Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Go on. Give us a twirl.”

With a heavy sigh, Jihoon obediently turns on the spot so his mother can inspect the fall of his new tailcoat. Though perhaps new is not the correct word.

The suit he is still being sewn into, which, while genteel, looks to be about ten years out of fashion and somewhat moth-bitten. Not at all suited for a jaunt in the countryside never mind a ton ball.

It is however, the first time Jihoon has worn it, so it could be considered new to him.

“That will have to do I suppose.” Comes his mother’s weary sigh. “It’s still a bit big around the shoulders, but if we loosen the stitches again, I fear the silk will fray. What do you think Jisoo?”

“Who cares what Jisoo thinks. I’m the one who’s wearing the blasted thing. Why is nobody asking me what I think?” Says Jihoon, incredulously.

His mother waves an airy hand.

“Because we already know what you think dearest, and we don’t care to hear it again. Now go—go downstairs and show your father.”

Jihoon’s father holds him at arm’s length as he casts a critical eye over him, before he offers the briefest of approving nods and a kiss on the top of the head.

“Lovely. You are the loveliest, grumpiest Omega in the whole county. Come the eve of the first ball, there will be a line of suitors out the door and down the garden path.”

He says it with a sorrowful glint in his eye that Jihoon is all too familiar with.

One needn’t have discerning taste to see that it is ill fitting for a man of Jihoon’s stature, and ill-suited for even the grimmest of country dances, but as the youngest of five Omegas, with nothing but his family’s good standing in society to lean back on, an out of style dinner jacket and a loaned cravat is still quite the luxury.

Indeed, that Jihoon is permitted to attend any dances this season has come as a surprise. For his older brother Jisoo has only yet become engaged, and his wedding costs have yet to be paid in full, and to allow another Omega to mingle when there is no hope of offering a suitable dowry is considered to be very unwise.

Not that Jihoon intends to find a mate of course.

He is content with his lot in life, with his books and his rock collection and his little haven in his parents nest, and if he lives out the remainder of his days with only these things intact, he will have attained as handsome a situation as a man of his birth can reasonably expect.

“Have you heard the wonderful news Mr Lee?”

Mr Lee looks up from the letter in his hand, and his expression doesn’t change; not a flicker in the bored droop of his eyelids. “No, but I am certain you will inform me of it soon my dear.”

Mrs Lee waits until the last of the servants leave the room, letting the pause stretch out theatrically.

“I met Mr Kwon in town, and he tells me the Duke and his family have returned to Daegu Hall for the summer, that the Duke himself intends to host the first dance of the season. And if word is to be believed, it seems he is very much in the market for a mate.”

“Oh, surely not!” Jihoon cries out, interrupting whatever his father had planned to say. “Having that oaf larking about town harassing Omegas doesn’t sound like good news to me.”

“I think you are mistaken little brother.” Jisoo pipes up, patronising as ever. “Those stories were about the Old Duke of Daegu, who passed last spring. His son has taken the title now, and he is a very different man to his father. Or so I hear.”

“I was aware of the elder Duke’s passing Jisoo, that is not who I was referring to.” Jihoon replies, in a dry tone. “It is the new Duke that has earned my ire, or are we turning a blind eye to his devious machinations because he is descended from royalty?”

Mrs Lee favours him with a disappointed look, the same one she uses when she regards a poorly risen cake. “Did we not agree we would not discuss politics at the dinner table.”

“It’s not politics. It’s common decency!’  Jihoon exclaims before he can stop himself, and receives a stern look from his mother that he resolutely ignores. “That Alpha has a harem of Omegas at his beck and call and refuses to claim any of them. And he has abandoned pups all over the country. It shouldn’t matter who he is, someone must hold him accountable!"

Mr Lee, who’s outward attention had been directed entirely at a letter from the family solicitor, brings an end to the lively discussion by pointedly clearing his throat.

“That’s quite enough of that I think.” He pronounces with an air of authority. “Mrs Lee is right, we do not discuss such topics at the dinner table, and Jihoon, unless these claims are substantiated, I will not have them repeated in my presence. Are we clear?”

Jihoon nods and drops his gaze to the table, scowling like a petulant teenager.

“Well, I for one look forward to welcoming the new Duke and his regimental guards to our little town.” Mrs Lee says, with a wave of her hand. “We don’t often have many handsome, unmatched Alphas in these parts, and now we’ll have Alphas coming out of our ears. What an exciting time it is!”

Jihoon longs to scoff at the notion, but his father beats him to the punch.

“Now, now my dear, try not to get too excited. We only have one unmated son to present to the Duke, and he’s already made his feelings on the man quite clear.”

“Quite right.” Jihoon nods, stabbing at his dinner.

The Duke’s arrival in town causes a stir the likes of which Jihoon has never witnessed, nor ever wishes to witness again.

Eligible men and women from far and wide flock to their quaint corner of the countryside in anticipation of the ball, buying up every empty house and spare room in town, transforming the once quiet cobblestoned streets into an odd whirlpool of opportunistic dandies and elaborate hairpieces.

Things only gets worse once the invitations are sent out, and long-standing friendships are tossed aside in favour of whose son or daughter can outshine the other. By the end of the week, there is barely a ribbon or a feather or a scrap of lace left in their little town, forcing good, hardworking local folk (and Jihoon’s brother) to travel twice as far to find a decently stocked haberdashery.

Jihoon is far more practical in these respects; there is no need for a new suit when his old one still fits him well, and he mends the tear in his gloves with an old spool of embroidery thread he finds at the bottom of a sewing basket, not at all bothered that the colour doesn’t quite match or that someone may comment on it. He won’t be dancing at the ball anyway—he never does at these events—and he refuses to go out of his way to catch the eye of a ner-do-well like the Duke of Daegu.

Pah!

He remains entirely unaffected by the feverish spirit that has swept everyone else off their feet—even as the night of the ball finally arrives, and their modest carriage trundles through the midnight blue twilight towards a grand house with golden light flooding from every window.

Daegu Hall is said to be grandest and most opulent stately home in the county, boasting seventy rooms, a library, an ample supper room, and a ball room capable of hosting a full fifty couples on the dance floor that requires no trick of mirror or candlelight to hide imperfections in the wallpaper.

Jihoon has never had an occasion to step foot inside before now, but he has heard enough about it from his elder siblings and does not allow himself to be impressed by the height of the ceilings and the size of the portraits, the pastel-coloured fancies and beeswax tapers. He is however, alarmed by the sheer number of guests in attendance.

A crushingly large number of guests.

So much so, that the liveried footman that greets their small party informs them that there is a two hour wait if they wish to be introduced to the Duke in person.

Mrs Lee complains about this loudly and endlessly, to everyone within earshot. Jihoon on the other hand, who is already vexed by the chafe of his over-starched collar, finds this news perfectly agreeable.

He can think of no better way to spend the night than to be cocooned in Daegu Hall’s expansive library, reading about the great wonders of the ancient world and the art the Renaissance, or better yet, immerse himself in another novel if he can find one. So he carefully bides his time until his mother is pulled into a conversation by another guest, and then quietly slips away through the crowd in search of the library.

He finds it without trouble, a penchant for the hidden-away that has been his since childhood. His hopes of solitude are dashed however, when he discovers someone else has had the same bright idea.

An Alpha decked in the deep red regimental garb occupies a large armchair in the corner, his weary face illuminated by a single candelabra placed on the side table. He appears surprised by Jihoon’s arrival, then quickly annoyed—then surprised again once Jihoon points a finger at him and announces:

“No, no. No. This simply won’t do. This is my hiding spot. I can’t have you hiding here too. Come now, off you go. You will have to find somewhere else to brood.”

The Alpha is silent for a long moment, staring at him with an affronted expression, as if he is not used to being ordered about. Finally he speaks in a measured voice. “I think you’ll find I was here first.”

Jihoon scowls at him, and holds it for a while, hoping to convey how terribly inconvenienced he is. When, after a moment, it produces nothing but a confused smile in turn, he throws his hands up.

“Alright, fine. I suppose you can stay, but you are not to make a noise. Not even a peep. I won’t have my reading interrupted.”

The Alpha bobs his head in agreement, still smiling in that perplexed way of his, and without another word, Jihoon turns and makes his way into the library proper.

It’s a beautiful room; he will admit that. The Duke may be a devious scoundrel who should be forced to forfeit his title and lands, but he does employ an excellent bookman.

The shelves—all clean and well polished—stretch from wall to wall and floor to ceiling, and they house not just any books, either, but well kept books, bound in good leather with gilding along the edges.

The first thing Jihoon does is just touch them, run his fingers along their spines with unfettered glee, before he starts poking through the volumes that interest him most.

As rapt as he is in his enjoyment however, it is not long before he feels himself being watched, and as he moves from one shelf to another, he finds his gaze drifting without conscious intent to the Alpha still lurking in the corner.

He looked older at first glance, perhaps a decade or so more than Jihoon, but now that his frown lines have eased and he’s not staring broodily into the distance, he seems young, but not so young that he still carries the air of an ill-proportioned youth. No no, it’s quite clear to see he’s a fully grown Alpha, from the way he occupies the whole of his tall frame with the confidence of a soldier, to the potent scent he emits into the room.

He is also, Jihoon loathes to admit, rather handsome, with dark eyes and a generous mouth and a head of unruly black hair that lends his face a rakish cast, and while that thought alone is not enough to make Jihoon uneasy, realising the Alpha is furtively scrutinizing him in turn certainly does.

The light from the candelabra barely touches a fifth of the vast room, but Jihoon can feel the Alpha’s eyes on his back, following him as he returns one book and moves swiftly on to the next.

Each time he levels a scowl at the armchair however, he finds the man is staring at the ceiling or out the window or down at his hands, looking as innocent as a man dressed in Regimental garb and shiny black boots can. Which isn’t terribly innocent, but is alarmingly attractive.

Damn him.

Jihoon has no cause to speak to him however—that is until, the Alpha produces a tin of tobacco and a square of rolling paper from his pocket, and begins to methodically roll himself a strange looking cigar, sealing the edges with the tip of his tongue.

Jihoon pivots to stare at him, a little thrown by his manner.

He thought he was familiar with the various implements used to smoke tobacco, but he’s never seen this rudimentary roll-your-own method before.

It strikes him as crude and ungentlemanly, though he supposes not all regimental officers need be members of the gentry to gain a commission. With the current lack of volunteers, this Alpha could have just as easily joined as an infantryman and risen through the ranks, or worse, been forced to enlist as punishment for some terrible crime.

Gasp!

Regardless, to smoke in such a splendid library is detestable, and Jihoon attempts to convey as much.

“I hope you don’t intend to smoke that in here.”

For some reason, this seems to strike the Alpha as amusing.

“I was actually. Do you object?” He says, with a sneering sort of smile as he packs away his tobacco.

“Indeed, I do.”

“And why is that?”

“Because this is a library, not a parlour; you’ll stink the place out with that horrid smell, and the smoke will stain the books, and I have done quite a bit of reading on tobacco smoke and contrary to popular belief, I don’t think smoking is very good for you actually.”

“Is that so? I had no idea. Please accept my sincerest apologies.” The Alpha says placidly, folding one leg atop the other. He proceeds to light his cigar thing anyway, and takes several long, leisurely puffs, grinning all the while.

Typical—Jihoon thinks, resuming his search efforts.

He soon finds a title that piques his interest, and after a quick flick through the first few pages to confirm it is indeed a worthy find, he carries it over to a small bench by the window to read at his leisure.

Barely two pages in, he hears the scuffle of boots as the Alpha rises from his seat, and then a large shadow falls over him, blocking what little reading light he had.

In the corner of his eye, he can see the Alpha puffing away at his cigar, and ignores him as long as he can, until the man leans over to peek over his shoulder and Jihoon can not, in good conscience or good manners, pretend oblivion any longer. He looks up.

“What book do you have there?”  

The man’s face shows nothing more than friendly inquiry, but Jihoon tenses anyway, clutching the book tightly against his chest.

“None of your business.”

The Alpha’s right eyebrows lifts a fraction as he sweeps a calculating look over Jihoon. Then he smiles in a pleasant way that is not at all comforting.

“You’re not very friendly, are you? I thought all Omegas were supposed to be sweet, docile little things.”

“I’m happy to disappoint you.” Jihoon informs him haughtily, feeling buoyed and reckless.

The Alpha gives a cough that sounds like stifled laugh. “I’m not disappointed. Just curious as to why you’d make all this effort to dress for a dance, then hide yourself away in the quietest room in the house and shun anyone who attempts to adhere to the very basic of social etiquette.”

Jihoon sighs briefly, pressing his fingers to his closed eyes. Then he gathers himself and squares his shoulders.

“Because I don’t want to be here, obviously. As many Omegas before me, I have been forced by my family and the dictates of social custom to make myself presentable and appear in polite society, so that I may procure myself a mate. Since I can’t very well disobey my parents by throwing myself out of the carriage, I can at least find somewhere to hide for the duration of the evening.”

The man squints at him through his smoke.

“So...you have no interest in finding a mate?”

Jihoon fights off a bitter laugh. Would that it were so simple!

“It is not that I have no interest in finding a mate, only that I have come to terms with the difficulties of securing a suitable one. Not that it concerns you, of course, or myself for that matter. I am quite content to remain in my parent’s nest for the rest of my life, and the bevy of suitors in attendance tonight do not inspire a change of heart.”

The Alpha makes an enquiring noise.

“Not even the Duke?”

“That pompous oaf? Certainly not.” Jihoon finds himself saying, without entirely intending to do so.

The Alpha looks taken aback for a moment, but the expression quickly morphs into one of amusement.  

“So you’ve been introduced, have you?”

Jihoon frowns repressively. He can’t say why, but he can’t shake the feeling the Alpha is laughing at him.

“Well...no, actually, we haven’t. I only glimpsed him from a distance. But I don’t need an introduction; I’ve heard many stories about him, and I can already tell what sort of man he is.”

“And pray tell, what sort of man is he?” the Alpha replies, a wicked twinkle in his eye.

“A terribly devious one, with hardly any morals at all. I hear he’s a scoundrel and a rake—much like most Alpha’s are, only he’s worse. More rakish and devious than three Alphas in one. He is also a dissolute, who occupies the gambling halls and disreputable clubs of the city, and that he refuses to pick a mate because he prefers to have a new face warming his bed each night.”

When he finishes, the Alpha stares at him blankly for a moment, as if he cannot comprehend what he is saying. Then he laughs.

“Oh, was that it?”

Jihoon looks sharply up at him. “What do you mean—is that it? Isn’t that not scandalous enough?”

The Alpha grins around his cigar. “Aye, for a naive little country-raised Omega such as yourself, I expect it would be scandalous. But for an Alpha bachelor residing in the city it is commonly accepted behaviour.”

Jihoon finds he has to close his eyes and allow a swell of indignation to wash over him. He opens them again, scowling up at this ridiculous man.

“What of the many Omegas he impregnated and promised to honour, then abandoned to raise his pups alone? I hear there is at least a dozen. Is that commonly accepted behaviour in the city too?”

He had not meant to say so much, had not realised until he had finished speaking that perhaps this was one of those occasions he ought to have kept his opinions to himself, until he could properly verify them. He is so self-conscious that he’s given voice to them at all, that he almost fails to notice the Alpha’s broody countenance has returned, and that he’s struggling to formulate his response.

“No, that behaviour is not acceptable," He finally manages, frowning down at his cigar. "And would make him a very devious man indeed, if it were true. Did you ever stop to think that these stories could be just that—stories.”

Jihoon inclines his head in understanding, not offering persuasion or argument. “I have, but as they say, there is no smoke without fire.”

The Alpha tips his head thoughtfully, before straightening to his full and frustratingly impressive height. “If it pleases you, I would like to pass on these stories to the Duke, so that he is aware of what is being said, and can amend any such detestable behaviours accordingly.”

Jihoon feels himself tense all over, his body gearing up for a fight without his conscious permission. His response to that, such as it is, sticks painfully in his throat, and it is only through sheer force of will that he pushes it out.

“You have a close acquaintance with the Duke of Daegu?”

The Alpha blows out another plume of smoke, studying his cigar with studied casualness. “Aye. I am a member of his personal guard. It doesn’t get much closer than that.”

Jihoon has a brief moment of panic when he considers the implications, the consequences that will surely follow. He almost feels fifteen again, silly and bookish and awkward in company, being ushered away from the dinner guests for foolishly speaking his mind. Only he is not so young anymore, and will not be granted the same leniencies of youth.

Oh, gods. How is he going to get out of this?

He cast about for something to say, mind racing, when suddenly the Alpha reaches down to tilt up his chin.

“Now, now. No reason to be fearful. My intention wasn’t to scare you into complacency. Quite the opposite. I think it’s good for Duke to know not everyone is blinded by his majesty. That there are those who will judge him for his actions and not merely for his personal wealth.”

Jihoon ducks his head, tears pricking his eyes.

“Still, I beg you not to disclose my name if you should speak to him. I should not have spoken so freely, and I cannot afford to embroil my family in further hardships.”

An incredulous frown settles on the Alpha’s face, as if he has never heard anything as daft.

“I’m not in the habit of seeking trouble, and neither is the Duke. I assure you your name will not pass my lips, Mr—”

“Oh, uhm, Lee.” Jihoon offers up, despite a little voice in the back of his mind crying out ‘No, you idiot! Don’t tell him!’ “Lee Jihoon.”

