Chapter Text
Sieun hated college parties.
Too loud. Too crowded. Everything in an exaggerated, pulsating volume, as if excess were the entry requirement. The bass of the music vibrated through the floor, rattling his bones, while the smell of cheap alcohol, woody cologne, and sweat competed with what little fresh air was left. It was almost oppressive for an omega to breathe in there, especially at one of those fraternity parties where everything felt on the verge of either exploding—or collapsing.
And yet, there he was, surrendered to Gotak’s emotional blackmail, which still hammered in his head with the same weight as the music’s bass. “Just go for me, just tonight, Sieun.” His voice seemed to echo louder than the muffled shouts of the bodies dancing around the house.
Juntae, slumped beside him on the worn leather sofa, seemed amused by the expressionless face Sieun didn’t even bother to hide. The sofa creaked under their weight, shoved into a half-dark corner of the crowded room, where colored lights flickered like a seizure. Just below them, Gotak and Suho were playing some stupid card game—something like “whoever pulls the highest wins everything at once”—laughing as if life were that simple.
Sieun had been there for less than thirty minutes and had already come up with more mental excuses to leave than there were people in the room.
He thought about the pile of tutoring reports he should be grading. He could be at his desk, with a mug of lukewarm tea and absolute silence. But before he could sink into those thoughts completely, a light thump at his side dragged him back to reality.
Beomseok had just flopped down there, smiling with half-shut eyes and holding two red cups—the classic, plasticky kind, straight out of an American movie about reckless teenagers.
“Here. Smile a little, Sieun,” he said, offering one of the cups with a crooked, warm grin.
“I don’t want to drink tonight.” Sieun refused with a discreet wave of his hand, not even touching the cup. Beomseok only laughed, shaking his head like he had expected that answer.
“Don’t tell me you’re gonna study when you get back home?” Suho cut in with a lazy voice, tilting his head back until he could meet Sieun’s eyes. His nape rested against the shorter boy’s knee, in a position as comfortable as it was indecent.
“I’ve got tutoring assignments to grade,” Sieun muttered flatly, not changing his tone.
Suho pulled a theatrical grimace, as if that answer were sacrilege in such a setting. He stretched out his hand toward Beomseok, taking the rejected cup.
“You’re such a bore, Sieun,” he grumbled, his eyes still fixed on him with a mix of teasing and fondness. “Good thing you’re cute, to make up for that old-man soul.”
Sieun did nothing but throw a slow, disinterested glance at Suho—one of those looks that seemed to say “seriously?” more than any words ever could. The kind of blasé expression he had perfected over the years, between cold coffees and loud friends. But for Suho, that look seemed to have the opposite effect of what was intended. His smile widened, broader, almost defiant, and he turned his face away from Sieun’s line of sight as if dodging a storm by an inch—or maybe diving headfirst into it. Being under Sieun’s scrutiny seemed to feed something in him. As if it were a secret game only he was playing.
“Come play with us, Beomseok!” Gotak shouted from the floor, slapping the empty spot on the threadbare rug as if calling an excitable dog.
Beomseok laughed loudly, the sound slipping lightly between his teeth as he stood up, still holding the full cup in one hand.
“If I lose, you drink for me, Gotak,” he shot back, already moving toward the group, leaving behind the faint scent of mint mixed with the sweet alcohol in his cup.
Sieun just watched everything like someone watching a rerun of a show they never really liked. The sofa, uncomfortable as it was, felt like the last safe outpost in that minefield of forced social interactions.
His body remained still, but his mind was already toying with increasingly creative excuses—a sudden headache, a dramatic phone call, maybe even a hypothetical fire. Anything that would free him from that chaos without having to explain how much he hated being there.
He shifted on the sofa like someone preparing to strike—or, in this case, to slip away unnoticed.
“Where’s Baku?” he asked, feigning disinterest, though inside he was already mapping the fastest route to the door.
“That bastard went to the bathroom with some lame excuse about needing to piss just so he wouldn’t have to down the drink for the tenth time,” Gotak replied, drawing a card with a victorious air. “An Ace, losers!”
“I’ll go after him,” Sieun announced, already getting up before anyone dared stop him.
Except someone dared. Suho.
His hand clasped Sieun’s with a naturalness that caught the omega off guard. But Suho didn’t look at him immediately—he was still entertained with Beomseok’s draw, who grimaced when he pulled a nine of diamonds. The table burst into laughter, and only then did Suho turn his face toward him.
“I’ll go with you,” he said, with that half-smile Sieun never knew how to interpret.
He hesitated for a second. Not because of the offer—but because, honestly, Suho was acting… strange. He was always hanging off him, making comments that bordered on flirtation, and showing up at the worst times with a sparkle in his eyes Sieun thought was pure provocation.
