Archive of Our Own ^beta

Their love story, surely like countless others, begins with a distal radius fracture of the wrist. 

The fall happens in the span of a blink; Soobin chasing Beomgyu around the kitchen in one direction, Yeonjun walking backwards while looking at his phone in the other. The collision: Beomgyu careens into a firm back and the unsuspecting victim is flung forward, his arm outstretched to catch himself. A crack— the entire fall plays out in a flash. 

(The other fall comes later, in slow motion.) 

There’s no finger pointing or blaming, no wallowing in guilt. Everyone involved is perfectly aware that no person in particular is at fault. It was an unfortunate accident, that’s all. Everything should carry on as normal; Yeonjun will get a cast for his wrist, he’ll take a few months to heal, and nothing will spiral out of control. 

Except that’s not the way it goes. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Everyone notices that something is off with Yeonjun. He’s always been hard on himself, shouldering all the blame and guilt that comes with suffering a minor injury that impedes his productivity and contribution to the group. He’d gone through it that first year when he’d twisted his ankle, and spiraled yet again when he’d started developing pain in his shoulder which had ended up going away within a few days. 

The point is, they’re all used to frustrated, overactive Yeonjun, the Yeonjun that pushes himself until every muscle is screaming, until he can hardly draw in another breath. They know what he’s like when he’s sulking, when he’s beating himself up. But something is different this time— even Beomgyu can see it. 

It hangs over them like a polluted atmosphere, a pervasive scent tinged with something acrid. It feels all wrong, harsh and searing rather than the soft, mellow aura that usually surrounds their oldest alpha. They silently opt to leave it be for as long as they can, to see if things will smooth over on their own. The only time the rest of them address the situation is through fleeting glances exchanged in the mirror, or flung over their shoulder out of the corner of their eye. 

Beomgyy usually tries to avoid these gazes. He knows what they stem from, knows that the other members are worried sick about Yeonjun— specifically Soobin, who feels partially responsible for what had happened, and who bears the burden of even more responsibility as their leader. 

Beomgyu, on the other hand, doesn’t feel that he has the right to worry. Soobin is his closest friend, Kai and Taehyun his confidantes and sources of comfort, the personifications of a mug of hot cocoa on a numbing, rainy day. But Yeonjun? Their relationship is something more difficult to describe. Specifically because they don’t exactly have much of one. 

Beomgyu is sipping on his iced coffee, lost within his half-asleep thoughts when Yeonjun slugs into the kitchen, looking dead on his feet. His wrist is cradled against his chest, wrapped in a navy blue cast that matches the current hue of his dyed hair. Beomgyu distantly wonders if he had done it on purpose, if in the midst of his pain and turmoil he had taken a moment to consider his aesthetics. 

“Morning,” Yeonjun says robotically, brushing past him. 

“You look terrible,” Beomgyu answers brightly, pasting a disconcertingly wide grin on his face. Yeonjun spares him a brief glance before turning away with a grimace. Taehyun ambles in a moment after, looking far too alert to match either of their energy. Apparently that’s what a halfway decent sleep schedule will do for you. Unfair, Beomgyu grumbles internally. 

Taehyun exchanges the routine pleasantries with them before setting about making his breakfast, a bit too obviously watching Yeonjun in his peripheral vision. His eyes are glued as the boy grabs a cup of yogurt from the fridge, slams it shut, grabs a spoon from the silverware drawer, slams that too. 

“How are you feeling?” Taehyun finally speaks up. Yeonjun’s back immediately stiffens. A tense silence follows. Beomgyu lifts his straw back to his lips, loudly slurping up the last drops through the cracks in the ice. 

“Just fine, thanks,” Yeonjun responds curtly, not meeting either of their stares. “I’m gonna eat in my room. I’ll catch you guys later.” He abruptly spins around, hightailing it out of there. Their eyes follow him until he’s out of sight. Slowly, Taehyun turns to Beomgyu. 

“You should check on him,” the boy remarks casually. 

Beomgyu balks. “Pardon?”

“We’ve all tried giving him space, but you can see how well that’s worked out.”

Beomgyu’s next sip of coffee flies down the wrong pipe, and he spends the next minute coughing while Taehyun thumps him heartily on the back. When he’s finally caught his breath, he resumes his indignation. “And you think that I can do anything that you guys can’t?” 

“I know you two aren’t the closest, but he does care what you think, hyung,” Taehyun sighs. “You calm him down.” 

“I don’t think that me, and calm, and Yeonjun should be strung together in the same sentence,” Beomgyu says. He wonders if Taehyun has finally lost it. 

“Trust me,” his friend assures him. And Beomgyu does. Trust Taehyun, that is. Taehyun is one of the most trustworthy people Beomgyu knows, and out of the five of them, definitely the one least prone to a sudden bout of insanity. Beomgyu is starting to reconsider that. 

Their group dynamics hadn’t always been so tentative as they are now. When their debut line-up had been announced, they’d all gotten along right away. None of them had to walk on eggshells around each other, and any conflicts that arose were merely petty disagreements between close friends. 

One alpha. Two betas. Beomgyu and Yeonjun, unpresented, sure-to-be omegas. Perfectly balanced, an all rounded group. Of course, it only takes one anomaly to tip the whole scale off balance.

“I’m the last one he’ll want to talk to,” Beomgyu insists. “Some part of him might even resent me for bumping into him.” He tries to keep a neutral face, but it’s clear that even he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. 

Taehyun wrinkles his nose. For a beta, he has an uncannily keen sense of smell, which comes with the unfortunate side effect of making him a human lie detector. (Or it was that random book on body language that he’d read. Who knows.)

“You know that’s not true,” Taehyun sighs, “but I can’t talk you out of being stubborn. I know you’re always butting heads and all that, but don’t you want to be the mature one here?” 

Now that gets the blood rushing to his face. If there’s anyone to blame for the way they are now, it’s certainly not him. Not to sound childish or anything, but Yeonjun had started it. And Taehyun’s idea that the boy would give a single fuck about anything Beomgyu would have to say— well, it couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“I’m always the mature one,” Beomgyu says hotly. “He’s the one who avoids me like the plague.”

Taehyun levels him with an unimpressed look. “Only because you can’t go two seconds without provoking him. What do the two of you get out of poking and prodding at each other’s nerves all the time?” 

“An immense sense of satisfaction,” Beomgyu replies. 

It’s also the only time he’ll look at me these days, he thinks. Of course, he’s long past that naive period when he would pine for the alpha’s attention. Whether Yeonjun likes him or not makes no difference to him whatsoever— so really, he hadn’t lied with the answer he’d given (pissing Yeonjun off is pretty funny).

Taehyun seems to think otherwise, his mouth pursed in a frown. “Have you ever considered that he feels like you’re making fun of him?” 

“What do you mean?” Beomgyu scratches his head awkwardly. It feels like a trick question— his friend has always been fond of those. “I do make fun of him.” 

“Not like that,” Taehyun shakes his head in frustration. “I meant like, undermining him as an alpha.”

At that, Beomgyu’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “That doesn’t make any sense either?” His voice comes out strangely high. “I mess with Soobin even more than I tease him, and that works out just fine.” 

If looks could maim, Taehyun’s eyes would have drilled a hole into his head. “That’s different, and I think you know that.”  

Different. Everything has always been different with Yeonjun, everything about him defying categorization. At first glance, he could easily be mistaken for an omega— lithe figure, slender waist, lips that seem perpetually flushed. An indisputably pretty face; and those who are fools tend to not look much further beyond that.

Yeonjun has a stern disposition. He can easily be riled up and provoked into annoyance at the drop of a hat. But he isn’t domineering . He isn’t truly intimidating to those who know him well— who know that beneath the defense mechanisms and exaggerated frowns, he’s kinder than one would expect, and gentler than most. 

He’s an alpha through and through, but he makes his presence his own. Beomgyu has always admired him for that in a way. Yeonjun is also infuriating to him for much of the same reasons. 

“You’re right,” Beomgyu gives in, his jaw set. “It’s different. So I highly doubt he’ll be open to me trying to smother him.” 

“He’s hurt, and he’s at his lowest right now. Nothing you do will make it worse, Beomgyu, I promise you that.” Taehyun’s face softens, and he lowers his voice. “It definitely won’t kill either of you if you just show that you care.” 

Beomgyu’s mouth opens and closes. “Who says I care for him?” 

As soon as he says it, he knows it’s an empty question. Whether or not he and Yeonjun are the bestest of friends, they are obligated to give a shit about each other’s wellbeing, at the very least. Hell, it’s pretty much part of their job. Five boys who came together under one dream, and all that. 

If only it were that simple. If only the line between them could simply be drawn there. The problem is, it’s unclear which of them had drawn the line and when, nor does he have any idea where either of them stand in relation to it. 

Beomgyu is simply stuck wandering blind, sinking into the quicksand faster than he can pull himself out. 

·𖥸·

Beomgyu walks into the kitchen, stops short, and stares. He had been on the hunt for a post-dinner snack, only to find Yeonjun furiously trying to pump dish soap onto a sponge with his intact hand, a scowl etched onto his face. Beomgyu watches him for a while in mild amusement, before rolling his eyes and sidling up next to him.

Yeonjun startles at his presence. Beomgyu can be light on his feet when he wants to, creeping up inaudibly. Usually it only fully works on Kai, but Yeonjun is clearly distracted with whatever battle he’s currently trying to fight. 

“Why are you doing this?” Beomgyu asks, nodding towards the sink. Yeonjun follows his gaze, his face rumped with confusion. 

“It’s my turn to do the dishes,” he answers shortly. His shoulders are tensed and drawn up high, bristling in the way he does whenever the omega comes near. 

Usually Beomgyu would read the signs and keep his distance— but the combination of current circumstances, as well as his conscience (which sounds annoyingly identical to Taehyun’s voice) keep his feet rooted in place. 

“But you’re hurt,” Beomgyu feels the need to point out, since Yeonjun seems to have not gotten the memo. “And you shouldn’t get your cast wet. Just let me.” He steps even closer, nudging the boy gently to the side. 

Yeonjun looks like he’s biting into a lemon, or maybe his tongue, but surprisingly doesn’t argue. Beomgyu grabs the sponge from him, taking up a plate. He soaps it up, then starts lathering up the dish, all while wondering why Yeonjun hasn’t fucked off yet and is still standing there with him.

“Hyung.” Beomgyu clears his throat. He forces himself to push through the awkwardness; solely because Taehyun had instructed him to, not because he’s actually curious or anything. “I know I might not be the first person you’d want to confide in, but is everything alright with you?”

