Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

🐾

Sunshine Garden is a stupid fucking name. For one, it’s not a garden at all. It’s a big, ugly, concrete monstrosity trapped between a tax office and a gym. It’s five stories, and judging from the bars covering the windows on the fourth and fifth floors, Subong’s not going to be seeing a whole lot of sunshine while he’s stuck here.  

Now that he’s getting a good look at the facility, he really wishes the judge would just skip this ‘rehabilitation’ bullshit and send him to prison. At least in a jail cell, he wouldn’t have PhD-wielding, sanctimonious assholes treating him like an unruly mutt being put in time-out. 

“Fuck this,” he mutters, eyeing the massive eyesore of a decal plastered over the glass entrance. The dumb smile on the cartoon sun’s face is really starting to piss him off. 

Officer Hwang tightens his grip on Subong’s forearm as he pushes the front door open. It’s a deeply unwelcome reminder that, despite the cheerful name and the childlike decal and the stupidly upbeat pamphlet promising ‘high-quality facilities and science-backed therapeutic treatment,’ this is all nothing more than a glorified dog kennel. 

At least in jail, he’d be a person. The thought makes his blood run hot with anger as Officer Hwang leads him to the front desk. 

His anger only builds when the receptionist doesn’t bother asking for his name. Even with his sunglasses, face mask, and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled tight over his head, he’s instantly recognizable. 

“Step up to the white line, Mr. Choi,” the receptionist says. 

It’s still disarming to hear himself being called that, even after a full month and a half of his legal name being recited back to him in court. He hasn’t heard anyone call him Thanos ever since the incident, like he lost that privilege as soon as the police took him into custody. 

Even the press has been calling him Choi Subong since the news broke out. All his past misdemeanors were paired with silly sensationalized headlines like ‘Battle of the Beasts: Kang Daeho and Thanos the Great Clash at Award Show Afterparty’ and ‘Thanos Snaps Again After Collecting Another Drug Possession Charge,’ but this time, the tone is very different. 

No stage names, no witty phrases. The headlines say things like ‘Public in Shock After Choi Subong Assaults Lee Myunggi in Violent Outburst’ and ‘Brutal Attack on Lee Myunggi has Omega Activists Calling for Choi Subong’s Removal from QMG Entertainment’—all with detailed accounts of Subong’s history of abrasive lyricism, his gruff personality, and his pattern of engaging in violent behavior.

Nevermind that Subong’s only ever been in one other actual fight and, in both cases, he’s not the one who started it. No one gives a fuck about the real story. All those articles conveniently leave out that Myunggi insulted Subong first. None of them mention that Myunggi left the fight with a couple bruises and a mildly sore throat, while Subong left with a broken jaw and his left eye swollen shut.

Not that anyone would care, anyway. The single article that included witness statements from the PAs got buried under all the think pieces on alpha violence and demands for Subong to be dropped from his label. 

And then the news spread about Subong’s extra long rut cycles. The prosecutors looked very pleased with themselves when they pulled up past records of him staying at his retreat center for twice as long as normal. Subong could only sit there and try not to react when the expert witness used those reservation logs as proof that he’s mentally unfit to be in society.

‘Pheromone sensitivity syndrome,’ he was diagnosed with. Because apparently, needing a little extra time to recover post-rut is evidence that he can’t control himself. It doesn’t matter that he wasn’t in rut when Myunggi hit him with a barrage of insults. It doesn’t matter that he was only reacting with the same level of aggression Myunggi was directing at him. And Myunggi just sat there with the rest of the spectators in court, eyes glued to the wall like he couldn’t give any less of a shit that Subong’s entire career was about to be over, all because he refused to take his share of the responsibility.

It’s fucking stupid, and it’s frustrating, and it sucks so goddamn much that if Subong shows even a hint of how much it’s all been affecting him, it’s just going to serve as further evidence that he’s exactly the reason why alpha facilities like Sunshine Garden exist. 

Not that all his attempts to keep his anger suppressed have helped in the slightest. He’s received more death threats over the past month than he’s received in the entirety of his twelve years in the music industry. Everyone in the county despises him now.

He can tell that’s exactly how the receptionist feels as she clicks away at her computer. Her face is drawn in a stern expression as she says, “Mr. Choi, please remove your facial coverings. We need to take your picture for our records.”

If she’s surprised to see the yellowed bruises littering Subong’s face, she doesn’t show it. None of those articles out there show what his face looked like post-fight. They all feature Myunggi being led out of QMG Headquarters with a faint purple mark on his cheekbone, rubbing pitifully at his marginally reddened neck. They never show any pictures of Subong’s black eye and the blood dripping from his mouth. The x-rays the doctors took of his broken jaw before surgery have never made their way to the tabloids. Most outlets prefer to use old mugshots from his past misdemeanors. It fits their narrative much better.

Besides, even if they did show a side-by-side comparison of his and Myunggi’s injuries, it wouldn’t change anything. There’s no sympathy in the receptionist’s eyes when she sees Subong without his sunglasses and face mask. She just points the web camera at him and snaps a picture. 

“Please hand over your phone, Mr. Choi,” she says. 

Subong can’t stop himself from scoffing. He hasn’t had access to his phone since the cops dragged his ass out of the hospital and straight to a holding cell. His manager’s had to the one to tell him what people are saying about him online between meetings with lawyers and hearings in front of the judge. No need for evidence beyond the brief clip of CCTV footage showing the two seconds he had his hands around Myunggi’s neck. Obviously Subong was the one who started it. He’s the one who was letting off pheromones, after all. Myunggi had the poor misfortune of being in his vicinity when he snapped.

Subong wanted so badly to scream when the prosecutor said that. Every performer, staff member, and executive at their label has seen Myunggi and Subong butt heads a billion times over the past twelve years. Every time QMG puts on an event with both of them present, they argue. It just so happens the one time that argument took place in a cramped recording booth, Myunggi’s pheromones started to seep out past his heat patch.

All those pheromones make emotions intensify. Everyone knows that. Myunggi could’ve just admitted that he fucked up by coming to work during his cycle. He could’ve admitted that, in a moment of intensity, he got too heated while ragging on Subong for fucking up his lyrics. It was a mistake, just like when Subong wrapped his hands around his neck. Just like when he retaliated by yanking the microphone off its music stand and breaking it against the left side of Subong’s face.

There’s nothing Subong can do about it now, though. Myunggi’s kept silent about the whole thing. He wouldn’t want his fans knowing he’s got a habit of skipping out on trips to Saluki Haven Center in favor of spending his heats at home. That doesn’t match his perfect, pristine idol image. It was already stirring up enough controversy that he and Subong were collaborating on a song together. Dating rumors were starting to circulate online. If people knew he was around Subong while in heat, things would only get worse. He must be so relieved that the collaboration is never going to see the light of day—and now, neither is Subong. 

It all works out great for everyone. Lee Myunggi gets to keep up the facade of perfection he’s been crafting for the past fifteen years. The QMG executives can finally breathe a sigh of relief, knowing they don't have to put up with Subong anymore. They’ve been trying to work past anti-discrimination statutes ever since the Kang Daeho fight. 

Honestly, they’ve been trying to get rid of him since his rebrand to Thanos. He just knows all the execs are going to press to keep him locked up here as long as physically possible—at least until after his contract expires. No chance he can push for that renewal in seven months if he’s still trapped here.

“Phone, Mr. Choi,” the receptionist says sharply. “And watch your attitude.”

Before Subong can fit in another scoff, Officer Hwang says, “His phone is at the precinct.”

The receptionist nods in satisfaction. “Any other personal belongings on him?”

“No,” Officer Hwang says. “Just what he’s wearing.”

“Good. Can you take those rings off?”

She’s looking at Officer Hwang when she makes that request. They’re talking about Subong like he’s not even there. Like he’s already been stripped of his personhood. He holds his breath as Officer Hwang pries the rings off his fingers, doing everything in his power to keep from showing his emotions. 

It’s a useless effort. The receptionist picks up the phone on her desk and says, “We’ve got Mr. Choi Subong here. Prep for level four intake.”

“Four?” Subong can’t help but echo back incredulously as he rubs at his naked fingers. Even with all the hyperinflated headlines about the fight, labelling him a level four guest is insane. Only violent criminals go to level four. Subong may have a short temper, but he’s not a psychopath. He only ever hits when he’s provoked. 

Officer Hwang tightens his hold on Subong’s arm. “Watch it, Choi.”

It’s so fucking stupid. Subong’s not a goddamn criminal. He didn’t try to resist arrest, he kept his emotions in check in court, he even fucking apologized to Myunggi publically, despite not doing a single thing wrong. It’s not his fault his stupid pheromones reacted to Myunggi’s. Everyone knows that’s not something that can be controlled.

The receptionist darts her eyes down when Subong makes the mistake of cracking one of his knuckles. She picks up the phone again and says, “Bring five milliliters of pheraxin.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Subong says, eyes going wide. Five milliliters would knock him out cold. He isn’t even in rut. 

“Choi,” Officer Hwang snaps. “Control yourself.”

Subong rips his arm out of Officer Hwang’s grasp. This is not part of his stupid fucking plea deal. He was told he’d spend a few months in an alpha facility getting therapy he doesn’t need, not getting drugged out of his mind with pheromone suppressants. Every time he’s made to take pheraxin outside of his rut, just two milliliters has his brain fogged up and his stomach churning. Five is going to put him in a coma. This can’t be legal. 

‘Let me talk to my lawyer,” Subong begs when Officer Hwang twists his arms behind his back and holds his wrists in place. “I don’t want to do this. Just let me—fuck, man, just let me talk to him!”

“You can speak to your lawyer after intake,” the receptionist says, scowling as she watches Subong struggle against Officer Hwang’s grip. “Please try to calm down.”

It’s a request that proves unnecessary. Three men in bubblegum pink scrubs with a med cart and a wheelchair make their way down the hall. Subong’s powerless to resist as one of those men grabs his arm and wraps an elastic band above his elbow. Officer Hwang’s still got a death grip on his other wrist as the man wipes his arm down with an alcohol pad and jabs him with a needle. 

The cold, foreign feeling of liquid rushing through his veins is immediate. His vision goes cloudy as Officer Hwang lets go of his wrist. He stumbles forward, body going limp as he’s maneuvered into the wheelchair. 

The last thing Subong hears before the blood pumping in his ears blocks out all exterior sound is one of the men in scrubs saying, “He’s not as tall as I thought he’d be.”

It’s fucking laughable. The media makes him out to be so scary. It doesn’t matter that none of it is real. Subong’s head falls weakly against the back of the wheelchair as the men take him to the elevator and up to the top level of the facility—the one with the thickest bars on the windows, where all the violent criminals go. 

Subong’s officially not a person anymore. He clenches his sore jaw in an effort to keep from screaming as he’s taken up to his dog kennel.

🐾

Most unmarried alphas and omegas go to retreat centers during their cycles. Separate facilities, of course. They spend those three days sequestered away from people who don’t share their secondary gender, relaxing in the spa and eating at the buffets and letting out all their pent-up energy in the recreation rooms. 

Then, after dinner, the staff facilitates the pheromone swap. Guests take off the dumb little pheromone-trapping pajamas they’re given upon check-in and hand it over to the staff in exchange for a pair from another retreat center. 

It’s very efficient—if an omega and an alpha are in a relationship, they’ve got a set protocol for exchanging pajamas between partners. Single people are given scent compatibility screenings, making it simple to match up alphas and omegas completely anonymously. 

They time it out perfectly. By the time the suppressants have worn off, everyone’s safely locked away in their own rooms, left to use the clothes they’ve been given and the supplies so kindly provided by the center to work through their ruts or heats on their own. 

It’s all bullshit. Couples go straight to pound town once they’ve got a set record of going to their retreat centers. The people who aren’t in relationships head straight to scent clubs. Despite the facade of anonymity, plenty of single alphas and omegas hide crumpled papers with addresses and meeting times in the pockets of their pajamas. The staff pretends not to notice. No one ever says anything. It is, after all, a major taboo for non-betas to have sex outside of marriage. 

It’s significantly worse if you’re an idol. Marriage is off the table if you want to remain marketable. Famous alphas and omegas are at risk of losing their careers if they’re just seen talking to people of the opposite secondary gender, let alone caught going on dates or, god forbid, hanging out at scent clubs. For that reason, Subong’s been exclusively going to a retreat center QMG picked out for him ever since he presented fourteen years ago. 

Dalmatian Wellness Center sucks complete ass. It’s touted as an exclusive, high quality center specifically for alpha celebrities, but it feels way more like an old folks’ home than the luxury spa it pretends to be. The walls are too white. The halls are too quiet. The staff is way too perky, given how shitty Subong feels every time his manager drops him off there. The pajamas they put him in are a vomit-inducing shade of piss-stain yellow. Every three months, he spends the majority of his time in the center’s big, fancy swimming pool in an effort to both dispel all his anger and get as much time out of those yellow pajamas as possible.

The clothes he’s been put into this time are even more demeaning. Bright turquoise track pants and a matching sweatshirt, devoid of any strings, buttons, or sharp metal zippers. Obviously, to keep him from attacking someone. 

Subong’s too blitzed out of his mind to even consider trying something like that. The pheraxin is coursing through his veins, leaving his stomach rolling and his head pounding. All he can do is lay down on his bed and try not to puke his guts out as the nurses go through his intake paperwork. 

His brain’s too foggy to recall their names—Min-something and Min-something, they told him as they maneuvered his body into his new prison uniform. He’s just been thinking of them as Girl Min and Boy Min. 

He watches as the nurses pour over what he has come to realize are detailed accounts of his supposed ‘history of aggressive behavior.’ The court’s expert witness did a wonderful job of pathologizing every single instance of Subong losing his temper, getting in disagreements with colleagues, and using profane language in his songs, then connecting it all right back to the stupid fight with Myunggi. He’s spent the past hour listening to Girl Min and Boy Mino hyperanalyze every tiny little thing he’s ever done wrong in his life.

“Do you recall what prompted you to instigate an altercation with Mr. Kang Daeho?” Boy Min asks.

“Fuck you,” Subong mumbles. It’s the best he can manage in his current state. If he had his strength back, he’d point out that Daeho was the one who started that fight. 

“They finally made a category for us,” Daeho said with a shit-eating smirk as he poured another shot into Subong’s glass. “About time, huh?”

And Subong had actually been excited to win best alpha artist at that year’s HMAs. It was a shitty reminder that it took making up a whole new category for the judges to give him some recognition. He’d been in the industry for a decade at that point. Daeho just had to rub that in his face. 

It’s not fucking fair. Myunggi won best male artist the year before. Not best omega artist—though he easily snatched that trophy when they added it along with the alpha category. He is, after all, QMG’s shining example of non-beta talent.

And now Subong’s a cautionary tale. People like him are the reason it took so long to add those categories at the HMAs. He can tell that’s exactly what these stupid nurses are thinking.

Subong tucks his chin in to scowl at Girl Min. “And fuck you too.”

Girl Min lets out a sigh as she scribbles something onto her clipboard. If Subong had his strength back, he’d rip that stupid thing out of her hand.

He doesn’t have his strength back, though. He’s still got more than double the amount of pheromone suppressants he’s used to pumping through his veins. 

“How about this, then, Mr. Choi,” Girl Min says. “Let’s move on to your medical history. Have you ever been diagnosed with pheromone sensitivity before?”

Of course he hasn’t. Because that’s a made up, bullshit diagnosis. Subong glares at the ceiling. 

“Okay, then,” Girl Min sighs. “Here’s an easier one. What’s your height and weight?”

“That’s public information,” Subong grumbles. “Just look it up online, bitch.”

Boy Min looks up from the documents to stare at Subong warily. “He kind of reminds me of Jang.”

“God, I can’t handle another Jang,” Girl Min mutters under her breath. She raises her voice to a normal volume as she says, “Come on, Mr. Choi. Height and weight. At least give us that so we can adjust your dosage properly.”

Subong has no clue who Jang is supposed to be. His head hurts too much to ask. He keeps his eyes locked on the ceiling, begging for time to move faster. He wants this stupid intake to end. He needs to call his lawyer.

“Fine, get up then,” Girl Min says. “We’ll just take your height and weight the old fashioned way.”

Subong literally can’t do that. They should’ve tried to measure him before they pumped a fuckload of drugs into his system. He keeps glaring at the ceiling as Boy Min shoves his arms around his torso and forces him up from the bed. He glares at the floor when he’s forced into a wheelchair and brought out to the main part of the ward. He glares at the door as the nurses go through the long, arduous process of getting past the ward’s high security system and taking him out to the hall. 

He’s close to screaming out of frustration when Boy Min drags him up from the wheelchair and onto a scale. 

“Stand up straight, Mr. Choi,” Girl Min says. 

He literally can’t. Subong mutters out a gruff, “Fuck you.”

Boy Min tucks his hands under Subong’s armpits and holds him up against the stadiometer. “One seventy-eight and a half.”

“Huh,” Girl Min mumbles under her breath as she scribbles on her clipboard. “Weight?”

Subong glares as Boy Min leans him up against the scale. So maybe his QMG profile rounds his height up to one eighty. A centimeter and a half difference hardly warrants a ‘huh.’ He’s still tall.

“Huh,” Girl Min huffs quietly after Boy Min reads out the number on the scale.

“Fuck you,” Subong grumbles, managing to project his voice a little louder this time. It’s not anywhere near his normal volume, but it still has Boy Min flinching as he maneuvers him back into the wheelchair. 

“Geez, he really reminds me of Jang,” Boy Min whispers as they wheel him back to the ward. 

The whispering seems highly unnecessary. Subong can still hear him, despite all the blood pumping in his ears. Though, he supposes, they don’t care about that. He’s not a person to them. He’s a little scroungy mutt. 

“Just what we need,” Girl Min sighs. “That reminds me, it’s time for Mr. Pissy’s PRI.”

Subong has no clue what PRI is supposed to mean. He does know he’s highly offended at the nickname. So maybe he’s kind of earned it. He hasn’t said much aside from ‘fuck you’ since the first round of nurses wheeled him into the ward and plopped him down on his bed. It’s still incredibly rude. 

“Asshole,” Subong grunts.

Girl Min ignores him in favor of maneuvering him back onto the bed and saying, “Minsu, I’ll be right back. Call Jeongrae if he’s giving you any trouble.”

Like Subong is in any state to give anyone any trouble. He can’t even stand up on his own. He glares at Girl Min as she uses her keycard to unlock the door to his room. He hears another door unlock in the main part of the ward, followed by the loud, metallic clang of the door automatically locking shut behind her. 

It’s so stupid. All this high security bullshit, yet Subong’s the only one here. He didn’t see a single other ‘guest’ before he was locked away in his room for intake. He directs his glare to Boy Min. 

