Chapter Text
Class. Clients. Yeonjun. Class. Clients. Yeonjun.
Beomgyu falls into the lull of it, letting the quiet monotony guide him along without having to think too much of it, like floating on his back down a river. There's still the issue of visiting Yeonjun’s parents—coming up in just a week’s time—but Beomgyu has been trying to remain level-headed about it, for Yeonjun's sake.
Yeonjun is in tatters. He swiftly steers the conversation elsewhere whenever Beomgyu tactfully brings it up, or brushes it off with a strained laugh. Parents, right? What a nightmare!
Beomgyu just nods each time, and doesn't push him. It'd be hypocritical to do so; Beomgyu's avoidant to a fault when it comes to his own issues, so he doesn't really have the right to call Yeonjun out for doing the same.
Speaking of issues. It's getting harder and harder to satisfy his clients, and more than once, his pay has been docked as a consequence. The bulk of his paychecks is quickly drained by rent and bills, and though he'd never dream of telling anybody, he's had to start rationing groceries.
“You’re so thin, Gyu,” Yeonjun says one night, as Beomgyu climbs on top of him on the couch. “Are you eating properly?”
“‘S fine,” Beomgyu dismisses in a murmur, lapping at Yeonjun's scent gland in an attempt to distract him. “Just busy.”
“Hm.”
“You worry about me too much,” Beomgyu says, pulling back to smile at him. “I'm fine, okay? I'm good.”
Yeonjun tries to mirror the smile, but it's less than convincing. “You just give me so much to worry about.”
Yeonjun's taken to worrying about him to perhaps an unhealthy extent, because he's refusing to worry about himself. It's like a weird push and pull; the more Beomgyu tries, the further Yeonjun withdraws, and he can't help but wonder why. Sure, he knows Yeonjun's relationship with his parents is strained, but how bad can it be, realistically? He's employed by his father's company, after all (though Beomgyu still isn't sure of precisely what it is that he does), and his hefty inheritance is still waiting for him. As far as Beomgyu’s aware, Yeonjun's had a pretty cushy time of it.
Things come to a head when Beomgyu arrives at Yeonjun's place after his final class of the semester. He has plans to get blackout drunk with Taehyun and Kai later—and perhaps Soobin, seeing as the three of them are pretty much an item now—in celebration of their newfound freedom, and figures he may as well bring Yeonjun along for the ride. In any case, he has payback to dish out in the form of PDA.
More days than not, Yeonjun picks him up from class and hangs around Beomgyu's apartment while he's busy with clients; he seems so uncomfortable in his own place these days, with all its high ceilings and echoing rooms. So when Yeonjun hadn't been waiting outside the Economics building, something uneasy had begun to stir in Beomgyu's gut. His text messages had been greeted only with radio silence, and both Beomgyu's brain and his omega are screaming at him to go, go, go.
It takes a good three attempts before he finally manages to swipe himself in with the spare keycard. Even through the door, he can sense Yeonjun's agitation. Or rather, he feels it—understands it on a deep, psychological level, despite not knowing its exact origin.
Yeonjun's in the kitchen, hunched over the island with his phone pressed to his ear. The distance is too great for Beomgyu to make out exactly what he's saying, but his frantic tone is unmistakable.
Beomgyu quietly clicks the door shut behind him and toes off his sneakers, not wanting to disturb him. It sounds important; heated, even. Softly, he pads down the long hallway, trying to hold himself back from eavesdropping.
“Yes, I'm still coming.” A pause. Yeonjun scuffing his toes against the island. “No, you don't need to send a driver. I'm not going to run off or anything.” And then, under his breath, “Jesus Christ.”
Beomgyu raps his knuckles against the wall just outside the kitchen. Usually, Yeonjun would’ve clocked his presence from his scent alone the second he cracked open the front door, but he has to knock once again before Yeonjun finally glances back.
Yeonjun gives him a strained smile, then says into the phone, “Look, I've got to go.” A pregnant pause, a grimace. Yeonjun tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Yes. Yes. Goodbye, Eomma.”
The moment he sets down his phone, he groans, bracing his head with his arms on the counter. He smells awful: burnt sugar, charred flesh. Beomgyu's never smelled him like this before.
“Your mom?” Beomgyu asks, closing the space between them. He sets a tentative hand between Yeonjun’s shoulder blades, and rubs his palm in circles that he hopes are somewhat comforting.
Yeonjun's back shudders with a laboured breath. “Yeah,” he says, muffled by his arms, then finally straightens up—though he still doesn't quite look Beomgyu in the eye. “It's worse than I thought.”
“What happened?”
Yeonjun's chin dimples, and for an dreadful few moments, Beomgyu’s worried he's about to burst into tears. “She… she wants to bring in potential matches.”
“What?!”
Shutting his eyes, Yeonjun tilts his face towards the ceiling, and Beomgyu realises with a sick jolt that he really is about to cry. “She wants to play matchmaker. Set me up with one of her rich friends’ kids, so she doesn't have to worry about me… going astray or whatever. That's why they want me home. To reign me in a bit.”
Beomgyu’s head spins, his stomach lurches, and he has to grip the counter either side of Yeonjun's torso to keep from toppling over. There's no way in hell that he'll be enough to satisfy Yeonjun's parents, if they're that… that medievel.
All he can manage is, “Oh.”
“I told her I wouldn't have it. Told her you're coming, and we're getting mated and all that.” Yeonjun's pale, practically green, all the blood drained from his face. “I'm sorry, Beomgyu. You'll really have to pretend, or I'm literally doomed.”
There's a tiny, cruel voice in the back of Beomgyu's mind. What if it's for the best? it chides. What if this is his lucky escape?
“I'll pretend,” Beomgyu says with determination, so fiercely that the voice retreats and Yeonjun flinches. “I'll… God, I'll spin a whole fucking life story. I'll get my parents in on it if I have to. I won't let her do that to you.”
To me. To us.
Yeonjun says, “To us.”
Yeonjun sinks down to sit on the floor, like the weight of his anguish is too much for his legs to hold, and Beomgyu joins him. For a long while, they sit in silence with their knees knocking together. The air conditioning hums, diffusing Yeonjun's steadily softening scent. Electricity buzzes in the walls. Yeonjun's breaths shudder, and then slowly, slowly even out.
“How was your day, then?” Yeonjun asks eventually.
Beomgyu stalls. How was his day? Yeonjun's just dropped this atomic bomb on him, and he's asking about his day? But Yeonjun just continues to stare at him all wide-eyed and pleading, so Beomgyu concedes.
“Well, I had a Macroeconomics lecture,” he starts slowly, picking up Yeonjun's trembling hand and beginning to trace circles into his palm. “Very riveting. Great stuff.” He gives Yeonjun a soft smile, which he sees mirrored back at him in kind. “Then I went for coffee with Taehyunnie, y'know that little place on the corner near mine? We should go one day, I think you’d like it. Got a hot latte for some reason, and sweated my ass off.” He tilts his head, thinking. “Worked on my dissertation, sort of. It's getting there. And now I'm finally free for the summer.”
Yeonjun nods, urging him on, so Beomgyu continues. “Thought about you, obviously. Couldn't wait to see you, so I basically ran from my last class.”
“And now you're here,” Yeonjun says quietly. The words tilt into a question, as if he needs Beomgyu to confirm it.
“And now I'm here.” He takes Yeonjun's other hand in his own and squeezes gently. “And I'm staying.”
“You don't have clients?”
“No. I'm all yours for four whole weeks.” Not the smartest financial decision Beomgyu's ever made, but Yeonjun needs him, and that's the most important thing right now. At least, that's what Beomgyu’s telling himself; the truth is that he needs a break, too, but has been struggling to justify it. He'll make up for it later.