Yeonjun looks at him in surprise and Beomgyu feels a twist of annoyance. How can he look so appalled at him trying to make conversation, when Beomgyu had already given him a very clear out? 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ve been acting strange lately,” Beomgyu says offhandedly. He turns the water on, rinsing everything off. It burns at his hands, far too hot, and then his neck his hot, and his face, and something in his chest. “You’re not the Yeonjun that I know.” 

“And what Yeonjun do you know?” There’s a challenge there, an unspoken one that has always hovered between them. You don’t know me at all. You haven’t been trying to. 

You started it, is his default mental retort. But right now, he has no energy to wage a one-sided, telepathic war. 

Beomgyu wets his lips before answering with enough uncertainty to dull the quip, “A more obnoxious one.” 

Yeonjun huffs, and it takes a moment for Beomgyu to look at his face and realize the noise was a breath of laughter. 

“I feel like…” Yeonjun exhales again, heavier this time. His eyes fix on Beomgyu’s hands, following his motions in a trance. “I don’t know, I just feel useless like this. Like I’m failing more than I already have.”

“What do you mean failing?” Beomgyu scolds lightly. “It’s not your fault that you got injured, hyung. You’d say the same if it was any of us.” 

Yeonjun doesn’t answer. He presses his lips together until they’re almost white, his gaze going glassy. Beomgyu redirects his focus to his current task, allowing himself to space out until Yeonjun suddenly speaks again. 

“What do you think of me, Beomgyu-yah?” 

Beomgyu startles. He almost drops a spoon. “Think of you?”

“As an alpha,” Yeonjun elaborates, his voice firm. “What do you think of me as an alpha?” 

Beomgyu is at a loss for words. He feels pinned down by the other boy’s stare, unable to look away, but also unable to really allow himself to look, either. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“No,” Yeonjun says, his mouth a thin line. “I don’t know either.”

“I think you’re fine just the way you are, if that’s what you’re worried about. A little injury doesn’t make you look weak, and it won’t change the way people see you.” Beomgyu shrugs, trying to act casual. “Besides, you don’t need to worry so much about what other people think. You are an alpha, so whatever you do will be enough.” 

“I’m not like Soobin,” Yeonjun mutters. “People don’t look at me the same. I feel like if I do the slightest thing differently— I don’t know, say the wrong thing or move the wrong way, it’ll shatter my image.” 

“You’re using Soobin as the blueprint?” Beomgyu snorts. “Soobin is a softie. If being a big, bad alpha is what you’re worried about, you really don’t need to be comparing yourself to that guy.” 

“You listen to him,” Yeonjun points out petulantly. 

“Because he’s our leader. And even then, it takes him a few tries to even get me to shut up.” 

The corner of Yeonjun’s mouth lifts in amusement. “That’s true.”

If Beomgyu really dwells on it, he’s never really treated either of them quite like an omega should act around the alphas of their pack. 

He’s never thought about it too hard before, being confined in that sense. He doesn’t think before talking back, before raising his chin at them in a way that would be considered daring. Soobin complains about his behavior jokingly, but none of them have ever given him shit for it. 

But then there’s the larger scale things: the way he addresses conflict, the way he interacts with strangers, the way he operates within his interpersonal relationships. 

Omegas are pretty rare in the industry, so he hasn’t been around enough of them to compare himself to. But Beomgyu has seen the comments online, the relentless vitriol. Disrespectful. Bold. Annoying. These are all words he’s taught himself to brush off, and he’s beginning to get to the point where the opinions of faceless haters don’t bother him anymore. 

Except it’s not just them. He knows that he’s always rubbed Yeonjun the wrong way, ever since they’d both presented. Somewhere along the line, something had fractured between them— and Beomgyu still hasn’t found the right glue to piece it back together. 

“It’s not that I don’t respect you,” Beomgyu admits hesitantly. “You always get so riled up whenever I tease… I guess it just makes me all the more eager to provoke a reaction.” 

Yeonjun looks lost in thought. “You know, you don’t act like an omega, sometimes.”

Beomgyu can’t help but bristle at that. Because he knows, he knows. “How is an omega supposed to act?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Yeonjun says softly. “How are any of us supposed to act?” 

Beomgyu’s breath catches. Once upon a time, he and Yeonjun hadn’t been virtual strangers. Once upon a time, they had clung to each other like they were stuck with glue, trailed after each other like puppies chasing their own tails. 

Then Yeonjun presented as an alpha, subverting all expectations. Three months later, Beomgyu presented as an omega. Suddenly, every touch felt charged with something too overwhelming for the both of them, every exchange crackling with tension.

It shouldn’t have pulled them apart; but suddenly they were too different, too similar. Beomgyu was too outspoken, Yeonjun too affected by him. Yeonjun’s newfound identity towered over him like an unseen force, and in turn, Beomgyu slithered under the alpha’s skin like an itch that couldn’t be dispelled. 

They clashed at every turn, bumped heads every time they spoke. Their dynamic had been irrevocably changed, twisted and bent into something they could no longer recognize or understand how to navigate. 

Beomgyu doesn’t realize how overwhelmed he’s feeling until he breathes in a whiff of something spicy and sweet. Soothing pheromones, he realizes, inhaling deeply. He feels a warm tingle spread across his shoulders and back, some of his muscles loosening up. The coiled tension unfurls in his chest. 

“Better?”

Beomgyu closes his eyes. When was the last time Yeonjun had used his scent to calm him down? Had he ever? 

“I’ve always been good at describing smells,” he says suddenly. “You know, picking out the different components. But not with you. I don’t know, to me, you’ve always just smelled like… you . There’s nothing more to it.”

It coats his lungs, his throat, settles on his tongue like an intangible ambrosia. He suppresses a whine, eyes flinging open as he abruptly shuts off the water. 

“And is that good or bad?” Yeonjun asks quietly. 

“I don’t know,” Beomgyu shrugs, avoiding his eyes as he hastily places the last dish on the rack to dry. “It’s just you.” 

He’s never thought too hard about Yeonjun’s scent one way or another. It’s always just been there, an aroma he could pick up out of a medley of scents, easily distinguishable. Sometimes, he’ll catch a whiff of it and remember how they used to be. 

He had smelled Yeonjun before they had even first met, the scent clinging to the walls of whatever practice room he’d previously been in. Back then it was milder, more neutral. Something warm and spiced, something he breathed into his chest where it sparked like a kindling fire. Then they’d met face to face, and all the pieces fell into place. 

They were inseparable during those predebut days, when they were still feeling each other out and getting to know one another. Even then, it felt like they’d known each other all their lives. Now, it’s like they don’t really know each other at all. 

“You smell the best,” Yeonjun says out of nowhere, taking him by surprise.

“…What?”

Yeonjun looks embarrassed, like he hadn’t had any control over what he’d just blurted. “I mean… out of all the others,” he mumbles, “your scent is the most comforting to me, I guess. It feels familiar.” 

“I’d expect it to feel familiar,” Beomgyu says blankly. “We’ve been living together for years now.” 

“That’s not what I—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head in frustration. “The others, they’re all nice too. But yours is different somehow. Even when I don’t see you, it’s always lingering in the air. Sometimes it’s the first thing I smell when I walk into the dorm.”

Beomgyu doesn’t say what he’s thinking: that the only reason his scent probably stands out to Yeonjun the most, is because he’s the only omega. Of course it would be more appealing, simply on a biological level. He brushes aside the twinge of disappointment he feels.

“It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“You said that my scent comforts you,” Beomgyu shrugs. “It’s just kind of funny that that scent is attached to the person you can stand the least.” 

Yeonjun’s eyes widen fractionally; his nostrils flare. “I guess you’ve always had an odd sense of humor.”

Beomgyu had expected an affirming laugh, maybe an eye roll. For the first time, Yeonjun’s surge of irritation takes him by surprise. He furrows his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You two better not be fighting again,” Soobin’s voice interrupts before the boy can reply. Beomgyu turns to see him walk in, his peacemaker face already on full display. 

“We’re not. I was just helping hyung with the dishes.”

“That’s nice of you,” Soobin says slowly, leaning against the wall. There’s a brief pause, his eyes flicking between the two of them, before his expression morphs into a teasing scowl. “Yah, when was the last time you offered to help me with the dishes?” 

“When was the last time you broke a part of your body?” Beomgyu shoots back.

“Is that what it would take for you to treat me right?” 

“I’d definitely consider it.” 

Soobin rolls his eyes, giving them one last once over. “Have fun with the dishes, don’t kill each other.” 

As soon as he leaves, Beomgyu becomes all too aware that he’s once more alone with Yeonjun, without a buffer between them. Beomgyu can feel him staring, the burn of eyes on the side of his face. “What?” he says self consciously.

“It changes, you know,” Yeonjun replies thoughtfully.

“What does?

“Your scent— depending on who you’re talking to. Just now, with Soobin.”

“Yeah? Do tell, exactly what do I smell like when I talk to Soobin hyung?”

“You feel safe. He relaxes you, probably even subconsciously. You forget yourself when you’re with him, and you forget to put up a front.” Yeonjun swallows. “You love him.”

“Of course I love him,” Beomgyu says, bewildered. “He’s my best friend. What’s with all the psychoanalyzing? Are you some expert or something?” 

“Alphas are more attuned to things like that,” Yeonjun says, staring at some spot on the kitchen counter. “I can sense the components that make up the whole. If I pay close enough attention, I can feel what you feel.” 

Beomgyu had known all this on some level— though he could’ve sworn that there was more to it. No average alpha’s sense of smell is that good. To sense someone’s emotions and state of mind to that degree would require at least a mating bond to be in place. 

Of course, he and Yeonjun are united by no such thing. But now under the alpha’s scrutinizing gaze, after being fully picked apart by him, he feels too raw. He feels too seen. 

“It’s changed now,” Yeonjun whispers. He cradles his injured arm to his chest, hand over heart. “All of it. You’re entirely different when you’re just with me.”

“Okay, omniscient one,” he jokes weakly. “So what am I feeling when I’m with you?”  

“Beomgyu-yah.” Yeonjun shakes his head, looking hopelessly lost. “I don’t have a single clue.” 

·𖥸·

Beomgyu doesn’t know how this happened. How he, of all people, ends up becoming the designated caretaker— the watchful eye, the nagging voice. 

He finds himself lingering around Yeonjun more and more. Cutting up his meat, reaching a lower back scratch, vacuuming the floor of his room. All actions that can be somewhat hindered by the handicap of a cast and sling, all of which can easily be performed by a helping hand. It’s not that Yeonjun has gone out of his way to ask for things, either. If anything, it’s quite the opposite. 

