Chapter Text
Wooyoung watches his reflection in the mirror as he fumbles with the last button on his vest. The material clings a bit too tightly, hugging his frame in a way that's just shy of scandalous. He admires the effect, though, turning side to side, his red cowboy boots catching the light—a perfect, defiant pop of color against the sleek black of his jeans and vest. The red tie around his neck hangs loose, a last-minute touch he threw on in a rush, and though the knot isn't perfect, it's exactly how he wants it: relaxed, effortless. He knows he looks good.
But Yeosang doesn't seem to appreciate the look nearly as much as he does. He stands off to the side, arms crossed, a faintly amused look in his eyes.
"We are not singing," he says, his tone a blend of exasperation and resignation. Wooyoung rolls his eyes.
"It's my birthday," he insists, knowing he sounds a little whiny and not caring in the slightest. He glances over Yeosang's outfit—simple, understated. Classic. Jeans, a button-up, and black cowboy boots. It's neat, it's comfortable, and it's so him. Wooyoung can't help but grin as he sidles up next to him, nudging him lightly with his elbow. "You at least have to dance with me."
Yeosang shakes his head, lips curving into a soft, knowing smile.
"Who else would?" His voice is warm, teasing, and Wooyoung feels a spark of excitement zip through him.
Everyone except Yunho and Mingi has gathered for the night's festivities. They'd had a quick birthday celebration earlier—cake, candles, and laughter filling the house. Mingi had made it clear he wasn't keen on going out, and where Mingi went, Yunho usually followed, their closeness evident in every quiet moment they shared. But Wooyoung doesn't mind too much; he knows they'll make up for it in their own way later.
Instead, he has his six closest friends, each donning some variation of cowboy attire, a nod to the theme he'd insisted on. Even Jongho had managed to find a white cowboy hat that, while not exactly matching his dark clothes, sits proudly atop his head. It makes Wooyoung snicker as he takes in the sight. He probably takes pride in it, such an alpha thing to do.
As they head down to the car, he finds himself sandwiched in the backseat with Yeosang beside him. San slides into the driver's seat, throwing a grin over his shoulder before he starts the engine, and Jongho settles in the passenger side, adjusting his hat with a serious expression that makes Wooyoung stifle a laugh. The atmosphere is alive with excitement; laughter fills the air, and Wooyoung can feel the energy building, a thrill humming under his skin as they pull away.
The bar is as delightfully strange as Wooyoung remembers. Cowboy hats dangle from the ceiling like quirky chandeliers, and spurs are mounted on the walls, while lassos are strung above the bar in intricate, oversized knots. It's an odd combination of rugged and whimsical, but it feels familiar. He breathes in the smell of whiskey and cheap cologne, eyes scanning the familiar room, memories rushing back.
Yeosang barely has a chance to take it all in before Wooyoung tugs him toward the bar, a wide grin stretching across his face. They used to come here all the time back when they first moved out on their own. Nights like these had always been about mischief, trying to pick up alphas or even the occasional beta who could keep up with them. Rarely did Wooyoung take anyone home, and as far as he knew, Yeosang never had, either. It was mostly about the thrill of it—the dumb fun they could laugh about later.
And tonight? Wooyoung's dead set on bringing that back. Stupid, dumb fun, exactly what they need.
After they get their drinks, he pulls Yeosang onto the dance floor. They laugh as they move together, feet shuffling to the beat, shoulders bumping as they weave in and out of each other's space. A familiar thrill curls through Wooyoung as he catches San's and Jongho's eyes from across the bar. The Choi alphas are watching them with a mix of amusement and something else Wooyoung can't quite place. Not that he cares, really. Well... he cares a little about Jongho, but only because he knows how much Yeosang does.
And he would never tell that to his face.
So he keeps dancing, pulling Yeosang close as the bass thrums through his chest, setting his wolf into a joyful, almost giddy frenzy. He can feel Yeosang's laughter against his shoulder, and he nearly forgets that they've spent the last few months apart. He shoves down the bittersweet pang, though, because he knows this is just the beginning. One day soon, they'll be a real pack, bonded in ways that go beyond nights like this.
Suddenly, Yeosang stops, his hand slipping out of Wooyoung's grip.
"Hold on," he says, a little breathless. Wooyoung watches him walk back to the table where Jongho and San are seated. He's not suspicious exactly, but there's something in his chest that tightens slightly as he watches.