Or Minsu. Whatever. The names of his dogsitters don’t matter all that much to him. 

A long, tense minute passes of them just staring at each other. Minsu looks like he’s going to crap his bubblegum pink scrubs. If Subong had the energy to laugh, he totally would, because why the fuck would a timid little beta like him choose to work at an alpha facility? In the level four ward, no less. He seems like he’s much better suited to a cushy office gig or teaching kindergarten. 

And yet, he’s the one tasked with making sure Subong doesn’t attack somebody. It’s all so fucking ridiculous. 

“Fuck you,” Subong spits out, just for good measure. He smiles in satisfaction when Minsu flinches back. 

Minsu makes quick work of recovering, though. He adjusts his scrubs, shooting a stern face Subong’s way as he says, “We’re only trying to help you.”

Subong is getting tired of saying the same thing over and over. He turns on his side to face the wall. 

“Please don’t go to sleep yet,” Minsu says. “I still have a few more questions.”

Like Subong could sleep right now. He feels way too shitty to sleep.

“Can I talk to my lawyer after?” Subong asks the wall. 

He hears Minsu let out a sigh and say, “Maybe tomorrow.”

Subong turns over his shoulder to scowl at Minsu. “I was told I could talk to him today.”

“Can you tell me how many sexual partners you’ve had since presenting?” Minsu asks, looking down at his clipboard. 

So that’s that then. Subong’s not going to get a straight answer until this stupid, invasive interrogation is over. He rests his head back on his pillow, eyes locked on the wall. “Shut up.”

“Can you at least give me an estimate?”

So fucking stupid. Subong squeezes his eyes shut, trying to fight back the nausea, headache, and progressively mounting anger. If he gets too angry, or refuses to cooperate, he may never be allowed to talk to his lawyer. 

“Zero,” he grumbles. 

It’s silent for too long. Minsu must not believe him. It wouldn’t be all that big of a surprise, if that’s the case. The tabloids have been sensationalizing the fuck out of his week-long ruts. Rather than being treated as an obvious sign that he’s a pent-up twenty-nine year old virgin, the reporters are all saying it must mean he’s a total player. Dozens upon dozens of fame-hungry omegas have already stepped forward, claiming to have gotten it on with him at scent clubs after exchanging pajamas with him at retreat centers.

Obviously, that’s never happened. Subong’s never left his name or address in his pajamas, so there’s no way for them to know if they exchanged with him. He’s never stepped foot in a scent club, either. He was already a trainee by the time he presented as an alpha. He’s been under far too much scrutiny to even date, let alone hook up with someone. His manager’s always kept him on a very short leash.

“Have you and Mr. Lee ever engaged in an intimate relationship?”

Subong huffs out a mirthless laugh. “I just said I’m a virgin, idiot.”

“Were you trying to initiate a relationship with Mr. Lee when you—”

“Of course not,” Subong hisses, turning back over his shoulder to stare at Minsu incredulously. “We’re signed to the same label. That’s it.”

Minsu shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m just trying to get the full story here.”

Subong has been through this way too many times. First with the cops, then with his lawyers, then over and over and over again in court. Just because an omega in heat happens to be in his proximity doesn’t mean he wants to jump their bones. He and Myunggi hate each other. Their pheromones are extremely incompatible. Everyone at QMG knows they can’t even stand to be in the same room together.

But Myunggi’s an omega. Of course betas are going to assume Subong can’t resist him, especially now that he’s got his new pheromone sensitivity diagnosis. 

“Whatever,” Subong sighs. “Like you give a shit what really happened.”

“From my understanding, you had a disagreement over creative differences,” Minsu says, turning back a few pages on his clipboard. “And when the disagreement triggered a pheromone response, you attempted to strangle Mr. Lee. Is that correct?”

“Myunggi’s the one who had a pheromone response,” Subong mutters. “His heat patch stopped working.”

“Okay.”

Subong narrows his eyes when Minsu makes no effort to jot that down on his stupid little clipboard. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

The look on Minsu’s face says it all. Of course he doesn’t believe Subong. Not a single article mentioned Myunggi’s heat cycle. It never once came up in court. Just like all the insults he lobbed Subong’s way between takes in the recording booth. Just like the broken microphone, and Subong’s consequently broken mandible. No one ever brought up the fact that he had to get surgery. He’s still got a big, yellowed bruise on the side of his face from it. 

Minsu and Mina haven’t commented upon that, though. None of this interrogation has touched on where, precisely, the injuries on his face came from.

Even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. There are no rehabilitation facilities for aggressive omegas. An omega would never be aggressive in the first place, obviously.

Subong clenches his bruised jaw and says, “Just ask your next question.”

“Okay,” Minsu says tentatively, flipping through the pages in his stack of paperwork. “When was your last rut?”

“August thirty-first,” Subong grumbles. 

“How long did it last?”

Minsu must already know. Every rut he’s had for the past year was painstakingly recounted in court. “Six days.”

“How many of those days were you in full rut?”

All of this is so unnecessary. The court’s documented every detail of his ruts. They even know the identities of the omegas whose pajamas he used. Not that that information was ever revealed to Subong, of course. Minsu, though, surely has access to it all. The stack of papers on his clipboard is quite thick.

Subong picks at the stiff, sterile sheets beneath him and says, “The normal amount.”

“One day,” Minsu mumbles as he writes. “Okay. So you were in pre-rut for one, and post-rut for four?”

“Uh huh.”

Minsu turns the page in his clipboard. “Did you go to a retreat center?”

“Yes,” Subong sighs. 

“For all six days?”

Subong lets out a groan. “Yes.”

“How was your emotional state during your visit?”

Terrible, like it always is when Subong’s forced to go to those dumbass retreat centers. The pheromones on the omega clothes the staff carts into his room at night are never enough to calm him down. If he says that, though, he’s just gonna earn himself another round of pheraxin, he’s sure. Because apparently it’s a medical condition to be picky. 

It’s all so fucking stupid. If he was a normal person, he could just go on dates or go to mixer events and meet someone with a compatible scent the normal way. But since he’s famous, he has to sniff strangers’ laundry. It would cause an uproar if he tried to date someone. All those omegas who idolize him would have to give up on their fantasy of being his partner one day.

That’s all over now, though. No omega would be caught dead dating the guy who beat up Lee Myunggi. 

Subong thumps his head against his pillow and says, “Fine.”

“How would you describe your current emotional state?”

Angry. Frustrated. Nauseous. Utterly fucking devastated that his entire career is officially over. So many of his fans have disavowed him. No one’s going to want the rapper with a pheromone disorder performing on their stage. It’s only a matter of time before his manager drops him as a client. 

Subong squeezes his eyes shut and says, “Fine.”

“Would you say the pheraxin is helping?”

Absolutely fucking not. Subong feels just as shitty as he did before, only now, he can’t stand up. He keeps his eyes shut as he says, “Uh huh.”

“Good,” Minsu says brightly. “Next time, we’ll give you a lighter dose. We didn’t anticipate your weight to be as low as it is, so you might feel a little light-headed right now.”

“Fuck you,” Subong can’t help but say just one last time. Because, truly, fuck him. Fuck Sunshine Garden in general. This place is supposed to have ‘science-backed therapeutic treatment.’ It doesn’t sound very scientific to be injecting random amounts of highly concentrated pheromone suppressants into people all willy-nilly. The second Subong’s on the phone with his lawyer, he’s suing this place for all they got.

“I’m sorry,” Minsu says sheepishly. “It won’t happen again.”

“Fu—”

“I know, Mr. Crabby. Fuck us,” Girl Min says as she re-enters the room. “Minsu, Jang’s acting up. Can you help me out?”

“Shoot,” Minsu mutters. He stands up, gives Subong a pat on the shoulder and says, “Mina and I will be right back.”

So Girl Min’s name is Mina. Subong couldn’t give any less of a shit right now, just like he couldn’t give less of a shit who Jang is supposed to be. He breathes a sigh of relief when the door shuts behind Mina and Minsu. 

Finally, he’s alone. Stuck in a dog cage, but alone. He hasn’t been by himself in well over a month. It’s the closest he’s felt to calm in just as long.

🐾

Sunshine Garden’s so-called ‘science-backed therapeutic treatment’ involves a whole lot of pseudoscientific bullshit. The schedule Subong’s been given for the week is packed with talk therapy in the mornings, aggression alleviation sessions in the afternoons and evenings, and ‘quiet time’ between meals—all bland and tasteless, obviously. Anything with too much spice or flavor runs the risk of making him lose his cool. The goal of all this crap is to keep him in a state of tranquility.

Of course, since he’s got a pheromone disorder, they have to take some preemptive measures. 

“I promise you won’t feel sick this time,” Minsu says with a contrite smile as he preps three milliliters of pheraxin. 

Subong literally just woke up. He’s still in the middle of eating his nasty, flavorless rice porridge. He hasn’t even had the time to  say ‘fuck you’ yet. 

He’s very tempted to say it now—he didn’t get a lot of chances yesterday. He spent the majority of the morning passed out in his room after intake. Then, he spent the majority of the afternoon passed out on the couch in the main part of the ward. When he was woken up for the sole purpose of being moved from the couch to his bed, the night-shift nurses had already taken over. It wasn’t as satisfying to hurl insults at two stern-faced nurses who had no interest in responding to his demands to speak to his lawyer. They just told him to go back to sleep and locked him away in his room for the night. He’s got a lot of ‘fuck you’s stored up for Minsu and Mina. 

He’ll probably earn himself an extra three milliliters if he says that, though. He shovels another spoonful of sludge into his mouth and shoots Minsu a glare. 

“You can talk to Dr. Baek about your treatment plan,” Minsu says as tugs Subong’s sleeve up his arm and wipes down the inside of his elbow with an alcohol pad. “I’m sure she’ll be willing to lower your dosage.”

Subong shovels another spoonful down his throat in an effort to keep himself from tossing the whole bowl at him. This is all so, so, so fucking stupid. He isn’t even in rut. 

“Can I talk to my lawyer?” Subong asks, rubbing his arm as Minsu puts the needle in the disposal bin. 

“You can ask Dr. Baek after your session.”

So goddamn stupid. Subong stews on the couch as he waits for his mandatory quiet time to end. 

“Can I talk to my lawyer?” Subong asks, crossing his arms tight over his chest once he’s finished rehashing all the same crap he went over yesterday during his intake. 

Dr. Baek types away at her computer as she says, “You can ask your care team after group AA.”

Everything just keeps getting stupider and stupider. Subong can’t help but kick Dr. Baek’s desk a little bit, because come the fuck on. They couldn’t think of a better acronym for aggression alleviation? This is all reminding Subong way too much of the four months he had to spend sitting in a church basement with a bunch of drug addicts after getting caught with pills for the umpteenth time.

At least he was forbidden from taking pheraxin for those four months. At least he got to return to his apartment after those meetings. Here, he’s stuck in his ward, forced to take all the stomach-churning and brain-numbing suppressants Dr. Baek decides she wants to pump him full of. She’s insistent on keeping up the current regimen until Subong’s proven he can keep his emotions in check.

His emotions do not feel very in check right now. He misses his apartment. He misses getting to wear his own clothes and live his own life and have control over his own body. Right now, his body feels heavy and foreign. His head is still pounding from the pheraxin. He can barely keep himself upright in his chair. 

He delivers another kick to Dr. Baek’s desk. It just serves to piss him off more when the effort leaves his stomach churning and his breathing labored. 

“Calm down, Mr. Choi,” Dr. Baek warns.

Subong lets out a groan. “I’m the only one in my ward. How the fuck am I supposed to have group AA by myself?”

Dr. Baek offers him a smile and says, “You’re not the only one. Mr. Jang is on level four too.”

Again, with whoever the hell Jang is supposed to be. Subong’s starting to think he’s made up, because he hasn’t caught a glimpse of the guy the whole twenty-four hours he’s been here. He ate all his meals out in the main ward alone. He didn’t hear a single peep from any of the other rooms during quiet time.

“Besides, threes and fours go to group AA together,” Dr. Baek says. “You’re playing volleyball today.”

Subong barks out a laugh. How the fuck is he supposed to play volleyball when he’s got all these suppressants weighing his limbs down? Sure, he can stand up on his own today, but the effort it took to walk all the way from his ward to Dr. Baek’s office left him very winded, even with Minsu there to hold him up. Now, he can barely catch his breath after lightly kicking his leg out. If he tries to play volleyball, he’s going to be dead on his feet before the first round is over, if not crumpled up in a heap on the ground.

That’s the goal, he supposes. Keep him exhausted so he can’t go around beating people up or whatever. This is all so, so stupid. He kind of wishes he actually beat Myunggi up, just for the sake of making this all seem somewhat worth it. If the cops came just a few minutes later, maybe he would’ve managed to leave some real bruises on that fucker’s neck. 

Or maybe Myunggi would’ve bashed his head in with the microphone a second time and killed him. Either way, it’s preferable to playing volleyball with a bunch of drugged-up strangers. 

Turns out, though, Subong must be the only one with a pheromone disorder. He’s the only one stumbling over his own feet when he’s escorted over to the recreation room on the first floor. 

It’s quite a contrast from the fifth floor. There are no bars covering the windows down here. There are, however, two nurses in the same pink scrubs Minsu and Mina are wearing posted up against the baby blue walls. One of them looks like she could pick Subong up with one arm and toss him through the air. The way she’s looking at him suggests that she’d very willingly do just that.

“Play nice,” Mina says as she and Minsu join the other nurses. “Don’t try anything.”

Subong scoffs as he trudges his way over to the net with the other alphas. Even if he was cognizant enough to try to make a break for it, he’d be tackled to the ground long before he could manage to open one of those windows. That one nurse looks like she moonlights as a special operative on the weekends.

It’s pointless, anyway. There’s no chance he’s getting that phone call with his lawyer if he doesn’t at least try to cooperate. He tears his eyes away from the nurses and focuses his attention on the other alphas scattered around the court. 

He wonders which one of them is supposed to be Mr. Jang. They’re all wearing the same turquoise sweatsuits that Subong’s been forced into, so it’s impossible to discern the level threes from the one other level four. 

They all just look like people. Young ones, at that. Subong must be one of the oldest guests here. There’s a guy who looks like he can’t be a day over twenty practicing serves on the other side of the net with a big, bright smile on his face. It’s hard to imagine someone like him doing something heinous enough to warrant being here. He looks too nice. 

“Oh my god, Thanos?”

God fucking damn it. Subong sucks in a breath in an attempt to calm himself when the guy scrambles under the net and trots over to him.

“Holy shit, it’s really you!” the guy says excitedly. “When the news they were sending you here, I couldn’t believe it, but it’s you! You’re here! This is so fucking cool. Namgyu’s gonna freak!”

Subong isn’t given the opportunity to ask who the hell Namgyu’s supposed to be, because the guy immediately launches into a very passionate rendition of one of Subong’s old songs.

Subong cringes back as the guy gesticulates enthusiastically and spits bars about taking out half the universe with his raps. Subong wrote that one almost seven years ago, back when he was a stupid twenty-two year old kid who was way too excited about the new Avengers movie he’d just seen and far too eager to beg QMG to let him rebrand. 

That was the beginning of the end, he’s recently come to realize. Things were going well enough the first five years of his career. He was palatable to the masses when he was a fresh-faced rookie who went by Su-B. His raps were pre-written, sanitized, meaningless garbage, but he was likeable. Everyone thought it was just so charming when QMG’s first ever alpha idol had a debut album called Puppy Love. Seeing a skinny seventeen year old in a Shiba Inu-themed school uniform dancing around on stage and rapping about innocent crushes made it much easier for the public to overlook his secondary gender and accept him as an idol.

And then everyone got too comfortable. QMG was willing to let Subong get a little experimental after settling into the background of the industry for half a decade. They let him put out a Marvel-inspired album called I Am Inevitable. They let him write his own songs.

Now, he’s a pariah. He remembers his manager telling him that multiple articles over the past month cited the song the guy’s singing as evidence that Subong’s always been a rabid dog. 

Subong’s trying really hard not to get too angry about it when the guy cuts himself off, grinning wide as he says, “I’m Gyeongsu. It’s so nice to actually meet you. I mean, I’ve been to your concerts, but meeting you? Holy shit. You’re such an inspiration, man. ‘Snap’ came out, like, a month after my first rut, and you made me feel so much better about it, you know? Like, I can be proud to be an alpha.”

Subong’s anger deflates a little at the words and the smile on Gyeongsu’s face. After all the shit that’s happened this month, he was starting to forget why he fought so hard to debut. Back then, it was rare to see anyone who wasn’t a beta in the spotlight, unless it was for a dating show or documentary. It was practically unheard of for an alpha or an omega to be a real celebrity.

When he presented as an alpha, QMG went into a frenzy, trying to figure out what to do with him. The group he was in was set to debut in just a little under a year. 

Obviously, he couldn’t be a part of BrightBeat. There had never been an idol group with a non-beta member before. The only non-beta artist signed to QMG was Myunggi, and it caused quite a stir when he debuted on the scene as an omega soloist a year before Subong presented. Subong had to fight for two years to debut as a solo artist too. 

Even then, he was closely monitored—told what to say, told how to act, given pre-written songs to perform and scripts he had to memorize before making public appearances. Two milliliters of pheraxin were mandatory for those appearances, regardless of where he was in his cycle. He was the second-ever non-beta idol signed to QMG, after all. One wrong move, and he’d fuck it up for everyone. 

Now, there are plenty of omegas in the spotlight. QMG’s got four more omega idols signed to their label. Subong’s still the only alpha, but it’s progress. There used to be zero.

“It’s such an honor to meet you,” Gyeongsu gushes. “Can I shake your hand?”

Subong can’t help but smile a little as he grabs Gyeongsu’s hand and gives it a shake. Gyeongsu grew up with people like him to look up to. By the time he’s Subong’s age, maybe places like this won’t exist anymore. 

They’re obviously not needed. Gyeongsu’s clearly not a violent person. The pheromones he’s letting off are totally friendly, if a little strong from his excitement. Maybe all that extra energy made him do something dumb like drive over the speed limit or shove someone while waiting in line at a store. Given that Subong’s fight was deemed horrible enough to earn him the highest possible level of security, it’s not so hard to believe a minor traffic violation would earn an alpha a level three designation.

“No touching,” a dorky-looking nurse with curly hair and glasses calls out across the room. “Kang, you know the rules. Back off.”

Gyeongsu flushes as he folds his arms across his torso. “Sorry, Yongsik. I forgot.”

Subong can feel Gyeongsu’s pheromones ease back. He’s friendly and timid. This whole entire facility is such utter bullshit. 

“How are we supposed to play volleyball if we can’t come in contact with each other?” Subong snaps, twisting around to scowl at the nurse. 

“Uhm, Mr. Thanos,” Gyeongsu mumbles. “It’s not all of us. We just can’t get too close to you or Jang Namgyu.”