“Let me help you with that,” Beomgyu will say on impulse, after watching the boy struggle for a good minute. Yeonjun will frown, look as though he’s about to say something, then surprisingly let it go without any further arguments. There’s something of a peacefully resigned air about him now. It’s almost like he wants to give in, wants to hand over the reins to someone else and unshoulder all responsibility. 

If Beomgyu can ease some of the burden that had come with his injury, then he’s happy to do it. Not because he particularly enjoys hovering over Yeonjun’s shoulder at all times, waiting for a moment to jump in. No, it’s for the good of the entire group that he ensures that their eldest is in peak shape both physically and mentally. 

Their comeback is still some months away, and they’re just beginning to go through some of the choreographies. Today’s dance practice hasn’t been too grueling so far, much to everyone’s relief.  The whole time, Beomgyu is watching Yeonjun through the mirror like a hawk, to the point where the others begin sending him looks of exasperation mixed with amusement. 

Every time Yeonjun looks like he’s pulling a face of discomfort, or seems as though he’s about to lose his balance, Beomgyu’s foot twitches, ready to lunge forward at the slightest provocation. He just barely manages to restrain himself, opting to not interrupt everyone and make a scene. 

When they call water break, Yeonjun doesn’t make his way over to grab his bottle. In fact, he doesn’t even sit down. He keeps running through the steps, beads of sweat rolling down his neck and darkening the collar of his shirt. Beomgyu finds himself on his feet before he can consider minding his own business, grabbing the other boy by the elbow. 

“Stop,” he says firmly. Yeonjun immediately goes still, looks at him with moon eyes. 

“I’m not doing anything?” he says, his voice lilting upwards as a question rather than a statement. On anybody else, it would be just a little endearing. On Yeonjun, it just makes Beomgyu want to smack him even more. 

It doesn’t help that they’re both drenched in perspiration; they take care to wear scent blockers whenever they’re at the company, just as a precaution, but after strenuous exercise it inevitably begins to bleed through. Beomgyu can sense it there just beneath the surface, earth and spice. It makes him feel lightheaded. 

“You’re only supposed to be getting a loose feel of the choreo for now, not putting your full energy into the moves,” he tells Yeonjun with a scowl. He’s surprised that no one else had said anything. Yeonjun’s version of “toning it down” is still far too much movement for a healing bone. “You have to let yourself recover, hyung.”

“It’s just my wrist. I can dance perfectly fine with the rest of my body.” 

“Take it easy,” Beomgyu reinforces, not backing down. They stare at each other, neither one blinking. For a moment, Beomgyu feels that tension flare up between them once more, the same stiffness that colors every one of their conversations. 

He expects Yeonjun to snap at him, to tell him that it isn’t Beomgyu’s place to tell him what to do. He even expects the alpha to turn away without a word, to ignore him and continue on with what he was doing as if Beomgyu is an invisible annoyance that’s easily brushed off. 

Instead, Yeonjun purses his lips. “Fine.” 

He spins on his heel and strides over to take a seat next to the other three. Beomgyu is left gaping in his wake, wondering when the hell the bane of his existence had become so reluctantly agreeable. 

·𖥸·

It’s two in the morning, and Beomgyu, as usual, is wide awake. He finally decides to head to the kitchen for a midnight snack, but stops short at the sight of light coming from underneath the bathroom door. With perfect timing, a loud groan reverberates from within. Not sparing a second thought, his hand is already twisting the handle. 

What Beomgyu walks in on is something of a crime scene— water splashed all over the floor, dripping from the countertop, shower mat crumpled— all signs that a struggle has occurred. And the cherry on top: Yeonjun sitting sprawled against the sink, hair soaking wet and looking like he’s just waged war against a dolphin and lost. 

There’s a beat of silence. Yeonjun gazes up at him mournfully. Finally, Beomgyu clears his throat.

“What am I looking at?” he asks, cheeks puffed up with the monumental effort it takes not to laugh. 

“I just wanted to wash my hair,” Yeonjun says sullenly. He looks limp and pitiful, like his life force has been sucked out of him. 

“I think you managed to wash the whole bathroom instead,” Beomgyu comments, casting an eye around. “Why didn’t you just hop in the shower?”

“I didn’t want to deal with covering my cast and all that bullshit,” Yeonjun grumbles. “I thought it’d be easier to just quickly shampoo in the sink with one hand.”

“And how’d that work out for you?” 

“Stop being a smartass.”

“I’d love to, as soon as you say the magic words.”

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow. “Which are?”

He can’t help the self-satisfied grin that spreads across his face. “‘Beomgyu, please help me.’” 

That earns him a derisive scoff. “What could you possibly help me with?”

“Washing your hair,” Beomgyu states the obvious, beaming innocently. “Who’s the smartass now?”

Yeonjun stares at him, hard. Beomgyu braces himself. Then the unexpected happens, as it keeps on happening lately. Uncharacteristic reactions, dialogue that doesn’t seem like it should be attributed to the two of them. Yeonjun flips the script— the alpha lowers his eyes. 

“I’d say I don’t need or want your help,” Yeonjun mumbles. “But honestly, neither of those things are true.” 

Beomgyu freezes for a moment, stunned. Yeonjun shivers lightly as a drop of water falls from his hair and lands on his bare arm. Something about that little shudder snaps Beomgyu back into action. 

“Come on, stand up,” he orders, extending a hand down to him. Yeonjun reluctantly grabs it, pulling himself up. Beomgyu moves to put the toilet lid down, gesturing to the other boy to take a seat. Yeonjun eyes him warily.

“Why?”

“Because your hair is already wet enough,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’ll be easier to soap you up like this than bending you over the sink.” 

Yeonjun finally obeys, fidgeting to get comfortable on the hard plastic seat. “Why are you doing this?” he asks quietly. 

He’s staring down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. It feels strange seeing him like this, all timid and head bowed. It’s as if Beomgyu has entered a parallel universe, one where Yeonjun doesn’t keep his chin up all the time, where he isn’t afraid of not being the brightest thing in the room at all times. 

“Because you looked so pathetic dripping all over the floor, you thawed my frozen heart,” Beomgyu answers dryly. He hopes the truth in it doesn’t ring so loud as it does in his own ears. 

Yeonjun snorts. “Yeah, that, but also everything. Taking over my chores lately, carrying my bag for me. What do you get out of it?”

He wants to crack another stupid joke, then reconsiders. “I like doing things for others,” he answers. “It’s nice to be looked after too, but I prefer to give. Sometimes I feel like… like I can’t. Not that it would be frowned upon, or even judged, but it’s just not something that’s expected of me.” 

“Because you’re an omega.” 

Beomgyu exhales. “Right.” 

Yeonjun hums. “I’d say it’s out of character for you, being this giving. But it’s not.” He smile is tight. “I guess I’ve just forgotten what it’s like to be on the receiving end of it.” 

Beomgyu swallows around the not-quite-lump in his throat. He’s not quite choked up, but it’s something. An itch, a longing. “Close your eyes, hyung.” 

His hands are gentle, his movements methodical: massage the shampoo into the strands, work up a lather, careful to avoid Yeonjun’s face. He softly scrapes his nails over the boy’s scalp in the way he knows he likes, trying not to think about how he still knows that, and how Yeonjun still lets out a pleased little sigh.

Once he’s satisfied, he pulls Yeonjun back over to the sink. He turns on the faucet, tilts Yeonjun’s head back to wash it all down the drain, taking care to keep the stinging suds out of his eyes. All the while, Yeonjun is silent and pliant, bending and moving under Beomgyu’s hands like malleable clay. 

It feels strange, doing something so domestic, so intimate with someone he’s barely even friends with. It feels like kissing an enemy, like slapping a friend. An action incongruous with its context. 

He suddenly feels the need to say something, anything. Words to fill the space between them, the product of several years of unsaid things. 

“It’s not that I’ve ever tried to single you out, or that I don’t want to treat you the same as the others,” Beomgyu begins hesitantly. Yeonjun twitches, a faint indication that he’s listening. “But after…” he trails off. “I was just never sure that you’d want me to.” 

The last traces of soap have been washed out, and still the water runs, hissing softly. Still Beomgyu threads his fingers through Yeonjun’s hair. He’s afraid to turn it off, to shut down the background noise that still makes this confined space holding just the two of them feel alive. He’s afraid to let go, to relinquish the touch he hasn’t felt for so long. 

Softly, almost too quiet for Beomgyu to hear: “I like being spoiled.” 

Beomgyu startles, his hands reflexively clenching. He barely registers the hitch in Yeonjun’s breath at the slight tug on his scalp. “What?”

“I’ve never been what people expect of me, either. I want to be taken care of sometimes. To relinquish all control and just put myself into somebody else’s hands. Unfortunately,” Yeonjun laughs wryly, “that is frowned upon as an alpha.” 

Beomgyu thinks back to when they were both unpresented, all the time they’d spend together. Yeonjun beaming at simple gestures— Beomgyu making an extra serving of ramen for him, Taehyun linking him to choreographies he might take inspiration from, Soobin carefully fixing his hair before they would walk out the door. 

Yeonjun has barely changed, he realizes with a jolt. Maybe neither of them have been altered at all. Not in the way they feel, at least, but only in the way that they’re seen. Nothing has truly been transformed except for the world around them, the unflinching gaze of the public eye, the stern voice of the unspoken rules they’ve come to believe in and blindly follow. 

Beomgyu was led to believe that he needed to be more docile and submissive, allowing others to nurture him rather than the other way round. Of course, he had failed in most of those aspects, but he can’t imagine the pressure Yeonjun must have been feeling. Yeonjun who treasures his image, who, despite himself, places a great deal of weight on how other people perceive him. 

Beomgyu reaches over to turn off the faucet. The whisper of water disappears, leaving them with a silent room. A blank slate. Yeonjun slowly straightens up, his damp fringe slicked back away from his forehead. It’s been a while since Beomgyu has seen his eyes so close, so unshielded. 

“I would never look at you differently for that, hyung,” he says softly. “You know that.” 

“I know,” Yeonjun replies evenly. “I guess the real mystery is that I’m not quite sure how you do look at me.” 

The air disappears from the room. Suddenly, Beomgyu can’t look at him at all.

It’s not news to anyone that he and Yeonjun have always been too much for each other, even back when they were close. They’re too similar. Where Beomgyu laughs too loudly, Yeonjun laughs too hard. Where Beomgyu argues until he runs out of breath, Yeonjun decides he’s right and tunes out all contradictions. Where Beomgyu is stubborn, Yeonjun is unwavering. Unstoppable mountain meets immovable force, and all that.

Sometimes, the best thing to do with a battle that can’t be won is to give up. Rather than to keep pushing and pulling forever, it’s easiest to simply separate. And if Yeonjun wasn’t Yeonjun, and if Beomgyu wasn’t Beomgyu, and if they weren’t the people that they were, living in the world that they live in— maybe it would have worked.  