Yeosang leans over the table, and Wooyoung doesn't have to strain his senses to see that Jongho is upset. Then again, Jongho always seems at least a little on edge. Wooyoung huffs as he watches, arms folded, and the feeling fades into quiet amusement as Jongho reaches up, pulls off his white cowboy hat, and settles it gently onto Yeosang's head. Wooyoung feels a surge of satisfaction from Yeosang's wolf, who seems almost pleased beyond reason. Wooyoung can sense it ripple through him even from across the dance floor.
When Yeosang returns, Wooyoung can't help but smirk.
"You wanted that just as much as he wanted to give it to you."
"He was upset." Yeosang shrugs, adjusting the hat like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"When isn't he?" Wooyoung laughs, rolling his eyes. They dive back into the music, their laughter filling the space between them as they move. Together, they dance like they're kids again, their laughter rising over the pounding beat. One resounding thought occurs to him.
Yeosang is the only friend he needs.
At some point, the music shifts into a line-dance song, and Wooyoung tugs Yeosang into formation with a mischievous grin. Their clumsy attempts are hardly coordinated—Yeosang missteps almost immediately, turning the wrong way so they're suddenly facing each other instead of back-to-back.
Wooyoung throws his head back, laughing so hard he's sure half the bar can hear him. Yeosang just shakes his head, his own laughter ringing out clear and carefree, and they end up fumbling through the rest of the song without a care in the world.
Eventually, the energy burns off, leaving them winded but grinning as they trudge back to the table. There, they find Hongjoong and Seonghwa, who have joined San and Jongho.
"You have got to teach me," Seonghwa gawks, eyes wide as he looks between the two of them. "You two look like you're having so much fun."
Wooyoung can feel Yeosang's warmth beside him as he peels off Jongho's white cowboy hat, his hair damp with sweat. Jongho's leg presses against Yeosang's under the table, a subtle contact that Wooyoung doesn't miss.
"Wooyoung can dance," Yeosang admits with a small smile, looking a little self-conscious. "Me? I just try to keep up."
"You're great," Wooyoung says with a grin, nudging him. "Besides, it's not about skill. It's about just having fun."
"Easy for you to say." Seonghwa shakes his head, though he can't hide his smile.
"I'll teach you," Wooyoung offers, only half-serious but feeling generous after all that laughter.
"Really?" Seonghwa's face lights up, a spark of excitement that reminds Wooyoung of Yeosang when he's particularly thrilled. Wooyoung half-wonders if it's just an omega thing, to have such a beautiful glow when they're happy.
"Come on," Wooyoung sighs, about to stand up when Hongjoong cuts in, his gaze warm as he reaches for his own brown cowboy hat.
"If you're dancing, then you're taking this," Hongjoong says, carefully tying the hat around Seonghwa's head with a tenderness that Wooyoung finds endearing. Wooyoung watches, curious, wondering when exactly this little tradition started—that an omega couldn't dance without wearing their partners hat.
He's still mulling over it when he feels a hat get plopped hastily down onto his own head. Immediately, Wooyoung whips around, narrow-eyed, to find San grinning at him with a sly, almost challenging expression.
"What are you doing?" Wooyoung snaps, bristling, though he doesn't make a move to take it off. San's grin shifts, eyes narrowing just slightly, but there's no hint of dominance or anger—just a hesitant edge Wooyoung's not used to.
"You got a boyfriend or something?" San asks, watching him carefully. Wooyoung raises an eyebrow, his own wolf stirring in uncertain response.
"I've got a few. Why?" he says, testing the waters, not fully sure where San's coming from. Despite his attempts to keep it light, his wolf feels unsettled, unsure. San's intentions don't feel hostile exactly, but they're unreadable, and Wooyoung doesn't like what he can't read.
San's gaze holds his for a long beat, and then he smirks, that confident glint back in his eyes.
"Add me to the roster."
Wooyoung's wolf bristles at the suggestion, its ears flattening in his mind—not quite hostile, but certainly annoyed. San shrugs casually, either missing Wooyoung's irritation or simply ignoring it, and sinks into the empty seat next to Jongho, a smug grin lingering on his face.
Before Wooyoung can think of a sharp retort, Seonghwa steps in, giving him a gentle, reassuring smile.
"Don't think about it," he says quietly, tugging Wooyoung's arm, leading him back toward the dance floor.
Wooyoung huffs, the last bit of annoyance fading as he lets himself get lost in Seonghwa's eager expression. He decides to keep San's hat on—it's not like it means anything, after all. Focusing on Seonghwa, he starts explaining a few basic steps, falling into the natural rhythm of teaching without a second thought.