So Namgyu and Jang are the same person. He just keeps coming up. Subong isn’t given a chance to ask which one of these alphas is supposed to be him, because the special ops nurse struts over, face set in a hard line, and says, “Choi, you need to calm down.”

Subong is calm. He’s cool as a fucking cucumber. He grabs hold of the net and snaps, “Can we just play this stupid game?”

“I’m keeping my eye on you,” the nurse warns. “Stay in your own bubble.”

It’s all so goddamn stupid. How the fuck is he supposed to effectively play volleyball if he can’t approach anyone? Is he just supposed to stand in one place and hope the ball magically comes his way?

That is, as he learns, exactly what he’s supposed to do. When the game starts and he makes an attempt to dive for the ball, the special ops nurse blows a whistle and gives him a warning. He came too close to another player, apparently. 

So fucking stupid. 

“If it helps,” the alpha he nearly got within a meter of says when the game starts back up, “It’s not your fault there’s a no-touching rule. You can thank Namgyu for that. He’s got issues.”

The girl points to the deep purple bruise under her eye. It matches the faded one Subong has. Now, he’s frustrated and nervous. He lets out a sigh and asks, “Which one of these tools is he?”

“He’s not here right now,” the girl says. “Bastard’s still in rut.”

Subong’s really starting to think Jang Namgyu is a made-up entity invented for the sole purpose of pissing him off. He shakes his hands at his sides, careful not to let his anger show too much lest he earn himself a second warning.

It’s really difficult to hold back though. This isn’t fair. According to Minsu and Mina, Subong’s still going to have the same therapy regimen when his own rut hits. He’s still going to be forced to play stupid games with the level threes, only with a higher dosage of pheraxin running through his system.

It fucking sucks. In about eight days, he’s going to be doing all this same bullshit, but he’s going to be horny and nauseous while he’s doing it. It’s not fair that this Jang Namgyu guy gets a pass.

He frowns at the girl and asks, “So, what? He gets special privileges or something?”

“You could say that,” she says, hands on her hips as she watches the ball fly past her head and out of bounds. “Dude’s not allowed to take suppressants, so they put him in time-out when he’s in rut.”

He must have a history with drugs, then. Back when Subong got his third drug possession charge, the court ordered him off pheraxin. Pheromone suppressants can be addictive for some people, apparently. Definitely not for Subong, but he sure wasn’t complaining. It was a welcome relief when he no longer had to pump his veins full of nausea-inducing chemicals for six days straight. For once, he had a rut that just left him pent-up and frustrated instead of pent-up, frustrated, and sick to his stomach.

It only lasted a single rut cycle, though. Once he made it through his mandatory NA sessions, QMG struck a deal with the court, saying the public might become aware of his abnormal rut cycle if he didn’t have anything to keep his pheromones in check. 

Now everyone’s aware. And he’s on daily pheraxin for the unforeseeable future. Subong runs for the ball in an effort to dispel some of his frustration. 

“Choi,” Minsu calls from the sidelines when Subong spikes the ball with a little too much gusto. “No need to hit so hard.”

“Calm your tits, Minnie,” the girl snorts. “Let the dude alleviate his aggression.”

“Whatever,” Minsu grumbles, cheeks burning red. “Just play the game, Semi.”

This is all so fucking ridiculous. If Subong told Minsu to calm his tits, he’d get reprimanded. He’d definitely get another warning if he called a nurse by a stupid nickname. He kind of wants to scream. 

That spike took a lot out of him, though. All he can do is bend down to rest against his knees and try to catch his breath.

“You okay, man?” the girl—Semi, her name must be—asks. “You know, they probably gave you too much. You’re kinda smaller than we all thought you’d be.”

“Shut up,” Subong pants out. 

“No offense or anything,” she says with a grin. “We’ve just been hearing so much about how tall and ripped Thanos the Great is supposed to be, ya know? I guess it’s kinda hard to live up to the legend.”

Subong can’t exactly deny that. This past week, all the news outlets have been pushing the narrative that Subong’s this giant monster, looming over poor little Myunggi. 

He’s taller than Myunggi, sure, but not by as much as the tabloids have been making it out to be in their endless campaign to turn him into a villain. And he is, admittedly, a little on the thin side these days. The executives told him to stop lifting weights so much after the award show fight two years ago. It helped soothe the backlash a bit when Kang Daeho was noticeably bulkier than Subong at the next year’s HMAs. 

It did not help soothe Subong’s ego when Daeho looked strong and confident as he accepted his award for best alpha artist. Neither is the way Semi’s grinning at him right now.

Whatever. Daeho’s just abnormally muscular. Subong’s still a big guy. And he was the first to ever win that stupid, dumbass award. He sucks in another breath and pulls himself upright, shooting Semi a pointed look. 

He has to look down to shoot her that look. The top of her head reaches the bottom of his chin.

“You can stop standing on your tip-toes, man.”

Whatever. Subong scowls as he puts his feet flat on the floor. He’s still a good deal taller than her regardless. 

“How much are they giving you, anyway?” Semi asks, leaning in to sniff his collar. “You kinda just smell like B.O.”

Subong’s scowl deepens. “Rude.”

“Mr. Thanos, seriously, no offense, but you’re definitely on too much. You don’t look so good.”

Subong blinks as he turns around to look at Gyeongsu. Maybe they both have a point, because he didn’t even hear Gyeongsu approaching. He’s still got blood pounding in his ears, especially after that attempt to spike the ball. Standing on his tip-toes did not help in the slightest. He is pretty sweaty. He needs to sit down.

Semi lets out a sigh when Subong crouches down to the floor. “Minnie, how much pheraxin do you have this guy on?”

“That’s private medical information,” Minsu calls back. 

Fuck that. Subong glares at him as he says, “Three milliliters.”

“Shit, man,” Gyeongsu says with a sharp intake of breath. “You must be pretty sensitive to suppressants, huh?”

Semi stomps her way over to the wall of nurses and says, “Minnie, what’s wrong with you? It’s clearly making him sick.”

“That’s a perfectly normal dosage for his weight!” Minsu sputters.

“They gave me five when I got here,” Subong says with a scowl. “And I’m not in rut.”

Semi scoffs and pushes Minsu’s shoulder. “Minnie! No wonder I can’t scent this guy. What the hell?”

“I’m not the one who gave it to him! Seonnyeo made that call.”

“You’re his nurse, dude. You’re supposed to be taking care of him.”

It’s kind of vindicating. Subong knew this bullshit facility has no idea what it’s doing. 

And it’s nice, being around other people who get what it’s like to be in his position. It sucks that it has to be in this context, but Subong’s so used to being the only alpha in the room. For once, he’s not in the minority. The alphas outnumber the betas by two. 

But then again, Subong’s categorically different from the other alphas. A fact he’s sorely reminded of when Mina says, “Cool it, Park. You know we have to take extra precautions with PSS.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Semi says, rolling her eyes. “Not everyone’s a basketcase like Namgyu, you know.”

So Namgyu’s also been given a bullshit pheromone sensitivity syndrome diagnosis. Subong’s unsure if that’s comforting or not. 

“We’re just being careful,” Minsu says. “Remember last week?” 

Whatever happened last week has Semi letting out a deep, frustrated groan. “Fuck, don’t remind me. How many days does that bastard have left, anyway?”

“Today should be his last,” Minsu says sheepishly. 

“Fuuuck,” Semi groans. “I’m staying in the ward tomorrow.”

“But we’re swimming tomorrow. You love swimming.”

“Dude,” Semi snorts, giving Minsu another push to the shoulder. “You wanna try getting in the water with Mr. Pissy?”

Minsu shivers and shakes his head adamantly.

“Exactly. I’m staying in the ward tomorrow. Don’t try to stop me, or I’m telling mom you let me get beat up.”

“I didn’t!” Minsu exclaims, face flushing red. “Come on, how was I supposed to know he’d snap like that? You know I would never have—”

Semi lets out a laugh and wraps an arm around Minsu’s shoulder. “Relax, I’m just fucking with you. But seriously. I’m not doing AA tomorrow. No fucking way I’m letting that creep near me again.”

So they’re siblings. The thought has Subong grimacing as he curls his arms around his knees and struggles to catch his breath. He kind of wants to ask how the hell they ended up on opposite sides of this facility, but he’s too winded to put words together. Even just the thought of swimming laps tomorrow is making him exhausted. He really shouldn’t have hit the ball so hard. He needs to lie down. 

No, what he needs is to stop taking all these pheromone suppressants when he isn’t in rut. More than that, he needs to call his lawyer. He can’t keep staying in a place like this. If Namgyu’s as bad as everyone keeps making him out to be, there’s no chance Subong’s making it out of here without permanent damage. He’s got an unfortunate history of reacting poorly when he’s around aggressive people, especially when they’re secreting pheromones. 

“Can I call my lawyer?” Subong asks as Minsu and Mina escort him back up to the fifth floor. 

“After quiet time,” Mina says. 

Subong wants to scream. They just keep pushing it off. At the rate things are going, he’s not getting that call in today. He just has to hope that by tomorrow, Dr. Baek decides he doesn’t need the daily pheraxin. He’s not going to be able to hold his own against an aggressive, un-suppressed alpha if he’s exhausted and delirious. 

He’s too exhausted and delirious to scream, though. He lets out a sigh and rests his weight against Minsu’s side. 

Minsu gives his arm a squeeze and says, “They’re doing a marathon of Breathe Me In this afternoon. That’ll be fun, right?”

Of course they are. Subong fucking hates that show. He leans his pounding head on Minsu’s shoulder and says, “Fuck you.”

“You and Mr. Jang are gonna love each other,” Mina chuckles. 

Subong’s sure they’re going to be the best of friends. He scowls and mutters out a weak, “Fuck you, too.”

🐾

Pheromones are an interesting thing. They don’t have a specific smell, necessarily, but there’s something tangible about the way they hit your nose. It’s like subtext to a conversation. Anger, curiosity, fear, happiness—a person’s emotions carry through their scent. With people of the same secondary gender, it ends at emotions. The opposite secondary gender, however, have an extra layer to their pheromones.

Some omegas have heady pheromones that leave your chest burning and your pulse racing. Those are the ones that make Subong the most frustrated when he’s shipped off to Dalmatian to deal with his rut. It’s like chasing a climax, but there’s no real satisfaction. Just some stranger’s dirty laundry and his own right hand.

And then there’s the ones that leave your head aching and your blood thrumming hot through your veins. Those are the kinds of pheromones Myunggi has—the ones that just make Subong pissed off and full of angry energy. It always sucks when he ends up getting those kinds of pheromones at Dalmatian. He can’t even attempt to jerk off when he’s getting a nose full of anger-inducing laundry. Even when he tosses those pajamas back in their bags and ties it shut, the scent still lingers in the room. 

The kind of pheromones Subong encounters the most, though, are the neutral ones. The ones that just stick to clothes like sweat and don’t do anything beyond leaving him frustrated and pent-up. It’s like his own pheromones want to latch onto something, but there’s nothing there beyond fabric and the lingering odor of whatever shampoo and body wash the omega was using before they took off their pajamas and handed it over to the staff. So often, that soap smell overpowers everything else. It’s not uncommon for omegas to use flowery, perfumed soaps, all in the hopes of leaving a lasting impression on the alphas who get their pajamas.

Not that it would matter. It’s not like Subong would ever meet those omegas anyway, despite how many addresses he finds hidden in the pockets and hemlines of their clothes. His manager would never let him be alone with an omega long enough to see if their pheromones actually work for him. The only omegas he’s allowed to be around—or, at least, was allowed to be around, before everything happened—without suppressants are Myunggi and the four other omega idols at QMG.

It seems highly unlikely he’d ever find a compatible scent, even if he could go to a scent club or interact with omegas without suppressants. Not once has he encountered the kinds of pheromones that are supposed to make his chest feel warm and his head feel light and floaty. He’s starting to think the entire notion of compatible scents are propaganda or something, because despite going through dozens of bags of clothes, he still feels just as frustrated as he always does.

“I’m not in rut,” Subong grumbles, tossing another bag on the couch cushion and turning his attention back to the stupid romantic drama on the television. “I don’t need this.”

“Just try one more,” Mina urges. “If you find a good one, we can contact the owner when your cycle begins.”

Minsu hands him another bag. “You don’t want all this to go to waste, right?”

Subong couldn’t even begin to give a shit about these pheromones going to waste. It’s not his fault the news decided to announce the facility he was sent to. That was a stupid thing to do, because now random omegas who aren’t even in heat are boxing up their street clothes and sending it by the truckloads to Sunshine Garden. To make matters worse, some idiot sprayed a fuckload of Yves Saint Laurent Babycat on their jacket before handing it over. Even if the pheromones on the jacket are compatible, as highly improbable as that is, he’s just getting a nose full of vanilla and cedar.

Subong made the mistake of saying he likes that scent on a variety show a few years back. Since then, Dalmatian has had to put out a notice telling omegas not to douse their pajamas in perfume. Clearly, Sunshine Garden has yet to get that memo. Subong tosses the jacket on the floor and says, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Alright,” Mina says with a shrug as she shoves the jacket back in its bag. “We can try again when you’re closer to your rut.”

Subong leans back against the couch and lets out a long groan. It’s just going to be the exact same story. He’s been doing scent compatibility screenings for the past fourteen years. Somewhere around age seventeen, the clothes just stopped working for him entirely. His ruts doubled in length and every article of clothing Dalmatian gave him just left him increasingly more frustrated.

But Minsu, Mina, and Dr. Baek are already well aware of that. They asked him about his past ruts ad nauseum yesterday. There’s nothing he can say that will convince them he truly just isn’t the kind of alpha that can get by on scenting laundry. 

It’s so fucking stupid. If he was a normal person, he could deal with his ruts the way everyone else does—immediately upon check out from the retreat center, in the privacy of his own home with a partner or in a scent club with some stranger. Maybe then, he’d find someone with compatible pheromones. 

He’d actually be able to smell the pheromones, for one. He’s still being subjected to a nose full of perfume. He lays back against the couch and buries his nose in the collar of his sweatshirt. 

“Don’t be such a diva,” Mina says, rolling her eyes.

“Fuck you.”

Mina ignores the insult and turns to Minsu. “Can you call for dinner? I’ll get Jang set up.”

“Where is he?” Subong can’t help but ask. 

Mina cocks her head to the left corner of the ward. “In his room.”

That’s hard to believe. Subong hasn’t heard a peep from any of the other rooms in the ward. He hasn’t seen the guy leave to eat or take a shower or anything. 

To be fair, Subong was dead to the world the majority of yesterday. But still, he’s been in the ward for the past hour watching shitty dramas and sniffing laundry, and he still hasn’t heard anything aside from his and the nurses’ voices. If the guy’s really in rut, he should be pretty loud right now. 

“Why can’t I hear him?” he asks. 

“Trust me, you’ll hear him soon enough,” Mina says as she stands up. Subong watches her take the bags to a room on the other side of the ward from his own—locked and silent, just like every other room. He cranes his neck, trying to see past the door when she pulls out her keycard to unlock it. 

It’s a lost cause. The room is pitch black. He still can’t see or hear anything. 

And then Mina shuts the door behind her. There’s something kind of ominous about the silence that follows. Subong has to wonder what they’re doing to keep Jang Namgyu so quiet when he isn’t permitted to take suppressants. 

Visions of muzzles and shock collars pass briefly through Subong’s mind. He shivers at the thought and grabs the television remote to turn up the volume on Breathe Me In. 

It’s fucking stupid—just like almost every other romantic drama on television, it’s about an alpha and omega couple. People eat those stories up when they’re being portrayed by beta actors. It’s sexy when the alpha gets gruff and possessive, as long as it’s fiction. In the real world, they get locked up in glorified cages and drugged into submission. Or, in Jang Namgyu’s case, muzzled or shocked or chained to the wall or whatever the hell Mina’s doing to him in that dark, silent room. 

For all Subong knows, he’s going to get that same treatment in eight days.

“Can I call my lawyer?” Subong asks when Minsu hangs up his phone. 

Minsu offers him a sheepish smile. “Maybe after dinner.”

Subong runs a shaky hand through his hair. The anger and frustration is starting to turn into something far worse—fear.

🐾

“There has to be something you can do,” Subong begs, gripping the phone cord tight in his fist. “Fucking anything. I’ll go to prison if it means getting away from these psychos.”

“Thanks,” Mina says flatly. 

Subong glares at her as he holds the phone closer to his ear and whispers, “Come on, man. I need to get out of here.”

“Mr. Choi, you don’t actually want to go to prison,” his lawyer says. “Just think about it. You’ll be a felon for life. QMG will have to terminate your contract.”

QMG has practically already terminated his contract. He hasn’t been convicted of an actual crime, so they legally can’t fire him without breaking anti-discrimination statutes, but that doesn’t mean they have to promote his work or produce his music. Either he waits seven months for his contract to expire, or he just bites the bullet and ends it now. At least if he went to prison, there’d be a set end to his sentence. He’s going to be stuck here for however long Dr. Baek sees fit. 

That could be the rest of his life, for all he knows. When he went to his talk therapy session this morning, Dr. Baek was very cagey about the timeline of his treatment plan. It took him begging with tears in his eyes for her to finally let him get this goddamn phone call. 

He’d be embarrassed about all the crying if he wasn’t terrified for his life. The whole time he was eating dinner last night, the silence in the ward left him feeling anxious and agitated. The panic increased when Minsu said he was too emotional to handle a phone call. All the stretches he and Mina forced him to do for his individual aggression alleviation session did absolutely nothing to calm his anxiety. By the time the night nurses started their shift, Subong was having a full-blown panic attack. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about muzzles and shock collars. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jang Namgyu, locked in his dark room, just waiting for tomorrow to come. 

And now tomorrow’s here. Subong grips the cord like a lifeline and says, “I don’t give a fuck anymore. I just want to go home.”

“You can’t go home if you go to jail.”

Subong lets out a frustrated groan. “You know what I mean, you bastard.”

“Look, Mr. Choi, I get it. You know my niece is an alpha. I understand how hard this must be for you—”

No the fuck he does not. Subong clenches his jaw in frustration, sucking in a pained breath when the movement sends a sharp twinge up his still-healing mandible. 

“—But I really think you should just give this a shot, alright? This is a pretty good deal they’ve given you.”

“Fuck you,” Subong mumbles out, rubbing a hand over his aching jaw. “They’re drugging me against my will. That shit can’t be legal.”

“You signed a waiver giving them the right to make medical decisions on your behalf, Mr. Choi.”

