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The light comes slow.
Filtered through half-drawn curtains, it gilds the edge of the sheets, catches on the faint shimmer of dust in the air, and settles over the soft curve of Sangwon’s shoulder where the blanket has slipped down.
The suite is still, that hushed kind of morning quiet that feels almost sacred. As if even the world beyond the walls knows better than to intrude.
Leo wakes up first.
For a long time, he doesn’t move.
He just watches the slow rise and fall of Sangwon’s back, the faint twitch of his lashes against his cheek. The way his hand lies open between them, palm-up, close enough that Leo could take it with the smallest shift.
He doesn’t, not yet.
The air smells faintly of lilies, soft and fading—flowers left by friends the morning before, now wilting in the vase but still fragrant, still kind.
The scent lingers with the faint echo of laughter from last night, of soft kisses and quiet promises traded half-seriously before sleep.
Leo exhales, a sound caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.
This is it. The morning of their wedding.
And somehow, it feels like the first day of everything.
The thought should make him nervous. But it doesn't, not really. It just fills him, heavy and aching and bright all at once.
Leo wonders how a person is supposed to carry something that vast—a lifetime—and still breathe normally.
How he’s supposed to look at Sangwon, this person who once was just a passing presence in a crowded room, and say the words that have lived quietly in his chest for years.
Because it hits him then, soft and sharp, he’s never really stopped choosing Sangwon.
Not since that first easy smile, not since the nights spent arguing over movies or tangled together on the couch. Every day since has just been a different way of saying yes.
Leo leans in before he can stop himself and presses a kiss to Sangwon’s forehead.
A soft sound slips out of the omega’s throat—halfway between a sigh and a hum, like the world exhaling. His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then brightening as they find Leo.
“Good morning, fiancé,” he rasps, voice rough with sleep.
Leo’s heart folds in on itself. He laughs quietly, thumb brushing the hair from Sangwon’s temple, “you’re going to miss saying that, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Sangwon murmurs, stretching lazily until the sheets pull across his waist. “But I’m excited for what comes next.”
There’s a silence then. Not empty, but full, as if the air itself remembers every laugh, every whispered argument, every small forgiveness that built them to this moment.
The kind of silence that feels alive.
“You’ll probably cry before you even make it down the aisle,” Leo says finally, grinning.
“Will not.”
“Will too.”
Sangwon groans, reaches for a pillow, and whacks him square in the chest, “you’re such a brat for someone about to marry me.”
Leo catches the pillow the next mid-swing, laughing, and pulls it from Sangwon’s hands. “Lucky for you,” he leans in close enough that their noses almost touch, his voice low and fond, “I’m your brat.”
“Idiot,” Sangwon mutters, rolling his eyes. But the word comes out softer than it should, frayed at the edges by affection.
His mouth curves despite himself, helplessly, the kind of smile that starts slow and takes over his whole face. The corners of his eyes crease, sleep-warm and tender, and for a moment he just looks at Leo as if there’s no point pretending he isn’t completely, irreversibly in love with him.
And Leo thinks that if this is what the rest of his life looks like—quiet mornings and laughter caught in the light—then forever might actually be something he can hold.
Not that he ever questioned it, not with Sangwon.
When Sangwon sits up, the light finds him fully—messy and radiant in the same breath. It threads through his hair, glances off the line of his throat, drapes itself across the soft curve of his shoulder as if the morning itself has chosen him.
Leo props himself on one elbow, just watching.
There’s something holy about it. Not the kind that asks for prayer, but the kind that makes you forget how to breathe.
He’s seen Sangwon like this a hundred times before—half-awake, unguarded, unbearably his—but today it feels different, as if the moment already knows it’s about to become a memory.
A quiet ache blooms behind his ribs.
Leo remembers the first time he ever saw Sangwon—the same kind of light, the same inevitability.
University café. Early afternoon.
The clatter of cups, the hum of easy chatter, the faint hiss of the espresso machine.
Leo had been halfway through composing something, fingers tapping out a rhythm against his laptop, when he heard it.
A laugh from the next table.
Bright and unguarded. A sound that carried without trying, soft enough to feel human but bright enough to make people pause mid-sentence.
The kind of laugh that didn’t fill a room so much as make it lighter.
Leo looked up.
There was a boy—sleeves rolled, wristwatch catching the light, laughing at something one of his friends had said.
It wasn’t just that he was beautiful.
It was the warmth of him, the way the air seemed to soften around his smile. The way his eyes crinkled as if joy came naturally to him.
Leo felt the sound of that laugh land somewhere deep in his chest—not like a spark, but like recognition.
As if saying, “oh, it’s you.”
For a heartbeat, Leo forgot everything. The music, the coffee, the noise of the world.
Just then, the boy looked up.
Their gazes caught—brief, bright, impossible—before Leo looked away too fast, pretending he hadn’t been staring. His pulse was a drumline in his throat, so loud it drowned out his thoughts.
He hadn’t even known the omega’s name yet.
He only knew he was in trouble.
“Leo?”
The sound of his name tugs him back. The café dissolves, afternoon sunlight becomes this one’s, morning-warm and real.
Sangwon’s watching him now, head tipped slightly, a half-smile ghosting his lips. “What’s with that look?” he asks, amusement soft around the edges.
His thumb grazes along Leo’s jaw, the touch absent-minded and familiar, enough to undo him.
Leo blinks, exhales a quiet laugh. “Nothing,” he says, “just… can’t believe you’re real.”
Sangwon rolls his eyes, but the faint pink that rises to his cheeks betrays him. “You’re sappy before breakfast,” he mutters. “That doesn’t bode well for your vows.”
“Guess you’ll find out,” Leo murmurs, and the way he says it—low, steady, full—makes Sangwon glance away, smiling despite himself.
The laughter hasn’t fully faded when it settles into something gentler, the kind of quiet that hums with closeness.
The sheets are tangled somewhere around their waists, warm from shared heat. Sangwon’s hair sticks up in every direction, haloed by the morning light sneaking through the curtains.
Leo’s fingers draw idle circles against Sangwon’s bare arm, tracing warmth over skin that still hums from sleep. His touch is lazy, unhurried, as if memorizing him by muscle memory alone.
“My sisters still won’t let me see you until the ceremony,” Sangwon sighs, feigning despair. “Apparently, it’s bad luck for the omega and alpha to get ready together.”
Leo groans and buries his face into Sangwon’s shoulder, voice muffled and petulant. “That’s cruel. I can’t even have breakfast with you?”
“Not unless you want them to hex the marriage,” Sangwon murmurs, laughter in his tone.
“An entire day apart,” Leo grumbles, “they’re trying to kill me.”
Sangwon’s answering laugh is soft and sleep-warmed. He reaches out, thumb brushing over Leo’s cheek in a gesture that feels almost like a blessing, “think of it as tradition testing your devotion.”
“I already devoted my whole life to you,” Leo mumbles into his skin.
“Then I guess you’ll pass.”
Sangwon’s still smiling when it happens. A blink, a tremor, a break in the air. His breath catches mid-laugh.
“Wait—” he murmurs, hand flying to his mouth.