It doesn't take long for Wooyoung to realize Seonghwa might've downplayed his own skills. Seonghwa's movements are fluid, effortless, and there's a natural grace to the way he follows along, laughing softly as he nails each step. Wooyoung raises a brow, half-wondering if Seonghwa had only pretended to need lessons. Maybe Hongjoong's just the one who doesn't like to dance.
Either way, Wooyoung doesn't mind. He grins, allowing himself to enjoy the moment as they move in sync. The music shifts to a faster beat, drawing even louder laughter from them both as they pick up their steps to match.
Soon enough, Yeosang joins them, clearly unable to resist the pull of the dance floor any longer. He's wearing Jongho's hat, still slightly askew, and Wooyoung can't help but chuckle as the three of them fall into an easy rhythm together. They spin and step, bumping into each other with silly grins, not caring how they look as they throw themselves into the beat.
From the edge of the dance floor, Wooyoung catches a glimpse of the others watching—San, Jongho, and Hongjoong, each with varying degrees of amusement on their faces. Jongho's gaze lingers on Yeosang, calm and steady, while Hongjoong wears a quiet smile as he watches Seonghwa laugh freely, moving in ways he rarely does.
And San... Well, San is watching Wooyoung, arms crossed, a subtle glint of something unreadable in his eyes.
But Wooyoung shakes it off, focusing instead on the joy that fills him as he dances with Yeosang and Seonghwa. They're laughing, carefree, blending into the music and the night. This is what he came here for—the warmth of his friends, the laughter they share, the ease that flows between them.
For a second, Wooyoung's hand drifts up to San's hat, resting lightly on his head. Maybe he could do without it. Maybe there's a spot for him here—just as he is, just with Yeosang.
The ride home is a cacophony of giggles, heavy sighs, and the muted hum of the engine as everyone settles into the car. Wooyoung and Yeosang are in the back seat, pressed shoulder to shoulder, seatbelts still in their holders, the night's excitement still bubbling up as laughter that neither seems able to contain.
"Eight," Wooyoung slurs, squinting like he's pondering something profound. "At least eight."
Yeosang looks at him, his head tilted, his eyes unfocused but earnest.
"You think?" he mumbles. "Mhm... But he's tall, though."
Jongho, seated in the front passenger seat, turns halfway around, brow furrowed as he studies them.
"What are you two giggling about?" he asks, his voice carrying an edge, like he's frustrated at being left out. Wooyoung grins lazily at him, not quite answering, enjoying the hint of jealousy he picks up from Jongho.
Yeosang, however, doesn't miss a beat. He sits up a little straighter, almost knocking into Wooyoung, and says,
"I think ten," with the gravest expression, though there's a glint of mischief in his eyes. Jongho's hat, still perched on Yeosang's head, is askew, adding to his already tipsy look.
Wooyoung's jaw drops in exaggerated shock.
"No way," he says, his face scrunched up in disbelief. "Ten would be, like... too heavy."
He gestures as if he's holding something impossibly large, and the image makes both of them laugh even harder.
Yeosang shrugs, unfazed, as if he could defend his answer for hours if need be.
"Yeosang," Jongho says sharply, his voice cutting through the laughter, and Wooyoung notices the almost wounded look in Jongho's eyes. There's something deeper there, like a crack in Jongho's usual calm composure. Yeosang bites down on a smile, fighting the urge to laugh, clearly relishing the fact that he's gotten under Jongho's skin.
"I'll tell you later," he says, patting Jongho's shoulder from the back seat as if that settles it. Jongho huffs, irritated but unable to argue, and turns back to face the front. Wooyoung catches the smallest flicker of a frown on Jongho's face before he looks away.
San, driving with an amused smirk, shakes his head.
"You can't let them get to you," he says, eyes still on the road. "They'll annoy the hell out of you if you let them."
He glances in the rearview mirror, smirking as he catches Wooyoung's eye.
Wooyoung meets San's gaze and sticks out his tongue, his words slurring as he mumbles,
"You're just mad we're close." He gives San a half-lidded, teasing look, knowing exactly how to push his buttons. Yeosang joins in, pointing dramatically between his forehead and Wooyoung's as he gives San a conspiratorial grin.
"We've got telepathy," he says, his tone dead serious as he taps his finger on his forehead, then points at Wooyoung's. The motion is overly precise, comically exaggerated, and Wooyoung loses it, dissolving into a fit of laughter that shakes his whole frame.
