair, gripping it, without knowing why. Maybe for support, maybe to stay grounded. He only realized he was gently moving his hips when he heard Minho's satisfied purr. He was fucking himself using Minho's tongue, and Minho was happy about it.

"You feel so good, hyung." Jisung heard himself say between moans—ah, ah, ah. "So so good, my darling. Love your tongue so much, fuck." And Jisung had never been eaten out before, but he was certain that nothing could have made him feel so close to losing his mind as Minho's rough tongue.

Jisung felt the vibration of Minho's satisfied rumble between his legs and, without warning, he came with a broken moan—oh my God, h-hyung, a-ah, hgn.

He didn't notice when Minho moved them again, pressing Jisung's back against the mattress to deposit a myriad of kisses on the burning skin of his face. You did so well, my jagiya. You taste so good on my tongue. Jisung let out a complaint in an embarrassed whine—but he couldn't deny that he wanted Minho to continue praising him like this. He thirsted for more. More of Minho, more of his touch, more of his words.

"Hyung," he breathed as Minho's lips slid back to the nape of his neck. "I want you."

"How do you want me?" Minho asked in response because he was mean like that, sometimes—he knew perfectly well where Jisung wanted him and how, but he had decided to press on Jisung's sensitive points and try to find a breaking point. Jisung wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

He took one of Minho's hands and guided it between his legs, his fingers pressing against his wet entrance.

"Here," he said, pushing his hips against Minho's fingertips. "I want you here, hyung. Darling. I want you to fuck me."

"Yeah?" Minho breathed, propping himself up on one elbow to meet Jisung's gaze again. "Alright, jagiya. Anything you want, do you—"

Jisung pursed his lips before nodding.

“In the top drawer of the dresser.” Jisung sighed, feeling just a tiny bit embarrassed to have lube in the bedroom of the apartment he shared with Minho. Just a tiny bit. When they moved, he’d overthought whether or not to bring it with him. Minho had more developed ears than a normal human, and Jisung felt like he was dying just thinking about Minho hearing him do anything. And then, he’d shaken his head before slipping it into his bag, just in case. Obviously, Jisung had never had the chance to use it, until now.

As if he could read his mind, Minho let out an amused chuckle before pressing a final kiss to Jisung’s forehead and rolling out of bed. Jisung took a slow breath, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he listened to Minho open and close the drawer and return to the bed. Minho's fingers were shorter than Jisung's, but they were thicker. Minho pushed one finger, then another, inside Jisung. Jisung had already inserted more than three of his own fingers inside, but he had never felt so full as he did now—with Minho pushing inside him, his gaze fixed on him, and his lips constantly saying the things Jisung had always fantasized about hearing. You're so tight around my fingers, jagiya. I have to add at least one more if you want my cock. Do you think you'll take another one for me, baby?

"Of course I can," Jisung replied with a moan, because he couldn't disappoint Minho. Even though he felt three fingers were too much, he didn't tell Minho to stop. He could take it; he would make Minho proud. He might not be Minho's biological match, but he could persuade his body to adapt to Minho. If he really wanted to, he could force his organs to keep Minho's cock inside him. "Of course I—ah. Hng. Hyung, hyung, h-hyung-"

"My good boy." Minho breathed a purr over the fruit his lube-dampened fingers were creating in the silence of the room. "You're so pretty, my mate. Your body knows it's mine, doesn't it? You're going to let me in without any resistance."

And it wasn't a question. It was a fact. An order. You will welcome me without any resistance. Jisung certainly wasn't going to disappoint Minho, so he forced himself to relax, taking slow breaths until the knuckles slid inside him without any resistance. Minho rewarded him with a satisfied purr, and Jisung knew he wasn't a hybrid, but his mind couldn't help but rejoice at that sound: my mate is happy, my mate is satisfied, I'm so good for my mate.

Minho slowly withdrew his fingers from Jisung, ignoring his plaintive moan with a shhhh, baby. Jisung propped himself up on one elbow just in time to see Minho pull off his pants and underwear, and his breath caught when his eyes finally fell on his cock. He'd guessed Minho was big, of course he'd guessed, but seeing it with his own eyes was a shock to his neural connections. Because there was no world in which Jisung could take Minho's cock without it being ripped in two—but he'd hate himself for the rest of his life if he didn't try, at least.