Beomgyu wordlessly grabs a towel, batting Yeonjun’s hand away before he can take it himself. He reaches up, carefully rubbing the dampness out of the boy’s hair and patting it dry. 

“Until you’re better hyung, don’t do these things alone,” he murmurs. “Ask me for help if you need to.” It’s no longer a forced obligation, a ridiculous task that Taehyun had thrusted upon him. He wants Yeonjun to seek him out, wants to once again be that one person that can give him what no one else can. 

“You shouldn’t allow me to rely on you too much,” Yeonjun warns, stilling him with a hand around his wrist. “It’s dangerous.”

Beomgyu tries to take a step backwards, but he’s frozen into place. “Dangerous how?”

The look Yeonjun gives him feels too raw, too unfiltered. There’s history in that glance, a forgotten, crystallized friendship. Beomgyu has forgotten what it’s like to have him this close, to allow themselves to give and take from each other without any shame. Yeonjun inhales sharply through his nose, like he’s only just come upon the answer himself. 

“Because I might just start to need you.” 

It hits Beomgyu like a truck. Is that why we’re so far apart now? Because you were afraid of needing me? He wants to ask Yeonjun all of these things and more, but the questions lie dormant in his chest. He’s afraid of the answers, both Yeonjun’s and his own. 

He’s afraid of knowing, and afraid of not finding out enough. Afraid that everything will shift, and afraid that nothing will have changed at all. 

But most of all, he’s afraid of himself. Afraid to admit that he’s the one who’s been suffering all this time— that there hasn’t been a moment where Beomgyu has been able to stop needing the boy who was once his best friend. 

·𖥸·

Hyung, let me—

I’ve got it, Beomgyu. Stop it.

Big bad alpha now, are you gonna put me in my place? 

Don’t joke like that.

I didn’t mean— 

I know. Just don’t.

Where’s Yeonjun hyung?

How would I know?

I just thought… aren’t you always together? 

Yeah. We are. We were. 

When did it get like this? I don’t know how to be around you.

Then don’t. 

What are you saying?

Don’t be around me. Don’t you think it’ll be easier that way? 

What’s up with you two these days?

You think I know? I don’t know what he wants from me. 

Well… what do you want from him, Beomgyu-yah? 

You think I know?

I don’t know anymore, hyung. 

I don’t know. I’m sorry.

It’s easier this way. 

·𖥸·

It’s the middle of the night when the door creaks open, revealing a silhouette. Beomgyu doesn’t need to turn the light on to know who it is. He’s surprised by how familiar Yeonjun’s outline is, even without any illumination or distinguishing features. He would probably know the shape of him anywhere, in any context. 

“I can’t sleep.” The whisper cuts through the darkness. 

Beomgyu shifts to one side of the bed without saying anything, hoping that the invitation is obvious enough to not warrant words. To both his relief and apprehension, Yeonjun moves forward until he’s sinking into the mattress, crawling under the blanket beside him. 

There was a time when sharing a bed like this had been the most natural thing in the world. There was a time when Yeonjun’s presence had been a simple warmth, before it had turned to frigid air. Now, lying side by side on the same mattress, his heat feels like a furnace. 

“What’s wrong?” Beomgyu asks quietly. It’s been almost a month since the fracture, and under Beomgyu’s careful monitoring (which Yeonjun prefers to describe as “nagging”) it’s been healing nicely. Overall, everyone is in good health and the album has been progressing right on track. In terms of external stressors, there hasn’t been anything new. Just a comfortable, steady plateau. 

“Nothing. I don’t know, just too many thoughts, I guess.” 

“Hm,” Beomgyu hums. “Why’d you come here?” Because he knows Yeonjun. There has to be a reason. If not a concrete one, then surely some unseen force that had compelled him to leave his own room and find Beomgyu instead. They’ve been getting along just fine lately, but not spontaneous-casual-sleepover fine. 

“I can leave,” Yeonjun mutters. “You know, if this is uncomfortable for you. I’ll just—”

“Will you shut up?” Beomgyu snaps. Yeonjun immediately goes rigid, his breaths shallow. 

Beomgyu feels a slight thrill, a twinge of guilty pleasure at the idea that he, an omega, holds some semblance of power over an alpha. Now, when he speaks, Yeonjun actually listens. He commands, and Yeonjun allows it to happen. It slips into Beomgyu’s bloodstream, an intoxicating turn of the tables. 

“Okay,” Yeonjun whispers, wetting his lips. “So I’ll…”

“You’ll stay.” 

This is the shift— Beomgyu keeps waiting for Yeonjun to leave, to turn from him and walk away. But Yeonjun keeps meeting him head on instead, listening to his words and absorbing them rather than allowing them to float out of his ears unheard. Beomgyu isn’t used to being heard by him, isn’t used to being looked at, unflinching and unapologetic. 

Herein lies the greatest mystery of all: there’s something in Yeonjun’s glances, something Beomgyu doesn’t know how to translate. It’s not hatred or annoyance. It doesn’t even feel like mere tolerance.

There’s a tug on the blanket as Yeonjun moves closer, further into Beomgyu’s space. He tries to keep himself from tensing up, from making it clear that this situation is one he’s not entirely at ease in. It’s not that Yeonjun makes him uncomfortable— at least, not him specifically. 

But it’s been ages since he’s shared a bed with anybody, let alone an unmated alpha who he hasn’t been on the closest terms with in recent years. Beomgyu forces his shoulders to relax, restrains himself from craning his neck back so that their faces aren’t so near. 

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Yeonjun admits. “I feel so tired, but my own mind keeps me awake. Not necessarily bad or good, just— just noise. It’s hard to tune out. Your scent—” He breathes in deeply, and Beomgyu tries not to squirm. “It helps.” 

“Guess having around me is good for something,” he jokes hoarsely. Everything feels like too much right now. 

It’s around the time where he’d be due for a heat, if it weren’t for his obligatory meds (an idol’s schedule is too hectic to set aside time for a normal biological process). But even so, it’s around this time that Beomgyu starts to feel everything more. At least that’s his excuse right now, the only reason he can think of for why there are suddenly tears pricking the corners of his eyes. 

“More than good,” Yeonjun slurs. He already sounds half gone, overcome with drowsiness. Just a few minutes in Beomgyu’s presence and he’s slipping under, letting go of all self-awareness. “Wish you’d do it more.” 

“Do what?”

“Be near.” 

Beomgyu’s breath stutters. His mouth goes dry. “I never thought you’d want me around.” 

“Why would you think that?” Yeonjun’s voice is small, his sleep-addled mind endearingly confused. 

Because you said it, Beomgyu thinks. But had he? Had Yeonjun pushed him away with words, or was that a conversation his memory had manufactured? An artificial placeholder, a necessary defense mechanism to give himself closure?

He can’t remember anymore. It’s been so long, and Beomgyu has wondered enough for a lifetime.  

“We’re very different,” he says instead. 

“Are we, though?”

There it is again, that same old question. How different are they really? How many of their differences aren’t truly organic at all, but rather, have been forced into place, a conglomerate of characteristics that make up the shiny, perfect whole?

“I’m sorry, hyung.” It slips out like a breath, from his chest, from his heart. He means it. He’s always meant it, even when he was deadset on blaming everyone and everything but himself. “I told you before that I’ve never meant to disrespect you. I meant it.” 

“I know that, Beomgyu,” Yeonjun replies, suddenly sounding fully alert. “You’re not the only one that has to apologize. I haven’t been fair to you either.”

“You haven’t done anything to me,” Beomgyu points out. They haven’t done anything to each other, really. They’ve done nothing. 

“Maybe that’s what I have to apologize for,” Yeonjun breathes. Beomgyu frowns, about to ask what he means, when he feels the boy move even closer. There’s breath on his face; he thinks he can feel a heartbeat in his mouth. He wonders whose it is. 

“Hyung?” he asks, strangled. 

“It’s crushing,” Yeonjun says through his teeth, eyelashes fluttering in shame. “The weight of everyone’s expectations. It’s hard enough being an omega in this industry; and then there I was, an alpha that people kept mistaking for one. I was trying so, so hard to maintain my image. Anything and anyone that potentially threatened that felt like an enemy.” He pauses, catching his breath. “And you— you’ve never made me feel like an alpha, Beomgyu.”

Here it is. An answer Beomgyu is finally bold enough to want to know. “What do I make you feel like?”

“Anything,” Yeonjun answers. “Everything.” 

Beomgyu is too out of his mind to dwell on what that could possibly mean. The room has become far too hot, Yeonjun’s breath igniting the space between them. Their faces are too close, their bodies not far enough apart. 

Beomgyu is perfectly aware of exactly what kind of position he’s put himself in. Whatever lack of a relationship they might have, platonic or intimate, Yeonjun is still an alpha, and Beomgyu is still an omega. 

And yet, Yeonjun seems entirely unbothered. There’s no arousal in his scent, no sign that would indicate he finds Beomgyu’s proximity to be anything more than a sedative. Compared to Beomgyu’s reaction— his veins on fire, his breath thinning out— it feels almost like a slap in the face.

Then again, it shouldn’t be a surprise that Yeonjun is so unaffected. He had said that Beomgyu’s scent is comforting to him, not that he’s… attracted to it. Maybe he doesn’t see Beomgyu as an omega, doesn’t feel any of the inherent attraction. Beomgyu squirms closer, undoes that mental lock that’s constantly in place, the one keeping his pheromones in check. His scent billows throughout the room, sunshine sweeping aside gossamer curtains.

There’s a rumbling sound, and for a minute, Beomgyu thinks it’s his stomach telling him he’s due for a late night meal. Then he realizes where it’s coming from— emanating from deep within Yeonjun’s chest, a pleased sound that makes Beomgyu preen and want to press even closer.

He abruptly rolls to his other side before he does anything impulsive, facing the door as his chest constricts with every breath. Yeonjun is still right behind him, his body a firm wall. When had they gotten this close? 

His nose presses into the base of Beomgyu’s neck, partially buried in his hair. If he shifted just a few inches to the side, he’d be at Beomgyu’s scent gland. Beomgyu wonders if he’s aware of what he’s doing, or whether he’s simply drunk on sleep and unburied sentiments. 

“Do you want to scent me?” he blurts. As soon as the words escape, he freezes. 

Beomgyu needs to start thinking before he speaks. He really needs to start using his brain before he opens his mouth. Just because they’ve exchanged apologies, just because they’ve sort of smoothed things over, doesn’t mean he can be this presumptuous.  

It’s not how an omega would act, his brain tells him.