Wooyoung's laughter is infectious, and Yeosang joins him, both of them gasping for breath, heads falling back against the seats. For a moment, Wooyoung forgets everything else—the crowded bar, San's teasing, Jongho's jealousy. There's only the shared laughter, the easy warmth between him and Yeosang, and the knowledge that somehow, through it all, they're connected.
San glances at them in the mirror, a mixture of exasperation and amusement in his eyes, while Jongho's gaze lingers on Yeosang, a small, almost grudging smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The night outside blurs past in dark shadows and streetlights, but in the car, the warmth of friendship and laughter wraps around them, solid and unbreakable.
Wooyoung stumbles his way up the stairs, each step a mini challenge, his mind still spinning with leftover laughter and the hazy warmth of too many drinks.
The hallway tilts slightly as Wooyoung makes his way down it, the walls too bright, the shadows too dark, his footsteps too loud. Stairs still seem like a strange addition to a house this big, and Wooyoung silently curses whoever decided multiple floors were necessary. Each step feels exaggerated, like he's traversing a mountain, and by the time he reaches the top, he's half tempted to curl up right there.
Just as he lowers his head to get a better look at where he's going, San's hat slips from his head, falling forward and landing with a soft plop on the floor below. Wooyoung stares down at it, the black shape blurring slightly in his vision, his wolf oddly drawn to it, longing to pick it back up and feel the rough brim in his fingers.
"Rather rude to throw my hat around," comes San's voice, a little too close. Wooyoung turns, surprised, finding San standing a step or two below him. San's arms are raised slightly, braced as though ready to catch him if he stumbles.
Wooyoung narrows his eyes, covering the strange flutter in his chest.
"Keep it, cowboy. I'm done dancing." His tone is casual, dismissive, though his wolf stirs, an instinctive draw to the alpha just inches away.
San doesn't protest, but his gaze lingers as Wooyoung continues his way down the hall, his steps wobbling as he reaches the door to the spare room. It's Yeosang's old room, since he and Jongho are doing whatever they do on the first floor, and he's grateful for the familiar setting as he leans against the doorframe to catch his breath.
The quiet here is soothing, and he finally lets himself relax, pulling the loose tie from around his neck and dropping it unceremoniously on the bed.
The vest, however, proves more of a challenge. His fingers fumble with the buttons, his frustration growing until he simply pulls it open with a jerk, nearly ripping it. He lets out a huff, half amused with himself as he shrugs the vest off, relieved the buttons held.
"Goodnight, Wooyoung."
San's voice cuts through the quiet, low and steady, and Wooyoung turns to see him standing in the doorway, still as stone, a faint hint of warmth in his gaze. There's an invisible line San doesn't cross, a respectful distance he holds, and Wooyoung suddenly feels the weight of San's presence, the air thicker, warmer.
"Yeosang said Jongho wouldn't enter without permission," he murmurs, piecing together a memory Yeosang had shared, though his drunken mind struggles to find the words. His gaze sharpens as he meets San's eyes. "Does that apply to everyone?"
San nods, his expression unchanging. "It does. No one goes into anyone else's room unless it's an emergency. It was the only way we could guarantee Yeosang's safety when he first got here."
Wooyoung blinks, processing this unexpected show of consideration. San's calm, assured tone is soothing, his dark eyes unwavering as they hold his own. Wooyoung takes a step closer, curious, testing the boundary he knows San won't cross.
"So big bad alpha can't enter my room?" His voice is teasing, his words slurring slightly as he tilts his head. "Even my temporary one?"
San's lips quirk in a small smile, the softness in his expression catching Wooyoung off guard. "Not unless you want me to."
The words hang in the air, simple yet layered, and Wooyoung feels a flicker of warmth in his chest, his wolf stirring with a mix of curiosity and something more primal. He holds San's gaze, his smirk sharpening as he lets himself lean into the tension just a bit.
"You're last on the roster," he says, running his tongue over his teeth, a subtle show of defiance and tease. "You'll never move fast enough to catch me."
"But I'm on there?" San counters smoothly, and Wooyoung can't help the surprised laugh that escapes him. San's confidence is unwavering, his tone both playful and serious, and there's a spark of challenge in his gaze that Wooyoung finds oddly thrilling.