“Jihoon.” The man repeats, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

After another puff of his cigar, he cracks open a window to discard the ashen tip, then smiles down at Jihoon, with a fondness in his expression that is entirely unexpected.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Jihoon. You may call me Seungcheol.”

A knot eases itself in Jihoon’s chest at the informality of the introduction, and he allows the line of his shoulders to fall, only to stiffen again as the Alpha—Seungcheol—flicks up his coat tails and drops into the bench next to him.

“Would it be bold of me to ask how old you are?”

Jihoon narrows his eyes. The Alpha is chewing the inside of his cheek as he smiles at him.

“Not at all,” Jihoon says smoothly, wishing he could tell what the man’s objective is, what he hopes to achieve with this repartee. “I will turn nineteen this November.”

Seungcheol inclines his head. “So this must only be your... second season? Seems a bit early to be throwing in the towel, wouldn’t you say?” The sentence curls up just slightly, a gentlemanly inquiry.

“This is my third season actually.” Jihoon corrects heartily, determined to feel no bitterness.

His parents had wished for him to debut alongside his older brother, so that they would always be guaranteed a dance partner if attendance was low. But Jisoo, who has never lacked for friends, for charm and wit and appeal, had been quick to catch his fiancé Jeonghan’s eye, and Jihoon had quickly grown tired of standing at the edge of the room, waiting to be approached.

Perhaps if you scowled less—his mother had chided—you have a very sweet face when you’re not scowling. Of course that had only encouraged Jihoon to scowl twice as hard, out of principle.

“No matter, you are still young.” Seungcheol eventually announces into the pensive silence. “You have many years ahead of you to find a suitable mate.”

Letting out a soft scoff, Jihoon shakes his head.

“The formal rigidity of our courting scene does not favour introverts such as myself, and even if I was able to navigate it more gracefully, I doubt I would improve my prospects.” He sighs a little, slumps his shoulders and looks down at the book in his hands, running a finger along the spine. “I am the youngest of five you see—the youngest of five Omegas, so as you can imagine this ridiculous business of dowries has left my parents in some financial difficulty. Any hope of marrying me off was lost the day I was born.”

Seungcheol can evidently not think of anything to say to this—and in any case he is interrupted from doing so by a gentle knock on the door, and the sudden appearance of harried looking guard.

“Seungcheol, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but your absence has been noted and—”

Seungcheol quickly holds a hand up to silence the man, who is in such a state of distress, it takes him a moment to notice Jihoon’s presence. When he does, he visibly startles, then leers in the most unsubtle manner Jihoon has had the misfortune to see.

“Cheol you dog! Seduced another one already have you? Wonu was right about getting you a leash. You’re insatiable when it comes to those Omegas!”

Jihoon’s noise of outrage is somewhat eclipsed by Seungcheol’s, who looks right near ready to murder the other Alpha.

“Mingyu, you idiot! Does it look like I need your help?”

The other Alpha cows immediately, ducking his head.

“I’m sorry. I—I just thought—”

Seungcheol starts marching him back towards the door before he can finish, exchanging a few hushed words with him before shoving him out. When he turns to regard Jihoon again, there’s a sheepish cast to his expression that suits him too well.

“Please excuse my friend. He’s a little soft in the head. Perhaps we could continue this discussion downstairs, over some refreshments?”

Jihoon scoffs and tosses his hair out of his eyes.

“Oh, I think not. Even if your friend hadn’t just revealed your true nature, chatting with you has severely cut into my reading time. I don’t have access to such a splendid library at home you know.”

Seungcheol gives a little snort of a laugh, as if relishing in some private amusement, before turning on his heels and departing with a weary shake of his head.

Good riddance—Jihoon tells himself—pray it be the last time I set eyes on him.

The second gathering of the season is, as always, held in the town’s assembly rooms.

It has no library for Jihoon to escape to, but there is a pleasant garden, spacious and well-tended, and Jihoon is content to stroll through the lanes enjoying the evening breeze and the solitude.

He had for some minutes been sitting alone on the bench, around the fine large tree whose deceptively brittle branches had once necessitated a visit from the doctor as a pup, when he becomes aware of a figure watching him from the shadows.

Up until that point he would have said the garden was quite deserted, but now the glow of a lit cigar and a plume of smoke tells him he isn't alone.

“Who goes there?” he calls out, startled into speech.

Before he can decide whether to wait for an answer or run screaming, that handsome devious Alpha—Seungcheol— steps forward into the pool of light provided by a hanging lantern.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Seungcheol tips his head in greeting and immediately launches into conversation.

“You know, I was thinking about what you said the other day, about societal expectations for Omegas, and I realised the same could be said about Alphas. There’s an equal, if not greater social pressure for Alphas to procure a mate and further their bloodline.”

Jihoon’s first instinct, to ask ‘how long have you been standing there you deviant!’, is overridden by a stronger instinct to argue this statement down.

“That’s an interesting opinion I don’t share.”

Seungcheol visibly suppresses a smile. “No? Well then please, feel free to correct me. I’m very interested in hearing your thoughts.”

Jihoon proceeds to give him a piece of his mind, then another piece. Then storms off and returns with a further rejoinder, though Seungcheol has given no indication he disagrees with the first two arguments. Then somehow the conversation verges into politics, and from there, into geography and natural history, and before Jihoon knows what’s happening, he’s fetched a piece of chalk from somewhere and is sketching out a picture of a stripy horse he saw in a book once on the smooth stone of the garden fountain.

“It’s a zebra.” Says Seungcheol, kind amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Stripy black and white horses are called Zebras.”

Jihoon snorts messily. “Nice try. I think I would remember if the creature had such a ridiculous name.”

The sound of laughter from nearby, and the clatter of carriages sweeping down the path startles them both, and Jihoon is alarmed to realise the party has drawn to a close and he has spent the better part of it in this quiet corner of the garden, arguing with this man.

He moves to return to the hall, certain his parents will be searching for him, only to be stalled by Seungcheol’s voice.

“Do you have any prior engagements tomorrow afternoon? Because I would very much like to call on you, if you would permit it.”

Jihoon raises both his eyebrows as expressively as he knows how (very, it turns out), because it actually sounds like Seungcheol has enjoyed his company, and would like more of it, and that...that doesn’t make any sense at all.

It has often been said amongst those who have spent any time in Jihoon’s company, that if it came to a choice between Jihoon and a feral, angry cat, the cat would definitely be the more attractive candidate for friendship. And yet, this Alpha has sought Jihoon out, despite the awkwardness of their first encounter, and Jihoon can’t deny that he has enjoyed the attention, the conversation.

The arresting sight of Seungcheol’s broad shoulders in that regimental uniform—

“Ah—” Jihoon clears his throat, and he shakes himself internally and turns his attention back to the conversation. “I feel that would be highly improper, seeing as we haven’t been formally introduced. How would I explain our acquaintance to my parents? You could be a...a...murderer for all I know.”

Seungcheol does not seem in the least put out, giving Jihoon a long and measured look.

“I hardly think an introduction is necessary at this point Jihoon, not after we just spent the last three hours in each others company, discussing a great deal of things one wouldn’t discuss with strangers. Besides, aren’t you the one who said these rigid, fusty social customs do not work in your favour? Surely then you’d be better suited to my modern approach to courting, that does away with all the frivolities.”

Jihoon feels himself go pink all over at the mention of courting, till he is sure he is the colour of a freshly cut beet.

This is not how he was expecting the evening to go. Not at all. Seldom does a three hour long argument lead to friendly beginnings, let alone a more amorous association.

This Alpha is clearly out of his mind.

“I just remembered that I am engaged tomorrow morning. Tomorrow all day actually.” Jihoon finally says, with a stammer that he had not intended. “I have...I have many engagements, with many friends. I can’t possibly have more visitors.”

Seungcheol lets the silence that follows stretch for a painfully long time, before breaking it and retreating with a bow over his hand.

“As you wish. Till we meet again.”

Jihoon departs with haste in the opposite direction, feeling an odd pang guilt that he can’t quite shake off.

It is at the ball hosted by Jisoo’s future in-laws, Mr and Mrs Yoon, when he sees the Alpha next, and this time he is quite grateful for the interruption.

The unfortunate layout of the manor means that the library is too close to the ballroom to be a haven from the festivities, and the gardens are so small and unkempt they can hardly be considered gardens at all. That only leaves the folly, located at the edge of the Yoon’s property, only when Jihoon finally navigates his way through the relative darkness to reach it, he finds a group of boisterous Betas have taken the space for themselves and are in the middle of a lively card game.

“What’s this? It seems the entertainment has arrived gentleman.” Sehun calls out in greeting, staggering a little as he makes his way over.

He is drunk, but in better shape that his friends, who are clearly soused to the gills.

Jihoon immediately turns to leave, but a tight hand around his elbow draws him short.

“Won’t you stay Jihoon?” Sehun says, slurring his words. “We were just concluding out little game, and would very much like you to regale us with a song or two. It is said you have the sweetest of singing voices, and it has always bothered me that I never had the opportunity to hear it. Stay and sing for us.”

Jihoon grits his teeth and seethes when his efforts to free himself prove fruitless.

“Sehun, if you recall the last time you manhandled me in such a manner, I kicked you so hard you collapsed to the floor in tears and chipped your front tooth. That was ten years ago, and you should know I kick twice as hard now.”

The folly erupts with laughter as the others make light of Jihoon’s warning. Sehun however, unaccustomed with being the object of ridicule, tightens his grip on Jihoon’s arm to a painful degree.

“If you do not wish to stay, you will at least allow me to accompany you back to the manor. An unmated Omega should not be wandering in the dark alone.”

Jihoon looks at him sharply over his shoulder, but has no time to say anything before a sober voice, hidden somewhere under the shadowed canopy of a tree, calls out.

“He is not alone.”

Seungcheol reveals himself a moment later, stepping out of the shadows in an unnecessarily theatrical manner and startling everyone gathered.

He probably fancies himself a fine heroic specimen of manliness, come to save the day, but with his red coat missing, and his shirt sleeves rolled up, and with another blasted cigar dangling carelessly between his fingers, he looks like nothing more than one of those brutish thugs that roam the countryside, pressganging unsuspecting gentleman into naval service.

Regardless, his arrival has the necessary affect, and Jihoon smiles as Sehun and his sorry lot flee across the field with remarkable haste.

“Your intervention is appreciated but unnecessary.” He says, turning to address the Alpha. “I had the situation under control.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow and for a second Jihoon is afraid he has taken offense, but then his mouth twitches.

“I’m quite certain you did, but I actually intervened on behalf of your would-be aggressors, to prevent bloodshed and bruised egos. You might be the smallest Omega I have ever laid eyes on, but you’re also the fieriest. Even I would not dare corner you in such a manner.”

Despite his best efforts to forestall it, Jihoon feels a proud grin threaten to take over his face. He just barely manages to moderate it into a smug smirk instead, but judging by the look of pleasure and surprise on Seungcheol’s face, there’s no stopping his dimples.

Damn.

Schooling his face back into imperviousness once more, Jihoon marches into the recently vacated folly and begins putting it to rights—collecting the discarded drinks glasses and the cards littered across the table.

Instead of inviting himself into the small space, Seungcheol remains a respectable distance away, framing the doorway as he finishes his cigar, but not willing to cross the threshold. Jihoon ought to find this reassuring but cannot, entirely.

“You know, I don’t think you make a very good guard.” He says, righting one of the wooden benches that had toppled to the ground and claiming a corner of it as his own.

When he looks back up, Seungcheol’s astonishment is evident and complete.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You are tasked with protecting the Duke, no? And yet, you have spent most of your time at these dances elsewhere, usually pestering me. Who watches over the Duke when you are not at his side?”

Seungcheol gives an unconcerned shrug, and takes one last drag of his cigar before flicking it over his shoulder.

“The Duke has several guards attending to him. I am but one of three. And as with any grown Alpha, the man does not always appreciate being surrounded by a bevy of caretakers, following his every move. He likes to mingle privately on occasion, and much like you, he enjoys moments of solitude too. A good guard knows when to make himself scarce.”

Jihoon hums, considering this, his curiosity somewhat roused.

“Did you ever tell him about what I said, about the stories I’d heard?”

“I did.” Seungcheol nods, finally crossing the threshold into the folly. “The very night you first shared them with me in fact.”

Jihoon looks at him doubtfully, tilting his head to look up at Seungcheol through his lashes. “And how did he react, may I ask?”

“As expected. He cried inconsolably into his pillow, then sucked him thumb until he fell asleep.”

Jihoon fights down a laugh for a moment, then has to clap a hand over his mouth as his more elegant wry snort gives way to his natural giggle.

For some ungodly reason, Seungcheol’s face seems to light up at the sound.

He sidles a little closer to settle next to Jihoon, and whether it be deliberate or not, it’s hard to say, but he lays his hand over Jihoon’s where it sits between them on the bench.

“They’re not true, you know. The stories.” He says at length. “No one can claim to know what goes on inside another’s head, but I think the Duke is trying hard to be a very different man to what his father was. To not allow that power and wealth obscure his morals. After all, he had to live under the Duke’s thumb for a time too, had to watch his mother grow tired and miserable, and he would not have been spared any misery himself either. Any prior rakishness on his part could be forgiven, I think, as a mere adjustment to his new role.”

Jihoon knows not what to say to this. He might have laughed at the closing remark, which had surely been made in jest, but he cannot, at the sentiments which led to it.

“I have not written him off completely, but I can’t help but be a little suspicious of him still.”

Seungcheol’s lips twitch thoughtfully. “Because he’s an Alpha? I was hoping our little interactions would absolve you of such strong opinions.”

“No, because he has you vouching for his good character, and you are clearly a bigger flirt than he is.” Jihoon says, staring pointedly at where Seungcheol’s much larger hand has enveloped his own, where his thumb is strokes tenderly over the pulse point on his wrist.

Seungcheol blinks down at his hand in clear shock, as if he had no clue how it came to be there. He removes it with a sheepish bark of laughter. “Sorry, that was terribly bold of me—”

“It’s quite alright.” Jihoon waves him off primly, folding his hands in his lap. “You were simply distracted and allowed your rakish nature to show itself. Couldn’t be helped, I’m sure.”

“Alphas are not naturally rakish.” Seungcheol protests.

Jihoon scoffs. “Said the Alpha, after he inappropriately stroked the Omega’s hand.”

“It was a caress!”

“An inappropriate caress.”

Seungcheol throws his hands up. “Fine. Whatever. I’m a rake. I accept the title gladly. You’re still wrong about Alphas, and I’m going to prove it to you. I will work twice as hard to win your favour.”

Jihoon gives him a level look, surprised by his resolve. “Well, you’re welcome to try, but even if you weren’t a devious Alpha, you’re still fighting an uphill battle. My good opinion is not so easily won.”

The Alpha’s answering smile is warm like fire, igniting a burst of feeling Jihoon does not understand.

“I relish the challenge.”

Jihoon is not so naive as to allow the fleeting attentions of a charming, handsome Alpha sway his opinions on marriage and mating and pups, but to say he is unaffected by Seungcheol’s efforts would be quite untrue.

He spends a few days letting his imagination run away from him, imagining what it would be like to be happily mated in a home of his own, with a pup or two playing underfoot—dressing them in matching outfits, reading to them, putting them to bed.

‘When will papa Cheol come back from the war?’ the older one will ask, when Jihoon puts the books away and begins to blow out the candles, and Jihoon will smile fondly and lean over to kiss his head. ‘When he defeats the...Giant Lizard King?’

Okay, so Jihoon doesn’t know enough about the current political climate to give that silly daydream a realistic ending, but it’s definitely not the silliest fantasy he’s entertained. Not by far.

He’s envisioned himself as a travelling merchant besieged by bandits, as a prince trapped in a tower guarded by an evil dragon, and even as a curious Merboy captured by pirates, and each time Seungcheol comes riding to his rescue, his shirt is consequently torn or singed or soaked away and, well...

Jihoon entertains these fanciful notions knowing full well it is a dangerous game. He is setting himself up for disappointment, he knows, because people rarely live up to his expectations, and romance is rarely as elaborate and breathtaking as what he can conjure up in his head. But he reasons that as long as these fantasies remain firmly entrenched in his mind, surely there is no real harm?

Still, it’s probably best to pilot his thoughts into safer waters and put a swift end to this folly, as not to mislead Seungcheol of his intentions any further.

So when the Alpha seeks him out at the next dance—in the Orangery on the Chan’s estate—he resolves to be as distant and frosty as a January wind.

“This is an interesting hiding spot.” Says Seungcheol, leaning in the doorway with a hand on his hip and a knowing look on his face. “I was certain I would find you in the library.”

Jihoon snorts, brushing crumbs off his fingers. “The pithy collection of books Mr and Mrs Chan have on display can hardly be called a library. I’ve attended dances here before, and I knew to bring my own.”

Seungcheol shortens the distance between them in a few easy strides, pausing to inspect the small selections of treats Jihoon has spread out on his napkin before joining him on the bench.

“And I see you’ve brought your own refreshments too. How very practical of you.”

Jihoon merely shrugs and pops a sugar-coated almond in his mouth. He tends go get peckish when he reads for an extended period of time, and at least this way, he won’t be forced to return to the house to socialise.

