Chapter Text
Yeonjun: hey where'd you go
Yeonjun: should i make enough breakfast for two?
Yeonjun: oh i just checked your location
Yeonjun: should have seen that coming
Yeonjun: im such a fucking idiot
—
tyun: yj just texted asking if you're with us?
tyun: just let me know what's going on ok
tyun: you left???
—
Soob: i'm here
Seattle is cold and wet in a way Beomgyu forgot winter could be. The icy drizzle that beats down at his ducked head is nothing like the humid thunderstorms that wash over the beach house like a wave to the sand, gone as soon as it arrives. Beomgyu shoves his phone in the pocket of his hoodie as he searches for Soobin in the pick-up lane, thankful he had the presence of mind to wear something at least passably warm.
A little trill of a horn gets his attention. Soobin's smoke-gray Acura idles nearby. Beomgyu has to do a bit of a Frogger maneuver to get to him, but he makes it, slightly out of breath as he tosses his half-empty bag into the back seat. Then he slides into the passenger's seat beside Soobin and fastens his seatbelt.
"Thanks, I — whoa."
Soobin stares at him with eyes so intense, Beomgyu feels backed into a corner. "Why do you smell like that?"
Beomgyu instantly relaxes. He has no time for big brother bullshit, especially considering where Soobin's last bout of big brother bullshit landed him. He clicks his seatbelt into place and shakes his bangs out of his eyes. Maybe it's finally time for that haircut. "Just drive."
"No."
"No?"
"Explain what the fuck is going on, Beomgyu? I hardly hear from you for the last couple of months and then you call me at like 3 in the morning telling me absolutely nothing except where to show up. I think I deserve some kind of explanation."
Beomgyu holds his breath as he waits for Soobin to finish his speech. He doesn't know what set of feelings to land on, whether he's humiliated and remorseful, or bitter and filled with an aching regret in his chest; how can he explain anything when he can hardly wrap his mind around it himself? What other options does he have?
"You know what?" Beomgyu asks, the lightbulb above his head flickering to life. "I'll just get on another plane. Hopefully this one crashes." He could go to New York, rip off two band-aids in one go .
As he reaches for the door handle, resigned to trudging back through the airport though exhaustion claws at his ankles with every step, the locks slide home. "Are you fucking serious?"
"Yes, I'm serious." Soobin crosses his arms over his chest. "Neither of us is going anywhere until you tell me what he did to you."
At this, Beomgyu's face heats with shame. A car behind them blares their horn. "He didn't do anything to me. Please just drive."
"When I left you, you were — and now—“ Soobin sputters over his words, and as his mouth tries to catch up to his brain, he's cut off by his phone ringing.
The screen on the console reads out Yeonjun's name in stark white letters against an electric blue background. The speakers down by Beomgyu's feet erupt with sound. This cannot be happening. This cannot—
"Don't pick up, please, don’t.”
But Soobin isn't listening to him. He grips the steering wheel as the call connects, his knuckles protruding and white. "This better be good."
"Is he with you?"
Beomgyu goes cold all over; hearing Yeonjun's voice feels like plunging into the freezing winter ocean. Beomgyu meets Soobin's eyes, shaking his head rapidly, a silent plea.
"That's none of your fucking business," says Soobin.
Beomgyu hardly has the time to let out a shaky sigh of relief before Yeonjun bites back. Behind them, more horns blare, and traffic starts to move around them, drivers flipping them off as they roll by.
"Yes, it is my fucking business actually—“
"Haven't you done enough, Yeonjun?"
"Haven't I—“ Yeonjun's voice nearly breaks.
Beomgyu hangs his head in his hands. He can vividly picture what Yeonjun must look like right now, hunched over the kitchen island maybe , hair askew from running his hands through it a hundred times. And the bite on his neck, still angry and bloodied. Maybe he bandaged it up. Beomgyu's throat aches -- he should have been there to do it for him.
“He’s an adult, isn’t it time to stop babying him?”
“ He’s an adult? Is that what you told yourself when you—”
As the two alphas yell over one another, Beomgyu’s face feels like it’ll set fire any moment with his shame. And deep in his chest he feels the spark of anger — but he’s not angry. He’s not angry. It’s coming from Yeonjun and he doesn’t know how to deal with that with shaking hands, he slaps the screen until he lands on the End Call button and everything goes quiet.
But Soobin isn’t done with him.
In fact, the yelling and scolding and lecturing last the entire car ride back to the townhouse where he lives with Keonhee. Beomgyu feels an awful lot like a sullen teenager on the edge of being grounded when they arrive, hanging his head and slamming the door shut behind him.
“You have to tell me eventually,” Soobin says, his voice full alpha.
“I don’t have to tell you shit.”
“Should I call mom?”
