Rules

by Seagummybearing

Summary:

He squeezed his eyes shut in the suffocating darkness, heart hammering painfully against his ribs. You deserve this, he told himself over and over, stupid useless bunny, clinging to the thought like a lifeline.
Somewhere deep down, a small part of him wondered if his chances for auction had been destroyed. Maybe if he would rot here instead. Forgotten and discarded. A clumsy bunny had no place being bid on.
The thought was almost enough to make him sob. But no sound escaped. The collar made sure of that.
There was no use in crying anyway. Yeosang knew he deserved this.

or, bunny hybrid Yeosang lives in the Omega Hybrid Development Institute, where his only goal is to get high enough marks to participate in this years auction.

or San, a high ranking official who has brushed it off for years, finally decides he needs to attend the annual hybrid auction to maintain social appearances.

Chapter 1

Yeosang liked following the rules. Rules created structure. They gave shape to the day, to the mind, to his sense of worth. If he followed the rules, then he was good. And all Yeosang had ever wanted was to be good.

At the Omega Hybrid Development Institute, rules weren’t just about order, they were survival. Hybrids couldn’t live in the world ungoverned; humans had long decided that. They believed omega hybrids were too ruled by instinct, too sensitive, too fragile to function on their own. Without supervision, without guidance, without ownership, hybrids were considered a danger to themselves and others. That’s what they were taught. That’s what Yeosang believed.

The Institute existed to keep hybrids in line, to shape them into something useful. Desirable. Sellable. It trained them not to think, but to serve. Not to dream, but to obey. And Yeosang… Yeosang was one of the best at it.

Every morning at 6 AM sharp, chimes sounded through the facility. Shortly after, Yeosang and his omega hybrid unitmates would wordlessly get up, tidy their thin sheets up off the floor, and stand in a line outside of their door. 

The facility was scentless by design. No trace of warmth or identity lingered in the air, only the sterile weight of control. The units were always kept dim, with dark red carpeting softening the footsteps of silence, and muted brown walls that absorbed any spark of emotion. Lighting overhead glowed in a dull, yellow haze, casting everything in a perpetual state of half-sleep, like a memory you weren’t meant to remember clearly.

Yeosang knew that his unit was located on the sixth floor of the facility. Beyond that, the structure of the building was a mystery to him. He wasn’t sure how many floors there were in total, or how many omegas lived within its walls. His world was small by design, confined to the same dull hallways, the same muted classrooms, the same dozen or so trainers who patrolled their floor with unwavering authority. Occasionally, he caught glimpses of unfamiliar faces when being escorted between rooms, but he quickly learned not to stare or wonder. Curiosity was dangerous. It was better, safer, to keep his head down and focus only on what was in front of him.

Trainers, always humans, wore scent-blocking patches at their necks, more for protocol than necessity. Unlike hybrids, they weren’t ruled by pheromones or instinct. That was what made them ideal for control. Their detachment was their strength; they could oversee, punish, correct without ever flinching. Where hybrids responded with emotion or instinct, humans responded with procedure. That’s why they ran the facility.

The hybrids, however, were different.

Scent was uniqueness. Scent was identity. And within these walls, neither were permitted.

Each omega was subject to weekly suppressant injections, given routinely and without exception. The injections dulled their instincts, stripped them of pheromonal signatures, and kept them quiet. It was considered necessary. Without suppression, omegas could get... confused. Could crave, resist, feel. That kind of disobedience was not tolerated.

Yeosang couldn’t remember the last time he’d smelled anything but disinfectant. He definitely couldn't remember his own scent. If he still even had one.

The trainers came out, walking up and down the hall, inspecting them. Making sure that all were accounted for. 

One by one, they eyed each omega. The omega’s eyes were to be cast down, hands folded neatly at the navel.

Trainer Im paused mid-step, clipboard balanced neatly in one hand, his eyes flicking over the lines of printed numbers and hand-marked notes. The hallway had fallen into silence at the sound of his shoes halting, a natural reflex learned through conditioning, that stillness and silence were the safest response.

He scanned the list, checking boxes before finally moving on to the next omega. Daily assignments were distributed in quiet efficiency.

Lower-ranked omegas were given janitorial tasks: mopping floors, scrubbing walls, polishing the facility’s already sterile surfaces. Repetitive, physically exhausting, and deliberately humbling. Reprimands often came with a firm hand or a quick lash.

Others, those considered more obedient, were assigned to housekeeping duties. These omegas cleaned staff quarters, folded sheets, prepped cooking stations, or organized inventory. It was a step above punishment, but still a far cry from prestige.

Then there were the classroom assignments; split evenly between instructional and interactive lessons.

Instructional classes focused on precision: how to cook, clean, care, serve. How to memorize the preferred daily routines of their owners down to the exact hour, anticipating needs before they were spoken. Every movement was scrutinized: how towels were folded, how tea was poured, how shoes were set neatly by the door. No act was too small to perfect.

Interactive classes went deeper into the heart of what it meant to be an omega. They trained the way an omega should lower their gaze, when they should lift it. The exact angle to kneel, the perfect softness of voice when answering, how many paces behind their owner they should walk. They practiced posture until muscles ached: back straight, hands resting politely atop thighs, head bowed in perpetual readiness.

They taught the art of anticipation. How to sense an owner’s moods from the subtlest cues, how to adjust tone, touch, and proximity without needing to be ordered. To please their prospective owner before a word was spoken was the highest mark of an omega’s success.

But most important of all, the interactive classes trained the acts of pleasure. Physical service was an omega’s primary duty. Pleasure not for themselves, but for the owner they were meant to worship. An omega hybrid who could not perform, who flinched, hesitated, or showed reluctance, was useless. Touch was drilled into them until it became second nature: where to kiss, how to touch, how to yield without resistance. Shame had no place here. Pride had no place here. Their bodies were no longer their own, they were gifts carefully prepared to be given.

Failure in these classes meant failure in purpose. And failure was always met with punishment.

Trainer Im looked Yeosang over one more time, his pen hovering above the clipboard. Then he made a small mark.

“61599-Yeosang,” he said. He stood straighter. He nodded without looking up, long floppy bunny ears shifted just enough to show he was listening. 

“You’ve maintained Excellent Obedience scores all week. Clean reports.” His voice was flat, but Yeosang felt something warm curl in his chest.

“You will be permitted four hours in the Posture Room.” Yeosang bowed, bunny ears falling forward across his face. 

He moved on, as if the reward meant nothing. But it meant everything to Yeosang.

Yeosang waited for the last of his hybrid unitmates to receive their primary assignments of the day before softly turning and walking down to his assignment. 

The Posture Room was quiet. Empty. The floor was smooth and cool, polished tile that reflected the ceiling lights in little white rings. There was nothing inside but a single mat placed in the center of the space. Thin. Hard.

He briefly looked up into the corner of the room, a glowing red light above a security camera. He knew he was being surveillanced but he hoped someone was actually behind that camera watching him. He hoped someone was seeing how good he was being. 

The door shut behind him with a gentle click . He was alone.

Yeosang stepped onto it, settled to his knees, and folded his hands in his lap. Back straight. Eyes lowered. Shoulders relaxed but not soft. Ears falling in their natural line in front of his face. He sat exactly as he had been taught. Still as porcelain. His heart was calm.

There was no need to speak, no need to think, no chance to fail. Every second spent perfectly still was a second of proving his worth. Of showing that he belonged .

