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Chapter Text

The first day of shooting always smelled the same—like hot lights, hairspray, and nervous sweat. Crew members darted back and forth across the soundstage, wires snaking over the floor, makeup artists adjusting collars, cameras being tested. It was chaos, the kind Jeonghan thrived in. He looked perfect in the costume tailored to him, his hair styled just right, lips painted with the faintest sheen of color. He had the kind of beauty that could silence a room—except he never let it go to waste. He wielded it like a knife.

Wonwoo sat across the set, quietly flipping through his script. Serious, calm, every line committed to memory. Jeonghan liked that. Reliable people were rare in this industry. He was halfway through teasing Wonwoo about how stiff he looked when Seungkwan arrived.

Seungkwan always arrived. Not walked in, not stepped onto set—arrived. A sharp cologne announcing him before his voice did, an expensive jacket slung over his shoulders even though it was thirty degrees under the studio lamps. His assistant clung to his side, carrying his bag, his coffee, even the script Jeonghan doubted he’d opened.

The makeup artist fixing Jeonghan’s eyeliner muttered, “He’s late again.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jeonghan purred, loud enough for the entire set, “time bends for people with the right family name. Haven’t you heard?”

A ripple of chuckles spread across the crew. Seungkwan stopped dead, lowered his sunglasses, and fixed Jeonghan with a glare that would have burned through weaker skin.

“Good afternoon, sunbae,” Seungkwan said smoothly, though his knuckles were tight around his coffee cup.

Jeonghan smiled back, cruel and sweet. “Afternoon, indeed. How considerate of you to join us while the rest of us peasants sweat for our paychecks.”

Even Wonwoo glanced up then, eyes flicking between them. He didn’t say a word, but his faint exhale carried here we go again.

During rehearsal, Seungkwan fumbled a line. Not badly, but just enough. The director called for another take, and Jeonghan, who stood opposite him in the scene, tilted his head with that dangerous half-smile.

“Villains usually know their lines, sweetheart,” he whispered between takes, just enough for Seungkwan to hear. “Try again. With feeling this time.”

Seungkwan’s jaw clenched so hard Jeonghan almost heard his teeth grind. He spat the line back on the next take with such venom that even the director applauded.

Jeonghan smirked. “See? I should invoice your family. Apparently I’m your real acting coach.”

By the end of the day, the atmosphere around them was buzzing—crew members whispering, some laughing, some exchanging worried glances. Jeonghan was relentless, and Seungkwan gave back what he could, but everyone could feel the imbalance.

When the set finally wrapped, Wonwoo left with the director to review footage. One by one, the crew trickled out, until the cavernous soundstage was almost empty.

Jeonghan was packing up his things when he noticed Seungkwan still lingering, shoulders slumped, face scrubbed free of makeup. Without the armor of designer clothes and bravado, he looked younger. Tired. Almost lonely.

“Still here?” Jeonghan called, slinging his bag over one shoulder. His voice carried the same bite as always, but softer now, dulled by the quiet.

Seungkwan shot him a glance. “Why do you care?”

Jeonghan walked closer, stopping a few steps away. He tilted his head, studying him like he was a scene to be analyzed. “Because you looked like you were about to cry on camera earlier. And if you ruin your face, production will kill us both.”

Seungkwan scoffed, hugging his bag tighter. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Mm,” Jeonghan hummed. Then, more quietly, almost like he hated saying it: “Your delivery was better in the last half. You actually sounded dangerous. It worked.”

That made Seungkwan’s head snap up. He blinked, searching Jeonghan’s expression. For once, there was no smirk, no mockery. Just something unreadable in the low light.

“…Thanks,” he muttered.

“Don’t get used to it.” Jeonghan flashed a grin, sharp again, already turning to leave. “Tomorrow, I’ll bully you twice as hard.”

And with that, he vanished through the studio doors, leaving Seungkwan standing there, lips pressed tight, heart beating faster than he wanted to admit.

Chapter Text

The days blurred together, but Jeonghan never lost his spark. Between takes, he always had something sharp for Boo Seungkwan.

On day three, when Seungkwan tripped over his line, Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “Maybe next time your daddy should buy you a teleprompter.”

Day five, when Seungkwan arrived late with coffee in hand, Jeonghan’s voice sliced across the soundstage: “Careful, the villain’s evil plan might melt in that latte before you even open your script.”

Even when Seungkwan managed to nail his scenes, Jeonghan would lean close just before cameras rolled and whisper, “Try not to look like you’re acting. Oh wait—pretending is all you’re good at, isn’t it?”

The crew pretended to ignore it, but everyone knew. Jeonghan hated chaebol kids, hated the way they treated the world like a toy store. He’d seen too many of them stroll into the industry with blank checks and family connections, walking away with roles that hungry, talented actors would’ve killed for. Worse, he’d seen the rumors come true—that if you couldn’t buy talent, you could always buy someone’s body. A role for a night. A career for a handful of lies.

So every time Jeonghan looked at Seungkwan—with his tailored clothes, his careless posture, the smugness he wore like perfume—it twisted something ugly inside him.

Seungkwan tried to take it. At first. He fought back with sarcasm when he could, rolled his eyes when he couldn’t. But Jeonghan never let up. It wasn’t just teasing anymore. It was relentless, like Jeonghan wanted to carve him open and prove something nasty hiding inside.

By the second week of filming, Seungkwan had had enough.

It happened after a long day, the scene where the villain confronted the hero. The air was thick with tension already, but off-camera Jeonghan’s words were knives:

“You know why they cast you, right? Not because you’re good. Because you’re rich. Because you can afford to fail a hundred times, and someone will still pick you up. People like you never fall. People like me—we bleed for every step.”

The words stuck deeper than usual. Seungkwan’s hands shook when he peeled off his costume, face pale with anger he couldn’t swallow down.

That night, in the backseat of his car, he pulled out his phone and scrolled to the contact he never used unless things were serious. His older cousin. The one the industry whispered about—the young heir of a chaebol empire, the kind of man who could ruin a person’s career with one phone call.

“Hyung,” Seungkwan said when the line clicked. His voice cracked despite himself. “I need you to… teach someone a lesson.”

“Who?” Choi Seungcheol’s voice was calm, steady. Dangerous.

There was a pause. Seungkwan’s pride wavered, but his fury carried him forward. “Yoon Jeonghan. He won’t stop humiliating me.”

For a moment, silence stretched on the line. Then a low hum, thoughtful and amused.

“Jeonghan, huh? The pretty actor?” Seungcheol chuckled, low and dangerous. “Alright, Kwan-ah. I’ll take care of it. Leave it to me.”

And Seungkwan leaned back into the leather seat, chest still heaving, lips pressed tight—but for the first time since filming began, he smiled.

Because if Jeonghan wanted a war with chaebols—he was about to get it.

Chapter Text

The shoot dragged late into the evening. By the time the last scene wrapped, the sky outside was already dark, the studio lights glaring too bright on tired eyes. The crew scattered fast—rushing home, craving food and rest. Wonwoo was the first to slip out, quiet as always, leaving Jeonghan and Seungkwan still peeling off costumes in the dressing rooms.

Jeonghan stepped outside with his bag slung carelessly over his shoulder, his hair slightly mussed from the wig he’d worn, lips still stained with makeup. The night air was cool, carrying the faint hum of traffic.

And waiting by the curb, leaning against a sleek black car, was Choi Seungcheol.

He looked every inch the young heir—expensive suit tailored sharp against broad shoulders, watch gleaming under the streetlight, presence heavy enough to make passersby lower their eyes without knowing why. One of his men stood a few paces back, but Seungcheol’s gaze was fixed only on the actor walking out.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” he called, voice smooth, deep, carrying.

Jeonghan stopped, one eyebrow lifting. His tone was lazy, but his eyes glittered sharp. “And you are?”

Seungkwan appeared a beat later, jogging out, his steps slowing when he saw his cousin waiting. Relief flickered over his face. “Hyung…”

Seungcheol pushed off the car, strolling forward with the confidence of someone who owned the ground he walked on. He stopped just close enough to make his presence press heavy.

“I’ve been hearing,” Seungcheol said, voice low and cold, “that you’ve made a habit of mocking my cousin. Is that how you treat your colleagues? Or do you only enjoy stepping on people you think can’t fight back?”

The air grew tense. Seungkwan’s chin lifted, satisfied, expecting Jeonghan to pale, to stammer.

But Jeonghan only smiled. A slow, wicked curve of his lips. He tilted his head, letting the streetlight catch the flawless line of his cheekbone.

“Ah,” Jeonghan drawled, “so this is the infamous cousin. The chaebol prince himself. Sent here to scold the commoner on behalf of poor little Boo Seungkwan.”

Seungkwan sputtered, “Yah—!”

But Seungcheol froze. Just for a second. Because the sharp words didn’t hit like fear—they hit like fire. The actor’s eyes were alive, burning, his beauty cutting through the night like a blade. Jeonghan wasn’t trembling. He wasn’t bowing. He was… breathtaking.

Seungcheol’s lips twitched. A laugh threatened, but he swallowed it down, letting his mask of cold authority remain. “You’ve got quite a tongue,” he murmured, stepping closer still. “Careful with it, pretty boy. There are people in this world who could ruin you with a single word.”

Jeonghan’s gaze didn’t waver. “And there are people in this world,” he shot back, “who think power makes them gods, when really it just makes them parasites.” His eyes flicked over Seungcheol’s suit, his car, his posture. “You reek of money. And I hate that smell.”

Seungkwan’s jaw dropped. “Jeonghan—!”

But Seungcheol—Choi Seungcheol, heir to an empire, feared in boardrooms and back alleys alike—only stared. His chest tightened, an unfamiliar heat curling low in his stomach.

He had come here to intimidate, to teach Yoon Jeonghan his place.
Instead, he found himself utterly, dangerously captivated.

The corner of his mouth curved, finally letting the laugh slip free. “Interesting,” Seungcheol said softly, his voice no longer cruel but edged with something hungrier. “Very interesting.”

And Jeonghan, sharp-tongued and beautiful under the streetlights, only rolled his eyes, muttering, “Pathetic rich boys. Always the same.”

But Seungcheol’s gaze never left him. Not once.

Chapter Text

It started the very next morning.

Jeonghan arrived on set early, coffee in hand, hair tucked beneath a cap, ready to endure another long day of lights and retakes. The crew was buzzing, unpacking equipment, setting props—when a ripple of whispers broke out.

“Isn’t that—?”
“Wait, why is he here?”
“Holy shit, that’s Choi Seungcheol.”

Jeonghan looked up from his phone. And there he was—broad shoulders wrapped in a crisp white shirt, sunglasses pushing back his hair, that aura of money and danger hanging off him like a tailored coat.

He didn’t belong on a film set. He belonged in a boardroom, in some high-rise office tower. But there he was, striding casually among cameras and staff like he owned the place.

“What the hell…” Jeonghan muttered, brows knitting.

Wonwoo glanced up from his script. “Friend of yours?”

“Over my dead body,” Jeonghan snapped, just as Seungcheol’s gaze locked on him across the room.

The heir smiled—slow, lazy, sharp. And walked straight over.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” Seungcheol greeted smoothly, ignoring everyone else as if they were background extras in a drama. “Didn’t expect to see me so soon, did you?”

Jeonghan crossed his arms. “You’re right. I expected you never. What are you doing here, prince? Slumming it?”

Seungkwan, lurking behind, muttered under his breath, “Hyung, maybe don’t—”

But Seungcheol cut him off, his eyes never leaving Jeonghan’s. “I thought I’d observe. See this world my cousin works in. And maybe…” His lips curved. “…remind certain actors that cruel tongues have consequences.”

Jeonghan’s laugh was sharp, musical. “Oh, I see. You’re still playing ‘big bad heir,’ trying to scare me. Cute. But here’s a tip—your power games don’t work on people who don’t want your money.”

The crew collectively sucked in a breath. No one talked to Choi Seungcheol like that.

But instead of exploding, Seungcheol only leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You’re bold. I like that.”

Jeonghan’s jaw clenched, but his face stayed perfectly composed. He shoved past him with a roll of his shoulder, muttering, “Go play king somewhere else.”

⸻

That was supposed to be it. Jeonghan thought he’d scared him off.
But then—Seungcheol came back.

Day after day, he showed up on set. Sometimes in a suit straight from a meeting, sometimes more casual, but always with that same heavy presence. Sometimes he’d watch quietly from the shadows, sometimes he’d stroll in with coffee for everyone—just so he could personally hand Jeonghan a cup with a sly, “For my favorite actor.”

When the director praised Jeonghan, Seungcheol smirked like it was his victory. When Jeonghan argued with him, his eyes lit up like someone had just given him oxygen.

He told himself it was about pride, about teaching Jeonghan a lesson. But deep down, he knew the truth: he was obsessed.

And Jeonghan hated it.

“Why are you here again?” Jeonghan snapped one evening, cornering Seungcheol near the trailers. “Do you have nothing better to do than haunt my workplace like some rich stalker?”

Seungcheol leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms. “Lesson’s not over yet.” His grin was wicked, but his eyes betrayed him—bright, alive, drinking Jeonghan in. “Besides… it’s entertaining. Watching you fight me with that pretty mouth.”

Jeonghan’s breath caught for a second—but he covered it with a glare sharp enough to cut. “Disgusting. Find someone else to torment, chaebol prince.”

Seungcheol chuckled low, leaning closer until his voice brushed Jeonghan’s ear. “Oh no. I’ve already found the one I want.”

And Jeonghan, heart hammering despite himself, shoved him back with a hiss. “Pathetic.”

But later that night, lying awake, Jeonghan hated himself most of all—because his chest still burned where Seungcheol’s words had lingered.

Chapter Text

It began with little things.

The first time, Jeonghan went to his favorite café—the quiet one tucked in an alley, the one he used to escape the chaos of set. He ordered his usual, turned to claim his favorite corner seat—only to see a man in a crisp suit already there, sipping black coffee like he’d been born with it in hand.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Seungcheol looked up, smile slow, dangerous, amused. “Oh? Didn’t know this was your café.” He gestured to the chair opposite. “Sit. Or are you going to run every time you see me?”

Jeonghan’s lips curled. “Don’t flatter yourself, prince. I was here first. Years before you bought your way in.”

Seungcheol tilted his head, his grin widening. “Ah. You heard.”

Jeonghan froze. “You—”

“I bought the place yesterday,” Seungcheol said casually, as if he were talking about picking up a new tie. “Thought I’d diversify my portfolio. Imagine my surprise when I learned my favorite actor frequents here. Fate, don’t you think?”

Jeonghan wanted to hurl his latte in his face. Instead, he sat, chin high, eyes sparking with fury. This man is insane.

⸻

Then there were the cars.

On rainy nights, when filming wrapped late and taxis were scarce, Jeonghan would step outside only to find a sleek black sedan waiting. The driver would bow, “Mr. Choi sent me,” and before Jeonghan could argue, Seungkwan would appear, tugging him along.

“Just get in, hyung. It’s pouring.”

And so Jeonghan found himself pressed into leather seats, Seungkwan chattering from the other side, while Seungcheol lounged beside him like a predator at ease.

“Comfortable?” Seungcheol asked one night, the rain hammering against the windows. His voice carried just enough edge for Seungkwan’s benefit. “Don’t say I never take care of my actors.”

Jeonghan shot him a glare. “I don’t need your care. Or your car. Or anything you own.”

“Really?” Seungcheol leaned closer, his breath brushing Jeonghan’s ear so Seungkwan couldn’t hear. His voice dropped, low and velvet. “Because you look good sitting next to me. Like you belong here.”

Jeonghan stiffened, shoving him back with a hiss. “Disgusting.”

Seungcheol only smiled, sharp and amused. In front of Seungkwan, he leaned back, voice cold again. “Remember, Yoon Jeonghan—you started this game. Don’t blame me when you lose.”

But in the shadows of the car, when Seungkwan looked away, Seungcheol’s hand brushed the seat between them, just close enough to graze Jeonghan’s coat. A whisper only he could hear: “You drive me insane, pretty boy.”

Jeonghan’s chest burned—and he hated it.

⸻

The more Seungcheol pushed into his life, the more the lines blurred. Was it punishment? Or pursuit?

One night, as the rain softened to a drizzle, Seungkwan dozed off in the backseat after a long shoot. The car was quiet except for the hum of the tires on wet pavement.

Seungcheol’s hand rested on the center console, fingers brushing Jeonghan’s without touching. His voice was soft, stripped of arrogance, almost raw.

“You really hate me that much?”

Jeonghan turned his face toward the window, refusing to look at him. “I hate everything you stand for.”

Silence stretched, heavy. Then Seungcheol’s chuckle broke it, low and warm. “Good. Hate me all you want. As long as you keep looking at me with those eyes.”

Jeonghan shut his own eyes tight, heart hammering, silently cursing the rain for trapping him in this car, with him.

And Seungcheol, hidden in the dark, smiled like a man falling deeper into something he couldn’t control.

Chapter Text

By the third week of filming, everyone on set had noticed.

It started with the flowers. Not the cheap kind, not even the standard congratulatory bouquets actors sometimes received—no, these were extravagant, almost ridiculous arrangements that arrived every other morning. Lilies, orchids, roses so fresh they still smelled of rain, delivered in crystal vases with handwritten notes.

For the star who burns too bright.
To remind you someone is watching.
Keep dazzling, pretty boy.

There was never a signature. But everyone knew.

Jeonghan’s temper flared hotter each time. By the fifth delivery, he cornered the poor runner carrying the bouquet. “Send them back. I don’t care who it’s from.”

The runner stammered. “M-Mr. Choi insisted—”

“Then tell Mr. Choi to choke on his own roses,” Jeonghan snapped, storming off.

⸻

Next came the production games.

When the drama’s producer casually mentioned that their funding had been secured through a certain chaebol company, the entire cast went quiet. Wonwoo looked across the table at Jeonghan, who had gone rigid.

And when a week later, Jeonghan’s agent called, excitedly telling him that he’d been offered a role in a prestigious upcoming film—financed, of course, by the same company—Jeonghan nearly threw his phone at the wall.

“I don’t need his filthy money,” he spat, pacing his dressing room.

Wonwoo, sitting quietly with his script, finally looked up. “Jeonghan-ah…”

“What?”

“Do you know him?”

Jeonghan froze, sharp eyes flicking to Wonwoo’s calm ones. For a moment, his mask slipped, something raw flashing across his face. Then his chin lifted again, defiant. “I know his type. That’s enough.”

But Wonwoo wasn’t convinced. He’d seen the way Seungcheol’s gaze followed Jeonghan on set, the way Jeonghan’s hands shook when another bouquet arrived. It wasn’t normal.

⸻

The breaking point came on another rainy night. Shooting ran late, and by the time they wrapped, the streets were slick with water. Jeonghan stepped outside, only to see the now-familiar sleek car waiting by the curb.

Seungkwan called out, “Hyung, let’s just go together. It’s pouring.”

“No,” Jeonghan snapped. “I’d rather drown.”

Before Seungkwan could argue, Seungcheol himself emerged from the car. Dark suit, umbrella in hand, the rain bending away from him like it didn’t dare touch him. His smile was slow, predatory.

“Pretty actors shouldn’t get wet,” he said smoothly, stepping close enough to hold the umbrella over Jeonghan. “Come with me.”

Jeonghan slapped the umbrella aside, water splattering over both of them. “Stop this,” he hissed. “The flowers. The roles. The money. Do you think I’ll ever be bought?”

Seungcheol’s grin didn’t falter, though his eyes darkened. “Who said anything about buying? I’m just… making sure you don’t forget me.”

“I could never forget a parasite crawling over my life,” Jeonghan spat.

Seungkwan flinched, wide-eyed. But Seungcheol only laughed—low, dangerous, alive. He leaned in until Jeonghan could feel the warmth of his breath through the rain.

“Then hate me, Yoon Jeonghan,” Seungcheol murmured, eyes locked on him. “Hate me until you can’t breathe without thinking of me. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Jeonghan’s hands curled into fists, his entire body trembling—not from fear, but fury. “You’re pathetic,” he whispered.

But Seungcheol… Seungcheol was smiling like a man already drowning—and loving it.

Chapter Text

The set emptied later than usual, the crew yawning as they packed up equipment. Rain tapped faintly against the high windows, not yet heavy but threatening. Jeonghan lingered to peel off his costume, muttering curses under his breath about long nights and longer rewrites.

When he stepped out into the hall, Seungcheol was there.

Not outside in his car. Not waiting in the shadows. Standing right there against the wall, hands in his pockets, watching him. Like he’d been waiting the whole time.

Jeonghan froze, his eyes narrowing. “Do you even have a life, or is haunting me your full-time job now?”

Seungcheol smiled, slow and devastating. “I like my new job.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes, brushing past him. “You’re disgusting.”

But Seungcheol fell into step beside him, unbothered. “Disgusting, maybe. Persistent, definitely. You’ll thank me one day.”

Jeonghan snorted. “The day I thank a chaebol is the day I eat my own script.”

⸻

It became routine. Wherever Jeonghan went, Seungcheol somehow appeared.

At the café, he’d slide into the seat opposite without asking, murmuring, “Your frown looks good in the morning.”

On set, he’d stroll in with coffee, handing one to Jeonghan with a sly grin. “Fuel for my favorite enemy.”

In the car, with Seungkwan between them, Seungcheol would act cold, detached—lecturing Jeonghan about “respect” or “manners.” But the second Seungkwan dozed off or pulled out his phone, Seungcheol’s voice dropped lower, intimate.

“You looked beautiful in that scene today.”
“Every time you glare at me, it feels like a gift.”
“Tell me, pretty boy… how much longer can you keep hating me before it burns you alive?”

Jeonghan’s answers were always sharp. “You’re pathetic.” “Keep dreaming.” “Touch me and I’ll break your hand.”

But Seungcheol never stopped smiling.

⸻

One night, the rain came down hard, and the three of them ended up in the same car again. Seungkwan sighed, slumping in his seat, clearly exhausted.

“Hyung,” he mumbled to Seungcheol, “aren’t you… taking this too far? I asked you to scare him, not…” He trailed off, waving vaguely between them. “This looks like… I don’t know… courting.”

Jeonghan barked a laugh. “Courting? Please. This man couldn’t court someone if he tried. All he knows is throwing money around and acting like the world owes him.”

But Seungcheol only leaned back, smirk curling, gaze never leaving Jeonghan. “Courting, scaring… call it whatever you want. The result will be the same. You’ll end up mine.”

Seungkwan’s eyes went wide. “What—?!”

Jeonghan snapped, “In your dreams."

And Seungcheol’s laugh filled the car—low, warm, almost dangerous. “Every dream I’ve had lately has been about you, pretty boy.”

Jeonghan’s stomach twisted, fury rising like fire—and something else he refused to name.

Chapter Text

Yoon Jeonghan wasn’t just pretty.

He carried a kind of aura that made rooms shift the moment he entered. A calm storm, a silken blade. People noticed him without meaning to—the sweep of his hair catching studio lights, the lazy confidence in the way he leaned against a wall, the curve of his smile that promised cruelty as much as charm.

He smelled faintly of white musk and bergamot, sharp citrus that faded into a lingering sweetness. Not overpowering. Just enough that when he passed, the scent lingered like a question you couldn’t stop thinking about.

His clothes were never loud, but always deliberate. Loose shirts in cream or pearl gray, paired with slim trousers that lengthened his already elegant frame. Sometimes he layered gold chains at his throat, simple and thin, but they caught light in a way that made it impossible not to stare at his collarbones. Rings—always silver, sometimes chunky, sometimes thin bands stacked carelessly—adorned his hands. His nails were neat, polished clear.

There was always something slightly untouchable about him. He wasn’t dressed like a chaebol’s son or a desperate rookie chasing fame. Jeonghan dressed like someone who lived in his own story, ethereal and aloof, the kind of man who could break your heart with a single bored glance.

And he moved with ease. Even his boredom looked expensive.

⸻

Seungcheol noticed it all.

At first, he told himself it was for strategy. If he wanted to crush the sharp-tongued actor, he needed to know how he operated, what gave him that aura that even Seungkwan complained about after long days on set.

But it wasn’t strategy anymore. It was fascination. Obsession.

He learned Jeonghan’s perfume brand by “coincidentally” brushing against his coat one evening, then sent someone to buy every bottle from the boutique downtown.

He memorized Jeonghan’s wardrobe choices—how his palette leaned soft, how his jewelry was more whisper than scream. Seungcheol even had a tailor commission suits in shades he thought would complement Jeonghan, just in case he could force him into a dinner one day.

He found out Jeonghan liked to sketch in the quiet corners of set breaks—little doodles on napkins, script margins, anything. He liked feeding stray cats, often slipping out after rehearsals with bits of food in hand. He drank iced americanos even in winter, his pale fingers wrapped around cold plastic cups like it didn’t bother him at all.

And Jeonghan’s hobbies… Seungcheol dug deeper. Reading late-night poetry anthologies, lingering in used bookstores. Gardening on his apartment balcony—rosemary, lavender, climbing vines. A secret hobby, quiet and tender, tucked beneath his sharp tongue.

The more Seungcheol discovered, the harder he fell.

Because every detail was contradiction: sharp tongue but soft hobbies, cruel words but gentle hands that stroked stray cats, aloof presence but perfume that lingered warmly.