Beomgyu laughs, and it comes out cold even to his own ears. “And you have the nerve to call me the child. Okay.”
He is lucky that he’s been here before. Lucky that he’s slept in this guest room, lucky that he knows the route straight to it so that he can storm off, sulking like the teenager Soobin thinks he is.
It doesn’t matter. It pales in the face of the rest of today’s humiliation. He can’t even begin to care what Soobin thinks of him right now when the only person taking up space in his mind hates him. He knows because he can feel it, too.
He throws himself down on the daybed, tossing his bag to the floor. He’s distantly aware of Soobin and Keonhee’s heated, hushed voices on the other side of the thin walls. It’s to their murmuring, and a deep breath of Yeonjun’s scent still clinging tightly to the hoodie, that he falls into a fitful sleep.
When Beomgyu wakes again, it’s to the dark of evening. The only light comes in through the bedroom door opening and revealing Keonhee, arms laden down with a tray. For a blissful handful of seconds, Beomgyu can’t remember why he’s here; he only knows that the food Keonhee carries smells so good and his stomach growls when he sits up and takes in a deep breath of something garlicky and sweet. When’s the last time he ate?
And then it all comes back to him.
Like a perfectly aligned row of dominos, one memory knocks into another and they fall in a cascade of shame. The fight with Soobin, the flight to Seattle, running out on Yeonjun in the morning. The briny taste of Yeonjun’s blood as Beomgyu scrubbed it from his teeth. The heat. His body changing right before his eyes. He wishes the world would open up beneath him and swallow him whole.
“Hungry?” Keonhee asks.
“Yeah, thank you.”
Keonhee sets the tray on the bed in front of Beomgyu’s crossed legs. He hovers for a second , and his warm vanilla scent blooms to life. It doesn’t smell particularly good over the food, but it wraps itself around Beomgyu heavy as a blanket. He can feel it. And he can almost taste the worry and care carried over on it. He can’t help but look up at Keonhee, startled, and take in the pinched expression on his face.
“I— I’m not used to this,” he admits.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Beomgyu shakes his head, almost on instinct. He doesn’t even know what it is. His presentation and Yeonjun are inextricably linked, and if Soobin is lurking around the corner somewhere, it feels like speaking about it will just open them up to another verbal boxing match Beomgyu is too exhausted to take part in.
“I get it,” says Keonhee. “I’m here if you need anything. And I don’t have to tell Soobin if you don’t want me to — or I can, if that would make it easier, too.”
—-
Beomgyu is surprised by how little has changed in Soobin and Keonhee's apartment since the last time he was here. Even the scentless toiletries in the guest bathroom that he helped unpack are still here, only half-used. The familiarity of it, though nothing close to the feeling of being at home that the beach house provides, lets him relax a little bit. Scrubbing the evidence of the last few days off of his skin helps even more.
There is nothing he can do about the bites and the bruises except hide them under the layers of his clothes and wish them away.
Before he steps out into the hallway, leaving his barricaded room for the first time since he arrived, Beomgyu slips his scent guard into place. Without it, it feels less like his head is spinning, overcome with the emotions leftover from hours ago still lingering in the air with his brother’s and Keonhee’s scents. And he doesn’t need to be able to read the air around him to know Soobin isn’t here — there’s some strange, innate awareness of the people around him that was never there before. It must have been woken up when he — when he what? When he turned into an omega? Is that what happened to him?
He finds Keonhee in the small kitchen, seated at the two-person breakfast table. He looks up from his place hunched in front of a laptop, face sheened with blue, and offers a smile.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.” Beomgyu’s voice grates against his throat on its way out. He hangs by the kitchen door until Keonhee gestures to the chair across from him.
“Do you want some tea?”
Keonhee rises before Beomgyu can even say yes, shuffling over to the stove in his slippers and robe. Beomgyu sits and watches him fuss with a red tea kettle that has followed him and Soobin from apartment to apartment over the last decade or more. The entire time he’s known Keonhee.
But he doesn’t exactly know him, not really. The age difference between Beomgyu and Soobin has always been a barrier to any closeness with his older brother’s friends. But Keonhee has always been warm and kind and never treated him like a kid. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to let his next words slip free.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” The gas range clicks three times and sputters to life. “If it’s about Soobin, don’t worry too much about him. His alpha pride’s been insulted but he’ll come around.”
“It’s not about him , actually .” Beomgyu fiddles with the frayed hem of his shirt, staring down into his lap. Heat prickles up the back of his neck. “It’s about…”
“You?”
“Yeah.”
“You can ask me anything.”
“So, you’re a doctor…” He doesn’t know why he phrases it like a question when he is already perfectly aware of the answer. It’s the reason Soobin and Keonhee moved so far away in the first place. The residency that took them away from home turned into a fellowship and now Beomgyu wonders where they’ll end up next. What’s more important right now though is that Keonhee might be able to give Beomgyu some answers.