Silence falls around them again as Yeonjun begins to gnaw on his bottom lip, which Beomgyu knows to mean he's sorting through his thoughts. After a minute, he says, “I wouldn’t do it, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Get with anyone my mom tried to set me up with,” he clarifies firmly, his eyes dead on Beomgyu's. “I swear on my life, I'd never do it.”
“I know.”
Yeonjun's face melts into a smile, and he leans in to kiss him: slowly, gently, their hands still clasped together. When he draws back, he keeps his gaze on Beomgyu's lips for a moment before returning to his eyes.
“Do you, though?” he asks. “I know what you're like. You overthink, and I need you to know that I'd never, ever do that.”
Beomgyu laughs. “Jeez. Since when are you a mind reader?”
Yeonjun rolls his eyes, and Beomgyu's heart sings; he's back to himself, for now, and Beomgyu’ll do everything in his power to keep it that way. “Or maybe I just know you, idiot. You think you're subtle, but I can tell when you're agonising over stuff.”
“Oh.” Not only had Beomgyu thought he was subtle, he'd thought he was a master at subtlety—that he was practically professional, after so many years of hiding. “Sorry.”
“You apologise too much, too.”
“Are we just listing my flaws now?!”
“Yup.” Yeonjun drops Beomgyu's hands to count off on his fingers as he lists, “Choi Beomgyu. Overthinker, over-apologiser, uh…”
“Hooker?” Beomgyu supplies hopefully.
Yeonjun shakes his head. “Not a flaw. Too hot for your own good, maybe? Yeah, that's a big one.”
“Chronically ill? Infertile?”
“Again, not flaws,” Yeonjun says, fixing him with a look so stern that Beomgyu recoils with his hands held up in surrender, laughing. “Oh, here's one. Insecure.”
“Now you're just being mean!”
This time, Yeonjun laughs, too, then pitches forward heavily enough to knock them both to the floor. He—quite literally—captures Beomgyu in another kiss, and then another and another still, over and over and over until Beomgyu's pink and squirming beneath him.
“Okay, okay!” Beomgyu relents, giggling while kicking helplessly at Yeonjun's ankles. “You got me, I'm insecure! Fix me, alpha!”
“Last one.” Yeonjun pulls back just enough to give Beomgyu a good view of his flushed, grinning face. “Choi Beomgyu: freak.”
Still breathless and panting from Yeonjun's attack, with a mild laughter-induced stomach ache, Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow. “You love it.”
“I love you. How's that?”
“Choi Yeonjun: embarrassing.”
Yeonjun flops down to lay beside him, right there on the kitchen floor. “We've established this,” he says, slapping a palm to his forehead in mock exasperation. “If you hated it half as much as you pretend to, you'd have left me by now.”
“Right, then,” Beomgyu grins. “I'm off. You can have one of those sexy omegas your mom's got lined up for you.” He makes to stand up, but Yeonjun grasps his hand before he can get very far and pulls him back to the floor.
“Noo,” Yeonjun whines. “You're the sexiest omega of them all, I promise.”
“For the record,” Beomgyu says, returning to his spot at Yeonjun's side, “I love you, too. I'm just crap at showing it.”
Yeonjun smiles softly. Beomgyu waits for him to speak, to get up, to laugh. He doesn't; just continues to stare at him like he's trying to memorise every little line of his face.
“Why're you looking at me like that?” Beomgyu asks.
Yeonjun blinks. “Like what?”
“Like I hung the moon.”
Yeonjun sighs wistfully. “Sometimes I'm convinced you did,” he says, and Beomgyu just about melts.
“Sometimes I'm convinced the universe took everything I needed and put it into you,” Beomgyu says, desperate to one-up him. If Yeonjun thinks he's going to win this impromptu sentimentality battle, he's sorely mistaken.
Yeonjun's competitive streak seems to have been activated, too, because he climbs to his feet and sets his hands on his hips. “Are you trying to beat me in this sappiness competition, Choi Beomgyu? Me?”
Beomgyu isn't giving up that easily. He plants himself right in front of Yeonjun, reaching out to cup his cheeks and looking him dead in the eye.
“You're the coolest loser I've ever met,” he says firmly, squeezing Yeonjun's cheeks tighter with every word. “And you don't even know you're a loser, which makes it so much cuter.”
“What if I said I've dreamt about fucking you every night for the past three months?” Yeonjun asks, though it's hard to take him seriously when his lips are jutting out from how hard Beomgyu's squeezing him.
Beomgyu releases his face, aghast. “That's not sappy, that's perverted!”
“What if I said I want to knot you right now?”
“Well, I'd probably say go for it.”
“Probably?”
“Definitely.”
Yeonjun's eyes flash dark. “On your back, then, omega.”
Beomgyu obeys—right there on the kitchen floor. Yeonjun wastes no time ridding them both of their clothes before climbing on top of him, nor does he waste time getting his fingers inside. It's routine, by now: fingers in, fingers spread, fingers out.
Beomgyu isn't empty for long; within seconds, Yeonjun's fingers are replaced by his cock, and he's moving. Slowly, sensually. Beomgyu relishes every thrust, rolling his hips to take Yeonjun as deep as he'll go, whining and mewling. He knows exactly what gets Yeonjun going, and can only hope that it'll be enough to distract him from what's looming just ahead of them.
“Wanna drink ourselves into oblivion?” Beomgyu asks once they've regained a little of their composure.
“I thought you'd never ask.”
It's funny, the five of them crammed into the tiny living room (slash kitchen, slash laundry room). Beomgyu really doesn't know why they hadn't just gone to Kai’s place. Or anywhere but here, for that matter.
Beomgyu and Yeonjun struggle with the snacks and drinks, given that Kai and Taehyun are too busy trying not to make heart eyes at Soobin to lend a hand. Soobin himself looks vaguely disturbed by the state of the apartment despite their meek attempts at tidying up (read: the magical act of shoving everything into cupboards or under beds), but he's too well-mannered to comment on it.
Yeonjun's manners seem to have flown out of the window. “What's that stain?” he asks as he steps carefully over a brown splatter on the moth-eaten rug.
“Taehyun shat himself,” Beomgyu says casually, grabbing a handful from the bowl of mismatched candy he'd thrown together. A few pieces slip through his fingers and onto the floor, and he kicks them under the couch to be dealt with later. “IBS. Y'know how it is.”
Kai snickers, earning him a clip around the ear from Taehyun. “Beomgyu tripped over his own feet and dropped his coffee,” Taehyun clarifies. “Only one shitting themselves is Kai.”
“Do you have to keep bringing that up?!” Kai asks, scandalised. “As if it's my fault you put laxative gummies in the candy jar!”
Soobin chokes on the gummy he'd been nibbling, and Taehyun slaps him heartily on the back. “I very clearly wrote ‘do not eat’ on that jar.”
“I thought you were just being stingy!”
“I was being stingy,” Taehyun says, leaning forward to pluck a chip from the bowl in Yeonjun's arms. He stuffs it into his mouth, then says around it, “That'll teach you not to eat my candy.”
“Okay!” Beomgyu interrupts, squeezing himself between Taehyun and Kai on the couch to break up their lovers’ quarrel. “Enough talk about shit. Who wants a beer?”
All four of them swoop in like a flock of vultures as Beomgyu pops open his own can and takes a hearty slurp, right in Taehyun’s ear. Yeonjun leans back against the wall with his legs crossed, smiling softly at Beomgyu, and Beomgyu misses him so much that he has to leave his spot on the couch.
“Hi,” he says, sitting down beside him and dropping his head to his shoulder. “You okay?”
“Better now you're here,” Yeonjun says, then nods towards where Soobin is settling into the space Beomgyu had left behind. “Are they always like this?”
“Pretty much.” Beomgyu takes another gulp of his lukewarm beer, and Yeonjun does the same. “They've been together for, like, ever. Surprised Taehyunnie isn't pupped already.”
“Can Kai…?”