“And what’s your drink of choice for the evening?” Seungcheol asks aloud, reaching next for the little flask Jihoon has also brought along. He uncaps it and takes a sniff and his whole face seems to just soften, unbearably.  

“Really? Strawberry Juice?”

Jihoon snatches the flask out of his hand. “What’s wrong with strawberry juice? I like strawberry juice, okay. And I don’t carry my drink very well. It loosens my tongue.”

Seungcheol smiles faintly. “Moreso than usual? Now that is something I would very much like to see.”

Capping the flask once more, Jihoon turns away coolly, hoping to discourage extended interaction. To his dismay, Seungcheol does not seem discouraged.

He shifts in behind Jihoon, closing whatever proprietary distance remained between them, then reaches around to inspect the cover of the book in Jihoon’s hand.

“Never heard of it. Is it any good?”

Jihoon bristles, feeling caged in by the warmth at his back, regardless of how briefly it lasts or how nice it feels.

“Well, I’m reading it, aren’t I?” he says, and purposefully lets the thread of conversation drop.

The Alpha remains unperturbed.

“What’s it about?”

“Oh you know, the usual fair; assassination plots, conspiracies, murder.”

“Sounds interesting. I’ll have to find myself a copy sometime.”

“See to it that you do. Perhaps then you will have something to occupy you and leave me to read in peace.” Jihoon says, a little more tartly than is probably warranted.

Seungcheol does not comment on his rudeness, and once he returns to his reading, offers no further questions or distraction to break Jihoon from his reverie. He merely sits there, hands in his pockets, apparently content to watch Jihoon stare unseeingly at his book all evening.

It is not until Jihoon sighs and tosses the book down on the bench before him, does he smile, and arch an eyebrow.

“Something the matter?”

“Yes. Do you intend to sit there all evening just watching me read?”

Seungcheol’s good humour falls away somewhat. “I was hoping we could become better acquainted with one another, but I’m getting the distinct impression you’d prefer if we didn’t.”

“Oh, so you’re not entirely oblivious then? That is most assuring.” Jihoon grumbles, reaching for his book again.

From the corner of his eye he watches as the Alpha’s expression twists into a pensive frown for a brief moment, before smoothing out, then Seungcheol sighs and rises from his seat, looking very tired all of a sudden.

“Alright, I’ll take my leave of you. I suppose it is improper for a lowly regimental officer to seek friendship with the son of gentleman. I thank you for reminding me of my place.”

For a moment, Jihoon can only stare at his retreating back, distraught for reasons he cannot name.  

How dare he. How dare he insinuate—how dare he imply—how dare he act like he knows anything of Jihoon’s motives. Jumping to his feet, Jihoon follows him out of the Orangery, baring his teeth in a silent snarl as he intercepts him on the small path leading back to the house.

“How dare you! How dare you insinuate my refusal to entertain your company has anything to do with rank or social standing. What sort of snobbish fool do you take me for?”

“I do not take you for a fool at all.” Seungcheol says, with a frank, unguarded laugh. “I understand your reasons completely. A man of your social standing should not be seen mingling with a man of mine—”

“Nonsense! Utter drivel!” Jihoon hisses, waving his arms about. He is so breathless with anger at this piece of audacity, he has to take a moment to compose himself. “I care not a whit for who’s company society thinks I should keep. I am my own man and will entertain who I please. Damn what people say.”

Seungcheol looks at him with increasing concern. “Then why does it not please you to entertain my company?”

Jihoon takes a deep breath, with serves to calm him not at all.

“Because I find you most appealing and it frightens me!” He admits—and good God, he is shouting like a fishwife now. Loud enough that that guests dancing more than a field away could probably here every word, even over the sound of music.

Seungcheol looks stunned for a moment, then his lips quirk despite themselves, and he casts his eyes downward.

“Then perhaps I should stay, and allow you to work through this fear?”

“Yes, I insist upon it.” Jihoon says, softening his tone as much as he is able. “Or...or I will be gravely insulted.”

When Seungcheol throws out an arm, indicating he should lead the way back to the Orangery, Jihoon gladly accepts and marches on ahead, though he does end up pausing every few steps to glance over his shoulder, just to make certain Seungcheol is following.

He’s not even aware of his actions until he hears the Alpha chuckle.

“God, you are the strangest little creature I have ever met, and I say that with utter fondness.”

The next time he sees Seungcheol, it is at another dance in yet another grand house, yet another stifled and stuffy ballroom, decorated with candles and mirrors and vases of flowers. If asked, Jihoon would be hard pressed to name the evening’s hosts, as he spends all of five seconds in their company before slipping away in search of the library.

He’s on the last chapter of his novel and dearly wishes to finish it, but as his parents forced him to relinquish his own copy before they set out, he’s hoping he can source another to carry him through the evening.

His hopes are dashed once more however, when he creeps into the warmly lit room, and finds Seungcheol has already made himself quite at home in one of the armchairs, a copy of the very book he planned to read in his hand.

“Oh, hello there. Looking for this?”  Seungcheol says when he spots him, in that pleased, languorous way of his.

Jihoon scowls at him. “You insufferable twit. You knew I was coming here to read that, didn’t you, and you deliberately took it for yourself. I rue the day I ever let you share my hiding spot.”

Closing the book, Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow at Jihoon's affronted countenance.

“Now, now—there’s no need for that. I was merely curious to see what about this book enthralled you so, and since I could not acquire a copy of my own, I decided to help myself to this one until you arrived.” He shakes his head, tittering. “I must say Jihoon, I am disappointed in your choice of reading material. This is not the gripping thriller you promised me. This is a romance novel, and a terribly dull one at that.”

Jihoon makes a huffy noise of protest at this assessment. “It is not only the gruesome details that ensnare the reader’s attention. It is the plot and pacing and the word choice, the characterisation and the dynamic between the leads. I wouldn’t expect an alpha like you to understand. You only think the stories worth reading are about sword fights and pirates and dragons, you don’t care about the delicate intimacy between characters.”

“Delicate intimacy between characters?” Seungcheol echoes, a laugh in his voice and something like fondness in his eyes. “And here I thought you couldn’t possibly be one of those damnable romantics.”

Jihoon feels his cheeks flush, and hates himself for it.

He turns on his heels and attempts to storm off, only the Alpha is faster, reaching the door before he can and blocking his escape—though he is quick to hold both hands up in an appeasing gesture, as if to soothe a cat with raised hackles.

“Tell you what. I’ll give you your book back if you agree to read the story aloud for me.”

Indignant, Jihoon opens his mouth to protest, but Seungcheol is quick to cut him off.

“I only ask because I feel I may develop a greater appreciation for the text if I hear it from your lips.” He leans in then, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I bet you do voices, don’t you? You read in a different voice for each of the characters.”

Jihoon pouts. “I do, actually. I feel it really helps immerse oneself in the narrative.”

“And I bet you do it wonderfully.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.” Jihoon says mildly, his irritation melting quite away. “But my nephews and nieces love it when I read for them.”

Grinning, Seungcheol solicitously guides him to take the armchair he’d recently vacated, then drags a chair over and straddles it, propping his chin on the back. “Then I beg you, humour me. If only for a few passages.”

Jihoon can’t say how many hours they pass in that dimly lit library, just him reading and Seungcheol listening attentively. He can only marvel that the Alpha has the patience for it all, that he can regard him like this, with such open appreciation, when he could be out mingling with the other guests, enjoying the experience of having a coquette on his arm offering compliments and the kind of frivolous conversation natural to these events.

On any other man, it might betray a dull lack of judgment, but Seungcheol’s enjoyment seem to be in earnest. As if...this is precisely where he wants to be.

When at last the party ends and it comes time for them to part ways, Seungcheol makes as if to leave, then, turning back, he takes Jihoon’s hand and presses a kiss to it—a pleasant burning touch Jihoon feels even through his glove. Then he is gone, and Jihoon is left breathless in the dark, requiring a moment to compose himself.

If asked to put a name to the emotion coursing through him, he wouldn’t know what to call it. He feels a little flushed, and his heart feels rapid in his chest, and the queer turn of his stomach is not so different from that moment of buoyancy one feels when playing on a swing, when they reach the highest point and can’t be sure they’ll ever touch the ground again.

He puts if aside as best he can and rushes out to meet his family at the carriage, and when his father raises his weary voice to ask whether he had enjoyed the night’s fireworks, he manages a somewhat honest reply.

“Yes, I did. I could feel them in my chest.”

Jihoon dreams of someone that night. And the night after that.

He is not going to dwell on who or why, only that unlike the exaggerated daydreams he is accustomed to, these dreams are so vivid and drawn out, it’s almost impossible to distinguish them from reality.

He dreams of being crowded and kissed against a shelf in a library, against a tree in a garden. He dreams of being tugged down astride powerful thighs, of warm skin and muscular arms, of soft praises murmured against the shell of his ear, of letting his hands wander across a firm, naked body he has never seen before. He dreams of being spooned along his back, naked heat and tender affection, of feather-light kisses pressed to his nape. Most shocking of all, he dreams of being mounted in a wide, plush bed, his body moving with another’s in a dance that is both desperate and obscene.

These fantasies—this sudden hunger that has manifested, this longing— it’s easy to put it down to his heat, which hits him hard a few days later and leaves him quite incapacitated for the rest the week.

By the time he feels well enough to re-join polite society, he has missed two card parties, a picnic and a dance hosted by the Kwons, and as such, is encouraged so wholeheartedly by his mother to attend the annual country horse race that he feels positively obligated to go.

Naturally, he takes no enjoyment in horse racing or gambling, so spends a dreadful hour in the humid afternoon air, watching his father and paternal uncle yell fruitlessly at the jockeys.

At the interval, he moves with the crowd to take refreshments under a canopy, and stands about awkwardly, trying not to get crushed by the crowd or stuck in the mud without much success.

He has just found himself a dry spot under a tree to take refuge in, when he catches a few hushed words passing between two Alphas standing a short distance away.

“Poor Cheol, he looks so miserable. We ought to mount a rescue.”

The second Alpha—a tall man who seems strangely familiar, though Jihoon can’t quite place a name to his face—shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t if I were you. The last time I attempted to rescue him, I had badly misjudged the situation and he was furious. Best let him navigate this moment for himself.”

Hearing this, Jihoon follows their line of sight with a curious mood of mixed anticipation and apprehension, until he spots the familiar figure of Seungcheol standing in the crowd, with several dozen flatterers and hangers-on about his heels.

All his natural humour and good spirits seem quite gone. In fact, he seems entirely and earnestly bored out of his mind, even as the people around him erupt with laughter at some shared humorous anecdote.

When he finally catches sight of Jihoon, he brightens considerably, that tight, false smile of his blooming into something he does not appear to be able to contain. He does not bother to take his leave from his gaggle of admirers, merely breaks away from them and—much to Jihoon’s surprise—makes his way over.

Jihoon feels an unnatural, intense stillness come over him as he watches the Alpha approach, and at a loss on how to greet the man in such a public setting, he falls back on his manners, bowing politely once he’s within range.

“Seungcheol, how lovely it is to see you again.”

Seungcheol returns the gesture, and says in a tone of evident pleasure. “Likewise my Precious Plum.”

Jihoon can’t help but blink a few times, then a few times more, then he draws himself up slightly, glancing around at anyone who might be close enough to hear them.

“I beg your pardon? What did you just call me?”

Seungcheol just beams down at him, infuriating and charming all at once. With remarkable ease, he splays a hand against the bark of the tree, just to the left of Jihoon’s head, effectively bracketing him in.

“Plum—because you’re small and sweet and blush so prettily, but there’s a delicious sourness to you too, one I can’t seem to get enough of.”

Jihoon sets his jaw, indignation rising up in him at the possessive display and, frankly, ridiculous nickname, until the Alpha leans in to murmur:

“I didn’t think you’d gravitate to such an event Little Plum, though I am certainly glad you did. I sorely missed your company at the Kwon’s gathering last week.”

Jihoon crushes down the small pathetic part of himself that leaps at the thought of someone seeking his company out, and quietly reminds himself that Seungcheol is only in attendance today because the Duke is presumably in attendance. He is not here to pick up where the left of out of his own volition.  

“I can assure you I am not here by choice. My dear father enjoys a day at the races, and enjoys betting on horses even more. My mother has dispatched me to ensure he doesn’t gamble our fortunes away.”

Seungcheol hmms, looking about him at the gathered crowd. “Does this mean I cannot persuade you to take a walk with me? There is a very complicated hedge maze just beyond that wall I wouldn’t at all mind getting lost in, provided I had your company.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, certain he shouldn’t find the hopeful smile starting on Seungcheol’s face half as compelling as he does.

“I suppose I could spare a few minutes.”

They fall into step side by side as they head towards the maze, talking of nothing in particular; the weather, the health of various families, a discussion about a newly published novel.

It’s possible he’s still suffering from the effects of his heat, but as they follow a path through the heather, pocked with rabbit holes and the imprint of horse hooves, Jihoon is conscious, to an almost mortifying extent, of their proximity, of the accidental brushes of their hands, and— worst of all—of the curious glances the Alpha keeps throwing his way, as if he can see the ridiculous yearning chaos making a muddle of his brain.

He’s so aware of it in fact, that he loses awareness of his surroundings, and gasps at the feel of Seungcheol’s large, warm hand coming to catch him by the waist.

Not a loud sound, easy to pass off as startlement, but Seungcheol’s head jerks up and their eyes meets, his hand still resting on the jut of Jihoon’s hip.

The look they exchange is brief, barely a flicker of eyes over Jihoon’s face, before the Alpha is pulling his hand away with a good-natured apology.

“Forgive me. I was only attempting to stop you from trodding in that puddle. You seemed to be aiming right for it.”

Jihoon grimaces and shakes his head, before stepping around the aforementioned puddle.

“Of course, you were. I’m sorry Seungcheol, you’ll have to excuse my inattention today. I suppose I’m still feeling a little under the weather.” He says, which makes Seungcheol look over at him in surprise.

“Is that why you did not attend the gathering at Kwon house? I...I feared that perhaps I had finally succeeded in scaring you away.”

Jihoon gives a short, sighing laugh. “No, not at all. I was unable to attend as I was in the early stages of my heat cycle.”

This announcement, though hardly the boldest topic they’ve discussed, clearly causes Seungcheol some alarm, as he trips over exactly nothing and dives headlong into one of the hedges.

He extracts himself with obvious embarrassment, and takes a moment to compose himself before  he says, in tones more tentative than his words, “You...speak of it so freely.”

Jihoon glances at him sidelong. “And why shouldn’t I? It’s a natural biological process all Omega’s experience in their fertile years, why should I be ashamed of discussing it? Isn’t it bad enough that I have to lock myself away in fear of my safety? That if I were in the wrong place at the wrong time and ravaged against my will, the blame would be placed solely at my feet?”

This prompts the slightest of frowns from Seungcheol, an expression Jihoon finds even more endearing than usual when paired with the twig sticking out of the top of his hair

“You shouldn’t. Of course, you shouldn’t. I think it’s wonderful that you speak so openly, and I’m sorry there are not more laws to protect you. It’s always been something that has bothered me.” He says, guiding Jihoon to a nearby bench.

They lapse into a somewhat stilted silence as Jihoon takes a seat and Seungcheol, after a moment of hesitation, settles in the spot next to him.

Jihoon understands the origins of own nervousness, but he can’t account for the Alpha’s, and there’s definitely no mistaking the signs.

He supposes this is technically a normal behaviour for Alphas when it comes to the topic of Omegas and their heats, but it is the first time he’s seen Seungcheol like this, all colt-like nervousness, and the transformation is startling.

The man’s usual roguish composure is gone; he is jiggling his leg, swiping a thumb over his mouth, looking for all the world like a stallion ready to bolt at the firing of the pistol, before he suddenly blurts out:

“Do you use anything?”

Jihoon blinks and echoes, “Use anything?”

Seungcheol looks away, abashed. “During your heat, I mean. Do you use any implements to aid you through it?”

Jihoon eyes the hesitant line of his profile. “I have frequent cold baths, if that’s what you mean? And I have a small stash of Wortweed and Brimwood from the apothecary, to help with aches and hot flashes, but I try not to use much. It is very expensive.”

Seungcheol looks almost evasive now. 

“No, I meant aids as in, you know, toys.”

“Toys?” Jihoon echoes with much confusion 

He is about to question the Alpha’s sanity, until he notices the flush rising in his cheeks; he has so rarely seen the self-assured Seungcheol blush, that he hardly knows what to make of it now.

“I confess I am completely lost. What do toys have to do with any of this?”

Seungcheol’s laughs, in a more self-conscious manner than is his habit. “Perhaps this is not something you should be learning from me.”

Jihoon laughs as well, in pure surprise.

“Who else am I going to learn it from? None of my elder siblings wish to discuss such things openly. Each time I attempt to bring the topic of heats up, they all scold me as if I were some insolent child. I suspect I will only come to learn the truly significant things on my wedding night, and a fat lot of good it will do unless I fight my mate off with the fire stoker.”

Seungcheol visibly struggles with this for a second, but in the end he gives a jerky nod and begins to explain in a barely audible tone.