Keonhee sits down across from him and rests his chin on his fist, his expression placid and patient. Beomgyu swallows around the knot in his throat.
“Have you ever seen this before? Do you know what’s happening to me?”
“I don’t, I’m sorry—”
“But isn’t this what you do? Fertility and whatever else for—for omegas.” He struggles past the last word. It doesn’t feel like him. Will it ever?
“You’re not my patient,” Keonhee says with a level of calm that could drive Beomgyu crazy. “Without an exam and a medical history, I…” Keonhee’s nostrils flare and he meets Beomgyu’s eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it — it’s not the right time for all that.”
Beomgyu pulls his knees up to his chest, toes hanging over the edge of his seat. He bites down on his lower lip, watching as Keonhee gathers his thoughts. Will he ever get used to being read like this, to having his innermost turmoil on display for everyone else in the room? He hardly gets a chance to feel what he’s feeling, never mind sorting it out, before everyone around him knows about it, too. He has years of catching up to do ; he’ll probably never be able to hide it.
“Secondary sex presentation happens after puberty. It’s like a second puberty,” Keonhee says after a moment, steepling his fingers. “An alpha’s presentation is triggered by the omegas in their social circle. Same thing with omegas; the pheromones of the surrounding alphas will trigger a presentation. Beomgyu, was there some interruption? When you were fourteen or so?”
Beomgyu chews his lip until he tastes bitter copper. He curses, reaching for a paper napkin to stanch the bleeding. “That’s when I left school,” he says. “I wanted to travel around with my mom, so she tutored me. Homeschooled, I guess.”
“Did you have friends, though? Your age?”
“Not really. Just two. A beta and an alpha, both a little younger than me. The alpha, Kai, he always stays away from other people when he knows his rut’s coming. I’ve never seen it.”
Keonhee sighs, worried brows drawing down toward one another. He takes so long to ask his next question, Beomgyu is almost sure the conversation is over. “Have you spent any prolonged time around unmated, unrelated alphas?”
Of course. The answer hits him so hard he laughs, but there’s nothing funny. “No. Not until this winter. Not until Yeonjun.”
“Beomgyu, there is a chance that I’m wrong. There could be other hormonal issues at play here; it’s really best to see a doctor and have a proper exam done.”
The shrill whistle of the tea kettle interrupts him, and Beomgyu jumps, a sharp pain cutting through his thumb. He looks down at his hands. He’d been picking at his cuticles, and now they’re red, torn, bloodied. It reminds him of Yeonjun’s hands when he’d shifted. His stomach turns.
“I’m sorry— I—“ His chair scrapes across the tiled floor as he stands.
“No, no. Do you want help?” Keonhee asks, gesturing to his hands.
“I’ve got it. Thanks. Thank you.”
In the guest bathroom, he washes his hands. The cut is small, shallow . It only stings a little and the bleeding stops with a bit of pressure. The Beomgyu staring back at him in the mirror over the sink is pale, eyes bloodshot, stricken like he’s sliced himself down to the bone.
He runs his hand through his still-damp hair. It lifts off his neck and reveals the blotches of bruises and hickeys left by Yeonjun just two days ago. Then he lets the hair fall back into place, curled over on his shoulders. Aside from the reddened eyes and the dark circles beneath them, he looks the same as ever. And that sameness is what’s most alarming. It’s what makes him unrecognizable.
There’s a knock at the door and he flinches again but swings it open to find Keonhee in the hall.
“Everything okay?” Keonhee asks, visibly wary and worried.
“I’m fine. But, um, I need a haircut. And some clothes. But I don’t really know my way around here.”
Keonhee relaxes, shoulders slumping down from their place beside his ears only seconds ago. He offers a smile. “I can take you.”
A few hours later, Beomgyu sips from a chai latte, watching the city go by in wet stripes of grey and white as Keonhee drives them home, a lap full of shopping bags. He catches his reflection in the window darkened by an overpass. His hair is several inches shorter now.
“Do you feel any better?”
“A little.” Maybe. In the way that at least he’s feeling like he has some control over something, even if it’s something as unimportant as his clothes and his hair. He wishes he could say that, explain himself, offer something more than the pitiful, grumbled thank you and averted gaze that seem to be the only things he’s capable of giving right now.
They stop at a red light. As Beomgyu watches a blue and gold bus take a wide turn past Keonhee’s Volvo, his gut turns, unease tugging at his nerves. But nothing’s amiss. Beside him, Keonhee drums his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music playing through the speakers. A couple walks their greyhound outside Beomgyu’s window, snow gathering on the dog’s paws. But anxiety builds in him until it feels like he’ll be consumed by it, his chest as tight as a vacuum seal.