It’s not like he had any choice but to sign that stupid waiver. At the time, he was under the impression he’d be staying at a slightly more intense version of a retreat center. He knew there’d be higher security measures, but no one ever said anything about five milliliters of pheraxin upon arrival or level four wards with bars over the windows. And even if he did know, it’s not like he could get out of this. If he really tried to decline the plea deal, he would’ve been sent here anyway, only Officer Hwang would’ve had him in handcuffs instead of a death grip. He’d be muzzled and restrained, just like Jang Namgyu must be. 

Not for much longer. Minsu’s in his room right now, getting him ready for group aggression alleviation.

Subong thumps his forehead against the wall and says, “So what, then? I just have to let them do whatever they want to me?”

It’s silent for a beat too long. Subong’s got his answer. He slams the phone back on the hook, huffing in a labored breath when the force of the movement leaves his head pounding.

“Not so hard, Choi,” Mina warns. 

Subong picks the phone back up and slams it on the hook again. He makes sure it’s extra loud. “Fu—”

“Fuck me, I know,” Mina says as she stands up from her chair. “It’s time for AA. Let’s go get you a bathing suit.”

It’s still such a stupid goddamn acronym. But at least in a swimming pool, Subong can take off his prison uniform. At least he can pretend he’s outside of this facility and back at Dalmatian or QMG’s trainee dorms, alleviating his aggression on something closer to his own terms. 

They were both still cages, Subong’s coming to accept. Ever since he presented, he’s been moved from one kennel to another. 

He hasn’t been a person since he was fifteen years old. It’s a shitty fucking thing to realize when he’s not allowed to show his emotions. He really, really feels like crying again.

At least in a swimming pool, he can hide his face in the water if he starts to cry. Maybe he can just drown himself. It would be far preferable to whatever’s going to happen when he and Jang Namgyu are in a pool together.

🐾

Subong has always loved swimming. Even before he presented and started relying on Dalmatian’s pool as solace from the piss-yellow pajamas, he loved spending time in the swimming pool in QMG’s trainee dorms. 

It was a welcome break after hours of vocal training and dance rehearsals. His muscles were always so sore by the end of his schedule, especially as he got closer to debut. The water soothed those aches like a salve.

He started training early. He was thirteen years old when he was selected to be a member of QMG’s next boyband. It was risky, taking a chance on a kid who hadn’t presented yet, but everyone in Subong’s family is a beta. His sister and his parents, both his parents’ parents, their parents’ parents —the chances of him being anything other than a beta were so low, it seemed silly to waste any time waiting for him to present. 

Besides, with parents as famous as his, he was destined to be an idol. 

Subong always knew what his future would look like. It had been laid out for him since the day he was born. His older sister Sooyeon starred in her first movie when she was only eight years old. Of course, since Sooyeon followed in their dad’s footsteps, that meant when Subong came along, he’d be a pop star like their mom. He’d had singing coaches and dance instructors since he could walk and talk. His parents set up a contract for him at QMG before he started middle school.

It was a lot of pressure, especially when all the other members of BrightBeat were so much older than him. He had to work hard to keep up with boys in their late teens and early twenties. Sometimes, it felt like the only place that pressure wasn’t on the brink of crushing him was in the pool. He and the other members could just play in the water, not worrying about their appearances or holding their bodies in a way that would look good on camera. Subong loved getting to just be a kid, hanging out with his hyungs. It felt so nice to have older brothers who doted on him so closely. All of his members were always willing to play pool games with him, regardless of how tired they were after that day’s schedule.

And then Subong turned fifteen. He presented as an alpha not long after. Subong found himself spending a lot of time in swimming pools again, only this time, he didn’t have his hyungs there to play with him. It’s against the rules for betas to visit alphas at retreat centers.

It wouldn’t have mattered either way. Those guys stopped doting on Subong when he presented. They debuted as BrightBeat without him. His parents and his sister distanced themselves from him, not wanting to be associated with an alpha and a failed trainee. Subong was forced out of the trainee dorms and into an apartment by himself. He was utterly alone for the next two years of his life. 

Maybe that’s why his pheromones are all fucked up. He spent his first two years as a newly presented alpha in a constant state of anxiety. He had no friends. He hardly ever rested. He fought tooth and nail to debut as a soloist. He gave up every ounce of autonomy, every modicum of control over his sound and his image, just to make it as a musician. The thought of losing the thing he’d spent his entire life preparing for filled him with a constant, unending panic. He was angry just as often, furious every single time he saw Lee Myunggi performing on stage. He was allowed to be an idol. Subong couldn’t bear to think that his own secondary gender would be the one thing stopping him from being on stage too.

It’s no wonder his first rut after his debut lasted three days longer than it was supposed to and left him doubled over in pain. He’d been putting his body through so much for so long, it must’ve caused permanent damage. 

It’s on Subong’s mind as he floats on his back in Sunshine Garden’s swimming pool. Maybe pheromone sensitivity syndrome is a real thing. He probably has it. Clearly, Jang Namgyu has it too. 

“Get the fuck off me,” Namgyu growls as he attempts to rip his arm free of Minsu’s grasp. “Fuck you! Fucking goddamn son of a bitch!”

Subong floats a little closer to the middle of the pool. Probably for the best if he keeps some distance. The guy’s clearly in a bad mood.

He’s nowhere near as scary as Subong was expecting, though. He’s angry, definitely, but not intimidating. Despite all the tattoos covering his body and the furious expression on his face, he just looks weak and exhausted as Minsu and Mina wrestle him down to the ground.

“He’s always like this after a rut,” Gyeongsu whispers as he treads water by Subong’s side. “Don’t mind him. I bet he’ll calm down once he sees you.”

Subong can’t help but feel bad for the guy. He’s been all alone in the level four ward. It must be frustrating, having the nurses focus all their attention on just him. And according to Gyeongsu, his ruts last six days, just like Subong’s. And he's been subjected to whatever the hell the nurses do when you can’t take pheraxin.

It can’t be easy. It must be significantly worse when you’re being treated like a feral animal. Minsu and Mina insisted on escorting Namgyu down to the pool after Subong, saying that he’ll need some time to cool off in the ward alone before joining the other alphas for aggression alleviation. 

Even the level three alphas act like he’s a loose canon. When Semi made good on her promise not to leave their ward for group AA, they took it upon themselves to warn Subong about Namgyu’s abrasive personality. According to them, he picked a fight completely out of nowhere with Semi last week. He tackled her to the ground in the middle of tennis. He would’ve bashed her head in with a racket if Minsu didn’t stop him in time. 

It sounds bad. Just as bad as attacking a helpless omega completely unprompted. 

Maybe he’s as aggressive as everyone says, but maybe he’s like Subong. Maybe he’s just frustrated and lonely and anxious from being under a microscope all the time. Subong certainly understands that. 

At least neither of them are alone anymore.

The thought keeps Subong calm as he watches Namgyu struggle against the nurses’ grips on his arms. He really isn’t all that scary. Just frustrated, and with very good reason. It makes all the crap Subong’s been dealing with not seem so bad, knowing he’s not the only one going through it. 

Honestly, Subong’s situation isn’t actually all that terrible. He must be getting used to three milliliters of pheraxin, because his head doesn’t hurt so much right now. His stomach feels fine for the first time in days. And with all these other people in the pool with him, he feels like he’s back at QMG’s dormitories, playing in the water with his hyungs after a long day of training. 

Subong lets out a content sigh as Gyeongsu swims up to the edge of the pool and says, “Hi, Namgyu. Look who’s here! It’s Thanos!”

“Fuck you,” Namgyu spits out. 

Gyeongsu swims back over to Subong with a sheepish smile on his face. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I would’ve thought he’d be happy to see you.”

Subong nods in understanding. Maybe Namgyu’s just scared to be around another level four. Maybe he’s worried Subong will be aggressive or violent.

That’s okay. Once Namgyu sees how chill Subong is, he’ll feel better. 

Subong feels very chill. Hopefully swimming is a regular part of aggression alleviation. The water’s doing wonders for his nerves. Maybe it’ll help Namgyu calm down too.

“You promised you wouldn’t do this,” Minsu sighs when Namgyu once again breaks free from his and Mina’s hold.

“You didn’t tell me he’d look like that, you motherfucker!”

Subong can’t help but giggle. Everyone is so shocked by what he looks like in person. Really, he isn’t that different. Sure, he’s a little shorter and skinnier than how he looks in his music videos and on the covers of magazines, but it hardly warrants how furious Namgyu sounds about it. 

He does sound pretty furious. He’s still screaming. Perhaps Subong should stop smiling so much. It’s probably just making Namgyu angrier.

But he’s so comfortable, it’s hard to quit smiling. He’s finally out of his dumb little sweatsuit. The water feels nice on his skin. His body’s adjusted perfectly to the temperature. 

Minsu looks over at Subong and asks, “What are you talking about?”

“Just look at his face, you bastard!”

Maybe Subong should be offended, but it’s hard to care when he’s floating in the water. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with his face. If he never presented as an alpha, he would’ve been BrightBeat’s visual. It doesn’t matter if Namgyu’s decided he’s ugly or scrawny or smiling too much or whatever is going through his mind right now to make him so mad. He’ll calm down once he realizes he’s finally not alone anymore. 

Subong’s not alone anymore. The thought has his smile widening as he shuts his eyes and floats. He hasn’t felt this good since before his fight with Myunggi.

Hell, he hasn’t felt this good since before he debuted. He’s had to constantly be looking over his shoulder, making sure he’s not doing anything that could reflect badly on QMG. The past two years have been especially hard, after the fight at the HMAs. No pills, no weed, no swearing during his performances or making off-color jokes during interviews. Even at Dalmatian, he felt watched. Several idols from rival labels went there, just waiting for Subong to make a wrong move so they could report it back to their managers. Nothing would be better for business than eliminating the country’s most famous alpha. 

Here, though, it’s just him, four nurses, and six other alphas. Sure, one of them hates his face, but none of these people have anything to do with the music industry. Subong lets out a content sigh as he floats on his back, relishing in the calm feeling of the water surrounding him. 

“Get the fuck off!”

“Mr. Jang, wait, please don’t—”

“Shit, someone grab him—”

Subong’s eyes fly open when two hands grasp his shoulders. He’s met with Namgyu’s face, flushed red and contorted with anger, centimeters away from his own.

He definitely should have stopped smiling. Jang Namgyu is going to kill him.

Chapter Text

🐾

Subong has lived a very sheltered life. He grew up in the spotlight, so he’s always had bodyguards at his side, making sure none of his parents’ or his sister’s rabid fans got a hold of him. When he left to train at QMG, the managers and his members were careful to ensure that BrightBeat’s maknae was well cared for. Even after he presented and got dropped from the group, he had his own manager and a team of bodyguards to watch over him. 

It makes it quite ironic that the tabloids have gone to such great lengths to paint him as a violent person. Sure, his raps are pretty aggressive, and he’s been in two physical fights, but he’s hardly going around scrapping with every person he sees. He’s too pampered to throw a proper punch. Daeho wasn’t even winded by the time security got between them. Myunggi quickly fought Subong off once he got over the surprise of having hands wrapped around his throat. Subong’s easily provoked, but most of the time, it just manifests in him raising his voice. Despite all the headlines, he kind of doesn’t know how to actually fight.

Clearly, Namgyu’s had a very different experience. 

“Get back,” Namgyu growls, managing to keep a tight grip on Subong while delivering a kick to Yongsik’s stomach that has him stumbling to the ground. 

It’s a surprisingly high kick, given that Namgyu’s currently on the floor. It’s just as surprising that he’s able to kick hard enough to make a grown man fall down like that without any shoes on. He’s definitely been in fights before. 

Subong’s a bit too dazed to process that information in a normal way. He just goes limp as Namgyu brackets his legs back around his torso.  

It’s a very strange position Subong’s found himself in. At least he isn’t drowning, like he originally thought Namgyu intended when he dived into the pool and grabbed him, but it’s difficult to tell what Namgyu does have planned. He’s got his arms locked around Subong’s waist, holding him close to his chest. He’s shuffled them over to the corner of the room, trapping them between a laundry basket and a trash can. All the nurses are circled around them, faces drawn tight with concern as they try to convince Namgyu to let Subong go. 

All those attempts have proven fruitless so far. Yongsik’s still on the ground. Minsu looks like he’s going to piss himself after getting swiped at multiple times. Mina and Hyunju are whispering to each other, planning out a new strategy after all their attempts to talk Namgyu out of doing whatever the hell it is he intends to do ended in failure.

It’s pretty obvious he intends to kill Subong at some point. Subong’s a bit too dazed to do anything about it.

“Namgyu, come on, let’s all just calm down and—”

“I said get back, Gyeongsu,” Namgyu snaps, baring his teeth when Gyeongsu steps away from where the other alphas are crowded on the other side of the trash can. Gyeongsu flushes red and goes back to hiding behind Yejoon’s shoulders. 

“I’m gonna call security,” Hyunju mumbles, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she gestures for Gyeongsu, Yejoon, Sungjun, and Jihyun to back up towards the showers.

Subong’s learned a lot of names while being held captive in the corner. Namgyu’s screamed those names multiple times at one point or another, paired with a demand to get back. It’s information that will probably be useless to Subong soon, given Namgyu’s totally about to kill him, but either way, he knows more names than he did before. 

Like the names of the three men who pumped five milliliters of pheraxin into his bloodstream three days ago. Wooseok, Jeongrae, and Mudong are, as Subong comes to learn, not actually nurses. They’re Sunshine Garden’s security detail. 

If Subong wasn’t too dazed to move, he’d totally beat those bastards up for drugging him. He is too dazed to move, though. And even then, Namgyu’s got a very tight hold on his arms. 

“Get the fuck away from us, Wooseok!”

Subong’s lips raise in a placid smile when Namgyu delivers a very firm kick to one of the men’s knees. Wooseok’s the one who took a dig at his height. It’s satisfying to watch him let out a hiss and stagger to the floor. 

So maybe Subong will be the one doubled over in pain soon, but whatever. For the time being, Namgyu’s just tightening his grip on his waist and pressing them closer to the laundry basket. The pressure actually feels kind of nice. It isn’t hard enough to bruise. 

It will be soon, no doubt, but not yet. Subong lets himself relax a little.

“Yongsik, let’s get the level threes back upstairs,” Hyunju says.

Fair enough, Subong supposes. No need to traumatize Gyeongsu and the others by having them witness a murder. Gyeongsu looks like the kind of person who would be deeply affected by something like that. 

He already looks pretty damn traumatized. When Yongsik and Hyunju herd him past the trash can and the laundry basket, he grips onto Yejoon’s arm, eyebrows pressed together, and says, “Everything’s going to be okay, Mr. Thanos. See you tomorrow?”

He doesn’t sound very convinced. Subong’s not all that convinced either. He’s still in too much shock to process that fully, though. He offers Gyeongsu a smile in lieu of a wave goodbye. His arms are being restrained at the moment.

When the room is cleared, Wooseok stumbles off the ground and says, “Just let us take him, alright? I really don’t want to have to use force here.”

Namgyu leans forward, lifting a hand to cup Subong’s face and press him close to his chest. “Try it, motherfucker. See what happens.”

Maybe it’s the three milliliters of pheraxin finally doing what it’s intended to do, but Subong finds that he isn’t panicking all that much over the fact that Namgyu’s in the perfect position to re-fracture his mandible. Perhaps Namgyu intends to finish the job Myunggi started and just break the whole thing off, but Subong’s too comfortable to try to escape. He was cold when Namgyu dragged him out of the water and over to the corner of the room. He’s warm again, now that he’s got arms around him and a face full of Namgyu’s bare chest. He lets out a content sigh and huddles in closer to the warmth radiating from Namgyu’s skin.

“Jang, seriously,” Mina says. “We’re gonna have to sedate you again if you don’t let him go.”

Namgyu lets out a growl and curls a leg over Subong’s waist. It’s a bit awkward—the change in position has Subong’s own legs caught under Namgyu’s thigh and pressed flush against the laundry basket. But he’s just so warm, and Namgyu’s cupping his jaw surprisingly gently, given the whole situation. Maybe it’s okay if he just waits this out. It’s been a good ten minutes since Namgyu dragged him out of the pool, and he isn’t dead yet.

And all this fuss is cutting into his mandatory quiet time. He’s not eager to watch another dull episode of Breathe Me In. He’s definitely not eager to be subjected to any more scent compatibility screenings. For all he knows, Sunshine Garden got another truckload of laundry today. If he has to smell Babycat one more time, he’s gonna puke.

Namgyu smells nice, though. He doesn’t smell like perfume or dirty laundry. He doesn’t even smell like aggressive pheromones, despite how aggressive he is. He just smells like warmth and chlorine. It’s reminding Subong quite a lot of his days back in the swimming pool at the QMG dorms. He’s smiling at the thought when Namgyu pulls his head back to look at his face.

He really should stop smiling. Smiling is what got him into this situation in the first place, but fuck, it’s so hard to stop. He hasn’t felt this calm and warm in ages. Maybe since he was thirteen, and met the other members of BrightBeat for the first time. 

That first night in the dorms was so nice. All his hyungs put in quite the effort to make sure he felt welcome. They swam in the pool that night. And when they got out, they ate so much yummy, spicy food. 

God, Subong misses spicy food. Everything he’s eaten at the facility has been bland and disgusting. At least Namgyu’s radiating all this heat. It’s kind of like spicy food, in a roundabout way. 

“Stop doing that,” Mina says, grimacing when Namgyu tilts Subong’s head back and grabs his jaw. “You’re going to hurt him.”

“Fuck you!” Namgyu snaps. 

Subong’s ears are ringing a little from all the screaming. Namgyu’s got a very strong grip on his jaw. He’s totally about to break it. That’s going to suck so much. 

It’s been a whole month since Myunggi fractured it, and Subong’s still got a gross yellow bruise. It still hurts when he clenches his jaw too tight. 

He sincerely hopes Namgyu makes this quick. Now that he’s getting a good look at the guy, he’s strong as hell. He’s got a lot of lean muscle hidden under those tattoos. Subong squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for the incoming blow.

The blow doesn’t come. Instead, he hears Namgyu ask, “What did you do to him?”

“We can talk about it if you just let him go,” Minsu says. 

Subong’s come to accept that Namgyu has no intention of doing that. It’s still a little unclear how and when Namgyu intends to kill him, given the lack of pheromones cluing him into Namgyu’s plans, but at least that hasn’t happened yet. For now, Subong just relishes in the warmth when Namgyu grabs the back of his head and pulls face back down to his chest. 

“Tell me now,” Namgyu hisses.

“Jang, seriously, you need to let go of him—”

“Mudong, get the fuck away from us!”

“Fuck, grab him—”

The pheraxin is definitely working. Subong’s way too out of it to process what’s happening around him until he’s already been pulled out of Namgyu’s grasp and dumped onto the floor.

“Stop! You’re going to hurt him!” Namgyu screeches.