"Nervous?" Minho asked softly, smearing himself with lube.

"Just a little bit." Jisung answered honestly because he didn't want to lie to Minho, especially not at a moment like this.

“Don’t be, you’re made for me.” Minho said, leaning forward again to press his knuckles against Jisung’s cheek. And it didn’t make sense, not really, and yet, Jisung felt himself relax.

For the first few inches Minho pushed inside him, Jisung pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, his mouth slightly open in a moan that was barely audible. And Minho kept talking, You feel so good, Jisungie. Just breathe, let me in. And Jisung had never had anything so big inside him, but it didn’t hurt—because Minho had prepared him enough that nothing would be painful for him. His mate would never make him endure too much pain, Jisung knew it; he was certain of it.

“Open your eyes.” Minho commanded him softly, a strain in his voice, and Jisung hadn't even realized he'd closed his eyes. Jisung opened them again, tears sliding down his burning cheeks, and he let out a whimper as Minho pushed the last few inches inside him. "Shit, Sungie..."

"You're so deep, h-hyung..." Jisung said with a moan, and he moved his hips reflexively because he wanted Minho to use him right away. "P-please, please..." 

"Want to be fucked, baby?" Minho asked, a little condescendingly, with a smile revealing his teeth. He pressed his lips against Jisung's jaw before gently rolling his hips—Jisung nodded, unable to respond with words. "Hold on." He continued more gently, guiding Jisung's legs so they were wrapped around his waist.

The change of angle pressed Minho a little deeper inside himself, something Jisung hadn't thought possible. And yet.

It wasn't until Jisung wrapped his arms around Minho's neck that he truly began to move—deep, strong hip movements that elicited ah, ah, ahs from Jisung's lips. Moans that turned into sobs as Minho's hip rhythm quickened and Jisung realized just how controlled and restrained Minho had been until then. The atmosphere in the room grew warmer, almost scorching, unless it was just Jisung's skin threatening to melt where Minho touched him; the bed creaked, but the sound wasn't enough to drown out the smack of skin against skin.

"F-fuck, hgn, right there, oh my God, darling, right there." Jisung heard himself say it, or at least, he hoped he did. He wasn't sure, his mind clouded, his entire perception of the universe reduced to the mere perception of Minho thrusting in him.

And Jisung had spent years writing songs about feelings he'd never experienced himself: devotion and romantic despair, his only inspiration coming from movies and the way Hyunjin portrayed them. He'd written, composed, and sung lyrics he'd pretended to understand because he was talented enough to put words to emotions he'd only observed without ever experiencing them. His only sincerity had been in expressing his loneliness—deep, infinite, digging holes in his soul and chest without him fully realizing it. Jisung realized now that he knew nothing—he'd never known anything.

But he understood now. He understood why people had lost their minds and fought wars. He understood why Hyunjin had spent his life trying to put it into words.

He understood.

.

.

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves

Or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss

How I long for our trysts 

My bedsheets are ablaze

I’ve screamed his name

Building up like waves

Crashing over my grave

.

.

Jisung had the pleasure of experiencing Minho for two short days before the world outside their apartment caught up with them. Jisung still had a job to take care of, an album to prepare, fans he couldn’t abandon—even if he wanted to keep exploring all the ways he and Minho could make use of the surfaces of the furniture at their disposal.

Chan was sitting around the meeting table, deep in conversation with Hyunjin, when Minho opened the door to let Jisung step in first. No one had seen them since they’d returned from China—since Minho had started calling him his mate.

“Sungie.” Hyunjin said with a smile, and the next second he was on him. “Are you okay? I missed you so much.”

“We were only apart for three days.” Jisung said with a small laugh as Hyunjin rubbed his cheek against the top of his head.

“But that’s three days too many and—” Hyunjin cut himself off abruptly before grabbing Jisung’s face to expose his neck.