Not everyone could handle Extended Duration. It was a reward only given to omegas with the highest scores. To those who could be trusted to stay completely still without supervision. Those who could be good even without eyes on them.

Yeosang didn’t need eyes on him, although he certainly wanted them. 

Yeosang didn’t remember much of his life before he came here. It was like trying to remember a dream after waking. Soft, blurry, unimportant. He had presented early, that much he knew. He’d been here longer than most omegas, and had always been the youngest in his unit. That he was lucky, seeing the older omegas admitted to the facility most often had a harder time adjusting. Yeosang, at the young age of 14, was a lot easier to mould than them.

Now he’s been here for years. He’d like to believe that he's learned the ins and outs of the place, but there was always more to be done.

This is where hybrids belonged. This was where he belonged. Where he had always belonged. Where he had learned to serve, to listen, to behave. Where he had learned that silence was beautiful, and control was love.

He hoped, quietly, that this year would be different. That he’d be chosen.

Not every hybrid omega made it to auction. Some weren’t ready. Some were failures. Some made it but were offered no bids, sent back to lower units, or assigned off-record for internal use.

But Yeosang had done everything right. Every task. Every routine. Every correction. Surely this would be his year. He wondered what kind of owner would bid on him. Would they be gentle? Or firm? Would they reward him when he did well? Or would they just expect it?

Yeosang didn’t mind either way. He only wanted to please. He only wanted to serve someone worthy. Someone who would tell him he was good and mean it. 

His legs were numb now. His hands tingled. His spine cramped. He didn’t move. He didn’t need comfort. He had discipline.

Suddenly the soft chime rang to signal the end of his hours, he bowed to the empty room before standing and exiting silently.

No trainer was waiting. No clipboard. No praise.

That was fine. He knew he had done well.

The corridor was quiet this time of day. Omegas were rotated on tight schedules of obedience, instruction, posture, and service simulations.  

Today, as Yeosang rounded the corner, he heard something. The low, clipped tone of Trainer Shin’s voice and the muffled sound of restraints being pulled taut.

His steps slowed instinctively, and tilted his head slightly to glance through the narrow observation window on the door.

Inside, three omegas were forced into kneeling. Wrists bound behind their backs, their heads bowed, necks marked with thick white collars that blinked with soft red lights.

Silence collars. Yeosang had never worn one himself. He didn’t need to. Instead he wore the general brown leather collar mandated for all omega hybrids. A marker of his status, complete with a small metal pendant with his identification number etched into it. 

One of the hybrids twitched as the electric collar activated, just a brief jolt, enough to remind them. Their mouth opened in a silent cry. The one on the left received a swift slap across his face as the middle one had been lashed across the back.

Yeosang looked away. He kept walking. They had brought it on themselves. Everyone here knew the rules. The morning chimes. The grooming checks. The appropriate tone of voice when addressing a trainer. Disobedience had its price.

Yeosang continued down the hall to his classroom without another glance.

Filing in with the other hybrids, each one stepping precisely along the cushions on the floor. They didn’t speak. Speaking wasn’t allowed unless prompted.

They took their seats on small cushions. No chairs. Kneeling on the floor was better for posture. Better for discipline.

Today’s lesson was printed on the blackboard in clean block letters:

HOW TO RECOGNIZE AND RESPOND TO YOUR OWNER’S MOOD PATTERNS

Yeosang’s heart lifted. A good one.

Trainer Shin entered from the side door, his expression unreadable. He wore the standard trainer uniform of dark slate, sharp lines, and no excess.

He tapped the board once with his pointer. “An omega must learn to read their owner,” he said, pacing the front of the room. “To anticipate needs. To defuse tension. To serve not only with obedience, but with emotional intuition.”

Yeosang nodded slightly, committing each word to memory.

“Today, we will cover three common moods to expect: irritable, detached, and possessive. What are they, and how can a properly trained omega hybrid respond?”

He turned to the side wall, where a projector began to display slides that contained photographs of staged scenes. Human men in various postures, expressions, some alone, some near faceless omegas. Yeosang studied every detail. The way the man' s eyes moved. The angle of their shoulders. The set of their mouths.

“When your owner is irritable, ” Trainer Shin continued, “you must remain silent. Avoid eye contact unless it is explicitly desired. Anticipate their needs. Fetch water, offer a light massage, lower lighting.”

Another photo showed a cat hybrid kneeling beside a tall man’s chair, eyes down, hands folded. Yeosang’s chest warmed. That looked right to him. Calm. Useful. Good.

Trainer Shin went on. “When they are detached, you may initiate small acts of service. Grooming. Cleaning their space. Physical touch should be light and noninvasive. Head on thigh, hand on shoulder. It is your job to make them want to reach for you.”

Yeosang wrote mental notes: Make them want. Do not take.

And then, finally-

“When your owner becomes possessive, you must submit fully. Verbal reassurance is key. Physical availability is demanded. Your body should reflect your loyalty. Still, soft, and receptive.” He paused.

Trainer So continued, voice clipped. “You may be marked. You may be restrained. These are signs of affection. You will not resist unless given an instruction to do so. Do you understand?”

At the end of the class, they were asked to repeat key phrases from memory:

“I belong to you.”

“I exist to serve.”

“Your happiness is my purpose.”

Yeosang repeated each one like a prayer.

The trainers nodded their heads, approving of the omega's attention and learning, while simultaneously dismissing them to their next schedule.

The omegas filed into the dining room, standing along the edges of the wall. Yeosang was very familiar with this set of events, the trainers taking their places at the table first before the omega hybrids came to sit at their feet next to them, only after a crisp snap of their fingers. The trainers continued on with their lunch as if the omegas didn't even exist. Every once and a while a piece of food would be offered to Yeosang by hand, in which he would readily eat it off their palm. 

Trainer Im offered him a couple extra bites today than he usually was offered. Yeosang felt his heart soar, he hoped that he wasn’t being greedy by taking all the offers, either way, Yeosang wasn’t allowed to decline. His trainers knew what was best for him, he could only hope that the twitch of his ears didn’t give him away.

He made sure not to chew too quickly, nor too slow. Just as they’d been taught. Soft bites, delicate jaw, always from the side of the mouth, not the front. Nobody wanted a hybrid baring their teeth.

When Trainer Im slipped him a final bite of a slice of fruit, gently pressed to Yeosang’s lips, Yeosang opened his mouth without hesitation and accepted it with a grateful bow of his head. The taste lingered long after the hand was gone.

Trainer Im said nothing, of course. None of the trainers did. They spoke only to each other, trading stories and jokes in low voices over roast meats. Their conversation danced just above Yeosang’s head, not meant for him. He didn’t mind. He wasn't here to speak.

He was here to listen. To learn. To serve well.

Suddenly, Trainer Im took the liberty of grabbing Yeosang’s long floppy ear to roughly pet at the soft fur. 

Beside him, another omega hybrid shifted slightly in their kneeling position. Yeosang could feel the subtle change in pressure on the floorboards. Trainer Min kicked his chair back an inch, annoyed.

“No fidgeting,” he muttered while striking the omega on the back of his head.

The room quieted for a second. The omega bowed and returned to stillness. Yeosang kept his eyes down, hands folded neatly on his thighs.

He wouldn’t move. Not unless told.

Trainer Im dropped Yeosang’s ear before he wiped his fingers clean on a cloth napkin and leaned back in his seat. He looked down to Yeosang on his side before ordering, “You’re dismissed.” 