Huh. Seems kind of counterintuitive to his goal of eventually murdering Subong. Subong’s too out of it to try to figure what the hell that’s all about, though. All he can think about is how much he misses being warm. The floor is damp and cold. It’s nowhere near as soft as Namgyu’s chest. Subong curls in on himself as his head starts to pound and his stomach starts to churn. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Namgyu asks, eyes wide and frantic as he claws at Minsu and Mina. “How much did you give him?”

“You know we can’t tell you that,” Mina says. “Just calm down, or we’re going to have to sedate you.”

“Fuck you! Let me go!”

“God damn it,” Mina grumbles as she narrowly avoids getting her eye clawed out. “Wooseok?”

“Don’t you dare fucking—”

Wooseok lets out a loud yelp when Namgyu manages to land a kick to his crotch. 

God, all the noise is making Subong’s head hurt so bad. He’s so cold. He misses when Namgyu was keeping him warm. Sure, that wouldn’t have lasted once Namgyu finally got around to killing him, but it felt so nice in the moment. Now, it’s like the cold is seeping into his bones. 

It hurts. It hurts almost as bad as Subong’s first post-debut rut, and that shit was brutal. He was unconscious for the first two days, and delirious for the last four. He lets out a groan as his vision fades. 

🐾

Education is a little lacking when it comes to secondary gender. The vast majority of the population are betas, so most schools don’t bother including non-beta anatomy in their science curriculum. The expectation is that if a person happens to present as an alpha or an omega, they’ll learn about their biology from non-beta family members or friends. 

Subong doesn’t have non-beta family members or friends. Both his parents and his sister are betas. Aside from Myunggi and the other omega idols, everyone at QMG are betas. Subong’s only ever around other alphas when he’s at Dalmatian, and even then, he doesn’t really talk to them. He spends his time at the retreat center swimming by himself in the pool. 

For that reason, he never really learned much about the finer details of alpha biology. He knows about rut cycles and pheromones, obviously, but there are, as he’s come to learn, some things that he was never made aware of. 

“Pheromone shock can be caused by a number of factors,” Dr. Baek says, putting in a clear effort to keep her face neutral as she darts her eyes between Subong and Namgyu. “Stress, lack of sleep, sudden changes in routine—”

“Overdosing on suppressants,” Namgyu cuts in, pulling Subong closer to his side. 

At this point, Subong has come to accept that Namgyu doesn’t want to kill him. Quite the opposite, actually. Ever since Subong woke up back in the ward to Namgyu hovering over his bed and growling every time Minsu or Mina got a step too close, it’s been pretty clear that Namgyu has, for some odd reason, decided it’s his job to protect him.

Subong certainly has no complaints. Because of Namgyu, he was only given two milliliters of pheraxin this morning. It was very satisfying to watch Namgyu glare at Minsu as he administered the suppressants. It was extremely satisfying when Namgyu insisted on accompanying Subong to his therapy session so he could scream at Dr. Baek about taking him off pheraxin entirely. 

Namgyu’s a pretty cool guy. He really isn’t scary at all. Subong grins when Namgyu tightens his grip on his waist and bites out, “You stupid fucks could’ve killed him! Why the hell would you give him five fucking milliliters? Huh? You should get your license revoked, fuckwad.”

Namgyu’s the best, actually. Subong leans against his side and smirks at the frustrated look on Dr. Baek’s face. 

“His levels were perfectly normal before your outburst,” Dr. Baek says. “You know, it’s not just suppressants that cause pheromone shock. Aggression between alphas can trigger it as well.”

“I wasn’t being aggressive,” Namgyu scoffs. 

He was being pretty aggressive, Subong has to admit. Not out loud, obviously. He just nods his head in agreement.

“Mr. Choi,” Dr. Baek says, pointedly ignoring Namgyu, “Sometimes, when the body enters fight mode without the ability to naturally emit pheromones, it can result in pheromone shock. Especially when the instigating alpha is emanating potent pheromones themselves.”

“Oh, please,” Namgyu says, rolling his eyes. “He obviously knew I wasn’t trying to hurt him.”

Subong totally thought Namgyu was going to hurt him. But that’s irrelevant right now. Dr. Baek clearly has no idea what she’s talking about. Betas can’t pick up on pheromones. 

If they could, Dr. Baek would know that Namgyu’s pheromones aren’t potent. If anything, they’re totally neutral. The last time Subong was around an aggressive alpha, Daeho was radiating pheromones so intensely, it felt like a physical wall of foreign scent assaulting his nostrils. His head was spinning and his blood was boiling. By the time security separated them, Subong was running a fever.

He doesn’t feel that way around Namgyu at all, though. Namgyu’s scent is pleasant and subdued, like the detergent they use on the sweatsuits and the herbal shampoo they’ve both been given to wash their hair. He must be the calmest, most level-headed alpha in the world. He totally shouldn’t be here. 

It’s cool that he is, though. Maybe it’s kind of selfish, but Subong’s really happy Namgyu’s here with him. Sunshine Garden sucks significantly less when he’s got an ally on his side.

Subong nods in agreement and says, “It definitely wasn’t that.”

“If you’re sure,” Dr. Baek says as she clicks away at her computer. “Then it’s possible you may be reacting to mate separation. Do you have an imprinted partner?”

Subong can’t help but laugh. Obviously he doesn’t. He’s never even kissed an omega beyond quick pecks on the hand or cheek at fan events. He doesn’t even really know how imprinting works—no use learning about that particular quirk of alpha biology if he’s not permitted to date.

“I just have to be thorough here,” Dr. Baek says with a shrug. “I know people in your position tend to keep those kinds of relationships private.”

“Well, I don’t have a partner,” Subong says, rolling his eyes. They covered this during his intake very thoroughly. Dr. Baek is well aware that he’s a pent-up virgin.

“And you’ve never had a pheromone match?”

Now she’s just rubbing it in. Subong pouts and asks, “What does it matter? I’m not in rut.”

“You don’t have to be in rut to have a reaction to compatible pheromones. Sometimes, if it’s been a while since you’ve found a compatible scent, exposure under suppression can trigger pheromone shock. Mr. Jang may have been carrying over a scent from his PRI.”

So many acronyms for so many stupid things. If Subong wasn’t in such a good mood, he’d be pissed off that no one can just use actual words. Back at Dalmatian, they called it private time instead of pheromone regulation intervals. Either way, it’s a silly euphemism for masturbating. It’s dumb that they can’t just call it what it is.

It’s even dumber to think that some random omega’s pheromones managed to survive a shower, a change of clothes, and a dip in the pool. Namgyu would’ve had to be putting in a concerted effort to rub those clothes all over himself for there to even be a chance of that happening. 

It’s highly unlikely. Namgyu, as Subong has come to learn, is knocked out with sedatives during his ruts. That’s why he was so quiet when Subong got here—he was asleep. For the whole six days of his rut, he’s only permitted to be awake for thirty minutes at a time. Hardly enough time to be rubbing clothes on himself, even if he had the energy to do so.

But regardless, Dr. Baek is perfectly aware that even if Namgyu somehow kept an omega’s scent on him, it wouldn’t be compatible with Subong’s pheromones. Subong was digging through the same bags of clothes Namgyu was, and didn’t encounter a compatible scent. He hasn’t encountered a compatible scent once in his entire life, as she so rudely pointed out. He obviously overdosed on suppressants. Everyone in this facility is such an idiot. 

Except Namgyu, though. Namgyu’s cool as hell. He doesn’t deserve to be treated so poorly. 

“You look flushed,” Dr. Baek says, eyes scanning over Subong’s face. “How do you feel right now? Any indicators of pheromonal activation?”

All these euphemisms. She might as well just ask Subong if he's horny. 

So maybe Subong’s a little horny. It’s not like he’d got a raging boner or something. He just feels nice. In his defense, it’s the first time he hasn’t been nauseous in days. It’s only natural he’d be a little turned on when he doesn’t feel like total shit.

“That’s fucking stupid,” Namgyu scoffs. “It’s obviously the pheraxin. What kind of doctor are you, going around drugging people and letting them get beat up by the staff? We should sue this shithole for all its got.”

We. Subong beams at the word choice. He and Namgyu are totally bros now. Subong’s never been friends with a fellow alpha before. This is great. 

“Mr. Jang,” Dr. Baek sighs. “Like I already told you, Mr. Choi sustained those injuries before he arrived here. Isn’t that right, Mr. Choi?”

“Uh huh,” Subong mumbles, rubbing a hand across the side of his face. All the smiling is agitating his mandible. It's hard to stop smiling, though. He’s got his first ever alpha friend. 

Namgyu clutches him tighter to his side and asks, “Does it still hurt?”

Subong’s grin widens. It’s definitely not helping his jaw, but he can’t stop. Namgyu cares about him. He can’t remember the last time he met someone who cared about his wellbeing without having something to gain from it. 

“Just a little,” he says. 

Dr. Baek rubs a hand tiredly under her eyes. “Do you want me to prescribe you something for the pain?”

Not really. Despite the soreness, Subong’s jaw doesn’t actually hurt all that bad. He got plenty of pain medication back at the hospital last month. What he wants is to go back to the ward so he can hang out with his new bro some more. And maybe eat some good food. Now that his stomach isn’t killing him, he could totally go for some spicy chicken. 

“I want buldak,” Subong says. 

“You can eat lunch after group AA. Do you want me to prescribe you some ibuprofen?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Namgyu snaps. “Take him off pheraxin.”

Dr. Baek leans forward on her desk, face set in a hard line as she says, “How about this: we keep him on a low dose for now, wait out his next rut, and see how he does then, alright? Does that work for you, Mr. Jang?”

“Ask him, not me,” Namgyu scoffs. 

“Mr. Choi,” Dr. Baek says with a long-suffering sigh. “Is that acceptable to you?”

Maybe Subong should try to fight this some more. He’s not eager to go into pheromone shock again. He was passed out for a good twenty hours. He woke up covered in a cold sweat. His head was pounding and he felt like he was going to puke his guts out. But frankly, he feels so good right now, he just wants this therapy session to end so he can go back to sitting on the couch in the ward with Namgyu. Dude’s a great TV watching partner. Quiet time sucks significantly less when he’s got someone there to make fun of the shitty dramas with. 

Besides, Subong’s only got six days left until his rut starts. That’s not that long at all. He nods his head and says, “Only if you let us eat real food. I’m sick of rice porridge.”

“You heard that?” Namgyu snaps. “There better be buldak on the menu tonight.”

Namgyu’s so cool. He’s, like, the nicest guy ever. Subong’s totally going to invite him over to hang at his apartment once they’re both out of this shithole. They can watch actually good shit on TV and eat actually good food on Subong’s actually comfortable couch. Maybe smoke some weed. Namgyu looks like the kind of person who’d be down for that. That’s going to be so awesome.

“Fine, I’ll adjust your meal plan. But Mr. Choi, you need to promise me you’ll start complying with your care team, alright? And you need to let us know if you have a pheromonal reaction. Frankly, I’m concerned you might be having one now.”

“Stop looking at his dick,” Namgyu growls, pulling Subong’s chair closer and leaning over the armrest to hide Subong’s body behind his own.

Subong quickly checks his lap. He’s barely sporting a semi right now. This is all so dumb. What’s so wrong with being in a good mood? Of course his cheeks are going to flush and his body’s going to react a little when he’s happy. He’s human, after all.

Dr. Baek leans back in her chair with a frown. “Mr. Jang, I’m going to need to ask you to step out if you don’t stop. You’re not even supposed to be here in the first place. This is meant to be a one-on-one session.”

“And leave him alone with you? Fuck no.”

“If he leaves, I leave,” Subong says resolutely.

“Fine,” Dr. Baek sighs, tapping away at her computer. “I suppose that’s enough for today, then. Just promise you’ll both comply with your care team? Please?”

“I’ll comply when you all stop treating him like shit,” Namgyu says, curling his arm tighter around Subong’s waist.

“Mr. Jang, I know you’ve had a difficult time adjusting to your treatment plan, but I promise you, we’re only trying to give both of you the best care possible.”

A ‘difficult time adjusting’? That’s the understatement of the century. Subong scoffs and asks, “How is putting him in a coma giving him the ‘best care possible’?”

“Sensory modulators don’t put you in a coma,” Dr. Baek says. “They just help regulate pheromonal responses.”

Subong lets out an incredulous huff. Betas are so stupid. Namgyu’s pheromones clearly don’t require regulation. But, of course, if he tries to say that, Dr. Baek’s just going to brush him off. 

“Whatever,” Subong grumbles. “This is medical malpractice.”

“The alternative is an allergic reaction. You wouldn’t want Mr. Jang to go into anaphylaxis, would you?”

Subong turns to Namgyu with a frown. “You’re allergic to your own rut?”

“To pheraxin,” Namgyu says, glaring at Dr. Baek. “You know there are other ways to handle ruts, right? Like, I don’t know, fucking—”

“Please, Mr. Jang,” Dr. Baek says tiredly. “We’ve already been over this.”

Whatever it is they’ve already been over, Subong isn’t made privy to. Namgyu lets out a groan and says, “This isn’t about me. Clearly Choi Subong has an intolerance to pheraxin too. He fucking passed out!”

“It’s highly unlikely his pheromone shock was triggered by suppressants. His levels are back to normal.”

“Fucking whatever,” Namgyu grumbles, clutching Subong closer to his side. “Can we go now?”

“Alright, fine, but please stop touching each other. You know it’s against the rules.”

“Fuck you,” Namgyu snaps, making no effort whatsoever to loosen his grip on Subong’s waist.

Subong beams, despite the arm of the chair digging into his ribcage from how close Namgyu’s holding him. The pain is totally worth it. Namgyu’s already the best friend he’s ever had, and they’ve known each other for one day. This is so awesome. 

🐾

Sunshine Garden isn’t all that bad when Subong isn’t on the brink of puking or passing out. The sweatsuit he’s wearing is still ugly, but the fabric is soft against his skin. The lunch he was given was rice porridge again, but the nurses promised they’re getting spicy chicken for dinner tonight. AA is still a stupid acronym, and it’s annoying that they’ve been forbidden from playing any real sports today, but it’s kind of fun to walk in a circle around the gym. It’s especially fun when Subong’s got his new best bro by his side. 

His best bro who is, as Subong has come to learn, a fan. 

“It’s not like that,” Namgyu grumbles, cheeks turning pink as he shoots Gyeongsu a glare. “I already told you my sisters made me go.”

“But we met!” Subong gushes. “Which era was it? Inevitable? Rap Titan? Time Heist?”

“I don’t remember.”

“He said it was during Puppy Love,” Gyeongsu says. 

It’s all making so much sense now. That’s gotta be why Namgyu’s so protective—he’s been a fan ever since the beginning. 

“Is that why you like me so much? Because you met me as Su-B?” Subong asks, wrapping an arm around Namgyu’s shoulder and pointedly ignoring Minsu’s request to stop touching. It’s not like Minsu’s gonna do anything about it anyway. Namgyu’s had his arm tightly wound around Subong’s waist the entire time they’ve been walking, despite all the commands to let go.

He’s been holding onto Subong since this morning. Semi, Sungjun, Yejoon, and Jihyun were shocked to find Subong still alive when he and Namgyu walked into the gym today. Not Gyeongsu, though. Gyeongsu just grinned and said he knew it was all just a big misunderstanding. 

Because Namgyu’s a fan. This is so awesome. 

Namgyu retracts his arm from Subong’s waist and says, “It’s seriously not like that. Shut the fuck up, Gyeongsu.”

“It’s totally like that,” Gyeongsu snickers. “He knows all your songs.”

Namgyu scowls and says, “Of course I know all his songs. My sisters were listening to that shit twenty-four seven.”

Subong preens. So maybe it’s not great hearing his music be described as ‘shit,’ but Namgyu knows his music. All of it. This is so fucking awesome.

“You know, Mr. Thanos, the first time I ever saw Namgyu smile was when they said you’re coming here.”

“Namgyu,” Subong gasps, clutching his hands to his chest. “For real?”

Namgyu narrows his eyes at Gyeongsu and says, “So what? Who wouldn’t be excited to meet a celebrity?”

“But we’ve already met,” Subong coos.

Namgyu flushes red and speedwalks ahead of them. Subong can’t help but coo again at the sight. Namgyu’s so adorable when he’s embarrassed. It’s a stark change from how cool and intimidating he was this morning. It’s a very big leap from how terrifying he was yesterday. 

To think Subong thought Namgyu wanted to kill him just twenty-four hours ago. Really, Namgyu was just freaking out at the sight of his favorite celebrity floating around in a pool looking all drugged up and bruised. 

So maybe not his favorite celebrity. Subong doesn’t know that for sure yet. But he’s definitely up there. Namgyu hopped in a pool to save him. He kicked, like, four people on Subong’s behalf. 

And now they’re best friends. This is the coolest thing ever. 

“You know Kang basically creamed himself when we heard the news?” Namgyu calls back as he rounds the corner of the makeshift track. “He’s got a huge crush on you.”

Now that is an intriguing bit of information. Subong grins as he flings an arm over Gyeongsu’s shoulder. “Is that true, homie?”

“Of course not,” Gyeongsu chuckles. “I just look up to you.”

If he knew just how many anonymous love letters Subong gets from alpha fans, he wouldn’t think it’s so preposterous to have a little crush on an alpha. It’s totally harmless. 

Subong pulls Gyeongsu close to his side and says, “Come on, don’t you think I’m handsome? You know, lots of people say I’m the best-looking alpha idol in the country.”

“Hands off, Mr. Choi.”

Subong ignores Minsu in favor of admiring the blush that overtakes Gyeongsu’s cheeks. The way his pheromones intensify is delightful. They’re warm and happy, just like the pink staining his face. It’s kind of hot.

Hell, now that Subong’s not on the brink of death, it’s much easier to take in all the eye candy at Sunshine Garden. Gyeongsu and Semi are both pretty cute. Minsu and Mina too. Namgyu’s so adorable with the way he’s stomping around the track and shooting glares over his shoulder. It’s a shame none of these people are omegas. 

Not that it would make a difference. Subong’s not allowed to date anyone, regardless of secondary gender. 

He technically isn’t banned from flirting, though. The executives at QMG are always encouraging him to do fan service.

Gyeongsu’s a fan. A little harmless fan service would surely be appreciated, if all those happy pheromones radiating from his skin are anything to go off of. Subong pinches Gyeongsu’s pink-stained cheek and says, “It’s okay if you think I’m attractive. Lots of people do.”

“Mr. Choi, please. You need to stop touching people.”

Subong directs his grin at Minsu. Maybe he’s jealous. It’s not every day a famous idol ends up under your care. Minsu looks like the kind of person who’d listen to BrightBeat. Subong totally would’ve been his bias if he debuted. He was going to be the visual, after all.

“Minsu,” Subong croons out. “Wanna walk with me?”