And when Seungcheol leaned close enough in private moments, he’d inhale deeply, greedily, and think—
This scent will ruin me. This man will ruin me.

Chapter Text

It was late, one of those long nights when the crew was tearing down set while the actors waited to be dismissed. Jeonghan was curled in a chair by the corner, flipping through a small, battered poetry book he thought no one ever noticed. His legs crossed elegantly, one hand turning pages, the other absently tapping against his thigh.

Seungkwan was in the makeup room still arguing with his stylist, so for once it was just Jeonghan and Seungcheol, the quiet heavy between them.

Seungcheol leaned against the wall across from him, arms folded. He looked casual, but his eyes had been fixed on Jeonghan far too long.

“What are you reading?” Seungcheol finally asked.

Jeonghan didn’t bother looking up. “Not something you’d understand.” His voice was airy, cutting, dismissive.

But Seungcheol pushed, because he always pushed. “Try me.”

Jeonghan sighed, snapped the book closed, and stood. “Why don’t you go threaten a stock market instead of wasting my time?”

But Seungcheol’s gaze dropped to the slim spine of the book before Jeonghan could slide it into his bag. And then, without thinking, the words slipped out of him.

“I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets…”

The poem hung in the air, thick and heavy.

Jeonghan froze. His head whipped around so fast his hair caught the light, his eyes sharp, wide. “…How the hell do you know that line?”

Seungcheol straightened, unbothered, but there was a faint curl of a smile tugging at his lips. “Pablo Neruda. Sonnet XI.” His tone was low, deliberate.

Jeonghan’s throat went dry. He hadn’t shown anyone that book. He hadn’t even read that page aloud. It was his private ritual during breaks, something no one ever paid attention to.

“Are you—” his voice came out unsteady, and that made him furious, so he bit harder, sharper— “are you stalking me?”

Seungcheol only smirked, pushing off the wall, closing the space between them step by slow step. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just happen to notice things.” His gaze lingered, deliberate, burning. “Like the perfume you wear. White musk, bergamot, little bit of cedar in the base. Same one you had on the first day we met.”

Jeonghan’s stomach twisted. He wanted to scoff, to spit something cruel, but his voice caught in his throat at the sheer precision of it.

No one else knew. Not Wonwoo, not Seungkwan, not even his manager.

And here was Choi Seungcheol, heir to an empire, quoting his poems and describing his perfume like a lover.

Jeonghan’s lips finally curled into a shaky smile, but it was all venom. “You’re insane.”

Seungcheol leaned down just enough that Jeonghan could smell the faint spice of his cologne, his voice a low purr against his ear.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But only for you.”

Chapter Text

The drama wrapped with the usual chaos—closing party, interviews, the glittering press conference that made Jeonghan smile just enough for cameras before slipping away early. He didn’t linger like the others, didn’t exchange numbers with staff he knew he’d never call.

When it was done, it was done.

Back home, his apartment was his sanctuary. High windows, pale curtains that caught the afternoon light, shelves lined with books and vinyls instead of trophies. His awards were shoved in a corner cabinet, gathering dust—his manager always nagged him to display them, but Jeonghan didn’t like staring at things that reminded him of the industry.

He liked mornings quiet, making pour-over coffee in his kitchen, the sharp bitterness filling the room. Afternoons, he sometimes wandered into a small independent bookstore two blocks away, where the owner saved him first editions and rare poetry collections. Other times, he lingered in his favorite café, always the same corner table, notebook open but rarely used—just watching the rain slide down the glass or the way strangers moved through life.

He wore soft cashmere sweaters, wide slacks, simple jewelry: a silver ring on his thumb, thin chains that shimmered against his collarbone, always mismatched earrings. His perfume—a clean musk with citrus edges—clung faintly to his scarves and pillowcases. His aura was ethereal, untouchable, like he belonged more to some dream than the city outside.

For a few weeks, it was bliss.

He spent late nights lying on his couch, a glass of wine in hand, flipping through poetry or sketching lazy outlines of flowers in his notebook. He let himself breathe, unobserved.

But sometimes, when he walked out of the bookstore and saw a sleek black car idling at the curb—or when a bouquet of white lilies showed up at his door with no sender’s name—he felt his stomach twist.

Because peace never lasted long.

Chapter Text

The invitation had seemed routine. A dinner with potential investors, a director whispering about a new project—it was normal enough that Jeonghan hadn’t thought twice when his manager insisted he come.

But the place wasn’t a quiet restaurant. It was a high-rise club, neon pulsing against glass walls, laughter and music drowning out his unease. He hated clubs. He hated the false warmth of strangers brushing too close, the sickly sweet cocktails pressed into his hand.

Still, his manager’s greedy smile had been unshakable. Just be polite, Jeonghan. Smile, drink a little, it’ll open doors.

So Jeonghan drank. Slowly, cautiously. Until halfway through his second glass, his body betrayed him.

The edges of his vision blurred, his skin flushed too fast, too hot. His pulse skittered out of rhythm. A wrong kind of heat coiled low in his belly, sharp and overwhelming, like fire licking through his veins.

Someone was speaking beside him—an older man in a suit, voice dripping false sweetness—but the words melted into static. He realized, too late, what had been done.

Drugged.

His hand slipped on the table as he pushed himself up. Panic surged through him, raw and choking. He shoved past the circle of men, ignoring their laughter, ignoring the way one reached for his wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” Jeonghan snarled, his voice cracking, and staggered toward the exit. His legs felt like lead, his breath shallow, but pride forced him upright. If he could just reach the door—

A hand caught him. Not the leering grip of a stranger, but firm, steady, grounding.

“Yoon Jeonghan.”

The voice cut through the noise like a blade. Low, controlled, commanding.

Jeonghan blinked up, vision swimming, and there he was—Choi Seungcheol, immaculately dressed, eyes dark with fury.

Before Jeonghan could spit a curse, Seungcheol’s arm was around his waist, pulling him against a broad chest. “You idiots drugged him?” His voice thundered through the room, cold enough to silence the laughter. “Do you have a death wish?”

No one answered. No one dared.

Seungcheol didn’t wait. He swept Jeonghan up, ignoring his weak protests, and strode out of the club as if he owned the building—which, Jeonghan thought dimly, he very well might.

The city lights blurred past the car windows as Seungcheol barked orders into his phone, but Jeonghan couldn’t focus. The drug was burning, twisting through him, dragging a haze of forced heat he couldn’t fight.

By the time they reached the penthouse, his body was trembling, skin slick with sweat, breath short and shallow.

Seungcheol carried him straight to the bedroom, laying him down on cool sheets. Jeonghan clutched at his wrist, nails digging in. “D-don’t—don’t touch me,” he rasped, pride still bleeding through even as his body shook.

Seungcheol knelt beside the bed, his jaw tight. For once, the mask of arrogance was gone. He brushed damp hair back from Jeonghan’s forehead with surprising gentleness.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly. “Not like them.” His gaze softened, but his voice stayed steady. “But you need help getting through this.”

Jeonghan turned his face away, ashamed at the heat clawing under his skin, at the way his body betrayed him. “I hate you,” he whispered, though his voice trembled more than he meant it to.

Seungcheol only smiled faintly, almost bitter. “Then hate me while I keep you safe.”

And for the first time, Jeonghan realized—he wasn’t sure if Seungcheol was his captor or his savior.

Chapter Text

The night stretched endlessly.

Jeonghan tossed and writhed against the sheets, the silk damp under his skin. His body was burning, feverish, every nerve raw with the drug’s cruel fire. He clawed at his own shirt, pulling it open, desperate for air, for relief, for something.

Seungcheol sat at the edge of the bed, a shadow against the dim city lights streaming in from the glass walls. His jaw was locked, hands fisted tight in his lap, as though it took everything in him not to reach.

“Seungcheol…” Jeonghan’s voice cracked, hoarse, needy against his will. His lashes trembled, sweat clinging to his temples. “It hurts—”

The sound tore something out of Seungcheol. He exhaled sharply, leaned forward, and cupped Jeonghan’s flushed cheek.

“I told you,” he murmured, softer than Jeonghan had ever heard him, “I won’t let them break you. But I can’t stand here and do nothing.”

Jeonghan’s pupils were blown wide, lips parted. His pride tried to twist into a retort—I don’t need you, I hate you, get away—but another wave of heat rolled through him, ripping the words to pieces. He arched helplessly, a soft whimper breaking free.

Seungcheol cursed under his breath. And then he bent.

The first brush of lips at the inside of Jeonghan’s thigh made him jolt. Seungcheol’s hands were firm, pinning his hips when he tried to twist away. “Stay still, Jeonghan,” he commanded, but his voice was ragged, nearly pleading.

And then his mouth was on him.

Hot, wet, unrelenting—Seungcheol licked into him, tongue greedy and desperate, drinking down the slick that leaked out in waves. Jeonghan gasped, head thrown back, one hand tangling in Seungcheol’s hair without realizing it. The drug made everything sharper, every sensation a cruel rush, and Seungcheol’s tongue was merciless.

“Cheol—ah—” Jeonghan’s voice broke, shuddering. “S-stop—don’t—” but his body betrayed him, hips rocking against Seungcheol’s mouth, thighs trembling.

Seungcheol groaned low in his chest, fingers tightening as though the taste alone was driving him mad. He pushed deeper, tongue curling, lips sealing to suck until Jeonghan was keening, helpless under the heat.

When Seungcheol finally pulled back, his mouth was slick, his eyes dark, ruined with hunger. He kissed Jeonghan’s trembling thigh and pressed two fingers in instead, slow, careful, stretching him gently.

Jeonghan cried out, the intrusion sharp but grounding, and Seungcheol swallowed hard.

“I want you so badly it’s killing me,” he confessed against Jeonghan’s skin, voice raw, “but not like this. Not when you can’t choose me.”

Jeonghan could barely hear him over the pounding of his own pulse. All he knew was the relentless stretch, the tongue, the fire eating him alive—and Seungcheol’s voice, low and steady, pulling him back every time the haze threatened to swallow him.

By the time Jeonghan finally shattered, sobbing against the sheets, Seungcheol was shaking too, his own arousal straining painfully untouched. But he never went further. He held Jeonghan through the aftershocks, whispering into his damp hair.

___
The slick sounds filled the room, obscene in the silence of Seungcheol’s penthouse. He had meant to stop here, to keep himself restrained—but then Jeonghan, sweat-soaked and trembling, straddled his lap.

“Jeonghan—” his voice cracked, fingers biting into the actor’s slim waist. “Don’t—don’t do this unless you mean it.”

But Jeonghan’s eyes were hazy, pupils blown wide, lips swollen red. He looked wrecked and perfect, like something fragile and untouchable pulled down into ruin. “Shut up,” he whispered, the sharp edge of his usual tongue softened by the heat consuming him. “If you’re going to ruin me—then ruin me.”

And then he sank down.

Seungcheol’s vision went white. His head slammed back against the headboard as Jeonghan’s body gripped him, hot, unbearable, so wet he thought he’d lose his mind. He almost came right then, but the sight of Jeonghan above him—arched throat, hair clinging to flushed skin, hands braced on Seungcheol’s chest—held him on the edge, burning.

“Fuck, look at you,” Seungcheol groaned, sliding a hand up to Jeonghan’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

Jeonghan shuddered, breath breaking as he rocked down harder, chasing relief. His nails scraped Seungcheol’s chest, leaving red marks. “Shut up and—ah—move.”

Seungcheol did. He thrust up, brutal, nearly lifting Jeonghan off the bed. Jeonghan cried out, the sound tearing from his throat, but instead of stopping, he rolled his hips down harder, desperate, reckless.

The rhythm turned messy fast, nothing but slick skin and fever. Seungcheol’s control unraveled with every bounce of Jeonghan’s hips, every broken sound that spilled from his mouth. His hands couldn’t stay still—gripping Jeonghan’s thighs, his waist, sliding up his spine, desperate to keep him there.

“Two days,” Seungcheol growled, voice rough, forehead pressing to Jeonghan’s shoulder as he fucked up into him. “I won’t let you leave this bed for two fucking days.”

Jeonghan laughed breathlessly, half a sob, half a moan. “Y-you think I can—hah—walk after this?”

That pushed Seungcheol over the edge. He flipped them, pressing Jeonghan down into the soaked sheets, driving into him over and over until Jeonghan was clinging, nails digging into his back, legs wrapped tight around his waist.

They didn’t stop. Not when Jeonghan came again, sobbing into Seungcheol’s throat. Not when Seungcheol followed, shuddering, grinding deep inside him. They collapsed, trembling, only to start again minutes later—kisses turning into bites, touches turning into demands.

By the second day, the penthouse was wrecked: sheets ruined, windows fogged, the air thick with sweat and sex and Jeonghan’s sweet perfume gone feral on his skin. Seungcheol fed him water between rounds, kissed every part of him, worshipped and devoured him all at once.

And Jeonghan—despite hating himself for it—stayed. His body betrayed him, clinging, opening, craving Seungcheol until there was nothing left but the bond burning between them.

Seungcheol had wanted to teach him a lesson.
Instead, he was the one undone—utterly, helplessly bound to the beautiful, sharp-tongued actor who had just ruined him for anyone else.

Chapter Text

The room reeked of sex and sweat. Sheets clung damp against his skin, twisted around his legs like restraints. Jeonghan stirred, head pounding, body aching in ways he hadn’t felt in years. Every muscle throbbed with the reminder of what they had done—what he had done.

When his eyes finally opened, the late afternoon sun bled through the blinds. A quiet hum of the city floated outside the penthouse windows. Inside, silence—except for the sound of slow, steady breathing beside him.

Seungcheol.

Jeonghan froze. The man was sprawled half against the pillows, dark hair messy, chest bare, one arm possessively heavy across Jeonghan’s waist. He looked nothing like the terrifying chaebol heir the media painted—he looked… undone. Peaceful, even.

And Jeonghan hated him for it.

The memories hit in waves—his own voice begging, his body riding until his throat was raw, Seungcheol whispering promises into his skin. The sound of slick, the taste of him, the heat so overwhelming that Jeonghan had let go.

A flush of humiliation scorched him. He’d given in. To Seungcheol, of all people.

Careful, he tried to shift the arm off his waist, easing out of the sheets. His legs trembled as soon as he stood, the ache between them sharp and humiliating. He staggered toward the bathroom, grabbing at his discarded clothes on the way, desperate to cover himself. To breathe. To run.

But Seungcheol’s voice caught him.

“Where are you going, angel?”

Jeonghan flinched. He turned. Seungcheol hadn’t moved, still half-lounging on the bed, but his eyes were awake now—dark, sharp, fixed entirely on him. That lazy smile curved his lips, dangerous in its calm.

“Don’t call me that.” Jeonghan’s voice cracked; he hated that it cracked. He tightened the shirt around his frame like a shield." those two days—they were nothing. I wasn’t myself.”

Seungcheol’s brows lifted, amused. “Nothing? You spent forty-eight hours tearing my back apart with your nails, Jeonghan.” His voice dropped, velvet and low. “You begged me to stay inside you. Again and again.”

Jeonghan’s stomach dropped. His throat tightened, rage and shame colliding until it came out sharp: “You took advantage. You knew I was drugged—”

“I knew,” Seungcheol cut him off, sitting up at last, his tone suddenly steel. “And I stopped it before anyone else could. I stayed because if I’d let you out of my sight, they would’ve eaten you alive. You think those men at the club would’ve let you go untouched?”

The words silenced Jeonghan. His heart hammered in his chest, the truth pressing too close.

Seungcheol swung his legs off the bed, standing—towering. His body was bruised, scratched, marked by Jeonghan’s own hands and teeth, but he moved with steady authority as he closed the space between them.

“You can lie to yourself all you want,” Seungcheol murmured, stopping just close enough that Jeonghan had to tilt his chin up. “Say it was the heat. Say it was the drugs. But tell me, Jeonghan—” His fingers brushed the collar of the shirt Jeonghan clutched tight, tugging lightly, his eyes locking with his. “Why are you shaking now? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jeonghan’s lips parted, but no words came. His chest burned. His scent, still faintly sweet with the afterglow of heat, betrayed him.

Seungcheol smiled, softer this time, but no less dangerous. “You can try to hide. You can even try to run.” His hand slid to the back of Jeonghan’s neck, warm and grounding. “But I’m not letting you go, angel. Not after this.”

And Jeonghan hated, more than anything, the way his body shivered under that touch.

Chapter Text

For three days after, Jeonghan shut everything down.
No calls, no texts, no answering the door. He told his manager he was sick, told the studio he needed rest, told himself it was fine. If he could just put distance between himself and that man, maybe the fire still burning under his skin would die out.

He deleted Seungcheol’s number. Blocked it. Then changed his lock screen and wallpaper so he wouldn’t be reminded of the texts he’d already memorized.

But Seungcheol didn’t call. Didn’t text.
He didn’t need to.

Because in those three days, Jeonghan’s manager suddenly vanished from the industry. Caught red-handed in a scandal so damning the press swarmed like sharks—drugging his own actor for a “business deal.” His name blacklisted overnight. The other men from the club? Quietly destroyed. Every one of them stripped of titles, contracts, families scrambling to cover up what was left of their reputations.

It should have felt like justice. Instead it felt like a warning.

By the time Jeonghan tried to find a new manager, a new agency—doors slammed in his face. No one dared touch him. Every attempt at moving forward curled back to the same source. Same shadow. Same name.

Choi Seungcheol.

The first time he saw him again, it was raining. Jeonghan had ducked into a bookstore near his apartment, hood pulled low, pretending the world didn’t know him. He’d thought himself invisible until the bell over the door rang and that heavy presence filled the space.

“Running away from me?” Seungcheol’s voice was soft, amused. Too soft.

Jeonghan froze between the shelves, spine stiff. He turned slowly, ready for sharp words—but what he found instead stopped him cold.

Seungcheol wasn’t dressed like the heir of a conglomerate. No suit, no tie. Just a dark sweater, jeans, damp hair pushed back carelessly. His hands carried two cups of coffee, one held out as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I figured you like oat milk.” His smile was crooked, casual, but his eyes burned. “You order it every morning at that café you thought I didn’t notice.”

Jeonghan’s chest tightened. He didn’t take the cup. “You—” His voice cracked, then steadied. “You destroyed my manager.”

“I protected you.” Seungcheol stepped closer, placing the cup gently on the nearest table. His movements were deliberate, almost tender. “And I don’t regret it.”

“That’s not your choice!” Jeonghan snapped, anger cutting through the confusion, the fear. “You don’t get to decide who stays in my life. You don’t own me.”

For a moment, silence. Then Seungcheol’s smile shifted, softer, almost boyish. Dangerous because of how real it looked.

“Maybe not,” he murmured. “But you’re mine, Jeonghan. You made sure of that the second you rode me until we both forgot our names.”

Jeonghan’s breath hitched. Heat flared, unbidden, shameful. He hated that his body remembered, that his scent gave him away.

Seungcheol leaned in just enough for Jeonghan to catch his cologne—dark, warm, threaded with the faintest smoke. His voice dropped, low and intimate.

“I can be cruel, if you force me to. You’ve seen it. But for you?” He reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from Jeonghan’s cheek, his touch feather-light. “For you, I’ll be sweet. I’ll be patient. I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

And Jeonghan—frozen, trembling between fury and longing—realized with a jolt of dread that this was worse than cruelty.

Because Seungcheol wasn’t threatening him anymore. He was courting him.

Chapter Text

That night, Jeonghan thought he’d shaken him off.
He didn’t argue, didn’t take the coffee, didn’t say another word—just turned on his heel, walked out of the bookstore, and let the rain swallow him whole. He told himself he’d disappear into the quiet of his apartment, curl up in the solitude he craved, shut Seungcheol out like a locked door.

But when he reached his building—Seungcheol was already there.

Leaning against the entrance, umbrella in hand, as if he’d been waiting his whole life.

“You’re following me.” Jeonghan’s voice shook with fury.

“I’m taking you home.” Seungcheol’s reply was smooth, unbothered. His umbrella tilted, covering Jeonghan too. “Get inside before you catch cold.”

The doorman bowed to Seungcheol like he’d lived here all along. Jeonghan realized too late—of course, money bought everything. Access. Permission. Even the locks that were supposed to protect him.

Inside, Jeonghan tried to slam his apartment door shut. Seungcheol’s hand caught it easily, strength casual, unyielding. He stepped inside as if he owned the place.

“You—” Jeonghan started, sharp, but Seungcheol silenced him with movement. Not words.

Because in the next heartbeat, Jeonghan’s back hit the wall.
Seungcheol’s mouth was on his.

The kiss wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t even demanding. It was devastatingly soft—slow, reverent, lips brushing like a man starved of water. And that was what broke Jeonghan most of all. That softness. That sweetness.

He shoved at Seungcheol’s chest. “You can’t just—”

“I can.” Seungcheol’s voice was low, rough now. “You shut me out for days. I won’t let you vanish again. If you want me gone, then tell me you didn’t want me inside you. Tell me you didn’t beg for me.”

Jeonghan’s throat closed. His body betrayed him with a fresh wave of slick, scent thickening the air.

Seungcheol’s smirk was wicked. “Thought so.”

⸻

They didn’t leave the apartment for the rest of the day.

Seungcheol stripped him slow, like unwrapping something fragile, expensive, meant to be treasured. He held Jeonghan down on the couch, on the bed, against the glass where the city lights bled through—taking him again and again, each time coaxing more of the heat back until Jeonghan’s sharp tongue dissolved into whimpers.

By nightfall, Jeonghan was wrecked and trembling, but Seungcheol still carried him to the shower, washed his hair, pressed kisses into his shoulders like they were already lovers. Like it was already permanent.

And when Jeonghan whispered hoarsely, “You’re insane,” Seungcheol only smiled against his skin.

“Insane for you.”

⸻

The days after blurred into something Jeonghan couldn’t quite fight against.

Lavish flowers on his doorstep. A new contract on his desk—better roles, higher pay, no effort required because Seungcheol’s name was inked in the margins. His favorite café suddenly under “new management,” and every morning his drink was already waiting before he ordered it. Clothes that fit his style, tailored exactly to his measurements, arriving with no sender’s name.

Everywhere he turned, Seungcheol was already there, inserting himself like air. Like inevitability.

Jeonghan tried to resist. He mocked, he snapped, he threw away the gifts. He told himself he hated the scent of Seungcheol’s cologne lingering in his apartment.

But every night, it ended the same.

Seungcheol’s hand in his hair.
Seungcheol’s mouth against his ear, murmuring filthy promises in that low growl.
Jeonghan on his back, on his knees, biting curses into the sheets even as he opened for him.

By morning, Seungcheol was gone again, leaving only coffee, breakfast, and a note written in clean, precise handwriting.

You’ll stop running one day. Until then—I’ll catch you every night.

Chapter Text

The days were quiet. Jeonghan’s apartment was supposed to be his sanctuary, his little slice of silence in the city. No scripts, no cameras, no chatter from sets. Just him, his books, his piano, the faint curl of incense smoke in the air.

But now, there was Seungcheol.

Seungcheol who never announced his arrival—just appeared. A shadow at the door, a weight on the couch, a presence in the kitchen like he’d always belonged there. He didn’t storm in with violence or threats. He slipped in with patience, with a predator’s patience, the way a wolf circles until the deer exhausts itself.

Every morning, Jeonghan would wake in tangled sheets, skin sore and marked, the taste of Seungcheol still lingering on his tongue. Every morning, he swore it was the last time.

And every night, his body betrayed him again.

⸻

“Get out.” Jeonghan’s voice was sharp, venom dripping from every syllable. He stood in the doorway of his own bedroom, hair mussed, eyes flashing, robe half-untied from Seungcheol’s wandering hands. “You don’t live here. I don’t want you here.”

Seungcheol only leaned against the wall, shirt undone, the faintest smirk curling his mouth. His gaze lingered shamelessly on Jeonghan’s flushed skin, the damp sheen at his thighs.

“Don’t want me?” Seungcheol’s voice was velvet over steel. He pushed off the wall, closing the distance in two strides, his hand cupping Jeonghan’s jaw. His thumb dragged over swollen lips that had just been biting down moans. “Then why were you begging to ride me ten minutes ago? Why are you still dripping for me?”

Jeonghan froze, fury clashing with the heat burning under his skin. He wanted to spit venom, to claw away that smug smile—but the scent of his own arousal in the air betrayed him worse than words ever could.

“Shut up,” he hissed, shoving at Seungcheol’s chest.

Seungcheol chuckled, catching Jeonghan’s wrist and pressing it against the wall. He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Jeonghan’s ear.

“You can curse me all you want, angel,” he murmured. “But your body loves me. You love the way I fill you, the way I hold you down. Hate me with your mouth, but open for me every night—what does that make you, hm?”

Jeonghan shivered, rage and want tangling until he couldn’t tell them apart.

⸻

Nights blurred into a rhythm, a dangerous routine neither admitted to but both indulged in.

Jeonghan would fight at first—biting words, cold stares, that vicious tongue that could slice anyone else to ribbons. But Seungcheol never flinched. He let the insults roll off him, let the scratches dig into his skin, let Jeonghan claw and curse until his voice cracked.