Minho, who had crossed the room to greet Chan, suddenly let out a small warning growl—the sound of a feline scolding its young, really—and Hyunjin let go of Jisung immediately, eyes wide.

“Oh my God.” he breathed, and Jisung knew there were marks from Minho’s teeth and lips on his neck where he had tried to give him a mating bite without breaking the skin. Jisung had wanted the bite just as much as Minho had tried to give it to him. Of course, the mark would eventually fade until the skin was smooth as if it had never been there. Jisung, Minho, and Hyunjin all knew it. And yet, Hyunjin went on, eyes shining with tears. “I can’t believe you’re mated.”

Jisung felt something warm and soft spread through his chest, as if the lava of the volcano that had always lived inside him had turned into honey. Because Hyunjin understood. He knew that, with the reality of Jisung’s condition, he could never be Minho’s biological mate—but he understood. Jisung instinctively turned his gaze to Minho, finding in his eyes a feeling that must have mirrored his own.

“He is, so take your hands off my mate.” Minho replied, but his mock-threatening tone had no real effect when his eyes were so soft.

Hyunjin giggled at the same time Chan let out a small sound like a choking mouse.

“What?” he asked, and Jisung felt too euphoric to focus on the anxiety trying to push its way to the forefront of his feelings.

“Surprise?” he said, his smile stretching wider across his lips. “Sorry, hyung. We’re telling you a bit late that you might want to start having a statement ready to be released. Just in case, you know?”

Chan opened and closed his mouth without a sound coming out before sighing, pressing his face into the palm of his hand.

“Okay, I’ll save my manager speech for another time and just congratulate the two of you.” Chan finally said before gesturing toward the meeting room chairs. “Now, if everyone would like to take a seat so I can share another piece of good news.”

Hyunjin smiled, pressing his lips to Jisung’s forehead before letting him go. Jisung caught Minho’s gaze again and, naturally, went to sit beside him.

“I won’t beat around the bush because this is genuinely a huge opportunity.” Chan continued, and even though he was trying to stick to his role as manager, there was a smile in his eyes. “Victoria’s Secret contacted us to have you as the artists performing for their next fashion show.”

“What?” Jisung heard himself ask just as Hyunjin said holy shit!

“You’d be the artists for an entire segment of the program while the models walk.” Chan went on. “The show will take place in the United States.”

“I hope you’ve already said yes.” Hyunjin almost cut in, and Jisung smiled.

“If they hadn’t made efforts these past few years to improve their image and broaden their representation, I would’ve been against it.” he began, shrugging. “But I guess, sincere or not, that kind of change has to be encouraged, so I’m in.” And Hyunjin nodded along to his whole comment with a if I wasn’t sure Minho hyung would kill me, I’d kiss you.

“Okay, since you both agree, I’ll reply that we accept the offer.” Chan said, typing something into his phone.

Hyunjin let out a small excited sound—which was only natural, Hyunjin loved blending his art with his love for fashion. Jisung did too, but maybe with less intensity.

“We should go out to celebrate.” Hyunjin went on, draping himself across the table to grab Jisung’s hands. “It’s been weeks since we went out to eat somewhere, Sungiiiiie.”

“Oh, hm—” Jisung pressed his lips together, turning his gaze toward Minho. He didn’t want to say no to Hyunjin and see the disappointment in his eyes, but he knew it was something Minho wouldn’t accept. It was too dangerous, they’d be too exposed, and it was a risk Minho wouldn’t take. He wouldn’t have taken it before, but now that Jisung was his mate, he wouldn’t even consider it.

“I’m sure we can find a suitable and perfectly secure place.” was the answer Minho offered, turning his attention to Chan, one eyebrow raised.

Chan looked just as surprised as Hyunjin and Jisung at his response.

“Of course.” Chan nodded immediately. “Changbin and I will be there too.”

“Then I don’t see any problem with it.” Minho said, his hand coming to rest on the inside of Jisung’s thigh.