Minsu shivers as he gets back to organizing water bottles. “Just keep your hands to yourself, okay?”

He’s definitely jealous. That’s so adorable. Subong can easily picture him going to a Su-B concert back in the day, waving around the stupid little Shiba Inu light stick and standing up on his tip-toes to get a good look at Subong on the stage. Or, in recent years, going to a Thanos concert and getting all flustered by the foul language and aggressive lyrics. Maybe he pretended he was only going because of his sister, but secretly kept a Thanos photocard in his wallet. 

He’d hardly be the only beta with a crush on Thanos. As taboo as it is for betas to date non-betas, that doesn’t mean a person can’t have a fantasy. Subong’s built a career off of giving people a fantasy. He’s got the stacks upon stacks of love letters from non-omegas to prove it.

“C’mon,” Subong says, stretching out his arm as he walks by where the nurses are posted up on the wall. “I’ll even hold your hand if you like.”

“I literally just said to keep your hands to yourself.”

“Stop flirting with my brother,” Semi says as he pushes her way between Subong and Minsu. “He’s not interested.”

Subong looks between the two of them. There’s not much family resemblance. While Minsu looks like a BrightBeat fan, Semi totally looks like the kind of person who’d be into Thanos’s vibe. She’s got the same look so many of his alpha fans do with those piercings on her face and her short, spiky haircut. Maybe she’s got some tattoos hidden under her turquoise sweatsuit, just like Namgyu.

God, Namgyu looked so good in his bathing suit. All those tattoos and lean muscles were on full display. It’s a shame Semi didn’t go to the pool yesterday. She probably looks good in a bathing suit too.

“I’m just being friendly, senorita,” Subong says with a wink.

Semi rolls her eyes as she picks up her pace. “Whatever.”

“You want some attention too?” Subong asks as he jogs up to her side. “I’ve got two hands. I can hold yours and Minsu’s at the same time.”

“How about you see if Mr. Pissy wants to hold your hand, huh?”

“Stop calling me that, bitch!” Namgyu bellows out from where he’s speedwalking a good fifteen meters ahead of them.

“I’ll call you whatever I want, bitch!”

Subong grimaces at the wall of pheromones emanating from Semi’s skin. They’re sharp and hot. Kind of headache inducing. He jogs up the makeshift track, letting out a pleased sigh when he breathes in Namgyu’s soft, neutral scent.

“Ugh, stop,” Namgyu groans when Subong grabs his hand. “I already told you it’s not like that.”

“Not like what?” Subong chuckles. “I just want to hold your hand. What’s so wrong with that?”

Namgyu’s face flushes as he lets Subong lace their fingers together.

It’s interesting. Despite all the screaming just a few moments ago, and how clearly flustered he is now, his scent stays subdued. He really must have the art of keeping his pheromones in check down to a science. Though, Subong supposes, he kind of has to if he’s allergic to pheraxin. Given the way Sunshine Garden is operated, they’d probably keep him sedated all day, every day if he was going around letting off potent pheromones. 

Just to check, Subong leans in and sniffs Namgyu’s collar. 

“What are you doing?” Namgyu asks, craning his neck back. 

“Sniffing you,” Subong says. “You smell nice.”

Namgyu stares down at the ground, cheeks flushing a deeper red. “You really think so?”

Subong’s grin widens. This is all reminding him an awful lot of the way that talk show host reacted when he said he liked the perfume she was wearing a few years back. That particular round of fan service resulted in the whole Yves Saint Laurent Babycat fiasco, but Subong wouldn’t mind at all if he started getting clothing donations that just smell like fresh laundry and herbal shampoo. Maybe then, he’d actually be able to find a good pheromone match.

“Yup,” Subong says brightly. “I like your scent. It’s soothing.”

Namgyu twists around to glare at the nurses. “You hear that, you fucks? You’re poisoning him with suppressants!”

Subong isn’t given a chance to ask what he means by that, because Mina lets out a groan and calls out, “That’s it. Walk time is over. Choi, Jang, stop touching and get over here.”

Well, that sucks. It’s been so long since Subong got to be in fan service mode. Once he’s out of here, he may never get the chance to play up the flirting act again. Even if a miracle happens and QMG lets him renew his contract, there’s no way they’re going to let him do that kind of thing at meet and greets anymore. He’s going to have to be on his best behavior twenty-four seven. No more kissing hands or sending coy responses to flirty Bubble messages. 

Then again, most of the messages he’s been receiving lately are death threats. It’s been a while since someone’s professed their love for him. The majority of the public hates him now. 

At least Namgyu still likes him. He’s been a fan since the beginning. 

“Which meet and greet did you go to?” Subong asks as Minsu and Mina herd them into the elevator.

Namgyu shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t remember. Can you really not pick up on pheromones?”

“Sure I can. Yours are just subtle,” Subong says, waving a hand dismissively. “How old were you when we met?”

“So it’s just mine?” Namgyu asks. He turns to Minsu and Mina. “You’re poisoning him, you fuckwads.”

“His levels are normal,” Minsu sighs. “Please calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when you stop poisoning him!”

“I feel fine,” Subong says with a grin. “Seriously, come on. How old were you?”

“Fifteen, I think. I don’t know. Do you feel feverish at all? Or like you’re going to pass out?”

“Nope, I feel great,” Subong says, grin widening. “So I’m two years older than you, right? Did you call me hyung when we met?”

“You think I remember something I said well over a decade ago?” Namgyu asks incredulously.

Fair enough. It’s not like Subong would be able to remember the details either. All those early meet and greets were a whirlwind. He was pretty damn overwhelmed, having so many people surrounding him all at once. And then his ruts got all fucked up somewhere in the midst of all those concerts, fan meets, and press tours. His memory of that time is quite foggy. 

Still, he and Namgyu met. That’s so fucking cool. 

“Well, I remember,” Subong says with a grin.

Namgyu freezes up, eyes going wide. “You do?”

Maybe he shouldn’t do the fan service act with Namgyu. They are best bros now, but still. He’s just so cute. 

Subong nods his head adamantly. “Maybe not what you said, but I totally remember how you made me feel. When our hands touched for the first time, my heart skipped a beat.”

Namgyu lets out a sigh. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” Subong rushes out. “I would never.”

Namgyu narrows his eyes as he raises a hand to Subong’s forehead. “Then what’s up with you? You’re not going into pheromone shock again, are you?”

Subong grabs Namgyu’s hand and threads their fingers together. “I promise I feel fine. Look, maybe I don’t remember meeting, but it’s cool that we met, right? And now we’re friends! That’s so awesome.”

“We’re friends?” Namgyu asks, a smile spreading across his face as he squeezes Subong’s hand back.

Subong’s never really had a proper friend before—everyone he hangs out with is, in some way or another, paid to be around him. Namgyu’s got nothing to gain except Subong’s company.

This is so awesome. Subong’s heart is totally skipping a beat for real. He probably shouldn’t say that out loud, though. Namgyu’s gonna think he’s making fun of him. Instead, he says, “Of course we are.”

“Okay,” Namgyu says, smile widening. 

Subong’s heart is kind of racing. He’s got a friend. One that stands up for him and holds his hand. Not even Sooyeon or his parents ever really held his hand, unless it was for pictures.

There are no cameras here, though. Subong rubs his thumb along the back of Namgyu’s hand, beaming when Namgyu’ fingers tighten against his knuckles.

“Please stop touching,” Minsu says tiredly. 

“Stop fucking poisoning him,” Namgyu retorts, curling his body closer to Subong’s as he shoots Minsu a scowl.

“Jang, come on,” Mina groans. “Stop being dramatic. He’s fine.”

As much as it sucks to admit, Mina is, in this case, right. Subong feels great. He’s probably just still recovering from pheromone shock. His nose has some catching up to do. It makes sense Namgyu’s scent would take a while for him to pick up on, if that’s the case—they’ve been glued to the hip since Subong woke up. 

And now they’re officially friends. Subong’s really Namgyu’s hyung now, whether he called him that when they first met or not. Subong tugs Namgyu closer to his side, pointedly ignoring Minsu’s and Mina’s pleas to stop touching.

🐾

“I just don’t get it,” Mina says, shaking her head incredulously as she scans her eyes over her laptop screen. “His levels are still normal.”

“Maybe it’s the budae jjigae,” Minsu says. 

Subong rolls his eyes. It wasn’t even that spicy. His cheeks are only red because he’s in a good mood. This stupid facility seems to think anything other than a scowl is an indicator of a pheromonal reaction. He’s gone through eight pheromone screenings over the past two days, all because he’s finally starting to feel like his old self again.

That’s the problem, he supposes. His normal personality got him locked up here in the first place. But it’s hard to feel too miserable about it when he’s got a stomach full of budae jjigae and Namgyu's arms curled around his waist. 

Minsu and Mina officially gave up on the no-touching rule today. Namgyu refused to leave Subong’s side when he accidentally slipped during group AA this afternoon. He didn’t even fall, but Namgyu still insisted on hovering around him to prevent any more incidents. The hovering kept up during individual AA. Being led through pointless stretching exercises was actually kind of fun with Namgyu shooting glares at Minsu every time he pressed Subong into too deep of a stretch.

The hovering hasn’t let up for quiet time, either. After Mina insisted on another pointless pheromone test, Namgyu immediately pulled Subong down on the couch and wrapped his arms around him.

Namgyu’s a surprisingly good pillow, despite all the lean muscles. Subong feels so warm and comfortable. Nothing could stop his good mood right now. Not even Mina’s reaction to the latest product of his good mood. Normally his freestyles are met with applause instead of pheromone tests, but whatever. He’s still feeling great.

“So you didn’t like my song?” Subong asks, settling in closer to Namgyu’s chest. 

Mina looks over at him with a grimace. “Your song was…something.”

Whatever. Subong’s song was great. She should be flattered that Subong compared her to a beautiful flower. And it’s not every day someone gets treated to an off the dome Thanos verse. Subong tilts his head back on Namgyu’s shoulder to look at him.

“Did you like my song?” Subong asks.

Namgyu huffs out a laugh as he pets a hand through Subong’s hair. “It was very creative, hyung.”

“See?” Subong says pointedly, grinning over at Mina. “Namgyu thinks it was good.”

“I didn’t say it was bad. I just said it was something,” Mina says to her laptop screen. 

“How about I write you another one?”

“Please don’t—”

“Too late,” Subong says. “I’ve been struck with inspiration. In the sea of faces, you caught my eye—”

“This is just the same song.”

Subong shoots her a wink and says, “Yeah, but I’m gonna add a second verse. This time, about those cute little pink scrubs.”

“Please don’t,” Mina says flatly. 

Whatever. Subong’s feeling very inspired right now. He could rap about anything. Like the way Namgyu’s petting his hair right now. That’s very inspiring.

“That feels so nice,” Subong murmurs. “I got a verse about how good your hands are cooking up. Wanna hear it?”

“Stop doing fan service,” Namgyu snorts. “You know I hate when you do that.”

Yeah, whatever. So maybe Subong likes getting a reaction out of people when he flirts with them—that’s not what’s happening right now, obviously. Namgyu’s not just a fan anymore. He’s Subong’s best friend. 

Subong pouts and says, “I’m not doing fan service. I just think your hands are nice.”

Namgyu lets out a laugh and scratches his fingers along Subong’s scalp. “Thanks.”

“Ugh, that feels so good,” Subong moans. “You’re the best, did you know that?”

“I know. You’ve told me plenty of times,” Namgyu chuckles.

“Not enough,” Subong says, rubbing his head against Namgyu’s palm. “You’re awesome.”

“He still has another four days,” Minsu says, shaking his head incredulously. “I don’t get it. Mr. Choi, how do you feel right now?”

Again, with the horny questions. No one seems willing to accept that he’s just happy. He’s finally gotten used to the pheraxin, so he’s not constantly being inundated with headaches and nausea. He’s finally eating edible food. He’s made friends with Gyeongsu and Semi, so group AA is actually fun to go to. Individual AA is even better, since he gets to hang out one-on-one with his best friend. Said best friend’s still petting his hair so nicely. No shit he’s in a good mood.

“Happy,” Subong hums, shutting his eyes and leaning into Namgyu’s touch.

“It has to be his dosage,” Mina says.

“It’s strange,” Minsu murmurs, combing through a stack of papers. “According to his records, two milliliters was sufficient before he came here. Do you think he’s built up a tolerance?”

“That must be it. We should go back up to three.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Namgyu growls, untangling his hand from Subong’s hair and gripping him close to his chest. 

“Mr. Jang, come on. You know it’s not safe for you to be around an unsuppressed alpha.”

“If you stupid fucks could smell him, you’d know he’s too suppressed,” Namgyu snaps.

They’ve been having this same argument constantly over the past two days. Subong does something they decide is indicative of a pheromonal reaction, Minsu and Mina go through a laundry list of theories as to why his levels look normal, Namgyu screams at them and refuses to let Subong go until they agree not to give him more pheraxin. 

It’s become pretty obvious that Subong doesn’t need it. Namgyu’s told him his scent is completely suppressed, even in the mornings before his injections. On top of that, he hasn’t felt agitated or angry in days. Hell, he’s felt so nice, there’s no way he has an actual pheromone disorder. Obviously, neither does Namgyu. He’s not on any suppressants, and he still smells neutral. 

But Subong’s been over that plenty of times these past two days, all to no avail. Apparently, his nose is still off. Dr. Baek and the nurses are still insistent that Namgyu’s got the same bullshit pheromone disorder Subong has. 

Subong wonders what he could have possibly done to be given that diagnosis. He’s so nice. The only times he’s ever aggressive is when he’s defending Subong. It’s hard to imagine him doing something actually violent. 

Come to think of it, Subong really doesn’t know all that much about Namgyu aside from the fact he’s got two sisters and is allergic to pheraxin. The majority of their conversations are about Subong’s dosage. He doesn’t know how long Namgyu’s been here, or how long he has left. 

Maybe it’s selfish, but Subong really hopes he isn’t being discharged soon. It’s going to suck so much when he’s left here without his best friend. 

He should ask. It’s better to know now so he can prepare himself for when that day comes.

He isn’t given the chance, though, because Mina shuts her laptop and says, “Then it has to be an early rut. There’s no other explanation.”

“Have you dumbfucks considered the possibility that he’s also fucking allergic—”

“Please, Mr. Jang,” Mina groans. “We can’t keep doing this every day. We know he isn’t allergic. He’s been taking pheraxin for years without issue.”

“Yeah? You think six-day ruts aren’t an issue? You’re fucking stupid.”

Subong doesn’t bother pointing out that Namgyu’s ruts also last six days, despite not taking pheraxin. It’s not going to be helpful here. Neither is pointing out that he isn’t in rut. Besides, maybe Minsu and Mina will stop subjecting him to all these dumb pheromone tests. He’s so sick of getting his mouth swabbed. By now, Sunshine Garden’s gotta have enough of his saliva stored up to refill the swimming pool. 

God, he wants to go swimming again. The water felt so nice. 

“Can we swim for AA tomorrow?” Subong asks. 

“I don’t see why not,” Minsu says as he gets up from his chair. “I’ll go see if the donations are ready.”

Subong lets out a whine and thumps his head on Namgyu’s shoulder. He’s so tired of doing scent compatibility screenings. Omegas keep dropping their clothes off here, and instead of just turning them away like they should, the staff keeps wheeling up bags of clothes for Subong to sniff. It’s so unnecessary. He isn’t even in rut.

Plus, the Babycat omega came back yesterday, with just as much perfume sprayed on a blouse as the last time they dropped off their clothes. It was so overbearing, Namgyu had to leave the main area and hide in his room until Subong got through the arduous task of sniffing twenty-two bags’ worth of laundry. 

That sucked so much. Subong’s head was killing him by the time he finally confirmed that, like always, none of those scents are compatible with his pheromones. Hopefully Babycat was too busy to stop by the facility today. Subong really doesn’t want another headache. 

🐾

Subong’s head is killing him. 

How could it not? The tank-top he picked out yesterday is pungent with sweat. Some asshole must’ve decided that since they weren’t in heat when they dropped it off, they just had to make up for the weakened pheromones by running a fucking marathon in that shirt. It’s worse than Babycat. It’s like getting smacked in the face with a gym locker room.

And now, he’s got nothing to distract him from his headache. He’s locked in his room, and they’re not going to let him out until his stupid pheromone regulation interval is over. That’s not for another four hours. He’s already been stuck here since last night.

Because, as Subong was made aware when Dr. Baek insisted on holding his therapy session in his room instead of in her office, his recent stint with pheromone shock puts him at risk. He needs extra time to let out his pheromones. Each interval is going to last an entire sixteen hours. 

At least at Dalmation, private time only happened at night. Subong was permitted to leave his room for breakfast. Sunshine Garden, however, isn’t letting him out until lunch. He’s on a forced sixteen-hour pheraxin break, after all. No way they’re risking letting him near other alphas when he’s got his bullshit pheromone disorder.

He’s so fucking bored. The past twelve hours have sucked so much. He woke up with an excruciating headache, and it’s only gotten worse the longer he’s been conscious around the dumb sweaty tank top. The thought of spending another second with that thing is making him want to scream. 

“I’m bored!” Subong calls out, thumping his head against the mattress. 

“Just do your PRI,” Mina calls back. 

This is so fucking stupid. Subong literally isn’t even in rut. His pre-rut isn’t set to start for another three days. If he actually was in an early rut, he’d be chomping at the bit to rub one out. As it stands, he has absolutely no desire to touch himself. His head hurts way too much. 

“I’m so boooored,” Subong whines.

“If you keep complaining, no pool time!”

Subong lets out a long, pained groan. This is all so unbelievably, earth-shatteringly stupid. At least at Dalmatian, there was a television in his room.

“Is Namgyu back yet?”

“He’ll be back in thirty minutes,” Mina says tiredly. “Stop asking and just do your PRI.”

This is so awful. How has it only been twenty minutes since Namgyu left for group aggression alleviation? It feels like it’s been a thousand years. Subong turns onto his stomach and buries his face in his pillow. 

Another thousand years pass. His brain feels like it’s going to pound its way out of his skull. He almost doesn’t hear it when the door to the ward unlocks. 

He does hear Namgyu arguing with the nurses. That’s far louder than a door. 

“You still haven’t let him out? He fucking told you he’s not in rut, you complete fucking—”

“Namgyu!” Subong calls out, unearthing his face from his pillow. 

“Hyung, how are you feeling? Does your head still hurt?”

“Like shit,” Subong says. “Talk to me! I’m bored!”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything! How was group AA?”

“Boring. We played badminton. Gyeongsu says hey.”

God, Subong misses other people. He hasn’t seen anyone other than Minsu and Mina since yesterday. He thumps his head against his pillow in frustration. “Tell him I say hi tomorrow?”