And then he’d touch him. Gentle at first, coaxing, patient. A kiss at the corner of his mouth. Fingers brushing the nape of his neck. The low, steady hum of “I know you, I know what you need.”

Inevitably, Jeonghan would break. His anger would melt into heat, his curses dissolve into gasps. And by the time Seungcheol had him spread open on the sheets, Jeonghan’s voice would betray him with needy whimpers, pleading without meaning to.

“Fuck you,” Jeonghan would pant, nails raking down Seungcheol’s back.

“You already are,” Seungcheol would whisper back, kissing the corner of his swollen mouth.

And Jeonghan hated how good it felt.

⸻

What scared him most wasn’t the sex. It wasn’t even Seungcheol’s obsessive presence.

It was how sweet Seungcheol could be after.

The way he carried Jeonghan to the bath, washing his hair with careful hands. The way he tucked him under blankets, pressed water to his lips, whispered things that sounded too much like devotion. The way he kissed Jeonghan’s temple in the early hours, soft and unguarded, before pulling him into another round.

Jeonghan told himself it was manipulation. That Seungcheol was cruel at his core, and this tenderness was just another tactic.

But sometimes—half-asleep, caught between dreams and the steady thrum of Seungcheol’s heartbeat—Jeonghan almost believed it.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol learned him.

At first, Jeonghan thought it was coincidence—the way Seungcheol always seemed to have tea ready just the way he liked it, or how he knew Jeonghan’s tolerance for spicy food was far lower than he ever admitted. But coincidence doesn’t stretch this far. Coincidence doesn’t explain why Seungcheol always reached for the right book when Jeonghan couldn’t sleep, or why he switched the playlist to one of Jeonghan’s quiet piano pieces before Jeonghan could even ask.

He was studying him.
Piece by piece.
And worse, he was gentle about it.

⸻

Jeonghan’s aura was soft, but laced with blades. He dressed like he wasn’t trying—linen shirts loose at the collar, silver rings catching the light when he turned pages, perfume that clung like memory: a touch of bergamot and smoke, undercut with something faintly sweet, like rain before a storm. He wore beauty like armor.

Seungcheol treated it like scripture.

The first time he murmured Jeonghan’s exact perfume name—leaning close, letting it roll off his tongue—Jeonghan froze.
“How do you know that?” His voice cracked sharper than he meant.
Seungcheol just smiled. “Because it’s you.”

The bastard didn’t even look ashamed.

⸻

It was in the small things, too.

He learned Jeonghan hated waking to sunlight in his eyes, so he started pulling the curtains shut before slipping into bed.
He learned Jeonghan hummed when he cooked, so he began quietly joining him at the counter, cutting vegetables just to hear it longer.
He learned Jeonghan’s bad moods didn’t need fixing—they needed silence. So he stopped trying to smooth them over and just sat there, an unmoving presence at his side, until Jeonghan softened on his own.

Jeonghan noticed. Of course he noticed.

And it terrified him.

⸻

Because the more Seungcheol learned, the less room Jeonghan had to run.

One night, after another heated blur of teeth and slick and tangled sheets, Jeonghan lay sprawled against him, chest heaving. His body still trembled from release, his throat raw from shouting curses and cries alike.

“Why?” Jeonghan whispered into the dark. His voice was so small he hated himself for it. “Why me?”

Seungcheol stroked his hair, his smile unseen but felt.
“Because you make it impossible not to want you,” he murmured. “Every little thing you do—you don’t even realize. You’ve already let me in, angel. I’m just… staying.”

Jeonghan wanted to bite, to claw, to push him away. But exhaustion betrayed him, and he stayed pressed against Seungcheol’s chest, hating how safe it felt.

⸻

The loop deepened.

Jeonghan said he hated him.
But Seungcheol knew the exact moment Jeonghan’s sharp words turned into invitations.
He knew the difference between get out that meant leave, and get out that meant pin me harder.
He knew when Jeonghan needed slow, aching kisses instead of rough hands.
He knew when to stop pressing, when to wait—because Jeonghan always came to him eventually, even if his pride screamed otherwise.

And each night, Seungcheol leaned down, kissed his trembling lips, and whispered:
“See? You’re mine already.”

⸻

The scariest part wasn’t Seungcheol’s obsession.
It was that Jeonghan had begun to feel it too—his own heart betraying him in the silence between the fights.

Chapter Text

Jeonghan was already too far gone—hips trembling, wrists caught against the mattress where Seungcheol pinned them down with one hand. His lips were swollen from biting down on them to muffle himself, his hair damp and messy, falling across his flushed face. The room smelled thick of sex and his perfume, cloying and intoxicating.

Seungcheol’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He didn’t even glance at Jeonghan, just reached for it lazily with his free hand, answering with a smooth drawl.

“Boo.”

Jeonghan froze at the sound of the nickname, his body arching involuntarily when Seungcheol rolled his hips in deeper, purposefully making him gasp right into Seungcheol’s shoulder.

“Hyung,” Seungkwan’s bright voice came through, a little accusing, “where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you at the tracks, not even at the club. You’ve gone ghost.”

Seungcheol smirked, shifting his hold on Jeonghan. His hand slipped from Jeonghan’s wrists down to his throat, not squeezing—just holding, claiming. He angled the phone between shoulder and ear, speaking easily even as his hips kept moving with slow, deliberate force.

“I’ve been busy,” he said, his voice steady as if he wasn’t grinding Jeonghan apart under him.

Jeonghan bit down a whimper, nails digging into Seungcheol’s shoulders. The betrayal of his body made his cheeks burn. Busy, he mouthed angrily up at him, but Seungcheol just gave him a wolfish grin in return.

“Busy with what?” Seungkwan demanded. “Don’t tell me you’re actually working. You hate those board meetings.”

“Oh, not work.” Seungcheol tilted his head, biting down on Jeonghan’s ear until the actor shuddered violently. “More like… a project. Something worth my full attention.”

Jeonghan shook his head wildly, mouthing stop it even as his thighs trembled around Seungcheol’s waist.

“A project?” Seungkwan’s laugh carried through. “Since when do you get so serious about anything?”

Seungcheol looked straight into Jeonghan’s tear-bright eyes as he answered, voice velvet and cruel all at once.
“Since it started begging for me.”

Jeonghan choked, clapping a hand over his mouth. His whole body arched, and Seungcheol swallowed his cry with a kiss, muffling it perfectly so Seungkwan heard nothing but silence.

On the line, Seungkwan sighed. “You’re so weird lately, hyung. Whatever. Just don’t forget we’re family—you vanish too long, I’ll come drag you out myself.”

Seungcheol chuckled, low and dangerous. “I’d like to see you try.”

The call ended. The phone slid forgotten to the floor.

And Seungcheol leaned down, pressing his forehead against Jeonghan’s, whispering with a grin that made Jeonghan’s stomach drop:
“Even my cousin doesn’t know where I’ve been, angel. Only you do. Only you.”

Chapter Text

A week later.

Jeonghan barely had the strength to protest when Seungcheol swept him up from the car and carried him straight into the penthouse, ignoring every weak curse and squirm. By the time they reached the bedroom, Jeonghan’s legs were already wrapped around Seungcheol’s waist, breath hot and shaky against his neck.

The sheets were a mess within minutes—Jeonghan on his back, Seungcheol above him, moving slow but heavy, every thrust deliberate. The air thickened with perfume, sweat, and the soft creak of the bed under their rhythm.

That’s when the doorbell chimed.

Jeonghan’s eyes flew wide. He tried to push at Seungcheol’s chest in alarm, but Seungcheol only pressed him harder into the mattress, mouthing against his ear with a dark chuckle, “Stay still.”

Moments later, Seungkwan’s voice carried faintly through the penthouse as he let himself in. “Hyung? You home?”

Jeonghan slapped a hand over his own mouth, body quivering. Seungcheol didn’t stop—if anything, his pace slowed, hips dragging deeper, savoring the way Jeonghan’s panic made him tighten around him.

The creak of the bed echoed just enough to reach outside the room.

There was a pause. Then Seungkwan’s curious voice: “…Hyung? Are you—are you with someone? I swear I just heard…”

Seungcheol smirked down at Jeonghan, who was flushed scarlet, tears of humiliation threatening to spill. He leaned close, lips brushing Jeonghan’s parted mouth as he answered, raising his voice just enough for his cousin to hear through the door.

“I just adopted a kitten.”

A beat of silence. Jeonghan choked on a muffled whimper beneath him, and Seungcheol swallowed it with a bruising kiss before continuing smoothly:

“He's hard to tame,” he said, voice dripping amusement. “Always hissing, clawing, acting like she doesn’t want me—but too soft, too cute to resist. I can’t keep my hands off him ."

Jeonghan’s whole body arched in outrage and shame, nails raking down Seungcheol’s back. Seungcheol only groaned against his throat, muffling the sound so Seungkwan wouldn’t catch it.

Outside, Seungkwan groaned. “Ugh, gross, hyung. You’re not seriously talking about a cat like that… Never mind. I’ll come back later. Enjoy your… whatever.”

The door closed. Silence fell again in the penthouse, except for Jeonghan’s ragged breathing.

Seungcheol drew back just enough to look down at him, eyes dark with victory.

Chapter Text

The moment the door clicked shut, Jeonghan shoved at Seungcheol’s chest with all his strength, writhing out from under him. His face was crimson, chest heaving, eyes blazing murder through the blur of sweat and tears.

“You—bastard!” His voice cracked, sharp as glass. “Do you know what you just implied to your cousin?! You humiliated me—reduced me to—”

He didn’t get the rest out. Seungcheol’s hand closed around his jaw, dragging him back down to the bed, pinning him like a wild thing. Jeonghan clawed at his wrist, kicking, snarling.

“Reduced you?” Seungcheol echoed, low and calm, but there was a fever burning in his eyes. “You think I see you as anything less than the most addictive thing I’ve ever touched?” His hand slid from Jeonghan’s jaw down to his throat, pressing just enough to still him. “You think calling you mine was humiliation?”

“Let me go!” Jeonghan spat, twisting under him, nails raking his shoulder. “I’ll never be yours. You filthy—”

The rest dissolved into a gasp when Seungcheol drove into him hard, cutting him off mid-curse. The bed jolted violently, the frame rattling. Jeonghan’s eyes went wide, his cry stifled by Seungcheol’s mouth covering his.

“You burn hotter when you’re angry,” Seungcheol growled against his lips, hips grinding mercilessly. “Every time you fight me, you get tighter. Don’t lie to me—your body loves this.”

“Shut up!” Jeonghan thrashed, but his nails clutched at Seungcheol’s back instead of pushing him away. His legs locked around Seungcheol’s waist again, betraying him as surely as the tears streaking down his temples.

Seungcheol’s teeth closed over the curve of his shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, a brand. Jeonghan cried out, half-pain, half-pleasure, and Seungcheol swallowed it like wine.

“Fight me all you want, angel,” he rasped, rutting into him deeper, rougher, riding that fury until Jeonghan’s body arched helplessly. “But every time you scream, every time you claw, I’ll make you remember who keeps you. Who can break you. Who you can’t stop coming back to.”

Jeonghan sobbed, shoving at him with weak fists even as his hips bucked up desperately, betraying the way his body had already surrendered to the cruel rhythm.

Seungcheol laughed, dark and breathless, kissing the corner of his wet mouth. “My angry little kitten,” he whispered, thrusts bruising now, “I’ll tame you, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left to hide behind.”

Chapter Text

Jeonghan’s cry tore out raw when Seungcheol flipped him in one rough motion, forcing him on his stomach, pressing him into the mattress. The alpha’s weight blanketed him, pinning him down even as he bucked and thrashed.

“Get off me!” Jeonghan’s voice cracked, muffled by the sheets. His wrists were wrenched above his head in one hand, useless against Seungcheol’s grip. “I’ll never—”

“Never what?” Seungcheol’s voice was dark velvet, hot against the shell of his ear. His hips snapped forward, forcing another strangled sound out of Jeonghan. “Never give in? Never let me have you? Angel, you already did. Some nights in my bed and your scent is all over me.”

“Shut up!” Jeonghan kicked back, but it only made Seungcheol laugh low in his throat, breathless with the frenzy burning through him.

“Your mouth hates me,” Seungcheol growled, dragging his lips down Jeonghan’s damp neck, “but your body—your body begs.” He licked the arch of his throat, slick and claiming. “You don’t even know how sweet you smell when you’re desperate.”

And then—he bit.

Jeonghan’s scream split the air when Seungcheol’s teeth sank into the juncture of his neck, hard and deep, the kind of bite no one could mistake for anything but a claim. His body convulsed, seizing around Seungcheol with blinding intensity. Tears streaked down his cheeks as the bond flared alive, a searing heat that burned straight through to his marrow.

Seungcheol groaned, rutting into him harder, lips pressed against the wound as his tongue soothed and sealed it. “Mine,” he rasped against his skin, half-mad. “Mine, Jeonghan. No rich bastard, no director, no one else gets to touch you now. You belong to me.”

Jeonghan shook under him, broken sounds spilling out between sobs and bitten-back moans. His body betrayed him fully now, hips rolling back to meet every brutal thrust.

“You hate me so much?” Seungcheol whispered against his ear, hand sliding down to palm him cruelly. “Then why are you shaking like this? Why are you clenching around me like you’d die without me here?”

Jeonghan choked out, “I—hate—you—” but the words dissolved into a wail as his body gave in, convulsing helplessly under Seungcheol’s hold.

The alpha bit him again, softer this time, right beside the first mark, sucking until the skin bloomed dark. Jeonghan’s nails tore at the sheets, his voice breaking into sobs, heat, surrender.

Seungcheol’s breath shuddered against his ear, ragged with obsession. “Fight me for a lifetime, angel,” he groaned, hips snapping until the bedframe screamed. “But your soul already knows. You’re mine.”

Chapter Text

Jeonghan woke to the dull ache of his own heartbeat pulsing beneath his skin. No—not his alone. It throbbed in tandem with another, a steady rhythm anchored at the raw sting on his neck.

He froze. His hand shot up, fingers brushing the tender bite. The skin was hot, swollen, marked deep in a way that perfume or makeup could never hide.

“No,” he whispered, hoarse. His body felt heavy, sore in every muscle, as if he’d been wrung dry. He shifted under the sheets, and the drag of them across his skin made him flush—he was bare, still slick, every nerve humming faintly with the bond’s afterglow.

The scent hit him next. Rich. Overpowering. Seungcheol. It clung to his skin, to the sheets, to the very air he breathed. He wasn’t just covered in it—he was saturated.

And then he felt the weight. A strong arm draped across his waist, a chest pressed to his back, the deep, steady breathing of the man behind him.

“Awake already?” Seungcheol’s voice was a low murmur, lazy with satisfaction. He nuzzled into Jeonghan’s hair, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Mm. You smell even sweeter when you’re marked.”

Jeonghan jerked, trying to pull away, but the alpha’s grip only tightened. His pulse spiked—no, their pulse spiked, the bond answering before he could control it. He gasped, horrified.

“You—” His voice cracked. “You bite me.”

“I claimed you.” Seungcheol’s tone was unapologetic, velvet-dark with possession. He rolled Jeonghan easily onto his back, looming over him, eyes burning with a tenderness that was almost worse than the cruelty Jeonghan expected. “Finally made it real.”

“I didn’t—” Jeonghan’s throat closed around the words. His eyes stung with frustrated heat. “I didn’t want this.”

Seungcheol’s gaze softened, but it was a softness that bound tighter, not looser. He brushed a thumb under Jeonghan’s swollen eye, wiping the dampness there like it was precious.

“Maybe not with your mouth,” he murmured, lowering his lips to the bruised mark on Jeonghan’s neck, kissing it reverently. “But your body begged me for it. Every time you arched, every time you broke on me—you asked for this bond.”

Jeonghan shoved at his chest, weak but desperate. “You’re delusional. This—this isn’t love. You’re just—” His voice faltered as the tug of the bond pulled tight, making his chest ache.

Seungcheol caught his wrists, pinning them gently to the sheets, not rough this time. He leaned in close, until Jeonghan could feel his breath against his lips.

“Maybe I am delusional,” Seungcheol admitted, a smirk ghosting across his mouth before it softened into something rawer, stripped down. “But I know one thing, angel. You’ll never escape me now.”

The words should have chilled him. Instead, Jeonghan felt the bond flare again, heat crawling through his veins, dragging his body toward the very man he swore to hate.

And Seungcheol, watching the flicker of betrayal in his eyes, only smiled like he’d won the war.

He kissed Jeonghan’s temple, slow, almost gentle. “Rest. You’re sore. I’ll feed you later. You don’t have to think about anything except me anymore.”

The tenderness was suffocating. The certainty was terrifying.

And worse than anything—Jeonghan’s body, traitorous, eased beneath his touch.

Chapter Text

Jeonghan had always been good at pretending.
On set, he could smile like sunlight, laugh on cue, cry beautifully. In interviews, his words were elegant, his manner easy. He could even convince himself sometimes that he was fine—that Seungcheol hadn’t carved something raw and permanent into him.

But when the cameras went dark, his mask slipped.

At night, he tossed and turned until the sheets tangled around him like restraints. His body burned with phantom memory—Seungcheol’s weight, Seungcheol’s voice, Seungcheol’s teeth in his skin. He would bite down on his fist to keep quiet, trying to stifle the pathetic noises that forced their way out of him. Sometimes he’d break, slipping a hand between his thighs, hating himself with every gasp as he chased a release that only reminded him of the alpha’s touch.

Afterwards, he’d curl in on himself, shaking, whispering: I hate you. I hate you.
He didn’t know if he meant Seungcheol—or himself.

The bond punished him when he fought it. If he ignored the ache too long, headaches bloomed sharp behind his eyes, his chest tightening like someone had wrapped a fist around his lungs. He’d wake nauseous, trembling, his body screaming for what his mind despised.

And every morning, when he covered the mark with makeup, he swore he saw it glow beneath the concealer—mocking him, reminding him.

He avoided Seungcheol like the plague. Ghosted his calls. Dodged the sleek black cars waiting outside his building. Refused flowers, returned gifts unopened. To everyone else, Jeonghan seemed untouchable, ethereal as ever. But behind closed doors, he was breaking.

What Jeonghan didn’t know was that Seungcheol was breaking too.

The alpha couldn’t focus on board meetings, barely kept his temper in check with executives. His mind, his senses, all dragged back to that single omega who dared to run. Nights he tried to drink it away, but alcohol only thinned his control, leaving him aching harder for the bond he already had.

More than once, he found himself driving past Jeonghan’s building in the dead of night, knuckles white on the wheel, fighting the instinct to storm upstairs and take back what was his.

He’d marked Jeonghan. Claimed him. Bound them. Yet the omega still fought, still cursed him, still resisted.

That defiance made Seungcheol furious. But the thought of Jeonghan curled alone in his apartment—hurting, aching, needing him—drove him mad.

He wanted to drag Jeonghan into his arms, soothe him, punish him, ruin him all over again until there was no more fight left. Until Jeonghan’s mouth admitted what his body already screamed: you’re mine.

Chapter Text

The rain had been falling since morning.
Not a soft drizzle, but a relentless downpour, battering the city until the streets gleamed black, until thunder rattled the glass of Jeonghan’s apartment windows.

He hadn’t moved from the couch in hours. His body was a mess—aching, hot, restless. The bond tugged sharp under his skin, crawling through his veins like poison. His mark throbbed as if it knew who it belonged to, pulsing with every beat of his heart.

He’d tried everything: cold showers that left him shaking, burying himself in blankets, pacing the room until his legs gave out. But nothing eased it. Nothing could. He wanted—no, needed—an alpha. That alpha. The one he hated most.

His hands trembled as he pressed them to his face, nails biting into his skin.
“Get out of me,” he whispered to the empty room. His voice cracked. “Get out…”

But the bond only laughed at him, dragging images into his head—the deep growl in Seungcheol’s throat, the heat of his mouth, the brutal, perfect way he had fit inside him. Shameful need twisted his stomach, slick dampening the inside of his thighs.

By the time the clock struck midnight, Jeonghan was curled on the floor, his breath coming shallow, sweat soaking the collar of his shirt. He hated himself. He hated the mark. He hated Seungcheol.

And then—

The lock turned.

The door slammed open, rattling against the wall with a force that made him flinch. A gust of wet, storm-charged air swept into the room. And in the doorway stood Choi Seungcheol—drenched from the rain, broad shoulders heaving with breath, black hair plastered to his forehead, eyes gleaming like an animal scenting blood.

He was the storm given flesh.

“Pathetic,” Seungcheol growled, shutting the door with a snap. His voice was low, dangerous, but beneath it was a hunger so raw it nearly dropped Jeonghan to his knees. “Two weeks, and look at you. My pretty omega, curled up like he’s dying.”

Jeonghan tried to stand, to spit a curse at him, but his legs shook. The moment he looked up, Seungcheol’s scent crashed over him—rich, sharp, alpha-heavy, curling deep into his lungs until his body betrayed him, shivering.

“D-don’t—” Jeonghan started, but his voice broke.

Seungcheol didn’t give him the chance to finish. He was across the room in three strides, a hand clamping around Jeonghan’s jaw, tilting his head up, forcing eye contact.

“You think I don’t feel it too?” Seungcheol’s lips curled, part snarl, part smile. Rain still dripped from his coat, sliding down onto Jeonghan’s thin shirt. “You think I’ve been sleeping? Eating? Breathing without this bond dragging me back to you?”

Jeonghan’s chest hitched, throat tight. He wanted to scream at him, hit him, run—
But the mark pulsed, and his body betrayed him again, heat flaring so sharp it made his knees buckle.

Seungcheol caught him, pulled him close, and whispered against his temple, voice hoarse:
“Stop fighting. You’re mine.”

And then his mouth was on Jeonghan’s, brutal and starving, swallowing every sound of protest until it turned into a gasp.

Outside, thunder cracked. Inside, the storm had finally broken.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol didn’t ease him toward the bed; he drove him. His soaked coat hit the floor, his shirt half-torn as Jeonghan clawed at him in anger and desperation both. The sound of wet fabric hitting hardwood mixed with the storm hammering the windows.

“Fuck you—” Jeonghan spat against his lips, his voice jagged, but Seungcheol only laughed darkly, pressing him into the mattress.

“Already have,” he growled, biting down hard at the edge of Jeonghan’s jaw until the omega gasped. “Already will. Again. Until you can’t even say my name without begging.”

Jeonghan arched, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. His body betrayed him cruelly, slick flooding, thighs spreading wide as if they knew who owned him. He cursed himself, his voice breaking into needy whines he hated.

Seungcheol’s hands gripped his wrists, pinning them above his head with one hand, the other shoving Jeonghan’s soaked shirt up to bare his chest. He bent down, dragging his mouth across skin that was too hot, biting, licking, claiming.

Every mark he left glowed against pale skin like thunderstrikes.

“You’ve been running,” Seungcheol muttered against his collarbone, voice guttural. His hips ground down, making Jeonghan shiver. “But bonds don’t break. You know that.”

“Get—off—” Jeonghan tried, but his body trembled beneath him, arching, aching.

Seungcheol caught his mouth again, swallowing the rest of the words. His kiss was deep, possessive, forcing every protest into moans. His tongue tangled, his teeth dragged. The bed creaked with their struggle, the storm outside thrumming louder, as if the whole world bent around them.

When Seungcheol finally slid inside, it wasn’t gentle. It was a raw, brutal claiming—like he meant to carve his place so deep Jeonghan could never forget it. Jeonghan cried out, back arching, wrists flexing against the hold, but his body welcomed it, slick pulling him in, the bond singing with relief.

“Listen to you,” Seungcheol panted against his ear, pounding into him with a pace that shook the bed. “Saying no with your mouth while your body begs me to ruin it.”

“Shut—up—” Jeonghan gasped, his voice breaking as his thighs wrapped around Seungcheol’s waist without his permission. His nails raked angry lines down Seungcheol’s back, but every scratch only made him thrust harder.

Seungcheol’s teeth sank into his mark again, igniting it until Jeonghan screamed. Slick spilled over their skin, his whole body trembling as he shattered, pulled apart by the bond and the storm and the alpha claiming him over and over.

But Seungcheol didn’t stop.

Hours bled together, thunder rolling, lightning flashing shadows across their tangled bodies. Every time Jeonghan thought it was over, Seungcheol dragged him back under—turning fury into cries, resistance into submission. His voice was low and constant in his ear:

“Mine.”
“You’ll never run again.”
“Even if you hate me, you’ll crave me until you break.”

By dawn, the rain still hadn’t stopped. Neither had they. Jeonghan’s throat was raw from moaning, his body marked, bitten, owned. Seungcheol was relentless, like the storm would never let him leave this bed until Jeonghan’s every last defense was destroyed.

And still, as Jeonghan shook, spent and trembling beneath him, Seungcheol kissed his swollen mouth softly—too softly for the violence of the night.

Chapter Text

The rain hadn’t stopped. It still hissed against the window, blurring the skyline into nothing, the air damp and heavy with ozone.

Jeonghan lay sprawled in his own bed, the sheets twisted and ruined beneath him, his body aching in ways he didn’t want to think about. Every inch of him throbbed with the pull of the bond — the bite on his neck still raw, swollen, burning like a brand. He’d never felt so small in his own space.

And yet, in the dim morning light, it wasn’t emptiness that greeted him. It was Seungcheol.