“The toys I speak of are designed to help you with your heat. Some of the older models are fashioned from wood, but I have come across some newer varieties designed out of smooth metal and rubber, that when inserted, very closely mimic the shape and feel of an Alpha’s knot.”

Jihoon’s heart thumps, and he takes a silent breath to calm himself.

It’s honestly the last thing he wants to think about at this present moment. He has only just recovered from a particularly brutal heat, and he can feel the muscles in his arms and legs, sore from a night of tossing and turning, tensing up again. At the same time, he feels his cock stir.

Damn.

“How…how do you know this?”

Seungcheol shrugs affably. “I have many friends who make use of them.”

That only raises more questions, and Jihoon forcibly derails that train of curiosity before he can voice any of it aloud because it’s really none of his business.

Seungcheol however, seems quite content to answer those unasked questions all on his own.

“A friend of mine in the regiment purchased one for his mate, to use when he is away on duty and unable to assist his mate personally. Some unmated Omegas I am aquatinted with use them to heighten their pleasure and shorten the duration of their heats.” He says, without an ounce of guile in his tone. “I wouldn’t say it’s the most comfortable experience to begin with, but I imagine the sensation grows on you. Quite literally in fact.”

He's got that look on his face which usually means he's attempting to make a joke. The grin flips when he realizes it's not landing.

“Sorry. That was crude. I’ll stop talking now.”

Jihoon barely conceals an incredulous snort of laughter, but the smile he replaces it with feels more warm than he can account for. “Don’t stop on my account. I already thought you crude before you attempted that terrible joke.”

The silence, when it settles back in, is less awkward with Seungcheol’s sheepish grin running through it, and Jihoon can feel the tension draining slowly out of the air.

“Thank you for sharing this discovery with me. I often feel I am in the dark about such things, and it’s not exactly a topic I can research freely.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to answer, then pauses a moment and cocks his head, studying him. Jihoon meets his gaze, not to be discomfited.

“It’s hardly uncommon knowledge you know. You only need to glance at one of Xao Minghao’s short stories for adults to gain a deeper insight—if you’re willing to excuse poor grammar, sensationalist vulgarity and derivative plotlines of course. Then again, I think the glaring errors are part of their charm.”

Jihoon, not knowing what he means by this, fixes him with a puzzled frown. “Well, I do enjoy short stories.”

To his surprise, Seungcheol grins his wolfish grin.

“I don’t think these are the short stories you are accustomed to, but I will fetch you some and let you judge for yourself.”

Two days later, a thick envelope addressed to Jihoon arrives at the house early in the morning, brought in with the toast tray by the housekeeper.

The novelty of having correspondence of any kind has Jihoon abandoning all thoughts of breakfast and rushing to open it, though a brief glance at its contents has him regretting his eagerness to do so in company.

“Jihoon, are you running a fever? I say you’ve turned the colour of boiled shrimp.” Mrs Lee says, eyeing her youngest across the breakfast table.

Taking care to fold the letter away casually, as not to draw attention to it, Jihoon slips it into his jacket pocket before speaking.

“Now that you mention it Mama, I do feel a little faint. Perhaps I should get some fresh air before I commit to a hearty breakfast.”

Once he excuses himself from the table, he returns to his room and stores the pamphlet in his secret place—a loose floorboard under the rug—and resolves to never go near it again. Ever.

A handful of hours later his curiosity gets the better of him, and he returns to unearth it, knowing his cheeks must be turning a deeper shade of pink with each word whispered under his breath.

Jihoon has always had a pragmatic approach to sex and intimacy between mates, viewing it as nothing more than a basic biological imperative to produce heirs and further one’s foothold in society. The contents of this pamphlet however, are giving him a strange new perspective on, well, everything.

Some of the acts described are downright obscene, and most of them are clearly not practiced with reproduction in mind at all. And the language used—good God! It’s practically criminal.

Jihoon has lost track of his many times he flings the booklet across the room in disgust, only to fetch it again a few moments later because he’s never failed to finish a book in his life and he’ll be damned if this tome of perversion will get the better of him.

He reads it through only once. Then another seven times to correct the dreadful grammar and punctuation. (Then once more without his amendments because Seungcheol was right, the unsightly errors are part of its charm.) Then he shoves it into a drawer and vows to never set eyes on it again, and when he next crosses paths with the Alpha, he is sure to give him a piece of his mind.

“You solicitous swine!” He hisses, rounding on Seungcheol on the secluded toe path they arranged to meet. “How dare you send me an erotic pamphlet to read. Have you no shame?”

Seungcheol doesn’t look anywhere near as embarrassed as he should. In fact, he doesn’t look embarrassed at all. He looks almost amused.

“Well, you so often speak of being an open-minded person, I thought you might enjoy exploring a new genre of fiction. But perhaps you are right—gifting you such explicit material when you have no interest in the act of mating is bold of me indeed. If you’d be so kind as to return the pamphlet, I will be sure not to cross that line again.”

“Well I can’t return it,” Jihoon replies sharply. He turns away, fiddling with the lace edge of his sleeve. “I need to read it again, and make some notes, and…” He pauses to glare at Seungcheol over his shoulder, hopefully pre-empting any teasing comments. “And if you so happen to have any other such pamphlets, I will need to read those as well.”

Both Seungcheol’s eyebrows shoot up.

“So you did enjoy it?”

Jihoon shrugs stiffly. He knows his face is burning, but he refuses to be cowed. “I wouldn’t say enjoy is the word I would choose. But it certainly roused my interest.”

Seungcheol seems to relax again, and a smug sort of smile spreads across his face as he leans in to whisper, “Which part roused your interest the most?”

Jihoon has to close his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts.

There was that first love scene in the woods that was so random and unexpected it sort of took his breath away. But then there was that lengthy paragraph describing the Alpha’s cock, and how it had almost been too thick for the Omega to take into his mouth, but he had done so anyway, and enjoyed it tremendously. And who could forget the blasphemous scene in the church, where they knotted in the confessional booth, and were almost caught in the act by a priest!

Jihoon had to take several breaks reading that part, or resign himself to the indignity of tossing himself off in the privy. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” He huffs, shaking his head fitfully. “I can’t pick one. It was all very arousing.”

Saying this, Jihoon feels himself heat, and hopes it isn’t visible in his complexion.

Without losing his smile, Seungcheol steps minutely closer. Keeping his tone as light as if he were making polite conversation about the weather, he pulls another pamphlet from inside his jacket.

“In that case, allow me to recommend this one next. It’s one of my favourites.”

Jihoon glimpses at the cover of the pamphlet, then offers him a faintly sardonic smile and a raised eyebrow. “Seriously? You just waltz about with perverse reading material in your pocket? You’re the worst sort of deviant, you know that?”

Seungcheol gives the booklet a little shake. “I’ll give you five seconds to take this from me or—”

Jihoon snaps the pamphlet out of his hand before he finishes and quickly tucks it away under his waistcoat, then marches away with his head held high, even as Seungcheol cackles loudly behind him.

Despite Jihoon’s best intentions to pull on the reigns of this random, unbecoming and utterly scandalous friendship with Seungcheol, he finds he cannot.

One does not exchange explicit reading material with another without forming a deeper acquaintance it would seem, and it would be silly, wouldn’t it? To draw a line in the sand—this far, no further—when Seungcheol knows what excites him? When he knows of Jihoon’s preference for stories where the Omega is buggered in a wide, open space, where anyone could happen upon him in the act, and all the better if they do?

Indeed, he too now knows what stories arouse Seungcheol the most, and—heavens. If that revelation hasn’t given him an entirely new perspective on the man or even Alphas in general, he doesn’t know what will.

So when Seungcheol politely enquires if they can begin meeting more frequently— somewhere discreet but outside planned social engagements, so they may spend time together privately but more purposefully—Jihoon offers only a moment of hesitation before saying, “Oh, alright. But you better keep your hands to yourself!”

He doesn’t expect Seungcheol to continue asking after the first time, but he does, and he certainly doesn’t expect himself to keep saying yes, but to his immense surprise he finds he’s quite enjoying their little dalliances.

Yes, having a large Alpha looming over him constantly is claustrophobic and irritating in its broad strokes—Seungcheol demanding that he read aloud for him ‘with all the voices’ when Jihoon would prefer to read quietly; Seungcheol teasing him about the hectic flush that graces his cheeks whenever he’s close to his heat, as if Jihoon wasn’t already irritatingly aware of it; Seungcheol swiping all his sugar coated almonds without even asking first and flicking his braid like an insolent child when Jihoon smacks his hand away; Seungcheol’s quick, plush mouth curling lovingly around a ridiculous assortment of pet names— Pebble, My Little Dove, Precious Plum.

Honestly, it often feels like he’s being pestered by a heroic looking golden retriever, but the finer points are largely agreeable.

For instance: now there’s someone around for Jihoon to talk to, someone patient and insightful who actually cares what he has to say, who smiles and nods and cheers him on, instead of rolling his eyes and telling him ‘Oh do be quiet!’.  

Jihoon never realized how critical that could be to his happiness, just having someone around who’ll listen to him, who will let him sulk and whine when the stupidity of his family and the ton reaches fever pitch, which is invariably. He daresay even the life-threatening boredom of Sunday service is made tolerable when he can glance across the pews and make a face, and watch Seungcheol twitch his eyebrows and smirk back at him.

Seungcheol has other good qualities of course, beyond a willingness to listen to Jihoon ramble.

He’s witty, and clever and generous to a fault— tremendously good fun at cards and chess and darts, and plays the piano in a way that is charming to see if not to hear. He is perhaps a bit too fond of scurrilous conversation and vulgar jokes, but only partakes because he enjoys making people laugh. He eats as heartily as three men but is cautious with his drink, is tactile but alarmingly observant of their size difference and most of all, Jihoon’s comfort. In fact, he’s more finely attuned to Jihoon’s body language, to his likes and dislikes than anyone else Jihoon knows, and is a constant source of levity and joy even in the midst of his foulest moods.

Like most Alpha’s he also excels in physical pursuits, is a talented swordsman and duellist and horse rider, and can apparently draw and fire a pistol from sixty feet away faster than the blink of an eye. Even more admirable than all of this however, is that he doesn’t boast about any of it. Jihoon inadvertently gleams these details through stories Seungcheol shares with him about his travels abroad.

Soon Jihoon finds that any hour spent out of Seungcheol’s company is an hour ill-spent. Where before, he relished his solitude, he now finds himself peevish and restless while alone, bored to the extreme if left to his own devices, unable to settle with even the most thrilling of novels. 

He’s reasonably certain Seungcheol feels the same, because he’s always very happy to see him, always wants to see more of him, but every now and then doubt gets the better of him, and he catches himself glancing at the Alpha sidelong, wondering ‘I hope you’re having as much fun as I am'

He’d hate to lose a friend now that he’s finally made one.

One Sunday, late in July, Seungcheol convinces him to make the most of the long, slow afternoon by visiting a beauty spot in the next county, assuring him steadfastly that he’ll be free to read at his leisure with no interruptions.

Jihoon hadn’t believed it possible for the Alpha to keep himself entertained for more than five minutes at a time, but he’d brought a book along anyway, an old favourite he races through every summer.

When they arrived however, and found a pretty, shaded spot to settle in for the duration of their stay, he was astounded to see the Alpha had brought a book of his own, and was quite adamant that they sit a good distance apart and completely ignore each other.

“Just like...read your book. Pretend I’m not here.”

Jihoon obliges him for an hour—stretches out under the tree, book open, the bottom of its spine propped against his chest, before boredom and curiosity get the better of him, and he turns to ask Seungcheol what he is reading.

Instead, he finds the Alpha isn’t even reading his book at all, but scratching a stick of graphite over the paper in measured scrapes.

“What are you doing?”

Seungcheol pays him not the slightest bit of attention, his head still bowed over his work.

“Sketching.”

“What, really?” Jihoon gasps, sounding more clearly surprised than he had meant to. “May...may I see?”

Seungcheol pauses in his sketching, and very studiously does not look at Jihoon, and then, after a long moment, keeps on working.

“Not at this precise moment—it’s still a work in progress. But you’re welcome to look at my other sketches. They’re in that book there, next to my coat.”

The book turns out to be a sketchbook, professionally bound by stitching and no more than a few months old at most.

Jihoon leafs carefully through it, turning the pages slowly, absorbed in the details.

The first few pages appear to be rushed practice attempts, a hundred tiny pictures crammed together on one page, drawings of soldiers and horses and houses, done perhaps when Seungcheol was in a bit of an artistic slump or breaking in a new stick of graphite.

The next few are much better; full sketches of birds perched on branches or on fences, a beautiful woman smiling coyly from behind her fan, two gentleman playing cards on an upturned crate.

They’re all surprisingly good. Alarmingly good in fact.

Alpha’s aren’t known to be artistically inclined, but Seungcheol is clearly harbouring a secret talent for this medium, capturing unique angles and shadowing and detail another person would miss.

There are also, Jihoon notes as he delves deeper, many sketches of himself, taken at various points in their acquaintance. They’re... quite good too, managing to capture his likeness in many respects, though Jihoon does have one minor objection.

“Why have you drawn me with a scowl in every sketch?”

“Because it’s your most defining facial expression? You’re always scowling.” Is Seungcheol’s immediate and droll reply, as though this ought to have been obvious, and of little worth remarking upon.

Doing his best not to scowl, Jihoon attempts to give him a look that conveys the full force of his disapproval. It’s a lot harder than he’d like.

“No, I do not. I don’t scowl all the time—that’s not...that’s not physically possible. It would be very tiring to pull that expression constantly.”

Seungcheol inclines his head slight, the corners of his eyes a map of fond, familiar contours. “That’s what I thought too, and yet, I have over two dozen sketches that say otherwise.”

“Well, did you ever think perhaps I only scowl in your company?” Jihoon says, tone verging on querulous. “That I have no cause to scowl when I am with others?”

Seungcheol hmms and angles the graphite down, shading in his work.

“I did wonder if my presence had any bearing on it, but I’ve recently had several occasions to watch you discreetly as you went about your business in town, and it greatly comforted me to see you were scowling then too. In fact, at one point I saw you laugh and scowl at the same time. It was the most precious thing I’d ever seen.”

In the midst of Jihoon’s irritation and petulant huffing, the compliment almost goes unnoticed, but only for a few seconds.

When it does register, his stomach turns over pleasantly, and he quickly resumes flicking through the book to distract from the blush tinging his cheeks.

“These are really very excellent Seungcheol.” He says idly, turning another page. “Where did you learn how to draw?”

Seungcheol keeps his eyes on the book in his hand but his movements gradually slow.

“I’m self taught actually. My mother would paint a lot when I was young, and encouraged me to practice with her. My father on the other hand, believed Alpha’s should partake in more physical activities and forbade me from taking any lessons.”

He laughs dryly then, but there is a distant, raw look in his eyes, like he’s working through something, and Jihoon daren’t interrupt.

“Anyway,” He goes on, clarity returning to his expression once again. “Sketching was a discreet way to hone my skills without facing his ire, though I never had any professional aspirations of course. It’s mostly just a relaxing way to pass the time, but it does allow me to capture moments I wish to keep fresh in my memory.”

“Oh?” Jihoon says, watching him carefully. “So you wish to keep my scowl fresh in your memory?”

Seungcheol laughs thickly. “Of course. It is a very lovely scowl, on an exceedingly lovely face. It must be preserved for all to see.”

Blush renewed, Jihoon ducks his chin down a touch, not sure if that was a genuine compliment done in earnest admiration, or whether there is an element of poking fun there too.

Seungcheol however has regained his concentration, and is sketching very deliberately now, smoothing out the black lines of charcoal with a quick even stroke of his finger, so he turns back to examine the last set of drawings in the book.

On the last page there is another sketch of Jihoon, taken perhaps a few days ago he thinks, when they’d gone for a walk and stopped at a field to fawn over a new-born lamb. He can’t recall Seungcheol even having his sketchbook out then, so it must have been drawn from memory, but the particular detail in Jihoon’s hair and face suggests the Alpha had been watching him that day very carefully indeed.

Jihoon feels his throat tighten at the thought, and he swallows hard. He thumbs to an empty page and stares at it unseeingly, running a finger over the soft, worn corner of the book.

“Do you think I could have one of these sketches of myself? To keep?”

Seungcheol nods without looking up. “Of course. You can have the one I’m working on now if you like. I’ll have it framed for you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I would be happy to have it just as it is. I’ve never had a picture of myself before.”

Seungcheol stops sketching immediately and snaps his head up to look him, for once completely without amusement.

“What? What do you mean never? Don’t you have a miniature or a portrait of yourself hanging somewhere in your home?”

“Portrait?” Jihoon snorts messy laughter. “Why on earth would I have a portrait taken? Have you forgotten I am a fifth born Omega? I have nothing to my name. Literally nothing. And even if I did, I would never dream of spending it on a miniature—it’s ghastly expensive for something so small.”

Seungcheol blinks at him quietly for a moment, paper crackling gently under his thumb and forefinger.

“B-but surely your parents have had several opportunities to have a portrait commissioned. A gift for your birthday perhaps, or your coming of age?”

As his gaze flickers over Jihoon’s face in that impassive way of his, Jihoon swallows the urge to speak plainly. It ought to be obvious by now that his family are not in a favourable financial situation; it ought not to be necessary to explain why a portrait of any one of them would be a needless expense. And yet, Seungcheol continues to look at him plaintively, as though he were devastated Jihoon’s family do not have a portrait of Jihoon hanging in the dining room, scowling down at them all.