Beomgyu shakes his head. “No. But sometimes I think they could do it anyway, y’know? Just by loving each other so much.”
“And you say you're not a romantic.”
“I'm plenty romantic,” Beomgyu counters, stretching his legs out in front of him and fiddling with the tab of his can. “You're just disgusting.”
One beer becomes two, which soon become three and a line of something Yeonjun had hidden in his wallet (away from the others, of course; Beomgyu needs to set a good example for his dongsaengs), and Beomgyu’s beginning to feel delightfully warm and fuzzy—albeit a little queasy.
“Tweedledum and Tweedle-dick-sucker over there are really going at it, huh?” he remarks, looking pointedly at where Kai and Taehyun are practically horizontal on the couch. Kai’s hand is up Taehyun’s shirt, groping at God knows what, and Beomgyu'd rather not think about where Taehyun's hands are. “Not an ounce of shame between them.”
“We aren't that bad, are we?” Yeonjun leans in to ask, sounding genuinely distressed.
Taehyun’s face pops out from somewhere beneath Kai. “You're worse. Beomgyu walks around with chronic bedroom eyes.”
Beomgyu scoffs. “I do not!”
“You do,” Kai pipes up, his hand now inching lower. “You've really fucked him up, Yeonjun-hyung. He used to be all tortured and brooding before you whipped out that magic knot of yours.”
“I was not brooding, asshole, and I'm only tortured by you two.”
“You love us really.”
“Debatable.”
Three beers become five, and Beomgyu finds himself starting to drift off on the couch. He considers asking Yeonjun for something a bit stronger and a lot more illegal, but it's nearing 3AM, and Beomgyu needs to take as much sleep as he can get.
“You look about ready to pass out,” Soobin says from beside him.
Beomgyu startles; he could’ve sworn he was sitting next to Yeonjun. “I'm fine,” he slurs, waving a careless hand. “Where'd Yeonjunie go?”
“Just outside for a smoke.”
“He doesn't smoke.”
“He does when he's in a mood.”
“He's in a mood?!”
Soobin nudges his shoulder. “It's just his parents. I wouldn't worry about it.”
“‘S my fault, y’know,” Beomgyu mopes, sinking further into the couch. “He's pissed ‘cause—” He's interrupted by a violent hiccup, and has to take a few deep breaths before continuing, swallowing down a dribble of bile. “Cause I can't give him kids.” What the fuck? Is he just telling everyone now?
“I didn't know that,” Soobin says casually, as though Beomgyu had just commented on the weather, then takes another sip of his beer.
“Whoops. You do now.”
Soobin fiddles with the tab of his beer can. He seems remarkably sober, but perhaps that’s just compared to Beomgyu—who’d somehow drunken himself into a state of near catatonia. They’re both quiet, and Beomgyu suspects that Soobin’s searching for a delicate way to phrase the very much indelicate.
“Beomgyu,” Soobin says eventually. “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. The way Yeonjun talks about you… it’s like the sun shines out of your ass.”
Beomgyu screws his face up. He hates it when people say things like that; he has no idea how to accept a compliment, nor how to believe that anyone could possibly think so highly of him. Especially someone like Yeonjun.
“Cheer up, eh?” Soobin continues. “Yeonjun’ll work his magic one way or another. Nobody can make him do anything he doesn't want to.” He tilts his head, smiling. “Except you, maybe.”
“Me?” Beomgyu asks, scratching at his temple.
“Anyone can see you've got him wrapped around your little finger.”
Beomgyu snorts a graceless laugh as he pops the tab of another beer. He takes a pensive sip, then asks, “We're friends, aren't we, hyung?”
“I'd hope so.”
“Good. That's good.”
Before another embarrassing word can escape Beomgyu's mouth, a very inebriated Kai wedges himself between the two of them on the couch, smushing a wet kiss to each of their cheeks. Usually, Beomgyu would bat him away with a fake retch, but the alcohol has rendered him horrifically sentimental.
“Hiya, sweetheart,” Kai slurs, tucking himself into Beomgyu's side. He's a gushy drunk as well, apparently. “Where's lover boy?”
Beomgyu pats his sweaty hair. “Sulking.”
“So’s Taehyunnie,” Kai says forlornly.
“What?! Why?” Last Beomgyu remembers, Taehyun was pretty much jerking Kai off on the couch.
“Who knows?" Kai shrugs, then snatches up Beomgyu's beer and takes a slurp. "Omegas are mysteries to me.”
“Even me?”
“No, but you're Beomgyu. You can't hide anything.”
“I hide plenty of things, actually,” Beomgyu argues, jutting his bottom lip out.
“No, you think you do.”
“I've been hiding plenty! I've been hiding that Yeonjun's mom’s gonna set him up with someone else. How's that for mysterious?”
Soobin and Kai's heads jerk up in tandem, sporting twin horrified expressions. “ What?” Kai asks, scrambling off the couch to stare down at Beomgyu, hands on his hips. “You can't be serious!”
“Yup. Also, Soobin didn't know about my, uh, thing. And also, I stole your jacket, like, a month ago and you still haven't noticed.”
“Which jacket?” Kai asks, because he can always be counted on to get distracted.
“The big puffy one.”
“It’s summer!”
“I run cold, okay? Don't leave your shit in my apartment if you don't want me to steal it.”
“I feel like we're focusing on the wrong thing here,” Soobin interjects, still looking mildly stricken. “Yeonjun's mom?”
“Oh, yeah. It's, like, a whole thing,” Beomgyu explains, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “She's gonna bring in all these matches for him, and—” His stomach roils, and the telltale tang of bile rises in the back of his throat. He stands abruptly, falls back to the couch, then tries again. “Sorry, I—I think I need some air.”
He almost falls face-first and eats shit bounding down the stairs to the lobby, and again as he flings open the door, panting. With any luck, Yeonjun’ll be out here to talk some sense into him.
The chill of fresh air slaps him in the face, but weirdly does make him feel marginally better—less like he's going to spew, at least. Doubling over, he presses his palms to his aching thighs and attempts to catch his breath a little, all while inwardly cursing himself. He's so out of shape that it's practically laughable; he'd have thought that all that fucking would increase his stamina a bit, but apparently not.
“Hey.”
Beomgyu twists his neck to see Taehyun, slouched against the wall a couple feet away with a beer can to his lips.
“What's wrong with you?” Beomgyu asks breathlessly, pleased to have someone else to focus the last of his energy on. “Kai says you're in a mood.”
“Hm.”
Beomgyu leans casually against the wall beside him, trying not to look too much like he's on the verge of passing out. “Is it about Soobin?”
“Sort of. How'd you know?”
“I’m tapped into your mind at this point.”
Taehyun laughs wetly. “Yeonjun said that. He thinks omegas have some kind of psychic link.”
“Maybe not all omegas, but me and you? Yeah, probably.” He shifts, turning sideways to get a better look at Taehyun’s fraught expression. “So what is it?”
“My heat’s coming up,” Taehyun says, then immediately lifts his chin, blinking up at the huge expanse of sky. “Next week.”
“Shit, really?” Beomgyu asks, ignoring the sick pang of jealousy in his chest. Not now. “Why didn't you say?”
Taehyun shrugs. “I feel weird about it. Kai thinks we should have Soobin there, but… I dunno if I'm ready for that.”
It's rare show of vulnerability from him, but one that Beomgyu's grateful for. “Oh?”
“I mean, it's been fun having him around and all, but for my heat? Don't you think it's a bit much?”
“Well, if I had mine, I'd want Yeonjun there for it,” Beomgyu says truthfully, and his heart does a funny little squeeze. “But we both know that's not happening anytime soon.”
“Sometimes I don't think I’m feeling what I'm supposed to feel,” Taehyun says, gripping his can so tightly that the aluminium crinkles beneath his fingers. “With Kai, I knew straight away that he was… my person. I don't know if I feel that with Soobin.”