The alpha moved through his apartment like he belonged there — shirt half-buttoned, hair damp from his shower, padding barefoot across Jeonghan’s wooden floor. His bathroom had steamed up. His mugs were clinking as Seungcheol poured himself coffee like it was a lazy Sunday at home.

Jeonghan curled tighter into the wreck of sheets, voice hoarse:
“Get out. You’ve done enough.”

Seungcheol only glanced over his shoulder, unbothered. “You think I’d leave you like this? Cute.” He crossed the small space with the ease of someone who’d already memorized it, setting the mug on Jeonghan’s nightstand — the same nightstand cluttered with Jeonghan’s perfume bottles, rings, books. Seungcheol’s hand brushed one of the books open, and he smiled faintly at the underlined lines of poetry.

“You read this last week,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Fits you too well.”

Jeonghan’s stomach twisted. How the fuck does he know?

He tried to sit up, but the bond pulled sharp and deep, dragging a whimper out of him he hated. The ache in his neck, his chest, his thighs — it betrayed him.

Seungcheol caught it instantly, climbing onto the edge of the bed, crowding him back down with nothing but weight and presence. The storm rattled the windows; Jeonghan’s breath rattled in his throat.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Seungcheol’s voice was low, velvet wrapped around steel. His palm pressed over the bite mark, a dangerous kind of tenderness. “That pull. That ache. You can scream at me all you want, Han, but your body knows who you belong to.”

Jeonghan shoved at his chest, weak, furious. “You think marking me means anything? You’re— you’re insane. Using my shower, my clothes—” his voice cracked as he realized Seungcheol had pulled on one of his loose cotton shirts, the hem hanging too high over the alpha’s strong thighs.

Seungcheol smirked, catching Jeonghan’s chin between two fingers. “What? This?” He tugged at the shirt deliberately. “It smells like you. I like it.” His thumb traced the bite mark. “Makes me feel closer when you look like you’re about to cry.”

Jeonghan trembled, half in rage, half in exhaustion. “You don’t belong here.”

But Seungcheol only leaned down, brushing his lips against Jeonghan’s temple, a mockery of gentleness. “You’ll get used to it. This place… this bed… me. I’ll keep coming back until you can’t imagine it without me.”

The storm outside gave no sign of breaking. Neither did the alpha in his bed.

Chapter Text

The storm beat against the glass so hard it felt like the windows might crack. Jeonghan lay propped against the headboard, hair damp and clinging, skin pale with the faint ache of the bond still tugging at him. His phone buzzed where it had been abandoned on the nightstand.

He reached for it on instinct — but Seungcheol’s hand was faster, plucking it up before Jeonghan could touch it. The screen glowed: Director Kang.

Seungcheol arched a brow, thumb hovering. “He calls you this early?”

Jeonghan’s throat worked. “Give it.”

But Seungcheol answered instead, his voice velvet-rough from the night, pitched just enough to be unreadable. “Hello?”

A pause. Then a man’s voice crackled through, worried: ‘Jeonghan-ah? The storm’s getting bad. Do you need someone to come check on you?’

Jeonghan lunged for the phone, but Seungcheol held him down against the mattress with one hand, gaze locked on him, daring him to struggle harder.

“Jeonghan’s fine,” Seungcheol drawled into the receiver. “Better than fine. He won’t be needing anyone else."And before the other voice could protest, he hung up.

Jeonghan’s heart slammed. “You—! That was my coworker, he—he worries, we’re close, he’s—”

“Close?” The word landed like a knife, Seungcheol’s mouth curving into a dangerous smile. “How close?”

Jeonghan’s breath stuttered. “Not like that. Not—”

But the alpha was already leaning in, scent flooding heavy into the small apartment, his lips dragging across Jeonghan’s bitten neck. “Then why does he think he has the right to check on you during a storm? Why does he get to say your name like that when you’re already mine?”

As if on cue, the phone buzzed again — another call, this time from Sunwoo-hyung, another alpha actor Jeonghan sometimes leaned on during sets.

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. “How many of them circle you?” he murmured darkly, not even answering this time — just shutting the phone off completely and tossing it aside. “Do they know what you sound like when you beg? Do they know how deep I’ve already claimed you?”

Jeonghan shivered, half fury, half shame. He hated how the bond flared hot at Seungcheol’s jealousy, how his body trembled under the press of his scent.

“You don’t get to—” Jeonghan started, but Seungcheol cut him off with a hard kiss, swallowing the protest.

Chapter Text

Afternoon blurred into evening, the sky still dark as ink, rain hammering down like it wanted to flood the whole city. Power flickered once, twice, before settling, leaving the apartment in a cocoon of sound and shadow.

Jeonghan had resigned himself to being stuck inside. What he hadn’t resigned himself to was Seungcheol—who had apparently decided the place was his playground.

“Take those off.” Jeonghan’s voice was sharp, spatula still in hand from the half-done omelet on the stove.

Seungcheol looked down at his feet, one of which was now shoved into Jeonghan’s bunny-eared slippers. “They fit.”

“They don’t, they’re bending at the sides. You’re going to ruin them!”

Instead of removing them, Seungcheol shuffled deliberately across the wooden floor, the ridiculous image of a massive chaebol alpha padding around in pastel bunnies making Jeonghan’s blood pressure spike.

“Yah—!” he snapped, storming over and kicking his shin.

Seungcheol actually froze, blinking down at him in shock. “…You just hit me.”

“Yeah. And I’ll do it again if you don’t take them off.”

For a second the alpha just stared, like no one in his life had ever dared. Then he laughed—deep, disbelieving, eyes crinkling in a way that made Jeonghan’s stomach knot. “You’re insane.”

“You’re the one strutting around like it’s your house,” Jeonghan muttered, snatching his slippers back.

But Seungcheol didn’t stop there. While Jeonghan sulked back to the kitchen, the alpha prowled the living room, picking through books stacked by the window, lifting one up like it was a rare treasure. “You read romance novels?”

“Put that down.”

Seungcheol flipped a page anyway, smirking when Jeonghan marched over and smacked his arm.

“You’re violent,” Seungcheol teased, rubbing the spot like it actually hurt.

“You’re annoying,” Jeonghan shot back, snatching the book away.

The loop kept going. Seungcheol found Jeonghan’s favorite mug, poured himself tea, then sprawled across Jeonghan’s couch like a king. Jeonghan tried to yank the mug back; Seungcheol only tipped it higher, forcing Jeonghan to crawl into his lap to reach it, snarling all the way.

By the time the storm deepened into night, Seungcheol had been hit, kicked, shoved with a pillow, and threatened with a slipper. And every single time, instead of anger, he just grew more amused—more fascinated.

“No one’s ever treated me like this,” he admitted at one point, lounging while Jeonghan tried to pry his phone back. “They all bow. They all beg. But you—” his hand snaked around Jeonghan’s wrist, tugging him off balance until he fell against his chest. “You fight me.”

Jeonghan glared up at him, hair messy from the scuffle, lips flushed. “That’s because you deserve it.”

Seungcheol’s grin was slow, dangerous, full of teeth. “And that’s why I can’t stay away.”

Jeonghan shoved him again—hard enough to topple the mug, hot tea spilling onto Seungcheol’s thigh. The alpha hissed, standing up abruptly—only to laugh, full-bodied, like he’d never had more fun in his life.

Chapter Text

By the time Jeonghan finished cleaning up the spilled tea and forcing Seungcheol to at least help wipe the floor, the sky outside had turned pitch-black. The rain hadn’t stopped—it only roared harder, wind rattling the windows like fists.

Jeonghan crossed his arms, standing at the doorway with narrowed eyes. “Alright. You’ve eaten my food, ruined my slippers, used my mug, read my books—now it’s time for you to leave.”

Seungcheol, sprawled on the couch like a satisfied predator, just tilted his head. “Leave? In this storm?”

“Yes. In this storm.”

“You’d throw me out in the middle of a typhoon? What if I drown in the street?”

“Good. The ocean can deal with you for me.”

Seungcheol chuckled, deep in his chest, as he stood and prowled closer. He leaned down until Jeonghan had to tilt his chin up, his smirk wicked. “You want me here.”

“I want you gone.”

“Mm. Your bond says otherwise.” His hand brushed over the faint mark on Jeonghan’s neck, making his skin shiver despite himself.

Jeonghan slapped it away. “Couch. If you’re really so scared of the storm, you sleep there.”

But when midnight came and Jeonghan finally collapsed into his bed, his door cracked open. Heavy footsteps padded closer. Then—

Whump.

The mattress dipped violently as Seungcheol crawled in, sliding under the covers with zero shame.

“Out,” Jeonghan hissed, kicking at him immediately. “I said couch.”

“Storm’s too dangerous,” Seungcheol murmured, already curling around him, big arms locking Jeonghan against his chest. “Could knock the windows in. Safer here.”

“You’re insane. You’re heavy—get off.” Jeonghan shoved, wriggled, kicked again, but Seungcheol only tightened his hold until it felt like being wrapped in warm iron.

“Stop squirming.” Seungcheol’s voice was low, almost amused, almost tender. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“You’re hurting me! You—ugh—octopus!” Jeonghan smacked his shoulder, wriggled like a trapped cat, but the alpha only laughed into his hair.

And somehow, slowly, the fight drained out of him. Seungcheol’s scent wrapped heavy and steady around him, the storm howled outside, and Jeonghan realized he was sinking into that furnace heat whether he liked it or not.

“…You’re impossible,” Jeonghan muttered, sulky, still kicking weakly at Seungcheol’s shin.

Seungcheol pressed his mouth against the mark, not quite a kiss, more like a reminder. His voice dropped into a satisfied rumble. “Go to sleep, kitten.”

Jeonghan hissed, but didn’t pull away. He couldn’t—the octopus arms were locked too tight. And eventually, under the storm’s roar and the steady thump of Seungcheol’s heart against his back, his eyes slid shut despite himself.

Chapter Text

Jeonghan woke to the suffocating weight pressing his chest flat against the mattress. For a split second he panicked—storm still raging outside, windows rattling, the air thick with damp and alpha scent.

Then he realized.

It was Seungcheol.

The idiot had rolled half on top of him in his sleep, one massive arm clamped over Jeonghan’s ribs like a steel band, his heavy thigh slung across Jeonghan’s hips. His face was buried in Jeonghan’s neck, breath hot and loud, snoring like he had no shame.

Jeonghan wheezed. “You—get off!”

He smacked Seungcheol’s shoulder. No response. He shoved his elbow into the alpha’s chest. Nothing. He kicked backward into his shin. Seungcheol just groaned, half-asleep, and tightened his hold.

“I—can’t—breathe, you monster!”

Jeonghan snarled, reached up, and yanked a fistful of Seungcheol’s hair. Hard.

That did it.

Seungcheol jerked awake with a low growl, blinking blearily down at him. Then—like a switch flipping—his annoyance melted into something else entirely. His eyes sharpened, the dark brown glimmering strangely bright in the thin morning light, almost glittering with hunger.

“…Do that again.” His voice was rough, still gravelled from sleep.

Jeonghan glared. “What, this?” He yanked another fistful of hair, harder.

Seungcheol’s pupils dilated, lips curling into the slow, feral grin of a man tasting something addictive. The alpha rumbled low in his chest, head tilting like he was savoring it.

“Fuck—” he laughed, breathless, eyes burning brighter. “You hit me, you pull my hair—you really are my perfect omega.”

“You’re insane,” Jeonghan spat, shoving at his face. “Get off me!”

But Seungcheol caught his wrist mid-push, pressed a kiss to his palm like it was worship, and then lowered it back against his chest. His grin was wide, dangerous, delighted.

“You don’t get it, kitten,” he murmured, voice silk and gravel.

Jeonghan’s stomach twisted, heat crawling into his neck despite his fury. “You’re sick.”

“Mm,” Seungcheol hummed, burying his face back against Jeonghan’s skin, inhaling deep, greedy. “Sick for you.”

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be quiet. The storm had dulled into steady rain, Jeonghan curled up on the armchair with a blanket, determined to ignore the oversized intruder on his couch. He thought maybe, finally, they’d get through an afternoon without Seungcheol touching him.

But then he caught the sound—low, ragged. Seungcheol’s breathing wasn’t steady. His hands were clenched, his body restless under the blanket. When Jeonghan looked over, the alpha’s eyes were bright, glassy with hunger.

“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol rasped, voice cracked open. “I can’t—” He pressed his palms over his face, dragged them down harshly. “It’s killing me. The bond. Please. I need you.”

Jeonghan scoffed, clutching his blanket tighter. “You’re pathetic.”

But Seungcheol shifted off the couch, dropping to his knees in front of Jeonghan like something feral brought low. His head bowed, hands gripping Jeonghan’s thighs so hard his knuckles whitened. Begging.

“Just once more,” he begged, voice breaking. “Please—omega, please. I’ll die if I don’t touch you.”

Jeonghan’s stomach twisted, heat spiking even as he forced a cruel smirk onto his face. “You sound disgusting.” He shoved at Seungcheol’s shoulder, trying to push him off. “Crawl back to whatever bar you used to drown in.”

But Seungcheol stayed planted, forehead pressed against Jeonghan’s thigh, trembling. “I don’t want anyone else,” he whispered, desperate. “Only you. Please—”

Jeonghan snapped. His fingers tangled in Seungcheol’s hair, yanking his head back so their eyes met. “You don’t get to beg me like some stray dog.”

Seungcheol groaned under the pull, eyes wild with glittering need. And when Jeonghan’s palm cracked lightly across his cheek—a sharp slap more insult than pain—the alpha shuddered, eyes rolling with raw hunger.

“You’re insane,” Jeonghan hissed.

But his hand stayed tangled in Seungcheol’s hair. And the alpha leaned into the sting on his cheek like it was a gift, eyes wet, lips parted.

That was when Jeonghan realized he was already undone. His body was already answering, heat curling low and unbearable.

“Fine,” he spat, shoving Seungcheol’s head down, his own chest heaving. “Do what you want. Wreck yourself on me. I don’t care anymore.”

Seungcheol’s choked noise was almost a sob—half relief, half triumph—as he surged forward, dragging Jeonghan down out of the armchair like the storm had started all over again.

___
The first time Jeonghan yanked his hair, slapped his face, gave that vicious little, “Fine, do what you want,”—something inside Seungcheol snapped.

He didn’t ease into it, didn’t coax. He devoured.

He dragged Jeonghan from the chair to the floor, mouth sealing over his throat with a growl so raw it rattled Jeonghan’s ribs. Jeonghan gasped, already pushing at his chest, kicking at him—“I didn’t mean now, you bastard—”

But Seungcheol was beyond words. He was shaking, drunk on relief and hunger. The bond had been pulling at him for days, and now that Jeonghan cracked, it flooded open like a broken dam.

Every kiss was a bite. Every touch was rougher than the last, hands gripping like he was afraid Jeonghan might vanish. He shoved Jeonghan’s blanket aside, teeth dragging across every inch of exposed skin, leaving trails of spit and bruises, like he needed to paint proof that Jeonghan was his.

Jeonghan cursed, slapped him again, tried to claw at his shoulder—but each violent strike only made Seungcheol groan louder, his eyes burning brighter. “Hit me again,” he begged, voice hoarse as he bit down on Jeonghan’s collarbone, sucking until Jeonghan cried out.

Hours blurred. The rain outside poured steady, but inside, it was thunder all over again. Seungcheol took him on the floor, against the couch, pressed into the wall, dragged into the bed. Every time Jeonghan thought he’d wrung the storm out of him, Seungcheol started over—hungry, needy, trembling but relentless.

“More,” Seungcheol kept muttering against his skin, voice cracked open, feverish. “I need more—don’t you dare close off—let me in, omega—let me in.”

And Jeonghan, ruined, shaking, nails bloody from clawing the sheets, still spat back with that sharp tongue—“You’re disgusting—alpha bastard—” even as his body opened again and again, betraying him.

Seungcheol licked the words off his mouth like candy, shoving him deeper into the mattress, rutting until Jeonghan sobbed hoarsely. Every climax was torn out of him like punishment, every gasp dragged raw.

By the time dawn paled the windows, the apartment smelled like nothing but them—thick with musk, slick, sweat. Jeonghan lay limp, body wrecked, throat bitten raw, thighs trembling.

And Seungcheol, terrifying in his tenderness, gathered him up gently, brushing wet hair from his face, pressing kisses over swollen lips. His voice was low, reverent. “My omega. My everything. You don’t get to run anymore.”

Jeonghan’s eyes fluttered, dazed, barely able to glare. “I hate you.”

Seungcheol only smiled, pressing his cheek against Jeonghan’s bruised chest, listening to his heartbeat like a man who’d found his god.

Chapter Text

The morning after the storm spiral, Jeonghan woke aching everywhere, only to find his apartment overrun.

It started small: Seungcheol ordering breakfast. But breakfast wasn’t just delivery porridge—it was porcelain boxes carried in by a butler, each packed with luxury dishes: abalone soup, chicken stewed with whole ginseng, black-bone chicken broth, even delicate little side dishes that smelled like five-star hotel banquets.

Jeonghan groaned, covering his face with a pillow. “What the hell is this, a royal funeral feast? I don’t need this—”

Seungcheol just crouched beside the bed, smug, spooning soup up for him. “You’re marked, exhausted, and sore. Omegas need nutrition. You’ll eat all of it.”

Then came the gifts—silk pajamas, herbal teas imported from Japan, rare honey, even a handmade comb carved from ivory wood. Seungcheol laid them out in Jeonghan’s tiny living room like offerings at a shrine.

“You’re insane,” Jeonghan muttered, smacking his arm when he tried to tuck a blanket around him. “I don’t want any of this.”

Seungcheol’s voice dropped, all dark velvet. “Too bad. You’re mine. I’ll spoil you until you accept it.”

⸻

But outside, rumors had begun.

Seungkwan had heard whispers from his nightlife circuit—about Seungcheol, the notorious alpha heir, suddenly disappearing from the bars and horses and casinos. Instead, some gossip swore they saw his car ferrying bundles of gifts, baby clothes, even luxury cribs.

By afternoon, Seungkwan’s calls came like a bomb raid.

“Hyung! What the hell is going on? Did you knock up some omega? Don’t tell me you’re hiding a baby somewhere—”

Seungcheol, lounging on Jeonghan’s couch, smirked into the phone. “Maybe I did.”

From the kitchen, Jeonghan nearly threw the teapot at his head. He stormed over, snatching the phone and snarling into it—“He’s lying! Don’t listen to a word! And if he’s suddenly disappeared from the nightlife, it’s because he’s an overgrown parasite who doesn’t know when to leave people alone!”

Seungkwan sputtered. “Wait—what—where are you? Whose voice is that—”

Jeonghan hung up, slammed the phone into Seungcheol’s chest, and hissed, “Not. A. Word.”

Seungcheol only grinned wider, catching Jeonghan’s wrist and kissing his palm like he’d been caught in a love affair.

⸻

By the next week, Jeonghan had had enough.

The bond tugged relentlessly, Seungcheol refused to leave, and even Seungkwan’s suspicions were getting dangerous. So Jeonghan marched into his manager’s office, eyes glittering.

“Book me anything. Dramas, films, whatever—far away. Forest, countryside, overseas—I don’t care. I need distance. Now.”

His manager blinked. “…Are you running from debt collectors or something?”

“Worse,” Jeonghan muttered, pressing his hands to his burning bond mark. “From a chaebol alpha who thinks he can buy me ginseng soup until I drop dead.”

Chapter Text

The production set moved to a village near the edge of an autumn forest, the kind where yellow and crimson leaves fell so thick the roads were painted in fire. The air was crisp, always carrying the faint smell of smoke from wood stoves, and at night the sky stretched wide, clear enough to see every star.

Jeonghan rented a tiny room in an old guesthouse with creaky wooden floors and a quilt patterned in faded flowers. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was quiet, and the forest was just beyond the back window. He liked waking up early to the sound of roosters and the distant chatter of farmers, then brewing his favorite tea before heading to the set.

His role was small—a silent, tragic figure who appeared briefly in the life of the main character. Someone broken, almost ghostlike, who cried quietly at the edge of scenes, then disappeared before the story moved on. It wasn’t much on paper.

But Jeonghan treated it with devotion.

At night, he sat at the low desk in his guesthouse, reading and rereading the script. He underlined the stage directions, marked tiny pauses, practiced tears in the small cracked mirror, studied how sorrow lived in the lines of the character’s face. He wasn’t loud about it, but his effort showed—when cameras rolled, the fragility of his body, the pink shimmer in his wet eyes, the way his silence filled space, made even senior actors pause.

Some of the crew started whispering about him. That kid, even with no lines, he makes you look at him.

⸻

Life on set was a loop of routine and small kindnesses.

Morning call-times meant steaming cups of coffee handed around between yawns, makeup artists working with cold hands, staff fussing with lights that flickered against the gold forest. Between takes, actors huddled in coats, sharing hot fish-shaped buns filled with red bean paste.

Jeonghan, quiet as always, found himself slowly connecting. An older actress helped him with breath control during crying scenes. A younger supporting actor showed him how to relax his jaw so his tears would fall more naturally. At lunch, he sat with them in the mess tent, sometimes silent, sometimes listening, but slowly smiling more.

He never let Seungcheol near. Whenever that looming presence hovered at the edge of the set—just another man who had inexplicably rented a room in the village—Jeonghan ignored him like he was air. During work, his world narrowed to script, forest, lights, and the fragile role he’d promised to bring to life.

⸻

In the evenings, when the crew packed away the cameras, Jeonghan often wandered into the forest alone. The leaves crackled under his shoes, golden against the fading light. Sometimes he rehearsed lines softly to himself, sometimes he just listened to the wind comb through the branches.

He felt small here, but in a good way. The character’s sorrow clung to him, yet the beauty of the world—the forest glowing like it was burning, the still pond reflecting the sky—made sadness look almost holy.

At the end of the day, he returned to his little guesthouse, curled under the quilt with his notes, and let exhaustion take him. His body was fragile, delicate, always pushing against its own limits. But he felt alive.

For once, the bond’s tug faded to the background. The world of the drama, the discipline of his craft, the quiet camaraderie of fellow actors—these were enough to drown out the storm.

Chapter Text

The last scene of the day was filmed in the forest clearing, just as the sun dipped behind the trees. Jeonghan’s character knelt on the damp leaves, eyes shimmering, face hollow with grief. He didn’t speak a word, but the tears fell so naturally down his pale cheeks that the crew fell into an unplanned silence around the cameras.

Even after the director called cut, no one moved for a moment. The stillness seemed to cling to the set. Jeonghan bowed politely, brushing the leaves from his thin coat, but his fragile, ethereal beauty lingered like a ghost in the air.

Far away, leaning quietly against an old fence post at the edge of the trees, Seungcheol watched. He had promised himself he wouldn’t intrude, not here, not when Jeonghan had drawn such a sharp line between them. But watching him cry like that—even for a role—Seungcheol’s chest ached.

And he wondered, almost helplessly:
If I had met him differently, not through Seungkwan’s sharp tongue and those cruel beginnings—wouldn’t I have still fallen in love? Wouldn’t I still be standing here, wrecked by just a glance?

The answer rose in him without hesitation. Yes. 100%. Whether it was here in a quiet autumn village, or in Seoul, or even on some ordinary street corner—he would have been undone the first time Jeonghan lifted those sharp, ethereal eyes. There was no other possibility.

⸻

Filming wrapped, and the crew scattered back to the village. Jeonghan slipped away quietly, hands tucked into his pockets, steps slow along the cobblestone road.

The sunset painted the rooftops gold. Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the smell of soy-braised fish and simmering soups. Children laughed somewhere behind the houses. The air itself was sharp with autumn’s coolness, laced with the earthy scent of damp leaves and pine needles.

Jeonghan breathed it in like medicine. His body was fragile, but here, away from Seoul’s noise, he felt like he could hold the world in his lungs.

Behind him, far enough not to disturb, Seungcheol followed. Silent. Watching the way Jeonghan tilted his face to the evening light, how even in a thin coat and worn shoes he seemed to glow against the season’s melancholy. Every step, every glance, felt carved into Seungcheol’s memory.

He didn’t need Jeonghan to look back at him. It was enough, for now, to witness.

⸻

The next morning, the village stirred to life slowly, mist rising over the fields. Jeonghan sat by the window of his little guesthouse, tea steaming in his hands, wrapped in a shawl against the chill. His phone buzzed—Seungcheol’s name.

Seungcheol: I have to go back to Seoul today. Father’s already furious I’ve been away this long.
It feels like leaving for work, like I’m the husband going back to the city and leaving my wife behind.

Jeonghan snorted softly, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his lips lifted. He tapped back with deliberate calm.

Jeonghan: Go, then. Don’t make your father fire you.
Take care of yourself. Eat properly.

His phone buzzed again immediately.

Seungcheol: …You’ll miss me, right?

He giggled into his cup, the steam hiding his blush.

Jeonghan: Maybe. Just a little.

⸻

When filming ended that week, Jeonghan walked into the small village shop and carefully chose a few things. A cheap cherry-shaped keychain that reminded him of Seungcheol’s ridiculous, childish clinginess. A lion plush toy, tiny enough to fit in one hand, because the big alpha sometimes pouted like one when he didn’t get his way. A few pressed yellow leaves he had picked from the forest path. And a small bottle of patchouli oil—the scent was grounding, rich, something he thought would suit Seungcheol’s chaotic, storm-like presence.

