Chapter Text
The door clicks shut behind them with a muffled finality.
Yeonjun half-carries, half-guides Beomgyu to the hotel bed, easing him down with slow, careful movements. Beomgyu’s face is flushed deep pink, shirt sticking to his skin, breath shallow and fast like he can’t catch it. His eyes barely stay open, but even half-conscious, his body leans toward Yeonjun like gravity knows something he doesn’t.
Yeonjun swallows hard.
“Okay, lie down— just like that,” he murmurs, easing the pillow under Beomgyu’s head. “I’ll be right back.”
He rushes into the bathroom, soaks a small towel in cold water, wrings it out, and returns to Beomgyu’s side, heart thudding with each step. The room is too quiet. The air is too thick. And Beomgyu— his scent is blooming like a sunrise, warm and syrupy and so undeniably omega it makes Yeonjun’s chest ache.
He crouches beside the bed and gently presses the towel to Beomgyu’s forehead.
“You’re burning up,” he says softly, more to himself than anything.
Beomgyu lets out a tiny whimper at the touch— somewhere between relief and need.
Yeonjun freezes.
Then he keeps going, slowly wiping the sweat from Beomgyu’s cheeks, down his neck, around the trembling curve of his collarbone. Beomgyu arches slightly toward the cloth, like it soothes something deep in him.
“You didn’t even bring suppressants,” Yeonjun mutters, eyes flickering to Beomgyu’s face. “You’re such an idiot.”
Beomgyu stirs then, eyes fluttering open just a sliver. His voice is slurred and shaky. “’m not… an idiot. Just… didn’t think it’d come early.”
Yeonjun huffs a humorless breath. “It did.”
Beomgyu nods faintly, and his lashes flutter closed again. “Smells like you…”
Yeonjun freezes. “What?”
“Smell nice,” Beomgyu mumbles. “Always do.”
Yeonjun sits back slowly. His hands curl into fists in his lap. His heart beats so loud it’s like it’s echoing in his throat.
Beomgyu’s omega instincts are picking up on him— the scent blockers must be wearing thin. And now, with the heat truly settling into his bones, his body is seeking out comfort. Familiarity. An alpha.
Yeonjun knows what’s coming before it happens.
Beomgyu shifts restlessly on the bed, rolling onto his side, one hand reaching out like he’s searching for something— someone. His scent spikes again, dizzyingly sweet, and his voice breaks as he whispers, barely audible, “Don’t go…”
Yeonjun’s stomach drops. He’s still kneeling by the bed, rooted in place.
Beomgyu’s eyes crack open, glazed and dazed. “Can you… stay? Please?”
Yeonjun’s breath catches. His hand grips the edge of the mattress like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
“I—” His voice dies in his throat.
Beomgyu is looking at him with so much trust. So much need. But it’s not entirely him right now— it’s his heat talking, his body reacting on instinct, not consent. And worse— he still thinks Yeonjun’s an omega, even though his inner omega is recognizing Yeonjun’s alpha and being drawn to it.
“I want you,” Beomgyu whispers, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering closed again. “Need you close. You feel safe.”
Yeonjun’s heart shatters.
Because he knows, deep down, that it’s not just the friendship making Beomgyu reach for him like this— it’s his omega instincts responding to the truth Yeonjun’s been hiding.
The truth he can’t let slip now.
He presses a hand over his own mouth, breathing hard through his nose, staring at Beomgyu like he’s something made of gold and glass.
“I’m here,” he whispers shakily. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
But he doesn’t lie down beside him. He doesn’t touch him again.
Instead, he drags the armchair closer to the bed and sinks into it, fists clenched in his lap, eyes locked on Beomgyu’s restless form.
His scent coils thick and sweet in the air.
And Yeonjun sits there, motionless, hurting, wanting— unable to move.
Because he’s an alpha.
And Beomgyu doesn’t know.
And he can’t take advantage of that.
Not even if it’s killing him.
—
The hotel room has grown unbearably warm.
Yeonjun sits rigid in the chair next to the bed, hands curled into fists against his thighs, as the only sound between them is the ticking of the wall clock and Beomgyu’s shallow, erratic breathing.
The scent in the room is suffocating now.