It’s Yeonjun. It has to be. The contentment he’d seen on Yeonjun’s face yesterday morning while he slept — that connection has followed Beomgyu all the way across the country.
“Beomgyu, your scent,” Keonhee gently reminds him.
He shifts in his seat and curls his arms around himself. “Right.” When will he get used to this? “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“I don’t know how to control it.”
“Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”
“No.” He feels bad for being so short, but maybe Keonhee can scent his guilt, too. Wouldn’t that make things so much easier? “It’s fine.”
A few minutes later, they pull into the parking garage, slotting into a space next to a gray Acura. Soobin is home — and Beomgyu’s dread as they ride the elevator up to their floor is all his own this time.
“Yeah, he just got back.” Soobin is on the phone, pacing the living room, when Keonhee lets them in. It doesn’t take a genius to see he’s talking to Yeonjun. He’s red in the face, swiping a hand through his black hair over and over again . His scent fills the apartment with acrid smoke and ash. He meets Beomgyu’s eyes and his expression is unreadable.
Beomgyu dumps his bags on the couch. He doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not listening, but Yeonjun’s voice is too quiet on the other end. Soobin lets out a sigh.
“No, no. It doesn’t make any difference , actually .” He looks at Beomgyu again. “I’ll call you back.”
“Don’t stop on my account,” Beomgyu grumbles, letting the venom he feels slip into his words. “Why should I be around when you’re discussing my life?”
“I wasn’t discussing your life, I was discussing his. About you and for you are two different things.”
“Don’t scold me like a child.”
“Don’t act like one.”
Anger puffs up Beomgyu’s chest and not knowing where it’s coming from makes it all the more miserable. Will it always be like this, questioning the provenance of every emotion? Is this anger his, or is it being fed by Yeonjun, who has every reason to be angry right now? “I just don’t appreciate you talking about my relationship when I’m not around — that doesn’t make me a child.”
“Your ‘relationship,’” Soobin echoes. He drops down on the edge of the couch. “It’s not a relationship — he’s way too old for you. Took advantage of the situation. You were struggling and so was he, so of course you latched onto each other, but he should have known better.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?’
“Whoa!”
Keonhee slides between Beomgyu and Soobin, and it’s only then that Beomgyu realizes he’d been stepping closer, finger pointed in Soobin’s direction. The ends of every nerve in his body feel frayed and fried, and his hands shake.
“It’s alright,” Keonhee says, gentle hands on Beomgyu’s shoulders, nudging him back. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be upset, but let’s calm down a little bit .”
Beomgyu knows Keonhee’s right, but when he closes his eyes and Soobin’s words replay in his mind , that blinding fury is there. This is what he’d been afraid of all those times he put distance between himself and Yeonjun whenever Soobin was on the phone. It’s why he didn’t tell Taehyun or Kai about them for so long. He knew this would be the reaction, but the difference in their ages is the least of Beomgyu’s concerns right now.
“He didn’t take advantage of me,” Beomgyu says with all the calm he can muster. “I’m the one who bit him.”
“What?”
“What do you mean?”
Keonhee and Soobin’s questions stumble over one another’s, each with their own dramatic, alarmed flare. Soobin rises to his feet again.
“What do you mean you bit him?” he asks, his eyes ablaze.
“I mean exactly what I said. I was in heat and…” Beomgyu falters, cringing as the two of them stare at him. He can hardly wrap his mind around the word heat, much less explain to his older brother how it had been.
“I think I get the idea,” Soobin says.
“Right. Well, like I said, I bit him.”
“But you’re…” Soobin gestures to Beomgyu, head to toe. “Your neck.”
“He didn’t bite me back.” He feels his face set aflame with the shame felt from that night. How he’d begged and thrashed — not his most dignified moment, and then putting Yeonjun in that position… the idea of it still makes bile rise to the back of his throat. “I wanted him to. In the moment at least.”
“So this is reversible?” Soobin’s question — full of antagonistic hope — is for Keonhee this time.
Keonhee flinches, caught like a deer in headlights. His mouth drops open but he struggles with his answer. “It’s — I’ve never treated anyone or even met anyone with a half-formed bond. Beomgyu, is there a bond?”
Beomgyu hesitates. Keonhee asks like it’s a death sentence. “I can feel things.”
“Things?”
“Like emotions, I guess, I don’t know.” He finally steps away to the other side of the living room and drops into an armchair. He hangs his head in his hands, threading his fingers through his hair. Studying the pattern of the rug beneath his feet, he takes a deep breath. “I could tell he was anxious before I knew he was on the phone with you. He was angry when you hung up. He was — he was dreaming, when I left, and he was happy; I felt that, too, even though really , what I was feeling, was the opposite of that.”