He packed them neatly into a paper bag, tying the top with twine.

He would never admit it out loud, but the act of choosing them had left him smiling all evening.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol hadn’t even lasted a week in Seoul.

The moment he returned, his father summoned him to endless meetings, scoldings, pressure. At night, when the house was silent and suffocating, he found himself on autopilot—driving into the city, ending up at one of those high-rise bars where his circle of rich alpha friends gathered.

They were loud, laughing, smoke curling above their heads, glasses clinking with imported whiskey. Someone nudged him—
“Cheol, you’ve been sulking for days. What’s eating you? Don’t tell me it’s some omega again.”

Seungcheol forced a grin, poured another drink, but inside he was burning up. Every laugh grated, every woman who leaned in with a smile was unbearable. Because all he could think about was a little guesthouse window, a cup of steaming tea, and Jeonghan’s smile as he texted him.

Even drunk, when he staggered home, his phone stayed in his palm like a lifeline. But no messages came.

⸻

Meanwhile, Jeonghan’s life in the village stretched into quiet days.

Though his character had already been written off—tragically dead by mid-season—the director still kept him on set to shoot flashbacks. But once those wrapped, he found himself strangely free. Two whole months in the countryside, with no city schedules chasing him.

He filled his days with the simplest things: walks through the misty forest, reading scripts by the inn’s wooden stove, helping old staff carry baskets of chestnuts from the market. He had never realized how much his soul ached for silence.

And when Xu Minghao’s message came—Want to disappear for a while? Japan?—Jeonghan said yes without hesitation.

⸻

The trip was nothing dramatic.Just two men moving like shadows through the world.

They stayed in a small ryokan in the mountains, where steam rose from hot springs and the leaves blazed in red and gold. Every morning, they sat in cotton robes by low tables, drinking green tea so fresh it felt alive on their tongues.

Minghao painted in his sketchbook between sips. Jeonghan wrote little notes on his script even though filming was done. Neither spoke much, and that was the beauty—they understood each other’s silences.

One evening, as they soaked in the steaming water beneath a maple tree, Jeonghan finally spoke, voice soft over the sound of rushing spring water.

“You know… my neighbor back home had this huge dog. At first, I hated it. It bit me once when I got too close. Scared me half to death.”

Minghao tilted his head, listening.

Jeonghan’s lips curved faintly. “But after a while, I realized… it wasn’t bad. Just loud, a little overwhelming. And once you get used to it, it’s nice to have it around. Warm, protective. Always there.”

His eyes softened, gaze drifting toward the mist. “I think… it might be a good idea to keep a dog like that beside me. Even if it’s troublesome.”

Minghao chuckled under his breath, leaning back against the stones. “Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

Jeonghan only smiled, letting the steam hide his flushed cheeks.

⸻

Meanwhile, in Seoul, Seungcheol was on his third glass of whiskey at the bar, laughing hollowly at a joke he didn’t hear—his friends loud around him, neon lights flickering, but all he could picture was Jeonghan in some far-off place, serene and unreachable.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol was halfway through another empty meeting at his father’s office when his phone buzzed.

A message thread lit up—not from Jeonghan, of course, but from one of the group chats. Someone had forwarded a post.

Jeonghan’s Instagram.

It wasn’t flashy, nothing like the curated city idols. Just two simple photos:
– A quiet street in Japan lined with maple trees.
– A museum hallway, where Jeonghan stood beside Minghao, both of them dressed simply, their faces soft in the warm light.

And then, on his story—little snapshots. A cherry-print hair tie looped around Jeonghan’s wrist. Two ceramic teacups shaped like foxes. A vending machine can of peach soda with a silly, colorful package.

Seungcheol’s chest went tight.

Around the boardroom table, someone was still droning about investments, but Seungcheol couldn’t hear a word. His eyes locked on the screen, the sight of Jeonghan’s faint smile as Minghao angled the camera. Not for show, not for work—just a quiet smile, like Jeonghan was content.

⸻

In Japan, Minghao had noticed it too.

They were walking out of the museum when Jeonghan stopped at a vendor stall, kneeling down to examine tiny keychains shaped like seasonal fruit. His fingers lingered on a cherry-shaped bow, then on a silly little bear charm. He laughed softly under his breath, bought both, and tucked them into his bag like treasures.

“You like these things?” Minghao asked, amused.

Jeonghan’s eyes shimmered in the autumn light. “They’re small. But… they make me happy. I like collecting things that feel soft.”

Minghao smiled, pushing his hands into his pockets. “You know… I’ve always thought your type would be someone like that. Quiet, polite. A beta who won’t push you. Or maybe a normal alpha—someone steady, not too much.”

Jeonghan didn’t answer, just kept walking, sipping his peach soda through a straw, eyes on the bright leaves overhead. His silence was its own secret.

____
That night, Seoul’s skyline glittered cold outside the penthouse windows, but Seungcheol sat in the dark with only the glow of his phone. An untouched glass of whiskey sat on the table. He didn’t want to drink with his friends anymore—they only laughed too loud and talked about women he didn’t care about.

Instead, he scrolled through Jeonghan’s photos again. The omega looked so soft, so quietly happy. And so far out of reach.

By his third glass, Seungcheol broke. His thumbs hovered clumsily over the screen, then:

Seungcheol [11:48PM]: do u think about me at all
Seungcheol [11:49PM]: u smile like that w him too?
Seungcheol [11:50PM]: hannie come back i can’t sleep without u
Seungcheol [11:52PM]: my chest hurts do u know? u make it hurt so bad

He stared at the blinking cursor, vision swimming. The words looked pathetic, like a kicked dog whining at the door. But he couldn’t stop.

Seungcheol [11:57PM]: i’ll buy u all the cherry bows in japan if u just answer me
Seungcheol [12:02AM]: don’t like him more than me please

He dropped the phone onto the couch, leaned back, pressing a hand over his eyes. His jaw clenched tight, throat burning. For someone who grew up in power, in wealth, who was used to controlling everything—how humiliating was it that one omega could unravel him into this mess?

⸻

In Japan, Jeonghan’s phone buzzed on the nightstand while he soaked in the quiet of the hot spring. When he finally padded back into the inn room, towel around his shoulders, Minghao was already asleep.

He picked up the phone, read the string of messages, and couldn’t help it—his lips curved, half a giggle, half a sigh.

The big, rich, terrifying alpha… crying like a child in his texts.

For a moment, Jeonghan considered replying. Sleep well. Don’t be stupid. Something simple. But then he set the phone down again, curling into the futon by the window.

He’d let him stew. Let him burn in that jealousy.

Because deep down, Jeonghan knew—Seungcheol wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter Text

The next morning, sunlight stabbed through Seungcheol’s curtains like a personal attack. His head throbbed. His throat was dry. And his phone was buzzing nonstop on the nightstand.

Groaning, he rolled over and grabbed it—then froze.

The screen was a battlefield. Sent messages. Dozens of them. His heart dropped to his stomach as he scrolled: do u think about me at all / u smile like that w him too? / don’t like him more than me please.

“…fuck.” Seungcheol pressed a palm over his face. He’d begged. Whined. Sounded like a rejected schoolboy.

Any normal alpha would delete the evidence and pretend it never happened. But Seungcheol wasn’t normal. His chest ached too much, his pride already shattered. So instead of pulling back, he doubled down.

Seungcheol [9:03AM]: you really didn’t feel anything?
Seungcheol [9:05AM]: months together and i’m the only one going insane?
Seungcheol [9:06AM]: tell me u don’t like me just a little i’ll leave u alone i swear

He lay back, phone clutched in one hand, the ceiling spinning. Every second without a reply scraped his nerves raw.

Then—finally—the screen lit up. An incoming call.

Jeonghan.

Seungcheol sat up so fast he nearly fell off the bed, fumbling to answer.
“Hannie-"
“You’re loud,” Jeonghan’s voice came through, soft but firm, a little raspy from sleep. “And dramatic. And I was trying to enjoy my tea before you flooded my phone like a madman.”

Seungcheol swallowed, throat tight. “…So you read them.”

“Yes.” A pause, then the faintest sigh. “You’re ridiculous, Seungcheol.”

His stomach twisted. “Then—do you-baby, just tell me. Do you feel nothing for me?” His voice cracked, lower than he wanted, desperate.

On the other end, Jeonghan was quiet for a long stretch. Seungcheol’s pulse hammered so hard he thought he’d be sick.

Finally: “If I felt nothing, I wouldn’t be calling to calm you down, would I?”

Seungcheol blinked. The words filtered in slowly, like light through fog. His chest loosened. His lips parted—then curved into something almost boyish, almost relieved.

“…Hannie.” His voice dropped, softer now. “Say it again.”

“I’m not repeating myself,” Jeonghan snapped, but there was the faint sound of a smile behind the words.

Chapter Text

“Baby,” Seungcheol whined again, voice dropping into that rumble that always sounded more like a plea than a threat. “You can’t just leave me hanging with that. I’m— I’m dying here.”

“You’re hungover,” Jeonghan corrected flatly. “Go drink water.”

“I already did.” He rubbed at his temple, groaning. “Still dying. Only you can fix it.”

“You’re such a child.” Jeonghan’s sigh brushed down the line like a breeze, the sound of porcelain clinking in the background. “What do you even want me to say?”

“That you like me.” His reply came fast, raw. “Even just a little.”

Jeonghan hummed as though considering. “Mm. You’re tolerable sometimes.”

“Baby.”

“Fine,” Jeonghan relented with mock reluctance. “You’re less annoying than other alphas.”

“Hannie.” His voice broke, torn between a groan and a laugh, but his chest was glowing.On the other end, Jeonghan’s tone softened, the sharp edges curling into warmth. “If you weren’t special to me, Seungcheol, I wouldn’t let you cling like an octopus on my bed. I wouldn’t let you eat all my food. I wouldn’t…” His voice trailed off, quieter. “I wouldn’t answer this call.”

Seungcheol shut his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand over them. Relief thundered through him, dizzying. “…So I’m special?”

“You’re spoiled,” Jeonghan corrected, but he didn’t deny it.

Seungcheol grinned despite himself, already more sober. “You like me.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m keeping this call forever,” he announced, voice steadier now, boyishly smug. “Going to replay it whenever you’re being mean to me.”

“Then I’ll hang up right now,” Jeonghan threatened, but there was a faint laugh under his words.

“Wait—no!” Seungcheol shot upright like the line was his lifeline. “Don’t. Please. Just… stay a little longer. I’ll be quiet. Promise.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Jeonghan’s gentle exhale, like steam curling from tea. “Fine. But only because you sound pitiful.”

And so Seungcheol lay back down, phone pressed to his ear, listening to the soft sounds of Jeonghan’s morning—the rustle of pages, the clink of a spoon, the distant hush of wind through autumn leaves.

For once, he kept his word and stayed quiet, drunk not on alcohol anymore, but on the quiet proof that Jeonghan hadn’t let him go.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol’s day was a blur of half-hearted meetings, messages from his father, and drinks pushed across polished tables by friends who laughed too loudly. Yet all he could hear was Jeonghan’s voice from that morning—“If you weren’t special to me, Seungcheol, I wouldn’t answer this call.”

He replayed it over and over, like a secret recording only he could hear. Sometimes with a grin, other times with a clenched jaw, as if afraid the words might fade if he didn’t hold them tightly enough. His friends noticed him zoning out, staring into the rim of his glass like a fool, but he brushed them off. None of them would understand that one call had rewired his heartbeat.

Meanwhile, far away, Jeonghan’s world was muted in a softer palette. The mountain air in Japan was crisp with autumn, leaves fluttering down in gold and scarlet showers. He and Minghao walked through narrow streets where paper lanterns swayed, and dipped into steaming hot springs that blurred the stars above.

It was peaceful, quiet—and yet Minghao, always perceptive, caught the shadows Jeonghan carried. One evening, after they left an art museum where Jeonghan had lingered too long before a black-and-white photograph of the moon over still water, Minghao asked gently:

“Do you ever think you’ve healed from him?”

Jeonghan blinked, slow. They were sitting in a dim tea house, the wood fragrant and old, steam rising from porcelain cups. Outside, rain pattered softly.

“Who?” Jeonghan asked, though he knew.

Minghao’s gaze was steady. “Hyungwon."

Jeonghan smiled faintly, but it wasn’t joy. More like the kind of smile you make when an old scar aches with the weather. “That was… a long time ago.”

“But you still post about him,” Minghao said simply.

Jeonghan traced the rim of his teacup with one finger, delicate. His voice was almost a whisper. “I like the moon, and the moon doesn’t know.”

Minghao tilted his head, watching.

“I wrote that when I was twenty-two,” Jeonghan continued, his tone half-distant, half-revealing. “He was older, quiet… a photographer who always seemed lost in his own world. I thought—if I could make him look at me the way he looked at the things he captured, maybe I could belong in that world, too.”

He paused, remembering the winter day they met, snow crunching beneath their shoes outside a gallery where the photographs hung in silent reverence. Hyungwon had stood so still before an image of the ocean in January, his eyes reflecting a loneliness Jeonghan recognized like a mirror.

“But he never knew,” Jeonghan admitted. “He never looked at me that way. And it hurt so much then—like carrying a secret flame in my chest while winter winds tried to snuff it out.”

His fingers tightened around the cup. “But youth is like that, isn’t it? So full of ache. Beautiful because it hurts. We fall in love with people who’ll never love us back, and still we write about it like it will save us.”

Minghao leaned back, thoughtful. “And now?”

Jeonghan let out a breath, soft as a thread of smoke. “Now… I don’t burn for him anymore. I only carry the ember. It doesn’t hurt, but it glows when I remember.”

He looked out the window, where the rain had thinned to a mist, streetlamps glowing like moons of their own. “Maybe I was never meant to be the one he loved. But it taught me something—that longing can be beautiful even when it’s unanswered. That it’s okay for the moon not to know.”

Minghao studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. “You always talk like you’re writing poetry, Hannie.”

Jeonghan laughed, quiet and almost shy, shoulders softening. “Maybe that’s the only way I know how to survive. Turning hurt into something… bearable.”

Chapter Text

Jeonghan came back to Seoul with the soft stillness of Japan still folded into his movements. His mornings were spent by the window of his apartment, sunlight sliding across stacks of scripts. He read slowly, thoughtfully, tea steaming beside him, a pen tapping lightly against the margins. He didn’t rush anymore; he had learned to choose his roles as he chose the books on his shelves—deliberately, almost lovingly.

And now, Seungcheol had begun to blend himself into these days.

At first it was subtle—an invitation sent over text: “Do you like opera?” followed by a car waiting downstairs that evening. Or a note slipped with a bouquet: “Dinner, 8 PM. Wear something you love.”

Seungcheol dressed like the heir he was born to be: double-breasted suits in deep navy or charcoal wool, cufflinks heavy with family crest, pocket squares folded into sharp perfection. His shoes shone like mirrors, his watch a quiet heirloom that never flashed, only whispered of generations before him. He smelled of cedar, storm-soaked earth, and something darker—like the silence before thunder.

Jeonghan, in contrast, moved like a painting among him. He never overdressed, never needed to. A cream silk shirt with sleeves rolled loosely to his elbows, a pair of tailored trousers in muted beige, soft leather loafers that curved elegantly at the toe. A single silver ring, sometimes a ribbon tied in his hair instead of jewelry, a scarf that looked stolen from a Monet painting. His scent was clear and fresh: tea leaves steeped at dawn, a garden rinsed by rain, the faint sweetness of pear blossoms.

When they walked together, they looked like two worlds that should not touch, yet couldn’t help but collide—an old forest storm beside a clear lake in spring.

The opera house became one of their favorite sanctuaries. They arrived quietly, slipping into private boxes where heavy velvet curtains shielded them from curious eyes. Seungcheol would sit stiff at first, broad shoulders tense, as though fighting his own instincts to claim Jeonghan even in the hush of classical strings. Jeonghan would lean against the polished rail, eyes glimmering with the stage lights, his profile more arresting than the performers below.

“Why are you watching me instead of them?” Jeonghan whispered once, lips curving.

“Because nothing on that stage is more beautiful than you,” Seungcheol answered without hesitation.

Jeonghan only laughed softly, shaking his head, but he didn’t look away.

Other nights, they chose intimacy instead of grandeur. A hidden acoustic bar in Itaewon, wood-paneled, with old records lining the walls. Seungcheol, for all his dominance in business and boardrooms, seemed smaller here—just another man, legs crossed as he nursed a glass of whisky, gaze heavy but soft as he watched Jeonghan lean forward to listen to the music.

Jeonghan’s clothes in these settings were lighter, freer. A loose white linen shirt with pale blue stitching at the collar, paired with simple black slacks and worn-in boots. Sometimes a small brooch pinned near his heart—a dragonfly, a pressed flower, something whimsical and unexpected. Beside him, Seungcheol sat in tailored wool and silk, shoulders broad, jaw shadowed, a storm disguised in restraint.

At fine dining restaurants, their contrasts grew sharper still. Seungcheol ordered without looking at the menu, speaking to the maître d’ with an ease born of bloodlines and inheritance. His tie tonight was forest green silk, a quiet nod to his house colors, his wrist heavy with the old Cartier timepiece his grandfather once wore.

Jeonghan, across the table, looked like something out of an ethereal dream. A pale lavender shirt tucked into dove-grey trousers, no tie, no jacket—just the simple fall of fabric that glowed under golden chandeliers. A thin chain circled his throat, a single pearl hanging at its center.

When the waiters poured wine, Seungcheol’s hand brushed Jeonghan’s across the linen tablecloth, and their scents tangled—storm and rain, forest and lake. The sommelier, trained to notice subtleties, paused for a heartbeat, struck by something wordless in the air.

And yet, for all the luxury, their evenings always ended the same: quietly. A car ride home with city lights flickering across their faces, Jeonghan leaning his head against the window, Seungcheol stealing glances as though memorizing every shadow. At Jeonghan’s door, sometimes a kiss pressed into his temple, sometimes only a smile exchanged, but always the same unspoken promise—tomorrow, again.

Chapter Text

That weekend, the company held a lavish party. Champagne flowed, lights blurred, and by midnight Seungcheol was too drunk to stand up straight. His chauffeur tried to guide him home, but Seungcheol shoved the door open halfway, muttering only one name.

By 2 a.m., someone was banging on Jeonghan’s apartment door.

Jeonghan, hair tied loosely, wearing a thin sweater and soft cotton pants, opened it with a frown. “You…” he whispered, half in disbelief, as the tall alpha nearly collapsed into his hallway.

Seungcheol’s cologne was drowned in alcohol, his storm scent crashing through the quiet apartment. He clung to Jeonghan like a drowning man.

“Don’t send me home,” he slurred, forehead pressed to Jeonghan’s shoulder. “I—I only wanted to see you.”

Jeonghan sighed but wrapped an arm around him, guiding him inside with patient strength. “You’re impossible, Seungcheol.” He sat him down on the couch, brought him water, a wet towel, the kind of gentle care no one ever saw Jeonghan give.

But Seungcheol didn’t calm down. He pulled Jeonghan into his lap, voice shaking with a kind of drunk honesty that burned.
“Let me take you. Please. I’ve been starving for you. I can’t—don’t push me away again.”

Jeonghan studied him quietly. There was no denying the storm in his eyes, the desperation trembling in his hands. For once, Jeonghan didn’t resist. He leaned in, pressing a kiss soft and slow against Seungcheol’s temple, then his mouth. “Alright,” he murmured, “I’ll let you.”

⸻

Hours later, after the storm of it all had passed, Seungcheol was still restless, still clinging. His chest heaved, eyes glassy. He buried his face against Jeonghan’s neck and choked out,
“What am I to you? Hm? Some hidden mistress? You’ll keep me until you’re bored and then throw me away? I hear stories about cold omegas who chew up alphas, spit them out—and maybe that’s you. Maybe you’re—”

“Seungcheol.” Jeonghan’s voice cut sharp but quiet, silencing him in an instant.

The alpha blinked up, still trembling.

Jeonghan reached out, fingers threading into Seungcheol’s dark hair, tugging lightly until the older man’s head tilted back. Their eyes met—storm and lake, fire and calm. Jeonghan’s lips curved faintly as he whispered,
“Do you want a label?”

Seungcheol nodded desperately, voice breaking. “Yes. I need—I need to belong to you.”

Jeonghan leaned down, breath warm against his mouth, and said clearly, “You’re mine.”

Seungcheol’s whole body shuddered, a sound caught between a sob and a laugh breaking free. He clung tighter, like he would never let go again.

For the first time, Jeonghan smiled without teasing. “Now stop crying. Official or not, you’re still loud when you’re drunk.”

Seungcheol kissed him then, messy and grateful, his storm finally finding an anchor.

Chapter Text

The first thing Seungcheol felt when he woke was pain. His skull throbbed like it had been split open, every beat of his heart echoing in his temples. He groaned and pressed the heel of his palm over his eyes, half-buried in soft sheets that definitely weren’t his own.

The second thing he noticed was scent. Calm, clean, and quiet—like rainwater steeped in tea leaves, like a still garden after dawn showers. Jeonghan.

Slowly, he cracked an eye open. Morning sunlight painted warm gold across the small apartment, catching the edges of books piled near the window, soft curtains shifting with the breeze. And there, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed with a cup of tea in hand, was Jeonghan. His hair fell loose over one shoulder, his sweater slipping off one collarbone. He wasn’t watching him, just quietly flipping through a script with that unbothered elegance that made Seungcheol ache.

“Alive?” Jeonghan asked without looking up, voice lazy, like he already knew the answer.

Seungcheol groaned again and forced himself upright, hand clutched to his temple. “Barely. What did you let me drink last night—industrial cleaner?”

“Mm, you did that yourself.” Jeonghan finally glanced at him, eyes sharp with amusement, but his lips softened around the rim of his cup. “You were dramatic. Loud. Messy.”

The memories hit him like a bucket of cold water: the knocking on Jeonghan’s door, begging, crying, clinging, accusing Jeonghan of treating him like some secret, some fling. And then—Jeonghan’s hand in his hair, Jeonghan’s whisper: You’re mine.

Seungcheol froze, heartbeat hammering in his throat. His face burned with embarrassment at the things he had said, but stronger than shame was the bloom of warmth in his chest. Because even hungover, even aching, he remembered the words clearly. Jeonghan had claimed him.

He buried his face in his hands, groaning into his palms. “God. I made such a fool of myself.”

Jeonghan leaned closer, the mattress dipping. Fingers slid into his hair again, gentle this time, massaging his scalp where it hurt. “Yes,” Jeonghan agreed easily. “But you also got what you wanted.”

Seungcheol peeked up at him through his fingers, eyes wide, almost boyish despite the stubble on his jaw and the old-money sharpness of the watch still hanging from his wrist. “…You mean it?”

Jeonghan tilted his head, smile faint but real. “Mm. You’re mine, Cheol. Officially.”

For a long moment, Seungcheol couldn’t speak. His throat tightened, chest squeezed until it hurt. Then he surged forward, arms wrapping around Jeonghan’s waist, face pressed into his stomach like a giant child who’d finally been given candy after days of sulking. “Say it again.”

Jeonghan laughed softly, running his fingers through his messy black hair. “You’re mine.”

Seungcheol exhaled shakily, the storm in him finally quiet. For the first time in months, maybe years, he felt peace. No more uncertainty, no more restless nights wondering if he’d ever get to belong. He had his answer. They were official—boyfriends, partners, mates.

And even with the hangover splitting his skull, Seungcheol thought he’d never been happier.

____
The hangover lingered, but nothing could kill Seungcheol’s mood. He padded after Jeonghan all morning, bare feet heavy against the floorboards, watching every movement like he’d never seen a human make tea before.

“Baby, pass me that cup,” Seungcheol said lazily, pointing.

Jeonghan stilled, eyes flicking up at him. “…What?”

“The cup. Baby.” Seungcheol grinned, leaning against the counter, deliberately drawing out the word.

Jeonghan shoved the cup into his chest. “Don’t start.”

But it was too late. Seungcheol had tasted the forbidden fruit of endearments, and he wasn’t about to stop.

When Jeonghan sat at his desk later, flipping through scripts, Seungcheol draped himself over the back of the chair like an oversized cat. “Which one are you picking, babe? The forest one? The city drama? Babe, you’ll look good in both. Baby, listen to me, I’m giving you advice as your boyfriend—”

“Shut up,” Jeonghan muttered, jabbing his pen against the paper, ears burning red.

Even as Jeonghan tried to read, Seungcheol crawled onto the couch and stretched across it until his long legs practically caged Jeonghan in. “Move over, love of my life.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love it,” Seungcheol shot back instantly, then softened his tone, almost sheepish. “I wasn’t allowed to call you anything before, Hannie. Now I get to.”

The way he said it—like it was some hard-won prize—made Jeonghan glance at him, mouth twitching despite himself.

Still, Seungcheol didn’t let up. When Jeonghan brewed tea: “Thanks, darling.”
When Jeonghan picked a sweater: “Looking good, sweetheart.”
When Jeonghan reached for the remote: “Don’t strain yourself, baby, let your strong boyfriend do it.”