Yeosang got up, eyes never leaving their spot on the ground, before bowing to the table and making a swift exit. 

He continued down the hallway, eyes trained on the dark red carpet below. He let his thoughts drift to the extra praise he wordlessly received from Trainer Im. He tried to hide the small smile that formed at his lips. His thoughts drifted away until suddenly,

He turned the corner, and collided with something hard.

Whoever must have rounded the corner must have been going fast. The air in his lungs had been knocked out from the collision. Yeosang froze. His stomach dropped. The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating. 

He immediately dropped down to his knees, holding his arms out in front of him awaiting punishment. His mind was a blur. How could he be so careless?

Silence first. Always silence first.

The trainer, trainer Ryu, let out a harsh breath through his nose. Without hesitation, he grabbed a fistful of Yeosang’s long ears, yanking him up just enough to make him feel weightless, powerless.

"Eyes down, 61599." Trainer Ryu snapped, giving Yeosang a rough shake for emphasis. "Know your place."

Yeosang tried his absolute best not to yelp. He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing the tremble out of his hands. 

“Why aren’t you in the dining hall with the others in your unit?” He gave the younger a quizzical brow as Yeosang tried to ground his feet under him.

Yeosang took a second to make his response as short as possible, “Trainer Im excused me early.” 

Trainer Ryu released him with a shove, sending Yeosang sprawling back onto his hands. 

“Fucking careless bunny. Follow me.” Trainer Ryu spat as he turned back around and stormed down the hallway.

Yeosang shuddered before he scrambled off the floor. Was he taking him back to Trainer Im for confirmation? Was he being punished? 

As he followed a couple paces down from Trainer Ryu, he silently crossed off possibilities as they passed different rooms. 

They passed the instructional classrooms, Yeosang felt a brief flicker of panic. A lecture, even a harsh one, would have been plenty tolerable. When they walked past the posture rooms, his stomach twisted tighter.

Then Trainer Ryu stopped in front of a heavy, metal door, scanning his key and roughly shoving the omega inside in front of him. Yeosang’s heart sank into his feet. 

Usually, this room was used for different pleasure and submission classes, noting that no class was being held at this time of day, its current use was for his punishment.

The room was cold. Bare. The walls were scuffed with old, gray marks. Along each of the walls there were short leather leashes. 

Yeosang’s breath caught.

He didn’t resist as Trainer Ryu approached and fastened one of the hooks to the collar around his neck, the short lead of the leash forcing his face just inches from the mount on the wall, immediately yanking his chin to dip lower. Next, his hands shackled to the floor. The lock clicked harshly into place.

Trainer Ryu gave the chain a rough tug, forcing Yeosang’s forehead to slam into the hard surface of the wall.  

"You think you're ready for the auction?" Trainer Ryu said coldly, standing just out of reach. "An omega who can't even walk properly? You’re a joke."

Yeosang didn’t lift his head. Didn’t defend himself. He tried to make himself as small as possible. 

Like the icing on the cake, Trainer Ryu grabbed one of the silicone dildos from the supply drawers, attaching it to the wall mount before shoving Yeosang’s mouth on it, forcing its way down his throat.

Yeosang made a soft, humiliated sound deep in his chest but didn’t resist. He shut his eyes tight as tears began to gather on his lash line. He couldn’t let them fall or else he knew his punishment would double. 

Trainer Ryu spat. "You're going to stay here until your stupid little bunny pea brain remembers your place." He tightened the leash impossibly smaller, making sure Yeosang had no room to remove himself from the intrusion. 

Yeosang closed his eyes, feeling the cold from the wall seep into his bones. He deserved this. Every inch of it. He had been careless. He had been stupid. 

Yeosang tried his best to focus his breathing through his nose as he heard the metal door slam shut. 

Fuck.

The silence pressed heavy over him, broken only by the small, wet sounds of his breathing around the gag. His jaw already ached. His knees throbbed from the hard floor.

He tried to keep his nasal breathing under control, with nobody around any inkling of panic from Yeosang could lead to his own choking. 

Saliva began to gather around his bottom lip and drip down his throat and into the floor making the image of him look pathetic. 

Yeosang brought this on himself. If he wasn’t so careless he could have avoided any of this. He adjusted his posture, kneeling straighter even though his body screamed against it. He pressed his forehead lightly to the wall, grounding himself against the cool surface. His breathing slowly evened out, the soft huffs around the prosthetic cock sounding pitiful even to his own ears.

He lost track of time. Could have been minutes. Could have been hours. Time seemed to inch by with cruel indifference.

There was no use looking around. The walls were blank, colorless, save for the few iron rings bolted into the concrete. No clocks. No windows. Yeosang hadn't seen the outdoors in years. Not since he'd been transferred into the deeper levels of the facility.

He let his gaze fall closed again, breathing quietly through his nose, sinking deeper into the cold numbness that always came after enough time passed. 

The faint beep of the key reader sounded before the door creaked open.

Yeosang’s body tensed instinctively, muscles stiffening where he knelt, but he forced himself not to flinch, not to lift his head.

Heavy footsteps entered the room two sets this time. The click of boots on concrete. 

“Still in position. Good little thing, isn’t he?” a rough voice muttered, not addressing Yeosang, but speaking over him like he was furniture.

Another sound of a clipboard shifting, a pen scribbling something down.

“He’s been in here long enough. They’ll need him later,” the second voice said. Yeosang thought it might be Trainer Seo, but he couldn’t be sure. His mind was swimming, thick with the ache of restraint and the dull, steady throb at the base of his skull.

Trainer Im crouched down beside him, gloved fingers wrapping around the collar at his throat. “Clean yourself up,” he said briskly, no warmth.

The gag was unbuckled first, wet with Yeosang’s saliva. His jaw immediately sagged open, muscles too weak to close properly. Trainer Im didn’t wait for him to recover; he unclipped the leash and unlocked the wrist shackles.

Yeosang stayed exactly as he was kneeling, palms pressed flat to the floor, head bowed.

"Stand," Trainer Im commanded once the restraints no longer held him.

Yeosang’s knees throbbed when he tried to rise. He swayed on unsteady legs, lightheaded, blinking spots from his vision. 

Without further acknowledgement, the trainers marched him out of the punishment room, their hands firm but not cruel, treating him the way you might move a piece of unnecessary equipment.

As he was led down the hall, head bowed, wrists still obediently pressed together in front of him. Yeosang could already feel the whispers of shame crawling up his spine.

“You’re already late for service, hurry up and make yourself presentable.” Trainer Im ordered curtly, giving Yeosang one last once over before turning away.

Yeosang dipped his head before hurrying off down the hall, flinching at every corner he passed. His legs ached from kneeling, shaky from the position they had been awkwardly stuck in, but he pushed the discomfort out of his mind. There wasn’t time to dwell. 

He found the others already lined up around the service room, all of them silently balancing polished silver trays laden with delicate tea sets and small, intricate refreshments. Yeosang moved with mechanical precision, washing up in the small adjoining sink and smoothing down his rumpled uniform as best he could. There wasn't much he could do about the drool that had collected on the collar of his uniform. His hands shook slightly as he grabbed his assigned tray, the porcelain cups rattling quietly against the polished surface.

Today was special. A supervisor was present.

Yeosang felt it immediately. The regular trainers sat straighter. Trainer Jang, the supervisor from a higher floor, sat at the head of the room, his sharp gaze cutting through the air like a blade.