“My parents have always preferred to gift me and my siblings more practical items, things we’ll actually use. Like a new inkpot, or high-quality cardstock to write our letters with. I received some very nice cardstock just this past Christmas in fact. I haven’t had much cause to use it unfortunately; I enjoy writing letters, but I rarely receive any.”

Seungcheol wrinkles his nose, an unexpectedly endearing expression on his handsome face. “This is most distressing news Jihoon. Most distressing. I have to rectify this.”

Jihoon only smiles wryly, amused by the Alpha’s indignation on his behalf.

Not long after that, the gifting begins.

It’s only small things to start with—a single rose stem, a set of oil paints, a beautifully crafted feather quill—that Jihoon doesn’t really take much notice of it. He accepts them because well... they’re either very useful things to have or things that won’t leave Seungcheol terribly out of pocket.

In doing this however, it seems he has inadvertently given Seungcheol permission to try harder, aim higher, and when they meet in an empty clearing, a good distance away from the skittles game neither of them have any interest in joining, Seungcheol springs quite the surprise on him.

No sooner have they settled under the tree, does Seungcheol withdraw a small velvet bag out of his pocket and place it on Jihoon’s lap.

Jihoon glances at him, then takes up the bag, pulling it open.

A ruby and gold brooch of old-fashioned cut tumbles out onto his palm. Fine work, expensive work. Indeed, it might even be taken as a lover’s gift.

Seungcheol forestalls all the obvious questions in an easy tone.

“It was the finest piece the jeweller in town had. A triple A gemstone I believe. What do you think?”

Jihoon turns the broche between his fingers. “It’s very pretty, though not something I can fathom you wearing if I’m being honest. It’s a little too dainty.”

The alpha grins, if not more widely than before, then at least more slyly.

“I didn’t buy it for myself. I bought it for you. It’s a gift.”

Jihoon stares at him for a moment, completely aghast. But Seungcheol seems entirety earnest in appearance and no, that won’t do. That won’t do at all.

“No.”

“No?”

“I cannot accept this.”

“You can’t?”

“I have no use for brooches. You will return it to the jewellers at once and demand your money back. Perhaps place the funds in a sensible investment scheme that will improve your pension. It’s important to plan ahead—you never know what’s around the corner.”

Seungcheol, not for the first time, looks completely befuddled.

“I...I don’t understand. Is it not to your taste?”

Jihoon breathes out in a long controlled stream before saying, “It is a very lovely brooch to be sure, but I have no need for it. Now, shall we discuss a few promising investment schemes I’ve been reading about?”

Seungcheol takes the brooch back, but Jihoon’s hope, that he will reflect on the moment and refrain from wasting his money in such a pointless fashion, is dashed when the Alpha returns a few days later with a diamond encrusted pocket watch.

“You must have use for a pocket watch. Watches are useful.”

“Dear God Man! I already have a pocket watch!”

Two doves carved out of ivory are the next offering.

“I hope the elephant you stole this from comes to give you a good thrashing because you clearly haven’t listened to a single word I said.”

Followed shortly by a gold-plated pistol.

“This is not what I meant when I said you should invest in gold mining stocks Seungcheol!”

Seungcheol leaves that last encounter quite despondent, but seems to have finally come to his senses and reverts to gifting Jihoon smaller, more personal items; a small vial of the scented oil Jihoon likes to dab on the insides of his wrists, a punnet of strawberries picked fresh that very morning, a book he must have seen Jihoon fret over purchasing one too many times.

To reward his efforts, Jihoon smiles graciously with each gift, and pretends he does not see the Alpha fist pump the air. If he also permits Seungcheol to hold his hand when they are alone and there is no one around to question it, well...it’s important to test himself in these small ways, to build vital resistance to the Alpha’s charms.

At least, that’s what he plans to argue if anyone asks, though he currently has no evidence that it actually works in practice.

When Seungcheol does touch him, however courteous, however brief—a hand at his waist, a pat on his back— he feels as needy as a stray cat, like he would be quite content to climb into the man’s lap and be stroked all over, lavishly and for a long time.

It’s a disarming thought to have when you’re doing something as innocuous as sitting by the lake together, feeding ducks, and yet it’s a thought he keeps revisiting with each little gift, each private smile.

At the next society gathering—a garden party hosted by the Kim’s, to celebrate the engagement of their daughter—they arrange to meet at another of Jihoon’s preferred hideouts—a bench hidden under a copse of trees.

It’s arranged in the sense that Jihoon draws Seungcheol a map and passes it to him beforehand, quite confident the Alpha would lose his way in the sprawling estate. Whether Seungcheol has any desire to seek him out in the first place, he leaves that up to fate, but he is immensely gratified when the man does show, arriving a short few minutes after Jihoon himself.

“That map was scarily accurate.” He grins, sliding into the spot next to Jihoon on the bench. “How on earth did you know there would be a couple kissing behind that large oak tree?”

“The Kim’s throw many garden parties, and there’s always news of a couple caught canoodling there. It is known by many locals as the canoodling tree.”

The Alpha nods slowly, as if Jihoon has just made a particularly astute philosophical musing. “Then perhaps we should move to sit under it instead.”

Jihoon cuffs his arm lightly and levels him with the most severe pout he can fashion under the circumstances, which mustn’t be all that severe if Seungcheol can look upon him so warmly in return.

Obviously, he needs to practice more.

His mild disgruntlement is assuaged however, when the Alpha produces a neatly wrapped parcel from his coat and presents it with a courteous bow.

“I brought you some chocolates, so you wouldn’t have to return to the party to socialise.”

Jihoon accepts the parcel and allows his pout to soften, just a tad, because that is a very thoughtful gesture and should be rewarded. It’s only after he has tossed aside the decorative ribbon however, and is attempting to pry open the box, does he realise this is no meagre party refreshment snatched from the banquet hall table.

It’s another gift.

“Did you purchase these?”

“Yes,” Seungcheol nods agreeably, only to falter as he notes Jihoon’s renewed poutiness. “I...you spoke of your preference for pistachio truffles, and as I was passing through town I visited the chocolatier to test them for myself, and you were right. They are quite delicious. And as I was there, I thought I might as well pick some up for you—”

“Did I not specifically warn you against buying me expensive gifts?”

Seungcheol does not readily admit it, though he at least has the grace to look abashed. “It’s not a gift. It’s merely a...an exchange of procured items, between one friend and another. A token of sorts.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes.

“That’s just another way of saying gift.”

Seungcheol closes his eyes and blows out an impatient breath. “Well I can’t very well return it now Jihoon, so you might as well enjoy them.”

Scowling, Jihoon lifts the lid and peels back the translucent parchment to reveal four neat rows of beautifully adorned truffles. He pops one into his mouth and his scowl slowly melts away as the chocolate does.

He offers the box up to Seungcheol next, and insists he take one, and he’s reaching for another for himself when he realises Seungcheol’s watching him, a hint of triumph in his smile.

“What? If I don’t eat them all now, I will have to take them home to share with Jisoo, and he’s a greedy sod.”

Seungcheol laughs and knocks his knee against Jihoon’s. “No, it’s not that. I just had a thought...” He pauses momentarily, tapping the tips of his fingers thoughtfully against Jihoon’s thigh.

“I know you worry about my fortune, or lack thereof, but you should know my employment as a Duke’s guard allows me to live quite comfortably, and I will retire with a good pension.”

“What are you saying?” Jihoon murmurs, watching the Alpha’s hand stroke idly at his leg rather longer than is proper.

Seungcheol gives a shrug, though his gaze holds his with an intensity Jihoon has never seen on him. “That I can afford to buy gifts for those I hold dear. And also that, perhaps some day in the distant future, I will have saved enough to purchase a plot of land to build a home and perhaps...build a little library while I’m at it too, for a little Omega to hide in.”

Jihoon can’t help but frown at the thought of this other Omega, and the library he will enjoy, and grows quite resentful of it in fact, until he stops to think about it for a second, and—

“Oh, oh, you mean me!”

Seungcheol sighs, regarding him with something that looks awfully like fond amusement.

“Yes, Pebble, you. I thought that much was obvious by now, unless I’ve completely misread you, and have been barking up the wrong tree this entire time.”

“You’re barking mad is what you are.” Jihoon huffs, delivering a gentle smack to the Alpha’s errant hand. “Caressing my thigh out in the open like that, honestly. What if someone saw you? Why...you would have been forced to make a respectable Omega out of me.”

Seungcheol ducks his head, looking up at Jihoon from beneath his furrowed brow.

“I hardly think forced is the right word here, I would glad—”

The rest of his sentence is muffled as Jihoon abruptly shoves another chocolate between his lips in a crude attempt to silence him.

It’s not that he dislikes hearing such sentiments, it’s merely that he cannot recall anyone ever sounding so sure of their feelings, so sure about him. It’s terrifying. He fears the confidence in Seungcheol’s tone more than he’s ever feared anything in his life.

Seungcheol, surprisingly, seems to understand.

“Alright. We can stop talking about it.” He says, but with a weight behind it that implies for now.

Jihoon’s next heat takes him quite by surprise, arriving as it does a week early and with hardly any warning at all.

He was half-way into town on foot when the first wave of inexplicable warmth overtook him, and barely made it back before the vertigo set in. Thankfully he passed no one on the road, and was able to ensconce himself in his room without much fanfare.

As with all his heats, he spends the first day sullenly sequestered in his bed, a damp, cool flannel held to his brow—too exhausted to fan himself let alone prop a book up. The discomfort is more tolerable at night, when the sun sets and he can throw the windows open, but that does little to cure his boredom, or the resentment of being left at home alone while the rest of his family depart for an evening of entertainment at the assembly rooms.

Worse still, he didn’t have the time to pen a letter to Seungcheol, to inform him he wouldn’t be in attendance. Though in truth, he’s still not entirely sure what he would have written, or indeed, how he could ensure such a letter would even reach the man.

He could have entrusted Jisoo to deliver it, but telling his brother to look out for the rakish looking Alpha that loiters in the gardens would probably cause more trouble than it’s worth.

He’s sitting at his desk, writing an apology he plans to have one of the maids deliver in the morning, when the tinkle of a pebble hitting the window startles him.

Pushing away from the desk he approaches the open window and looks down, not sure what to expect, but certainly not this. Not Seungcheol standing under his window, holding a lantern aloft.

“Thank God. I worried I had the wrong house for a second. That could have been difficult to explain.”

Jihoon blinks away his astonishment and finds his voice. “Cheol? What on earth are you doing here?”

Seungcheol shrugs and carefully sets the lantern down on the grass. “You weren’t at the assembly rooms, so I came to find you. Are you—”

He trails off as he steps closer to the window, and it must be close enough to catch a whiff of Jihoon’s scent, because he visibly stiffens all over and begins to sniff the air with intent. “Jihoon...What...what is that smell?”

When he casts his gaze upwards again, it’s clear to see the whites of his eyes have receded, and all at once he looks so utterly lost and unguarded that Jihoon’s breath catches in his throat.

“Stop sniffing the air you fool. That’s me you’re smelling. I’m in heat.”

“Oh.” Seungcheol murmurs, staggering back a safe distance and almost knocking the lantern down in the process.

It takes him a god few minutes to physically shake himself out of it, and the next time he looks up, he looks more like his usual self.  “Good thing I didn’t go with my original plan, and surprise you be climbing the trellis to your room.”

Jihoon gives a faint laugh at what ought to be an absurd notion, though it inspires no such emotion in him. If anything, he finds the longer he thinks about what could have happened, the more appealing the prospect becomes, until he feels his cock twitch under his nightclothes.

“I think it best you stay down there, but the sentiment has been noted.” He calls down, taking a seat on the windowsill to observe Seungcheol better.

After a pause, during which he feels himself closely and carefully regarded, a shyness, a fright overcomes him at the thought of being seen in such an unsightly state. Wearing nothing but a threadbare nightshirt, his face flushed and hair let loose to tangle dreadfully, he must look frightful—and yet, there is nothing but awe in Seungcheol’s voice when he finally speaks.

“Beautiful.”

Jihoon flushes hotly and looks away, feeling himself entirely unworthy of such praise.

“That’s just my scent, Seungcheol. My pheromones. They’re clouding your judgement.”

Seungcheol makes a small, gruff noise of disapproval. “No, they’re not. My inhibitions perhaps, to share my thoughts out loud, but not the thoughts themselves. I have always thought you incredibly beautiful. In fact, for months now it’s only you I picture when I toss myself off.”

Jihoon feels a hot shock go through him, hungry and mortified at once at the idea of Seungcheol thinking about him during such an intimate moment. Though he is not nearly as mortified as the Alpha himself, who looks proper ashamed to have admitted so out loud.

“Forgive me Jihoon. I swear I wasn’t attempting to be provoking...it’s... it’s the pheromones.” He says in a small voice and big beseeching eyes.

He appears to flinch in anticipation of Jihoon’s response, presumably anticipating a thunderous scowl or rebuke. It is remarkable, indeed, that Jihoon has no intention of bestowing one.

“It’s alright Seungcheol. I’m not mad.” He calls down, then has to hide his face in a length of curtain to conceal an irrepressible smile.

God, it would seem these blasted pheromones have an affect on him as well.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a rope you could toss down to me, or a length of sturdy twine?” Seungcheol calls out then, pressing a handkerchief over his nose before he moves closer again. “I have brought something I wish to send up to you. I don’t think it will keep.”

Jihoon does not, but he can strip his bed and tie the sheets together, so he does, waiting patiently as Seungcheol ties something heavy to the corner of one end.

When he hefts the makeshift rope back up, he finds it to be a large wicker basket, filled with an assortment of treats. Breads and cakes and pastries, fresh fruit and cheese and half-dozen meat pies. There’s apricot conserve in a little jar and mustard in another, a pat of butter, as well as those pistachio truffles Jihoon adores, and nestled in the centre of it all a bottle of freshly pressed strawberry juice.

“What’s... what’s all this?” Jihoon croaks, not sure what to make of it all.

“A picnic.” Seungcheol smiles impishly up at him. “I planned for us to have a picnic tonight in the gardens.”

Jihoon stares at the basket, feeling as though the breath has been knocked out of him. Distantly, he recognizes the feeling as the beginning of a sob, which is just absurd. He has only cried a handful of times in his entire life, and now he’s getting teary eyed over a thoughtful gesture from a giant idiot.

Clearly this heat is throwing his emotions all over the place.

“I’m sorry to have missed it. I would have enjoyed it very much.” He says out aloud, hearing his voice waver.

Seungcheol gives him a sunny smile and pulls an apple from his pocket. “Nothing’s stopping us from having one.” He says, before taking a bite of his apple.

After a moment of quiet amazement, Jihoon plucks a pear from the basket and does the same.

Jihoon has never had many opportunities to travel far from home, except to visit his elder siblings and dote on his nephew and nieces, and beyond that he has not had much cause to. One country parish is not so unlike another after all; the peculiarities of any individual household may be unique, but in the aggregate they tend toward uniformity.

The furthest he has ever ventured is to his elderly uncle’s estate by the seaside, where he tends to spend a few short days each summer frolicking along the beach, eating iced-cream and being doted upon himself.

It’s a trip he marks in is diary and looks forward to immensely, only this year he will have to go without, as with Jisoo’s wedding on the horizon, there are insufficient funds to hire a carriage for the trip.

He doesn’t express his disappointment out loud to his parents, for he knows how burdened with worry they already are, but he does briefly mention it to Seungcheol when they next meet, being carefully to omit certain details regarding his family’s financial strain, instead implying the change of plans had been due to a simple miscommunication.

He expects a sympathetic pat on the back at most. Certainly not for Seungcheol to offer to take him.

“Why not? I haven’t been to the beach in years, and would dearly like to go with a friend. And if we travelled by horseback, we could go and return on the same day, and no carriage or chaperone would be needed. Does that not appeal to you?”

Jihoon finds the idea appeals to him a great deal, for reasons he had already communicated, and for others he struggles to articulate even to himself. To Seungcheol he says only that he would be delighted. To his parents he only discloses that he will be accompanying a friend to the next town and won’t make it back for dinner.

There’s really no reason to reveal anything more. After all, Seungcheol has repeatedly proven himself to be a respectable, caring Alpha—a suitor that would never test his boundaries.

When the day finally comes and Seungcheol meets him at the crossroads, on horseback, dressed as slickly as any member of the gentry—shirt and waistcoat, cravat and jacket—Jihoon can only stare at him, unblinking, until Seungcheol raises his eyebrows.

“Is something the matter?”

“You’re not wearing your uniform.” Jihoon can’t help but point out, very aware that he’s still staring, and finding it difficult to stop.

“I’m off duty. I don’t tend to wear the uniform when I am conducting personal business. It tends to draw too much attention, and it’s a little cumbersome for a jaunt to the seaside.” He pauses in his inspection of his attire to level Jihoon a hooded look. “Did you prefer me in uniform?”

“No, of course not. I prefer you in nothing at all.” Jihoon blurts out, flustered and irritable and apparently devoid of wit. “I mean, I prefer you out of uniform.”

Wait, no. That’s not right either.