Jisung and Hyunjin exchanged a look—one surprised, the other eager. Minho met Jisung’s gaze again, and Jisung knew he wasn’t pressing his face into his hair only because they weren’t alone and Minho wanted to hold on to his professionalism.

Jisung was genuinely surprised that Minho had agreed to the suggestion, but he wasn’t about to complain. He could have spent the rest of his days locked in an apartment with Minho and never been bored for a single second of his life, but a part of him wanted to regain some semblance of a normal life.

That was how Jisung found himself in a private room of a restaurant with his closest friends. Minho was, unsurprisingly, the one closest to the door. Guarding it the way he knew how. Jisung wasn’t sure anyone would be foolish enough to try anything against him—or Hyunjin—while they were surrounded by people just as imposing. But then again, he hadn’t been sure anyone could reach him in his apartment either, so—and like a New Year’s resolution made a few months early—Jisung was trying to accept that sometimes he couldn’t be sure of anything.

“Have a drink with me, baby.” Hyunjin said with a whine, trying to bring his own glass to Jisung’s lips.

“Hyunnie, you know I can’t handle alcohol.” Jisung said with a small laugh, trying to push Hyunjin away. And under different circumstances, he would’ve let Hyunjin make him drink. But he wanted to stay perfectly sober until Minho took them home.

“Just one.” Hyunjin said with a pout, eyes shining, and Jisung sighed before taking the glass of strawberry soju and downing a few gulps, grimacing.

“There.” his voice a little deeper, he handed the glass back to Hyunjin, who giggled before wrapping his arms around Changbin again.

Jisung remembered a time when Hyunjin had been so in love with Changbin that he cried every night. He also remembered a time when Hyunjin had been in love with Seungmin—their childhood friend, and Changbin’s current boyfriend. Hyunjin had a heart too soft, falling in love as easily as he breathed—which also meant he spent part of his life suffering from it, because no one ever seemed able to love him back. Jisung had never thought he’d see Hyunjin this comfortable with Changbin again.

His throat tightened over the burn of the soju, and he knew that if he lingered too long on his thoughts, he’d start crying. Which wasn’t a good thing to do in the middle of his friends, his manager, and Minho. Unless he wanted to make them panic.

That wasn’t his plan for tonight, so he took a slow breath and brought another piece of marinated meat that Minho had placed on his plate to his lips.

Three hours later, Changbin had his arm wrapped around Hyunjin’s waist, making sure Hyunjin wouldn’t hurt himself on the way to the car. Hyunjin had his cheek pressed against Changbin’s hair, enjoying the fact that he was taller, in a state of unrestrained joy.

“Sungie, I love you so much.” Hyunjin said with a giggle as Changbin tried to get him into the car. “You are my favorite person in the world, your soul is so beautiful. Sungie, my Sungie.”

Jisung chuckled, and when Changbin finished buckling Hyunjin into the passenger seat, he took his place by the open door.

“Kiss.” Hyunjin said in a breath, like a spoiled child, and Jisung rolled his eyes before grabbing his face and pressing a kiss to his forehead. It wasn’t probably where Hyunjin wanted Jisung to kiss him—because it wouldn’t have been the first time for them—but he had a mate now, and he would never risk hurting Minho.

“Good night, Hyunnie.” He whispered, and Hyunjin offered him a radiant smile, cheeks flushed red.

And Hyunjin kept waving to them through the car window until it disappeared around the corner, Changbin at the wheel. 

“Come on, jagi.” Minho breathed on his hair, a hand on the small of his back to guide him to their own car. 

The smile on Jisung's face didn't fade the entire car ride to their apartment. Not in the elevator, not when Jisung tried to pull Minho close by the collar of his shirt. And he probably would have kept smiling like that if Jisung's phone—the one Minho still used—hadn't rung with the special tone Jisung had programmed for Hyunjin. Minho frowned before kissing his lips to pull the phone from his inside jacket pocket and hand it to Jisung. Hyunjin hadn't texted Jisung on his old phone since Minho had swapped it for his, but his friend wasn't exactly sober. So it wasn't anything strange.

“Hyunnie says Changbin hyung forgot to give us something. They’re going to stop downstairs to drop it off,” Jisung shrugged, but now it was Minho’s turn to frown. 