“You should be able to tell him yourself,” Namgyu says sharply. “It’s not fucking fair that they’re doing this to you. You know, this is a massive fucking violation of anti-discrimination stat—”

“Mr. Jang,” Minsu cuts in. “Would you feel better if I said we’re having jeyuk bokkeum for lunch?”

“No, it doesn’t make me fucking feel better, you dumbass!”

Subong lets out a laugh. His head is still killing him, but the sound of Namgyu arguing with the nurses is a welcome distraction from the pain. He shuts his eyes and curls up on his bed, letting the sound of Namgyu screaming profanities help the time pass quicker. 

🐾

Subong loves spicy food. He always has. It’s no wonder his headache melts away as soon as Minsu finally finishes administering his pheraxin and lets him out to the common area. There’s a plate of jeyuk bokkeum waiting for him. 

He feels amazing by the time they take him and Namgyu down to the pool. He’s got a stomach full of spicy pork. The water is the perfect temperature. The scent of chlorine is a welcome change of pace from the stagnant, sweaty odor lingering on the tank top he tossed in the corner of his room. And with Namgyu here, it’s just like being back at the QMG trainee dorms. 

Even better, actually. This time, instead of being with his BrightBeat hyungs, he’s with his best friend. He’s the hyung this time. Subong beams as he ducks under the water and grabs Namgyu’s legs.

“No fighting,” Minsu calls out when Subong re-emerges, Namgyu bleating out a laugh as he grasps onto the top of Subong’s head in an effort not to slip off his shoulders.

Subong used to love it when his old members would put him up on their shoulders for a chicken fight. It’s too bad Minsu and Mina would object to getting in the water too. If they did, they’d have the perfect amount of people for a proper chicken fight. 

It’s worth a shot, at least.

“Minnie, Mina,” Subong says with a grin. “Let’s have a chicken fight.”

"I just said no fighting. And don’t call me Minnie, please.”

It’s like everyone at this facility is allergic to fun. Subong pouts and says, “If your noona’s allowed to call you that, then I should be allowed too. It’s kinda like I’m your hyung, right?”

“Semi’s younger than me,” Minsu says. “Please put Mr. Jang down.”

That’s hard to believe. Minsu looks so young. But then again, he is a nurse. He must’ve gone to university, if not medical school. Subong clutches onto Namgyu’s thighs and asks, “So are you my hyung, then?”

“I’m a nurse in your care team. Get off his shoulders, Mr. Jang.”

“No,” Namgyu huffs, crossing his ankles over Subong’s chest. “You think you can just tell me what to do?”

“Yes? As a member of your care team, it’s my job to—”

“Your job is to give hyung proper medical treatment! Why the fuck is he back on pheraxin?”

Minsu swipes his hands tiredly under his eyes. “It’s standard protocol. Please get off his shoulders.”

“Do you want me to get off your shoulders?” Namgyu asks, leaning down to look at Subong.

Subong tilts his chin up and grins. “Nope.”

“Then I’m not getting off. Fuck you, Minsu.”

Namgyu, at least, is not allergic to fun. And he sees Subong as an older brother. Subong’s never gotten to be a proper hyung before. He’s always been the youngest—the youngest sibling, the youngest member of BrightBeat. Despite being one of the oldest alpha idols in the music industry, none of the younger artists ever call him anything aside from Thanos. The only people who call him hyung or oppa are his fans. 

Namgyu’s not a fan, though. He’s a friend. Subong gives Namgyu’s thighs a squeeze and asks, “You ever do this kind of thing with your sisters when you were growing up?”

“God, all the time,” Namgyu snorts. “They’re both older than me, so they were constantly tossing me around like their own personal stress ball.”

“They sound great,” Subong snickers. 

“What about Choi Sooyeon? She seems like she’d be hard to grow up with.”

“We didn’t really grow up together,” Subong says. 

By the time Subong came along, his sister was already twelve years old and firmly established in the film industry. He only really knows what the rest of the public knows—that she’s got a reputation for being hard to work with. Subong only ever got to experience that a couple times a year, when the family got together for holidays. 

That was the only time he saw his parents too. Most of the year, it was his bodyguards and nannies who raised him. It wasn’t until he got signed to BrightBeat that he started to feel like he had an actual family. 

And then that all ended when he presented. BrightBeat stopped talking to him. He went from seeing his parents and his sister a few times a year to never. Now, the only times he sees any of them is on television or from a distance at industry parties.

It’s hard to feel too hung up on that now, though. Namgyu’s practically family by now. He understands Subong way better than his parents, his sister, or his BrightBeat members ever did. 

“I guess you wouldn’t have, huh?” Namgyu says, scratching his fingers through Subong’s hair. “That must’ve been lonely. I’m sorry.”

Subong never really had the time to be lonely. He was too busy training to be an idol. He grins up at Namgyu and says, “It’s all good. I’ve got a little brother now.”

“You think of me like that?” Namgyu asks. 

He looks so surprised. Subong gives his thigh another squeeze and says, “Of course I do. We should exchange numbers when we get out of here.”

Namgyu perks up. “Really? You want to?”

“Totally,” Subong says brightly. 

“Is this really a conversation that necessitates holding him, Mr. Choi?”

Subong shoots Mina a pout as he clutches onto Namgyu’s knees. “Yes.”

“At least swim,” she says with a sigh. “You’re supposed to be exercising right now.”

This is all so ridiculous. Clearly, neither he nor Namgyu have any aggression to alleviate. He’d much rather just keep talking.

Though, he supposes, they can talk more back at the ward. Might as well get some of his energy out now before he’s locked away in his room for the night.

Subong ducks his head underwater, laughing when Namgyu lets out a bleat as he slips from his shoulders. 

“I said no fighting,” Minsu calls out. 

Clearly, he and Semi didn’t play together growing up. Sucks for him. It’s been ages since Subong got to do something like this. Fourteen years, to be exact. He ignores Minsu’s complaints in favor of letting out a bleat of his own when Namgyu ducks his head between his legs and pulls him up onto his shoulders. 

The cold air hits his back when Namgyu lifts him up above the water. His legs, though, are warm from the heat radiating off Namgyu’s skin. He lets out a content sigh as he crosses his ankles over Namgyu’s chest, breathing in the warm, neutral scent of water and chlorine. 

🐾

“Namgyu!” Subong calls out excitedly the second Minsu tosses the syringe in the sharps container and unlocks his door. “I missed you!”

“You were just talking to each other,” Mina says. 

That’s totally irrelevant. They haven’t seen each other’s faces in sixteen hours. Subong missed Namgyu’s face so badly. He skips over to the couch and plasters himself to Namgyu’s side. 

“You came just in time,” Namgyu says, wrapping an arm around Subong’s shoulder and pulling him in close. “You’ll never guess who just appeared onscreen.”

Subong snorts when he sees Choi Eunpil on the television. Of course his dad has a guest role on Breathe Me In. It was only a matter of time. 

“Don’t tell me he’s the alpha CEO,” Subong says, rolling his eyes. 

“It looks like it.” Namgyu pauses, lip caught between his teeth before he asks, “Does that bother you? We can put on the news.”

Subong shrugs. “I don’t care. He’s been playing alphas for, like, forty years now.”

It used to piss Subong off, seeing his dad play alpha characters while rejecting his own alpha son. But he’s numb to it now. Last year, Choi Eunpil starred in two movies as an alpha. The year before that, he had a recurring role as an alpha on Silent Instincts. Subong’s long since come to accept that his dad, just like practically every other beta in the world, is fine with the concept of alphas, but not the reality. 

Just like Subong’s fans. They love the fantasy. They’ll fall for fan service and send him long-winded love letters, but the second he does something that even hints at him having an alpha trait, they hate him. 

It doesn’t bother Subong anymore, though. Why should it? His best friend doesn’t hate him, and he’s the only person Subong really cares about right now. He snuggles up against Namgyu’s side, letting out a content sigh as his headache melts away. 

Thank god he’s done with PRI for the day. They’re finally going to return that stupid pair of sweatpants to their owner. Much like yesterday’s tank top, it gave him the worst headache. It was pungent with hot, abrasive, anger-inducing pheromones. 

Namgyu, however, smells wonderfully pheromone-free. He smells especially fresh after taking a shower. The scent of herbal shampoo and laundry detergent is far preferable to body odor and pheromones. 

“You’d think by now, this dude would know how to actually act like an alpha,” Namgyu says, pointing the remote to the TV screen. “What the hell is he doing?”

Subong watches as Choi Eunpil puts on quite the performance of trapping the omega lead in his office and pressing his nose to her jaw. It’s hardly unexpected. Namgyu’s been narrating the episode to him through the wall for the past forty-five minutes. They’ve been leading up to this since the omega lead woke up with a fever at the start of the episode. It’s predictable that her heat would randomly hit in the middle of a meeting with the alpha CEO. It’s only a matter of time now before the alpha love interest swoops in and saves her. 

“Scenting her, I guess,” Subong says. 

“Please,” Namgyu scoffs. “Who the fuck scents people like that?”

Subong looks up at Namgyu curiously. “That’s how I do it.”

Namgyu cranes his neck to stare at Subong incredulously. “Sure, to your friends. He’s trying to fuck her, though.”

“Oh,” Subong says quietly, turning his attention back to the screen. 

“Sorry, is that weird? I know he’s your dad.”

Subong shrugs. He’s seen his dad scent countless omegas in movies and on television. But it’s always been like this—noses to jaws and throats. The same way alphas scent each other. The same way he sees the omegas at QMG scent each other. It never occurred to him that it would be different between alphas and omegas in the real world. 

It should have, though. Of course it would be different. Scenting between alphas and omegas is a precursor to sex. It’s no wonder they never show real scenting onscreen. That would be a massive taboo. 

Subong can’t help but feel kind of stupid. He’s almost thirty years old. He really should know these kinds of things by now. Clearly, Namgyu does. 

“Have you ever been with an omega?” Subong asks. 

“Choi,” Mina says, shooting him a glare. “Keep it appropriate.”

Namgyu ignores her and says, “Yeah.”

“Jang.”

“Come the fuck on, Mina,” Namgyu groans. “He’s a grown man! You think he’s never had sex before?”

“He’s in rut. You’re just going to set him off.”

“He’s literally not in fucking rut! How many times do we have to tell you that before it gets through to you?”

“Be realistic here. He’s clearly running a fever.”

Namgyu scoffs as he tightens his arm around Subong. “Maybe he’s feverish because you’re poisoning him.”

Subong’s flush deepens as Namgyu and Mina keep arguing. Of course Namgyu’s been with omegas. He’s a normal person. The vast majority of normal people aren’t sheltered like Subong is. But he’s so used to only being around other alpha and omega idols, it’s easy to forget how bizarre it is to have no life experience. Namgyu’s going to think he’s so immature when he learns the truth.

“Fucking betas,” Namgyu mutters, pulling Subong close to his chest. “Stupid motherfuckers always look down on us.”

Us. Subong breathes a sigh of relief at the word choice. So maybe Namgyu’s going to think he’s sheltered and inexperienced when he finds out Subong’s never been with anyone. That’s okay. They still understand each other better than anyone else, at least when they’re trapped in this ward. 

Even outside of these walls, Subong’s never met anyone who gets him like Namgyu does. No one stands up for him like this. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Subong says. 

Namgyu grins as he pets a hand through Subong’s hair. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

Subong preens as Namgyu presses him close to his chest. As much as it sucks that they had to meet again this way, at least they are meeting again. To think he crossed paths with someone who understands him so well over a decade ago. Without Sunshine Garden, it would’ve ended at that brief encounter. They would’ve never become friends. 

But they’re friends now. It makes it suck a little less to know that they’ve only got eight hours before they’re separated again. 

🐾

“Mr. Choi, come on. You need to start your PRI.”

Subong lets out a deep sigh. He’s getting so tired of this. The relief he’s been feeling since his last PRI ended starts to fade at the thought of being around the stupid t-shirt he picked out for his next PRI. He just knows it’s going to make him feel sick, just like the last two articles of clothing. He squirms in closer to Namgyu’s side and says, “Just give me ten more minutes.”

“We have a schedule here,” Mina says tiredly. “Come on. Let’s get you set up before the night shift gets here.”

“He keeps telling you idiots he’s not in rut,” Namgyu says, wrapping his arm tighter around Subong’s shoulders. “Have you considered listening to him?”

No, they have not. Because according to Dr. Baek, Subong has been displaying clear pre-rut symptoms for at least the past two days, if not the past four. It’s quite the anomaly, apparently. 

Nevermind that Subong and Namgyu, the ones who actually know what ruts are like, have been saying over and over again that Subong’s not in rut. Nevermind that Subong only feels like shit when he’s locked in his room for PRI, forced to be in close proximity with pungent omega pheromones that have been leaving him increasingly frustrated and pissed off. Obviously, because they’re incompatible. It’s like being stuck in a room with Myunggi all over again. 

There’s nothing Subong can do about it, though. Everyone’s just so convinced he’s locked in some kind of perpetual pre-rut. There’s no convincing them otherwise until his actual rut comes and goes. 

That means he’s got another seven days of this. God, that sucks so much.

“You’ll keep talking to me, right?” Subong asks, turning his head to the side to look at Namgyu. 

Namgyu pulls him close to his side and says, “Of course, hyung. You know I will.”

It’s the one relief Subong’s been having during these stupid PRI sessions. As much as his head aches and his stomach turns, at least the hours pass quicker with Namgyu talking to him through the wall. 

He’s learned a lot about Namgyu this way. He comes from an entirely non-beta family. His dad and his sisters are all alphas. Unlike Subong, he was raised around alphas and omegas. 

And, unlike Subong, he’s never been forced to spend his ruts at retreat centers. His pheraxin allergy was never a problem for him until he got to Sunshine Garden. His family doesn’t believe in trying to suppress your cycles. They think it’s healthier to handle them with more natural methods.

They aren’t allowed to talk about those methods, though. Mina and Minsu shut it down every time the conversation veers in that direction. Ironically, despite being given designated periods of time to masturbate, any topics tangential to sex are totally off the table.

It’s very stupid. But Subong’s tired of trying to fight with the nurses over their unending litany of hypocrisy. When he hears the door lock behind him, he lays down on his bed and asks, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” he hears Namgyu say through the wall. “Yours is purple, isn’t it?”

Subong lets out a laugh. “What clued you in to that one?”

“Just a hunch,” Namgyu chuckles. “You know, Bakyung went crazy when you rebranded as Thanos. She got purple highlights when she saw your hair.”

Subong smiles, despite the familiar headache crawling its way into his brain. Namgyu’s sisters, Bakyung and Harin, are major Thanos fans. According to Namgyu, they’ve been following his career since the very beginning. 

Namgyu’s been following too. He’s finally gotten over his embarrassment and admitted that he likes Subong’s music. He’s been listening since Puppy Love—willingly, Subong was delighted to learn. Namgyu may not remember the details of their first encounter, but he remembers every comeback and music video. 

It’s kind of like they’ve known each other for twelve years instead of six days. 

It’s so fucking cool. They’re fated to be bros. 

“What about you?” Subong asks. “You ever get red highlights?”

“And let all those chemicals seep into my brain? No thank you.”

Subong would’ve thought he’d be all for chemicals. Though, to be fair, he only thought that because of the pheraxin thing. Sure, Namgyu looks pretty similar to the kinds of guys Subong used to buy his weed from, but then again, who’s Subong to judge people by appearances? He’s spent the last seven years dying his hair, getting tattoos, and meticulously crafting a tough and alluring exterior, despite never doing any of the things he raps about on stage. 

It’s kind of funny, in hindsight. Namgyu matches up to the persona he’s been cultivating way better than he does. Namgyu’s actually had sex. He actually knows how to fight. And yet, even though he must have picked up by now that Subong is a complete poser, he still treats him so kindly. He really is the coolest person ever. Subong can’t wait to learn everything about him.

“What do you do for work?” Subong asks. 

“They’re gonna get mad if I tell you,” Namgyu says with a deep sigh. “Sorry.”

Subong sits up on his elbows, eyebrows raising in curiosity. “Come on, what is it?”

“Choi,” Mina calls out in warning. 

God forbid Subong wants to know what his best friend’s job is. He lays back down on his bed and asks, “Can you give me a hint?”

“Jang, don’t,” Mina says sharply. 

“Come on,” Subong groans. “I’m just trying to make conversation. I’m so bored!”

“If you’re bored, do your PRI.”

This is so ridiculous. How is Subong supposed to jerk off when he feels sick? It’s only been a few minutes, and already his skull is pounding and his stomach is churning. He flips onto his side and presses a hand to his stomach in an effort to urge the nausea away. 

It’s unsuccessful. Just like it was during his last pheromone regulation interval. And the one before that. 

“Come on, please,” he begs. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“You hear that, asshole?” Namgyu says sharply. “All this bullshit is making him sick! I swear to god, the second I’m out of this place, I’m getting all your medical licenses revoked—”

“Alright, fine then,” Mina cuts in. 

“Fine?” Subong echoes, sitting up straight. “Are you actually gonna let me out?”

It comes as a massive relief when Mina opens the door to his room and says, “Come with me.”

Thank fuck. Subong happily pulls his aching body off his bed, letting a content sigh when he steps back into the main part of the ward. Now that he’s away from that stupid t-shirt, his headache is melting away. His stomach is settling down. Finally, these idiots are listening to him. 

“Keep an eye on Mr. Jang,” Mina says to Minsu as she grabs Subong’s arm.

“Where are you taking him?” Namgyu asks, scrambling off the couch to follow them towards the door.

“Dr. Baek’s office,” Mina says as she pulls out her keycard.

Subong’s face breaks out in a grin. This is it—they’re finally listening to him. Maybe, for the first time in a whole fucking week, they’re going to start treating him like an actual human being. 

🐾

“Mr. Jang, please just let him go,” Minsu says with a deep sigh. 

It’s a very interesting position Subong’s found himself in. Namgyu’s plastered on top of him, pinning him down to his bed. It’s kind of difficult to breathe with the way Namgyu’s crushing his lungs. 

There’s no way Subong’s asking him to get off, though. He’s the one barrier between Subong and the sensory modulator Minsu and Mina want to strap to his face. The plastic nasal mask Minsu’s got clutched in his hands looks even more like a muzzle than Subong feared it would. Despite there not being a piece to cover his mouth, he knows he’s still not going to be able to speak. 

Because, despite what Dr. Baek says, he knows sensory modulators don’t just calm you down. They knock you out cold with constant streams of sedatives. He’s only going to be awake long enough to eat and have brief pheromone regulation intervals for the next however many days Dr. Baek and the nurses decide he must be in rut. 

That means it’ll be at least a week, if not longer. Subong’s pre-rut doesn’t even start until tomorrow. For the next seven days, he’s only going to be awake for a collective twenty-one hours—twenty-one hours that he will be spending completely alone. He won’t even be able to see Namgyu anymore.