Leo’s head snaps up, “Won?”
No answer—just the rustle of sheets, the soft shuffle of bare feet. Then the sound—sharp and unmistakable—the quiet retch, the rush of water.
Leo’s out of bed before he can think, the floor cool beneath his feet. “Hey, hey—” he follows, steps small, voice low. “You okay?”
The bathroom door hangs half-open showing Sangwon bent over the sink, one hand braced on the counter, breath trembling out between rinses.
Leo moves closer, wordless, his palm settling on Sangwon’s back—steady, grounding. He rubs small circles between his shoulder blades, the motion instinctive.
Sangwon rinses again, then straightens, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The color hasn’t quite returned to his cheeks, but his voice tries for easy steadiness.
“It’s fine,” he says between breaths, forcing a little smile. “Probably just indigestion. I told you I shouldn’t have had that second plate last night.”
Leo stands a pace behind him, reflected in the mirror—jaw tight, eyes full of quiet alarm. His reflection meets Sangwon’s, and for a moment neither of them says anything.
“Still,” Leo murmurs, voice low, fingertips tracing a line down Sangwon’s spine. The touch is barely there, gentle.
“How do you feel? Tell me.”
Sangwon exhales, shoulders easing under his palm. “I’m okay,” he says, gentler this time. A soft huff follows, he’s smiling despite himself, “you worry too easily.”
“Yeah, well,” Leo replies, his mouth curving faintly, “you make it easy.”
That earns him a small laugh—quiet, breathy, the kind that trembles on its way out. The sound loosens something knotted in his chest.
Sangwon reaches for his toothbrush, shaking his head as if to wave off the moment. “See?” he says around a mouthful of foam, voice muffled but teasing. “Still alive.”
Leo doesn’t laugh. His brow stays drawn, worry pressed deep between his eyes. “But what if it’s something serious? Maybe a stomach bug or—”
Before he can finish, Sangwon turns toward him, toothbrush still in hand.
“Leo,” he says softly, the kind of voice that soothes something wild in him. Then he reaches up, cups Leo’s face—foam and all—and squishes his cheeks until his lips pout.
“You’re gonna give yourself a stomach bug from worrying too much.”
Leo’s breath catches, half sigh, half laugh, trembling with leftover panic.
“It’s really nothing,” Sangwon goes on, still smiling. “Maybe just nerves or something. Big day and all.”
Leo searches his face, eyes flicking between the curve of his mouth and the faint color still missing from his cheeks.
Sangwon rinses his mouth quickly then tilts his head, trying to look amused.
But the air has already shifted—the faint, telltale spike of his scent, sharp and protective beneath the usual warmth. Instinct flares before Leo can stop it.
“Maybe you’re the one with nerves,” Sangwon teases, brushing his thumb along Leo’s jaw. “My big, tough alpha panicking before his wedding.”
“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” Leo says quietly. His voice doesn’t quite reach its usual warmth—it’s too honest, too full.
Something in Sangwon softens, though he hides it behind a grin. “Why? Do you think I might get cold feet and run away?”
Leo goes still, eyes widening a fraction. For a breath, the world narrows to the space between them.
“You would?”
It comes out quiet, a little too raw.
His heart stumbles over itself, and for a second he hates how small his voice sounds—the thought of turning down that aisle and not seeing Sangwon there—hits him like a physical thing.
Sangwon blinks, then bursts into laughter, light and unrestrained, filling the quiet room. “Oh my god,” he breathes between chuckles, voice softening, “you’re actually serious.”
He cups Leo’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, eyes crinkling at the corners. “My poor alpha. Of course not,” Sangwon drops a kiss on Leo's pouting lips, “I won’t run. Ever. Not a chance.”
Leo exhales, the breath leaving him shaky. He mumbles something indistinct, probably a protest, but his arms betray him—sliding around Sangwon’s waist, pulling him closer, like proximity could chase off every absurd fear.
Sangwon tilts his head back, still laughing softly, and presses a kiss to Leo’s cheek—once, then again, lingering, “you're so cute.”
“Not cute,” Leo mutters, voice warm against Sangwon’s neck, scenting along his pulse. “Just… worried.”
“Okay,” Sangwon hums, the sound quiet but fond, his smile brushing against Leo’s neck. “Sure, big guy.”
Leo breathes him in, the scent of morning and florals and that faint, unnameable sweetness that’s always just been Sangwon.
Something in him finally unravels.
A knock shatters the spell, sharp against the soft hum of the morning. Voices float in from the hallway, teasing and insistent.
“Sangwon, hurry up! We’ve got a lot to do!”
“And stop being gross in there! Save it for after you’re married!”
Sangwon groans softly, pressing his face into Leo’s shoulder for a heartbeat, inhaling the familiar warmth, the steady, grounding rhythm of him.
After a long exhale, Sangwon straightens and walks towards the door of their suite, shaking his head. His voice is calm, just threaded with exasperation.
“Noona, I’ll follow you to breakfast after I shower, I promise.”
From the bathroom, Leo hears muffled chatter between Sangwon and his sisters—some of the wedding planner’s questions about last-minute decorations, a reminder about the florist’s timing, a guest asking something trivial that somehow feels urgent.
Leo smiles faintly to himself, letting the domestic hum of preparation seep in, a subtle counterpoint to the casual intimacy they've just shared.
The voices fade down the corridor, leaving the suite hushed again, a pocket of private time suspended in golden steam and sunlight.
Sangwon steps back toward the bathroom, his eyes catching Leo’s. He leans in just slightly, a teasing tilt to his smile.
Leo’s pulse stutters. He inhales, catching the familiar scent of Sangwon—warm, sweet, alive—yet beneath it now there’s that faint, unfamiliar note, teasing the edges of his instincts.
“Now,” Sangwon says, tugging Leo’s hand toward the stall, eyes gleaming with mock sternness, “let’s shower. And no funny business.”
Leo chuckles, letting himself be pulled along, heart light and racing all at once.
“Oh really?” he murmurs, a teasing lilt in his voice as he steps closer, letting the warm steam curl around them, “you sure you can keep your hands off me?”
Sangwon bites back a grin, eyes darkening just enough.
“That should be your line,” he says, and the words are barely out before the rest of the morning dissolves around them.
They move together then, bodies close, water cascading over skin and hair, steam curling like smoke around their shoulders.
Leo’s hands trace along Sangwon’s back, light and teasing, pulling him flush against his chest. A soft laugh slips from Sangwon’s lips, low and breathy, vibrating against Leo’s collarbone.
Their lips meet with an urgency that steals the air from the room, a desperate press that makes the world shrink to the two of them. Tongues explore in a fevered rhythm, tasting, teasing.
Leo’s hands slide against Sangwon’s jaw, tugging gently and pulling him closer, while the other trails down his back, feeling the taut lines of muscle, the shiver that runs beneath his touch.
Sangwon responds instinctively, hands sliding along Leo’s sides, over the ridges of his ribs, pausing just long enough to make him catch his breath.
Time loses meaning.
The spray around them, the warmth of wet skin pressed to skin, the desperate moans and muted curses—they are everything.