“That's ‘cause you and Kai have some freaky connection. It's not normal.” Beomgyu knows he isn't exactly the voice of reason when it comes to feelings, but it's easier when it's a relationship that isn't his own. “Of course it's gonna be different. I'm not… you know I'm bad at this stuff, but some things take time.”
Taehyun’s quiet for a while, sipping his beer and scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the tarmac. It's nice, Beomgyu thinks, existing in silence with him. Taehyun’s been such a good friend to Beomgyu. Now it's Beomgyu’s turn.
“Do you feel it with Yeonjun?”
‘I—yeah, I think so,” Beomgyu answers, caught off guard. “We say it, y’know. The L word.” He inhales deeply, then adds, “But I'm not sure if I'm doing it properly. Like, I love him, of course I do, but do I love him more than I hate all… me?”
Taehyun snorts. “You get so poetic when you're drunk.”
“I'm just trying to be a good hyung!”
Taehyun laughs, nudging Beomgyu's shoulder with his own before linking their arms together. “When's the last time we hung out like this?” he asks, leaning his head on Beomgyu's shoulder. “Just us?”
“Huh?” Beomgyu pushes himself off the wall, jerking Taehyun’s head off his shoulder in the process. “We hang out all the time!”
“No, we don't. You're always off with Yeonjun, and Kai's always off with Soobin.”
There's a strange sinking feeling in Beomgyu's stomach, accompanied by the guilt that begins to gnaw at his throat. Had he been so wrapped up in his own affairs that he'd forgotten about Taehyun? Taehyun, who’s been there throughout everything, who'd carried Beomgyu through the darkest times of his life without complaint?
“I'm sorry,” Beomgyu tries pathetically. “It's just… everything’s been a lot. Taken so many knots, I don't know if my hole’s ever gonna go back to its normal size.”
He'd meant it as a joke, but instead of laughing, Taehyun sighs and slips his arm out of Beomgyu's. “When’re you gonna stop?”
“Well, I'm taking a break at the moment,” Beomgyu says stiffly, picking at his cuticles. He really doesn't want to be having this conversation right now.
“But you're still doing it.”
They're gearing up for a fight, and Beomgyu can't say that he'd be opposed to it. He's been wound up like a coil ever since the news of Yeonjun's potential matches had been broken, and Taehyun has pulled at just the right strings to send everything unravelling.
“I can make my own choices,” he snaps. “You sound like Yeonjun.”
“Maybe 'cause we both care about you?”
“I’m not talking about this anymore,” Beomgyu says firmly. He kicks at the wall to expel some of his frustration, then hisses loudly when his socked toe collides with the cinderblock.
“I just think you're being irresponsible, is all. It's like you want another mis—”
“Don't say that!” Beomgyu explodes, rounding on him. “Why the fuck would you say that?!”
“Hyung, I'm—”
“You can't use that against me! If you wanna fight then let's fight, but don't say that. That's not fair.”
“I shouldn't’ve said it,” Taehyun murmurs, looking down at his feet. “But I meant it. I don't want you hurting yourself.” He shakes his head. “None of us do.”
“Is that really what you think I'm doing?” Beomgyu asks, dizzy from his outburst.
Taehyun finally looks up, locking Beomgyu in place in a way that only Taehyun can do. He asks, “Isn't it, though?”
Beomgyu deflates, and lets his squared shoulders drop. “Let's—let's not do this tonight,” he says, his voice cracking ever-so-slightly. “I need you, Taehyunnie. I need my best friend.” He swallows just enough of his pride to quietly add, “Especially right now.”
“You know I'm always here for you.” Taehyun grips Beomgyu's hand, and Beomgyu knows that it's the wholehearted truth. “I meant what I said when you… when you started all this. No one's gonna let you fall.”
Beomgyu purses his lips; his emotions are running at an all-time high, and if he thinks too hard about his friends, he might just start sobbing.
“I'm not gonna have another miscarriage.” He despises the word, despises how dirty it tastes in his mouth. “They told me my body can't get that far anymore. I dunno if that's good or bad.”
Taehyun squeezes his hand. “Maybe it's just one less thing to worry about.”
Beomgyu laughs, swiping at his nose. He hadn't even realised it was running. “Always the voice of reason. Now get up there and make out with your boyfriends.”
Before they can make a move for the lobby, the door swings open, followed by Yeonjun's head popping out. “I was wondering where you two ran off to,” he says. His eyes fall to their conjoined hands, and a smile plays on his lips. “Not seducing my boyfriend, are you, Taehyun-ah?”
“He's recruited me to join their throuple,” Beomgyu teases, staggering closer to throw his arms over Yeonjun's shoulders before pressing a sloppy kiss to his mouth. “Sorry, baby, you're on your own.”
When they start the trek back up to the apartment, it feels like there are a lot more flights of stairs than usual. Taehyun disappears through the door—presumably off to make out with his boyfriends—while Yeonjun hangs back with Beomgyu, a hand on the small of his back to keep him from toppling backwards.
It's the tiniest of gestures, one that shouldn't mean anything at all, but it makes Beomgyu feel a bit funny—though that could just be all the alcohol sloshing around in his stomach.
Beomgyu desperately wants to tell him something, anything, that’ll convey just a fraction of his gratitude, but his words are all jumbled up in his brain, and he can't remember how to string together a coherent sentence. Instead, he lets Yeonjun guide him through the door and onto the couch.
The couch sags as Yeonjun sits down beside him. “Talk about anything interesting?”
Beomgyu shrugs, polishing off the dregs of his beer before emptying another that'd been sitting open on the floor. “Omega stuff. Y’know, heats and slick and, uh… scissoring. You wouldn't get it.”
“Fine, don't tell me.” Yeonjun pats his cheek. “You're all right, though? Nothing in that head of yours I should know about?”
“Nothing worse than usual,” Beomgyu says, leaning into the familiar warmth of Yeonjun's touch as his heavy eyelids flutter shut. “You know what I'm like. Always something going on up there.”
When Beomgyu opens his eyes, Yeonjun's smile is a little sad. All the same, he gives Beomgyu a soft kiss. “That's good enough for now.”
Beomgyu leans over and snatches up a bottle of tequila from the coffee table so he doesn't have to look at Yeonjun's face anymore, takes a swig straight from the bottle, then gags as it trickles down his throat and into his stomach.
“Urgh. Never doing that again.” He slumps back into Yeonjun's arms, swiping his sleeve across his mouth. “Maybe we should go buy some more drinks.”
“Or maybe we should go to bed,” Yeonjun suggests, slipping an arm around Beomgyu's shoulders and squeezing. “Look at you, you're beat.”
“But we're supposed to be celebrating!”
“I think we're all celebrated out.”
Beomgyu follows Yeonjun's gaze as he glances around the room, and sure enough, it's deserted aside from the empty bottles and cans littering the floor. The others must've retired to bed at some point, though how all three of them are squeezed into Taehyun’s twin, God only knows.
“Where'd everyone go?” Beomgyu asks, slightly miffed that he hadn't gotten a goodbye.
“Soobin’s, I think,” Yeonjun says, then hauls Beomgyu to his feet. “C’mon, let's get you to bed.”
Beomgyu stumbles after him, half dead on his feet, and collapses onto the bed the moment he's close enough. Yeonjun clicks the door shut softly, then busies himself with changing into the pyjamas he keeps in Beomgyu's closet. It's funny how well he knows his way around, though Beomgyu supposes he doesn't have all that much bedroom to navigate.
“What're you giggling about?” Yeonjun asks, tugging his shirt over his head. When he reemerges, his hair is all messy. Beomgyu loves it.
“You,” Beomgyu answers honestly. “You're so cute.”
“That's my line,” Yeonjun says as he climbs onto the bed. He squeezes Beomgyu's arm, and Beomgyu obediently raises both over his head so Yeonjun can wrangle him out of his dirty sweater and t-shirt. “PJs?”