It feels wrong to let all of that out, like he’s spilling Yeonjun’s secrets. But he figures he ought to give Keonhee any information he asks for — maybe it will help get them out of this mess Beomgyu wrought down on the both of them.
Keonhee taps his index finger to his lips once, twice, his mouth turned down in a frown. “Let me look something up,” he says, not really looking at either one of them before he scurries out of the living room, and down the darkened hallway.
The silence that hangs in his absence is awkward. Beomgyu has been dreading being alone with Soobin since he got out of the Acura yesterday morning. But it had to come eventually, and he braces himself for the older brother wrath.
“Are you alright, Beomgyu?”
A startled laugh escapes from Beomgyu’s chest before he can stop it. He can’t bite back the comment to go along with it, either. “What, you care suddenly?”
“Come on, don’t be like that.”
“Like what, Soobin?” he asks, looking up at him. “Like I’ve fucked my entire life up and my older brother decided to lecture me about it and treat me like a teenager who can’t make his own decisions?”
“That’s not how I meant it, and you know it.”
“How else could you have meant it? I’m not a kid anymore — yes, I’m your younger brother, but I’m not your kid brother anymore. I’m older than you were when you met Keonhee.”
“But Keonhee and I are the same age.” Soobin sighs, frustration coloring his face. His scent burns again, and Beomgyu shifts under the weight of it, curling inward. “Yeonjun is too old for you. You’re too young for him, it isn’t—”
“What terrible thing is going to happen to me because he’s ten years older? And why would you be friends with him your entire life if you think he’s capable of what you’re accusing him of doing ?”
Soobin glares down at him, mouth parted, eyes dark. Beomgyu is so unused to this version of Soobin, it only makes everything else that much harder.
“Here’s what I found.” Keonhee is back in the doorway to the living room, letting out an exasperated sigh as he takes in the sight of Soobin and Beomgyu staring each other down. “There isn’t a lot of research on this, but from what I understand, the bite will take a little while to heal, longer than a normal injury. But when it does, the bond will close, and eventually, the scar will fade, too.”
“How long?” Beomgyu asks, a plan already knitting itself together in his mind.
“A couple weeks. Longer if you’re true mates, but I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”
Beomgyu worries at his torn cuticles with his teeth until he tastes copper again. “And the bond will go away? You’re sure he won’t be stuck with me forever?”
Keonhee’s face softens, all its corners turning downward. “I’m sure.”
—
For days, Beomgyu avoids Soobin whenever possible. He tries not to venture out of the guest room unless he absolutely has to, or when he senses Soobin has left. If he knows Soobin will be home all day, Beomgyu jumps at every invitation from Keonhee, whether it’s to run out for groceries or to make another visit with a wedding vendor.
Being around Keonhee is an unfamiliar kind of comfort. Though Beomgyu wears a scent guard any time they leave home, there is still something calming in the air around another omega. During their car rides around the city, Keonhee will listen to Beomgyu grumble about Soobin or gripe about his new omegas senses. Or he’ll let Beomgyu sit quietly, never pushing. Sometimes, when panic threatens to wrap its fist around Beomgyu’s throat, Keonhee will take his hand and hold him through it, and though he can’t actually smell Keonhee’s scent in the air, he can feel the way his pheromones ease his anxiety.
And sometimes, Beomgyu finds that he can be helpful too.
Coming home from a visit to the tailor, Keonhee slams the door to the apartment shut behind them. He stomps through the living room and continues his abuse of his environment through the kitchen, shutting the cabinets and drawers so hard they fly back open in his wake.
“What’s wrong?” Beomgyu asks, unwinding a wool scarf from around his neck. He’s still in the entryway while Keonhee has already ripped through the space like a tornado.
“It’s fine,” Keonhee says, uncharacteristically short. He starts the kettle on the stove. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Come on.” Beomgyu knows he’s prying as he takes a seat at the kitchen table, but he wants to be there for Keonhee if he can . Even if it’s just to listen to a rant.
Keonhee purses his lips for a moment before coming to some internal conclusion. “Alright,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. He leans against the kitchen counter. “I hate that tux.”
“What?” Beomgyu searches through his snapshot memories of the afternoon, of the showroom, the fitting rooms, the warm, soft creams and golds of the tuxedo that fit perfectly on Keonhee’s lean frame. “You told them it was perfect.”
“It is. For what my parents want. For what the family will expect to see that day. But it’s stuffy and it’s old fashioned and never mind how ridiculous it is to put this much money and time and labor into something I’ll only wear for a few hours.”
Once Keonhee starts, it’s as though a dam has been broken, and he can’t stop. He goes over the various garment changes, the tuxedos and the hanbok and everything in between. The hundred-step ceremony that he and Soobin will be forced to partake in. The outdated vows they’re going to have to exchange and how horribly oppressive they are to omegas.