Their mouths collide again and again, harder, urgent, greedy—teeth grazing, tongues tangling in a messy, delicious frenzy.
Leo’s hands roam freely, sliding into Sangwon’s wet hair, tracing the planes of his shoulders, the sharp dip of his spine, before moving lower. His palm presses directly against the heat of Sangwon’s cock, slick and straining under his fingers, already pulsing insistently.
Sangwon gasps into his mouth, tilting his head, pressing closer, hips brushing and grinding, searching for friction, needing it.
And then the scent hits him—Sangwon’s familiar floral-fig sharpness, rich and heady, layered beneath it a new note, faint but impossible to ignore.
It's warm, subtly intoxicating, curling into Leo’s senses and tugging at instincts he can’t name.
Something is stirring beneath the familiar, beneath the skin.
Leo’s hand move faster, fingers teasing, stroking, thumb circling the sensitive tip, drawing shivers from Sangwon with each deliberate press.
Sangwon’s hands dig into Leo’s shoulder, pulling him impossibly closer, hips pressing harder against Leo’s own erection, friction mixing slick skin with slick skin, water spraying and steam curling around them.
“Alpha,” Sangwon rasps, voice ragged, teeth biting his lower lip as his hips rock against Leo’s hand.
His other hand finds Leo’s cock, palm sliding over the hardness, thumb teasing over slick skin, making Leo groan, head tipping back, melting into Sangwon’s mouth.
The kisses deepen. Every hitch of breath, every shiver, every ragged whimper under Leo’s touch sends sparks crawling up his spine.
And the scent—it grows sharper, richer. That faint, cinnamon note that belonged to neither of them lacing through the usual fig and floral, citrus and musk.
It's tugging, demanding attention, stirring instincts Leo doesn’t yet understand but can’t resist.
Sangwon’s movements grow frantic, hips thrusting, pressing harder, grinding, moaning breathless curses from his throat.
His hand trembles around Leo's erection, and Leo replaces Sangwon's hand with his own, tugging at both their erections in tandem.
The sensation pushes them both higher and deeper, responding to every pulse, every jerk, every need.
The world contracts—it’s just him and Sangwon, slick and raw, taste and heat mingling.
No thought for after, for anything beyond the pressing of skin to skin, the desperate and consuming closeness of each other.
Sangwon’s hips stutter against Leo’s hand, hard and raw, grinding as if he’s trying to consume every inch of contact. His breaths are ragged, laced with want, low growls and whimpers tumbling from his throat.
Leo leans in, teeth grazing the curve of Sangwon’s jaw, tongue brushing against the seam of his lips, and Sangwon shudders at the contact, hands clutching at Leo’s shoulders, nails digging just enough to leave a mark.
Sangwon tilts his head back, moaning into Leo’s mouth, lips parted, tongue brushing, teeth grazing.
"Please—Leo, don’t stop—" his voice cracks, deep and raw, and Leo answers with a moan of his own, teeth clashing lightly against Sangwon’s, sucking and nipping.
Every move is electric.
The spray of water, the heat of their bodies, the press of skin against skin—it’s all magnified.
Sangwon’s cock is pulsing against his hand, wet, hot, desperate, and Leo lets his fingers curl, palm pressing, stroking. His other hand is sliding lower, teasing the entrance that aches under his touch.
Sangwon cries out a sharp, broken sound, as Leo’s hand moves faster, thumb circling, slick fingers teasing, coaxing, and Leo leans in closer, tongue brushing, lips claiming, tasting, grounding.
Sangwon’s hands tangle in his hair, tugging. His hips rolling into Leo’s palm, seeking more.
“Alpha, please—" Sangwon whispers between ragged breaths, voice low, hoarse, desperate. “Leo, I’m… I’m gonna—”
Leo doesn’t let him finish. His hand moves even faster around Sangwon's weeping cock, his lips finding the pulse along the omega's neck, scenting, teeth barred but not digging.
"Come for me, baby," he whispers against Sangwon's skin, and feels his scent spike even more.
Sangwon tilts his head back against the tiles wall. “Fuck—Leo, ah! Alpha—" his voice cracks, ragged and wild. Every word, every gasp sends Leo over tighter, driving his movements faster, harder.
Leo leans in, pressing his lips to Sangwon’s jaw, his neck, his chest—licking, nipping, tasting, claiming.
The warmth of Sangwon’s skin, the slickness beneath his fingers, the desperation in every whimper, every low growl—it all coils inside Leo, a fire too hot to contain.
And then, Sangwon shudders, letting out a strangled cry, every muscle trembling, chest heaving, hips pulsing.
Leo doesn’t let go, keeps pressing and sliding, coaxing until Sangwon finally tips over, cries spilling into the air, hands fisting in his hair, teeth clashing lightly, voice raw and broken as his release washes over him, hot and clinging, almost unbearable.
Leo groans into him, chest tight, fingers slick, his hand around his own cock, throbbing and aching.
With a shudder, his own release follows, moaning low and raw, forehead pressing against Sangwon's.
Every pulse, every gasp, every press of their bodies makes the world dissolve—there’s only heat, scent, need, and each other.
When the tremors fade and their breaths slow, Leo presses a final lingering kiss to Sangwon’s lips.
When Sangwon breaks the kiss, eyes half-lidded and heavy with want, Leo’s chest aches—so full it feels like it might burst.
Sangwon’s head falls against his shoulder, chest still heaving, a soft, lazy laugh escaping him.
“Okay,” he murmurs, voice rough but teasing, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We really have to shower now.”
Leo exhales a shaky, satisfied laugh, letting himself finally sink into the warmth beside him. He notices the way Sangwon’s scent flares again, the faint, unfamiliar note weaving between the usual.
Pre-wedding nerves? Maybe. Or maybe something else entirely, something unspoken, just starting to bloom.
And yet it doesn’t matter.
Because here, pressed together under the shower’s warm cascade, the world has shrunk to the two of them only.
And as Sangwon laughed—that same laugh Leo had heard years ago in a crowded café, the one that had felt like being found—something in Leo stills.
The world narrows to the sound of it, the echo of sunlight against tile, the simple fact of them here.
Then, an epiphany. Familiar and yet, new.
Leo gets it now, why the nervousness never truly dawned him. Maybe because there had never been a doubt in his soul, because Leo always knew this was where he'd end up.
There is never another version of his life that didn’t have Sangwon in it.
From the very start—that first careless laugh that caught him off guard—Leo knew. Whatever it was, whoever he was meant to become, it would be with Sangwon.
It feels less like fate and more like gravity.
The kind of pull that refuses to be rewritten.
And if destiny had tried to decide otherwise, Leo knows he would’ve defied the heavens themselves just to set it right.
The wedding is only hours away.
And Leo, melting against Sangwon in the steam and warmth, feels his chest ache with everything he already loves—and everything he hasn’t yet had the chance to.
Leo just finished buttoning his dress shirt, the crisp white fabric catching in the soft morning light. He smooths the fabric down, inhaling deeply.
His fingers are steady, but his chest feels full—too full—like every breath sits heavy with something unnamed.
A soft knock at the door pulls him from the quiet orbit of his thoughts.