Beomgyu shakes his head. “Don't want.”
“Fair enough. At least take your jeans off, though.”
“Trying to get me naked?” Beomgyu asks, but struggles out of his jeans as instructed, tossing them carelessly on the floor. “Pervert.”
“Ah, you know me so well.” He turns to tidy up Beomgyu's mess of a nightstand as Beomgyu plants himself on his knees, cold without arms around him. He blinks, and suddenly Yeonjun's in front of him again, holding out a hand. “Eat up.”
Beomgyu looks down, then grimaces when he sees the cocktail of pills in Yeonjun's cupped palm. He must have them memorised—morning, night, ambulatory—and it's beyond embarrassing.
Disgusted, Beomgyu turns his head away. “Don't wanna.”
“I know, but you have to. What sort of alpha would I be if I didn't take care of you?”
“No.”
“Beomgyu…”
“I said no!” Beomgyu repeats, slamming his palms on the bed so violently that the mattress wobbles.
Yeonjun sighs, dumping his handful on the nightstand. “Fine. We'll skip tonight, but you have to take them in the morning, okay? I hate it when you're sick.”
Beomgyu presses his lips into a firm line. He wants to argue that it's mostly the pills’ fault that he gets so sick in the first place, but the fight seems to have gone out of him. Yeonjun's only acting like this because he's stressed out; worrying himself to death over Beomgyu is the best outlet he has.
When Yeonjun coaxes Beomgyu to look at him, his eyes are soft and sincere, albeit a little exhausted. “Deal?”
“Fine. Deal.”
“Come here,” Yeonjun says, laying back and opening his arms as he so often does. Helpless to his will, Beomgyu obeys, climbing on top of him and letting Yeonjun coax his face into his neck. Into Beomgyu's hair, he murmurs, “I'm sorry. You know I just want you healthy, right?”
“Not gonna happen.” Beomgyu pulls back until he's straddling Yeonjun, his hands planted on the pillow either side of his head. He's practically seeing double, and no matter how hard he tries to focus on Yeonjun's face, it keeps splitting and wavering before his eyes. “Let's start over. Hi, Yeonjunie.”
Yeonjun concedes, pushing Beomgyu's bangs out of his face with a tired smile. “Hi, Gyu. You're cute when you're drunk.”
Beomgyu blinks hard, then squeezes his eyes shut. When he does, his stomach lurches and his head spins. It feels like he's on a boat on stormy seas, clutching desperately at the mast and yet stumbling anyway.
“‘M not drunk,” he lies, rather unconvincingly. “Just tipsy. Knot?”
“Not tonight,” Yeonjun says, firm and with finality. “Not when you're drunk.”
Beomgyu hiccups, swaying slightly on his hands and knees. The pendant of his necklace hangs between them, and Beomgyu focuses his eyes on its gentle swinging. Back and forth, back and forth, like an old grandfather clock. It makes him feel sick all over again.
“You don't like me anymore.”
“Of course I like you, silly boy. I love you.”
“But you don't wanna knot me,” Beomgyu mopes, the words spewing out of his mouth of their own volition. “You’re mad at me.”
“I very much want to knot you, just not while you're this drunk, all right?”
Beomgyu feels his eyes well up, and he sniffles wetly. “Do you really think I'm insecure?”
“Oh, Gyu,” Yeonjun sighs, reaching out to rub his palms up and down Beomgyu's arms. “I was only teasing.”
Beomgyu sits back on his knees, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, but the tears are already coming and it's so strangely cathartic that he can't muster the strength to hold them back.
“I—I’m trying,” he says thickly. “I'm trying!”
And he is trying, but it's a slow, slow process. He doesn't want to spend what was supposed to be a fun night whinging about how hard done by he is—especially when Yeonjun's in the midst of his own issues—and he can barely recognise himself with the way he's acting. Beomgyu knows he's prone to feeling sorry for himself, but that's his problem. Not Yeonjun's.
“I know you are,” Yeonjun says softly. “And you're doing so well.”
“Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm ruining your night.”
“What did I tell you about apologising? We all drink too much sometimes.”
“You don't,” Beomgyu counters. “You're perfect. Why'd you even like me?”
“If you're after an exhaustive list, we'll be here all night.”
“I want the list.”
“Get comfortable, then, because it's long.” Yeonjun opens his arms, and Beomgyu buries himself in his side, rubbing his cheek against the soft linen of his shirt like a needy kitten. Yeonjun inhales deeply, like he really is building up to something lengthy and detailed.
“Number one, you're funny. Like, hilarious, always cracking me up.” His hand slides into Beomgyu's hair, scratching gently at his scalp. “Two, you've given me a new perspective on pretty much everything. Three, you're kind. You put other people first without expecting anything in return.”
“And hot?” Beomgyu asks hopefully, wiping his eyes with the hem of Yeonjun's shirt. “You think I'm hot? A good omega?”
Yeonjun breathes a strange little laugh. “Well, yeah, obviously. But you're more than that, too.”
“Oh.”
“God, you're impossible.” Yeonjun's eyes crease with a smile, and he pulls Beomgyu closer. “Gonna let me finish?”
Beomgyu lifts his head to blink at him. “There's more?”
“There's so much more.”
It's embarrassing, listening to Yeonjun list his positive traits—even more embarrassing than listening to him list his flaws. You're passionate, Yeonjun tells him. Intelligent. Selfless. Driven. Beomgyu cracks up when Yeonjun drops the words innovative and enterprising, as if turning to prostitution for a bit of extra cash is some new-fangled problem solving stunt.
At some point, Beomgyu drifts off like that; curled up in Yeonjun's space, lulled to sleep by his honey-sweet words and soft, familiar scent. It's only been a few months, and he already feels like home.
Beomgyu blinks his eyes open to a room already bathed in light. He hadn't had the mind nor forethought to shut the curtains last night, and he squints against the disgustingly cheerful sun. His head feels like it’s been packed to the brim with cotton wool, his mouth dry and bitter, teeth fuzzy. For one reason or another, he'd ended up stark naked aside from an old pair of Yeonjun's boxers.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Yeonjun says quietly, stroking his knuckles beneath Beomgyu's puffy eyes. His voice reverberates off the walls of Beomgyu's skull, exacerbating his throbbing headache.
Beomgyu buries his head in Yeonjun's chest as his stomach roils. “Mhmg.”
“How's the hangover?” Yeonjun asks as he gently guides Beomgyu's face into the crook of his neck. As expected, a good whiff of his scent provides a small relief—Beomgyu's eyes feel less like they're about to pop out of their sockets, at least.
“Think ‘m gonna die,” Beomgyu croaks weakly.
“That bad?”
Beomgyu struggles into a sitting position as Yeonjun leans over to dig around in the nightstand drawer. He produces a pack of aspirin, then presses a glass of water into Beomgyu's hand. God knows how long it’s been sitting around, but when Yeonjun instructs him to drink, Beomgyu obediently chugs it down like the elixir of life.
A groan erupts from his throat as the lukewarm water pools in his stomach, and he collapses onto Yeonjun's shoulder. “Why'd you let me drink so much?” he moans, then shivers, tugging the duvet up to his chest. “And why am I naked?”
Yeonjun laughs, shaking his head slightly. “You refused to put pyjamas on.”
“Oh.” Beomgyu wriggles around a bit in a feeble attempt to get comfortable, but it only serves to make his head spin. “Sounds about right. What else did I do? Anything unspeakable?”
“Mostly just lots of begging for a knot,” Yeonjun says coyly, ducking his head. “If you’re still up for it, it might help with your hangover.”
“Yes!” Beomgyu enthuses, jerking upright. When he sees Yeonjun's amused expression, he amends, “I mean, yeah. For my hangover. Let's do it. Please?”