By the time he’s done, the kettle is whistling and he’s red all over, from the tips of his ears downward. It’s a new side of Keonhee Beomgyu has never seen before, and even though he knows Keonhee is stressed and stretched to his limit, he can’t help but smile.
“What? This probably seems incredibly petty and childish to you , doesn’t it? I know, I should get myself some real problems.”
“Not at all,” says Beomgyu. “Hearing this and you know, Yeonjun’s history, it does make me feel even more grateful for my own family. But I don’t think it’s childish to feel frustrated by other people’s expectations. Especially if you feel like you can’t meet them.”
Keonhee doesn’t even flinch when Beomgyu mentions Yeonjun’s name, and Beomgyu lets out a little sigh of relief. It feels good to talk about Yeonjun like he’s a normal part of their lives — he wonders if he’ll ever get to this point with Soobin.
“I guess you know a thing or two about that,” Keonhee says mildly.
Beomgyu ruminates over Keonhee’s words, accepting a hot cup of tea. He does know all about it . Maybe not from his family, but from himself, from his editors, from his readers. It was the first domino that fell, leading him to the table they’re sitting at right now .
“I know you can’t get out of the wedding they have planned for you,” Beomgyu says and Keonhee snorts in incredulous agreement. “But why don’t you have two ceremonies? One there and one here, or wherever, that’s just for you guys. Dress the way you want, invite whoever you want.”
“We might. I don’t know.” Keonhee goes quiet for a moment , sipping his tea gingerly, steam curling in the air. “Speaking of that, though, there’s something you should know.”
Beomgyu’s stomach sinks. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s about the guest list. Yeonjun’s family will be there. And so will the Jungs.”
The Jungs? It takes a second for the significance to snap into place. The Jung family is another prominent one in their social circle, but based on the West Coast, so Beomgyu has hardly ever had to see them. And their oldest son is Wooyoung.
“Does Yeonjun know?” Beomgyu can’t decide which would be worse for him — his ex, or the family that disowned him. “There’s nothing you can do?”
“He does.” Keonhee blows at the steam over his tea. “I had very little input, and it was just adding, not subtracting.”
Beomgyu opens his mouth to ask more questions — namely, why — but he’s cut off by the trill of Keonhee’s phone ringing. Keonhee rolls his eyes before pulling it out of his pocket.
“I’m sorry, I need to take this,” he says after checking the screen. He ages about ten year s.
“Don’t worry about it.” Beomgyu is secretly relieved. Every new conversation with Keonhee shines a light onto parts of his life Beomgyu had no clue about before, parts of his brother’s life, revelations that take some time to process.
Keonhee excuses himself and Beomgyu hears him head out onto the balcony, the blare of traffic filtering through the briefly opened sliding glass door. And Beomgyu is left with his thoughts and Yeonjun’s anger simmering through their bond.
—
Between appointments with Keonhee, Beomgyu has nothing but time alone. To stop himself from going stir-crazy, and regular crazy, he ventures out into the city. But just like before, he finds the tall buildings cutting into the sky and the press of the crowds oppressive and stifling, choking him until he feels like he might scream if he doesn't get away. He can't help but compare it to how he felt on the island. Trapped in a city, he feels small in a way that makes his life seem insignificant. Facing the ocean, though, he felt small in a way that made the world seem limitless. So one day, he pulls up the map on his phone and finds a beach.
They're all over, water in nearly every direction, and they're close by, too. Not nearly as close as it was at home -- because now the beach house and the island have come to feel like home to him -- not even close enough to walk to, really. But he does anyway.
The Sound is so different from the roiling waves outside his windows at home, and the stark contrast is what pulls Beomgyu back over and over again. Even in the bitter cold, with snow layered on top of the dark sand, he treks out to Alki Beach. It's lonely and quiet, despite the locals jogging and biking up and down the trail behind him. The strip of sand is narrow, littered with bleached driftwood, and with the fog rolling in, the view of the skyline is shrouded, making the water seem endless.
It makes him homesick.
And it makes him miss Yeonjun even more.
Today the wind shifts constantly, and Beomgyu huddles into his coat as he settles on an iron bench overlooking the empty shoreline. The tip of his nose burns in the cold, and so do the tips of his fingers, even shoved into his fleece-lined pockets. As he watches the slate gray water gently lapping at the shore, he searches inside himself for that spark he feels connecting him to Yeonjun.
When he woke up this morning, the anger had been gone. He wonders if that means the bond is closing just like Keonhee told him it would. The idea of it wrenches something inside him and he feels the weight of his choices all over again.