Yeosang inhaled slowly through his nose and took his first step into the room.

The soft carpet underfoot muffled his movements. Every fiber of his being was focused on keeping the tray level, on maintaining the perfect, practiced expression of gentle subservience.

He approached Trainer Ryu first, sinking gracefully to his knees and lifting the tray just so. Trainer Ryu took a cup without glancing at him, as was expected.

Each of the trainers refused to thank or acknowledge the hybrids, but that was to be expected. Yeosang took their silence as praise.

Yeosang rose and turned to move to the next trainer. 

Before he knew it, his foot caught the edge of a decorative rug that was slightly uneven, raised just enough to catch the tip of his toe. His weight shifted forward uncontrollably.

The tray jerked in his hands. He tried to compensate, tried to right himself but the porcelain cups were already tipping. The heavy teapot slipped from the center of the tray.

Everything crashed to the ground with a shattering explosion of sound. Hot tea splashed across the floor and directly onto Trainer Seo’s lap.

The entire room froze.

Trainer Seo shot to his feet, cursing as he flung the soaked fabric of his pants away from his skin. His chair clattered backwards in the chaos.

Yeosang hit the floor hard, his knees scraping against the rug, the broken tray clattering beside him. His hands immediately flattened against the floor, forehead pressing down between them in a full, desperate prostration.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Trainer, I'm sorry," he choked out, voice barely audible, throat constricted by terror.

The air was deadly silent except for the quiet, sharp drip of tea hitting the floor. Trainer Jang stood from his chair at the front of the room, movements slow, deliberate.

"Pathetic," he said, voice dangerously calm. "Is this the level of competency this unit has reached?"

Yeosang didn't dare lift his head. He could feel every eye in the room burning into him. Every breath hurt.

Trainer Ryu moved first, stalking toward him with deliberate, measured steps. Yeosang squeezed his eyes shut. Useless. Clumsy. Worthless. He wouldn't fight it. He deserved whatever punishment was coming.

Yeosang barely had time to register it before a rough hand tangled into his ears. Fuck it hurt.

Trainer Ryu yanked him upward by the roots, forcing a strangled gasp from Yeosang's throat as his neck wrenched back painfully. He stayed limp, compliant, hands hanging uselessly at his sides while his knees scraped roughly along the carpet.

"Fucking useless," Trainer Ryu hissed under his breath, twisting Yeosang's hair harder.

But before he could drag Yeosang away, another hand shot out.

Trainer Jang, the supervisor, gripped Trainer Ryu’s wrist firmly, stopping him mid-motion.

Trainer Ryu stiffened under the authority, immediately releasing Yeosang’s ears which sent him rocking back on his heels.

For a fraction of a second, Yeosang hoped he was being spared. That maybe Trainer Jang saw the accident for what it was—a mistake, not a deliberate disobedience. His chest fluttered with the smallest, foolish relief.

Then Trainer Jang’s hand whipped across Yeosang’s face.

The slap was sharp, echoing off the tall ceilings with a sickening crack.

Yeosang reeled sideways, falling onto one elbow as pain bloomed along his cheekbone and across the corner of his mouth where one of Trainer Jang’s rings had cut into his skin. His vision blurred momentarily from the force of it.

"No hybrid in this facility is above perfection," Trainer Jang said coldly, voice cutting through the stunned silence. "Especially not you."

Yeosang didn't move. He didn't dare.

A bead of blood welled up at the corner of his mouth, and the heat of the strike radiated outward, stinging hot against his already raw nerves.

Trainer Jang turned away from him without another glance, speaking now to the rest of the room.

"Clean up this mess," he ordered the surrounding omegas. He turned to the trainers next, "And remind them what happens when even the smallest expectations are not met."

Trainer Ryu grabbed Yeosang by the back of the collar, dragging him backward like the disobedient animal he was.

Trainer Ryu hauled Yeosang through the corridors without ceremony, ignoring the scraping sounds of his bare knees catching on the rough carpet. The building always seemed colder when you were being dragged somewhere you didn’t want to go. Yeosang bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood again, too scared to make even the smallest whimper.

They stopped in front of a plain, unmarked metal door. The Isolation Room.

Trainer Ryu punched in a code. The door swung open with a heavy, mechanical groan, revealing only darkness inside. The faint smell of sweat, cold metal, and dampness wafted out into the hall.

"Strip," Trainer Ryu ordered.

Yeosang fumbled with the buttons of his uniform, the tremble in his hands making it slow, clumsy work. He knew that there was no use begging or bartering. His fate was determined. Ryu watched with impatience radiating off of him.

When Yeosang was finally bare, his clothes folded neatly in a heap by the door, Ryu pulled something from a hook by the wall: a white, heavy, reinforced collar. It wasn’t a normal training collar. This one was thicker, with a built-in silence suppressant. A cruel device designed to mute an omega’s vocal cords at the press of a button.

The silence collar. Yeosang cringed internally. He had never had to wear one. At the same time, hes never fucked up enough to warrant one. Yeosang barely talked enough to begin with.

The collar clicked into place around Yeosang’s neck with an audible snap. He felt the hum of it activating instantly as an invisible weight pressing down on his throat.

"Good," Trainer Ryu sneered. "Quiet, just how you're supposed to be."

Without warning, he shoved Yeosang forward into the room.

Yeosang stumbled, catching himself with his hands, the cold concrete floor biting against his skin. A small metal crate sat bolted to the floor in the corner. A cage barely large enough for him to sit hunched over, let alone lie down.

Rough hands seized his ears again, forcing him toward it. Trainer Ryu pushed Yeosang inside the crate without care, pulling him inside as the top bar on the enclosure slammed against Yeosang’s forehead. Yeosang yelped in pain, but the silence collar prohibited any sound from leaving his throat. As his world began to spin, trainer Ryu slammed the door shut behind him with a final, brutal clang of iron against iron.

There was no light in the isolation room. Yeosang curled his body as small as he could manage inside the cramped crate, holding his throbbing forehead as the metal dug into his tailbone, his spine. His collar buzzed faintly whenever he swallowed, a cruel reminder: no sounds, no cries, no pleading.

He squeezed his eyes shut in the suffocating darkness, heart hammering painfully against his ribs. You deserve this, he told himself over and over, stupid useless bunny, clinging to the thought like a lifeline. 

Somewhere deep down, a small part of him wondered if his chances for auction had been destroyed. Maybe if he would rot here instead forgotten and discarded. A clumsy bunny had no place being bid on.

The thought was almost enough to make him sob. But no sound escaped. The collar made sure of that.

There was no use in crying anyway. Yeosang knew he deserved this. 

He couldn't remember when Trainer Ryu left the room, he was too busy trying to compose himself to try not to start hyperventilating.

The cold of the crate seeped into Yeosang’s bones. He shifted slightly, trying to find a less painful position, but there was no escaping it. His knees were jammed up against his chest, his shoulders pressed against the thin metal walls, his small tail smashed uncomfortably against the cold bar. Every movement made the collar around his neck hum in warning, a constant reminder that even here he was expected to stay silent.

Left with nothing but the dark and his own racing mind, Yeosang fell into himself, laying his head across his bent knees, hugging himself. What was wrong with him? He replayed the scene over and over: the tray slipping from his hands, the tea soaking through Trainer Jang’s perfectly pressed uniform, the sharp intake of breath from every trainer in the room, and then the crack of the slap across his face. Yeosang squeezed his eyes shut harder, wishing he could erase it somehow. He hadn’t even seen the rug. Hadn’t felt it catch under his foot. Hadn’t had the chance to correct himself before it all went wrong.