“And by that I mean, you are welcome to wear whatever you like, as it will have no affect on my judgement.”

Seungcheol smiles a tad wryly. “Are you certain? You seemed happier to see me when I was in uniform.” The smile widens into his customary smirk. “You have a thing for the uniform, don’t you?”

With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, Jihoon clucks his horse into motion again. “I do hope you don’t plan to be insufferable all day Seungcheol, otherwise we might as well just turn back now.”

Seungcheol pulls his horse up alongside him, grinning in a way that suggests, yes, yes he does.

To Jihoon’s immense and inexplicable vexation, Seungcheol is a perfect gentleman all day.

He does not crack any crude jokes. He does not let his hands wander. He does not comment on Jihoon’s bathing suit, which is decidedly smaller and tighter than Jihoon remembers.

He does however, buy Jihoon ice-cream, and strawberries, and cockles, holds his hand when he wishes to wade deeper into the water, and patiently follows him up and down the beach with an empty pouch, so Jihoon may collect shells to his heart’s content.

All in all, it’s a wonderful day at the beach, the likes of which Jihoon has not experienced in many years.

The day takes a turn for the worst however, once they begin their journey home.

So far they have been attended by pleasant weather, but as they ride along a remote coastal road, the sky turns from blue to a worrisome grey, and rain begins to fall. Almost before they know a storm is upon them the wind is whipping them sideways, driving rain into their eyes and making their horses rear up in a most alarming way.

Through the thunderous curtain of rain and sleet Seungcheol attempts to convey the danger of journeying any further, while Jihoon argues back how pointless it is to weather the storm when they have no clue how long it will last.

They reach a sensible compromise when they happen upon an inn a little further up the road.

It is a large and rambling house that has clearly seen better days, built some two or three centuries before, at a time when the road had been more frequented and demand for lodging in the area had been high. The common room, when they tie up their horses and stumble inside, is poorly lit and devoid of charm, lined with shabby carpet that does little to prevent the creaking of the floorboards, and even with the curtains drawn tightly, Jihoon can hear the howl of the wind outside.

It’s dry and warm at least, and the proprietor welcomes them with open arms, even though he seems a little shocked to see them out in this weather.

“We don’t get many of your sort traveling through these parts anymore, but I have just the room for you, don’t you fret. You just warm yourselves up by the fire there, and I’ll have one of the lasses prepare it for you.”

Jihoon doesn’t know what he means by ‘your sort’, but he’s too busy mopping ineffectually at his face to question it.  

It’s only once a small sum of money has changed hands, and the man has led them up a rickety set of stairs to a spacious bedchamber that he shows off with pride, does he think—ah.

Once they’re alone, Seungcheol doesn’t waste any time in shucking off his coat and jacket and hanging them out to dry, but Jihoon meanders around the room more cautiously, taking it all in. He glances at the opulently sized bed, the great velvet hangings that frame each end, and then the scented oils and washcloths laid out on the dresser, and feels blood rush to his cheeks.

“Seungcheol, I do believe that man thinks we’re newlyweds.”

Seungcheol pauses in the unlacing of his boots to glance up at him. “I know, and for your sake, I think it best we not disabuse him of the notion. Even in these parts, an unmated Omega travelling unchaperoned with an Alpha would be ruinous.”

“Ah, right.” Jihoon passes a distracted hand through his hair. “I suppose asking for two beds would have raised suspicion.”

Seungcheol taps the side of his nose. “Exactly. But don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting you to share.” Then toeing of his boots, he eases back in the armchair and tucks his hands behind his head. “I think I will be quite comfortable here.”

Without his jacket gone, Jihoon can see the spread of his stomach muscles beneath his damp shirt, the way his fawn-coloured breeches strain against his thighs, and has to look away immediately.

After years of lessons in anatomy and the occasional private exploration, he ought to be well-versed in human musculature, but an Alpha’s physique is clearly something else entirely, and the force of Jihoon's desire is so wholly unfamiliar to him.

“You should get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold.” Seungcheol says, snapping him out of his reverie.

Jihoon nods and looks away, cheeks burning, immensely glad for the dimness of the room.

Stepping behind the chinoiserie screen situated in the corner, he peels out of his soaked clothes and combs his hair before donning one of the dressing gowns on offer. When he steps back out again, he finds Seungcheol has done much the same, though he has kept his britches on, and the fall of his dressing gown leaves much less to the imagination.

Without a word or a hint of embarrassment, Seungcheol relieves Jihoon of his shirt and britches and hangs them by the fire to dry next to his own clothes, before ushering Jihoon towards the bed.

There seems to be nothing left to do but to slip under the covers and try and sleep, so Jihoon does, though he doubts he’ll catch a wink with Seungcheol sitting less than six feet away, reclining indolently in a dressing gown that was clearly designed for a much smaller man. Especially when his current position affords him a superb view of the Alpha’s naked chest, his sun bronzed skin bathed in warm firelight.

Despite his efforts not to do so, he imagines the hard ridges of Seungcheol’s abdomen under his fingers, Seungcheol’s bulk fitted hard and perfect between his thighs, and a hot, guilty thrill steals over him at the notion of throwing back the covers and inviting the Alpha into his bed with a single, speaking look.

“You know Seungcheol—” he hears himself saying, without prior consent from his higher functions, “The bed is spacious enough to fit us both. It is not necessary for you to sleep in such an awkward pose.”

To his shock, he also finds himself ready to lay out even more arguments for this, terrifyingly persuasive ones, until Seungcheol meets his gaze with an intensity that makes his pulse jump.

“With hardly a stitch of clothing separating us? I think it’s very necessary Jihoon. I’m a gentleman, not a saint. I am as prone to temptation as any other Alpha. I beg you to not make this harder than it already is.”

“Of course. Forgive me.” Jihoon murmurs, catching his tongue between his teeth.

Watching Seungcheol purse his lips and look away, studying the placement of his fingers around the armrest as if it is of incredible interest, he feels deeply shameful to have ever considered tempting the Alpha so, especially when he has clearly strived to be on his best behaviour.

Clearing his throat, he says slowly, “Well then, perhaps we can take other measures to ensure we are both well rested? I will sleep on the bed for the first four hours of the night, and then you can wake me and we’ll switch. What do you say?”

This is met with a curious smile but a gentleman’s nod.

“Alright. If you insist.”

Jihoon does fall asleep eventually, listening to the chime of an unfamiliar clock in the hall and the scarcely audible sound of Seungcheol’s breath. When he wakes, it is long past his accustomed hour to rise and the armchair Seungcheol had been occupying is empty.

Jihoon glares at it’s misshapen form for a while, as the sky beyond the curtains grows pink and the blackbirds begin to chatter, then curses the Alpha silently and shifts to sit up.

“Stay still Pebble, I’m almost finished.”

Startled by the sound, Jihoon complies on instinct and lays back down slowly.

For a moment he cannot make out where the sound has come from without turning his head, but he knows Seungcheol’s voice intimately now, and senses there is no cause for alarm. Then he sees the Alpha. Or more precisely, catches sight of his refection in one of the mirrors along the wall.

Seungcheol is positioned near the foot of the bed, just out of sight, sitting on the rickety chair that belongs to the vanity. In his hands are a small leather-bound book and a stick of graphite.

Now that Jihoon is looking, he can see that Seungcheol must have pulled the curtains open to allow more light into the room and enable him to sketch. Whether he also pulled the sheets down a little to expose Jihoon so wantonly is hard to tell, but Jihoon supposes he could have just as easily done so himself in the midst of sleep.

It’s not long before the hypnotic scratching of graphite on paper stops, and Seungcheol announces:

“All done. You’re free to move.”

Jihoon flops onto his back, fighting petulantly with the bedsheets as he scowls over at him.

“You utter imbecile! Did I not tell you to wake me? We will have to depart soon, and you have not slept at all!”

Seungcheol sighs, though it sounds more thoughtful than aggrieved. He gazes at the drawing appraisingly for a while before closing the book and laying it softly on the vanity.

“You’re so lovely and peaceful when you sleep, like an angelic being out of some biblical painting. Then you open your eyes and you’re immediately the angriest thing I’ve seen in my life. I fear there must be something wrong with me, for it makes you even lovelier than before.”

There is amusement in his tone, and even in the dark Jihoon can see the smile playing on his lips. Then Seungcheol looks up at him, and Jihoon feels his pulse stutter in his throat.

He can’t fully see the Alpha’s expression through the shadow, yet he still feels warm under that gaze, like tinder starting to smoke.

“Come here and lie down.”

The words are leaving his mouth before he has finished the thought. Seungcheol straightens in the chair, staring at him with undisguised bewilderment.

“I don't think-”

"Oh, hush." Jihoon tuts, pushing himself up on his elbows, sitting back against his pillows with a huff of effort. “You’ll need to sleep at least a few hours before we journey back, or you’ll end up falling off your horse. So do as I say, and come here.”

It takes Seungcheol a moment to make any sort of movement, but he does eventually, rising from the chair and crossing over to the bed with adorably genuine trepidation.

There is plenty of space for him to stretch out next to Jihoon and still keep a polite distance between them, but he still sticks to the far edge of the bed until Jihoon snorts and ushers him closer.

“Honestly Seungcheol, I’m only asking you to lie down next to me for a quick nap. If anyone should be hesitating here, surely it should be me.”

That seems to spur Seungcheol on, and he complies more readily with Jihoon’s directions, rearranging himself until he’s situated comfortably atop the covers, cheek pillowed on his forearm, a hand space of mattress left between them.

When Jihoon reaches out to card a gentle hand though his hair, he visibly resists the urge to close his eyes for a moment before giving in with a pleased chuff.

“That’s it. Good Alpha.” Jihoon whispers, petting his hair fondly. “Now sleep.”

Seungcheol does, looking for all the world as though he is greatly at peace.

“Oh, Jihoon. You’re here. Excellent. Be a dear and help Choon-Hee carry this old thing down to the cart.”

Upon the thin rug on the upstairs landing, Jihoon comes to a sudden stop as he spots the item in question.

That his mother would refer to it as ‘this old thing’ vexes him, but to see it being manhandled down the stairs in such a clumsy fashion makes his heart ache—for it is Mr Turnip, his most beloved friend and childhood toy.

His Great Uncle had gifted him the wooden horse on his 4^th birthday, shortly before the kind old man passed, and though Jihoon has long since outgrown it, its sentimental value is astronomical. Doubly so when it is still the only toy Jihoon had all to himself, the only one he did not have to share or wait patiently for his elder siblings to discard and pass down.

“And where is Mr Turnip going exactly?” He manages, finally finding his voice. “Surely you don’t intend to give away my most treasured childhood possession?”

Mrs Lee waves a dismissive hand, an action which Jihoon finds equal parts patronising and infuriating.

“Oh come now. Don’t be silly. You outgrew Mr Turnip over a decade ago—he’s been gathering dust in the attic ever since. Selling him is the wisest thing to do, and Mrs Chan has a little grandson who will love him just as much as you did.”

Jihoon gives a sudden gasp of laughter, struck by the absurdity.

“I still love him. Nobody will love him more than I do.”

“Yes, yes, but you’re nineteen. A grown man now. You mustn’t be so selfish.” His mother’s tone is measured, almost irritating in its evenness, and Jihoon can’t help but scowl at her.

“What about Soonmi’s old dollhouse? And Jisoo’s terrifying collection of automatons? Why are you not carting them away for sale too?” He says, stifling a strangled sob.

“Because your siblings are mated and will pass those toys onto their children one day. You likely will not.” His mother replies, already marching away.

Jihoon furrows his brow, but doesn’t attempt to argue the point.

He doesn’t think she’s trying to be cruel by saying that, she’s just being pragmatic. Before, when he ever did entertain thoughts of marriage, the most he had hoped for in a mate was a partner with whom he might converse and whose company would be tolerable. Perhaps a widowed gentleman who had already sired heirs and would have no desire for intimate relations and a second brood to provide for. But that was before Seungcheol had appeared, handsome with his firm jaw and bright eyes.

Now Jihoon wants a dozen pups—to love and care for and praise, to dress in little suits and little dresses, to take for picnics in the park and trips to the seaside, to scold when they try and smuggle a seagull home. And he wants them to all to grow up playing with his favourite childhood toy, and he doesn’t think there is anything selfish about that.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Seungcheol asks, when they find themselves in each other’s company once more.

They had initially agreed on a carriage ride through the countryside, so they could finally have their picnic, but the sight of the dark clouds in the distance discouraged them from venturing far, and so they opted to go fishing at a nearby lake instead.

Jihoon had perhaps been a bit more taciturn than usual when they set out, letting Seungcheol lead the conversation for once as they scoped out a spot and set up the lines, but he had not expected the Alpha to take any notice.

He has, and Jihoon considers telling him that he is fine, that it’s nothing, that he’d had a dreadful sleep and nothing more. But the truth leaves him before he can stop it:

“My mother gave away my wooden horse. Mr Turnip.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow comically as he visibly bites back a grin, and Jihoon can immediately tell he’s torn between what to tease Jihoon about first, that he’s a grown man saddened by the loss of a wooden horse, or the fact that he named his wooden horse Mr Turnip.

Eventually he settles for:

“I think even you’re a little too big to play with wooden horses Pebble.”

Jihoon gives him the narrow eyed look that comment deserves. “Have you never had a toy you wouldn’t want to part with, even as a grown man?”

“No actually, my father banned me from having toys. He feared they would stunt my growth.” Seungcheol says, quite amiably.

At Jihoon’s alarmed look, he flaps his hand dismissively, as if it’s a long story he doesn’t care to dwell on.

“Anyway, I still understand what it’s like to part with something you deeply care about. But you should look at it this way, it’s not as if Mr Turnip is gone. He has merely passed into the ownership of someone else, a little girl or boy will gain as many fond memories of playing with him as you did.”

A sick longing clenches in Jihoon’s stomach at the image that brings to mind, and he can only nod mutely and make his way to the edge of the lake, hoping to get a moment alone to compose himself.

After barely a minute, however, there is no mistaking Seungcheol’s irritable chuff, quickly followed by the sound of the Alpha abandoning his fishing rod to wander up behind him.

“Pebble, stop it. Stop it now. I can smell you’re distressed, stop trying to hide it from me. If I’ve upset you, I want to know.” He says, his own distress clear in his voice.

When a hand curls around his elbow, Jihoon allows himself to be turned around, against the instinct that normally drives him to shy away. It only takes one look at his tear-streaked face for Seungcheol to recoil, mouth falling open with surprise and something that looks a lot like horror.

“No,” Jihoon holds a hand up before he can stammer out at apology. “You have nothing to apologize for Seungcheol. You didn’t give Mr Turnip away, and in truth, I don’t think I can rightly begrudge my Mother for her actions either. For years I have spoken of living a life free of a mate and pups, and I have given her no indication that my feelings have changed. She was only passing on an item she thought I would never have a chance to pass on myself.”

Seungcheol’s expression softens, into something wondrous and contented. He raises his hand to Jihoon’s face, and strokes his palm across Jihoon’s cheek, his thumb across Jihoon’s lips.

“You wished to pass the horse on to your pups?”

Jihoon feels his face heat, and his eyelashes flutters against his cheeks as he drops his gaze.

“If I ever managed to have any, yes. I found the notion quite endearing.”

Seungcheol grunts something unintelligible and reaches for him, rough in a way he’d never allowed himself to be before. When he closes the distance between them, Jihoon allows it, lets himself be pulled against the Alpha in a firm embrace, and lays his head on Seungcheol’s chest, letting the rhythmic beat of his heart soothe him.

“I will make things right.” Seungcheol says, pressing his nose into the crown of Jihoon’s head. “I will find a way to return Mr Turnip to you.”

Jihoon laughs softly, fresh tears stinging his eyes.

“I did not share my problems with you so you can rectify them Seungcheol. I don’t expect you to do that. Just lending me your ear, your time, has been tremendously comforting. There is no need to act rashly.”

Seungcheol says nothing for a moment, lost in thought it seems, until Jihoon rears back a little to look up at him, and finds him looking worryingly dazed.

“Seungcheol? Are you al—"

“How many pups were you thinking of having?”

Oh, dear lord!

Sighing, Jihoon brings a hand up to rub at his temple. He should have known better than to use the words mate and pups in a sentence around an Alpha that has shown more than a passing interest in him. There’s no hope of Seungcheol behaving sensibly now.

As one week passes and the next begins, Jihoon tries hard to put the entire sordid business out of his mind for a few days, tries not to sulk in his parent’s presence, or scowl too obviously when Mrs Chan stops him in town to remark on how lovely Mr Turnip is, and how much little Lee Chan adores playing with him.

Then one afternoon, a coded message arrives from Seungcheol, requesting they meet at his earliest convenience, at a location of his choice to discuss a matter of great urgency.

Jihoon can’t even begin to wonder what would warrant the use of their secret code, but he replies promptly, including a map to his most secure hiding spot—the tree house at the bottom of his garden.

“Well, this is quaint, isn’t it.” Seungcheol grins, looking about the place with open admiration. “Did you embroider this little sign yourself? Alpha’s not welcome! I like it, very you.”

Jihoon, already seated at the tiny table, allows himself a small smile at the sight of a fully grown Alpha enjoying the trappings of his old playhouse.