Suddenly, he can't take it anymore. He can't stand the calm water , its dark surface. He can't stand the narrow strip of sand, the street and running paths so close they're choking the nature around them. He needs to get away from it -- to get away from this offensive mockery of the environment he loves, the environment he shared with Yeonjun.
He walks back to Soobin's apartment with his face tucked down into his scarf, collar turned up to offer even more protection from the wind.
There's another thing: he can't stand the cold anymore.
It's a miracle he makes it back to the building, his feet taking him down the paths he needs completely on autopilot. Inside, heat blisters its way back through his extremities as he takes the elevator upstairs. When Beomgyu first started venturing out on his own, Keonhee gave him a spare key so he could come and go as he pleases, and he fumbles with numb fingers to get it into the lock. He can hear the television through the door, the rumble of a laugh track, and the heady scent of whatever they're cooking wafts into the hall.
Beomgyu doesn't see them when he first lets himself inside and hangs his coat on the hook beside the door. But then he spots them in the kitchen, Soobin's tall frame wrapped around Keonhee as they hover over the stove together, laughing. Steam billows over them, and the whole apartment smells warm and autumnal, sage clinging to the air.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Beomgyu can't make sense of why Soobin is asking, why Soobin is rushing to his side -- and then he notices he's shaking. His hands tremble and he shivers, colder than he thought, even with the heat radiating from the electric fireplace. Soobin's arm encircles his shoulders and he's hit with Soobin's scent, his real scent, verdant and herbal and bright. When he squeezes him tight, it pulls a sob from Beomgyu's throat, one he's been holding back for longer than he's realized.
He folds himself into Soobin's hug, suddenly small in his big brother's arms. "I miss him."
It's far from the first time he's thought it, but it's the first time he says it, and letting it out into the world like this brings the feeling to life. Seeing Soobin and Keonhee together during the time he's been here has been eye-opening in so many ways. Not only does he feel like he understands his brother more, he understands himself more , too . He's never in his life given much thought to relationships, but seeing Soobin light up when Keonhee gets home, seeing the way they weave in and out of one another even during the mundanities of day-to-day living, seeing the way they work as a team even when they disagree -- it's a taste of what Beomgyu wants for himself, and how fucked up is it that the moment he figures that out is the same moment it's taken from him?
Soobin leads him to the couch with a gentle nudge. "I didn't know it was this serious." Worry laces his scent and Beomgyu grimaces when he realizes how easily he can read it now.
"I love him," he says, feeling helpless to do anything to stop himself from sounding so young.
"But it's so fast."
"Maybe." Beomgyu sniffs, dragging the heels of his hands under his eyes to wipe away his tears. He looks up at Soobin. "I know you and Keonhee have been together forever, but don't you remember what it was like at the beginning?"
Soobin looks past Beomgyu, over his shoulder and into the kitchen beyond, where Keonhee hovers. The smile he shares with Keonhee triggers all of Beomgyu's little brother instincts and he groans.
Everything is harder now, even something as simple as eating dinner with Soobin and Keonhee. Their scents mingle in the air over the table, Soobin poised on a step stool for lack of a third chair, so used to living as just a pair. Beomgyu can’t read the nuances in their scents or the way they interact , but he can pick up and interpret most notes, and seeing the way they intertwine with one another despite not being mate-bonded yet, takes the wind from Beomgyu’s already deflated sails.
He knows without a doubt it would all be easier if he had Yeonjun by his side. Let this part be easy. At the time, he thought Yeonjun just meant the physical, but he knows now it was much more than that.
Beomgyu’s food tastes like ash in his mouth. He sets down his chopsticks, but Soobin and Keonhee don’t even notice him. They’re off in their own world, Soobin leaning towards Keonhee until there are only inches between them, their voices hushed.
Then Beomgyu’s phone, sitting on the kitchen table, flares to life. It buzzes, ringing, Yeonjun’s name at the top of the screen.
“Are you going to get it?” Soobin asks.
“I—”
He can’t. He sits, stuck, unable to move. What could Yeonjun want? Beomgyu shrinks away from the question, terrified of the inevitable confrontation. He searches inside himself for any trace of the bond, any insights it might glean, but it’s quiet right now.
After a moment, the ringing stops. The silence left in its wake is deafening; it rings in Beomgyu’s ears. He half expects it to start up again, and can’t decide if that would be welcome or not.
“Beomgyu, you’re shaking.”
Keonhee’s voice drags Beomgyu out of his head. He looks down at his hands — he’s shaking like he’s only just gotten in from a long, cold day on Alki Beach.
“I’m…”
“It’s okay.”
It’s not.
Soobin reaches for him but Beomgyu shrugs away. He shoves back from the table so quickly that the chair scrapes painfully over the floor before falling over. He thinks he mumbles out an apology, hopes it isn’t the rude curse repeating itself over and over again , and runs, just like he did a couple of weeks ago, only this time he only makes it as far as his bed.