“No need,” he cut firmly, before the other could stand. “I’ll just see if he’s still alive and be right back.”
And he slipped away before Suho could throw in some irritating remark or, worse, smile at him like that again. Because Suho had this knack for smiling like he knew something you didn’t. And Sieun hated feeling like he was missing out on something.
He crossed the room like someone navigating a battlefield: dodging arms, cups, staggering steps, and laughter exploding like grenades. The lights flickered at an uncomfortable rhythm, the music made the floor vibrate as if everything were about to collapse.
The air was dense. Too hot.
He just wanted out.
He just wanted air. Silence.
But the universe, that mocking prankster and chaos lover, never cooperated with Sieun in his quiet pursuit of peace.
At the very moment he crossed the threshold of the hallway toward the back door—and, consequently, toward his long-dreamed freedom—he came face-to-face with Baku.
The alpha was leaning against the kitchen doorway, surrounded by two basketball teammates. They were laughing loudly at something Sieun didn’t bother to understand. He tried to pass straight through, head down, body against the wall—emotional ninja style. He almost managed.
“Hey, Sieun!” Baku’s deep, drawling voice cut through the noise around them like a hot knife through butter.
Before he could pretend it wasn’t directed at him, a heavy arm landed familiarly across his shoulders.
Shit.
“Enjoying the party?” he asked with that wide, sincere, almost childlike smile—as if the mere idea of someone not having fun there was inconceivable.
“No.” Sieun replied curtly, directly, like slamming a door in a salesman’s face.
Baku chuckled, low and raspy, and leaned in too close, theatrically inhaling against the smaller boy’s neck.
“Knew it. It’s ‘cause you haven’t had a drink yet. You still smell like your untouchable ice queen self.” he commented with a casualness that felt almost criminal, squeezing his shoulders like they were war buddies on a mission.
Sieun tried to break free, but Baku was already dragging him by the waist like leading a younger brother into a baptism by fire.
“Come on, I’ll make you a special drink. Trust me.”
“Baku, I don’t—”
“Shhh. It’ll be light… Kidding, it won’t, but you’ll like it. You need some alcohol in your blood to function socially, Sieun!”
And before he could protest again, he was already being pulled into the kitchen.
It was smaller than it looked—and absurdly bright. A hanging lamp flickered like it was begging to be replaced, and someone had abandoned a plate of limp fries in the microwave. Still, to Sieun, it was paradise compared to the rave of flesh, sweat, and boiling pheromones in the living room.
Baku entered as if storming hostile territory, chest puffed with confidence. Barely had they crossed the door when a girl—a beta with faded blue hair and the team’s shirt tied at her waist—turned with sparkling eyes.
“Baku!” she called, radiant. She was holding two cups, the contents glowing in shades that defied logic and good taste.
He waved with the ease of someone who knew he was liked. When she approached, offering one of the cups with visible excitement, Sieun already knew this was going to go wrong.
“I wanted to see you,” she said, handing over the cup like offering flowers in a confessional. “Want it?”
“I was actually looking for a drink, Yura!” Baku replied with that warm, killer smile—and in the blink of an eye, he turned the cup… toward Sieun.
"What?" Sieun widened his eyes. "That’s not even the drink you were going to make for me."
"Exactly. It’s better." said Baku, pushing the glass into his hands like someone offering a poisoned gift with affection. "Yura is a master at mixing!"
Sieun accepted it out of pure reflex. Yura smiled a little less and looked away.
"We’ll talk more later, Baku," she said, looking at the glass in Sieun’s hands with an expression impossible to decipher. Then she smiled at him, like someone leaving a friendly warning. "Take it easy."
And she vanished through the door, leaving a trail of sweet perfume in the air.
Sieun frowned and turned to Baku, glass still in hand. Untouched.
"I think she likes you," he remarked. "The drink was like… a courtship."
"Really?" Baku glanced distractedly at the door Yura had gone through. "Damn… you think so?"
"'Damn,' he says," Sieun muttered, already lifting the glass with the resignation of someone who understands there’s no escape in the alpha universe.
"Down it already!" Humin exclaimed, excitement surging in him again. His arm slid easily around Sieun’s shoulders, giving a light squeeze. The other hand made an encouraging gesture, like someone guiding a calf to the slaughter.
Sieun had long since learned that going to war with Baku was useless. The guy seemed immune to tiredness, embarrassment, and reason. Pure stubbornness wrapped in charisma.
Resigned to the role of social guinea pig, Sieun downed the glass in one go.
The liquid hit like a well-aimed punch to the stomach. It was an explosive mix of energy drink, grenadine syrup, and a bitter trace of alcohol, with a fizzy undertone that burned down his throat like he’d swallowed a bonfire.
He grimaced immediately. His whole body seemed to reject it for an instant.