Pathetic. Careless.

He should have known better. He did know better. He was top of his unit being constantly praised for his obedience, his precision. Yeosang had been here for over 7 years, the amount of tea services he’s completed were endless. Trainer Im had once said he was “a model investment.” Now? Now he was a liability. A stain on his entire floor. He knew that all the trainers would most likely try to take out their anger on him. Not only did he disgrace his unit but also all of the trainers assigned to them.

Curling tighter into himself, Yeosang dug his nails into his palms, welcoming the sting. If he couldn’t be useful, what was he even good for? The thought of missing the auction twisted his gut into knots. The auction was everything. It was the entire point of surviving this place: enduring the punishments, the silence, the endless expectations. Without auction... he would be left here. Left to rot.

And the worst part was that he knew he deserved it. He had failed. He had made himself worthless. 

All he could do now was wait. Wait, and pray that someone, anyone, still found enough value in him to bother dragging him out again.

Yeosang stayed curled in the crate through the long, empty stretch of night. At least the darkness made it easier to drift in and out of a restless, aching sleep. His limbs cramped painfully, but the half-conscious haze numbed some of it, made it bearable. It was something to pass the endless hours. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they left him there for days. It wouldn’t have been the first time an omega hybrid had been forgotten in isolation.

Time lost all meaning. Yeosang stared at the seam of the crate’s lid, counting the slow, suffocating beats of his own heart until even that rhythm faded into nothing. He had no idea how long he’d been there when the keypad at the door suddenly beeped, slicing through the thick silence.

Hope sparked, weak and miserable, somewhere deep inside him. His release?

Yeosang blinked heavily as the door swung open. He strained to see, the light coming from the door almost blinding, head lifting weakly from his knees. Heavy boots stomped into the room, and in their grip was another omega, a cat hybrid Yeosang vaguely recognized from classes. The omega struggled briefly before being shoved harshly to his knees. A silence collar was forced around his neck with brutal efficiency.

Yeosang watched, heart sinking, as the trainers sealed the crate across from him. Another heavy clang echoed through the isolation room, the lock sliding home. The lights clicked off again, plunging them both back into pitch black.

They hadn’t come for him. They had only come to throw someone else away.

Yeosang sagged against the wall of his crate, throat dry and aching, the flicker of hope extinguished as quickly as it had come. He curled around himself again, squeezing his eyes shut.

He heard the small sounds of the other cat hybrid’s collar buzzing, most likely from his muted sobs. He wondered what the other had done and who would be released first.

More time passed. Sleep came in broken fragments. The silence collar made even breathing feel heavy. Yeosang lost count of how many times he dozed off only to snap awake, stiff and trembling. He barely reacted when the door beeped again.

Heavy footsteps approached. The lid of his crate was yanked open with a metallic groan. Yeosang flinched instinctively from the sudden burst of light, tears burning behind his closed lids even though he made no sound.

A rough hand grabbed his arm, dragging him out. His head banged again roughly on the metal bar on the exit, making his world shift slightly as his sight blacked out. He internally thanked that at least this time they didn’t go for his ears. His legs barely supported him, the extra collar at his throat pulling painfully.

"Pathetic," the trainer sneered, giving his arm a hard shake. Yeosang kept his head bowed, ears slightly curtaining his eyes, muscles limp, offering no resistance as the trainer pulled him into the hallway. 

"You think you're too good to be useful?" the trainer snapped. "We'll put that body of yours to work. Physical Pleasure training today. See if you’re good for anything other than lying there and being used."

Yeosang’s stomach turned violently, but he stayed silent. The trainer released his grasp as he signalled down the hallway.

He turned away to dismiss himself, each step mechanical, each breath heavier than the last. 

The hallways passed him by as the Physical Pleasure room was no stranger to Yeosang. He dropped his eyes down to the carpet as he tried to walk as slowly as possible, delaying his arrival to the room. He knew there wasn’t anything he could do to avoid it, but he could grant himself an extra couple seconds to compose himself.

He tried to ignore the way his entire body screamed at him. The trainers weren’t going to go any easier on him even with his previous time in the isolation room. They wanted revenge for his embarrassment on the unit floor.

The doorway approached, and Yeosang wordlessly stepped inside. A couple trainers were standing, seemingly awaiting his arrival. The entire room felt sterile. Clinical.

At the center of the room a mounting bench stood. Yeosang didn’t need to be told. He knew the next sequence of events.

He climbed onto it, laying on his stomach, knees bent under him, presenting. The trainers were at least somewhat pleased that he didn't need instruction. They lightly restrained his wrists and ankles, more of a formality than anything. He had been conditioned for this.  

Yeosang felt his brain start to buzz. He had mastered tearing his mind away from the situation. If he started to not think, then it never really took too long. The familiar numbness creeping in as he mentally detached himself from the situation.

His body lay lifeless on the mounting bench as one of the trainers pushed hard into the scent gland on his inner thigh. His body responded instinctually, beginning to slick up. Yeosang didn’t really like this part much. He didn’t quite understand why his body would react the way it did. At least he knew it was working? The slick would aid in a less painful pleasure correction session.

The trainers move around him, beginning to poke and prod at his hole with thick latex gloves, leading Yeosang trying to further dissociate. 

He couldn’t tell who, but he heard one of the trainers behind him attach one of the prosthetic cocks to the machine behind him. Yeosang sighed as he let his head rest on its side, both ears flopping behind his head.

The trainer came up behind him roughly before grabbing a fistful of his ass. “At least you never fail to disappoint here, omega.” He spat. He didn’t bother to wonder who’s voice it belonged to. 

The silicone prosthetic entered him roughly, starting with a brutal pace. He felt cheek drag against the surface of the bench as he was repetitively rocked forward from the machine's harsh thrusts. Everything down from his hips felt numb.

Yeosang’s mind began to drift. At first it buzzed in and out of silence, then started to wonder about other things in his routine. How long had he been in the isolation room? Did he miss instructional class? Did he miss dining service again? What was he going to eat next? Were they going to let him relieve himself anytime soon? Maybe after this they would let him shower. His ears were pretty matted by now. Hopefully he would have time to groom himself before his next morning inspection.

Yeosang felt himself shock back into his body as one of the trainers behind him roughly grabbed his tail, pulling at the soft fluff. Yeosang tried to not mind it. The machine’s thrusts had now become erratic, the loud whirr behind him not slowing down for a second.

He laid there limp, not a single noise coming from his body as the collar silenced every noise out of his mouth.

Chapter 2

The clang of the morning chime startled Yeosang awake. His body tensed instinctively, and his mind scrambled to adjust to the abrupt start of the new day. His breath caught in his throat, sitting up from his place on the hardwood floor as the soreness from his bottom nearly made him scream. Thankfully he didn’t, as he noticed that the silence collar had been removed from his neck. 

Yeosang blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the surroundings of his room. He wondered if he had passed out on the mounting bench? He couldn’t remember much of what happened after that. At least he was back in his uniform.

The floor creaked as Yeosang pushed himself up, his limbs stiff from the coldness of the thin sheets. His heart was already hammering in his chest, the weight of the day ahead pressing down on him. His fingers clenched the edge of the blanket tightly, taking a deep, steadying breath. No mistakes. No mistakes today.