But it’s how I would act, another voice whispers back. 

Yeonjun makes a noise of surprise. “You’d let me?”

Beomgyu feels his eyes pop out of his head, but he plays it off. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” Both of them pretend that they can’t hear the shake in his voice. “It’ll help you sleep, right?”

“Right,” Yeonjun says, a bit too eagerly. “Yeah, I… it’ll help me sleep.” 

“Okay then,” Beomgyu says. His whole body is trembling, wound tight and vibrating like a plucked string. His jaw aches with how hard it’s clenched, words squeezed out thinly so that his teeth don’t chatter. “So.” 

Yeonjun’s breath ghosts over his pulse, his lips barely touching at first. “Are you sure?” he breathes into his ear. Beomgyu can already feel it, a phantom touch all over his body. 

And even though he’s not, he feels like he’s in heat, an all consuming need licking at his bones like a playful flame. But he doesn’t just want to be filled, he wants to give all of himself— to ruin, to be ruined, to have Yeonjun scent him and mark him and claim him, and to be able do it all in return. 

Are you sure? Yeonjun asks. Beomgyu has never been sure of anything. But now, pressed together, heartbeat drumming between his shoulder blades, a new question strikes him: why has it taken him this long to realize? 

Yeonjun has never been the problem. It wasn’t his fault that Beomgyu no longer knew how to act, no longer knew how to exist around him. It’s not his fault that everything had changed, not because he was an alpha and he was an omega, but because things just don’t stay the same when you’ve fallen in love with the one person you were meant to keep forever. 

Beomgyu leans backwards wordlessly in reply, just a millimeter. He wants it, he needs it, even if it will hurt him in the long run. 

A second later, Yeonjun is nosing against his gland, one of the most vulnerable spots on his body. Their scents bleed into the air, mixing together. Beomgyu can feel it tingling all across his skull, down his spine. He feels it in his toes. He can’t keep himself from arching his neck, head tipped back until all his throat is bared without obstruction. 

“Fuck, Beomgyu,” Yeonjun groans. His lets his tongue sweep over that patch of skin, over and over again, wet warmth over his pulsepoint. Beomgyu can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move. 

Distantly, he knows that a boundary is being crossed right now; that friends don’t do this, that acquaintances surely don’t. But he’s never felt more safe, more secure than he does in this moment, with Yeonjun’s face buried in his neck, his arm curled protectively around his waist. 

Beomgyu has never felt any strong desire towards any particular alpha before. He does have moments of admiration, appreciation of physical attractiveness, but he’s most focused on his group, on his work. But right now, if Yeonjun rolled him onto his back and took his mouth instead, Beomgyu thinks that he would let him. And that’s a terrifying thing to realize.

His head grows fuzzy. He doesn’t know how long they continue on like that, taking from each other without remorse. All Beomgyu knows is that when he wakes up in the morning, Yeonjun will be gone. This will all have been a dream. 

But in the depths of their subconscious, they both know it’s a dream that will come back again and again. This is how they fall asleep— tangled together; scents intermingling; hearts beating in syncopation.

·𖥸·

Beomgyu feels almost dead on his feet, tiredness weighing down his body. It’s not that he hasn’t been sleeping well per se, just that he’s taking longer to fall asleep than he would if he were sleeping alone. He’s all too hyper aware of the body next to his, of possibly jostling Yeonjun’s wrist or crossing a line if he moves an inch in the wrong way. 

After that first night they’d spent together, Yeonjun had come back the next night, and then the next, and the next after that. It’s become a routine, something that feels as natural as putting on his pajamas and brushing his teeth. Beomgyu still allows Yeonjun to scent him every now and then, but it doesn’t go any further than tentative nuzzling against his throat. 

By the time Beomgyu wakes up, the sheets beside him are cold. Nothing between them changes— at least not in the sense that they’re progressing towards something more than just a mutually beneficial relationship.

And Yeonjun is benefitting— Beomgyu still takes care of him during the day, helping him with things that would put too much stress on his healing fracture, reminding him to pace himself and take things easy. And during the night, he receives a healthy dose of melatonin in human form. Beomgyu’s benefits, on the other hand… well, he’s not so sure about that yet. It’s difficult to think about without wanting to pull his hair out of his scalp. 

Beomgyu only knows two things for sure: 1) He doesn’t want whatever it is they have going on to stop, and 2) it almost inevitably will. 

Even though it’s making him so confused and frustrated he could cry, even though sometimes it hurts to breathe with Yeonjun lying so close to him, he doesn’t know what he would do if the nightly visits were to suddenly cease. Maybe he’d be just fine. Maybe he’d actually get a full night’s worth of rest, and not be so zombie-like when he should be alert and prepping for a very important photoshoot.

“Hyung,” Kai comments after Beomgyu yawns for the fifth time within the same minute. “Have you had your coffee yet?” 

“Didn’t have time this morning,” he mumbles back. “I’m fine, though.” 

“Hm,” Soobin hums, scrutinizing him. “You don’t look fine to me.”

“If you have something to say, just go ahead and say it,” Beomgyu grunts. He braces himself for whatever quip Soobin is about to make, probably a playful dig at his eye bags that the makeup artist had gone to such painstaking measures to conceal. 

“Have you and Yeonjun been sleeping together?” 

Beomgyu chokes on his spit, spluttering as he turns a violent shade of red. 

“I meant literally,” Soobin adds hurriedly, looking sheepish. He looks more fidgety than usual, and Beomgyu chalks it up to his embarrassment about bringing up a potentially awkward subject.

“What—” he looks around for help, only to see Kai and Taehyun waiting expectantly, as if the very same question has been weighing on their minds. “How did you know?”

Taehyun gives him a shrewd look. “Seeing him come out of your room every morning for the last couple weeks or so might have clued me in.” 

“He’s also been looking more radiant lately,” Kai chimes in brightly. 

“Radiant?” Beomgyu snorts. “What is he, a blushing bride?” 

“You tell us,” Taehyun says.

“He’s just been having trouble sleeping,” Beomgyu explains, feeling defensive. “It’s completely innocent.” He can’t tell them the truth— that it’s almost too innocent, that Yeonjun basically sees him as a comfort pillow and nothing more.

He knows what they must be thinking; an alpha and omega in the same bed, most likely scenting each other, can in no way be a platonic arrangement. He would have thought so too, until he’d become entangled in it himself. 

“Innocent,” Taehyun echoes blandly, giving Beomgyu a shrewd look. Beside him, Kai just looks faintly amused. Even as betas, they’re both fully aware of the implications, maybe even more so than Soobin, who’s usually too oblivious to read too much into anything. 

“Alright,” Soobin replies easily, just as expected. He looks satisfied with the answer. “I guess it’s nice that you two are getting along. You know, comforting each other.” 

Beomgyu feels a twinge of guilt at how readily his best friend takes whatever he says at face value. Then again, he’s not entirely lying. Their arrangement is innocent, at least from Yeonjun’s perspective. It’s only Beomgyu that’s been having intrusive thoughts that keep lurking around the periphery of his mind. 

“Beomgyu.” One of the managers pops his head in. “Head over to the dressing room, you’re up for the duo shots next.” 

“With who?” he asks uneasily. 

Today’s shoot is divided into solo shots, then pairs, then the full group. They’d been given an outline of who was to be posing with who, but the directors have been switching things up today, improvising on a whim. Beomgyu had been meant to be matched with Kai, but that had clearly been thrown out the window. 

“Who do you think?” Soobin snorts, and Beomgyu’s heart sinks. “The only person who isn’t here right now.” 

·𖥸·

Beomgyu tugs on the choker around his neck, a thick leather thing with a silver buckle resting over his adam’s apple. Today’s concept is all leather, leather, leather. Collar, harness, pants that are made to look like they were painted onto his legs with shimmering black ink. 

Only his shirt provides a pop of collar, a silky blouse in a shade of deep, ruby red. He finds himself running his hands over his arms, relishing in the slippery slide of fabric between his fingers. Small crimson rhinestones have been placed at the corners of his eyes to accent the whole look. Black and red, red and black. 

Today’s set is simple, but sleek: a gleaming checkerboard with squares big enough to stand on, to sprawl over. Beomgyu takes a moment to admire it, the dual color palette perfectly matching their clothes. Then Yeonjun walks on, and everything else loses its hue. 

The boy’s hair is freshly dyed, back to its natural color. He’s wearing a cropped black turtleneck that exposes his midriff, and a flared scarlet skirt that brushes his calves. The hair on Beomgyu’s arms raise. Yeonjun looks stunning, and he knows it too. It’s clear in the way he moves, his back straight and his strides long and sure. 

They nod at each other wordlessly, forgoing small talk as they’re immediately given instructions. Yeonjun’s eyes run over the length of Beomgyu’s body before shuttering completely, his gaze steadfastly diverted. They’re directed to sit back to back, Beomgyu on a red square, and Yeonjun on black. 

Upon command, Beomgyu reaches backwards to rest a hand over Yeonjun’s eyes. He hears the older boy’s breath catch as his vision goes. There’s a tickle of eyelash against his palm. 

Click. Click. 

Beomgyu’s arm falls back by his side. Yeonjun is told to move next, his index finger looping beneath Beomgyu’s collar and tugging lightly. Beomgyu lets his head tip back, his eyes hooded. Against his skin, he can feel the tremor of Yeonjun’s hand, the outline of the cast which had been strategically covered with cloth. 

“Okay?” Yeonjun asks, hushed. 

Beomgyu swallows. “Fine.” 

Click. Click.

Beomgyu vaguely understands the concept of the photoshoot— five boys stranded in a binary colored world, lost and blending into each other. Red leaks into black, black mingles with red. Red shirt, black hair, red skirt, black harness. 

What he hadn’t prepared himself for was the intimacy, the way he and Yeonjun are being moved about like props, like staged lovers. How this is the closest they’ve been in broad daylight, how they’re breathing against each other outside the confines of Beomgyu’s room. Everyone will see them just as they are. The world will see it on Beomgyu’s face. 

“Beomgyu-ssi, why don’t you go and sit behind him?” 

He startles, his head snapping up. The director repeats himself, and Beomgyu slowly swivels around. Now his chest is pressed against Yeonjun’s back, caging him in. “Like this?” he asks hesitantly, his legs bracketing Yeonjun’s thighs. 

“Perfect. Now just move your face closer towards his neck.”

Beomgyu freezes. “His neck?” He flickers downwards, sweeping along the line of Yeonjun’s throat. It’s mostly covered by the turtleneck, and his scent is obviously dulled by pheromone blockers— but from the way Beomgyu’s nerves are on fire, one would think otherwise. 