By afternoon Jeonghan had given up fighting. He simply sat there with his script while Seungcheol sprawled on the floor, head in Jeonghan’s lap, muttering half-asleep: “Mine… my Jeonghan… my baby…”

“God, you’re a mess,” Jeonghan whispered, brushing his hair back, but the hand lingered.

And Seungcheol, smug even on the edge of sleep, smiled like he’d won the world.

Chapter Text

Seungkwan’s phone lit up with a video call from his cousin. He almost didn’t pick up—Seungcheol had been so busy lately, half-ghosting the family, and Seungkwan was ready to scold him.

But when the screen opened—he froze.

Seungcheol filled the frame, hair messy from lounging, smug grin plastered across his face. “Kwan-ah!” he boomed dramatically, like an announcer. “I can’t talk long—I’m with my boyfriend right now.”

“…”

Seungkwan blinked, jaw slack. “…Excuse me, WHAT?”

The camera wobbled as Seungcheol swung it around. And there, in the background, in the warm little kitchen, was Yoon Jeonghan. The Jeonghan. Loose sweater sleeves pushed up, hair tied with a simple ribbon, quietly stirring something in a pot as if he hadn’t just shattered Seungkwan’s entire worldview.

Jeonghan glanced up, gave the faintest smile, and said softly, “Hi, Seungkwan.”

Seungkwan’s hand actually trembled. “Oh my god. Oh my god. You—you’re cooking? For—Cheol? Oh my god.” His eyes prickled, overwhelmed.

Jeonghan tilted his head, a little shy. “And… I also wanted to apologize. I know I was sharp with you before. You didn’t deserve that.”

Seungkwan made a small, choked sound. “You—apologize? To me? No, no—oh my god, I’m getting to know Yoon Jeonghan—he’s famous and beautiful and introverted and… and he’s real—” He sniffled, fanning his eyes.

Seungcheol cut in with a growl, “Kwan, stop crying, you’re embarrassing me—”

But Seungkwan wasn’t done. He wiped at his face, then peered suspiciously into the camera. “You know what? If you ever mess this up, Cheol—don’t think I won’t step in. I know plenty of good, rich alphas who would line up for blind dates with Jeonghan-hyung. The line would go around the block.”

“WHAT?!” Seungcheol barked, nearly dropping the phone. “Are you insane?! He’s mine, mine! No lines, no dates, no anything!”

In the background, Jeonghan’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter as he stirred the pot.

Seungkwan sniffed again, looking smug now. “Well, then you better not screw it up, cousin. Because honestly? If he leaves you, I’m signing him up for the best options out there.”

“Over my dead body!!” Seungcheol roared, pacing like a jealous guard dog. “Jeonghan, tell him! Tell him you’re not going anywhere!”

Jeonghan just hummed, ladling soup into a bowl. “Mm… depends if my boyfriend behaves.”

Seungkwan nearly screamed. Seungcheol nearly exploded.

Chapter Text

Mingyu flopped onto his couch after a long day, phone wedged to his ear as he dialed Seungcheol. It had been a while—Cheol hyung disappeared lately, all “busy with work.” Mingyu expected to be ignored again, so when the line clicked, he perked up.

“Hyung! Finally. Where’ve you been hiding? We were starting to think you got abducted or something.”

On the other end, Seungcheol’s voice came lazy, smug. “I’ve been busy… with my boyfriend.”

Mingyu burst out laughing so hard he nearly dropped the phone. “Pfft—what? You? Boyfriend? Hyung, stop lying—what, you picked up another fling and you’re calling it love now?”

“Not a fling,” Seungcheol said smoothly. “My boyfriend.”

Mingyu rolled his eyes, grinning. “Yeah, sure, whatever. And who’s the poor soul—”

Then a soft, familiar voice floated from somewhere in the background:
“Cheol, do you want tea or coffee with dinner?”

Mingyu froze. His brain short-circuited. That voice—he’d know it anywhere. He’d heard it in interviews, in movies, in those late-night replays of Jeonghan’s tragic drama scenes that made him cry like an idiot.

“…Hyung,” Mingyu whispered, eyes wide. “Wait. Wait. Was that—no. No way. That—that sounded like Yoon Jeonghan.”

There was a beat of silence, then Seungcheol smirked right into the phone. “That’s because it was Yoon Jeonghan. My boyfriend.”

Mingyu shot upright, nearly knocking over his water glass. “YOU’RE KIDDING. No. No, hyung. Stop messing with me—don’t joke like this, you know I love him—”

From the kitchen, Jeonghan’s voice again, gentle and calm: “Cheol, don’t tease your friend too much.”

Mingyu slapped a hand over his mouth. His eyes stung. “Holy—holy shit—it’s real?!” His voice cracked embarrassingly. “You—how—you—HYUNG, how the hell did you land Jeonghan?!”

Seungcheol leaned back, smugness dripping from every word. “What can I say? He fell for my charm.”

Mingyu let out a wounded groan. “I hate you. I hate you so much. You—playboy, old-money, cocky alpha bastard—and you’re dating him?! This is so unfair! I literally cried watching his last film! I’m a fan!”

In the background, Jeonghan laughed softly—quiet, breathy, the sound of someone genuinely amused. Mingyu’s heart clenched. “Oh my god… he’s real… he’s in your kitchen…”

Seungcheol, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt, said simply, “And he’s mine.”

“NOOOO!” Mingyu wailed, throwing his head back against the couch dramatically. “This is the biggest betrayal of my life!”

Chapter Text

The call ended, and Mingyu froze in his chair like he’d just seen a ghost. Then his thumbs flew across his phone.

Mingyu → Seungkwan:
KWAN. EMERGENCY.
YOUR HYUNG JUST PICKED UP MY CALL AND SAID “I’M WITH MY BOYFRIEND”
AND THEN JEONGHAN’S VOICE CAME FROM HIS KITCHEN.
EXPLAIN. NOW.

Seungkwan → Mingyu:
…LMAO welcome to the present, Kim Mingyu.
yes, they’re dating.

Mingyu:
??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN “YES”???
YOU KNEW??

Seungkwan:
of course I knew???
they literally called me yesterday—Cheol showing off and Jeonghan apologizing for being mean to me before.
I was there when the big reveal happened.

Mingyu:
WHAT
SO I’M THE LAST TO KNOW??

Seungkwan:
yup.
poor puppy. imagine being the only one left out while my playboy cousin parades around with THE Jeonghan.

Mingyu:
bro I thought he was JOKING.
like some sick prank.
but then I heard Jeonghan ask if Cheol wanted tea… KWAN HE SAID TEA… in his soft voice…
I ALMOST CRIED ON THE SPOT.

Seungkwan:
honestly same, he said my name once and I nearly teared up.
but you?? LMAO. you crying over my cousin’s love life is so funny.

Mingyu:
shut up I’m literally shaking.
do you understand how insane this is??? SEUNGCHEOL?? AND JEONGHAN??
it’s like a fanfic plotline.

Seungkwan:
nah it’s worse—cause it’s REAL.
and trust me, Cheol is unbearable now. keeps calling him “my boyfriend” every five minutes.
disgusting.

Mingyu:
…I hate him.
but also I respect him.
but also I hate him.

Seungkwan:
same. let’s make a support group.
“Victims of Cheol’s Public Affection (feat. Yoon Jeonghan)”

Mingyu:
sign me up.

Chapter Text

Mingyu → Seungkwan:
bro I swear, Cheol just said “my boyfriend” in the SMARMIEST tone. I wanted to vomit.

Seungkwan:
same, yesterday he wouldn’t stop saying it either.
like ok we get it, congrats, you bagged Jeonghan. no need to tattoo it on our foreheads.

Mingyu:
exactly!! it’s so unfair. the universe handed HIM JEONGHAN???

Seungkwan:
ngl I think fate got drunk that day.
anyway, wait—hold up. do you have any bad pics of him?

Mingyu:
…bad pics?

Seungkwan:
yeah. something shameful. we’re not surviving this smug alpha era without ammo.

Mingyu:
……say less.

Two minutes later Mingyu sends a blurry photo of Seungcheol passed out on his own couch, one sock half-off, mouth wide open, a can of beer still in his hand.

Mingyu:
exhibit A: local CEO, big scary alpha, future heir… sleeping like a retired uncle.

Seungkwan:
LMAOOOOOO
okay wait wait—send it to Jeonghan.

Mingyu:
WHAT no I can’t—

Seungkwan:
coward. watch me.

A few seconds later, Seungkwan forwards the picture directly to Jeonghan with no context.

Seungkwan → Jeonghan:
hi hannie just thought you should know what your “boyfriend” really looks like off-duty.

Jeonghan (seen)
Jeonghan → Seungkwan:
thank you, kwan. this will be useful.

Mingyu:
KWAN YOU DIDN’T.

Seungkwan:
oh I did. and Hannie liked it.

Mingyu:
bro you’re insane.
but also… send him this one too.

He drops another pic: Cheol mid-sneeze, eyes half-shut, face scrunched in the ugliest way possible.

Seungkwan:
I’M CRYING.
okay okay, sending.

A minute later—

Jeonghan → Seungkwan:
I’ll make sure to remind him next time he gets too loud about being my boyfriend.

Seungkwan:
mission accomplished

Mingyu:
we’re heroes.

___
At first, it’s innocent — Jeonghan replying with polite “ㅎㅎ” or “ㅋㅋㅋ” when Seungkwan sends him memes. But then Mingyu starts chiming in with funny clips, candid photos of Seungcheol looking dumb, or random puppy gifs that “remind me of you, hyung.”

Pretty soon, Jeonghan has his phone buzzing constantly. He’s curled on the couch, scrolling, lips pressed together as if he’s trying not to laugh — until he finally cracks, shoulders shaking, giggling so sweetly it makes Seungcheol freeze in the middle of buttoning his cufflinks.

“…What’s so funny?” Cheol asks, tone way too sharp for something so harmless.

“Nothing,” Jeonghan says lightly, thumb still moving fast over the screen. He angles the phone away, not even looking up.

Cheol narrows his eyes. “You’ve been on that damn phone all day. Is it another alpha? Do you get bored of me already?” His voice gets rougher, dramatic, because of course he can’t just ask normally — he has to sound like the world is ending.

Jeonghan finally looks up at him with a faintly exasperated smile. “Why are you so loud?”

“Because my mate is giggling at someone else’s messages while I’m right here,” Cheol grumbles, pacing now, running a hand through his hair. “If you wanted other alphas you should’ve told me earlier, Hannie. I’d—”

“Stop being stupid.” Jeonghan cuts him off smoothly, eyes already back on his phone. His voice is calm, almost teasing. “It’s Seungkwan. And Mingyu. They send nonsense all day. That’s all.”

Cheol freezes. “…My cousin? And Gyu?”

Jeonghan hums, scrolling. “Mm. They’re funny.”

Cheol’s jaw clenches. He comes over, tries to lean in to peek, but Jeonghan tilts the phone away without even looking at him, expression maddeningly serene.

“Don’t hide it from me,” Cheol growls, leaning over the back of the couch. “What are they sending you? Dirty jokes? Flirting?”

Jeonghan, still scrolling, murmurs, “Memes. A video of a dog wearing glasses. A screenshot of you snoring.”

“WHAT—” Cheol’s voice cracks, ears turning red. “They— they can’t just— Hannie you can’t laugh at that, it makes me look—”

“Like yourself?” Jeonghan lifts his gaze finally, soft smile tugging his lips. “Don’t be jealous of your own fans, Cheol. They’re sweet. I like them.”

That word — like — makes Cheol nearly combust. He drops his forehead against Jeonghan’s shoulder with a groan. “You’re not allowed to like anyone except me,” he mutters.

Jeonghan doesn’t answer. Just slips the phone out of reach and sets it on the table, his hand idly brushing through Cheol’s hair while he keeps reading the messages in his head.

Meanwhile Cheol sulks for the rest of the night, glaring every time Jeonghan’s phone buzzes with another “ㅋㅋㅋ” from Kwan.

Chapter Text

It starts when Mingyu realizes Jeonghan always answers his memes. One day he whispers to Kwan on call: “Bro… he actually laughed at my dog video. Jeonghan-hyung. Jeonghan.”

Seungkwan goes quiet for a second before his voice sharpens with glee. “You know what this means, right?”

“What?”

“We’re his bonus mates now. Our hyung’s mate has adopted us. We’re untouchable.”

Cue Mingyu gasping like he just unlocked a new badge in life. And from that moment—they lean in.

They start flooding Jeonghan’s messages at the same time. Mingyu sending cursed screenshots of Seungcheol’s old magazine shoots with captions like “look at this tragic eyebrow pencil job”. Seungkwan sends photos of Seungcheol drunk, sprawled on couches with his mouth wide open.

And Jeonghan? He eats it up. Always replies with quiet “ㅎㅎㅎ” or little hearts, sometimes even “please send more.”

Seungcheol walks into the room one night, sees Jeonghan giggling into his phone, and immediately knows it’s them.

“Who is it now,” he grumbles, looming like a storm cloud.

Jeonghan, serene: “Your fanclub.”

Seungcheol snatches the phone, but by then the groupchat’s name has already been changed by Kwan to: “Jeonghan’s Real Boyfriends + Accessories”. Mingyu pinned a picture of Seungcheol sulking as the banner.

Seungcheol: “Yah! Delete this! Both of you!”
Seungkwan: “Shhh. Don’t speak unless spoken to, sub character.”
Mingyu: “Hyung, don’t stress, you’ll wrinkle. Jeonghan-hyung doesn’t like wrinkly alphas.”

Jeonghan wheezes at that one, nearly spilling his tea.

And that’s when Cheol snaps. “Hannie! They’re disrespecting me in my own relationship!”

But Jeonghan only pats his arm, utterly unbothered. “Mm. You deserve it. You were cruel to them for years.”

Cue Seungcheol sputtering, betrayed. “You’re on their side??”

Jeonghan, smiling: “Of course. They’re cute.”

And that kills Seungcheol—because that’s his word, the one he uses to describe Jeonghan. Now Jeonghan is giving it away freely to his bratty little cousins.

From then on, Seungkwan and Mingyu go feral with their power.
They deliberately send Jeonghan photos of Seungcheol shirtless in middle school (“before the steroids phase”).
They create a sticker pack of Seungcheol’s worst candid faces and spam it every time he enters the chat.
Mingyu sends voice notes imitating Cheol’s low growly voice: “JeOnGhAnNnN~~ dOn’t lEaVe mEeee~”

Every time, Jeonghan laughs, delicate and genuine, which only makes Cheol more insane.

At one point, Kwan even says on video call: “Hyung, if you break up with him, don’t worry. I’ll line up some decent chaebol alphas for you. Real gentlemen. Unlike this muscle gorilla.”

Seungcheol almost throws his phone. Jeonghan just smiles, murmurs “I’ll keep that in mind,” and that’s enough to make Cheol cling to his waist like a barnacle for the rest of the night, muttering “don’t listen to them, Hannie, you’re mine, only mine.”

Chapter Text

It happens on one of their quiet off-days.
The sky is warm grey, the air thick with spring rain. Jeonghan is sitting cross-legged on the couch, hair loose, flipping through a script. Seungcheol has been restless for hours—wandering the apartment, trying to make Jeonghan laugh after the tension of their last fight.

He’s in one of those moods where he can’t stop teasing—tugging on Jeonghan’s sleeve, poking his cheek, brushing his hair away just to see him glare.

“Cheol,” Jeonghan warns, voice low. “Stop before I kill you.”
But Seungcheol only grins. “You won’t. You love me too much.”

He reaches again—Jeonghan swats at his hand, and Seungcheol, meaning to play along, does the same.
A light, silly slap.
Except his strength misjudges.

There’s a sharp crack of sound.
And Jeonghan’s head turns a little too hard to the side.

For one breath, everything stops.

The air goes thin.
Jeonghan freezes, blinking. Not because it hurt—his skin barely pink—but because the shock slices through him.

Seungcheol’s grin dies instantly. His hand hangs mid-air. “Hannie—”

Jeonghan’s voice cuts, soft but sharp as glass.

“Don’t touch me.”

It’s quiet, calm. That calm that means real anger. He stands up, eyes cold, and walks straight to the bedroom.

The door closes.

And Seungcheol—Seungcheol just stands there, feeling like the worst person alive.

He knocks once. Twice. “Hannie, I didn’t mean—please, I swear I didn’t mean to. It was a reflex, I didn’t think—”

Nothing.

Then the silence breaks him.
He slides down the door, sits on the floor with his head in his hands, and—without meaning to—starts crying.
Not the quiet, manly kind of crying he’s practiced all his life, but the ugly, raw kind that comes when guilt twists too deep.

He cries until his voice is hoarse, whispering through the door:

“I never, never want to hurt you. You know that, right? I don’t even like seeing you flinch.”

Inside, Jeonghan stands by the bed, arms crossed, chest tight. He hears him—every word, every sniffle—but he’s too angry to open the door, too soft-hearted to ignore it.

After a long while, he sighs, opens the door just a little.
Seungcheol looks up, eyes red and wet, cheeks streaked. He’s ridiculous, like a kicked puppy.

Jeonghan groans quietly. “You’re crying?”
“Because you won’t look at me,” Seungcheol mumbles, voice wrecked. “You think I’d ever hit you for real?”

Jeonghan stares for a moment, then finally crouches down, wipes the corner of his cheek with his sleeve.
“Idiot. You’re too strong to play like that,” he murmurs, but the edge is gone from his voice now. “You scare people without meaning to.”

Seungcheol leans his forehead against Jeonghan’s knee, whispering, “I’m sorry. I swear I’ll be careful. I’ll never touch you rough again unless you tell me to.”

And Jeonghan—still annoyed, but helplessly fond—just mutters,

“You’re such a big baby.”

“Your baby,” Seungcheol hiccups back immediately, half sob, half smile.

Jeonghan snorts, ruffles his hair, and pulls him up.
He makes Seungcheol wash his face, then drags him to the couch, where the alpha curls up beside him, clinging tight, still mumbling apologies into Jeonghan’s sweater.

The whole apartment smells faintly of rain and Jeonghan’s tea.
By the time the storm outside fades, Seungcheol’s breathing evens out—his head in Jeonghan’s lap, Jeonghan’s fingers absent-mindedly combing through his hair, forgiveness slowly, quietly settling between them.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Jeonghan wakes first.
The light is still pale, barely sliding through the curtains. Seungcheol’s arm is heavy across his waist, his face buried into Jeonghan’s chest like a clingy furnace.

Jeonghan can feel the faint puff of his breath against his skin, warm and uneven, still a little sniffly from all that crying last night.

He exhales slowly.
He wants to roll his eyes—his big, musclehead alpha turning into a sobbing child—but instead, he just stays still for a while. Watches the way Seungcheol’s lashes twitch in his sleep, the way his hand flexes when Jeonghan shifts.

“Idiot,” Jeonghan murmurs under his breath. “You really cried yourself sick, huh?”

He carefully untangles himself from Seungcheol’s grip, tucks the blanket higher, and pads barefoot to the kitchen.

It’s quiet. The kind of morning where the world feels hushed, like even the clocks don’t dare tick too loud.

Jeonghan makes coffee—two cups. One dark and strong for Seungcheol, one mild for himself. He sets a pot of rice porridge to simmer on the stove, slicing ginger and green onion the way Seungcheol likes.
Then he makes honey toast—because he remembers Seungcheol eating it once after a hangover and calling it “comfort in a bite.”

He doesn’t know why he’s doing all this.
Maybe because guilt still stings behind his ribs—because he remembers that sound, that cracked voice begging through the door.
Or maybe because despite everything, Seungcheol had looked so small, sitting there with his head in his hands, whispering that he never wanted to hurt him.

When the porridge starts to bubble, Jeonghan takes out a small tray. He folds a napkin neatly, sets everything just right—coffee, porridge, toast, a few slices of apple. He even pours a little water in a glass because Seungcheol always forgets to drink first thing in the morning.

Then he carries it all back into the bedroom.

Seungcheol is awake now, groggy, hair a mess, blinking at him like a confused puppy.
“…Hannie?” His voice is still husky. “What’s all that?”

Jeonghan doesn’t answer at first. He sets the tray on the bed, sits down, crosses his legs, and says coolly,

“Breakfast. Because someone cried like a baby last night and gave me a headache.”

Seungcheol flushes, embarrassed. “I didn’t—”
“You did.” Jeonghan smirks, leaning close. “You were hiccuping, Cheol. I thought I’d have to rock you to sleep.”

The alpha groans, covers his face. “Don’t tease me…”

Jeonghan laughs softly, pushes his hands away. “Eat, before it gets cold.”

And Seungcheol—blushing, still looking like a kicked dog—takes a bite of toast, then looks up at him.
“You’re… really not mad anymore?”

Jeonghan sighs, brushing a crumb from his lip with his thumb.
“I was mad,” he admits quietly. “But I know it wasn’t on purpose. You just—forget your own strength sometimes.”

Seungcheol looks down, nods slowly. “I’ll be careful. I swear.”

“I know,” Jeonghan says. “That’s why I made you breakfast.”

There’s a long silence. Then Seungcheol’s hand finds Jeonghan’s, squeezes tight. His voice comes out low and rough:

“You spoil me too much.”

Jeonghan gives a small shrug, pretending nonchalance.
“Don’t get used to it.”

But when Seungcheol leans in and kisses his wrist, murmuring, “Too late,” Jeonghan doesn’t push him away.
He just sighs, soft and fond, and lets the idiot eat his porridge with sleepy little smiles between each spoonful—pretending not to notice that he’s the happiest man alive just because his omega forgave him.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol’s suitcase is half open on the bed, clothes spilling out like he just threw everything he owned inside without thinking. He’s pacing the room, phone wedged between his shoulder and ear, barking something about flight times and contracts, while Jeonghan sits by the window with a book, pretending not to listen.

When the call ends, Seungcheol turns toward him with that desperate look again.
“Hannie, come with me.”

Jeonghan doesn’t even look up. “No.”

“Please—just a few days! It’s boring there, it’s just meetings and dinners, but I’ll be miserable alone.”

“You’ll survive.”

Seungcheol groans like a dying man, drops down on his knees beside Jeonghan’s chair.
“Hannie—”

“Seungcheol.” Jeonghan sighs, finally looking up from his book. “It’s a business trip. You’re not five.”

“I feel five,” he mutters, resting his head on Jeonghan’s knee. “And my heart’s broken because my omega refuses to come.”

Jeonghan flicks his forehead lightly. “You’re ridiculous.”

But Seungcheol just clings harder, arms wrapping around Jeonghan’s waist. “I’ll book another seat, I’ll make sure you have your own room—no, scratch that, I want you in my room. Please, Hannie. You can read, go shopping, whatever you want. Just… come.”

Jeonghan studies him for a long moment. The strong, confident CEO everyone fears in meetings—now reduced to a whining, oversized child with bed hair and puppy eyes. His tie is half undone, shirt wrinkled, the silver watch on his wrist glinting every time he gestures. Everything about him screams old money alpha, spoiled since birth, used to getting what he wants.

And right now, what he wants is Jeonghan.

“Do you beg your business partners like this too?” Jeonghan asks dryly.

“Only you,” Seungcheol says instantly, eyes wide and dramatic. “Because they don’t have lips like yours.”

Jeonghan gives him a look that could freeze the sea.
“You sound like a man who’s never been told no.”

“That’s because I haven’t,” Seungcheol says, still kneeling. “Not until I met you.”

Jeonghan shuts his book with a soft thud, sighs, and stands up. Seungcheol stays on the floor, looking up at him with expectant eyes.

“You really don’t know how to do anything without me, do you?” Jeonghan murmurs.

“No,” Seungcheol says honestly. “I don’t even know how to sleep properly without you.”

That makes Jeonghan’s mouth twitch, a tiny ghost of a smile he tries to hide. “You’re hopeless.”

“I’m yours,” Seungcheol says, grinning. “Same thing.”

By the time the afternoon light shifts golden, Jeonghan’s already halfway through packing a small suitcase. His movements are neat, elegant—folding each shirt, checking his skincare bag twice, picking simple linen clothes and a silk scarf.

Behind him, Seungcheol practically beams, leaning on the doorframe like a man who’s just won the lottery.

“You’re really coming?”

Jeonghan glances back at him. “You’d probably cry at the airport if I didn’t.”

Seungcheol laughs, crosses the room, and sweeps him into a hug from behind. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Mm.” Jeonghan smooths down the front of his shirt. “Then start acting like it. And stop throwing your socks around, for god’s sake.”

But Seungcheol doesn’t let go. His nose buries into Jeonghan’s neck, inhaling softly—his scent of clean morning tea, rain, and something sweetly elusive that Seungcheol could never name but always craves.

Jeonghan sighs again, but this time it’s quieter, softer.
Because for all his dramatics, Seungcheol is warm. Steady. So full of love he doesn’t know where to put it.

And maybe, Jeonghan thinks, as he lets Seungcheol cling a little longer—maybe it’s not so terrible to spoil him just a little more.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol’s in sunglasses, black cashmere coat over a white turtleneck, the very image of an old-money heir on a business trip—but with the energy of an overgrown golden retriever. He’s practically vibrating with happiness just because Jeonghan is next to him, sleepy and pale in a cream trench coat, carrying his tea and glaring at Seungcheol like he might vanish into thin air if given the choice.