“No,” Namgyu snaps. “Just give him pheraxin.”

Subong knows it’s a useless argument. Ever since Mina led him back to the ward from Dr. Baek’s office, Namgyu’s been fighting with the nurses to keep Subong on pheraxin, all to no avail. Subong would be surprised at Namgyu’s sudden change of heart if he didn’t know just how shitty the alternative is. 

Namgyu’s told him all about how horrible it feels to wake up from sedation. Your head hurts and your stomach is twisting. It’s just as bad as a normal rut, but with an extra layer of exhaustion and confusion. It takes the whole half hour just to start feeling like yourself again, only for it all to start right back up.

It’s so fucking ridiculous. Subong’s not in rut. He can’t have a stunted pre-rut if he’s not in pre-rut to begin with. But no matter how many times he and Namgyu explain that, it gets them nowhere. 

“You know you’re not helping when you act like this,” Mina snaps, grabbing Namgyu’s arm.

“Get the fuck off me,” Namgyu snaps back.

“It’s just mild sedation, Mr. Jang,” Minsu says. “You’re the one who’s been saying suppressants are the problem, right? So isn’t this better?”

Namgyu tightens his legs around Subong’s torso as he growls, “It’d be better if you just left him the fuck alone. He’s not in rut.”

“Not to be crass, but look at him,” Mina says.

Okay, that’s not fair. Anyone would get hard when they’ve got a person wriggling around on top of them. It’s hardly indicative that Subong’s stuck in a stunted pre-rut. 

But there’s nothing Subong can say to convince Minsu and Mina of that. Dr. Baek’s one hundred percent convinced this is all just part of his so-called pheromone sensitivity syndrome. 

He knows he doesn’t have it. He hasn’t had a reaction to pheromones at all since being admitted to Sunshine Garden. Sure, the omega clothes make him feel sick, but it’s not like he’s been losing control of himself over it. Besides, he hasn’t reacted to any of the level three alphas’ pheromones. Namgyu’s are too neutral to elicit a reaction. 

If he really had a pheromone disorder, he’d be freaking the fuck out right now. He’d be throwing punches. 

But he doesn’t, so he isn’t. He just feels anxious, like any normal person would feel when they’re about to be put in a medically-induced coma against their will. 

He sucks in a breath as he wraps his arms around Namgyu’s torso in an effort to keep himself somewhat close to calm. “Can’t we just wait for tomorrow?”

“You might go back into pheromone shock,” Minsu says with a contrite smile. “It’s dangerous for your pre-rut to last this long.”

“He’s not in fucking pre-rut, you dipshit,” Namgyu hisses. “Why aren’t you listening?”

Because they’re the medical professionals, they’re the ones who have access to Subong’s pheromonal test results, blah blah blah. Subong’s been hearing the same thing over and over again. He lets out a deep sigh. He’s so fucking tired. Today has already been so long, between his last PRI and the intense meeting with Dr. Baek. Soon, Noeul and Gyeongseok are going to be here to start the night shift. 

There’s no getting out of this. Either Minsu and Mina set up the modulator, or Noeul and Gyeongseok do it. The best Subong can hope for is not being alone when he goes to sleep. 

“It’s fine, Namgyu,” he sighs. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Hyung, come on. You can’t just let them do this bullshit.”

Subong doesn’t have a choice. He offers Namgyu a smile and says, “It’s okay. I’ll see you in a few days?”

“What? No, that’s fucking stupid, just—”

“Minsu, can you get him out of here?” Mina cuts in. “I’ll set up the modulator.”

“No, hold the fuck on! Just give him his stupid pheraxin and—”

“Come on, Mr. Jang,” Minsu says, grabbing Namgyu’s arms and pulling him off Subong. “I promise we’ll take good care of him.”

“Can he stay?” Subong asks. “Until I’m asleep?”

Minsu shifts uneasily as he restrains Namgyu’s arms. “I don’t know if that’s safe.”

“Please? I promise I won’t resist.”

“Hyung, no,” Namgyu says sharply. “You don’t fucking need this.”

“Please,” Subong says, reaching out to grab the hem of Namgyu’s sweatshirt. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Mina and Minsu exchange a look. It comes as a great relief when, finally, Minsu loosens his hold on Namgyu and lets him sit back down on the bed. 

“Just don’t get on top of him again,” Mina says.

“Fuck you,” Namgyu grumbles as he grabs Subong’s hand. “I’m sorry, hyung.”

Subong offers him a smile. It’s not like there’s much either of them can do here. Subong did sign away his right to bodily autonomy, after all. He has no option but to let Mina strap the modulator over his nose. 

He grips Namgyu’s hand tightly in his own as the machine whirs to life. His grip loosens as his vision starts to fade. 

🐾

The next eight days pass in a haze of nausea, headaches, and unrelenting confusion. He’s not quite asleep like he thought he’d be, but he’s damn near close to it. Hours pass in what feels like a matter of seconds. He’s too weak to do anything beyond lie on his bed and stare at his ceiling. And just like Namgyu said, it takes the full thirty minutes to start feeling like a person again when the modulator is turned off. Even then, Subong’s too delirious to really process anything beyond the pounding in his skull and the twisting in his stomach. He’s out of it again before he can start to put together a coherent thought.

The only way he’s able to keep track of time is his rut cycle. It was clear to him when his pre-rut started. He woke up in the morning with a throbbing headache, an upset stomach, and a painful erection. 

In a way, he’s kind of glad he’s been so out of it. He’d probably be in a real coma if he wasn’t on sedatives, because this rut feels eerily similar to the first one he had post-debut.

That sucked so much. He was in the middle of promoting Puppy Love when his ruts started getting all fucked up. He had to cancel a television appearance, a concert, and two meet and greets because he was unconscious for thirty hours. Then, when he woke up, he had to go on a radio show while having the worst headache of his life. He doesn’t recall a single question the host asked him. It’s a good thing all he had to do was read off a script his manager put together. If he had to actually come up with an original thought, he would’ve just been spouting nonsense. He couldn’t process anything happening around him.

Just like now. He has no clue what day it is. But his rut might be over, because the worst of it is past him. A few days ago—three, four, maybe five—he woke up already clutching his aching dick. He didn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed that Mina was seeing him like that as she spooned bland rice porridge into his mouth. He was just so desperate for some kind of relief. 

That desperation is behind him. For some amount of days—maybe two, maybe three or four, who knows—he was waking up with his typical post-rut symptoms. His dick was sensitive, but not begging for relief. He was sweaty and his muscles were sore, but his stomach wasn't clenched tight from all the pent-up arousal with nowhere to go. 

Now, he just feels pissed off. He’s too confused to do anything with that, though. 

“How are you feeling today, Mr. Choi?” Minsu asks. 

Subong blinks as he tries to regain his bearings. It’s a fruitless effort. Just like every other time a nurse has come in and asked him that question, he can’t even begin to process what’s going on. Minsu looks like a bubblegum pink blur. 

There’s no scent accompanying him this time, though. Usually, when Subong sees bubblegum pink, it’s followed by a barrage of pheromones when Minsu or Mina open up bags for him to smell. 

So his rut is over. Thank fuck. 

“Am I done now?” Subong asks as he rubs at his finally modulator-free nose. 

The pink smudge where Minsu must be located says, “We think so. How would you describe your emotional state right now?”

Confused. Exhausted. Pissed off. Starving to death. Subong attempts to smile at the smudge as he says, “Hungry.”

“We can set you up for breakfast after your pheraxin.”

“Guh,” Subong mutters out in lieu of a demand for food. The word ‘breakfast’ has yet to re-enter his vocabulary. Hunger, though, he can absolutely comprehend right now. For the past however many days, he’s been given spoonfuls of rice porridge in lieu of a proper meal. He didn’t even have it in him to be disgusted by the lack of flavor. He was always too out of it to process something as complex as what food tastes like. 

But fuck, he’s so hungry. And cold. And tired. And pissed off. This is the worst. 

“Is his rut over now?”

Subong grins at the distant sound of Namgyu’s voice. He hasn’t heard it in forever. Between his shut door and the constant whirring from the sensory modulator, he could never hear anything outside of his own room.

Now, the door’s open. The modulator is turned off. Namgyu’s nearby. Maybe this isn’t the worst after all. 

“Is he okay? Let me see him.”

Subong absolutely does not feel okay. He feels like shit. But Namgyu’s nearby. He rubs at his eyes and frowns as he tries to identify a turquoise blob. All he’s seeing is bubblegum pink, though. “Where’s Namgyu?”

“He’s in the common area right now,” the Minsu blob says. “Mina, can you get him back in his room?”

Subong scowls and tries to sit up. It’s been ages since he saw his best bro. No chance in hell he’s letting the nurses keep them separated for a minute longer. They have so much hanging out to catch up on. 

“Mr. Choi, please,” Minsu says, placing a hand on his chest. “Let me give you your injection first, alright? Just to be safe?”

That’s so stupid. He and Namgyu have proven time and time again that they aren’t aggressive. Subong bats Minsu’s hand away and stumbles off his bed, gripping onto the wall as he tries to trudge his way out to the common room. 

Minsu’s not making that easy. He grabs onto Subong’s arm and says, “Please wait. It’s not safe yet.”

“You know what isn’t fucking safe?” Subong hears Namgyu spit out. “Putting people in comas, you asshole!”

Subong grins as he pushes Minsu off of him and staggers out to the common room. There’s his turquoise blob. His vision’s getting sharper now that he’s out of his room, though. All those stagnant pheromones are finally not clogging up his nostrils. It’s much easier to see Namgyu’s face. 

It’s flushed, and contorted with anger, but it’s there. Subong’s grin widens as he says, “Hi, Namgyu.”

“God damn it, Minsu, he looks like shit!”

Subong doesn’t have it in him to feel insulted. Of course he looks like shit. He feels like shit. 

He feels significantly less like shit now, though. His best bro is here. Subong rushes forward to where Namgyu’s being held hostage by Mina on the couch. 

“Just hold on for a second, Mr. Choi,” Mina says.

Subong ignores her in favor of wrapping his arms tight around Namgyu’s torso. The relief is instantaneous. His headache is gone. His stomach isn’t hurting. His anger melts away. He’s finally seeing his best friend again. This is awesome.

“Did you already fucking poison him again?” Namgyu asks. “What the fuck, Minsu? He just woke up!”

“I don’t—what?” Minsu bleats out.

Subong’s just as confused as he is, because he sure doesn’t feel poisoned. He feels wonderful. If only he had a best friend when he went through that shitty post-debut rut. Maybe then, it wouldn’t have sucked so much, because it’s almost euphoric when he feels Namgyu’s skin against his own. He’s just so warm. He smells so nice, like clean clothes and herbal shampoo. He smells like the embodiment of comfort itself. 

“Can you please stop touching?” Minsu begs. “He still needs his pheraxin.”

“What?” Namgyu asks, voice coming out quiet.

“Mm,” Subong hums, burying his nose against the side of Namgyu’s neck. Despite his neutral pheromones, there’s still something tangible there. He must use some of the same skincare products that Subong uses or something, because there’s an undercurrent of familiarity on his skin. It’s like Subong’s stepping back into his apartment after a long, frustrating stay at Dalmatian Wellness Center. 

He grins when Namgyu cups his face between his hands and leans in to sniff under his jaw. Namgyu’s hands are so warm. 

“What the fuck?”

Subong nuzzles his cheek against Namgyu’s palm. He’s not entirely sure what Namgyu’s reacting to, but whatever. He’s probably just weirded out by how sweaty Subong is. He hasn’t had a proper shower in days. He’s been letting off anxious, frustrated pheromones for just as long. He probably smells like total shit.

Namgyu smells wonderful, though. Subong wraps his arms around Namgyu’s shoulders and presses his nose to the side of his face. 

“Hyung, let go,” Namgyu says in a tight, pinched voice.

Absolutely not. Subong’s just going to have to apologize for all the sweat and abrasive pheromones later, because he just can’t let go right now. He’s felt like complete and utter garbage for days. This is the first time he’s felt good in what must be over a week. 

Hell, this is the first time he’s felt this good ever. He rubs his face against Namgyu’s cheek, relishing in the warmth and softness and familiarity of his skin. 

“Stop that,” Namgyu says, pulling himself out of Subong’s embrace.

The headache creeps back the moment he lets go. A low moan slips from Subong’s throat as he falls back against the couch.

“Fuck,” Namgyu hisses. He grabs Subong, hauling him back into his arms.

The sudden movement has them toppling off the couch. Subong’s elbow knocks painfully against the floor, but he can barely register the pain, because the feeling when Namgyu rubs his face against his neck is so euphoric, it’s like all of his senses have been overridden. All he can think about is how relieving it feels to be held by his best friend. 

Now that they’re so close, it’s a little easier to pick up on that familiar scent. They definitely use the same skincare products, because Namgyu smells just like he does. It really is like Subong’s home again, back with all his own belongings with his own shower and his own moisturizers and face washes. The herbal shampoo they’re given here is nice, but it’s been ages since Subong’s smelled something so close to what he’s grown accustomed to over the years. He tangles his fingers into Namgyu’s hair as he rubs his nose down the column of his throat. The skin under his sweatshirt is especially warm. Subong takes a deep breath and pulls Namgyu’s collar down to press his nose against his sternum. 

“Fuck,” Namgyu groans, grasping onto the hairs at the nape of Subong’s neck. Subong lets Namgyu pull his head back, sighing happily when he feels lips rub against his jugular. 

It feels so nice. Namgyu’s breath is huffing out hot against his skin. Subong grips onto Namgyu’s hair and flips them over so Namgyu’s on top of him. He’s being fully enveloped by all that comforting, familiar heat—it’s reminding him so much of being back in his apartment, under his own blankets, in his own bed. 

God, he misses home so much. At least Namgyu’s here. He feels so much like home.

“Minsu,” Mina calls out frantically. “They’re fighting! Call security!”

They’re absolutely not fighting. Subong can’t vocalize that right now, though. He’s too busy wrapping his arms around Namgyu’s waist and relishing in the comforting heat. 

The comfort only lasts so long. Hands wrap around his chest and pull him out from under Namgyu. The pain is unbearable when he’s dragged across the ward and back towards his room. It’s like getting beaten over the head with a microphone, over and over and over again. 

“Stop,” Namgyu hisses, grabbing onto the hem of Subong’s sweatshirt.

“Wooseok, stop him,” Mina rushes out.

Subong’s not sure when the security guards got here. His head hurts too much to process anything happening around him. The only thing that registers is Namgyu’s hands being ripped away from him as he’s dragged into his room. 

“Mr. Jang, please calm down.”

Whatever Namgyu says in response is lost to Subong. Words stop registering. His head feels like it’s being cracked open. He’s sure he’s going to die until, right before his door is shut, something warm is tossed onto his chest. 

When Subong looks down, he sees that it’s Namgyu’s sweatshirt. 

He can’t help but bury his face in it. The relief is almost as instantaneous as when he was touching Namgyu himself. 

It’s like every muscle in his body goes lax when he breathes in that warm, familiar, neutral scent. His chest feels warm. So does his stomach. For once, it’s not from a fever or nausea. 

He curls up on his bed as he breathes in the scent. His blood goes from boiling hot to a pleasant, soothing warmth. His head feels light and floaty. He smiles, relishing in the feeling of the soft cotton brushing against his lips. 

It kind of feels like a kiss. Subong’s never had a real one before. He’s kissed thousands of people’s hands and cheeks, done plenty of stage kisses for music videos. He’s never felt someone’s lips against his own. 

He still hasn’t. He did feel Namgyu’s lips on his throat though. They were so soft and warm. 

He’ll have to apologize to Namgyu for this later. This is wrong. For now, though, Subong lets out a content sigh as he rubs Namgyu’s sweatshirt against his lips, letting his brain replace the fabric with soft, warm skin.

🐾

This has to be a major violation of the bro code. Best friends don’t jerk off to the smell of each other’s sweatshirts. Subong can’t even blame it on some kind of pheromonal anomaly, because it’s not like he can smell Namgyu’s pheromones. Even then, he’s got alpha pheromones. Subong shouldn’t be reacting to his scent like this. 

Maybe it’s just because Namgyu’s so amazing. He’s kind, and he’s protective, and just being around him makes Subong feel better. They’re best friends, after all. Of course Subong feels comforted by his best friend’s scent. It just so happens it’s aligning with the tail end of a particularly brutal rut. 

And that’s fine. Who cares? It’s not like it’s illegal to jerk off to a friend of the same secondary gender. Heavily frowned upon, totally a violation of bro code, but not the actual legal code itself. Subong can just apologize to Namgyu later. Surely he’ll understand. He gets what it’s like to be pent up after a rut.

Subong shoves his face into the sweatshirt as he thrusts into his hand. Namgyu’s definitely going to be forgiving. He’s such a nice person. 

And so strong. His arms are so firm when they’re wrapped protectively around Subong. It felt so good when those strong arms were holding him in the common room. It felt even better when his body was covering Subong’s. All those strong, lean muscles felt soft when they were pressed on top of him.

Obviously Namgyu’s going to be understanding. He let Subong pull him into that hug. He gave Subong his sweatshirt before they were forced apart. He must have known that Subong needed comfort. 

He’s such a good person. He pets Subong’s hair and stands up for him against the medical staff. He’s the only person who’s ever advocated for Subong when people treat him like crap. Subong’s own lawyer did a shit job of doing that, and he was getting paid. Namgyu’s doing it just because he can. Because he’s Subong’s best friend.

Subong heaves out a heady moan as he comes into his hand.

“Fuck,” he says breathlessly as he wipes his hand off on his blanket. He can’t help but laugh from the relief of it all. He feels bubbly and euphoric. He wasn’t able to orgasm at all during his rut. 

Namgyu’s going to understand. This doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just a comforting fantasy.

Subong knows all about that. Plenty of non-omegas have wacked one out to the thought of him. He’s gotten loads of anonymous love letters outlining exactly what people would do to him if their secondary genders were different, and he’s never been offended by it. Weirded out at times, incredulous as to how people can get so imaginative with the scenarios they conjure up, but not offended. It’s not like he would ever do anything with those people for real. They know that, he knows that—those letters always make it clear that they know it could never happen. Subong’s got an entire career built off giving people a fantasy of things that would never happen in real life. This right here is no different. 

He’ll just apologize to Namgyu later. For now, he lays back on his pillow and shuts his eyes as he wraps his hand back around his dick. Just a few more rounds. He’s pent up, after all. Namgyu’s going to be understanding. He’s so cool and nice. 

And so, so gorgeous. He’s the most beautiful man Subong’s ever seen. He’s the one who should be an idol. Subong lifts his hips off the mattress, chasing the friction from his hand.