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” he asked, and Jisung shook his head. 

“If Changbin hyung is going out of his way, it must be important.” 

Minho frowned but nodded. 

“I’ll go. You stay here and close the door behind me,” he said, and when Jisung opened his mouth in protest, he kissed him on the lips. “Do as I say, jagiya.” 

“Okay,” Jisung sighed, and Minho kissed him one last time before leaving the apartment.

Jisung closed the door behind him. He ran a hand through his hair before biting the inside of his cheek. He could run a bath while he waited for Minho to return and use way too much bodywash to make big bubbles. He could take off his clothes and leave them on the floor, clearing a path to the bathroom. He could— 

Minho's phone—the one Jisung was using—vibrated in his back pocket. 

Changbin. 

“Hello?” he asked, frowning. “Minho hyung just came down to pick up what you need to give him.”

“Jisung—what are you talking about?” Changbin asked after a brief silence. “I was calling to tell you that Hyunjin doesn’t know where he put his phone. He probably left it at the restaurant.” 

Jisung felt something cold and unpleasant tighten in his chest. 

“Hyung,” he breathed, sounding as terrified as he was. “I got a message from Hyunjin five minutes ago saying you had something for us. Minho hyung went out.” 

“Jisung, I’m turning around and calling Chan and the police. Whatever you do, don’t leave the apartment. Lock yourself in the bathroom if you feel like you’re not alone.”

But Jisung couldn't wait—his mind was solely on the thought that Minho might be alone with his stalker. Alone with someone dangerous enough to send dead animals to Jisung. 

“Call the police,” he said before hanging up, cutting off the line without hearing Changbin's last words, don't, Jisung!

Jisung opened the apartment door without even putting on his shoes and— 

And froze when he came face to face with the silhouette of a man. A man he didn't know. A man slightly taller than Minho, who was looking at him with large, bright eyes.

“Han Jisung?” he asked with a breath, and Jisung felt a cold, acidic fear spread through his body. He had heard far too many people say his name in his life. His parents said it tenderly because he would always be six years old in their eyes. His friends, especially Hyunjin, with an affection the size of Jupiter. His fans, as if Jisung were the best person in the world—someone who couldn't make a single mistake and could bring happiness just by breathing. And then there was Minho. Minho saying his name in a kaleidoscope of different emotions that danced across Jisung's closed eyelids. 

The way this stranger pronounced his name was unlike anything Jisung had ever heard before. With a devotion and reverence that was different from the way Minho breathed against Jisung's skin. The stranger said his name as if he could kill Jisung.

“Sorry, I don’t receive anyone over in the evenings.” Jisung apologized, trying to close the door, but the stranger blocked it with his foot. 

“But I’m your biggest fan, Jisung.” The person continued, pressing their hand flat against the door to push it open. “There’s no one on earth who loves you more than I do.” 

You’re not. Jisung thought, the words catching in his throat because his survival instinct screamed at him to be careful what he said. Because this person was stronger than him and seemed unpredictable. 

Lock yourself in the bathroom, Changbin had said. Jisung could reach Minho’s room in seconds if he stopped thinking. If he took the person by surprise. Probably.

“C-can you prove it to me?” he asked, trying to keep the tremor in his voice.

“Of course I can!” exclaimed the person, their eyes shining and a wide smile on their lips. “Do you remember the first letter I sent you, Jisung? I—”

As the person's gaze lingered on his memories, Jisung released the door and ran towards the bathroom. Three short seconds later, he heard the door slam against the wall and his name called out, Jisung! But Jisung was already in Minho's room, bursting through the bathroom door and slamming it shut. When he turned the lock, he heard something knock. He jumped back before his eyes frantically searched for a piece of furniture he could push aside to barricade himself in. 

Only then did he notice he was still holding his phone between his white knuckles.  Minho.

Minho answered the first ring. Outside the bathroom, the person was still banging on the door, calling his name. 

"Jisung?" Minho's voice said, and Jisung felt his throat tighten and his body tremble. 