The space is barely large enough for Jihoon to roam about freely, so of course a man of Seungcheol’s stature is struggling to find a spot to stand without knocking into a wall or a beam or indeed, the ceiling. And yet, he seems perfectly happy to remain awkwardly hunched over, examining the little cooking stove and cabinets with what can only be described as childish glee.

“Seungcheol, I hope you didn’t use our secret code to call me to an urgent meeting, just so you could infiltrate my secret lair and play in my childhood tea house.” Jihoon finally says, after Seungcheol knocks his head against a beam for the fourth time in as many minutes.

Seungcheol chuckles, and gently sets down the tiny tea pot he’d been cooing over. “I really don’t think this could be considered a secret lair Jihoon. I mean, I’ve passed it at least a dozen times when I’ve come to see you. You can see it from the footpath.”

Jihoon spreads his hands, “And yet, only myself and you have ever step foot inside.”

Seungcheol bites his lip thoughtfully, then hunches down even further to cross under the beam to the other side of the floor. “Ah, well, that’s not entirely true. I needed Mingyu’s help earlier, to carry this up here.”

Before Jihoon can speak, can ask, he pulls back the old tattered quilt that divides the little house in two, revealing Jihoon’s treasured wooden horse.

“Mr Turnip!” Jihoon gasps, jumping to his feet, heedless of the ceiling inches from his head.

He scrambles over to inspect the toy, checking him for damage, running his hand over the belly where he’d carved his name, assuring himself it really is him.

“How...how did you acquire him?”

Seungcheol inclines his head. “I have my ways.”

Fearing the worst, Jihoon fixes him a worries frown. “Oh god, did you steal him from Little Lee Chan?”

“No, no, of course not.” Seungcheol laughs, waving him off. After a moment, he starts to fiddly with one of the buttons on his coat, and then sighs, his shoulders drooping. “Well, actually, yes—that is exactly what I did. But worry not, I replaced him with a exact replica. Little Lee Chan will never know the difference.”

“A replica? How did you manage that?” Jihoon gasps, not bothering to disguise his skepticism.

“I’d prefer not to say,” Seungcheol chuckles, reaching over to put his hand on Jihoon’s shoulder, sliding it down to his elbow in a warm caress. “I wouldn’t want to lower your opinion of me any further.”

The words, though spoken in jest, startle Jihoon slightly, shaking loose a strange desperation in his heart. He grabs Seungcheol’s hand as if to pull it off his arm, but keeps hold of him tightly by the wrist.

“I hope you really don’t think that Seungcheol, because it’s not true. I think very, very highly of you. You are my dearest friend. You are dearer to me than Mr Turnip.”

Before Seungcheol can answer, he leans up on his tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek. It’s brief and chaste and lasts only a second, but when he pulls away, he feels everything go still, for one moment, then another. Like falling out of a tree when he was a pup and the world came to a halt around him, breathless and quiet.

They are standing so close now that he has to tip his head up to look Seungcheol in the eye, and when he does, he finds himself the object of such heated, intense scrutiny—a quiet thrill courses through him.

Words are a physical impossibility at this juncture, but when Seungcheol leans towards him, bumping their foreheads together in a touch so soft and tentative it can only feel like a question, Jihoon tips his chin up and closes his eyes in answer, waiting with shivering anticipation until his mouth is claimed in a searing kiss.

The feel of Seungcheol’s mouth against his own is intoxicating, incredible—measured and patient and far softer than Jihoon anticipated. The heat of it radiates through his entire body, making his toes curl and his heart hum with pleasure.

It also amazes him to realise the Alpha is a gentle kisser, despite the easy strength in his big hands—from the way he slides his hand over Jihoon’s nape, almost like a cradle, tilting his head just so, to the sweet, almost shy flicker of his tongue along the seam of Jihoon’s lips.

It's Jihoon who must coax him to deepen to kiss—who parts his mouth in invitation—who nips teasingly at Seungcheol’s lower lip, and the sound the Alpha groans in answer is grateful, and distractingly filthy, as if he’s just been waiting for this sign of consent to move things along.

In the span of a heartbeat, his fingers are tangling in Jihoon’s hair, forcing his head back and holding him still so he can shove his tongue into his mouth with all the finesse and determination of a conquering army.

Jihoon breathes a wrecked sound as he meets the aggressive slide, submits to the rough thrust of Seungcheol’s tongue as though this is the most natural thing in the world between them.

They’re both breathing hard when they pull apart, but Jihoon most of all, and an eager shiver rushes the length of his spine as Seungcheol leans in to murmur directly in his ear, stubble tickling his skin.

“Anything else you want me to steal for you? I’ll steal anything. Just say the word.”

Jihoon lets out breathy sigh, almost a laugh, and presses his face into the Alpha’s shoulder, enjoying the feel of strong, sturdy arms holding him close.

There are only two days between their meeting in the tree house and the next society engagement, and though Jihoon loathes to wait even that long, he does not expect Seungcheol will have the time to call on him any sooner.

Upon returning from an afternoon of piano tutoring however, he is surprised to hear from the maid that he has a gentleman caller waiting for him in the parlour.

Seungcheol is standing by the unlit fireplace when he enters, one hand pressed against the wall, and the other curled in a tight fist against his chest.

“Seungcheol, what a pleasant surprise,” Jihoon exclaims, then pauses as the Alpha straightens at once, and his troubled expression is suddenly all the more evident. “What...is everything alright? Are you ill?”

Shaking his head, Seungcheol visibly gathers himself and steps closer to take possessive hold of Jihoon’s hand.

“No—nothing of the kind. I am perfectly well.”

Jihoon peers anxiously into his face, not entirely believing.

It is true that Seungcheol does not look exactly ill, but he does not look at all well, either. He is relieved however, to find the hand in his is perfectly warm and steady. Perhaps a touch too warm.

“Why don’t you come and sit down and I’ll fetch us lunch. Some tea and sandwiches will help refresh you.”

“I’m certain it would, but I’m afraid I cannot stay long.” Replies Seungcheol at length. “I only came to regretfully inform you that I will not be attendance at tomorrow night’s dance. I have been...the Duke has been summoned to the city on business, and he may have to remain there for some time.”

“Oh.” Says Jihoon, feeling queer in the stomach suddenly.

He has always known this day would come, that the season would end and the Duke would grow bored and return to the city, and had thought he was prepared for it, but he finds he is not prepared to part with Seungcheol at all.

Seungcheol, who was looking down at their joined hands, now looks up, and Jihoon, finding himself the object of a far more focused scrutiny than he is used to, returns it.

“I would still like for us to continue our conversations in writing of course, if you would please you too.”

“Of course,” Jihoon replies, with a tremulous, tender smile “I...I love getting letters, though I fear you’ll have far more interesting things to write about than I.”

“I will look forward to them all the same,” Seungcheol says, looking him steadily in the eye. “There is...one other thing I wish to ask of you however, and I hope you not think me bold to request it, but I know I will regret it deeply if I do not.”

He hesitates now, uncharacteristically, dark brows drawn together, until Jihoon raises his own in turn.

“May I...imprint on you?”

All at once Jihoon feels a lurch of comprehension, and his pulse rabbits in his throat.

He shouldn’t be shocked, he knows, not when all roads have been leading to this moment right from the start. It’s just...somehow they’ve always managed to avoid actually having this conversation. Instead, the two of them have been negotiating a complicated quadrille, approaching one another from an unexpected angle and deftly side-stepping their true intentions, letting brushed hands, heated glances and hurried kisses speak more eloquently than words.

But now Seungcheol has made his intentions as plain as can be, and Jihoon can only take a gasping breath, not knowing what to say first.

This tumult of feeling inside him must be misconstrued as reluctance, because Seungcheol winces and takes a step back, looking strangely cowed for a man of his size.

“I know we have not known each other very long, and perhaps you still have doubts about my suitability as a mate, but the city is very far away Jihoon, and knowing that you are here, so far out of my reach and visible to so many other Alphas will drive me mad. I must... I need to mark you as mine somehow. If you will allow me anything, please allow me this.”

Jihoon clears his throat delicately, feeling as if he were inching one foot across a dark and yawning abyss that he had often been too weary and afraid to try crossing with anyone else. The tenderness of the request however, loosens something within him he cannot fully batten down.

“You needn’t worry Seungcheol. I have no intention of entertaining another Alpha’s company.” Another step, trembling with the effort. “But if it comforts you to mark me, I should like that very much, I think.”

Seungcheol’s elated grin brushes away any lingering doubts he might have had, even as he’s swept into the man’s arms and held tightly.

They parlour is perhaps not in the best place to do this with guaranteed privacy, but with his parents and Jisoo gone out for the day the house is relatively empty, and Jihoon is certain the maids have no reason to interrupt, so he deftly plucks on the knot of his cravat without extracting himself from the Alpha’s embrace, and tugs the collar aside until his neck is suitably exposed.

Seungcheol latches on without hesitation, mouth hot on his skin, teeth sharp as they worry at the junction between neck and shoulder in a measured and possessive application of pain. One hand cradles the back of Jihoon’s head as the other slides to the small of his back, a point of leverage crushing their bodies together, and this alone feel so incredibly good and right and perfect, it steals Jihoon’s breath for a moment.

Then Seungcheol sinks his canines in, piercing skin, and he is entirely swept away on a strange tide of fulfillment and intimate ecstasy.

He can’t lose his balance with Seungcheol holding him so securely, but his head spins anyway, and he clutches at Seungcheol’s shoulders, fingers twisting in the dark fabric of his coat he melts, instantly submissive into powerful arms.

He expected it to hurt. He expected it to be agony. He’d seen enough unsightly marking scars to suggest this should be one of the most painful experiences of his life, and yet he feels nothing but satisfied completion as Seungcheol relaxes his jaw and withdraws to soothe the mark with careful swipes of his tongue.

As the Alpha begins to nuzzle him there, chuffing proudly at his accomplishment, Jihoon finds himself wondering if he has indeed been wrong about Alphas all along.

It doesn’t seem possible that out of all the Alphas in the country, that he should cross paths with the only kind and tender one. There must be others, and while he doesn’t like being proven wrong, he is quite pleased to have been wrong about this.

Seungcheol makes a perfunctory noise of protest when he moves to separate them, but still lifts his head from the crook of Jihoon’s neck easily enough. After a moment, he draws away completely, a dazed look in his eyes.

“Thank you. That was...uhm, wonderful.”

Jihoon smiles, feeling a swell of contentment grow in his chest. “You better be on your way. That idiot Duke isn’t going to protect himself.”

Seungcheol stares at him for a moment, his eyes wide and considering, as if he has just conjured up one last parting request, but then he shakes himself out of it and departs with a quick kiss and bow, and Jihoon is forced to do the very thing he’d roll his eyes at whenever he read it in a novel—stare misty eyed out the window as his lover rides off into the distance.

Oh, damn that man for turning me into a romantic cliché!

Summer comes to an abrupt end upon Seungcheol's departure, as if the natural passing of the seasons had been suspended for a time, just waiting for him to leave. 

The town slowly empties as winter sets in, shops shuttering their doors, the leaves turning brown as they begin to shrivel and fall. The days grow shorter, sunlight scarce, and the cold grows more pervasive with each passing day.

Jihoon knows Seungcheol's letters could never be as diverting as his actual company, but he relishes receiving them all the same, a bright spark of something to look forward to.

The Alpha is clearly making an effort with his descriptions of events and places for Jihoon’s benefit, often adding humorous anecdotes in the margins that must have crossed him mind later, once the ink has dried, or a quick sketch of some unusual item or wonderful vista that cannot be put to words. Sometimes he includes beautifully dried and pressed flowers, sometimes it’s decorative postcards and ticket stubs that make useful bookmarks. Things he knows Jihoon will appreciate or will fuel his imagination. On one occasion he encloses the latest edition of Xao Minghao’s Short Stories for Adults, once again with humorous annotations in the margins.

Jihoon’s most treasured letter by far is one Seungcheol must have written late one night, alone with his thoughts and drunk with feeling.

My dearest, grumpiest Pebble,

It seems I have become somewhat of a bore since I departed your company. At least, my friends have remarked on my dreary countenance enough to suggest so, and I cannot deny that I have grow more fractious and ill-tempered with each day we are parted. Even though the winter season is at our doorstep, I feel the dark cloud over my head and the chill I feel in my bones only exists because I cannot set eyes on you whenever I wish. The air I breath is stale, my drink is tasteless, my food turns to ash in my mouth, even the sun does not shine so vividly in my eyes, not without your glorious smile to accompany it. The only things that give my life warmth and meaning are your sweet, angry letters and the memories we share. I often find myself thinking fondly back on that day the storm forced us to bed at the inn, and we posed as newlyweds to share a room for the night. It may seem trite for a man with my experiences to reflect on that moment with such careful appreciation, but I can honestly say it was the most enjoyable day of my life. Just recalling the feel of your fingers carding through my hair gives me more peace and contentment than I could have ever dream of.

I long for this dreadful business of the Duke’s to be over so I can return to your precious scowl once more.

Faithfully and always yours,

Seungcheol

P.s. I came upon a feral, angry kitten when I was walking home late one night, that hissed and yowled and scratched me when I attempted to pet it. It reminded me so much of you, I had to take it home. He has now claimed my bed as his own, see the enclosed sketch, and will not allow me to rest. Seeing as you have so much in common, perhaps you could advise me on how to tame him? 

Jihoon does his best to respond accordingly, but he often feels his attempts at expressing fondness and affection are lacklustre in comparison, his choice of words clumsy and halting.

At one point, he looks to his romance novels for inspiration, but even those tried and tested methods of seduction don’t end well either; spritzing a letter with his favourite perfume makes the ink bleed and forces him to start all over, and patting his lips with his mother’s rouge so he can imprint a kiss on the parchment, creates nothing but a giant red blob in the corner of his letter (again, forcing him to start over).

It’s only on a visit to the haberdasher a few days later, that he is struck by inspiration of a more personal nature.

True, he had been dragged along on the outing by his mother to assist in choosing Jisoo’s wedding ceremony garments (among other things), and has no cause to consider any of the items for himself, but for once all this talk of mating ceremonies and wedding nights has him squirming in his seat, cheeks flushed, wondering if Seungcheol would prefer him to be dressed in silk or lace, a corset or stay.

When a roll of delicate peach silk is brought out for inspection, Jisoo immediately rejects it, dissatisfied with the hue. Jihoon however, cannot help but reach out to test its softness between a thumb and forefinger.

“May I have a square of this please?”

“Whatever for?” His mother asks, her shrewd eyes searching Jihoon’s face. “That is inner garment material Jihoon. It is not suited for outwear.”

“I know that. I only want it for a personal project.” Jihoon says, knowing the half-truth will only lead to more confusion, but trusting it will go unchallenged. “I’ll pay for it myself if I must.”

The haberdasher kindly cuts him out a square for free, and he forks out a good portion of his weekly allowance on a spool of thread and length of fine lace, and spends the rest of the week tucked away in his room, fashioning Seungcheol a handkerchief.

He is quite pleased with the end result—his finest work if he does say so himself—but it is the accompanying letter that requires the most attention, in order to convey the magnitude of his thoughts and feelings.

I fashioned this handkerchief for you, out of a personal item of mine. I hope you like it.

He writes, hand shaking all the while. And then, just in case the rather obvious implication flies right over Seungcheol’s head, he adds:

P.S. By personal item, I mean my underwear.

It’s a lie. Obviously. But the sentiment still stands.

“—it seems the man has not had any luck finding a mate in the city, for Mrs Omega Chan tells me he intends to take up residence in Daegu Hall once again.”

“Hmm?” Jihoon shakes himself from his stupor at the mention of Daegu Hall, and looks sharply up across the breakfast table at his mother. “Pardon me Mama, but who do you speak of?”

“The Duke, of course. Haven’t you been listening? He is returning for the winter season, and judging by the carriages that came through town this morning, he intends to bring twice as many guests as before. We must clear our calendar Mr Lee, for I suspect an invitation to a winter ball will be arriving shortly.”

“How peculiar,” Mr Lee says, closing his teeth around his morning pipe. “Surely there are more eligible Omega’s to be found in the city. If the Duke has been unable to secure one there, I fear there is little hope for him here.”

“I believe you are right Papa.” Jisoo says, while buttering a piece of toasted bread. “Our little town has nothing to offer that the city could not exceed, and many of the Omega’s presented to him last season have been spoken for now. I only know of a handful, personally, who remain unattached, and I am not including Jihoon in that tally of course. No offence Jihoon.” He says, with a brilliant smile that belies his words.

Jihoon smiles back, for once not overcome with the childish urge to stick his tongue out.

“None taken. My opinion on the man may have softened, but I still have no desire to entertain his company. I am pleased to hear he is returning to our part of the country however: one of the Duke’s personal guards is a friend of mine, and I have sorely missed his company these past few months.”

“So that’s who you’ve been writing all those letters to. I was beginning to wander who could have possibly captured all your attention.” Says Jisoo, smiling slyly across the table.

Jihoon stiffens in his seat, darting a nervous glance at each of his, as of yet, thankfully oblivious parents.

“It has not been that many letters.” He says, weighing his words with meaning, wanting to make his meaning plain. “I only write to him once a week.”

“Ah, but he writes back twice as often, on good quality cardstock,” Jisoo reports, in the tone of a coffee-house rake relaying gossip to his associates. “And he refers to you very affectionately. What it is that he calls you again? My pretty little pebble?”