—
They fly back to the city the morning after the humiliating scene in the kitchen. Thankfully, neither Soobin nor Keonhee brings it up, but Beomgyu sees the strained looks on their faces when they think he isn’t watching them.
The airport is hell, but it’s one he’s thankful for. The noise, the press of bodies, the thousands of scents lingering in the air, choking him, leave no room for Beomgyu to dwell in thoughts of Yeonjun’s phone call. He’s too busy trying not to pass out or throw up, keeping his emotions in check when he feels the oppressive scent of an angry alpha nearby, yelling at a desk clerk.
The flight itself is unbearable, too. Not because of the scents — he’d stopped to pick up scent guards before they checked in — but because of the weight of dread sinking in his stomach. Anxiety churns inside him. What will he tell his parents? He’d begged Soobin not to say anything before, but now he wishes he’d just let it happen , rip off the bandaid.
There’s another person he needs to talk to, too, and the longer he avoids it, the more cowardly he feels.
Beomgyu powers down his phone once the email is sent. Still cowardly, but with the excuse of the holidays to shield him from criticism.
There’s a car waiting for them when they land. It’s bitter cold here, their breaths bursting to bright white life in the air as they rush from baggage to the curb. The city flies by Beomgyu’s window, familiar, yet it doesn’t feel like home, not really. Not anymore. So many people told him he’d have to live here in order to be a successful writer, but is that even what he wants anymore?
It would be easy to blame the confusion on the recent discovery of his true nature, but these doubts have been creeping up on him for ages now . He hadn’t sold his apartment and fled to the sea because he’d been feeling particularly surefooted.
He winces, biting the inside of his cheek. He knows that even though they tried to hide it, his parents were worried about him, had been for months. Longer. And now he gets to bring home even more good news.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” Soobin says.
“I’m not.”
Soobin gives him a deadpan look.
“Ugh,” Beomgyu grumbles, slouching in his seat. The back of the limousine is almost too hot and now he’s sweating.
“They’re not going to love you any less.”
“I’m not stupid,” Beomgyu says with all the contempt of a younger brother. “I know that. But it will be upsetting. They’ll worry, like they don’t do that enough already. I wish I could just get my shit together.” He pauses, squirming. “And where do I even start with telling them about Yeonjun?”
Soobin and Keonhee share a glance, communicating silently in a way that only serves to annoy Beomgyu today.
“They like him,” Keonhee offers.
“They did. But that was before he—”
“Okay, do not finish that thought,” Soobin interjects.
Before long, they pull up to the front door of Beomgyu’s childhood home. The brick face of the townhouse climbs up into the sky, snow catching on the pitched roof of the turret. Candles burn in the windows and a wreath strung with bells and berries hangs on the door. Beomgyu’s heart thumps so hard in his chest it threatens to break free. Unfamiliar electricity buzzes under his skin, and though he feels sick with anticipation of what’s to come, he’s desperate to get inside.
As they wait for the driver to fetch their luggage from the trunk, the front door swings open, the wreath bouncing. Beomgyu’s mother flies down the front steps and nearly gives Beomgyu a heart attack as she slides across the icy sidewalk in her ballet flats.
When she hugs him, he’s overcome by how small she is. It wasn’t that long ago at all that she’d been able to envelop him in her arms, a shield against the world, but now the top of her head only reaches his shoulder, her face pressed to his collar.
“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she says, her voice muffled in his coat.
Over her head, Beomgyu smirks at Soobin. “Still the favorite.”
Soobin scoffs, sputters . “We were just here. She’s used to us because I actually visit like a good son.”
More bantering earns them both swift slaps on the shoulder from their mom and a look on Keonhee’s face that says he knows exactly what to expect now that Soobin and Beomgyu are under their parents' roof together again: they’ve regressed into children once again.
Their dad is waiting inside the foyer with the warmth of one of many blazing fireplaces. If Beomgyu knows his parents, he can expect to find the one his bedroom at the top of the five-story spiral staircase to be lit as well.
His dad wraps him in another hug but he stiffens. When he pulls away, he holds Beomgyu by the shoulders to study him. His brow creases in the space between his eyes. He looks like Beomgyu has sprouted a second head.
“Beomgyu, what’s going on?”
Beomgyu’s throat aches. The entryway goes quiet and he can feel everyone’s eyes on him.
“I— I have something…” he starts, but he’s saved from having to finish that thought by the elevator chiming. The static he’d felt standing outside heightens, so frenetic it seems impossible to him that his father can stand to touch him without getting shocked.
The number 1 above the elevator lights up and a moment later, the mahogany doors slide open, and all of the oxygen rushes out of Beomgyu’s lungs.
“Yeonjun?”