"H-hyung—" 

"Where are you?”

“In your bathroom.” Jisung managed to say it out, and he jumped when something louder than mere pounding struck the door. Let me in, Jisung. Jisung, open the door.

“I-he…h-hyung.” 

“I’m coming.” That was all Minho said before hanging up. 

And Jisung had never heard him speak like that before. Cold. Calm. Like an iceberg on a calm, flat ocean. 

Minho was on his way. 

“Jisung! Why are you doing this to me? I thought we understood each other, that you loved me!” 

“I don’t know you!” Jisung yelled back, covering his ears, his nerves finally snapping.

There was a pause behind the door, a sudden, deafening silence. For a moment, Jisung thought his stalker was gone. 

It didn't last. 

Jisung's heart didn't even have time to slow down before a new sound appeared. A metallic clang. The sound of something being inserted into the lock to force the door open. 

"I'll get you one way or another, Han Jisung," his stalker crooned. "One way or another you'll be mi—”

A roar, a scream, the sound of two masses hitting the ground. Jisung felt as if his mind had left his body and he was now nothing more than a passive spectator. 

And then, the most primal part of his mind, the part that fear didn't paralyze because it wanted to survive, realized that his mate was alone with someone who probably had a knife. Or worse. 

Jisung tried to unlock the door, but it jammed. He groaned—pressed his shoulder against the door and tried to force it open, again and again. 

“Please.” He sobbed that he hadn't seen it coming. “Please, please—” 

The lock turned, and Jisung nearly fell when the door finally opened.

There was blood on the floor. A stain that spread toward the living room as if an injured body had been dragged. Groans came from the living room—N-no, n-no, please, please… 

Minho, his canines sunk into the man's neck, as Jisung's legs finally carried him into the living room, his knees trembling and threatening to buckle at any moment. His usually soft white fur was covered in bloodstains on his paws, flanks, and neck. Human fingerprints as if Jisung's stalker had tried to push him away. 

Minho growled, one of his thick paws pressing down on the man's chest, until his groans of protest turned to wet sounds as he drowned in his own blood. Only when Minho was certain the threat was dead did he release his grip on the man's neck, meeting his gaze. 

Jisung let out another sob, his knees finally buckling, forcing him to sit on the floor. The living room walls seemed to spin around them, and he felt as if he might run out of air at any moment. Then, Minho pressed his head against Jisung's, licking his face to dry his tears or comfort him. Perhaps both.

“Are you okay?” Jisung asked, or at least, he tried to ask. In truth, he let out a squeal of distress amidst his tears, his hands running over Minho’s fur, searching for any kind of injury—there wasn’t one. The blood on his fur was solely his stalker’s. 

Minho pressed himself even closer to Jisung, letting his heavy, massive body collapse around him like a shield against an enemy who had already stopped breathing. When Changbin entered their apartment, the front door having been left open, Minho began to growl again. A menacing sound, as if he didn’t recognize Changbin—as if the animal within him had overtaken his reason, and anyone who wasn’t him was a threat to Jisung. To his mate. 

Jisung raised a trembling hand toward Changbin to stop him from coming any closer. Changbin froze immediately, his face pale and his eyes darting back and forth between the body on the ground and Minho.

“Shh, jagiya, it’s okay.” Jisung managed to say it, his face pressed against Minho’s side. If he couldn’t relax, Minho would never let his guard down and wouldn’t let anyone near them. But Jisung knew that Minho didn’t really want to hurt anyone. Especially not Changbin. “My darling, I’m fine. It’s just Changbin hyung. He’s just worried about us. Can he come closer?” 

Minho didn’t lose his defensive posture, remaining pressed against Jisung as if trying to shield him from everyone’s view, but his growling gradually subsided.

Jisung pressed his lips against Minho's fur and breathed. In this form, he couldn't smell the white flower scent of the shower gel Minho used to wash himself, so Jisung wouldn't have the illusion of being able to smell it. It didn't matter now. Jisung needed to calm down. He needed to relax. He needed to try to control his own scent—a scent he couldn't smell—so Minho would feel safe and that the danger was gone. 