He could keep teasing, keep testing the boundary that San so willingly respects, but a soft pang of sobriety reminds him that tonight isn't about this. He's not here to let San in, not tonight, and definitely not while he's drunk. So he leans back, giving San a knowing smile as he says,
"Goodnight, San."
For a split second, a flash of something—hurt, maybe disappointment—flickers in San's eyes, but he quickly schools his expression. Such an alpha thing to do.
Wooyoung closes the door gently, feeling the subtle weight of his wolf's dissatisfaction, almost like it's chastising him for leaving San standing in the hallway.
But Wooyoung shakes his head, reminding himself and his wolf that tonight isn't about that. He isn't here to hook up with San or let down his guard. With a sigh, he collapses onto the bed, letting the night's warmth and the soft scent of Yeosang's old room lull him into a comfortable haze.
Wooyoung sleeps deeply, the unfamiliar quiet of the house enveloping him in a calm he hasn't experienced in a while. There's no noise pressing in on him—no babies crying, no early-morning kitchen clatter, no one else's routine disrupting his peace. Just silence. It's a luxury he savors, stretching in the warmth of the bed, feeling the weight of uninterrupted sleep lingering in his bones.
When he finally stirs and cracks an eye open, the faint light filtering through the curtains reminds him how late he's managed to sleep. It's a treat to wake up naturally, no one hurrying him, no blaring alarms. But as he shifts, a sharp reminder hits—he'd passed out in his jeans and a crumpled button-up from last night. He makes a face, peeling himself from the bed and heading for a quick shower.
By the time he's clean, dressed, and feeling slightly more human, he heads downstairs, following the smell of coffee and something warm from the kitchen.
In the bright, open kitchen, Mingi and Seonghwa are busy at work. Mingi, towering as always, is laughing at something, reaching over Seonghwa's shoulder to taste a bit of whatever's on the stove. Seonghwa swats him away with an amused look, though he's clearly smiling. Yunho sits at the dining table, scrolling through his phone with a content, relaxed expression, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. They all look up when Wooyoung walks in.
"You have fun?" Mingi grins, his eyes crinkling with humor, as if he already knows Wooyoung's answer.
"Oh, very much so," Wooyoung replies, with a pointed look in Seonghwa's direction. "Seonghwa can dance."
"It was my first time. I'm not that good." Seonghwa gives a small huff, looking down at the stove, cheeks tinged pink. Wooyoung shakes his head, moving to grab himself a coffee and taking a seat beside Yunho.
"Still, I'll take you dancing one day, Mingi. I've got some moves." He winks, propping an elbow on the table and flashing his usual confident grin.
"I want to dance with him too," Yunho says, sounding a little amused and a little hopeful, his gaze on Mingi soft.
"Well, you can do what Yeosang and Seonghwa were doing and give Mingi your cowboy hat," Wooyoung says, rolling his eyes but still smiling. "That way everyone knows you belong to a cowboy."
At that, Seonghwa turns to him, curious.
"You were wearing a hat too," he points out, raising an eyebrow.
Wooyoung barely gets a second to respond before Yunho and Mingi both turn to look at him with interest. He feels their eyes lingering, expectant, playful, but he's ready for it. He leans back, crossing his arms and pressing his tongue into his cheek, watching them with a glint in his eye.
"So?" Wooyoung tilts his head, keeping his expression neutral as he tries to brush off any weight that might be tied to last night, especially with San's hat and their exchange lingering in his mind. His wolf stirs, but he pushes it down. Means nothing.
"Whose hat?" Mingi narrows his eyes, his brows furrowing in confusion.
"Did you meet a guy at the bar?" Yunho's voice is genuinely surprised, his curiosity clear. Wooyoung figures they all know San has this odd fixation on him, so he might as well play along.
"Yeah," he says with a casual shrug, glancing at Seonghwa to see his reaction, already enjoying the game. "An alpha. A little taller than me."
"Oh." Mingi blinks, genuinely taken aback, and Seonghwa lets out a small sigh, rolling his eyes but looking a little amused. Wooyoung just shrugs at their reactions, enjoying stringing them along.
"Did you get his number?" Mingi asks, clearly curious.
"Yeah," Wooyoung replies smoothly. It's technically not a lie—Yeosang had given him all their numbers for emergencies.
"How come you let him?" Yunho asks, watching Wooyoung intently. "You don't seem like the type to just let anyone put a hat on you."
Before he can answer, a familiar voice cuts in.