“You look so tired,” Seungcheol says brightly, ignoring the warning in Jeonghan’s eyes. “Let’s go shopping.”

“Shopping?” Jeonghan repeats flatly. “We just landed. You have a meeting in two hours.”

“I canceled it,” Seungcheol says proudly, already waving at the chauffeur. “I’ll reschedule for tonight. You need new coats for the cold weather.”

“I have coats.”

“You have Korean coats,” Seungcheol argues, leaning close with that mischievous grin. “But not Paris coats.”

Jeonghan’s sigh could end civilizations.
“Seungcheol—”

Too late. The alpha’s already dragging him into a car, one arm around his waist like he’s afraid Jeonghan might run away.

⸻

Balenciaga. Burberry. Hugo Boss. Dior.

By the time they hit their third store, Jeonghan’s eyes have lost all light. He’s standing stiffly by the mirror while Seungcheol, energized beyond reason, keeps bringing him things.

“Try this scarf. No—this one, the silk one, it matches your eyes. Oh and these shoes—god, look at the shape, Hannie, it’s you.”

“Seungcheol.”

“Yes, baby?”

“I am not your doll.”

“But you’re so pretty,” Seungcheol beams. “The world deserves to see.”

“The world,” Jeonghan says, voice like slow winter frost, “is not invited.”

Seungcheol only grins wider. He’s standing behind Jeonghan now, watching in the mirror as Jeonghan buttons up a gray cashmere coat. His reflection is quiet, elegant, the high collar framing his throat, his hair falling in pale waves against the soft fabric. Seungcheol’s smile softens.

“…Okay, maybe the world’s not invited,” he murmurs. “Just me.”

Jeonghan doesn’t answer, but there’s a faint color to his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

Still, by the fourth store, he’s done. Entirely done.

“Enough,” he says, tone sharp. “You’ve bought half the city. I’m going back to the hotel.”

Seungcheol freezes, pouts like a scolded child. Then, without warning—

“Don’t you dare—Seungcheol!”

He scoops Jeonghan up. Effortlessly. One arm under his knees, the other around his back, lifting him like he weighs nothing.

Jeonghan’s book bag dangles midair as he struggles, mortified. “Put me down—right now—”

Seungcheol laughs so hard the sales assistants start giggling too. “Nope. You’re not allowed to escape until you smile.”

“Seungcheol Choi, I swear—”

“Smile!”

“You’re insane!”

“Still not smiling.”

“Put me down before I—”

But Jeonghan’s voice is already dissolving into reluctant laughter. It slips out, quiet but real, and Seungcheol’s grin brightens instantly.

“There it is,” he says softly, lowering Jeonghan back to his feet like something precious. “Knew I could find it again.”

Jeonghan glares, cheeks pink. “You’re a disaster.”

Seungcheol just bows dramatically, one hand over his heart. “Your disaster, officially labeled and signed.”

“Remind me to revoke that label,” Jeonghan mutters, turning toward the door.

Seungcheol catches up easily, wrapping his arm around Jeonghan’s shoulder as they walk out into the autumn light—Jeonghan’s new coat brushing against Seungcheol’s own, the contrast of cream and black like day and night stitched together.

And despite all his protests, Jeonghan lets him hold on.

Chapter Text

By the time they finally stumble back into the hotel suite, Jeonghan looks like a ghost in designer cashmere.
His hair’s a soft mess, his pale coat half-unbuttoned, his arms heavy with shopping bags that Seungcheol absolutely refused to let the staff carry.

The suite itself is ridiculous — all marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows spilling golden dusk light over the city. But Jeonghan barely even glances at it. He drops the bags near the sofa, sighs, and just… sinks into the nearest armchair like he’s about to evaporate.

Seungcheol, on the other hand, still has way too much energy. He sets the last bag down with a proud grin, like a dog bringing home sticks.
“Look at all this! You’re gonna look like royalty at dinner tonight.”

Jeonghan doesn’t even open his eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere.”

“But—”

“I said I’m not going anywhere.”

Seungcheol pauses, blinking. Then he crouches in front of him, big hands coming up to gently lift one of Jeonghan’s ankles.
“Your feet must hurt,” he murmurs. “Here—let me—”

Jeonghan cracks one eye open just in time to see the terrifying sight of Seoul’s most powerful CEO kneeling in his thousand-dollar slacks, starting to massage his feet.
“What are you doing?”

“Helping,” Seungcheol says simply, thumb pressing carefully against the arch of Jeonghan’s foot. “You walked all day. I dragged you everywhere. I’m sorry, Hannie.”

Jeonghan stares down at him, caught between outrage and reluctant amusement. “You have a business dinner in thirty minutes.”

“I’ll skip it.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t,” Jeonghan repeats, and then—swiftly, elegantly—he lifts his other foot and kicks Seungcheol in the arm. Not hard, just enough to make the alpha blink up at him like a scolded puppy.

“Ow! Hannie—”

“Go.” Jeonghan points toward the door, voice soft but sharp as glass. “You caused this. You fix it. Go play responsible adult for once.”

“But—”

Jeonghan tilts his head, eyes narrowing, the faintest trace of a smirk curling his lips. “If you don’t leave in five seconds, I’m calling the concierge and telling them a strange man broke into my room.”

Seungcheol groans, but the sight of that smug little smile makes him melt. “You’re evil.”

“Mm.” Jeonghan leans back into the armchair, pulling a blanket over himself. “And tired. Go away.”

He’s already half-asleep when Seungcheol finally gets up, muttering to himself as he straightens his jacket. But before he leaves, the alpha can’t help one last thing — he bends down, presses a quick kiss to Jeonghan’s hair, and whispers,
“I’ll be back soon. Don’t dream of anyone else.”

From under the blanket, Jeonghan mumbles, “I’ll dream of peace and silence, thank you.”

The door closes. The room goes quiet except for the hum of the city outside.

Jeonghan exhales, letting his body sink into the soft sheets, the scent of Seungcheol’s wood-and-storm cologne lingering faintly in the air.
He hates to admit it… but it’s oddly comforting.

Chapter Text

It’s well past midnight when the hotel door clicks open again.
Jeonghan, drowsy and warm under the covers, hears the sound of uneven footsteps, a keycard hitting the floor, then a heavy thud against the doorframe.

He groans quietly. “…Please tell me you didn’t get drunk at your meeting.”

There’s a pause. Then Seungcheol’s low, guilty laugh.
“…Maybe just a little.”

A little apparently means half the bar, because the man who staggers into the suite looks like a fallen oak tree in a tuxedo — tie undone, shirt buttons half-missing, his usually sharp gaze softened and glassy. He spots Jeonghan on the bed and breaks into the most lovesick grin imaginable.

“Hannieeee,” he drawls, dragging out the name like honey. “My boyfriend’s awake~”

Jeonghan sits up just in time to catch a massive alpha body collapsing onto the mattress beside him. Seungcheol lands half on, half off the bed, one arm immediately slinging across Jeonghan’s waist, cheek pressing against Jeonghan’s shoulder like a clingy dog.

“Yah! Get off!” Jeonghan protests, trying to shove him upright. “You smell like whiskey and bad decisions.”

Seungcheol hums, already nuzzling closer. “Mmm. Smells better when I’m near you.”

“Gross.”

“Nooo, you’re soft,” Seungcheol mumbles, burying his nose in Jeonghan’s neck, completely ignoring the protests. “Missed you. You sleep too far away.”

“Cheol.” Jeonghan’s voice sharpens. “You’re dripping alcohol on my pillow.”

Instead of answering, the alpha just makes a low, content noise and goes completely still. His weight settles heavy over Jeonghan — solid, warm, unmovable. Within seconds, his breathing evens out.

“…No way,” Jeonghan mutters, poking at his shoulder. “You can’t seriously be asleep already.”

He is. Dead to the world.

Jeonghan sighs, pushing futilely against him, but Seungcheol might as well be carved from marble — an expensive, annoyingly handsome marble statue with messy hair and a stupid peaceful smile.

After a long moment, Jeonghan gives up.
He reaches up, fingers tangling in Seungcheol’s hair, giving it a small warning tug. “Next time you get drunk and lean on me like a sofa again, I’ll shave your head.”

Seungcheol doesn’t move, but there’s the faintest twitch of a smile against Jeonghan’s skin, like even in sleep, his body knows he’s being scolded.

“Idiot,” Jeonghan whispers, softer now.

He lets out one last resigned sigh, adjusting the blanket over both of them. Seungcheol’s arm is still locked tight around his waist — heavy, protective, warm.

By the time the city outside quiets into its late-night rhythm, Jeonghan has already drifted off too, curled reluctantly into the chest of the ridiculous alpha who refuses to sleep anywhere else.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol wakes to light.
Too much light.

The kind that cuts straight through your skull and rattles behind your eyes.
He groans, pressing a hand to his face, wincing at the ache at the base of his skull—
And then he freezes.

Ow. His hair hurts.
Not like a normal headache. Like someone yanked it.

He blinks, trying to orient himself. The hotel suite is dim but golden with morning sun. His jacket is slung halfway across the floor, his shirt’s undone, and the pillow beside him still smells faintly like Jeonghan’s perfume—tea and rain and something maddeningly clean.

And there, by the window, sits Jeonghan.

Legs folded, robe loose over soft sleepwear, his long hair tied back carelessly. A cup of tea cradled between his hands. Morning light catches his skin like glass—quiet, distant, unreal.

Seungcheol stares for a long moment, memory crawling back in slow, embarrassing fragments:
the meeting, the whiskey, his dramatic return, Jeonghan’s voice scolding him, and then… nothing.

“…Morning,” he croaks.

Jeonghan doesn’t look up. “You snore.”

Seungcheol blinks. “…I do not.”

“You do. And drool.”

“I—what?” He props himself up too quickly, immediately regretting it. “I don’t drool.”

Jeonghan hums, still not turning around. “Then maybe your whiskey did.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes at the back of Jeonghan’s head, voice raspy. “…Why does my hair hurt?”

A long pause. Then, finally, Jeonghan glances over his shoulder. The corner of his mouth lifts—an infuriatingly faint, satisfied curve.

“Because I told you to stop leaning on me and you didn’t,” he says simply. “So I had to get creative.”

“Creative?!”

“Mm. You survived, didn’t you?”

Seungcheol groans dramatically, flopping back against the pillows. “You assaulted me.”

Jeonghan’s tone is dry. “You came in half-dead, collapsed on top of me, and refused to move."

He takes another sip of tea, serene. The quiet morning air fills with the faint scent of bergamot and the sound of distant city traffic.

Seungcheol watches him, head throbbing but heart weirdly softening.
There’s something about Jeonghan in daylight—unpainted, unbothered, his expression calm but his words sharp—that makes him ache in a different way.

“…You’re not even going to ask if I’m okay?” Seungcheol tries, voice small.

Jeonghan gives him a flat look. “You’re fine. You’re loud enough to prove it.”

Seungcheol grins faintly, the edges of his hangover fading just from the sound of Jeonghan’s voice.

“…My kitten’s getting soft,” Seungcheol murmurs under his breath.

A spoon clinks sharply into the teacup. “Say that again and I’ll pour this on your head.”

Seungcheol can’t help it—he laughs. Low, hoarse, but utterly fond.
And Jeonghan—just barely—smiles into his cup.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol spends the next hour pacing the hotel room like a man with a mission.

He’s freshly showered, hair still damp, shirt sleeves rolled up — a picture of sincerity if not for the wild glint of guilt and panic behind his eyes. Jeonghan, meanwhile, is peacefully stretched on the bed again, flipping lazily through the hotel’s art book, completely ignoring him.

“Okay,” Seungcheol mutters to himself, scrolling on his phone. “Restaurants, flowers, private bookings—something romantic, not too cliché—wait, no, cliché is fine, Jeonghan likes pretty—”

“Cheol,” Jeonghan says without looking up. “You’re mumbling like a man auditioning for insanity.”

He looks up, hair still dripping. “You’re not mad anymore, right?”

“I’m not mad,” Jeonghan replies simply. “I’m disappointed.”

Seungcheol winces, like that word alone hit harder than the slap from yesterday. “That’s worse,” he groans, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “Baby, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t mean to.” Jeonghan closes the book, sighing. “You’re just… big. And careless.”

Seungcheol immediately scoots closer, eyes wide and pleading. “Then let me be big and careful for you today.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That’s not how physics works.”

“Shh. Don’t ruin the moment.”

He grabs Jeonghan’s hands — warm, slender, still faintly pink from tea — and kisses the back of them like some melodramatic knight. Jeonghan just stares at him, expression flat but eyes glinting faint amusement.

“What are you plotting now?”

Seungcheol straightens up, trying to look noble. “You’ll see. Don’t make any plans today.”

“I don’t have any plans,” Jeonghan says dryly, “because someone dragged me across continents for business meetings I’m not part of.”

“Exactly,” Seungcheol beams, “so you’re free to enjoy your surprise.”

Jeonghan gives him a long, suspicious look. “…If this ends with another shopping trip, I will physically push you into the sea.”

⸻

By afternoon, Jeonghan finds himself walking into a candlelit rooftop terrace overlooking the city — not one of those stuffy, performative restaurants, but a private setup, quiet and warm.
Soft jazz hums in the air. There’s a small table for two, a platter of Jeonghan’s favorite dishes (which Seungcheol must have called in special from room service), and a trail of rose petals that is just a little too much.

Jeonghan stops at the entrance, blinking. “…You really did this?”

Seungcheol, now in a crisp white shirt, standing beside the table like a proud retriever, grins sheepishly. “Do you like it?”

Jeonghan looks at him. Looks at the rose petals. Then back at him.

“This is ridiculous,” he murmurs.

“Ridiculously romantic,” Seungcheol corrects, pulling out a chair for him. “Sit, before I start narrating my heartbreak.”

Jeonghan sighs, but the corners of his lips twitch as he sits down. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You made me cry,” Seungcheol reminds him, tone tragic. “I had to heal somehow.”

Jeonghan finally laughs — that light, melodic laugh that makes Seungcheol’s entire world tilt. And that’s all the reward he needs.

Through dinner, Seungcheol keeps trying to feed Jeonghan bites, fumbling with napkins, stealing glances like a puppy that can’t believe it’s forgiven. Jeonghan lets him — mostly because watching him fuss is strangely entertaining.

When the sun begins to set, Jeonghan leans back, eyes softer now. “You’re forgiven,” he says finally, voice quiet.

Seungcheol’s shoulders drop in relief. “Really?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan says, pausing just long enough to be cruel, “but only because this pasta is good.”

Seungcheol grins, resting his chin on his hand as he gazes at him, all heart and devotion. “Then I’ll buy the chef.”

Jeonghan snorts. “You’ll buy a headache if you keep talking.”

But when Seungcheol reaches across the table and takes his hand — warm, calloused, trembling slightly — Jeonghan doesn’t pull away.

Just lets him hold on.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Jeonghan wakes to the sound of someone banging on the balcony door.

At first, he ignores it—burrowing deeper into the sea of white hotel sheets, soft pillow under his cheek, body deliciously heavy with sleep. The sunlight spilling through the half-drawn curtains feels like melted gold, and he thinks vaguely that this is what heaven should be: quiet, warm, and without Seungcheol’s morning voice.

Unfortunately, fate is cruel.

“Knock, knock!” comes Seungcheol’s way too cheerful voice. “Do you wanna build a snowman, baby?”

Jeonghan groans into the pillow. “Go away, Elsa.”

There’s a dramatic gasp, then the sound of the balcony door sliding open, and cold air rushes in with Seungcheol—bright-eyed, annoyingly alive, wrapped in a dark wool coat and a ridiculous beanie that makes him look almost too charming to strangle.

“Wake up and shine, baby kitten!” Seungcheol announces, voice booming like a sunrise. “It’s a beautiful morning in Paris—the city of love!”

Jeonghan doesn’t even lift his head. “Then go love yourself quietly.”

Seungcheol just laughs, striding over to the bed with long confident steps and promptly flops down beside him, the mattress dipping under his weight. His coat smells like fresh snow, espresso, and his natural scent—wood, cedar, that stormy kind of warmth Jeonghan can recognize even in dreams.

He starts poking Jeonghan’s shoulder with a gloved finger. “You said you wanted to see the snowfall, remember?”

“I said that last night,” Jeonghan mumbles, still half-asleep. “And I didn’t mean today.”

“But it’s now,” Seungcheol insists, grabbing the blanket edge and tugging. “Come on, it’s like—romantic movie perfect! The street’s all white, the café downstairs is open, and there’s this couple making heart shapes in the snow, it’s disgusting. We could be them, Hannie.”

Jeonghan finally lifts his head, hair a soft cloud, eyes half-lidded with sleep and faint irritation. “You’re disgusting.”

Seungcheol just beams, unfazed. “Thank you. Now get up, my sleepy little lake spirit.”

“I swear, if you call me that again—”

But before Jeonghan can finish, Seungcheol’s already scooping him up—one arm under his knees, the other around his back, ignoring the sleepy omega’s protests.

“SEUNG—CHEOL—”

“You sleep too much!” Seungcheol grins, spinning him once like it’s nothing. “You’re wasting our trip, and I’m in the city of love with my boyfriend! I can’t just sit still!”

“Put me down before I end your bloodline,” Jeonghan hisses, kicking weakly.

Seungcheol bursts out laughing, the sound echoing through the suite—loud, warm, annoyingly happy. “You’re so cute when you threaten me.”

“I’m not cute,” Jeonghan snaps, but his voice softens when he sees the sheer sparkle in Seungcheol’s eyes. That kind of light that makes everything feel too alive, too much.

Finally, Seungcheol sets him down gently on the bed, crouching in front of him, palms resting on Jeonghan’s knees. “Come on,” he says quietly now, less teasing. “Let’s go walk for a bit. I’ll get you tea. You can watch the snow, and I’ll… carry the shopping bags again.”

Jeonghan stares down at him—this big, ridiculous alpha in his designer coat and puppy eyes.

“Fine,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “But if you make me run or dance or whatever you think ‘romantic’ means this morning, I’m leaving you on the Eiffel Tower.”

Seungcheol grins, standing and leaning in to kiss the corner of Jeonghan’s forehead. “Deal.”

“Stop smiling like that.”

“Can’t. I’m in love.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch, betraying a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re mine,” Seungcheol replies, already tugging him toward the closet. “Now—matching scarves or hats first?”

Jeonghan mutters something that sounds like “this is punishment,” but when Seungcheol kisses his hand before helping him into his coat, he doesn’t pull away.

Because truth be told, he doesn’t really mind being dragged out into the snow by a storm of a man who loves him this much.

Chapter Text

It’s still snowing when they finally step out of the hotel. The air smells clean and faintly sweet—like roasted chestnuts and coffee drifting from the corner cafés. Snowflakes land softly on Jeonghan’s hair, melting into tiny glimmers. He tucks his hands into his cream-colored coat, scarf looped once around his neck, cheeks pink from the cold.

Beside him, Seungcheol looks too awake for this hour—coat dark and heavy, hair tousled perfectly by the wind, grin bright enough to melt the whole street.

“Isn’t this romantic?” Seungcheol says for the tenth time, stepping into the slush like it’s made of glitter.

Jeonghan eyes him sideways. “You said that when we left the lobby. And when we crossed the street. And when we passed the lady selling croissants.”

“Because it is! Look, baby, the snow’s falling so perfectly it’s like the world’s on pause just for us.”

Jeonghan snorts, looking away so the alpha doesn’t see his lips twitch. “You sound like a Hallmark card.”

“Thank you,” Seungcheol beams, completely missing the sarcasm. “You know, there’s this saying—”

“Oh no,” Jeonghan mutters.

“—that if you walk under the first snow of the season with someone you love, you’ll stay together forever.”

Jeonghan stops mid-step, eyebrows rising. “Where did you hear that nonsense?”

Seungcheol looks too proud of himself. “Online.”

“You?” Jeonghan turns fully to him now, eyes wide with disbelief. “You actually read something romantic online?”

Seungcheol nods seriously. “I researched! I typed ‘snow with lover meaning’ and everything. It said it’s destiny.”

Jeonghan can’t stop the quiet laugh that escapes him—it’s small, but it brightens the cold morning more than the sun. “You’re unbelievable.”

Seungcheol grins wider. “Unbelievably in love, yes.”

“Stop talking before I push you into that snowbank.”

But the alpha just steps closer, voice softening. “I mean it, Hannie. Every time it snows from now on, I’m gonna remember this. You, the scarf you’re hiding your face in, your hair catching the flakes like glass threads. It’s so—” He pauses, searching for the word, “—you. Quiet, but impossible to ignore.”

Jeonghan blinks at him, heartbeat skipping like he wasn’t ready for that sincerity. “You really are drunk on romance, aren’t you?” he murmurs.

“Maybe.” Seungcheol shrugs, then grins again. “Or just drunk on you.”

Jeonghan sighs, pretending to be annoyed, but his eyes soften; the way Seungcheol’s breath clouds in the cold air, how his laughter rolls like thunder softened by snow—it’s impossible not to melt a little.

They walk side by side down the quiet street, snow brushing their shoulders. Jeonghan watches the way the world glows gold under the streetlights, and quietly slips his hand into Seungcheol’s coat pocket—half-hidden, fingers brushing his.

The alpha glances down, startled, then smiles so wide his dimples threaten to freeze that way forever. “You’re holding my hand.”

“I’m keeping my fingers warm,” Jeonghan corrects.

“Right,” Seungcheol says, pretending to believe it—but his thumb curls over Jeonghan’s anyway.

When they pass a small bakery, Seungcheol insists on buying two steaming cups of hot chocolate and a bag of tiny pastries. He feeds Jeonghan one like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and Jeonghan—half-exasperated, half-laughing—lets him.

The snow keeps falling around them, soft and endless.

And when Seungcheol leans close, murmuring, “See? First snow together. That means we’re stuck forever,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to get used to your nonsense,” he says quietly.

Seungcheol’s grin softens into something tender. “Good,” he whispers, “because I’m not going anywhere.”

___
The café they find is tucked between a vintage bookstore and a flower shop — its windows fogged, its door chiming softly when they enter. Inside smells of espresso, butter, cinnamon, and wet wool. Warm light spills over the dark wooden tables, painting everyone in honeyed calm.

Jeonghan peels off his gloves, blows into his fingers, and sinks into a seat near the window. Outside, the snow still falls thick, blurring the street into a watercolor. His cheeks are flushed, hair damp where the flakes melted, and the tips of his ears glow pink.

Seungcheol, of course, is already at the counter — charming the barista with his clumsy Korean-French hybrid accent. He orders everything he sees: croissants, strawberry tarts, chestnut cakes, and two steaming mugs of dark chocolate topped with whipped cream.

When he brings the tray back, Jeonghan raises an eyebrow.
“Are we feeding the entire café?”

Seungcheol drops into the seat across from him with that too-bright grin. “I’m feeding you. You look like you could be blown away by one strong breeze.”

Jeonghan mutters, “I’ll blow you away,” but takes the hot chocolate anyway. The first sip makes his eyes soften — rich, sweet, slightly bitter. It’s comfort in a cup.

Seungcheol watches, chin resting on his hand. “You always look like an art piece when you drink something warm.”

Jeonghan shoots him a look over the rim. “Do you rehearse these lines or are they natural disasters?”

Seungcheol laughs so hard his shoulders shake. He picks up a small fork and nudges a tart toward Jeonghan. “Try this. It’s got that fancy berry you like — what’s it called again? The one that sounds expensive.”

“Raspberry?”

“That one! Yeah, that.”

Jeonghan sighs but takes a bite. It’s good — crisp and tart and buttery — and when Seungcheol’s expectant eyes stay fixed on him, he hums a quiet, “It’s nice.”

The alpha lights up like someone handed him a medal. “I knew it! I’ve got excellent taste.”

“You ordered half the menu, Cheol.”

“Exactly. One of them had to be right.”

He leans back, watching Jeonghan eat in tiny bites, the window behind him now completely misted with white. Seungcheol grabs a napkin, wipes a small circle in the fog, and starts doodling with his finger — a big lopsided heart. Then another, with their initials inside: SC + YJ.

Jeonghan stares at it, incredulous. “Are you twelve?”

Seungcheol beams. “Emotionally? Around that.”

Jeonghan reaches over, wipes the window clean with one slow swipe — but there’s the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

Outside, the street hums with soft winter life. Kids throw snowballs and shriek when they miss; an old couple walks arm in arm under a single umbrella; a man stops to shake snow off his dog’s tiny red sweater. Inside, someone’s laughter mixes with the clink of porcelain and the low jazz humming from a speaker.

Seungcheol points out the window. “Look, they’re building a snowman.”

“Normal people do that,” Jeonghan says, sipping again. “Not overgrown alphas who drag their partners into the cold at 8 a.m.”

“But I could build the best snowman,” Seungcheol insists, eyes glinting. “I’d even make it look like you.”

Jeonghan doesn’t look up. “Make sure it’s fragile and easily annoyed, then.”

“I’ll give it the prettiest scarf.”

“You’d probably strangle it with the scarf.”

Seungcheol laughs again, deep and unrestrained, and the sound makes Jeonghan’s stomach twist in that helpless, reluctant warmth.