Definitely, this wasn’t going to sit well.
"Let’s go find the others!" Baku said, already dragging him out of the kitchen before Sieun could even process.
The loud sound seemed to cling to his skin with force, and he winced. Baku bulldozed his way through the center of the room like a tractor cutting a road. And then, there he was again, back at the point of origin.
He blinked. The world already felt a little… crooked.
Not the crooked of cheerful drunkenness, of giggles and artificial euphoria. It was a dense crooked, with blurred edges and a sinking center, as if the floor had lost the will to hold his body up entirely.
The couch was there, exactly as he’d left it. Or maybe not. Maybe it had shifted a centimeter to the side. Maybe it was laughing at him. Maybe it was winking. He didn’t know anymore.
He sank into it like someone returning to a safe harbor — or to the mouth of a volcano — and only then realized Juntae was sitting beside him, talking. Talking with a smile, gesturing as if explaining the meaning of life with cards in hand.
On the floor in front of them, Suho, Gotak, Beomseok, and now also Baku formed a noisy, lively circle, playing the same cards that seemed to multiply like drugged rabbits. Suho’s laughter was a little too loud. Suho’s gaze… was on Sieun again. Always on him. Always with that gentle interest slipping through the corners of silence.
But Sieun wasn’t processing. The air was heavy, the lamp light seemed to pulse directly inside his head, and there was something wrong with his own body. Heat climbed his veins like steam under pressure, and the tips of his fingers tingled as if he’d slept on them.
There was something more than alcohol in that drink. That was a fact. The question was what.
"...and then I said no one uses the ‘jack’ with that rule, right?" Juntae was saying, animated, as if he hadn’t noticed Sieun didn’t understand even 30% of what was coming out of his mouth. "You know, right?"
Sieun blinked slowly.
"I… I’m going to the bathroom."
He stood without waiting for an answer. Juntae was still talking when he left, crossing the room as if walking inside a poorly calibrated lucid dream.
The light followed him. So did the sounds. The walls seemed closer. The floor, softer.
He needed a mirror. Or silence. Or to throw up. He wasn’t sure yet.
He only knew that if he stayed one more minute there, he might end up revealing secrets he didn’t even know he carried.
The path to the bathroom was a maze of elbows, laughter, and bodies colliding like planets out of orbit. Sieun bumped into people he didn’t even see, felt arms, hair, perfumes, voices — all too much. Too intense. Too wrong.
The pheromones began to stir around him. Not whispering. Screaming.
The strong, metallic scent of alphas clung to his skin like a suffocating blanket. It was like breathing inside a closed room full of lit candles. Heat was starting to coil inside him, climbing his back, dripping down his nape. His clothes felt too tight. The jeans, too rough. The t-shirt, stuck like it had been sewn into his skin.
He stumbled through the hallway, nearly tripping over his own feet, opened the bathroom door like someone opening a survival capsule.
Closed it behind him and leaned against the sink. The mirror ahead gave him back a distorted version of himself: flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes, hair stuck to his forehead. A blurred painting of a boy trying to look in control.
He tried to take a deep breath. Once, twice. It didn’t help. He splashed water on his face, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine when the wet skin met the cold bathroom air. His fingers trembled as he pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked it with difficulty, and opened the calendar.
Heat.
Three weeks left. Three.
Shit.
So it wasn’t heat. Or not yet. But there was something. Some substance. Some strange warmth crawling inside him, slow and insistent.
He tried to focus. Logic, Sieun. Breathing. Focus. Three things in the bathroom: the faded blue tile. The paper towel badly fitted into the holder. The fluorescent light flickering like a tired heart.
The doorknob turned with a soft click.
The door opened.
Someone entered.
The world stopped. Literally. For a second, sound died, air froze, and Sieun turned slowly as if reality were in slow motion.
Keum Seongje saw him and froze too, phone to his ear, surprise quickly dissolving into a half-amused smile.
"I’m going to have to hang up," he said into the phone, without taking his eyes off Sieun. And he did hang up, before the person on the other end could protest.
He took a step inside, nudging the door shut with his foot.
"I never imagined I’d see you drunk one day…" his voice was light, but there was a curious note, like someone watching an eclipse up close. "Or this messy."
Sieun stood there, breathless, leaning against the sink, trying to decide whether to answer, pretend to faint, or jump through the window that was far too narrow.
Everything in him throbbed. And now, with Seongje there, it only got worse.
Because Seongje was also exuding. Pheromone, presence, quiet arrogance. And Sieun was in no condition to ignore any of it. But he tried. He tried with all his strength.
"I’m not drunk."
But his voice came out low, shaky. A lie with the taste of a poorly disguised truth.
Seongje raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the door like this was the start of a spectacle he didn’t know he wanted to watch.