Because the danger was gone. The danger was gone, Jisung realized, taking another breath and finally feeling his heart rate slow in his veins.

“Are you all right?” Changbin asked when Minho’s growls subsided into a low purr. 

“I’m fine.” Jisung replied automatically, but there was some truth to it—they were fine. They were. “Where’s Hyunnie?” 

“With Chan hyung, in the car downstairs. He’s terrified.” Changbin said, and when Jisung finally raised his head to look at him, he was as pale as he was. “The police should be here soon, they’d better…” 

“That was self-defense, wasn’t it?” Jisung asked suddenly, his voice urgent, making Minho slump to his knees, pressing his head against his chest. “He’s not going to… That was self-defense, wasn’t it?” he repeated, suddenly struck by the reality that Minho had killed a man and could potentially go to prison. Jisung refused to lose Minho like that.

“Breathe, Sungie, Minho hyung isn’t in any danger.” Changbin immediately reassured him. “He acted like your bodyguard, neutralizing a stranger who tried to attack you in your apartment. Not to mention the weeks of evidence we have against your stalker. Everything will be alright.” 

Jisung silently began to cry again at this. This time, tears of relief.

.

.

The police concluded it was an act of self-defense. There was a wolf-hybrid on the patrol that arrived on the scene minutes after Changbin, and she immediately understood what she was looking at: a predator protecting its mate. Hybrid logic had little to no bearing on human logic, but this wasn't the first time a predator had killed to protect its prey. 

No one was going to prosecute Minho for doing his job.

.

.

When Jisung opened his eyes, about ten hours after the incident, he was momentarily confused, recognizing the old ceiling of his former apartment before the events of the previous night flooded back to him like a disjointed film. The stalker, the break-in, Minho in his animal form with his teeth sunk into the throat of the person who had ruined the last few months of his life. The body on the floor, blood on the carpet, the sound of ambulance sirens and police cars outside the building. 

Jisung couldn't remember how they had returned to his old apartment. He was wearing the same clothes as the day before, and he had fallen asleep with Minho still in his animal form wrapped around him.

Sometime during the night, Minho had changed back into his human form—the blood hadn't disappeared with the fur, and Jisung could see the dried red stains, almost brown now, on the lower part of his face and the back of his neck. 

Minho, who had killed someone for him. 

Jisung stretched slowly, pressed his lips against Minho's blond hair, and then slowly slid out of bed. Facing his reflection in the bathroom mirror again was an experience Jisung wasn't truly prepared for. The last time Jisung had been in that room, he and Minho had barely met; he hadn't yet grasped the extent of his stalker's determination to reach him. He also thought that no one could ever love him, and that he would never find anyone who was right for him.

The person staring back at him looked exhausted and terrified—pale skin, eyes still red and slightly swollen from his tears. Jisung had never been so terrified in his life. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the long weeks that had passed; because they had brought him Minho. Jisung would always choose to face the same trials, if it meant having Minho in his bed, over and over again.

After rinsing his face and changing his clothes, he took a towel and dampened it with warm water.

Minho blinked his eyes open when he felt the mattress dip under Jisung’s weight again, frowning when he felt something cleaning the skin of his face.

“Go back to sleep, darling.” Jisung murmured softly, wiping the blood from Minho’s skin with a tenderness he had never thought his jittery fingers were capable of.

“Bug…?” Minho breathed, his voice deeper in the haze of just waking up.

“I’m okay, you’re okay.” Jisung replied, pressing another kiss to Minho’s forehead. “You did so well protecting your mate, darling.” he continued, gently rubbing his skin before setting the damp towel down on the bed. They would need to change the sheets anyway.

Minho took a slow breath before reaching out, pulling Jisung against his chest, on top of him.

“I’m sorry I opened the door you told me to keep closed until you came back.” Jisung continued, his voice muffled by his face buried in Minho’s neck. “But I was worried and—”

“It’s okay, Sungie.” Minho replied, his fingers stroking through Jisung’s hair. “It doesn’t matter, because I’ll always be there to protect you. Always.”