But the words felt hollow in his mouth. Even thinking about them made his ears flatten in shame. He squeezed his eyes shut, a sick heat crawling up his neck at the memory. His tail twitched with residual fear, brushing against the edge of his uniform tunic. They’d redressed him after he’d blacked out, hadn’t they? 

The words clanged in his head even harder than the morning chime had. He deserved it for messing up so badly. His eyes burned. He forced himself to breathe evenly. Yeosang wiped the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand and flinched as the movement tugged the sore muscles of his back and shoulders. They would be disappointed in him again today if he wasn’t damn near perfect.

He looked in the tiny mirror on the wall above his folded sheets on the floor, noticing how rough his ears looked. His heart dropped as he rushed to smooth down the hairs as best he could. He couldn’t afford to have an inspection demerit this morning. Not after everything else.

His feet moved carefully as he left his quarters, each step calculated, slow. He couldn't risk rushing. Not when everything, his behavior, his posture, his movements was being watched by the trainers. Another reminder that he was always being observed, always on the edge of a mistake. But today he would get it right. Today, there would be no reason to punish him.

The morning air was thick with tension as the omegas lined up, standing at attention in the hallways outside of their bunk. Yeosang felt the weight of the day pressing on him and the trainers were on edge, making sure everything was in perfect order. 

Yeosang stood still with the others, his ears low and slightly twitching no matter how hard he tried to control them. The silence collar, although removed, still ghosted its phantom touch on his neck, a cold reminder of the day before. 

When Trainer Ryu stopped in front of him, Yeosang straightened his posture immediately, eyes cast downward. Ryu gave a short, unimpressed grunt.

“You look like hell,” he muttered, fingers briefly tugging at one of Yeosang’s ears to get a better look at his face. “Still sulking after your little show yesterday?”

Yeosang didn’t move. Couldn’t respond, even if he wanted to.

Ryu glanced down at the clipboard handed to him. “Fine. You’re on sanitation duty.”

Yeosang simply nodded, small and obedient. That was all he could do.

Ryu released his ear with a flick and moved on, his footsteps echoing as the inspection continued. Yeosang remained still for a beat longer, waiting until the trainers’ backs were fully turned before allowing his eyes to close briefly, gathering himself. 

Yeosang's stomach twisted with shame as the words. He hadn’t been assigned that in years. Not since his first few months in the facility, when he was still learning the rules, still figuring out how to be good. It was the lowest duty an omega could receive, meant for those who had failed, those being reminded of their place.

He kept his eyes down, but his breath came quicker. It wasn’t just about the labor. It was about what it meant . A silent condemnation. A mark against his record. He’d worked so hard to climb up the internal ranks, to prove he was reliable, quiet, obedient. His duties had been steadily improving until now.

And now this.

He could feel the eyes of the other hybrids flicker toward him, then dart away. No one dared stare too long. No one wanted to be associated with failure.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, a wave of heat prickling under his skin. No. No, he wouldn’t let this stain him. He had to work harder. Prove this was just a mistake, a one-time punishment. He’d be perfect. He’d clean every corner until it shined, even if it left his hands raw. He’d hold his posture, he’d keep his ears still, and he’d make sure no one had anything left to criticize.

Because if he kept falling, there might be no stopping it. And Yeosang had seen what happened to omegas who fell too far.

Yeosang kept his head bowed as he walked, hands folded neatly at his front, even though he wished he could wrap them around himself in an embrace. His ears drooped with each step, heavy with shame. He blinked quickly, willing back the sting in his eyes. Crying wouldn’t help. Crying would only make it worse.

The sanitation wing was dim and still, as if it didn’t expect visitors. The trainer on duty sat at a desk thumbing through a logbook. He looked up when Yeosang approached and the moment their eyes met, something in the trainer's expression shifted. Recognition. Amusement.

“Well,” the trainer said slowly, dragging the word out. “Didn’t think you were the type to end up back here.”

Yeosang swallowed and gave a small shake of his head. He didn’t know what to say. 

The trainer stood with a grunt and picked up a clipboard, flipping through the pages without urgency. “You’re assigned to the northeast wing. Storage Room B-12. It’s unused, but it still needs to be kept clean, I suppose.”

His tone made it clear: the room didn’t matter. The assignment was pointless. No one would ever see the results of Yeosang’s work.

“It’s all tiles. Take your time,” the trainer added with a small, dry laugh. 

Yeosang dipped his head and took one of the sanitation buckets next to the counter. The trainer had already turned away.

As he walked to the empty wing, the silence grew louder in his ears. His chest ached. Not because the work would be hard, he didn’t mind that. It was the invisibility that hurt. The knowledge that this punishment would erase all the effort he had made to climb higher. All the praise he had worked for. Gone.

Yeosang scrubbed like the floors were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

Every inch of the room was scoured with quiet, meticulous care. He didn’t pause to rest, didn’t glance toward the door to see if anyone would come in. His hands burned from the coarse bristles of the brush, knees sore from the cold tile beneath him, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

This was more than punishment. It was penance.

He swept his sponge across the baseboards, clearing grime from corners no one would ever look at, polishing the surface until it could theoretically reflect back a hazy image of his tired face. He repositioned himself and worked until his knuckles were red and raw, until the faint scent of cleanser clung to his fur and skin like shame.

He couldn’t afford to stay in sanitation. He couldn’t afford to fall any further.

Suddenly, the door creaked open behind him.

Yeosang stiffened, still crouched on the freshly scrubbed floor. He didn’t turn around at first. His hands clenched in his lap, chest tight with anticipation. He was ready for the sneer. Ready for the smug laugh. For the jab about how the precious little bunny hybrid had fallen so far.

Instead, there was silence.

Then, “Damn.”

Yeosang finally looked up. The sanitation trainer stood in the doorway, arms crossed, mouth curled up in something closer to disbelief than cruelty. His gaze swept over the floor, the baseboards, the walls that now gleamed in the sterile light.

“You scrubbed the hell outta this place,” he muttered, more to himself than to Yeosang. He walked a few paces in, boots clicking against the tile, then crouched to run a finger along one of the corners. It came up clean.

“Huh,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “Guess the bunny still knows how to do one thing at least.”

Yeosang didn’t respond. He only sat quietly, ears drooping slightly with exhaustion, face flushed and sticky with sweat. His uniform clung to him, damp and streaked with cleaning solution. Even his soft ear fur was matted down, too wet to flick away the stray strands stuck to his cheeks.

“Alright,” the trainer said slowly, his face morphing into something dark and twisted. “Come over and show your superior some obedience and I'll let you go early to shower.” 

Yeosang’s gut twisted but he remained determined. If he got in good favors with the sanitation trainer he could hopefully receive good marks, ultimately boosting his marks back up to where they belonged.

Yeosang nodded wordlessly as the trainer huffed with a smirk, walking towards Yeosang as he unzipped his pants. He stroked his cock once, twice, before offering it up to Yeosang’s mouth. 

The hybrid quickly shuffled on his knees forward, resting his hands on the front of the trainer's thighs before eagerly taking the length in his mouth, using his classroom expertise to pleasure the trainer. He swallowed it deep before coming back up to the tip, swirling his tongue around the head.

After a while Yeosang got a little bored of sucking, but the trainer above him huffed with sharp moans, letting Yeosang know he was at least doing a good job. 