He bends down, his nose tickling the curve of Yeonjun’s jaw. The boy pants lightly, his fingers squeezing at Beomgyu’s knee. 

Click.

“You’re alright, hyung,” he murmurs into Yeonjun’s ear. Not a question, but a statement. Beomgyu can’t help but feel overwhelmed himself. The way they’re being instructed to pose, the very obvious roles he and Yeonjun have been fitted into— it’s quite obvious what it’s meant to be mimicking: an alpha scenting his mate.

Only Beomgyu is the one hovering over Yeonjun. Beomgyu is the one who looks as if he’s about to devour Yeonjun’s neck. Beomgyu is the one who thinks he might just want to. 

Click.

He shouldn’t want any of these things. Yeonjun surely doesn’t want any of that, judging by the way his entire body is stiff and rigid, and how he’s stopped responding to Beomgyu’s whispered assurances. 

“I think that’s a wrap,” a voice calls out, and the scene breaks apart. 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Yeonjun blurts, shooting to his feet. He dashes off as soon as he’s given the green light, not sparing Beomgyu a single glance. The whole time, he hadn’t looked at the omega— not even once.

Something inside of Beomgyu fractures, with a small, almost inaudible click.  

·𖥸·

Beomgyu is herded back to the dressing room after quickly running through his solo photos. He anxiously paces back and forth for a while before a staff member loses patience with him. He and Soobin are ushered back into the now empty waiting room so that they’re out of everyone’s hair while Kai and Taehyun are prepped for their unit shoot. 

Once the door is shut, Beomgyu resumes his pacing, unable to stand still. His thoughts are a tangle of string inside his head, cutting off his circulation, choking him. He can’t block out the way Yeonjun had looked, nor the way Yeonjun hadn’t looked at him.  

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Soobin comments, though he looks uncharacteristically antsy himself. He keeps tugging on his collar, the tips of his ears an inconspicuous shade of red. There’s something off in the air, a sharp smell that Beomgyu is too distracted to try and put a finger on. 

He stops short, whirling on Soobin. “Do I look good?” he blurts, unable to control himself. He feels feverish, unable to keep the heat out of his cheeks. Yeonjun hadn’t looked at him, not even once, Yeonjun had run off, left him, doesn’t want him— 

“What?” Soobin laughs shakily, taken aback. “You know you look good. I tell you all the time.”

“Yeah, but,” Beomgyu rolls his eyes. “Are you attracted to me.” 

Soobin chokes on his spit, his face so comical that Beomgyu would take a moment to laugh and tease him about it if he wasn’t so intent on getting an answer. 

“Beomgyu-yah, what are you saying?” He sounds strangled. His hand drifts up subconsciously, hovering over his face as if to shield his nose and mouth. 

Beomgyu knows he isn’t acting rationally right now— he knows he’ll regret this later, that his current lack of inhibitions will come back to bite him in the ass. But something drives him forward, a fixed goal in his head. 

“Am I attractive,” Beomgyu says lowly, forging ahead and brushing aside his shame, “as an omega.” He leans forward, knowing full well that the movement makes his shirt billow open at the chest, the undone top button gaping across his bared collarbones. 

He hears Soobin’s breath catch, notes the abrupt spike in his scent, breaking through the masking cologne. Before he can blink, the alpha has moved into his space, crowding him against the counter. His eyes are dark, pupils blown and chest rising and falling heavily with shallow breaths. 

Beomgyu suddenly realizes what he’s been smelling, what’s now been amplified— arousal. The unmistakable smell of an alpha’s pre-rut. Alarm bells go off in his head, his conscience letting him know that he’s fucked up, pushed too far. 

Even despite the revelation, the omega in him immediately goes boneless in Soobin’s arms, his head falling limply to the side. He feels the alpha nosing against his neck, the touch sparking a jolt of lightning down his spine. 

Soobin is panting, half out of his mind. Beomgyu’s back digs into the edge of the table as Soobin presses against him. Beomgyu can feel the boy’s bangs tickling his ear, his cheek. 

“Hyung,” Beomgyu whimpers, jaw going slack. He feels Soobin convulse around him, hips bucking forward— 

It’s at that exact moment that the door bursts open.

“…What the fuck? ”

Beomgyu snaps back to reality, wrenching himself away as though he’s been burned. There he is, standing in the doorway like a dark angel of fate. He feels his heart drop. 

Soobin is still frozen in place, his body shielding the omega protectively and staring at Beomgyu with wild eyes. Yeonjun’s face is impassive, his stare aimed directly at the other alpha. 

Beomgyu knows what this looks like, knows what Yeonjun must be thinking of him right now. Cheeks flushed red, hair disheveled from where Soobin had begun raking his hand through it frantically before they’d been interrupted. All of it had happened in a blur, those last few minutes shrouded in fog. 

“I could fucking smell you from down the hall,” Yeonjun says, his voice chillingly low and measured. He’s livid . Beomgyu doesn’t think he’s ever seen the boy this angry, not towards him, or anyone else. “Did your rut come early?”

Soobin blinks rapidly, slowly coming back to himself. He still looks lost but awareness is filtering back into his eyes, along with the guilt. “No, I…” He jerks away, straightening up. “It’s still not for a few days, I just—”

“So you’re lucid,” Yeonjun snarls, “and yet you still couldn’t control yourself.”

“Hyung, it was me,” Beomgyu pleads, seized with panic. “I should’ve remembered he’d be on edge around this time, but I wasn’t thinking about it.” 

“It’s not your job to think about it,” Yeonjun snaps at him, his words all teeth and fire. Beomgyu shrinks back, clamping his mouth shut. 

“Yeonjun hyung…” Soobin says faintly, his lips white. 

“Go to the bathroom and pull yourself together,” Yeonjun replies stonily. “Don’t let any of the staff see you like this.” 

Soobin all but sprints out of the room, looking like a dog slinking away with his tail tucked between his legs. Beomgyu is drowning in guilt, feeling it suffocate him as he watches Yeonjun stare after the other alpha with rage in his eyes. 

“Hyung, I—” 

“Are the two of you in a relationship?” Yeonjun blurts, turning to him. 

“What?! No!”

Yeonjun pales. “He forced himself on you,” he utters numbly.

“No, hyung,” Beomgyu says desperately. “I— I provoked him. Don’t be mad at Soobin hyung. I provoked him on purpose, and… and he’s not even attracted to me like that. Please.”

He expects Yeonjun to lash out at him next, to redirect his anger towards the appropriate target. He braces himself for the onslaught of disappointment, for the chastizing words and the painfully familiar, blistering tension. 

Instead, Yeonjun looks him directly in the eye for the first time that day— eyes wide with skepticism, his mouth slack with something akin to complete and utter disbelief. 

“If you really think that’s possible, Beomgyu-yah,” Yeonjun whispers, shaking his head slowly, “then you’re an idiot.” 

·𖥸·

Beomgyu half expects Yeonjun not to come that night. It hurts, how automatic it’s become: the older boy slipping into his room as a shadow after he knows everyone else has gone to sleep, sliding under the blankets and into Beomgyu’s warmth.

Burrowing his face in Beomgyu’s neck, breathing in— almost like an omega seeking out their alpha’s scent. It happened once, and then they both have continued to allow it to happen. Once can be an accident; twice a mistake. Needing Yeonjun by his side to be at peace has become a habit. And neither of them are the type to easily break a habit. 

Yeonjun comes as he always does. Slippery like a shadow, luminous as moonlight. The streetlight cutting through the blinds splashes him with color, hitting the high points of his face; golden cheekbone, honeyed eyes. He’s something sweet and yearned for, like a shaft of light spilling through a slightly cracked door.

“Come here,” Beomgyu calls softly, beckoning towards the unmoving silhouette. Nothing moves. “Please?”

He closes his eyes, only opening them once he feels Yeonjun’s weight settling beside him. It surprises him, almost. Another habit Beomgyu can’t break: expecting Yeonjun to run away at the last minute, to second guess everything and to leave him guessing. 

They face each other, mute and unsure. He can feel that Yeonjun wants to say something, and has a few guesses as to what the topic may be. He waits patiently as the boy gathers his words, as he wets his lips and stares at Beomgyu with a quizzical expression. 

“What were you thinking today, Beomgyu-yah?” 

It doesn’t sound like a reprimand, not like the one he’d been expecting. Yeonjun sounds earnest, like it’s taking everything in him to ask this one question that he’s burning to know— what had Beomgyu been thinking? What is he ever thinking? 

Beomgyu could lie right now. He could come up with a million excuses, a thousand different branches that would diverge from the true heart of the matter. But in the end, it all boils down to one, painfully simple thing. 

“I was thinking that you looked good,” Beomgyu exhales shakily. “That you looked too beautiful to be real.” 

Yeonjun hadn’t anticipated that answer. “What?”

“I wondered if you thought the same of me. If I’m someone that you could see that way, someone you could want.” He’s rambling. Red in the face, bitter in the mouth. “But hell, even in skin tight clothing and my shirt halfway torn off, I guess I’m still just Beomgyu before anything else.” 

Yeonjun mouth hangs agape. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing.” Regret floods in just as quickly as his inhibitions had momentarily left him. “Forget I mentioned anything. I’m just being stupid.” He pulls the blanket up to his chin, wishing that the mattress could swallow him up. 

“Beomgyu.”

“I just— I don’t know how to be something you want .” Yeonjun’s eyes stare back at him blankly. “I want to be,” he continues, faltering. “Is it bad that I want to be wanted by you?”

“You think…” Yeonjun begins slowly, still processing. “You think that it would be difficult for anyone to desire you?” 

“I don’t not think that,” Beomgyu says, half shyly, half defensive. He starts to turn away, embarrassed. His wrist is gripped hard, impeding his movements. His breath catches, his body frozen under the strength of Yeonjun’s hold, under the crippling weight of his gaze. 

“Trust me,” Yeonjun says harshly, his words churned out through gritted teeth. “I guarantee that there isn’t a single person we know who hasn’t looked at you and thought about what it would be like to have you.”

“That’s not true,” Beomgyu cracks weakly, trying to play it off with a laugh. “You’ve been sharing a bed with an omega for weeks, and haven’t had so much as an impure thought.”

Yeonjun’s eyes darken. “Do you read minds now, Beomgyu?” 

A chill runs through him. “I just…”

“I may not be on the extreme end when it comes to expressing it, but I’m still an alpha, you know,” Yeonjun interrupts. “I still have thoughts— I still go crazy over your scent, I still want to punch anyone who even thinks of looking at you the wrong way. No matter how hard I try not to, I still dream about marking you, about making you mine.” 

Beomgyu experiences a full body shudder, traveling from the base of his neck down to his toes. “Yours?” he asks, his voice hushed.