He crosses the room and opens it to find Sangwon’s parents standing in the hallway—his mother holding a small, folded garment bag, his father’s expression a quiet mix of pride and amusement.
“You’re dressed already, dear?” Sangwon’s mother says softly, almost fondly, eyes flicking over him with that same warmth she had shown from the start. “We wanted to check on you before things get busy.”
“Thank you,” Leo smiles, polite but a little dazed. “Really.”
Sangwon’s mother’s hand brushes his arm, grounding him. “We’re glad you’re here,” she says simply. “Both of you. We know what this day means.”
And just like that, a memory flickers—sharp and full in his chest.
The first time Leo had met them, months into his relationship with Sangwon, everything was still new and a little precarious.
He had stood in their living room, palms damp against his slacks, wishing he could disappear into the floorboards. Sangwon’s thumb had brushed over the back of his hand, a quiet press of reassurance.
“Relax,” he’d whispered. “They’ll see what I see.”
Leo remembered the scent of Sangwon grounding him even then—sweet fruit and floral, warm and unmistakably his.
Sangwon’s mother had greeted him first, smile soft and knowing, eyes crinkling at the corners the way Sangwon’s did.
She’d asked gentle questions—about his family, school, his music—her touch a brief pat on his arm as if to say, welcome.
Then Sangwon’s father’s handshake—steady, warm, not at all the test Leo had feared. There had been no judgment. Just a calm presence, a silent approval.
He remembered the sound of Sangwon’s laugh threading through the room, light and easy, filling the spaces between words.
That laugh had been his anchor.
In that moment, Leo had understood it wasn’t just Sangwon he was falling for. It was the life orbiting around him. The promise of a future woven into every soft glance and touch.
Even then, Leo had known—this wasn’t a question of if.
It had always been a matter of when.
Sangwon’s father tilts his head, patting Leo on the back. “How are you feeling, Leo?” he asks mildly. “Nervous?”
Leo exhales a small laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. “No,” he says honestly, voice softer than he means it to be. “Not nervous.”
Sangwon’s mother smiles at him, the same smile as before. In the living room of their house, warmth-filled and bright with the love that shaped the love of his life.
“Good,” she says, her voice gentle but sure. “Stay that way. This is a big day, but it’s still just the two of you. Your souls bonded long ago.”
The words land deep, a quiet gravity settling in Leo’s chest. He swallows, something tender unfurling behind his ribs.
For a moment, he can almost see Sangwon in his mind—half-dressed, hair slightly mussed, probably laughing off nerves he won’t admit to, hiding them behind that same radiant, disarming smile that had undone Leo years ago.
“Yes, Auntie,” he murmurs, voice soft, eyes distant but full. “Just us.”
“Auntie?” Sangwon’s mother lets out a bright laugh, the sound full of affection, and reaches up to pat his cheek.
“We’re your Mom and Dad now too, aren’t we?”
Leo can’t help it—his throat tightens, laughter catching at the edges of his smile. “Yes,” he says quietly, “of course.”
Her hand lingers a moment longer on his cheek, steady and warm, before she turns to fix the collar of his suit, fussing in that way mothers do.
“We can't be any happier it's you, Leo,” she murmurs, pride soft in her tone. “Now, go make our baby happy.”
Leo’s answering smile is small but unwavering.
Always, he thinks.
The suite downstairs hums with life.
Laughter and chatter ripple through the air—voices he knows and loves but can’t quite anchor to.
The light is soft and golden against the rows of white chairs being straightened, the low murmur of music rehearsal drifting from the garden beyond.
Leo drifts through it all like a dreamer caught mid-waking—smiling when prompted, nodding at familiar faces, answering questions that reach him through a soft, distant haze. The laughter and clinking glasses blur at the edges, a bright hum against the pulse in his ears.
Geonwoo finds him near the buffet, clapping a hand between his shoulders with his usual sunlit grin.
“Look at you,” he says, half-teasing, half-incredulous. “Can’t believe you’re actually getting married. The world might tilt off its axis.”
Leo exhales a small laugh, straightening the cuff of his sleeve. “Funny,” he murmurs—but this time, the smile that follows is real, the kind that begins somewhere deeper than his lips.
“Big day,” Junseo smiles, handing him a glass of champagne, chattering about decorations and the ridiculous number of doves the planner wanted.
The laughter around them swells, bright and easy.
“Where’s Sangwon hyung?” Anxin asks, glancing toward the corridor.
“Final fittings, I think,” Leo replies.
“We can smell your impatience all the way from inside the hotel,” Jiahao drawls, smirking over his drink. “You’ll see him in thirty minutes. You’re acting like it’s thirty years.”
Leo’s mouth curves faintly, “feels like both.”
The table bursts into more laughter. Someone toasts. Someone else shouts for photos. The champagne bubbles rise like static in his chest.
But through it all, the space beside him feels painfully empty.
Xinlong leans back in his chair, the edge of his smile softening. “You know, hyung,” he says after a pause, “we were talking about it earlier. How you and Sangwon hyung always felt… inevitable. Like there was never a question to begin with.”
“Yeah,” Sanghyeon nods eagerly beside him, his grin bright and earnest. “It’s like you both just knew. Even when things got rough.”
The laughter that had filled the room moments ago ebbs into a gentler quiet, a shared stillness that hums beneath their voices.
Leo’s chest tightens.
The comment catches him off guard—not because it’s untrue, but because it tugs at the edges of a memory he hasn’t visited in a long time.
For a heartbeat, the room blurs—the chatter, the light, the soft clinking of glasses—and what rises instead is the echo of another night.
The sound of Sangwon’s voice, brittle and shaking, the look in his eyes when they hadn’t been sure if love was enough to bridge the silence between them.
It had been one of the bad nights.
The kind that begins with something small and unremarkable, then splinters outward until neither of them remembers what started it.
They’d both been worn thin, chasing deadlines, missing each other in the spaces between work and sleep.
One careless word had tipped the balance, another followed, and soon the silence between them was sharper than any shout could be.
Sangwon had left first, the door closing with a sound that felt too final.
Leo had stayed frozen in the stillness that followed, every instinct urging him to run after him—yet pride, or maybe fear, rooted him to the floor.
It was Jiahao who appeared an hour later, knocking once before letting himself in. “You’re both idiots,” he’d said, not unkindly. “But fixable ones.”
When Leo finally made it to his friend’s place, his omega was already there—sitting on the couch, fingers curled around a mug that had long gone cold, eyes red but clear.
There were no grand speeches. No swelling music.
Just the quiet tremor of breath between them, and the fragile truth that still tied them together.
“I don’t need perfect,” Sangwon had said, voice rough but certain. “I just need you to keep showing up.”
And Leo had.
Again, and again.
Because love, he’d learned, wasn’t the absence of breaking.
It was the choice to reach across the cracks, no matter how many times it took.
Geonwoo’s voice cuts gently through the laughter, a tether back to the present, “you okay, man?”
Leo blinks, the memory dissolving like mist. “Yeah,” he says after a beat, voice low. “Just thinking.”
“About Sangwon?” Junseo drawls, half-smiling.
“Always,” Leo answers—and there’s no hesitation, no attempt to hide the truth.