Yeonjun pushes himself up on an elbow, tilts his head and clicks his tongue. “Well, if you're sure…”
“I'm sure,” Beomgyu whines. Last night's desperation must've bled into this morning; he's practically vibrating now, and has no doubts that Yeonjun can feel it.
“I don't know,” Yeonjun says, tapping a pensive finger to his chin. “I'm going to need a little more enthusiasm.”
“Ugh, fine,” Beomgyu says, throwing his head back in faux annoyance. “Fuck me, alpha. Stick your fat knot in my cunt, and all that.” He scratches his head as he racks his brain for all the lewd things he rattles off to his clients. “I feel like I should be better at dirty talk by now. Wait, wait, I know. Breed me! Yeah, do that!”
Yeonjun's in stitches beneath him, all pink cheeks and white teeth. “You are so bad at this.”
Beomgyu rolls his eyes. “You're one to talk, Mister ‘So Fucking Wet For Me.’”
“Well, you were!” Yeonjun argues. “What else was I supposed to say?”
“Just put it in already!” Beomgyu demands impatiently, all but tearing off his underwear in hopes that a good look at his nether regions will spur Yeonjun on. “You're useless!”
“Nuh-uh. Remember our deal?” Yeonjun wags a finger in Beomgyu's face before gesturing to the little spread of pills on the nightstand.
Cringing, Beomgyu digs his nails into his palm until it hurts. “I don't remember, but I'm guessing I won't get that knot ‘til I poison my poor body?”
“Close enough.”
Beomgyu swallows them all down in one go, without water, then sticks his tongue out to prove that they're all gone. Satisfied—and possibly astonished by Beomgyu's talent for swallowing—Yeonjun nods, ridding himself of his shirt as promised. Worth it, Beomgyu supposes, as he positions himself spread-eagle on the mattress, just how Yeonjun likes him. His depleting libido seems to have made an exception for one person alone, and Beomgyu's giddy, buzzing with want.
Yeonjun slips in with little resistance—Beomgyu hadn't been kidding about being stretched out for good—gasping as he bottoms out within seconds. As he begins to move, Beomgyu sees stars, and it isn't long before he's completely plugged up.
It's the feeling Beomgyu loves most in the world: he and Yeonjun intertwined body and soul, sewn together, one. If only they could stay just like this for the rest of their lives. If only, if only. Beomgyu's existence is nothing more than an amalgamation of if onlys and what ifs, but this—this is real.
The universe, evidently, has a twisted vendetta against him. A knock sounds from the door, and then another, in Taehyun’s typical open up rhythm.
“We're busy!” Beomgyu calls, choking on the word as Yeonjun’s pelvis slams up against his own. “Come back later!”
The door swings inward regardless (Beomgyu doesn't know why he'd been expecting anything different) to reveal Taehyun standing at the threshold, one hand on the door handle and the other clamped over his eyes.
Yeonjun startles, his knot chafing uncomfortably as he yelps.
“What do you want?” Beomgyu asks Taehyun, scrambling to shove Yeonjun off of him. It's a complicated, painful affair, leaving both of them panting and tangled in the sheets. “Can't you see we're busy?”
“Where's the vacuum cleaner?” Taehyun asks, his hand still firmly covering his eyes. “There's cobwebs in my room.”
“We don't have a vacuum cleaner!” Beomgyu all but yells, as Yeonjun begins to wriggle around in an attempt to dislodge his knot. Wincing, Beomgyu spreads his legs as far as they’ll go to help him out—it's times like this that he wishes he could slick up on command.
“Could've sworn we did.”
Yeonjun's knot slips out, and its owner collapses onto the bed, groaning. Beomgyu gives him a congratulatory pat on the back.
“No, we stole Kai's, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” Taehyun says, finally turning around and throwing a wave over his shoulder. He looks a little green around the gills; Beomgyu suspects that he's being plagued by a hangover of his own, although he's better at hiding it than Beomgyu is. “I'll just go steal it back, then. Bye, hyung. Er, bye, Yeonjun.”
“Shut the fucking door!” Beomgyu hollers after him.
“Oh, my God,” Yeonjun groans once the door is firmly shut, hiding his flaming face in his hands as Beomgyu laughs. “You guys really need to establish some boundaries.”
“We have boundaries,” Beomgyu says, climbing to his feet and cracking his back. He swears he has the joints of a ninety-year-old woman, sometimes. “He's not allowed in the bathroom while I'm shitting or showering.”
Yeonjun shakes his head. “But he's allowed in your room while we're fucking...?”
“He's just trying to get back at me for walking in on Kai and Soobin,” Beomgyu says with a shrug.
“You did what?”
“Ugh, don't. I'm mentally scarred.” Beomgyu retrieves his jeans from where he'd left them in a heap on the floor, then throws Yeonjun's own at his head. “You ever seen Soobin's cock? Bigger than my arm, that thing. And he puts it in Taehyun, can you believe that?”
“I'd rather not think about it.”
“Me neither. Better get used to it, though, ‘cause Soobin's got his own toothbrush in our bathroom. He's practically moved in.”
“I have a toothbrush in your bathroom.”
Beomgyu lifts an eyebrow. “And you're practically moved in. Fancy paying rent? We've got three freeloaders now.”
They share a morning of companionable silence. Yeonjun's knot—however cut short it may have been—has left Beomgyu doused in a warm, floaty feeling, and all he really wants is to crawl back into bed and do it all over again.
Yeonjun, though, seems to be running on pent-up anxiety and inertia alone, held up only by his own forward momentum. Beomgyu knows that feeling well enough; the feeling of investing all your energy in pointless tasks in order to postpone the inevitable, but there are only so many distractions to work through.
He organises Beomgyu's textbooks by colour and size. He makes the bed, tucks the sheets in and fluffs the pillows (all with Beomgyu lying there, scrolling aimlessly through social media). He folds the pile of clean laundry Beomgyu hadn't gotten around to putting away, and even goes as far as to stick a new load in the temperamental washing machine.
It must be well past midday by the time he finally graces Beomgyu with his undivided attention, though when he opens his mouth, Beomgyu kind of wishes he hadn't.
He's going to be busy for a few days. He'll be at his apartment, and Beomgyu's to call him should anything go downhill. He has work to do, something for his parents. It's hard to explain.
“Will you be okay?”
Beomgyu plasters on his brightest smile. “I'm sure I can take care of myself for a few days.”
The few days that follow are some of the loneliest Beomgyu's pushed through in a while.
Yeonjun's near unreachable, cloistered away in his apartment with his cell on do not disturb. Taehyun's predictably checked out from reality in the run-up to his heat; Beomgyu sees him only fleetingly, glassy-eyed and swamped in clothes that smell too much like Soobin. Sometimes he hears it through the too-thin walls: those shameful moments of red-hot desperation, fumbling under the covers, and later, soft promises of pupping that Beomgyu drowns out with old love songs until his eardrums ache.
Loneliness is a strange thing. It never really goes away, no matter how many people you surround yourself with or how many distractions you throw yourself into. It's bleak and directionless, and more than once, Beomgyu finds himself on the brink of reactivating his profile on that God-foresaken app.
Call me if anything goes downhill. Not much further down to go when you've already hit rock bottom.
And so he lets it smother him. Kai bids him farewell with a dazed-looking Taehyun clinging to his arm, and that's that. They’ll be away for five days at best, returning only once Beomgyu's long gone, an imposter in Yeonjun's world of china teacups and chandeliers.
Alongside the loneliness comes the sickness, and alongside the sickness comes the ache. A cruel and unusual punishment for allowing himself to lose sight of what he is and will always be: a jumble of symptoms all wrapped up into one, if onlys and what ifs and maybe, just maybes.
He isn't the boy Yeonjun's parents want him to be. He isn't even the boy Yeonjun wants him to be. No, he's the boy with the shoebox of failures; the boy sobbing on the bathroom floor; the boy rotting from the inside out. Maybe he's nothing more than the boy selling his body just to be sure that he really exists.