It clings to Yeonjun’s clothes, soaks into his lungs with every inhale— pure omega in heat. Sticky-sweet and desperate. Like sugar melting too long on a stove, turning into something dangerous. Something you can’t ignore.
Beomgyu is curled beneath the sheets, writhing softly against the mattress. He’s barely lucid now— his face flushed bright pink, lips parted, skin damp with sweat. He keeps pushing the covers off only to pull them back again, searching for relief that never comes.
Yeonjun swallows hard. He’s already peeled his hoodie off, trying to cool down, but nothing helps. His alpha instincts are howling. Every second he stays in the room feels like walking a tightrope above a fire.
He can’t do this.
He can’t stay.
He stands suddenly, scraping the chair back, breathing fast. “I need to get some air.”
Beomgyu stirs at the sound. Blinks blearily up at him. “You’re leaving?”
His voice is cracked and small and cuts Yeonjun right down the middle.
“I— only for a second,” Yeonjun says. “I just need to cool down. I’ll be right b—”
“No.” Beomgyu shifts up onto his elbows. His voice shakes, but his eyes are suddenly wide, scared. “Don’t go. Please, Yeonjun— please don’t leave me.”
Yeonjun’s chest caves in.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm. Gentle. “This isn’t really you talking, Beomgyu. It’s your heat. You don’t want—”
“I do,” Beomgyu chokes. His body trembles. “I— I want you with me. I need—” His fingers claw at the sheets like he’s holding back a wave. “It— It hurts.”
Yeonjun’s hands tremble at his sides.
Every instinct inside him screams to go to Beomgyu. To comfort. To protect. To hold.
But he can’t. Not like this.
Not when he’s lying about who he is.
Not when Beomgyu is aching for the presence of an alpha and doesn’t know Yeonjun is one.
Beomgyu suddenly sits up— barely. Reaches out. His fingers catch Yeonjun’s wrist. “Just— lie down. You don’t have to do anything. Just be close. Please.”
“Beomgyu—”
“I trust you.”
Yeonjun’s breath stutters.
That’s the part that breaks him.
Not the scent. Not the soft pleading. Not even the desperate, heat-heavy tremble in Beomgyu’s voice. It’s the trust.
And so Yeonjun folds. He shouldn’t but— god— he’s so stupid for Beomgyu.
Slowly, like he’s lowering himself into a fire, he steps closer and perches on the edge of the bed. Beomgyu immediately reaches out again, tugging weakly at his hoodie sleeve, trying to pull him closer.
“Okay,” Yeonjun whispers. “I’m here. But we’re not doing anything, okay? Just rest.”
Beomgyu nods frantically, lashes fluttering.
So Yeonjun carefully lies down beside him— on top of the covers, body stiff as stone, arms folded tightly across his chest like restraint can keep him in check.
Beomgyu immediately presses into his side.
His body finds Yeonjun’s like he’s drawn to him. His forehead presses into Yeonjun’s shoulder. One hand curls loosely into the front of Yeonjun’s shirt.
His breath hitches. Soft. Shaky. Then steadies.
Like he’s finally found the one place he can breathe.
Yeonjun just lies there, unmoving, every muscle locked in place.
His pulse hammers in his ears. The scent is overwhelming now, Beomgyu’s heat clinging to him like a second skin.
But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch.
He lies there and lets the omega cling to him, lets Beomgyu’s body find comfort in his presence, and swears— swears— he won’t give in.
Not until Beomgyu knows the truth. Not until he can say yes with a clear mind. Not until Yeonjun is someone safe.
He turns his head slightly. Watches Beomgyu sigh softly in sleep, mouth parted, cheeks still warm.
“God,” Yeonjun whispers, eyes burning. “I’m so sorry.”
— —
BEOMGYU 🧸
Everything is warm. Too warm.
His skin, the sheets, the air. His bones feel heavy, like he’s sinking into something soft and endless. He’s half-awake, half-dreaming, wrapped in a thick cocoon of scent and sensation and need.
And he’s here.
Yeonjun.
Beomgyu can feel the weight of him just inches away— solid and unmoving, lying stiffly beside him like a statue made of restraint. But his scent… his scent is so close. And it’s so good. Oceans and coconuts— soothing.