"That's because it was San's hat." Yeosang's voice is smooth, and Wooyoung glances over, realizing Yeosang has slipped into the kitchen unnoticed. He looks smug as he sits down, and Jongho immediately claims the spot beside him, as if it's his natural place.
Wooyoung groans, throwing his head back in mock frustration.
"I was just messing with them," he sighs, rolling his eyes. Of course, Yeosang would spoil his fun.
Breakfast begins, the room filling with the sounds of clinking dishes and soft chatter. San and Hongjoong join them a few minutes later, settling into the warmth of the morning. Wooyoung glances around the table, feeling the hum of casual conversation, the shared smiles, and the quiet contentment radiating from each person. This feels like something real—easy back-and-forths, playful teasing, no defenses up.
For a brief moment, Wooyoung lets himself sink into the feeling, almost surprised by the warmth it stirs in his chest. This... this is what a pack should feel like.
It almost feels like home.
But they're not really his pack. At least... Wooyoung isn't part of it. The unspoken truth settles in his chest, heavy and unmoving, as he drags himself upstairs for what feels like a too-familiar ritual. His shared apartment with Yeosang feels like it's a world away from the pack house, even though it's just a drive. And as he stuffs his few belongings into his backpack, he can't help but feel that Yeosang is halfway gone already, slipping into this new life in the warmth of the pack house.
He has the privilege of staying here—no cold empty apartment waiting for him, no loneliness hovering in the quiet hours. Yeosang gets to stay, gets to belong.
Meanwhile, Wooyoung's mind is already ticking through the lonely steps of his routine back home. The stillness that will greet him when he opens the door, the chill that somehow clings to every corner. The apartment always feels colder when Yeosang isn't there. And in that moment, his wolf tugs at him, wanting to stay rooted in the warmth he's grown to crave, but Wooyoung just pushes it down, hoists his bag over his shoulder, and heads down the stairs.
The seven of them are gathered in the living room, chatting, lounging, but when Wooyoung enters, all eyes fall on him. For a moment, he hesitates, letting the scene sink in—the easy camaraderie, the little smiles and lingering glances. It's the closeness of a pack, the kind he's only brushed the edges of.
With a small smile, Wooyoung forces some lightness into his tone.
"Alright," he says, lifting his chin a bit, "don't burn the house down—I really like the tub."
Mingi raises a brow, crossing his arms with a grin.
"No promises," he laughs. "But I like the tub too."
Mingi's eyes glint, but there's something warm beneath his teasing. Wooyoung knows they all have some stake in this house, all a little possessive, the same way a pack is over their shared space.
But then, Yeosang steps away from Jongho and crosses the room to Wooyoung, and the teasing falls away, replaced with something softer. Yeosang wraps his arms around him, and Wooyoung feels the comfort of it, Yeosang's familiar scent, the silent assurance in his touch.
"Be careful," Yeosang murmurs, voice steady and close. "And you're coming back next weekend."
Wooyoung huffs out a small laugh, but it's quieter, more for himself than anyone else.
"I'll live," he says softly, because it's the only thing he can think to say without the sadness showing. The truth feels like it's pushing against his throat, but he shoves it down, replacing it with a half-smile.
He breaks away, lingering for a second longer, then turns to the door and heads outside. As soon as he steps out, the cold air hits him, biting through his clothes like it's trying to remind him of the distance he's putting between himself and the warmth inside. His wolf tugs again, restless, sensing the absence already. It always feels this way, the ache that pulls at his chest as he leaves the pack house, but he's grown used to ignoring it.
The car is waiting for him, parked neatly along the drive. It's warm inside, and Wooyoung settles into the seat, feeling the heated leather soothe his shivering. He knows Hongjoong must have arranged it, a small kindness he never really asks for but somehow always receives. Wooyoung makes a mental note to thank him properly, maybe bring something for the house next time. It's a simple gesture, but it's one that reminds him of the pack's care in a way that tugs at him a little deeper.
As the car pulls away, the familiar ache swells in his chest, and he closes his eyes, resting his head against the seat. His wolf feels it too, the restlessness simmering under his skin, the longing that's only soothed by being close to others.
The road stretches out ahead, carrying him farther and farther from that house, and it takes everything in him to keep his mind from replaying the warmth, the comfort, the laughter.
And as the car hums along, his hand brushes against his bag, the fabric thin and worn. He lets out a sigh, long and heavy, as he sinks back into his seat, readying himself for the silence that awaits him at home, for the familiar feeling of stepping into a place that's his...but doesn't quite feel like home.