Thankfully, the trainer didn’t last long, making Yeosang swallow all of his release before tucking his cock back into his uniform. 

The trainer let out a low whistle, smoothing out his uniform. “Go shower. You’re disgusting.”

Yeosang blinked, caught off guard.

The man quickly wrote up an excusal paper before handing it to the hybrid. “You’ve earned it, omega.”

The hybrid stood, limbs shaky but obedient, and offered a small nod before quietly slipping out of the room. He didn’t look back. Didn’t give the man the satisfaction of seeing how much those words meant, or how badly Yeosang needed that brief moment of approval.

His body ached, but inside, a tiny spark had reignited.

He would make it to the auction.

No matter what.

As he stood under the shower’s lukewarm spray, water trailing over the sweat and grime clinging to his skin he let out a small sigh of relief. The harsh fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, contrary to the low yellow lighting that existed in most of the rooms. The bathroom lights almost burned his eyes.

He tilted his head forward, letting the water soak into the fur of his ears, heavy and matted from the day’s labor. It stung a little where skin had rubbed raw, but he didn’t flinch. It was nothing compared to isolation. Nothing compared to being forgotten.

He hadn’t eaten in…how long? He wasn’t sure. Time slipped strangely here, warped by the silence collar, the isolation room, the punishment rotations. His stomach felt hollow, not even aching anymore, just dull and tight like it had given up on being fed.

Still, he scrubbed every inch of himself with quiet focus. He couldn’t afford to show up to dining service looking disheveled. Not again. No more mistakes. 

Once clean, he dried quickly and redressed in the standard hybrid facility wear. The fabric was always a little too thin, never warm enough, but that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was not drawing eyes negatively. What mattered was making it through the day.

Yeosang stepped out into the hallway, the scent of sterilized soap clinging faintly to his skin. His stomach cramped again, reminding him how long it had been. Still, he walked steadily toward the dining hall, back straight, ears lowered. He was good. He would be good.

Yeosang rounded the corner of the dining wing just as the last chime echoed through the corridor. His heart thudded in his chest from relief. He had made it.

Ahead, his unit was already lined up outside the dining hall, standing in perfect formation, hands clasped, ears lowered, posture straight. As Yeosang stepped into line, the others turned their heads slightly, just enough to notice him.

They didn’t speak. They never did. But the silence seemed to stretch, thick with disbelief. Some blinked in surprise. A few of them even stiffened. One omega’s ears twitched once, betraying his shock.

Yeosang didn’t meet their eyes. He kept his gaze down, expression neutral. But as he took his place at the end of the line, a quiet, fleeting smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He was here. Still standing.

When the doors opened, the omegas filed inside in practiced formation. The human trainers were already seated around the long dining table, chatting amongst themselves like the hybrids weren’t even in the room.

At the command of a snap, the hybrids sank to their knees beside the trainers, resting neatly by the chairs like the good pets they were trained to be. Yeosang made his way to his usual place next to Trainer Im.

He knelt silently beside the chair, hands resting on his thighs, eyes low.

Trainer Im barely glanced down. “What are you doing here,” he muttered, voice clipped. “You should still be scrubbing floors.”

Yeosang blinked once, then slipped a folded slip of paper from his sleeve and held it up with both hands.

Trainer Im snatched it from him, unfolding it with one hand while sipping from his cup with the other. His eyes skimmed the clipped handwriting of the sanitation trainer, signed at the bottom with approval. His brow lifted ever so slightly.

“Well,” he muttered, tone unreadable. “That’s unexpected.”

He placed the note down and turned back to his plate. After a pause, he reached for a small piece of bread and held it down toward Yeosang.

Wordlessly, Yeosang leaned forward and accepted it gently from Trainer Im’s hand, chewing slowly, quietly, gratefully.

He hadn’t eaten in what felt like days.

And yet, right now, the taste of approval was more satisfying than the food.

Contrary to everyone's expectations, Yeosang proved himself twice fold throughout the week. He completed every assignment with quiet precision, never once faltering. His posture remained perfect, his expression serene, even as his muscles ached from overuse and made the world swim around the edges. Trainers stopped looking at him like a liability and began watching him with narrowed measuring eyes. Yeosang didn’t care if they were impressed or suspicious. All that mattered was proving he still belonged here, still had value.

Suppressant day came once a week. Like clockwork. 

Yeosang and the rest of his unit stood in two silent lines outside the administration wing, their expressions blank, their eyes dull. Trainer Seo stood in front of the lines, watching them as the medical staff prepared. They’d been through this so many times, the process moved like muscle memory. The room they were ushered into was cold and sterile, filled with the hiss-click of injection guns resetting. Human medical staff handled the dosing, each one dressed in fitted lab uniforms and filtered masks. None of them made conversation.

The omegas never flinched. The dosage was too regular and flinching had been trained out of them long ago.

Yeosang counted down the omegas in front of him until it was his turn. He sat when instructed, tilting his head to the side, exposing the clean curve of his neck. The nurse didn’t speak as they swabbed the skin before the press of cold metal touched his pulse.

Click.

A burst of sterile numbness pulsed through his body. He exhaled slowly, feeling the effects start to take root. Not all at once, but like a tide rolling in. Immediately he felt the familiar feeling of his sinuses start to burn.

High-dose suppressants didn’t just block scent. They dulled it entirely for both the giving and receiving. Omegas couldn’t smell their environment, couldn’t track others by pheromone, couldn’t even register their own subtle emotions fully. Instincts blurred. Reactions slowed. The world lost its edges.

It was safer that way, the trainers had always said. Safer for them, easier for the staff, and essential for “development.” What it really meant? They wanted them kept dependent. With no scent to ground them and their bodies weighted by chemical fog, the omegas relied on trainers for everything from routine, to direction, to reward. It kept them quiet. Easy to control. Easy to shape.

By the time Yeosang stood again and returned to the opposite side of the clinic with the other dosed omegas, he felt the familiar veil settle over him. His ears twitched once, sluggishly, before drooping back down. He blinked slowly. 

As he tried to subtly stretch out his neck from the building soreness, trainer Seo approached the hybrids again. 

“If I call your number you are to stay for further examination. If not, proceed to seminar.” Yeosang looked up slightly. This hadn’t happened last week.

“70401, 51401, 81203, 61599, and 22202.” Trainer Seo looked up expectantly as the rest of the hybrids filed out from the medical wing. 

At the call of his number, a flicker of something burned beneath Yeosang’s skin as humiliation twisted with a dangerous, unspeakable hope. 

Trainer Seo watched as the remaining five hybrids stood lined up against the wall. 

"Strip,"  he ordered, his voice void of any emotion.

Yeosang moved with the others, fingers trembling only slightly as he folded away his uniform and placed it in a neat pile at his feet. Several medical staff came out towards the file of omegas, two for each of them, one with a clipboard and the other with an assortment of examining tools.

His ears twitched reflexively when a gloved hand reached out, flipping them gently to inspect the fur for cleanliness. His eyes fluttered shut just for a second. Just enough to hold back the sting rising in his throat as tools poked a prodded inside of his ear canals.

The medical staff muttered something to the clipboard holder behind him before pulling out a tape measure. Height. Hips. Waist circumference. Tail length. The clipboard clicked with every data point. Suddenly a gloved hand came to check his teeth, tugged lightly at his jaw, before stepping back to whisper something behind a hand. There were no words spoken to the hybrids themselves. They were specimens, not people.