After a while, they just sit there — the world outside turning silver, the café full of murmured voices. Jeonghan watches the glass fog over again, traces his fingertip against the condensation this time, quietly drawing a tiny snowflake next to where Seungcheol’s heart used to be.

Seungcheol notices, eyes softening. “You’re drawing on the window too.”

“Just balancing the chaos you made,” Jeonghan murmurs.

But when Seungcheol reaches across the table, their fingers brush — warm, steady — and neither of them moves away.

Chapter Text

They step back outside just as the café door chimes behind them, the warmth spilling out into the pale morning air. The snow has slowed to a quiet fall — lazy flakes drifting through the sky like scattered petals. The world glows: rooftops powdered white, lamplight reflecting off the wet cobblestones, the faint hum of winter songs playing from some nearby market stalls.

Jeonghan pulls his scarf tighter, cheeks tinted pink, while Seungcheol looks far too awake for the cold. His gloved hand reaches out immediately, lacing through Jeonghan’s — as if afraid the world might take this moment away.

The winter market ahead is alive with soft light and laughter. Rows of stalls glow under strings of golden bulbs: one selling roasted chestnuts, another lined with glass ornaments shaped like stars, another heavy with wool scarves and handmade candles. The smell of cinnamon and sugar hangs in the air, mingling with roasted nuts and coffee steam.

Jeonghan’s eyes wander everywhere, quiet but full of curiosity. He stops sometimes — to look at a wooden toy carousel, to listen to a musician playing violin under a lantern arch. And Seungcheol, instead of rushing, just watches. Watches like every movement Jeonghan makes deserves to be remembered.

When Jeonghan pauses by a stall of hand-carved snow globes, Seungcheol slips away for a moment. He crouches by the street’s edge, scoops up a handful of clean snow, and starts shaping it in his palms. When Jeonghan turns, Seungcheol’s crouched figure is there — coat collar up, breath misting, a ridiculous grin on his face as he holds out a small snow heart.

Jeonghan blinks. “What are you doing?”

“Making art,” Seungcheol says. “For you.”

“It’s crooked.”

“Like me, then.”

Jeonghan sighs, but his voice softens. He takes out his phone and snaps a photo — the big alpha crouched in snow, a small heart melting between his hands, the city glowing behind him.

Seungcheol grins wider, eyes crinkling. “You’re taking pictures of me now?”

“For proof. To show people how dumb you look.”

“Perfect. Post it,” Seungcheol says immediately, standing tall again, brushing snow from his coat. “Caption it ‘my boyfriend’s a masterpiece.’”

“You’re a mess, not a masterpiece.”

“Close enough,” Seungcheol hums, leaning closer until his nose brushes against Jeonghan’s temple. “I’ll post it later.”

They wander deeper into the market — past stalls selling candles in teacups, vendors offering steaming skewers of fishcakes, and old couples dancing to a street band’s soft jazz. The sky above is pale silver, the air full of drifting flakes, every sound wrapped in the hush of snow.

And then, at the far corner, Jeonghan spots it — an open square bathed in light, snowflakes swirling under the golden lamps like slow-motion confetti. Someone’s playing “Snowman” by Sia through a small speaker, the melody floating warm through the cold.

Seungcheol stops walking. His eyes are bright, wide, alive.
“Dance with me.”

Jeonghan blinks. “Here?”

“In the snow,” Seungcheol says, voice gentle but insistent. “No one will remember us. Just for a minute.”

Jeonghan hesitates, lips parting in protest — but the music swells, soft and pleading, and Seungcheol’s hand finds his again. Warm through the glove, steady and sure.

So Jeonghan lets himself be pulled forward.

The world narrows to their breath and the snow. Seungcheol’s other hand rests against Jeonghan’s waist, careful, reverent. Jeonghan’s fingers settle against Seungcheol’s coat lapel. Their steps are slow, uncoordinated at first — the crunch of boots against the frost, Seungcheol whispering, “Left foot, baby, left,” and Jeonghan muttering, “I am going left, you idiot.”

But then it happens — the rhythm finds them. They begin to move together, slow and unhurried, turning gently in the snow while the song drifts through the air.

The flakes catch in Jeonghan’s hair, glinting like dusted light. Seungcheol’s eyes follow every one, his thumb brushing against Jeonghan’s wrist as if memorizing the pulse there. The world feels slowed — the laughter, the chatter, the music — fading behind the hush of their breathing.

“Do you know,” Seungcheol murmurs, voice low, “you look like a dream when it snows.”

Jeonghan’s breath clouds between them. “You say that about everything.”

“Because everything reminds me of you.”

Jeonghan looks up — into those dark eyes shining with snowlight — and for a second, his lips tremble with the faintest smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

Seungcheol leans closer, his forehead brushing Jeonghan’s. “And you still stay.”

Their steps slow until they’re barely moving at all. Just swaying. The snow collects on their coats, their hair, their lashes. Around them, the city glows golden, and the song hums like a lullaby.

Jeonghan’s voice, barely a whisper, “Don’t drop me.”

Seungcheol smiles — soft, unguarded, the kind of smile that only exists for one person. “Never.”

When the song ends, Jeonghan’s hand lingers in his. Neither of them speaks. The snow keeps falling, the lights shimmer faintly against the dusk sky, and for once, even Seungcheol’s loud heart feels quiet — full of nothing but the warmth of this fragile, perfect minute.

Chapter Text

By the time they return to the hotel, the city has gone quiet. The snow thickens into a soft curtain, brushing against their coats and hair as they walk hand in hand through the empty street. The winter market behind them fades into scattered laughter and music, swallowed by the hush of falling snow.

Seungcheol holds the door open for Jeonghan, his breath coming out in white clouds, and follows him inside. Warm air hits instantly — the soft scent of pine and amber from the lobby fireplace, the hush of faint music from the speakers. Jeonghan shakes the snow from his coat, his hair damp and messy, his cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Your hands must be freezing,” Jeonghan mutters as they step into the elevator.

“Yours too,” Seungcheol says, nudging their fingers together.

“I wore gloves.”

“Then you should’ve lent me yours.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch. “And let you lose them somewhere again? No thanks.”

The elevator dings softly. Their room feels like a small cocoon when they enter — dim yellow light spilling from the bedside lamp, the faint hum of the heater already on. Jeonghan immediately goes to hang up their coats while Seungcheol collapses onto the low couch, groaning like he’s run a marathon.

“I think I can’t feel my fingers,” Seungcheol announces dramatically, spreading his hands like proof.

“You were the one who wanted to make a snow heart.”

“It was worth it.” He tilts his head, watching Jeonghan from where he sits — Jeonghan barefoot now, moving quietly, sleeves pushed up, tucking their scarves onto the heater rail.

“Still worth it,” Seungcheol repeats, softer this time.

Jeonghan glances back, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You really can’t stop talking, can you?”

“Not when you look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Seungcheol pauses, grin turning crooked. “Like you’d scold me for touching you with cold hands — but still do it anyway.”

Jeonghan lets out a breath that sounds dangerously close to a laugh. “You’re such an idiot.”

But he crosses the room anyway, kneeling by the small coffee table where the heater hums. “Give me your hands.”

Seungcheol offers them obediently, palms up. They’re ice-cold, rough from the wind. Jeonghan takes them without hesitation, wrapping his smaller hands around them, rubbing slow circles into the skin.

“God, they’re freezing,” Jeonghan murmurs.

“You could blow on them,” Seungcheol suggests, tone teasing.

Jeonghan gives him a flat look but leans forward anyway, breathing warm air against Seungcheol’s knuckles. The gesture is soft, almost domestic — his breath catching slightly as Seungcheol’s fingers curl instinctively, not to stop him, but to feel it longer.

“Better?” Jeonghan asks, still rubbing gently.

“Much,” Seungcheol says, voice quiet now. “You’ve got magic hands.”

“Shut up.”

Seungcheol only smiles, watching the faint pink rise on Jeonghan’s cheeks as he keeps working. Snow melts off their sleeves and drips faintly onto the rug. The heater hums. Outside, flakes keep falling past the window like lazy stars.

When Jeonghan finally stops, Seungcheol catches his wrist before he can pull away. His thumb brushes across Jeonghan’s pulse. “Thank you.”

Jeonghan looks at him — really looks — and for a second, the teasing fades. There’s only warmth in his eyes, soft and unspoken. “You’re impossible to handle sometimes.”

“Good thing you do it anyway,” Seungcheol says, smiling that lopsided smile that always makes Jeonghan’s chest ache.

He tugs lightly, and Jeonghan doesn’t resist — just lets himself be pulled closer until he’s sitting beside Seungcheol, shoulder to shoulder, their fingers still tangled loosely together.

They sit like that for a long time — heater humming, the snow outside turning the city into a blur of white and gold. Jeonghan leans his head against Seungcheol’s shoulder. The warmth seeps slowly back into their skin.

“Next time,” Jeonghan murmurs, almost sleepy, “we stay inside.”

“Next time,” Seungcheol agrees, resting his chin atop Jeonghan’s hair, “I’ll still drag you out anyway.”

Jeonghan hums faintly, but he doesn’t move away.

Outside, the snow keeps falling — soft, endless, and slow — while inside, two hearts beat in perfect, unhurried rhythm.

Chapter Text

The next morning is stillness itself — the kind that only comes after heavy snow. The whole city seems hushed, buried under white. Through the large window, soft light spills into the room, reflecting against the frost, turning everything silver.

Jeonghan stirs first, his hair a soft mess across the pillow, still tangled in the warmth of the blanket. Seungcheol is awake already, sitting propped up against the headboard, his hand absently combing through Jeonghan’s hair, eyes half on the window. He’s been awake for a while, just watching the snow fall — and Jeonghan sleep.

The air smells faintly of the cocoa they had last night. The heater hums softly. Somewhere in the room, Seungcheol’s phone plays quiet music — an old Christmas playlist he found while scrolling aimlessly at dawn.

When Jeonghan finally opens his eyes, he squints toward the light. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven.”

Jeonghan groans and buries his face into the pillow. “You let me sleep that long?”

“You looked tired.”

“You could’ve woken me up.”

“I tried,” Seungcheol says, pretending to sound hurt. “You told me to go away in your sleep.”

Jeonghan lifts his head, a sleepy glare forming, but Seungcheol just grins — soft and dimpled, with bed hair and his hoodie collar stretched from being worn all night. “Come on,” he says gently. “Look outside. It’s still snowing.”

Jeonghan turns his head to the window — and he can’t help but smile a little. The world outside looks unreal: rooftops layered in white, trees bending under the weight of snow, the faint sound of distant bells.

Seungcheol shifts beside him, reaching for the remote. “Movie time?”

“Christmas again?”

“‘Love Actually’,” Seungcheol says, wiggling his brows. “Classic.”

“You’re such a romantic idiot,” Jeonghan mutters, but he doesn’t object.

Soon the TV flickers to life, filling the quiet with the soft hum of holiday music. Jeonghan curls under the blanket again, sitting up this time, his knees tucked under his chin. Seungcheol sits close, their shoulders touching, the steam from their morning mugs curling faintly between them.

They watch in comfortable silence. Outside, the snow keeps falling like confetti. Sometimes Seungcheol laughs quietly at the screen; sometimes Jeonghan hides his smile behind his cup.

But halfway through the movie, Seungcheol’s laughter fades. He turns to Jeonghan — slow, hesitant. There’s something softer, almost pained, in his expression now.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

Jeonghan hums, eyes still half on the screen.

“Can I ask you something?”

Jeonghan glances over. “You already are.”

Seungcheol swallows, his thumb tracing idle circles against the mug he’s holding. “If… if things were different — if I didn’t—” He pauses, voice dropping lower. “If I didn’t cling to you the way I did at first. Do you think… you’d still be here? With me?”

Jeonghan blinks, taken off guard. The music from the movie hums faintly in the background — something warm and melancholy.

“Cheol…”

“I mean it,” Seungcheol says, a faint, self-deprecating smile forming. “You’re… you’re not the type who’d choose someone like me, right? Loud, messy, kinda stupid about feelings.” He laughs softly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You could’ve had anyone, Jeonghan. You still can. Sometimes I think if I didn’t—if I hadn’t been so desperate to keep you close back then, maybe—”

“Stop.”

Jeonghan’s voice cuts through gently but firm. He sets down his cup and turns to face him fully. “You didn’t chain me, Seungcheol.”

“You sure? I kinda—”

“You didn’t,” Jeonghan insists again, softer this time. “You held on because you were scared. That’s not the same.”

Seungcheol looks down, the corner of his lip trembling into a small, embarrassed smile. “Still sounds selfish.”

“Maybe it was.” Jeonghan shrugs lightly. “But you learned, didn’t you? You stopped trying to cage me. You just stayed — right here.”

For a moment, the only sound is the movie playing quietly. Then Jeonghan reaches out, resting his hand on Seungcheol’s chest, right over his heart. “You think I’d still be here if I didn’t want to?”

Seungcheol looks at him — really looks — and the question dies in his throat.

Jeonghan smiles faintly. “You’re not my type, you’re right about that. But you’re mine.”

It’s quiet for a long moment after that — the kind of silence that hums warm instead of empty. Seungcheol’s eyes glisten a little, though he laughs to hide it, tugging Jeonghan into his arms.

“God, you’re mean,” he mumbles into Jeonghan’s hair.

“You’re dramatic,” Jeonghan replies, voice muffled against his chest.

They stay like that — wrapped up on the couch, snow still falling, movie forgotten. Every now and then, Jeonghan teases him again, and Seungcheol laughs, that low, rich sound that fills the quiet room.

By the time the afternoon fades to pale gold, Jeonghan’s hand is still on Seungcheol’s chest, and Seungcheol’s head is resting against Jeonghan’s shoulder — both of them caught somewhere between a nap and a dream, their hearts steady in the same rhythm.

Chapter Text

That night, the city glows like it’s breathing — quiet, wrapped in its own soft hum. The snow has stopped, but the streets glisten faintly under the streetlights, silver puddles of melting white. From the window, Jeonghan can see people still out there, walking hand in hand, scarves trailing, their laughter muffled in the cold air.

“Come on,” Seungcheol says from the door, voice low but insistent. “One last walk before we leave tomorrow.”

Jeonghan looks up from the half-finished cup of tea in his hands. “Now? It’s freezing.”

“I’ll keep you warm.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, but there’s already a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You said that yesterday and you nearly froze before I did.”

“Then I’ll just hold you tighter.”

“Ridiculous,” Jeonghan mutters, but he stands anyway. The truth is, he doesn’t want the night to end either.

He dresses in layers — his long cream-colored coat, soft gray scarf, gloves. Seungcheol, of course, insists on wrapping his own scarf around Jeonghan too, fussing with it until Jeonghan gives up and lets him.

Outside, the air bites gently at their faces. The city’s quieter now — the tourists mostly gone, the lights along the river still twinkling faintly in gold and white. Their boots crunch softly over the snow-dusted pavement as they start walking side by side.

Seungcheol’s gloved hand finds Jeonghan’s, fingers intertwining easily. “Can’t believe it’s our last night here,” he murmurs.

“You sound like you’re about to cry,” Jeonghan teases, glancing at him sideways.

“I might,” Seungcheol says, half-serious. “It’s been… perfect.”

Jeonghan hums quietly. “It’s been something.”

“‘Something’? That’s all I get?”

Jeonghan smiles faintly, his breath fogging in the air. “If I say ‘perfect,’ you’ll get arrogant.”

“I already am.”

“Exactly.”

They walk past the same winter market they’d visited days ago — now nearly empty, just a few vendors packing up. The air still smells faintly of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon. Somewhere nearby, someone is playing soft guitar under a shop awning, the melody drifting through the cold.

Jeonghan stops, turning to look. Seungcheol follows his gaze, then without warning, slips an arm around his waist.

“Dance with me again?” he murmurs.

“Here?” Jeonghan whispers, eyes darting around the quiet street.

“Here.”

And so he does.

Under the soft glow of the streetlamp, they sway — slow, unhurried. The musician’s song floats like a heartbeat behind them. Jeonghan’s scarf brushes Seungcheol’s chin when he leans closer; their breaths mingle in the cold air.

Jeonghan’s voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re gonna make people think we’re crazy.”

“Let them,” Seungcheol murmurs. “We’ll be gone tomorrow.”

For a moment, everything fades — the street, the music, even the cold. It’s just the two of them moving slowly in that patch of gold light, surrounded by the hush of falling night.

When the song ends, Seungcheol doesn’t let go right away. His thumb brushes Jeonghan’s cheek, his gaze soft and full. “I’ll remember this,” he says simply. “Every second of it.”

Jeonghan looks up at him — at the ridiculous alpha who once couldn’t stop crying, who still gets jealous over phone memes, who insists on dragging him through every snow-covered street just to see him smile.

He smiles now, small and real. “Then don’t forget to take a picture, before your memory decides to dramatize it.”

Seungcheol laughs, pulling his phone out immediately. The picture he takes catches them mid-laugh — Jeonghan’s face half-hidden in his scarf, Seungcheol’s grin wide and stupidly happy.

They continue walking afterward, their pace slower, as if neither wants to reach the hotel yet. The snow has stopped completely now; the streets are almost empty. The only sound is their steps and Seungcheol’s voice — low, content, telling Jeonghan about all the places they should go next time.

When they finally reach the hotel, Jeonghan hesitates before stepping in, glancing back at the quiet city one last time. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs.

Seungcheol watches him for a long second before saying, softly, “You make it look that way.”

Jeonghan huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “Still dramatic.”

“Always,” Seungcheol says, opening the door for him.

Inside, the warmth hits them immediately — the faint scent of cocoa still lingering, the golden light waiting. Jeonghan steps out of his boots, peeling off his gloves, and glances over his shoulder at Seungcheol, who’s still watching him like he’s something unreal.

He sighs softly, voice warm. “You coming in, or planning to freeze out there for the aesthetic?”

Seungcheol grins and follows him in, the door closing behind them — the night outside fading into silence, and the city of snow left glittering under the moon.

Chapter Text

The plane hums softly — that steady, comforting sound of distance being crossed. Clouds stretch endlessly below them, pale and glowing under the morning light. The world outside looks like another kind of snow, silent and unreachable.

Jeonghan sits by the window, his seat reclined just slightly, face turned toward the light. He’s half-asleep, one hand resting on his lap, the other loosely curled around the paper cup of tea the flight attendant brought earlier. His hair falls over his eyes, and every few minutes, he blinks drowsily as if he’s still not fully awake.

Beside him, Seungcheol is a bundle of restless warmth. He’s quiet, but his hand hasn’t moved from where it rests against Jeonghan’s knee — thumb drawing lazy circles through the fabric of his trousers, the touch almost unconscious. His other hand holds a book open, though he hasn’t turned a page in fifteen minutes.

The cabin lights are dimmed; the air smells faintly of coffee and pressurized metal. Around them, people are sleeping, murmuring softly, cocooned in blankets and headphone worlds.

“Are you awake?” Seungcheol whispers, leaning slightly toward him.

Jeonghan hums without opening his eyes. “Barely.”

“You want something to eat?”

“I told you I’m not hungry.”

“You said that two hours ago.”

Jeonghan finally opens his eyes and turns his head just enough to look at him. “Are you my manager now?”

“I’m your mate,” Seungcheol says with mock offense, voice soft but smug. “Big difference.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes and turns back toward the window — but the faint smile at the corner of his mouth betrays him.

Seungcheol lets out a quiet laugh, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He leans back, closing his book, his body turning instinctively toward Jeonghan’s warmth. “You know,” he says after a pause, “this is the first time I’ve sat still this long without wanting to check my phone or yell at someone.”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond immediately. The light outside shifts as the plane moves, painting his profile in soft gold. “That’s because you’re trapped,” he finally says dryly.

“Maybe,” Seungcheol says, eyes flicking over him. “But if I have to be trapped, this isn’t so bad.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Cheol.”

“It got me here.”

Jeonghan makes a sound — half scoff, half laugh — and shakes his head. “You’re impossible.”

For a while, they sit in silence again. Jeonghan finishes his tea, sets the cup down, and rests his head lightly against Seungcheol’s shoulder. It’s small, unintentional maybe, but Seungcheol goes perfectly still, then exhales slowly, like the world just clicked into place.

Outside, the sky deepens to a softer blue. The seatbelt sign flickers on briefly, then off again. Somewhere near the front, a baby laughs; the sound floats faintly through the quiet cabin.

“Cheol,” Jeonghan murmurs after a while, eyes still half-shut.

“Mm?”

“When we get back… no more dragging me out for luxury shopping sprees every time you’re bored.”

Seungcheol grins, eyes glinting. “So… only when I miss you?”

Jeonghan sighs, but his tone softens. “You always miss me.”

“I do,” Seungcheol admits easily, his voice dropping lower. “Every second.”

Jeonghan glances up at him then — that look soft, something fond flickering underneath. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hopelessly.”

Jeonghan turns his head again, resting back against his shoulder, closing his eyes. “Just let me sleep,” he murmurs. “Wake me up when we’re home.”

“Promise,” Seungcheol says, brushing his thumb along Jeonghan’s hand where it rests against the armrest.

The flight continues in that gentle rhythm — the hum of the engines, the faint warmth of two people who’ve stopped fighting gravity, at least for now.

When Jeonghan finally drifts fully into sleep, Seungcheol sits quietly beside him, eyes tracing the lines of his face — the faint crease between his brows, the curve of his mouth, the way his lashes cast tiny shadows.

He thinks about the storm that started all of this — how chaotic, how wild, how impossible it was. And yet, here they are, somewhere above the clouds, calm at last.

He reaches over, tucks Jeonghan’s hair gently behind his ear, and whispers — barely audible above the hum of the plane —
“I’ll keep you this time. Gently.”

Chapter Text

The plane touches down through a soft gray morning — Seoul wrapped in mist, a drizzle streaking the windows. Jeonghan wakes first, eyes blinking open to the city skyline emerging below, and for a second he forgets everything except the quiet thrill of coming home. Seungcheol stirs beside him, groaning, voice rough.

“Are we there?” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.

“Almost,” Jeonghan says. “Don’t you dare fall asleep again. You’re drooling.”

“Lies,” Seungcheol mutters, then tilts his head to Jeonghan’s shoulder anyway, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

By the time they walk out of the airport, the drizzle has turned into a fine, cold rain. Seoul feels louder, busier — taxis honking, people in coats rushing past — but inside that small space between them, it’s still soft, still quiet. Jeonghan slips his scarf higher, Seungcheol instinctively opens his umbrella over them both. They share the silence all the way to the car, and when Seungcheol reaches over to take Jeonghan’s hand, Jeonghan doesn’t pull away.

⸻

Two days later, the big, dramatic alpha is down for the count.

Jeonghan stands at the doorway of their room, arms crossed, watching the pile of misery that used to be Seungcheol. The once-fearsome heir lies tangled in blankets, feverish, sniffling, mumbling pitifully as if the universe has betrayed him personally.

“Cheol,” Jeonghan sighs, “it’s a cold. Not the plague.”

“I think I’m dying,” Seungcheol croaks. “My throat’s closing, my head hurts, my mate will become a beautiful widow—”

“Widow? You’re not even dead and you’re already writing a drama script,” Jeonghan mutters, placing a cool compress on his forehead.

Seungcheol sniffs. “Promise me you’ll move on. Find someone kind. Not too handsome.”

“I’m taking that as proof you still have a fever,” Jeonghan says dryly, reaching for the thermometer.

The front doorbell rings. Jeonghan goes to answer — and there’s Seungkwan, bundled up in a big scarf, holding a bag of soup.

“I heard the big alpha’s dying,” he says cheerfully as he steps inside.

“Barely living,” Jeonghan replies.

Seungkwan pokes his head into the bedroom. “Oh wow, you look awful, hyung. You sure you’re not allergic to love?”

“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol croaks dramatically, “if I don’t make it… tell Jeonghan I loved him more than life.”

Jeonghan throws a pillow at him. “You’re eating soup in five minutes or I will let you die.”

Seungkwan snorts, sits on the couch, and texts furiously for a minute before saying, “If he actually refuses to take his medicine, I’m setting Jeonghan up on a blind date. I know at least three younger, richer alphas who’d die to—”

“SEUNGKWAN!” Seungcheol’s hoarse shout echoes from the bedroom, followed by a coughing fit.

Jeonghan bursts out laughing — the first real laugh he’s had since the trip — covering his mouth while Seungkwan grins triumphantly.

“See? I knew how to fix him. Instant energy boost.”

Inside the room, Seungcheol sits up weakly, glaring toward the doorway like a dethroned king. “You. Would. Not.”

“I would,” Seungkwan says sweetly. “Jeonghan deserves some peace while you’re busy fighting for your life.”

Jeonghan walks back in, still laughing, carrying a bowl of hot porridge. He sits beside Seungcheol and feeds him a spoonful. “Eat. Maybe if you survive this tragic illness, I’ll consider keeping you around.”

Seungcheol takes the spoon, eyes soft despite the fever. “You’d miss me too much.”

“Maybe,” Jeonghan murmurs, blowing gently on the next spoonful.

Seungkwan watches from the doorway, shaking his head. “You two are hopeless.”

“Maybe,” Jeonghan repeats, with a tiny smile that reaches his eyes this time.