The table erupts with hoots and clinking glasses, their teasing bright and unrestrained. Leo lets himself laugh too, the sound threading through the noise around him.
For a moment, it feels like he’s inside a dream—faces, voices, colors all swirling together in celebration.
And yet, beneath the din, his heartbeat remains calm and certain, pulsing in quiet rhythm to the name that anchors him to the one person not yet in the room, but already the center of it all.
Somewhere across the hall, he swears he can feel it—Sangwon’s presence.
Not sight or sound, but something truer.
The familiar pull in his chest, the ghost of warmth threading through the air, the trace of a scent that feels like home.
Soon, Leo tells himself. Just a little longer.
Because that’s what love has always meant for them—not perfection, not the absence of doubt, but the quiet vow to keep returning.
To reach across the distance, again and again.
On the bright mornings, on the aching nights, and in every trembling heartbeat between them.
A soft knock at the dressing room door.
Leo freezes mid-button, pulse flickering sharp and fast. The air shifts—before the latch even turns, he already knows.
His body recognizes it first, that quiet hum in his chest, the subtle pull in his scent glands responding before thought can form.
“Sangwon?”
The door opens just enough for the omega to slip in, shoulders drawn tight with mischief. His scent follows—warm fig and rain-slick sunlight, tempered by the faint spice that coils low in Leo’s throat.
Sangwon closes the door behind him, soft click sealing them into their own small universe.
“I thought it was bad luck,” Leo murmurs, voice low, caught between laughter and disbelief.
Sangwon’s grin tilts, bright and reckless. “Who knows?” he says, stepping closer, light catching in his eyes. “Because I’ll actually combust if I don’t see you first.”
There’s a flicker of defiance in his tone—soft, but sure—the kind that makes Leo’s chest ache, like he’s saying let the universe wait.
Sangwon is luminous in the half-light—vest brushing against his skin, pulse thrumming visible at his throat.
Leo’s instincts hum, that old bond-thread between them vibrating faintly, a tether that’s always been there, even before they ever spoke the words mate.
“You’re impossible,” Leo whispers, voice low.
“Maybe,” Sangwon answers, softer this time. He steps close enough that Leo can feel the warmth radiating off him. His fingers find the boutonniere on Leo’s chest, straightening it with slow, deliberate care, “there. Perfect.”
Their eyes meet. And for a moment, neither of them breathes.
The noise from the corridor fades—the murmur of guests, the clatter of preparations—all dissolving into this single, suspended instant.
Sangwon’s hand lingers against Leo’s collarbone, thumb ghosting over the pulse there. “You look good,” he says softly, voice catching on something that isn’t just affection—it’s awe, and something older, steadier.
“And you’re even more beautiful than this morning,” Leo says, the words breaking slightly, as though his heart stumbles over them on the way out.
Because it’s true—Sangwon is more beautiful every time Leo sees him, in ways that defy reason or language. Like time conspires in his favor, layering grace upon grace until it hurts to look too long.
Sangwon’s eyes soften, all teasing melting into something quieter—something that reaches straight through Leo’s chest and settles there, warm and steady.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moves. The world hums softly around their stillness, like even time has decided to wait.
“But you should probably get your cute ass back to your sisters before I get blamed for stealing you,” Leo murmurs, cupping Sangwon’s face, his thumb brushing slow circles over warm skin.
Sangwon’s mouth curves, eyes glinting. “Too late,” he whispers. “I already told them it was your fault.”
“Is that so?” Leo raises a brow, “then I’ll keep you here for as long as I want.”
The air between them thickens, scents curling together in quiet recognition.
Leo’s alpha strains to close the distance, to hold his omega still, to mark and be marked—but he reins it in, fingers flexing at his sides.
This isn’t that moment, and yet—it almost feels more intimate.
The way Sangwon looks at him, close enough that Leo can feel the heat of his breath, the soft hum of their scents curling between them—it pulls something from deep inside, something old and aching.
For a second, Leo forgets to breathe.
Because he remembers.
It was the night everything changed, or at least—finally locked into place.
The air hung heavy—thick with heat and want, their scents woven into something heady, intoxicating. Each breath burned in Leo’s lungs, a rhythm of hunger and belonging.
Sangwon lay beneath him, bathed in amber light that gilded his skin in gold and shadow.
Every inch of him glowed—cheeks flushed, hair damp and wild, eyes glassy with need.
Leo’s hands roamed greedily, palms mapping the familiar terrain of his omega’s body—the dip of his spine, the soft curve of his hips, the tremble that chased every touch.
He pulled Sangwon closer, until there was no air, no space—just heat and slick skin, the sound of their hearts tripping over each other.
Leo remembered it too vividly to ever forget.
The way Sangwon’s body arched, pliant and sure, meeting every thrust with a need that felt like prayer. The wet slide of him, hot and tight around Leo’s cock, every drag a promise, every pulse a plea.
Leo’s breath came ragged against Sangwon’s neck—tasting salt and sweetness, the faint musk of bond and belonging, the flavor that was only ever Sangwon.
Sangwon was devastating in his beauty, ethereal in his surrender—dark hair plastered against the pillow, eyes open and unwavering, holding Leo with something that went deeper than love.
Something infinite.
In moments like this, Leo believed in fate.
In the impossible mercy of finding someone whose soul felt like his own.
Bond or not, they had always been one—two halves of the same starlit ruin, colliding because they were meant to.
The way Sangwon never flinched from Leo’s rough edges. He held them, loved them, softened their sharpness with grace.
The tension built, breath by breath, skin slick, hips snapping in fevered rhythm. Leo’s hand slid up Sangwon’s back, fingers threading through his hair, tilting his head to bare his throat.
He felt the frantic flutter of Sangwon’s pulse against his tongue before he sank his teeth in—sharp and claiming, marking him where no one else ever would.
Sangwon’s cry tore through the air—half pain, half surrender—as scent-think blood bloomed hot against Leo’s mouth.
It hadn’t been gentle, it wasn’t meant to be. This was the moment of truth—raw, carnal, divine.
Leo thrust deeper, his knot swelling, locking them together as Sangwon’s body trembled and clenched around him.
The world broke open.
And then, Sangwon moved.
A growl, soft and low, rising from his chest as he twisted up to meet Leo, eyes burning, fangs bared. His hands found Leo’s shoulders, anchoring, before he bit down hard into Leo’s gland.
The sting flared bright, flooding Leo’s veins with euphoria and light. Their blood mingled—warm, sacred—sweat and scent and bond wrapping them in something larger than themselves.
It was promise. It was surrender. It was the universe folding in half to make space for them.
Leo’s hips rolled, driving deeper into the velvet heat, chasing every gasp and shudder until pleasure blurred to ache.
Beneath him, Sangwon was pure devotion—breathless, trembling, his voice a broken hymn.
“I love you, Leo,” he whispered, the words trembling between them. “My alpha—always mine.”
The world stilled.
“I love you,” Leo pressed his lips to the mark blooming red on Sangwon’s throat, his reply quiet but unshakable.
“Always yours,” he murmured.