Jihoon’s mouth falls open.

“You snake! How dare you read my private correspondence!”

He realises the error of his ways the very moment after he speaks. Had he dismissed Jisoo’s teasing in his usual manner, perhaps his parents would have continued their breakfast, none the wiser. As it is, they both look up sharply at the outburst, quite alarmed.

“What? You mean this is true?” His father sputters, looking at him with no small amount of astonishment. He exchanges a more concerned look with Jihoon’s mother before adding, “It is certainly good to hear you have become more open to courting Jihoon, but who is this man? How did you come to know him? Is he a respectable fellow?”

Jihoon fights down a blush and ducks his head.

“Yes Papa. He is very respectable, and kind and patient and well read.” He says, smiling though he is unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. “We met at the Duke’s summer ball, and we have met each dance since, and other times besides...and...and I like him very much.”

Mr Lee nods agreeably, seemingly pleased with Jihoon’s account of things. A sharp contrast to Mrs Lee, who’s brow furrows with displeasure, her hand tightening around her teacup.

“A guard is hardly the sort of man you should be keeping company with Jihoon. With no land or title to support him, he will expect a hefty dowry from your Papa to make ends meet. One we could ill afford.”

Mr Lee is quick to wave her off.

“Do not discourage our son Mrs Lee, it is not his fault he is our youngest and thus so poorly situated. I’m sure if it came to it, I could pull together a handsome enough dowry to satisfy any man.” He says earnestly, giving Jihoon an encouraging smile.

Jihoon feels his own smile curling into one of helpless delight and reaches over to grasp his father’s hand.

“You needn’t worry Papa. He is aware of our financial difficulties, and it has not discouraged him yet. He has given me every indication that we could live quite comfortably on his income, and that he requires no financial incentive to mate. In fact, I have reason to believe he would be prepared to waive the dowry all together.”

“Waive the dowry!” Cries Jisoo, all amazement. “I hope you haven’t allowed this man to take liberties with you in the meantime, because I very much doubt he will be doing that. That sounds more like something that happens in those ridiculous romance novels you’ve been reading. You do realise those stories are just fantastical nonsense, don’t you? Real life is not really that romantic.”

Jihoon bristles, his mouth becoming a thin line of displeasure. “No one has taken any liberties, and how dare you presume. You know nothing of our relationship!”

“That is quite enough from both you.” Mrs Lee interrupts. She speaks quietly, but with authority.

“Jisoo, do not tease your brother, and Jihoon, you mustn’t take your older brother’s teasing to heart. He has shown little tact, but he is only attempting to teach you an invaluable lesson. Life is rarely depicted accurately in fiction—it is why romance novels are so popular. When it comes down to it, no sensible Alpha will mate with an Omega for free.”

Jihoon’s heart thumps sickly behind his ribs, hearing those words and knowing there is an element of truth in them.

He quits the room before his hurt and outrage might express itself in the smashing of various plates on the wall and the upending of the porridge bowl on someone’s head. 

No invitations for a winter ball are sent out when the Duke returns to Daegu Hall, much to the entire town’s displeasure. There is only brief mention of him having secured a mate in one of the weekly periodicals, and that a momentous wedding celebration is to be held on the estate, but to whom and when is anyone’s guess.

Jihoon does however, receive a brief missive from Seungcheol, something rushed and brief and entirely impersonal.

Dear Jihoon,

I will have returned to Daegu Hall on the 15^th of this month.

Come meet me at your earliest convenience.

Warmest regards

S.

It’s so unlike his previous letters, so clerical and neat, Jihoon has to wonder if it’s even from him. Nevertheless, he waits anxiously for their standing date of Wednesday, worried for the first time in months that Seungcheol will fail to show, that perhaps his gift had been too bold and turned the Alpha off.

He’s not sure why he’s doubting things between them now—but his mother’s words still weigh heavy on his heart, agitating for change under the surface of his thoughts.

It’s only on the day, as he’s guiding his horse up the road towards the grand, old house, does he realise Seungcheol hasn’t actually specified where they should meet. The Duke’s estate is ridiculously large and sprawling, and there are a hundreds of little nooks and hidey holes Seungcheol could have expected him to wait.

Each time he stops to ask a grounds man or passing guard if they know Seungcheol, and where he could find him, they give him the oddest look and direct him to the front door. He opts for the back entrance instead, where all the servants are offloading deliveries and waits patiently with the cook while a footman delivers his message.

Not five minutes later, Seungcheol comes crashing into the kitchen, looking agitated and breathless, like he’d ran the entire way there.

Jihoon lurches from his seat in surprise, as does everyone else, but he barely had a chance to speak before the Alpha is taking hold of his hand and dragging him up the stairs into the main section of the house.

“Thank god I found you before she did.” He croaks, entirely breathless, sounding almost on the verge of tears.

“Before who did? What’s going on?” Jihoon asks, bewildered.

Seungcheol brings them to an abrupt stop in the middle of an empty corridor, looking this way and that, sniffing the air, but after no more than a moment they’re on the move again, and he’s offering Jihoon a warm smile over his shoulder.

“Sorry. I’ll explain in a moment. I just want to find somewhere private.”

Jihoon’s not sure what to expect when he’s finally pulled into a shadowy room, but certainly not what follows: neither Seungcheol’s fingers in his hair or his sturdy arm about his waist, nor Seungcheol pressing him back against a bookcase, growling with the violence of his passion, kissing him with such fervour that Jihoon feels all the strength go out of his knees.

He goes along with it willingly, shocked at how easy it is to submit, how much he wants to. He reaches up to cradle the back of Seungcheol’s head just as the Alpha slides his arms around his waist to pull them flush together, and oh!

It is a wonderful feeling to have Seungcheol’s body against his own again, solid and warm and well built. Jihoon finds himself humming a pleased noise, which Seungcheol takes as a cue to open his mouth, press their tongues together, tighten the hold of his arms.

The kiss is so disorientating with its ferocity, he can’t tell how much time has passed when they finally draw apart with a gasp, and he is once again looking up into the bright-eyed wildness of Seungcheol’s face.

“Forgive my eagerness, but I couldn’t help myself, not after I have carried your gift in my pocket for the past two weeks.” Seungcheol says, growling a little with contentment as he nuzzles at Jihoon's neck.

Jihoon’s chest aches, suddenly, with relief.

“You liked my gift?”

“Liked it?” Seungcheol chuckles, a breathless, hungry sound. He crowds Jihoon against the shelf again, and buries his nose beneath his jaw with a slow inhale, as though simultaneously scenting Jihoon and trying to ground himself. “You little devil. You can’t imagine how elated I was to receive that letter. I could hardly contain myself. I wanted to abandon the city and come to you at once.” His ravenous smile dissolves into an expression of consternation. “Unfortunately for us both, my mother read it first.”

“What!” Jihoon squeaks.

Seungcheol appears tired about the eyes suddenly. He pinches the bridge of his nose briefly between forefinger and thumb.

“She was none too happy about it either.” He says plainly. “Not unhappy with you, of course, but with me. For my devious machinations. That’s why she wrote that letter, asking you to come here. She’s been fielding my correspondence without me knowing for some time now, and realised I’d been misleading you. I told her everything, I told her the truth, but she insisted on meeting you, so she could personally set the record straight once and for all.”

Jihoon feels himself wilt beneath those words, in horror at the thought that it sounds very much as though Seungcheol is laying the foundations for a dissolution of their relationship.

“Misleading me?” He demands, gripping the Alpha’s hand tightly.

Seungcheol’s expression shifts knowingly.

“Oh no, no Pebble, not like that.” He coos, quick to gather Jihoon close in reassurance. “I adore you Jihoon, with all my heart, and I intend to prove my devotion by speaking to your father this very day.”

“No, no you can’t!” Jihoon gasps, pulling himself out of Seungcheol’s grasp.

The Alpha's face twists, confused and hurt, and Jihoon immediately reaches up to lay a hand on his cheek to comfort him.

“No, no. Please don’t misunderstand, I am not rejecting you. I want you, I really do, but I've been thinking about us quite a bit recently, and I've come to the conclusion that you can’t possibly want to mate with me.”

Seungcheol stares at him, disbelieving and despairing, eyebrows set in a bewildered line.

“Er, yes. Yes I do. That’s exactly what I want.”

Jihoon shakes his head, swallowing hard. “No, no. You want an Omega to warm your bed, to enjoy for a few months before you move on. Not a mate that you will be tied to for the rest of your life. I understand, and I’m willing to be that for you—but I cannot be your mate.”

“Why the hell not?” Seungcheol demands, as though utterly furious.

“Because I have nothing to offer you!” Jihoon cries out, shocking the Alpha and himself with the vehemence of his outburst.

“I cannot elevate your status in society Seungcheol, or further your career in the militia. My family wields no influence or power or wealth in any of the counties, and my father will barely be able to scrape together enough money for my wedding cloaks let alone a suitable dowry. Feelings aside, there is very little to recommend a deeper acquaintance with me or my family.” Here his expression crumbles minutely, before he wrestles it under control. “You can take me to bed, but if it’s a mate you seek you would be better served finding yourself a first-born Omega from a smaller family.”

Seungcheol stares at him, speechless for moment longer, then slowly smiles, and then lets out a loud, snorting, and wholly undignified laugh.

“Pebble,” he says at last, almost chiding. His expression is softer now, fond in the way that always makes it feel as though something warm and pleasant has slipped into Jihoon’s chest. “How can you be in doubt of my acceptance? Surely you must know by know I would not request a dowry for you.”

Jihoon takes a step back, feeling wrong footed. His eyes dart wildly over Seungcheol’s face, trying to read him like a book.

“I...I know no such thing. As the Alpha, you’d be well within your right to demand a—”

“I don’t want a dowry.” Seungcheol says, stepping closer. “I don’t need one. I only want you.”

Tears start suddenly in Jihoon’s eyes, and he drops his head to hide them. “Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought you to be. What could I possibly give—”

The rest of the sentence gets stoppered against his mouth as Seungcheol forces his chin up and brings their lips together again.

It’s a gentler kiss than before, but no less possessive. Jihoon melts into it even though he knows he shouldn’t, knows they have so much more to say to each other that cannot be said by touch and taste, but the joy and relief of it is too enormous to resist. He can only open for the nip of teeth at his lower lip, then gasp around the intrusion of Seungcheol’s tongue sliding into his mouth.

As much as he loathes for it to end, every kiss must come to an end eventually, and theirs does when the door swings open and a timid looking maid carrying the coal scuttle comes bustling in.

She yelps at seeing them both there, and offers a harried curtsey, stumbling with eyes downcast as they extract themselves from one another. 

“Forgive me your grace. I...I was unaware the room was in use.”

“That’s quite alright. Uhm, please, continue with whatever you came to do.” Seungcheol says, casting apologetic eyes at Jihoon as he straightens and folds his hands behind his back.

Jihoon feels certain his expression must be one of comical astonishment as the maid scurries forward to set a bucket of coal down by the fire place, then quickly scurries out again, but he is helpless to control it.

“Your grace?” he says softly once the door clicks shut, the words dropping with a hiss in the silence between them.

Seungcheol winces, before sketching a quick bow in acknowledgement.

“Yes, that’s right. Choi Seungcheol, Duke of Daegu—but I don’t expect you to call me that—”

Jihoon recoils with a gasp before he can finish, clutching at his chest, his hair, the nearest shelf, face aflame and gait unsteady. Seungcheol merely rolls his eyes like he’s being unnecessarily dramatic.

“Oh, don’t be like that. It’s still me, alright. Nothing has changed.”

Jihoon stares at him, aghast.

“Nothing has changed? Nothing has changed?” He can scarcely believe his ears. “How can you say that after you, we. . . You are the Duke of Daegu, third in line for the throne, and this whole time I have addressed you as if we were equals!”

“And I have found it most refreshing, I assure you.” Seungcheol begins hotly. “You can’t begin to understand how frustrating it is to continuously have my wealth and status act as a barrier when forming true friendships. I have always longed to find a mate who cares not for the riches I can offer, but for my qualities as a person. Only you have shown me this kindness Jihoon.” He reaches for Jihoon’s hand and grasps it firmly. “Better yet—you thought me a lowly regimental guard the entire time, a man beneath you in society, and you still treated me as friend and an equal.”

Jihoon blinks at him slowly, slow to parse the words, still trying to scrabble together some semblance of control over his emotions. Both are an impossible feat when the overwhelming sense of mortification and joy and hope rival the pounding of his heart.

“I... I cannot believe you withheld this from me for so long. No, no— I cannot believe I was such a fool not to realise it.”

Seungcheol raises an expressive eyebrow. “Well, in my defence, you did express some strong opinions about the Duke at our first meeting, and I felt it would have been unwise to reveal myself and put you on the spot. I felt it better to disprove your theories about me instead, and well—I may have gotten a little carried away.”

Jihoon brings a hand up to his mouth as he recalls their first encounter. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Oh god. I tried to kick you out of your own library.”

“Ah, yes.” Seungcheol sighs, sparing a look up at the ceiling, as if recalling a fond memory. “I had never in my life met such a fiery little Omega. I was immediately captivated by your energy, you know, and that lovely scowl. And then you called me a devious rake and a pompous oaf and well, what can I say? I was smitten.”

Jihoon pulls in a breath to yell at him, he thinks, shake him from his mawkish musings so he may take responsibility for the present moment, when an authoritative voice calls out from somewhere in the house.

“Seungcheol! Show yourself this instant. I will not play these games of yours!”

Seungcheol’s gaze snaps towards the door, his expression one of helpless alarm, until at last he says, in a tone of weary resignation.

“That’ll be mother. Listen, you should know she’s going to try and take over the entire wedding ceremony planning, and if you don’t want that, you need to be yourself and put your foot down. Say—no, this is my wedding. Stay out of it. Scowl at her if you have to.”

Jihoon flounders, quite certain he lacks the composure to face down anyone at this moment, let alone a dowager duchess who’s been privy to his private correspondence with her son.

Oh, no!

The handkerchief!

She must have seen that too!

“Oh god!” Jihoon cries out, fleeing the room in a complete confusion of spirits.

Dawn finds Jihoon wide awake, fitfully pacing the length of his bedroom.

He had fled the Duke’s estate on foot, needing some distance, and had almost been reprimanded by his mother for the soiled state of his boots and britches upon his return home. She only had to take one look at him to acknowledge the sincerity of his distress, if not the reason behind it.

‘Oh my sweet boy,' She had said, pulling Jihoon into a tender embrace. ‘You needn’t speak a word. I know heartache when I see it.’

Clearly she had thought Seungcheol had come to his senses and cast him aside, and Jihoon was still reeling from the discovery to correct her. Now he wishes he had, because even after a considerable amount of thought and planning, he hasn’t the foggiest idea how to broach the subject.

Oh, erm, Mama? Papa? Remember that Alpha that has been courting me secretly these last few months? The Duke’s personal guard that you didn’t wholly approve of? Well, it turns out he’s been the Duke all along, and has just been keeping it from me because he’s a giant idiot. Anyway, can we invite him to dinner?

They’ll have him shipped off to the nearest asylum before he can catch his breath.

When the rest of the house begins to rouse for the day, he takes himself outside for a long walk, not turning back until his feet ache and his stomach rumbles in protest. So deeply entrenched in his thoughts as he is, he does not notice the chaos of the maids bustling between the kitchen and corridor, until he passes by an open door and hears Jisoo call out.

“Jihoon! Where in god’s name have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” He says, striding in a fury across the sunlit drawing room.

Jihoon opens his mouth to account for his whereabouts, when the sight of his mother, passed out on the settee, with one maid fanning her while the other holds a jar of smelling salts under her nose, give him pause.

“What’s going on?”

“What’s going on? What’s going on!” Jisoo echoes hysterically. “I’ll tell you what’s going on Jihoon, you have been deceiving us all!”

“I have not.” Cries Jihoon, in injured tones.

“Oh?” Jisoo flings out a furious hand. “Then do you care go tell us all why the Duke of Daegu has called upon father this morning, to ask for your hand in marriage? Hmm?”

Jihoon’s expression falters, and he gapes at his brothers disbelievingly for a moment.

He was certain that spectacle he caused yesterday would have put the Alpha off for good, not to mention the two-hour chase around the gardens the followed shortly after, but it appears the man has more patience than he previously credited him with.

“W-where is he now?”

“Taking a turn around the garden with your father.” Jeonghan speaks up from where he is perched on the side of an armchair, booted leg swinging lazily. “They thought it better to take the discussion outside once your mother fainted for the fifth time.”

Jihoon is not in the habit of peering out of windows to snoop on people; or so he would say, if asked. He does not intend to press his nose to glass now and watch as Seungcheol and his father take another turn around the garden, and would have left if he could. It’s only that his feet fail, quite unaccountably, to carry him away.

Jisoo is too busy fanning their mother to notice this shift in behaviour, but Jeonghan picks up on it swiftly enough and steps up the window to chuckle.

“I am astonished you remain standing here Jihoon. I would have expected you to flee the moment you realised what was afoot.”

“I thought about it.” Jihoon admits, smiling nervously as Seungcheol finally looks over and meets his eyes, offering a keen smile in turn. “But alas, he knows all my hiding spots.”

FIN.