“Why are you so stupid?” Yeonjun’s voice is ragged, his eyes moist. “How could you not see it, with Soobin all over you like that? I was seconds away from punching him, and it terrifies me. It scares me how much I want you.” 

It’s too much, too little, all at once. Beomgyu abruptly breaks out of his grasp and rolls over, propping himself up on his elbow so that he’s gazing down at Yeonjun. A surge of confidence rushes through him. 

“Yeah?” he snaps. “Why don’t you ever show it then?”

“Because you’re fucking insufferable,” Yeonjun replies bitingly. “Because you drive me crazy, and I don’t know whether I want to shut you up or press you against the nearest wall. Nothing has ever been easy with you, Beomgyu. You make everything more complicated than it needs to be. And I…” He shrinks into himself, peering up with a silent plea shaping his mouth. “I don’t know whether I want to put you in your place, or for you to put me in mine.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t know who moves first. He only knows this: that he surges forward with a desperation he’d never thought he was capable of feeling, that Yeonjun’s head lifts off the pillow to meet him halfway. 

Yeonjun’s lips are soft and wet, warmer than he had imagined. The noise he makes when Beomgyu takes the bottom one between his teeth drives him out of his mind. The alpha tastes just like he smells; alluring, dangerous, an ambrosia that transforms Beomgyu into an insatiable being he can barely recognize. 

He pulls away gasping, eyes dark as he stares down at the boy beneath him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, only registers his own words once they leave his mouth and are received by his own ears. 

“Open your mouth.” 

Yeonjun’s lips part obediently, his eyes glossy. There it is again; that spark, that rush. Like he’s on top of the world, like he could say anything and Yeonjun would bend to his will, like he would move mountains for him if he asked. Beomgyu slides his thumb in, pressing against plush skin. Deeper, and the pad of his finger is laved with tongue. 

“And I thought I talked too much,” he croaks. “Someone needs to teach you how to shut up.” 

Something like a squeak emerges from Yeonjun’s throat; like a door swinging on its hinges, the familiar slice of noise that accompanies the boy slipping into his room every night. Beomgyu feels a warmth growing between his legs, the slick heat pulsing from his core. 

“Do you want this?” he asks, just to make sure. It’s a variation of the question he truly wants to ask. ‘Do you want me?’ feels too personal, a more open invitation for hurt. This is blurry and undefined, whereas me is something he can’t escape, something Yeonjun will look at come morning light and decide he can do without.  

Yeonjun nods, eyes wide and glistening. Beomgyu frowns, slipping his finger back out of his mouth.

“With your words,” he commands gently. 

“Please,” Yeonjun gasps. “Take everything.” 

“Fuck.” Beomgyu squeezes his eyes shut for a second, then takes Yeonjun in from head to toe. Slowly, hands shuddering, he unbuttons the collar of the boy’s pajama shirt. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Yeonjun utters through tight lips.

Beomgyu spreads the fabric, placing a close-mouthed kiss over his collarbone. Traveling down, he flicks open another button. “What about this one?”

“That one’s fine too,” Yeonjun breathes. 

Beomgyu peels the shirt back over one shoulder, baring the skin there. He grazes his teeth over it lightly, delighting in the strangled noise Yeonjun makes. “This one too?” he murmurs, undoing another button and fully exposing his chest.

“Yeah, yes, definitely that one,” Yeonjun chokes as cool air hits his body. His back arches off the bed as Beomgyu carefully fits his mouth over a nipple. 

“You smell so good,” Beomgyu groans, laving his tongue over the peak. It rolls off of Yeonjun in waves, all sharp wood and spice. It burns at his nostrils, coats his throat with fire as he breathes it in. Beomgyu wants it all, wants to devour everything until there’s nothing left of either of them but smoke and embers.

The shirt is quickly disposed of onto the floor, immediately followed by Yeonjun’s pants. All he’s left in are his boxer briefs, cock straining against the material. It twitches under Beomgyu’s gaze, and a flood of saliva rushes into his mouth. 

He runs his hands over Yeonjun’s legs, from his knees, up his thighs, skating over his waist and back down again. 

“I want you inside of me so bad,” he mumbles, pressing his face into Yeonjun’s hip. He feels his cunt throbbing, the dampness gathering in his underwear. Every nerve in his body is screaming with a muffled ache, a need to be taken, to be filled.

He moves down until he’s hovering over Yeonjun’s hardness, then dipping lower to sink his teeth into the meat of his thigh. He bites as hard as he allows himself to, reveling in the way the soft flesh gives between his teeth. Yeonjun lets out a low moan, wrenched from the back of his throat. His left arm grapples with Beomgyu’s shoulder, the other lying prone by his side. 

“Easy,” Beomgyu hushes him. “Let me take care of everything.” 

He slowly peels off his own clothes, his body flushing under the weight of Yeonjun’s awed gaze. Another wave of the alpha’s scent billows through the room, heightened and spiked with arousal. It clouds Beomgyu’s mind, smearing the next sequence of events into one iridescent blur. 

He moves to sit on top of him, holding his breath as he grasps Yeonjun’s cock and rubs it against his slick entrance. He lets it slide a little inside, just for an instant. Just enough to make both of them delirious. Then he lifts his hips up, kneeling in place so that the gained inch slides out and just the tip is left buried inside him. He goes through the motions again and again, giving just enough, only to take it all back the next second. 

Yeonjun hisses through his teeth. “Beomgyu.”

“Patience is a virtue, hyung.” 

“I don’t know if I’m feeling very virtuous right now.”

Beomgyu looks down at him through hooded eyes. “When I’m done with you, you won’t be.” 

He allows Yeonjun to desperately rut against the edges of him, aching to bury himself all the way. Just when he seems to be gaining purchase, Beomgyu will promptly lift his hips, drawing an agonized groan. 

“Stop teasing,” Yeonjun pleads.

“Magic word?”

“Please.”

It’s not the word that does it, but the way it’s spoken, all ruined and wrecked and coming apart underneath him. 

Beomgyu finally let’s his body go slack, offering little resistance. On the next thrust, Yeonjun slides all the way in, bottoming out unimpeded. His breath is effectively knocked out of him, and he falls forward, hands braced against Yeonjun’s chest. Yeonjun is quiet, save for the audible tremble in his breath.

Beomgyu gives himself a moment to adjust, before slowly starting to move again. He keeps the pace slow, letting the tension build until both of them are shaking from the effort of holding back. His eyes are fixed on Yeonjun’s face: the boy’s eyes screwed shut, brow furrowed and gleaming with perspiration, his mouth open in a silent, perpetual gasp. 

A drop of sweat clings to the end of his chin, slipping down his throat. Beomgyu follows its path hungrily, mesmerized. His hand is moving before he’s aware of it, curling lightly around the base of Yeonjun’s neck. His thumb presses into the hollow between his collarbones. 

Yeonjun bucks upwards, his eyelids fluttering. Beomgyu’s head falls forward, his thighs burning as he quickens his pace, angling his hips so that Yeonjun hits the same exact spot on every thrust, sending sparks shooting up his spine. 

Beomgyu tightens his grip around his throat, feeling Yeonjun’s breath catch. His thumb moves to sweep over his scent gland, his mouth watering. 

“Yeonjunie,” he croons. “So good for me. So perfect, I wanna make you mine, wanna mark up that pretty neck.” He’s blabbering without a thought, without a care behind the meaning to his words. All he knows is that he means everything he’s saying, and that from the way Yeonjun’s eyes roll back into his head, he’s not opposed either. 

“You like that, don’t you?” Beomgyu says slyly, the alpha’s reaction not lost on him. “So eager, hyung, so desperate for my bite—” Yeonjun makes a choked noise at that, spurring Beomgyu on. He lets go of his reservations and bends down, letting his teeth graze over the spot he’s been so fixated on. “Going to make you mine, my perfect little alpha,” he groans. “I’ll mate you so that you’re ruined for anyone but me.” 

“Please,” Yeonjun whines. “Beomgyu-yah.” 

Beomgyu grabs his face, forcing his chin upwards so that Yeonjun has no choice but to look him directly in the eye. They’re nose to nose, breath to breath. “Say it,” he hisses.

Yeonjun’s eyes flash. “Alpha.” 

Beomgyu lets out the closest thing to a growl his vocal cords are capable of producing. He grabs Yeonjun’s face and pushes it to the side, sinking his teeth into the boy’s neck. 

Yeonjun breaks off into a keening whine, his body rolling upwards once more before he comes deep inside Beomgyu with a shudder. His eyes flutter shut, the pleasure rolling through him in waves as he fills the omega up completely. 

Beomgyu lets him ride it out until his body falls still, then detaches from his neck as Yeonjun’s eyes slowly open to look up at him in wonder.

“Oh,” Beomgyu says softly, letting disappointment bleed into his voice. “I thought you’d be good for me.” He carefully pulls himself off, rolling onto his back next to Yeonjun. Wetness spreads across the sheet beneath him as the accumulation of slick and Yeonjun’s come slowly leaks out of him. 

Yeonjun whimpers, either from the intoxicatingly sweet smell permeating the air, or from Beomgyu’s words. “Let me,” he begs, sitting up and leaning over him. 

Beomgyu stares at him blankly. “Let you what? I told you to use your words.”

Yeonjun sucks in a breath before ducking his head and scrambling backwards. Beomgyu watches in confusion, following the adjustment of his body until he realizes exactly what the position Yeonjun has settled into indicates. 

He grasps Beomgyu’s hips with both hands before sliding down his thighs, hooking his thumbs behind his knees and nudging them upwards. Beomgyu complies in a daze, breath trapped in his chest as he feels breath wash over his center, hot and heavy. His legs are spread open, naked and aching for something only his alpha can give. His.  

And then Yeonjun’s tongue is on him. Quick and eager, lapping up his spend that’s still trickling out of Beomgyu’s hole. His muffled noises suggest that he’s enjoying this almost as much as the omega is— if not the same, if not more— mouth working overtime as though it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste. 

“Shit—” Beomgyu swears, his head thrown back on the pillow. He feels even more vulnerable than he had when Yeonjun was buried inside of him; right now, he’s surrendering a portion of his control, allowing Yeonjun to take care of him, to unravel him from the inside out. No part of him is left unexplored, un-devoured. 

One last gentle suckle to his clit and Beomgyu is gone, knees shooting up to clamp around Yeonjun’s head as he trembles through the most intense orgasm of his life. He rides out the waves until the sensitivity borders on painful. With the last bit of strength he has remaining, he gently pushes the older boy’s head away. 

Yeonjun slumps back onto the bed bonelessly, both of them panting. Beomgyu takes a minute to catch his breath, to slowly come back to earth.