And when they came, it was together—light and sound and heartbeat, the bond thrumming like a live thing beneath their skin.
The memory fades as quickly as it comes, leaving the ghost of that night thrumming in Leo’s pulse, heavy and electric.
He swallows hard, throat tightening under the weight of it.
Sangwon’s eyes soften, his hand sliding up until his thumb rests just atop Leo’s throat, right where the bond still thrums faintly, his scent gland pulsing.
“You smell nervous,” he teases gently, mouth curving, “even though you said you weren’t gonna be.”
“Guess I really can’t hide it from you,” Leo murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips, soft and rueful.
Sangwon scoffs lightly, eyes glimmering with that familiar mix of affection and exasperation. “I’d know,” he says, as though it’s the most obvious truth in the world.
“Of course you would,” Leo’s voice drops, threaded with something tender. His hand slides to Sangwon’s waist, drawing him closer until the space between them disappears.
“You’ve been in my head since we were eighteen.”
Sangwon huffs a quiet laugh, breath ghosting against Leo’s mouth.
“And I’ll stay there,” he murmurs, leaning in until their foreheads meet, “until we’re both old and wrinkly—and you’re still trying to deny you’re obvious.”
The bond hums between them, quiet and certain, and Leo knows he’s been Sangwon’s long before he ever learned what it meant to belong.
The garden glowed in the soft hush of late afternoon.
White chairs lined the aisle like a dream made tangible, each one framed by clouds of baby’s breath and pale peonies.
A stretch of gauzy white cloth rippled along the edges of the venue, catching the light like mist, and the air was thick with the sweetness of fresh blooms and the faint hum of live strings.
It was all simple, almost unassuming—and yet ethereal.
The kind of beauty that didn’t demand attention, only drew in.
Leo stood just off to the side of the altar, hands clasped loosely before him, heart pounding in quiet disbelief that this was his wedding—their wedding.
Every seat filled with familiar faces—friends, family. The people who had watched them grow up, fall in love, stay in love.
Leo has never seen the world look so still.
His mother approached first, her smile radiant and trembling all at once. His father followed a few steps behind, the usual composure in his posture softened by joy.
“My son,” his mother breathed, reaching up to fix the boutonniere on his lapel, though it didn’t need fixing. “You look—” she laughed, shaking her head as though words wouldn’t suffice. “You look just like the man I hoped you’d become.”
“What’s this?” Leo swallowed, trying to find his voice. “You’re already crying, Mom?”
She laughed softly, the sound trembling at the edges.
“That’s what mothers are for,” she said, her thumb tracing his cheek the way she used to when he was small—gentle, grounding, “I can't believe my boy’s all grown up.”
“Remember, Leo—being the family’s alpha doesn’t mean leading every step,” his father’s voice came next, calm and even but carrying that quiet weight of love. “It means knowing when to listen. Protecting, yes—but also learning to be protected. You’ve always had that in you.”
His mother’s eyes glistened as she looked between them, her smile tender, “and we know Sangwon sees it too.”
Leo’s chest ached in that beautiful, unbearable way. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick. “For everything.”
“Now, breathe,” his mother cupped his face for one last moment, eyes shining. “You’ve already found your home.”
And as the orchestra swelled, the first notes spilling into the afternoon light, Leo thought—for once, he didn’t need to imagine what forever looked like.
It was already walking toward him.
Leo never quite understood why people cried at weddings.
It used to puzzle him, the tears and the shaking hands, the way faces lit up and broke all at once.
But now, standing here beneath the afternoon sun slanting through the draped white cloth and the veiled shimmer of flowers, he feels it hit like a tide—quiet, unstoppable.
The first notes of the orchestra drift through the garden—a soft, trembling melody that feels almost too delicate for air.
Leo stands at the head of the aisle, his palms damp, heart too big for his chest.
Around him, the world gleams brightly, sunlight breaking gently through linen canopies. It smells of flowers and warm grass and something faintly electric—the scent of beginnings.
Leo’s supposed to be calm. He’s supposed to breathe.
But then the guests rise, and the music swells.
And Sangwon appears.
He’s dressed the same as Leo’s—ivory and light—his jacket a soft sheen against the afternoon gold, a single white rose pinned to his lapel. His hair catches the sunlight with every step, dark strands gilded at the edges.
And his eyes—god, his eyes—are already glistening, bright with something unguarded, as though Sangwon has been holding back tears since the moment he took a step out into the garden.
For a heartbeat, Leo forgets everything.
The laughter from before, the soft teasing from their friends, even the steady hum of conversation around them.
All of it fades until there’s only the sound of his own pulse and the steady, measured rhythm of Sangwon’s steps.
And in that suspended quiet, memories begin to unfurl.
Sangwon laughing in a rainstorm, soaked to the bone.
Sangwon asleep against Leo’s shoulder on a train, sunlight striping his face.
Sangwon angry, proud, trembling—and then forgiving, always forgiving.
Sangwon in every shade of love that life could hold.
Each version of him merges with the one walking toward Leo now, until it feels like every moment they’ve ever shared has led here, to this breath, this light.
The applause starts when Sangwon reaches him, a soft rustle of joy like wind through petals. But Leo doesn’t hear it, not really.
The music, the guests, the faint murmur of birds and trees all blur to nothing the second Sangwon stands in front of him.
The world holds its breath.
Sunlight spills like gold dust through the white canopy, catching in Sangwon’s lashes, in the faint shimmer of tears that never quite fall.
Between them, the bond hums—soft, steady, alive beneath the skin.
A silent vow answering before their words ever do.
“Shall we?” Sangwon whispers, voice low and steady despite the shimmer in his eyes.
Leo doesn’t remember deciding to move, but his hand finds Sangwon’s anyway, as if pulled by instinct older than breath. The warmth of it, the sure fit of their palms, knocks the air right out of him.
That’s when the first tear slips free, slow and unbidden, catching on his jaw as he exhales a shaky laugh.
“Don’t cry now,” Sangwon murmurs, voice catching, a small, teasing tremor under the words. His fingers lift to brush the stray tears from Leo’s cheeks, lingering just long enough that he feels the warmth of Sangwon's touch seep straight through his chest.
Leo swallows, laughter trembling through him, but the tears won’t stop. “It’s your fault, you make me too happy,” he whispers, voice soft and almost lost under the swell of music. “Too full of everything I didn’t know I needed.”
Sangwon leans closer, forehead resting against Leo’s, breath mingling.
“Then let’s be too full together,” he says, voice low, steadying, and somehow commanding comfort. “Every second. Every heartbeat.”
And Leo melts, chest aching and heart spinning, caught in the quiet gravity of them—just them—forever unfolding.
Leo finally understands why people cry at weddings.
Because sometimes love is too vast to fit in the body—it has to spill out somewhere.
Because sometimes love isn’t loud or grand—it’s the quiet awe of realizing you’ve already spent a lifetime finding your way here.
And Leo is here with Sangwon, as fate has brought them to be.
The night hums low and golden, its edges softened by laughter and fading music.
The garden patio is strung with pale lights, the kind that sway gently in the breeze, throwing little halos across faces that have been smiling for hours.