“I wanted to protect you too.”

Even without seeing his face, Jisung could picture the slow smile on his lips—an amused smile, because he knew Jisung hated violence, but was still capable of it if it meant protecting the people he loved. If it meant protecting Minho.

“I know, jagi. I know.” A quick kiss pressed to his temple. “And I’m proud of you. My good boy, my brave, beautiful mate.” His hands slid down his back to the dip of his waist. “I love you so much, I’m so lucky to have you as my soulmate.”

Soulmate, Jisung had never thought of it that way. The words felt too big, too solemn. Too vast and too magical for someone who was just Han Jisung.

Han Jisung, who had never thought he could ever be graced with a love like that.

Jisung had never been so glad to be wrong in his entire life.

.

.

Six months later

The air smelled like setting spray and hairspray. A myriad of glitter caught the frenzy of the room—models in lingerie wearing Victoria’s Secret’s latest collection, inspired by sirens from different folklore around the world. In the middle of all those bodies—technicians, makeup artists, stylists, hairdressers, and cameras—one person stood out: Lee Felix. Jisung didn’t know if the model had grown out his long blond hair for the occasion, but it brushed the small of his back, between his two white wings. Natural wings. Because Felix was one of the rare swan hybrids in the world. Unlike the usual Victoria’s Secret models, he didn’t need accessories to look like an angel.

“Holy shit.” Hyunjin breathed, eyes fixed, just like Jisung’s, on Felix, and Jisung held back a laugh. Hyunjin had had a ridiculous crush on the model for months. Which was stupid, really, Hyunjin and Felix didn’t even know each other. “Oh, fuck.”

“You okay, or should I call someone to bring a respirator?” Jisung asked, digging his elbow into Hyunjin’s side.

“Call them, because I feel like I’m gonna—”

“Hey, you’re members of Phoenix, aren’t you?” a surprisingly deep voice asked, the intonation more rhetorical than anything. Jisung and Hyunjin turned their heads at the same time, both flinching.

In front of them, Felix had slipped through the busy, rushing crowd to reach them, a smile as bright as the sun on his lips, framed by a myriad of freckles scattered across his face like constellations.

Usually, Hyunjin was the one who handled social interactions for the two of them, but one glance at his best friend was enough for Jisung to realize he was no longer with him. Hyunjin had completely frozen—eyes wide, his ferret tail gone still as if he were facing a predator. Jisung had never seen him this shaken in his life.

“Indeed,” he replied with a smile, dipping his head. “I didn’t know you’d be walking this year, your appearance is going to cause a sensation.”

Felix’s smile widened, something Jisung hadn’t thought possible.

“My presence was an absolute secret,” he said with a soft giggle. “But I’m happy to do it. I didn’t expect to receive the invitation, but I would’ve been an idiot to pass up an opportunity to shine a light on hybrids.” And then, without any warning, he stepped into Jisung’s space, leaning in to breathe in the air near his neck.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jisung saw Minho take a step forward.

“Are you a hybrid? Sorry, but you smell…”

“That’s my mate you’re smelling,” Jisung replied with a soft laugh, turning his head toward Minho. Felix followed his gaze, blinked, then nodded and stepped back again.

“Then you’re the one I need to ask for a favor.” He continued, shifting his attention to Hyunjin.

Despite the noise around them, Jisung could swear he heard him swallow.

“Anything you want,” Hyunjin finally answered, with the devotion of a poet who had just caught sight of a beautiful stranger on a street corner.

“Would you hold my hand and walk with me for the first few meters of the runway? The effect will be incredible, trust me.”

Hyunjin blinked three times in quick succession.

“Hold your hand.”

“Yes, like you’re accompanying me,” Felix replied patiently, his eyes bright with amusement. “If it’s not too much to ask.”

“It’s not— Of course it’s not too much to ask. Yeah, okay.” Hyunjin eventually answered, and Felix leaned in to kiss his cheek as if they were already close.

“Thank you so much, it’s going to be fantastic, trust me!” he repeated before disappearing again when he heard his name called by a technician.

Jisung hid his smile behind his hand.