So. That had just happened. 

He convinces himself to stay calm. To stay focused. The crisis can be postponed until morning. Right now, his first priority is to take care of Yeonjun.

Reluctantly, Beomgyu gets up to find a towel to clean them both off. Wetting it slightly with his water bottle, he gently wipes Yeonjun’s stomach as well as between his own legs. Yeonjun rumbles contentedly, eyes open just a sliver. Beomgyu draws the blanket back over both of them, taking care to cover Yeonjun’s chest and shoulders. 

“Sleepy?”

“Mm,” Yeonjun hums back. Beomgyu feels a bit floaty himself. Every cell in his body has been awakened, a billion voices singing a hallelujah. 

“Rest then, hyung,” he murmurs. His eyelids start to sink. 

Then Yeonjun speaks, his voice soft and high. “Did I make you happy?” 

The wording takes Beomgyu by surprise. Not did I do well, or did I make you feel good. The question takes him by surprise because to him, it’s not something that even needs to be asked. The answer is written in his face, etched in his bones. It’s in the stutter of his heart, the echo of Yeonjun’s lips against his. 

“So happy,” he replies, his eyes smarting. “You made me so happy, Yeonjunie hyung. You always do. You did so, so well.”

He keeps muttering these soft assurances, whispering them into Yeonjun’s hair, into his ear, into his mouth. This is how Yeonjun falls asleep: feeling safe, loved, cared for. 

This is how Beomgyu falls asleep: knowing that even if he wakes up tomorrow despising himself, it’ll be the sweetest regret he’ll ever taste.

·𖥸·

When Beomgyu opens his eyes, he runs through the following three thoughts in order:

1) Oh fuck. 

2) We fucked.

3) I fucked up. 

He shoots up in bed, frantically glancing beside him to confirm that yes, Yeonjun is still fast asleep, and yes, he is still entirely unclothed. So it hadn’t been a dream, then. 

He tumbles onto the ground, half tangled in a section of his sheet. He quickly frees himself, pulls on a pair of boxers, and dashes down the hall without any rational thought or plan of action in his mind. He stands there deliberating between his choices for a moment before slapping against Taehyun’s door with an open hand, palm stinging against the wood. 

It swings open to reveal a disgruntled expression and an atrocious bedhead— two signs that he’s just roused his friend from a deep slumber. He feels a twinge of guilt beneath his desperation. 

“I have a problem,” Beomgyu blurts, striding into the room while wringing his hands. Taehyun closes the door behind them with a sigh before plopping back onto his bed. 

“Can you have a problem at around—” he taps his phone on his bedside table, reading the time as his screen lights up— “Nine o’ clock instead?” 

“Choi Yeonjun is lying naked in my bed,” Beomgyu answers solemnly. Taehyun is on his feet and fully alert in two seconds flat. 

“Well you should’ve led with that,” he says, eyes wide. “I’m guessing you two weren’t playing strip poker last night?”

“Tae, I don’t even know how to play poker,” Beomgyu says wildly, panic overtaking him. “What should I do?”

“I guess that depends on why he’s naked.” 

“Taehyun.” 

“Okay fine, I’ll fill in the blanks with my best guess. As for what you should do, that all depends on how you feel about it.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t have to think. He’s not even sure if he’s capable of thinking right now. “I love him.”

Taehyun blinks. He probably hadn’t been expecting the admission to be made so easily, if at all. The others are aware that he and Yeonjun have been getting closer lately, but that doesn’t do away with years of stiff awkwardness. And now here Beomgyu is, declaring his heart like a fucking pining idiot. 

“Oh.”

“He never liked me much, and then he became dependent on me, and now he’s slept with me, and I’ve never been more fucking confused in my life,” Beomgyu strings into one breath.  

Taehyun sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I see what the problem here is,” he declares wearily. “I should’ve known from the beginning. Well, I did, but not to this extent.”

“What?” Beomgyu had been fully ready for Taehyun’s shock, his skepticism, possibly even his outrage. What he hadn’t expected was this calm acceptance, the glint in the other boy’s eyes that hints at him knowing more than he lets on. 

“You both have your heads up your asses,” Taehyun says simply. Beomgyu balks.

“That’s it? That’s your grand revelation?”

“Like I said, it’s not a revelation.” He shrugs. “Just a circumstance that’s becoming a bit more dire lately.” 

“Okay, can you stop being all cute and witty for a second and actually tell me what to do about it?” 

“I’m sure the two of you will figure it out on your own if you just put your heads together. After you get them out of your asses, that is.” 

“My head is fully out of my ass,” Beomgyu says, wide-eyed. “I don’t know where his is.”

“I have an idea,” Taehyun says sweetly, stepping forward with the obvious intention of herding him to the door. “Why don’t you just go and ask him?”

“But—” With a firm push between his shoulder blades, Beomgyu is effectively ejected from the room, the door locking behind him. “Okay,” he mutters to himself. “That’s fair.” 

He hesitantly makes his way back to his room, knowing that Yeonjun is likely right where he left him. Beomgyu hadn’t heard him walking out while he was in Taehyun’s room, at least. But he’s somehow still surprised when he opens the door to find Yeonjun sitting up and staring blankly at the wall. 

“You’re still here,” he exclaims.

Yeonjun jolts, eyes snapping towards him. For a second his eyebrows rise, then his entire face falls. “Did you want me to leave?”

“No,” Beomgyu says with too much force, before taking a deep breath. “No, I think we should talk.”

Yeonjun’s eyes are dark, opaque glass. “Okay,” he says neutrally. 

“I know we’ve been spending time together lately, and I know that we’ve grown closer.” Beomgyu fidgets. “And last night… I know you wanted me. So even though you hated me at first, I just need to know—”

“Wait. What?”

“I… what?” 

Yeonjun won’t look at him directly, shifting uncomfortably in place. 

“I know that this is probably the beginning of a rejection speech. But I never hated you, Beomgyu. Not once.” Yeonjun sounds tired, spent. Beomgyu wonders if all this time that he’s been trying to relieve Yeonjun’s burden, the boy has been buckling under an even more immense, more invisible weight. “You intimidated me. You were an omega, and you intimidated me, and that just made me even more wary of you. It also made me want you even more.” 

Beomgyu’s scalp is tingling, the hair raising all the way down his arms. He feels his eyes stretched wide, his face that doesn’t know what to do with itself, and his thoughts that run and tumble in senseless jumbles of words.

“What the fuck.” 

“You thought that I hated you, right? You thought that I could never like you, let alone want you. Obviously, none of those things were ever true, Beomgyu-yah. Don’t you know?” Yeonjun laughs, sharp and regretful. “There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t been fighting against myself around you.” 

Beomgyu moves forward, falling onto the bed across from Yeonjun. “Hyung, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sits on his knees, leaning in, pleading.

“There was a time when we were so close, when we thought we were both going to present as omegas.” Yeonjun continues, eyes shining. “We were both omegas, and it wasn’t supposed to work out between us, and I fucking wanted you anyway. I wanted you so much I didn’t know what to do with myself. Sometimes I wonder if I presented as an alpha out of sheer will, just so I could have a chance.”

Beomgyu knows what he’s hearing, but he no longer knows what he’s supposed to believe. He’d prepared himself for the worst— for Yeonjun to tell him that while he can see a future where they can be friends again, last night was an impulsive, monumental mistake. Instead, Yeonjun has presented him with an improbability; that all this time, nothing between them has been quite what it seemed. 

“You didn’t want me around anymore,” Beomgyu utters. “We drifted apart.” 

“I was given a chance, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I wasn’t used to being anything other than just your friend, and I didn’t know how to act. I felt like I had to be something, to prove something.” Yeonjun makes a pained noise. “I didn’t know how to do that and love you at the same time. You were too much for me, Beomgyu— and I felt like I was too little.” 

“And what about now?” His throat feels tight. His hand comes up, tentatively, to smooth a thumb over Yeonjun’s cheek. The touch grounds him, providing evidence that everything that’s happening right now is real. 

“Now I don’t care,” Yeonjun replies hoarsely, looking just as wrecked. “I don’t care what you are, or what I am. I don’t care whether I claim you, or whether you make me yours. I just want to be with you, Beomgyu. That’s all. It’s just us.”

“Just us,” he whispers back. 

He melts into Yeonjun, exhaling against him in relief. Beomgyu could die like this— those plush lips pressed against his own, arms wrapped around his neck. Yeonjun licks into his mouth, nips on his bottom lip, before pulling away for a breath. 

“Tell me this is it,” Yeonjun murmurs, touching their foreheads together. ‘Tell me we won’t become strangers again, that all of this won’t be erased like it was nothing. Tell me that loving you isn’t a waste of time, Beomgyu-yah, and I’ll do it forever.” 

He’s not sure whether to laugh or to cry. “Nothing would be wasted with you, hyung,” Beomgyu says. “I’d give it all to you— my time, my attention. I’ll wash your dishes when you’re feeling too tired, I’ll run to the pharmacy to get you painkillers when you feel a headache coming on. I’d do anything and everything for you hyung, and all I would ever ask in return is that…”

“What?” Yeonjun says breathlessly. “What do you want in return?” 

“Just love me,” Beomgyu says quietly. “Just hold me.” 

“I do. I will.” Yeonjun’s lips trace a path over the crook between his neck and shoulder, and Beomgyu makes the easiest decision of his life. 

“It’s yours,” Beomgyu tells him. “If you want it.” 

My heart, my body, my soul. It’s yours, if you want it. 

He feels Yeonjun’s warm gasp against his skin, senses the effort it takes for the alpha to pull himself away in that moment. 

“I want to tell the others first,” Yeonjun says firmly, shaking himself out of his trance. “Get everything cleared and all. I want to do this the right way. But after that…” 

“I’m yours?” Beomgyu offers up with a cheeky smile. He gets a solid nod in return, determination blooming in the other boy’s eye. Yeonjun takes Beomgyu’s hand, pressing it over his own heart. He opens his mouth. You’re mine, are the words Beomgyu expects to hear reflected back. 

But Choi Yeonjun has always been one to subvert expectations.

“And I’m yours.” 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Their love story begins with a distal radius fracture of the wrist.

Thankfully, nothing else gets broken along the way– not even a single heart. 

But if accuracy is really to be prioritized here, their story actually begins much further back. Two boys, thrown together by fate, falling hard and fast. It’s a typical first love: naive, fleeting, doomed to crumble apart under external pressures. 

It’s a love that’s locked away and hidden, until longing and regret threatens to turn it into something bitter. But before the two hearts can splinter, a wrist is broken, and along with it comes a hopeful reprise. 

(The second fall happens in slow motion. This love is here to stay.)