Their friends sprawl across the cushioned benches, jackets off, ties loosened, champagne glasses half-empty. Someone’s playlist hums lazily through a speaker—a soft saxophone, the kind that feels like the aftertaste of joy.
Anxin is recounting something ridiculous from the reception, all flailing hands and terrible impressions.
“—and then Junseo hyung tried to catch the bouquet!”
“I was helping it land gracefully in the right hands,” Junseo protests, tipsy and unrepentant.
“That’s what you call graceful?” Jiahao snorts. “You tripped face-first into the roses.”
Junseo groans into his palms, muttering something about ‘marrying a disaster’ that earns another round of laughter.
The group dissolves into easy noise—mock protests, soft teasing, the sound of champagne being poured and glasses clinking against the low hum of the evening.
Then Geonwoo lifts his glass, eyes glinting under the fairy lights.
“To our beloved grooms,” he says, voice bright with warmth. “Who somehow survived this circus, and each other.”
“Barely,” Sangwon says, voice muffled against Leo’s shoulder.
Laughter again, softer this time, threaded with the kind of affection only years can build.
He’s tucked close, shoes abandoned somewhere near the table, feet curled beneath him. His cheeks are flushed pink, his hair a little mussed from the night’s chaos.
Sangwon smells faintly of wood pine and the familiar blend of fig and soft florals that Leo has always known—and it spikes again, Leo notices, something fainter, warmer.
Leo breathes him in again, frowning slightly against Sangwon’s temple.
What was that strange new thread in his scent he’s been catching all day, elusive and sweet, curling around the edges of everything?
“Don’t look so serious,” Sangwon murmurs, eyes half-lidded, a small, sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “It feels like you’re diagnosing me.”
Leo chuckles softly, “just making sure my husband hasn’t turned into a fig tart from all the champagne.”
Sangwon laughs, low and bright, hiding his face in Leo’s shoulder. His ring catches the light as he reaches for his glass again—silver, simple, twin to Leo’s own, a small diamond inset between their initials.
The conversation drifts to plans and futures.
Junseo and Jiahao rambling about a trip next spring, Sanghyeon and Anxin arguing about who’ll host the next reunion, Xinlong talking about a new apartment he’s eyeing downtown.
It’s all easy, familiar, the kind of joy that doesn’t need to announce itself.
Leo leans back against the bench, letting it all wash over him. His arm draped around Sangwon, fingers tracing lazy circles against his shoulder, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breathing.
The laughter, the golden light, the faint hum of music—it all folds inward, smaller, closer, until there’s only this.
Sangwon’s warmth. His scent. The soft weight of his head against Leo’s chest.
Leo breathes in, heart swelling until it aches with how right it feels.
This is it. This is everything.
He could stay like this forever.
But then, the glass slips from Sangwon’s hand. The faint sound of shattering crystal cuts through the laughter.
And suddenly, everything stops.
“Sangwon!” his name leaves Leo’s throat like a plea, raw and frantic. “Hey—hey, wake up. What's wrong?”
Sangwon doesn’t answer.
His head lolls against Leo’s chest, breath coming shallow and uneven. His skin—too pale, too cool beneath Leo’s shaking hands.
The scent around them shifts, the fig and floral dimming beneath a sharp, metallic edge that makes Leo’s pulse lurch with instinctive dread.
“Call someone—get help!” Jiahao’s voice cuts through the blur, and there’s movement, chairs scraping, footsteps pounding.
But all Leo can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, all he can see is Sangwon’s face, slack and still.
“Sangwon,” he whispers again, thumb trembling as it brushes over his cheek. “Come on, baby. Wake up, please.”
His voice breaks on the last word.
And as Sangwon’s body grew heavier in Leo’s arms, the bond between them pulsed faintly under Leo’s skin.
Everything else dissolves into chaos.
The world has narrowed to white—white walls, white sheets, white light bleeding through the blinds.
The only color left is the faint pink of Sangwon’s mouth and the green pulse on the monitor beside him.
Leo sits at his bedside, his coat discarded somewhere in the corner, tie loose around his throat. His hands are clasped around Sangwon’s, thumbs tracing slow, gentle circles over his knuckles.
Beneath his skin, the faint hum of their bond flickers—thin, uneven, like a weak radio signal he’s terrified of losing.
He hasn’t moved since they brought Sangwon in.
The sterile scent of antiseptic has almost drowned out Sangwon’s fig and floral, but every now and then, it slips through—faint, familiar, heartbreakingly mortal.
The door opens with a soft click, Leo’s head jerks up instantly.
A doctor enters, middle-aged, calm in that practiced way that feels like mercy. The faint blue marking on his wrist identifies him as an alpha—one trained in mixed-pair care.
“Mr. Lee?”
Leo’s head jerks up before he even realizes it, pulse thundering, “he hasn’t woken up—what’s happening to him?”
“Don’t worry, your husband’s vitals are stable,” the doctor says, his voice calm and kind. “We administered fluids and stabilized his pressure. It looks like a case of exhaustion and acute hypotension,” he consults the chart in his hands, then glances back at the monitors, “it’s common among omegas under physical strain, especially following prolonged stress.”
He pauses, scanning the readings once more, then turns back towards Leo, “especially during early pregnancy. The first weeks are often the most delicate.”
For a moment, Leo couldn’t breathe.
The words struck like static through his bloodstream—bright, disorienting, impossible to contain.
“What—” His voice splintered, rough with disbelief. “Pregnancy? What do… what do you mean?”
The doctor’s brows lifted, a flicker of realization softening his features.
“Ah,” he murmured, “you must not have known.” The chart closed with a muted snap, the sound far too final for what it carried.
“Congratulations, Mr. Lee. Your partner is expecting.”
The air thinned, the hum of the monitors sharpened into something unbearable.
“I—Sangwon is—” Leo stammered, the words scraping raw in his throat as his gaze darted from the doctor’s calm face to Sangwon’s still one. “He’s… pregnant?”
“Yes,” the doctor said, his tone steady but kind, “early stage, though the signs are clear—stabilized omega vitals, elevated hCG, a subtle scent shift. We’ll confirm again once he wakes.”
Then, more quietly, “they’re both fine. He just needs rest—and care, Mr. Lee. Plenty of it.”
Leo’s throat constricted around the breath that refused to leave him.
For a single, suspended heartbeat, everything halted—the sterile light, the rhythmic pulse of the monitors, even the trembling in his hands.
The doctor gives a small, understanding smile before excusing himself, leaving Leo with the fragile, impossible truth blooming inside his chest.
The world narrowed to one fragile truth—Sangwon, asleep beneath the soft glow of the machines, carrying something neither of them had imagined but somehow already felt inevitable.
Then, it all comes back at once.
The ache in his chest, the flood of awe and fear and love.
Leo sits back down by Sangwon’s side, pale and quiet against the sheets, and for the first time in hours, a sound leaves him—a laugh, broken and wet.
“Of course you’d still find a way to surprise me,” he whispers, brushing his thumb along Sangwon’s knuckles.
Leo’s throat tightens until breathing feels like a fragile, deliberate act.