Inevitably, it's Yeonjun who puts a stop to his wallowing.
Beomgyu's been sinking into the couch for at least forty-eight hours, flicking aimlessly through TV channels. The Thursday evening news anchor drones on about protests breaking out all over North America: omegas fighting for their rights and whatnot. It's all pretty pointless, Beomgyu thinks. People don't change, not really.
A headline runs along the bottom of the screen—an afterthought, unimportant—telling of a prostitute murdered by a crazed client. In a brief, masochism-induced lapse of judgement, Beomgyu searches the internet for the story only to be faced with dozens of the same nature. Young omegas drugged and fucked and left to die, alone and forgotten in motel rooms. Suspects and their families request privacy in these difficult times.
The comments are all the same. They had it coming, they were asking for it. One in particular sticks with Beomgyu, lodges itself in the depths of his subconscious to torment him at a later date: why do it if you know that this is always how it ends?
He wonders who'd sit at his grave the longest if his own story were to end in a similar vein—Yeonjun or Taehyun? Would he be named on the news, or simply fade into obscurity as a cautionary tale for the next vulnerable, impressionable omega?
In this moment, he isn't entirely sure that he exists in the way he's supposed to. He spreads his numb fingers in front of his face, curls them into tight fists with his nails digging into his palms. They sink perfectly into the little pink grooves left behind from last time, and the time before that. Nothing.
He's wasting away, isn't he? It's been a long time coming. There's a quiet comfort in knowing that when Yeonjun finds him, he'll finally have an excuse not to visit his parents.
Every eight weeks, that condescending psychiatrist—a plump, saggy-looking woman on the wrong side of forty—checks in with Beomgyu's alleged suicidal ideation. He brushes it off each time with little concern, but how on Earth are you supposed to know? When he plugs AM I SUICIDAL QUIZ into Naver, all that comes up is the hotline he already has memorised, and his phone dies before he can get any further with his research. Oh, well. Puts a stopper in that line of thinking, at least.
Yeonjun opens the door. Beomgyu knows it's Yeonjun, because the other three are too busy with whatever weird sex sandwich it is that they do to worry about his wellbeing. Maybe Taehyun’s finally pupped. That’d be the fucking icing on Beomgyu's fucked up cake of a life, wouldn't it?
Yeonjun squats in front of him and sets a hand on his shoulder, shaking it gently. Judging by the way his brow knits as he takes Beomgyu in, he must look a real sorry state. Quietly, tentatively, he says, “Are you awake?”
What an odd question. Beomgyu's eyes have been open this whole time, he's pretty sure. He braces himself with his elbows, squinting at Yeonjun's face in the dark. Each line and curve is etched with confusion—distress, perhaps.
“How'd you get in here?” is all he can think to ask, voice thick. The first words he's spoken in days.
“Why didn't you call me?” Yeonjun asks in lieu of answering. “How long have you been like this?”
“A while.” Beomgyu had been measuring his days with bathroom trips, but at some point he'd stopped drinking water, which totally threw him off. He pouts. “Alpha left me all alone.”
Yeonjun shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. An anvil of shame crushes Beomgyu's chest as he watches Yeonjun survey the darkness of the room; curtains drawn, phone abandoned on the floor.
“What happened to ‘I can take care of myself?’”
“This is me taking care of myself,” Beomgyu says, gesturing to his sweaty, rumpled clothes. “Wallowing is good for my mental health. Doctor’s orders.”
“Jesus, Beomgyu, you're going to be the death of me. Get up, it's shower time.”
“Don't feel like it.”
“Too bad. I'm not letting you meet my parents all stinky.”
“That's today?!” Beomgyu sits up so abruptly that his vision clouds over for a good few seconds, and his head suddenly feels too heavy for his neck. Shit. When was the last time he ate?
“Tomorrow,” Yeonjun corrects, steadying him with a hand on his arm before slipping an abandoned cushion in behind him. “Please tell me what's going on. Are you sick?”
“Just lost track of time,” Beomgyu dismisses. A half-truth. “Not a big deal. No need to worry about me.”
“How stupid do you think I am?” Yeonjun asks. Beomgyu isn't stupid, either; Yeonjun's putting on a front, hiding his concern behind this tough exterior to keep him from withdrawing. They know each other too well. “You're not okay.”
“Fix me with your magic knot, then, alpha.” Beomgyu takes a crack at his well-practiced seductive face, but it comes out closer to a grimace.
Yeonjun's lips purse like he's biting back a refute. “How about that shower?”
“Hot water’s gone.”
(A guess, not a fact. Taehyun had reminded him to pay the bill in his absence, but it'd faded into the background along with everything else vaguely resembling a responsibility.)
“We'll go to mine, then,” Yeonjun says assertively, and Beomgyu knows he can't wrangle himself out of this one.
Everything goes black when Yeonjun helps him to his feet. For a fleeting moment, Beomgyu's sure he's going to collapse, but Yeonjun's there with a strong arm around his waist to keep him upright. His body is sturdy and dependable where Beomgyu's is uncertain; an anchor, a promise.
It takes a while longer to steady himself enough to stand unsupported. It shouldn't be this bad. Why is it this bad? He's gone without food or sunlight for longer during finals season, and definitely has ample experience in functioning in a half-deceased state.
Once he's found his footing, Yeonjun demands that they walk instead of hailing a cab, adamant that Beomgyu should get a dose of Vitamin D. As horrific of an idea it is, Beomgyu doesn't have the energy nor will to put up a fight.
The walk between their respective apartments should only take around thirty minutes, but between Yeonjun's interrogations and Beomgyu's less than stellar state, it ends up taking closer to forty-five.
Yeonjun grills him for every last one of those minutes. Have you been eating? Drinking water? Taking your meds? Beomgyu meets each one with an affirmative, because he's too embarrassed to admit that he doesn't remember. There's no way Yeonjun's naïve enough to believe him, but Yeonjun's always been good with lies.
Yeonjun doesn't join him in the shower. Maybe he thinks Beomgyu's disgusting now; a dirty, rotten mess of a boy, stewing in his own sweat for days on end. He scrubs and scrubs until his skin stings, then stands prone under the stream of water, waiting for it to run cold.
It takes his fingers pruning up and his nailbeds wrinkling for him to realise that he's waiting for something that isn't going to happen. Of course Yeonjun's water will never run cold. He could pay the bills for the whole building ten times over, and his pockets would still be stuffed.
Beomgyu washes behind his ears, the backs of his knees, his eyelids, searching every crevice of his being in a desperate yet futile attempt to figure out what's happening to him. His hormones are totally out of whack at the best of times, but with Yeonjun around so often, he'd been doing better than he ever could've hoped.
With Yeonjun around so often.
It dawns on him all at once, the realisation crashing down so heavily that it leaves him winded. Surely he isn't so pathetic that less than a week away from his alpha—who isn't even really his—could render him so unwell? He'd been so preoccupied with not relying on Yeonjun in a material sense that he'd missed the warning signs of something far, far worse.
A physical and psychological dependency. All this time, he'd thought such phenomena were reserved solely for mated couples. Couples who’d spent so much time together that they'd become intertwined body and soul, sewn together, one.
Beomgyu's never been all that into Biology.
The water runs cold.
When he finally reemerges from the bathroom, it's to Yeonjun settled on the bed—shirtless, of fucking course—scowling at the laptop resting on his thighs. Beomgyu tightens the towel around his waist with one hand as the other scrubs at his hair with a second towel, then pads over at the will of his needy omega.
He'd been planning on avoiding Yeonjun for a little while as he attempted to work through his strange revelation, but predictably finds himself swept into that gravitational pull. Does Yeonjun feel it, too? It certainly seems so, given that his head snaps up the moment he catches Beomgyu in his peripheral vision, his frown making way for a soft smile.