"Of course not," he replied with slippery irony. "An extraordinary person like you never gets drunk, that’s something very ordinary people do."
Sieun huffed, averting his gaze to the mirror as if it could offer some kind of escape route. His own reflection seemed to mock his attempt to stay composed. Flushed cheeks, eyes glassy with something that wasn’t exactly emotion. Or maybe it was. He didn’t even know anymore.
Seongje stepped forward twice, still wearing that half-smile of someone ready to poke a beehive just for the thrill of the chaos.
“You should take a better look at yourself in the mirror. All sweaty, red cheeks, that lost gaze… Never thought I’d witness the drunk side of Mister Antisocial. You look good, but you look weird.”
Sieun clenched his teeth.
“I already told you I’m not drunk.”
“Oh, sure,” Seongje mocked, spreading his arms as if he were on a stage. “So you always look like this? Sweating like a sinner and smelling like—”
He stopped. Literally. His body froze mid-taunt.
The smile died.
His eyes widened, as if someone had pulled an invisible rug from under his feet.
“Wait…”
The air seemed to shift, dense, cutting.
Seongje frowned and inhaled again, deeper this time, as if trying to confirm his own shock. And he did. The smell. The damn smell. It was there, unmistakable: the subtle, warm, promising start of an omega’s heat. Still faint, but present. Spreading little by little. And it was coming from Sieun.
“You’re in heat,” he said low, almost to himself, like someone who had just solved a riddle they wished they never had.
Sieun looked away, his face burning.
“It’s not now. There are still three weeks left.”
“It’s literally right now, fuck!” Seongje exploded, his voice rising to a tone he had never used before, full of disbelief and anger. “Are you insane? What the hell are you doing here? At a party full of unbonded alphas? Have you lost your mind?”
Sieun’s eyes widened, startled at his tone.
“I didn’t know it was going to… happen. I just drank what they gave me and now everything feels weird.”
“‘I just drank what they gave me,’ do you even hear the bullshit coming out of your mouth?” Seongje ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. “Where the hell are your shitty friends? The clown squad? Who the fuck leaves you alone in a situation like this?”
Sieun stayed silent, his face now even redder — with shame, anger, maybe fear.
Seongje looked at him like he wanted to break something. And that something was the world.
“You should be home. With a suppressant. With safety. Not… not in this fucking mess.”
He inhaled again, trying to clear his own thoughts. The smell only grew stronger. And more dangerous.
“I’ll call those idiots. Lock this door when I leave and don’t open it for anyone you don’t know.”
“No.” Sieun protested immediately. “They’ll make a scene, and the situation’s already bad enough as it is. I’m just going to leave.”
Seongje looked at him like he wanted to punch him.
“I don’t think you understand the situation here, princess. You’re preheating. In about forty minutes, you’ll be straight fever. You think you can walk out of here like that without some alpha following you?”
Sieun didn’t answer.
“Of course not, fuck. I’m already struggling like hell here. You think some random out there is gonna be as decent as me?”
Sieun slid down to the floor as if his body had finally surrendered to its own chaos. His back slid against the cold bathroom wall, and he stayed there, arms resting on his knees and his head lowered, trying to keep his breathing under control, trying to control his own pheromones. His veins felt like they were boiling. His skin throbbed. His scent was already pounding in the chest of any alpha nearby — and he knew it.
Seongje was still staring at him. Silent. Jaw tight.
For just a second, only one, his expression changed. The sarcasm slipped off the edges of his face and something… almost empathetic appeared. Irritation, yes. But empathy too. A spark of it. Small. Almost invisible. But real.
And that was so absurd to Seongje that he stepped back as if he had just been slapped.
“What the fuck,” he muttered, more to himself. “We’re supposed to be fighting. You’re supposed to be saying some dumb shit and me calling you an elitist asshole or whatever.”
“You can still call me that.”
“Shut up.”
Silence weighed down again. The smell only intensified. A stifling, pulsing heat filled the room like trapped steam. Seongje looked up at the ceiling like he was begging nonexistent gods for patience.
“Call me a cab,” Sieun said after a moment. “That’s all.”
Seongje stared at him, incredulous.
“Oh, great plan. Throw you into a car with some random stranger and send you off into the world like this? Brilliant idea. Truly genius.”
“I just want to leave, fuck.”
“And I’m not letting you walk out of here in this state.” Seongje ground his teeth. “Fuck, look at yourself. You can barely stand. You wanna get followed? You wanna wake up tomorrow somewhere not even remembering your own name? Or worse, not wake up at all?”
Sieun didn’t reply. He just lowered his gaze, defeated. His hands trembled slightly.
Seongje took a deep breath and kicked the wall, furious at the entire universe. Then, he spat out:
“I’ll take you.”