The scent shift—he hadn’t imagined it. That faint thread of cinnamon warmth beneath Sangwon’s usual fig and floral sweetness, the note he’d chased in quiet confusion.
It had been new. It had been real.
And now, it unfurled in his mind with startling clarity. A promise his body had recognized before his heart had caught up.
Leo reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from Sangwon’s face, fingers trembling. The bond hums stronger now, quiet but sure, pulsing against his ribs.
“You never do anything halfway, do you?” he murmurs, the words cracking into a laugh that almost breaks into a sob.
The machines hum softly, a steady counterpoint to his heartbeat.
For the first time since Sangwon fell, Leo lets himself breathe—shallow, disbelieving, and full of something that might be joy.
For a long while, there’s nothing but the hum of the machines and the steady rhythm of Sangwon’s breathing.
Leo hasn’t moved.
He sits where he’s been since the doctor left, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced so tightly they’ve gone white. The words ‘your partner is expecting’ still echo somewhere in his chest, looping endlessly, too bright to look at directly.
Leo’s supposed to be relieved—and he is—but the relief is laced with something wild, uncontainable.
Happiness, most probably. And then, there's the fear. Something that feels like both.
His mind can’t stop replaying it—the faint mix in Sangwon’s scent these past days, how it lingered beneath the florals, subtle but unmistakable now that he knows what it was.
The bond hums deep under Leo’s skin, warmer now, steadier. It feels like being filled with light, the world expanding faster than he can comprehend.
He wants to laugh. He wants to cry.
Leo wants to tell Sangwon everything—how he already imagines what their mornings will look like, how he’ll do everything for him, how he’ll make sure he never overworks himself again, how he’ll be there for every heartbeat of this new life they somehow created.
But then another thought pierces through the haze, what if Sangwon’s not ready?
His hands start to shake again. The sound of his own breathing feels too loud.
He presses a hand to his chest, grounding himself in the faint thrum of their bond, the reassurance that Sangwon’s still there, that they’re still bound.
“I’ll be enough,” Leo whispers under his breath, voice cracking. “I’ll make it enough, Sangwon.”
And then, a small sound. A shift of fabric.
Leo’s head snaps up.
Sangwon stirs faintly, lashes fluttering, the kind of slow return that makes Leo’s pulse stumble. His fingers twitch where Leo still holds them.
“Hey, husband.”
It’s barely a breath, fragile and hoarse, but Leo hears it like a miracle.
He’s out of his chair instantly, leaning forward until his forehead nearly touches Sangwon’s hand. “Hey—hey, I’m here,” he says, his voice breaking into a laugh. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Sangwon blinks, disoriented, eyes finding Leo’s face, “what happened?” His scent is soft and unguarded, tinged faintly with the new hint of warm earthiness Leo can’t stop noticing.
Leo hesitates.
For a second, he can’t find his words.
All the fear and awe and love crash at once, flooding through the bond. He brushes his thumb over Sangwon’s knuckles, voice unsteady.
“You fainted. They said you were just exhausted,” he pauses, swallowing. “But there’s… something else.”
Sangwon frowns faintly, still dazed, “something else?”
Leo’s heart stutters. He wants to tell him gently, perfectly—but nothing about this feels like it can ever be contained by words.
“You’re okay,” Leo says first, voice soft, trembling. “You and—the doctor said—our bond—Sangwon, you’re—”
He stops, the sentence collapsing under the weight of it. His eyes sting, and he can’t help but laugh again, quietly, helplessly.
“Leo, relax,” Sangwon says as he intertwines their fingers, voice barely above a whisper, “what is it?”
Leo exhales, trembling. His free hand cups Sangwon’s cheek, thumb tracing the faint warmth of his skin.
“You’re pregnant,” he says finally, the words so fragile they almost break in the air.
The bond hums between them, steady and alive.
And Leo watches—terrified and awed—as the meaning begins to dawn in Sangwon’s eyes.
The scent hit him then, faint but undeniable—the shift he’d never expected, the spice mingling with his own fig and florals, curling into the edges of his awareness.
His pulse flickered, heart stuttering in recognition. “Pregnant…” he murmured, disbelief threading through wonder. “I’m pregnant?”
“Yes,” Leo whispered, leaning closer, forehead brushing against his. “We’re going to be parents. We’re… we’re going to do this together.”
Then something flickered across his expression, hesitation softened by care, “if you want. Only if you want.”
Sangwon’s lips parted, a small, shaky smile blooming as the truth of the words settled into the hollow spaces of his chest, warm and luminous.
His hand found Leo’s, fingers tangling instinctively, gripping not just for comfort but as an anchor, grounding himself to the only certainty he’d ever needed.
“Of course I do,” Sangwon breathed, laughter trembling through the corners of his voice, fragile and full all at once. Tears welled, shimmering against the soft flush of his cheeks, lips quivering.
“Of course I want us to be parents—are you crazy?”
Leo’s hand tightened around his, thumbs brushing over knuckles, holding him steady while his chest ached with the enormity of it.
The scent—fig, florals, and that elusive new spice—rose around him, heady and intoxicating, tethering him, binding him, claiming every inch of this miraculous, fragile moment.
Sangwon leaned forward then, pressing his forehead to Leo’s, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “We’re going to have a baby,” he whispered, voice soft, fierce, tremulous.
“We are,” Leo replied, voice a low vow, humming through every nerve. “We really are.”
In that quiet, sterile room, the world outside ceased to exist.
Sangwon let the tears fall, brushing against Leo’s chest. Leo’s other hand cupped his face gently, thumb swiping across his cheekbone, grounding him with touch, with presence.
“You’re going to be incredible,” Leo whispered, his own tears already welling up in his eyes, unstoppable and raw. “And I—I’ll be right here, every second. We’ll do it all together.”
Sangwon’s breath hitched, a laugh breaking through—a delicate, incredulous sound that carried awe and disbelief all at once.
“I’m so happy,” his voice trembled, soft and raw, “I’m so happy it’s with you.”
Leo pressed his lips to the crown of Sangwon’s head, then his temple, a soft cascade of kisses that tethered them to each other, “I couldn't be luckier myself.”
Sangwon melted into him, every tension of the last hours dissolving, every fear and exhaustion replaced by the fierce certainty of this moment.
Their fingers, their scent, the quiet beat of hearts syncing—it was a small, perfect world, and it was theirs alone.
“I’m yours,” Sangwon murmured, voice low, a tremor of awe threading through it. “Forever. Just yours.”
Leo’s chest tightened at the words, at the soft, undeniable surrender of his omega.
He pressed his forehead against Sangwon’s, inhaling that complex, intoxicating scent and the faint undertone of something new, something growing, something impossibly theirs.
“And I’m yours,” he breathed back, voice steady, endless. “Always.”
The world hummed on, sterile and white, machines ticking and breathing with them.
Between them, wrapped in blankets and arms and quiet awe—they existed in a single, perfect heartbeat of possibility, of a future and a home and a family, already beginning.
Every heartbeat pressed the truth into Leo—he belonged here, in Sangwon’s arms, in this moment, in the life they were building together.
He felt the quiet gravity of forever settling around them, a tether of love and possibility that no force could ever break.