Beomgyu breathes it in like oxygen. It’s the only thing keeping him tethered to his own body.
Yeonjun’s scent isn’t like other omegas. It never has been. It’s deeper. Sharper. Something that makes Beomgyu’s instincts ache in a way he’s never understood. It shouldn’t affect him like this— shouldn’t make his gut twist and his skin burn— but it does. And now, with his heat crawling up his spine like fire, his body is responding without permission.
He turns his head against Yeonjun’s shoulder. Just barely.
Breathes him in.
Yeonjun flinches.
Beomgyu doesn’t know why that makes something in his chest hurt.
Why does Yeonjun feel so far away, even though he’s right here?
He shifts closer— just a little. His fingers curl into Yeonjun’s hoodie like a lifeline. He presses his nose against the fabric and breathes deeper. A low, broken sound escapes his throat before he can stop it.
Want.
That’s the word that loops through his brain like a prayer. A mantra.
Want want want want want—
But why?
They’re best friends. He’s always liked Yeonjun, been slowly falling— but not like this. Not this desperate ache in his stomach, not this fluttering heat beneath his skin, not this instinctive pull like his body is trying to fold itself around him.
He doesn’t understand it.
He doesn’t want to feel it— he just does.
His thighs rub together. Everything hurts in a way that isn’t pain, just pressure and craving and tension with nowhere to go. His heart won’t stop racing. His mouth is dry. And every time Yeonjun shifts or breathes or so much as exists, it sends a ripple down Beomgyu’s spine.
“Yeonjun,” he whispers.
Yeonjun doesn’t respond. But Beomgyu feels the sharp intake of breath. Feels the way his body tenses.
Beomgyu turns fully onto his side, facing him. He can barely keep his eyes open, but he reaches out— trailing trembling fingers up Yeonjun’s chest, fingertips brushing the line of his jaw.
“I don’t…” he whispers, voice rough, broken. “I don’t get it. I don’t know why it has to be you.”
Yeonjun finally turns to face him. His eyes are wide, full of emotion Beomgyu doesn’t recognize.
“You’re not thinking straight,” Yeonjun says softly, but there’s a shake in his voice.
Beomgyu frowns. “But it’s you, Yeonjun. I want you close. I want—” He swallows, eyes fluttering. “Please just tell me why.”
He presses his forehead to Yeonjun’s shoulder. His whole body is trembling again. “Why do I feel like this around you? What’s wrong with me?”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Yeonjun says, almost inaudibly:
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Beomgyu doesn’t know it, but Yeonjun is falling apart beside him. Fighting every instinct that tells him to hold Beomgyu, kiss his forehead, scent-mark his skin, make it all better.
But Yeonjun doesn’t move.
And Beomgyu, dizzy with heat, clings to the only thing that feels safe in the burning: the body beside him, and the scent that somehow feels like home.
The heat surged through Beomgyu like a wildfire trapped beneath his skin, relentless and consuming. Every breath felt heavy, every movement draining. His body trembled, caught in a storm he couldn’t control.
Yet, despite the overwhelming haze, there was one constant— Yeonjun. Lying stiff and tense beside him, close enough that the faintest shift sent a ripple through the charged air between them.
Beomgyu’s senses, sharpened and raw from the heat, caught a scent that was different from any he had ever known from Yeonjun before. It was deeper, stronger— muskier in a way that stirred something instinctual, something buried deep within.
His breath hitched as the realization settled like a weight in his chest. Oh. Yeonjun was an alpha.
The word didn’t need to be spoken aloud; his body knew it instinctively.
That scent, that presence— it anchored the chaotic fire inside Beomgyu. The unbearable pressure, the relentless craving, eased just enough to give him a fleeting moment of clarity.
Wide-eyed and trembling, Beomgyu reached out instinctively, fingertips brushing lightly against Yeonjun’s arm.
“Yeonjun,” he whispered, voice fragile with uncertainty and need.
Yeonjun’s body stiffened under his touch, and his gaze flickered away, shadows passing over his expression.
“…You’re an alpha,” Beomgyu confessed quietly, the admission barely more than a breath, yet heavy with meaning. Yeonjun’s eyes widened.
This explained a lot.
And then Beomgyu’s eyes fluttered shut.