“Feel better?”
Beomgyu hums, dropping his towels without a whisper of shame in favour of crawling onto the bed. Yeonjun visibly relaxes the second their skin meets, and he exhales a long, slow sigh that reeks less of exasperation and more of contentment.
“Working?” Beomgyu asks, resting his chin on Yeonjun's shoulder to peer at his laptop screen. It's taken up by some kind of spreadsheet rammed with big numbers and equations, some of which Beomgyu vaguely recognises from his own work. Presumably, it has something to do with Yeonjun's mysterious role in his father's mysterious company.
“Trying to,” Yeonjun says, eyeing the screen with barely concealed contempt. He violently slams a button, and a new number pops up. “I thought minimising my distractions might help me focus, but apparently my brain can't function without you.”
The confession is startlingly reminiscent of Beomgyu's own experience of those excruciating days apart, and he belatedly realises that he hadn't so much as thought about his looming deadlines. Idiot.
“Same,” Beomgyu mumbles into the warm skin of Yeonjun's shoulder. “This finance stuff?”
To Beomgyu's surprise, Yeonjun doesn't shut his laptop or even tilt it away, instead giving him time to inspect its contents; to take in the sheer magnitude of the numbers. It's more money than Beomgyu can even begin to comprehend.
“I guess so. I don't really know anymore.”
“What is it that you actually do?” Beomgyu asks, the question that's been nagging at the back of his mind for months now.
Yeonjun breathes a laugh. “Everyone else's dirty work, the stuff the actual employees can't be bothered to do.” He scrubs a palm over his forehead, then snakes his arm around Beomgyu's shoulders. “It just comes up as and when. No idea why my dad trusts me with it, though. I really did fail high school math.”
Beomgyu echoes the laugh, nuzzling into Yeonjun's neck. His uninhibited scent is so soft and sweet that he has to swallow down a moan—and God , had he missed this. He’s never letting Yeonjun out of his sight again, alarming revelations be damned.
“Y’know you could've just asked me for help,” he says after reluctantly withdrawing, feeling a little lightheaded and drowsy. “I like to think I'm pretty good at math.”
“Ah, so humble,” Yeonjun teases, twisting slightly to press a kiss to the crown of Beomgyu's head. “Would you really do that? You're not too busy?”
“Of course I would!” Beomgyu says, offended that Yeonjun would even question such a thing. “You should've just asked me!”
“Look, there's…” Yeonjun trails off, shakes his head and tries again. “There’re some things I haven't told you.”
“No shit,” Beomgyu deadpans. “I was starting to think you were involved with the mafia or something.”
“Shut up and listen,” Yeonjun scolds, slapping playfully at Beomgyu's shoulder. “I don't need this job. I’ll always have enough money without it, but I guess there's a part of me that still wants to impress my parents.”
Beomgyu glances up at Yeonjun's face, but Yeonjun's staring straight ahead. Still, he says, “Nothing wrong with that.”
“What I’m trying to say is that they never really liked me. I guess they love me because I'm their kid and they have to, but I don't think they like me all that much. They fed me and clothed me, sure, put a roof over my head, but that was about as far as it went.”
Beomgyu hears him swallow, feels his restless fingers tapping against his shoulder. He curls closer. I'm still here.
“Maybe they're hard on me because they want to like me, I don't know. Maybe I'm just not enough for them. So even now, it's like… maybe if I do this one job, if I get this one thing right, that’ll be the one that counts. Every single time.”
“Why didn't you tell me any of this?” Beomgyu asks quietly. His head is swimming, bare skin prickling with goosebumps. How foolish he'd been, to assume that Yeonjun's issues could be dwarfed by his own.
Yeonjun's hand moves from Beomgyu's shoulder to card through his damp hair. “I just… I guess I didn't want to bother you with my crap when you have so much of your own,” he continues, and he sounds so small. So insecure. “I know I'm privileged. I know I'm lucky. You shouldn't have to deal with me being a spoiled brat on top of everything else.”
“Isn't that what being together is all about?” Beomgyu reasons. “Complaining to each other about our shit lives?”
Somehow, Beomgyu feels the exact moment Yeonjun begins to smile; a gentle tug at his abdomen. Through that smile, he says, “You might just be right.”
“You said I put other people first, and I dunno if that's true. I'm selfish sometimes—a lot of the time—but you should know by now that you're always gonna be my priority.”
Another tug. “Beomgyu?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
They're silent for a while, and the world falls silent with them. The summer insects stop their buzzing. The air conditioning stops its humming. For a long, drawn out moment, all that exists is the beating of their two warm hearts.
And then Beomgyu feels it, unmistakably and undeniably: his heart stops. For a sliver of a fraction of a second, it halts in his chest, suspended in time.
And then, inevitably, it starts again. He feels it, he does, only this time he feels Yeonjun's, too, beating perfectly in sync with his own. Something so small and yet so inexplicably significant.
“Do you feel what I feel?” Yeonjun asks in a breath.
Beomgyu exhales. “Yeah.”
One knot, two hearty meals and ten hours of sleep later, Beomgyu's pretty much in his prime. Not that his prime is anything particularly impressive, but it sure beats whatever he'd had going on before.
Beomgyu sits cross-legged on the floor of the closet, sorting through a pile of Yeonjun's clothes to pack into his suitcase as Yeonjun lounges on the bed. Clearly, he's been putting off packing until the very last minute, and Beomgyu suspects that he wouldn't’ve done it at all had he not intervened.
Beomgyu holds up a shirt to squint at the label. “White Mon… Mon-klur shirt?”
“Moncler,” Yeonjun corrects. “No.”
“Whatever.” Beomgyu tosses the shirt aside in favour of lifting the next one from the pile. “Hoodie with a naked woman on it?”
Yeonjun cackles. “Oh, yeah. Pack that one.”
“Er, okay.” Beomgyu folds the lewd garment and tucks it neatly into the suitcase. “What else? Pants?”
“Just jeans are fine. The ones with all the holes. It’ll piss my parents off, anyway.”
“Do you really wanna piss them off?” Beomgyu asks carefully. “Thought we were trying to make a good impression.”
“You're trying to make a good impression. They’ll berate me whether I wear the porn hoodie or a full Dior suit.”
Beomgyu hasn't forgotten about Yeonjun's will to be enough for his parents, and thinks he's an idiot for being so uncooperative, but it isn't really his place to criticise him for it. However Yeonjun chooses to deal with this is up to him, but he might benefit from putting in a little more effort.
He spots a flash of shiny black plastic buried beneath the clothes and fishes it out, turning it over in his hands. Whatever’s inside there is soft and small; perhaps a shirt Yeonjun had ordered and never gotten around to opening.
“What's this package?” Beomgyu asks, glancing over his shoulder at Yeonjun.
Yeonjun's eyes widen, and he drops his phone from where he'd been scrolling through it. “Nothing! Don't open it!”
“Why not? Is it for me?”
“Ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies,” Yeonjun says cryptically, rising from the bed to join Beomgyu in the closet. “Pack it, though.”
Beomgyu settles the parcel atop the clothes in the suitcase, then looks up at Yeonjun questioningly. “This enough?”
“Yeah, looks like it.” Yeonjun drops down to crouch beside him, wrapping an arm around Beomgyu's shoulders and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I'm not usually this… disorganised. I've just been trying not to think about it.”
Beomgyu laughs. “No kidding. When do we need to go get my stuff?”
“About an hour.”
“What do we do for ‘about an hour?’”
“You horny?”
“Obviously.”
“Well, then. One last round before we're celibate for two weeks?”
Yeonjun really does fuck him like it's the very last time; slow and deliberate, taking more time staring at Beomgyu's face than anything else. He kisses him more, too, and Beomgyu savours every taste. They stay there, writhing and kissing as their hearts beat as one, until their hour is almost up.