“Reflex test. Hold out your hand,” the trainer said.

Yeosang obeyed instantly, eyes still fixed on the floor. A small metal prod buzzed against his palm, meant to simulate a low level nerve stimulus. His ears twitched betraying him and the trainer hummed, noting something.

“Overly sensitive.”

Yeosang flinched. Too sensitive. Was that bad? Could he be labeled defective? The bunny hybrid didn’t have long to ponder his notation before the medical staff gave him another command.

Then came the worst part. The posture and physical response assessments. Each hybrid was asked to kneel, to present various poses meant to test compliance and “presentation appeal.” Yeosang obeyed silently, falling down to his knees, arching his back and placing his hands slightly in front of him, resting most of his weight on his forearms. Both of the medical staff nodded slightly in acceptance before they started to press harshly down on his inner thigh scent glands, forcing him to start producing slick.

Although Yeosang was used to these sequences of events, the harsh fingers never got easier. The staff continued to squeeze and press on the spot, Yeosang tried his best not to wince or whine. More and more slick started to pour from his hole as they started to push deeply on the glad. He was sure that it would be bruised by tomorrow. 

In the silence, he could feel their meticulous and calculating eyes on him, some maybe even approving. He couldn’t tell. At this point, he didn’t want to know. He looked out of the corner of his eye to his left, another hybrid in a similar position to Yeosang, just barely struggling to not scrunch his face at the rough hands on his thigh gland. He felt the quick swab of a sample being taken of his slick before the medical staff backed away.

When it was finally over, they were told to dress again. He was the last to finish buttoning his uniform, but only because he took extra care. Presentation mattered. Today mattered. This moment now could dictate his entire future. 

The feeling of his slick sticking to his inner thighs and uniform was far from comfortable, but Yeosang didn’t show it. Before he followed the others out of the room, a slip of paper from the clipboard was slid discreetly to trainer Seo. He didn’t have time to see his reaction before he was ushered back out of the room. 

Despite everything, the aches, the shame, and the phantom touch of gloved fingers, Yeosang’s heart lifted.

He was going to do whatever it took to make the auction this year.

Notes:

hello!!! i wanted to pop in and thank everyone who has read so far! it means so much to me. I have about 40k words of this fic written so far, but the chapters will probably be spaced out, as i want to make sure i give this story the full attention it deserves.

as always, i read and respond to every comment!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Chapter 3

The head trainer moved to the front of the room and let his gaze sweep over the assembled omegas. For a moment, he said nothing, only stared with a cold, appraising calm that made Yeosang’s skin prickle.

“This is your preparation,” he said finally, voice low but clear. “You will remember that. Every moment in this room is to ensure your readiness for auction.”

Yeosang swallowed hard. He cast his eyes downward automatically, pressing his fingers against his thighs to stop them from their slight tremor.

“Being chosen,” the trainer continued, pacing slowly in front of them, “is the highest honor an omega can receive. It is the goal of everything you do here.”

He stopped to face them squarely. “An owner’s attention is a compliment. Their touch is a gift. Your obedience and submission is the only thing you have to offer in return.”

Yeosang felt heat rise to his cheeks. He’d heard these words a hundred times, but they still rang in his ears like a promise and a threat.

“You will practice today how to watch for what your owner wants,” the trainer went on, gesturing toward the floor where a length of black leash lay coiled like a snake. “How to follow when led. How to accept their affection without question.”

Another trainer, silent until now, bent to pick up the leash and began clipping it to the collars of the front row. Yeosang’s breath caught as he watched his being fastened. He could almost feel the phantom weight of it around his own neck, the cool snap of the metal clasp.

Yeosang had done this a hundred times before but he treated every simulation like it was the first. He liked the repetition, the comfort of it, the way the trainers always explained the expectations in the exact same words, their voices steady and sure. Even though he could recite every command and correction by heart, he always listened with rapt attention, eyes lowered obediently, heart fluttering with anxious hope that he would get it right. The sameness was safe. Predictable. He’d been here for years, and yet each time they clipped the leash to his collar or barked an order, he felt that electric jolt of fear and hope, the desperate need to be good enough to be chosen.

“This is not a game,” the head trainer warned. “When you stand on the auction stage, the way you move, the way you obey, the way you submit. These are the only things that will matter.”

He scanned the room again, pausing on Yeosang for just a heartbeat. Yeosang’s gaze dropped instantly to the carpet.

“Today’s simulation will test three things,” the head trainer announced, voice calm and cruelly patient. “Observation. Leash control. Submission to petting.”

He let the words sink in, pacing slowly along the line.

“You will watch for your handler’s cues. You will not speak unless given permission. You will respond instantly to commands. And you will remember: an owner’s touch is not your right. It is given when earned.”

“First row. Up.” The command rang out, echoing dully against the brown-paneled walls. Cushions shifted and rustled as omegas obediently climbed to their feet. Yeosang pressed his palms down into his cushion before rising, careful not to wobble or rush.

He kept his eyes low. Trainers didn’t like it when they stared. “Line.”

One of the trainers waited at the center with a clipboard in hand, eyes scanning their forms critically. Another stood beside a small rack of coiled leashes, selecting them one by one.

“61599- Yeosang.”

He nearly startled but caught himself in time, snapping his feet together and stepping forward. He dropped into a deep bow from the waist, hands folded in front of him.

“Front and center.”

He walked forward with careful, measured steps, stopping precisely where the taped X on the floor marked his place. He could feel the stares of the other omegas on his back, the trainers’ cold scrutiny on his face.

Yeosang knew this part. He watched from the corner of his eyes barely a twitch of the trainer’s fingers, beckoning. He stepped forward immediately, closing the gap, bowing his head even lower.

Another tiny shift of the hand. Kneel. He dropped to his knees on the carpet, spine straight, hands folded on his thighs, breathing carefully through his nose.

Then, at last, the trainer’s voice, low but grudgingly approving: “Good.”

Heat flooded Yeosang’s face. His heart lifted in his chest, beating wild with anxious relief. He hadn’t even realized he was smiling, just a little, until the trainer spoke again:

“Don’t grin. You’re here to serve. Not to enjoy yourself.”

The words were sharp, biting. Yeosang flinched and ducked his head even lower, fighting to erase the expression from his face. The leash slackened. Yeosang remained perfectly still on his knees, watching the trainer’s shoes, waiting for the next signal.

The room was silent except for the scratch of a pen against a clipboard somewhere behind him. The trainer gave no spoken command. He simply shifted his weight and let out a quiet, irritated huff of breath through his nose. Yeosang’s pulse jumped. He swallowed quickly and slid one hand forward to rest lightly on the trainer’s thigh, offering comfort, as they’d been taught to.

The trainer stiffened. His fingers tapped once against the leash handle, annoyed.

Yeosang froze. Wrong. He pulled his hand back immediately and lowered himself fully to the floor, pressing his forehead to the carpet in silent apology, presenting himself in submission.

But the trainer’s posture turned even colder. He shifted away slightly, the leash tightening.

Still wrong.

Yeosang’s chest clenched. He scrambled to fix it, sitting up on his knees and reaching for the small tray beside the simulation area, lifting the plastic cup of water they’d been told to offer if their owner seemed displeased.

He held it out with both hands, eyes lowered.

The trainer didn’t take it. Instead, he moved suddenly, delivering a sharp kick to Yeosang’s side. Not hard enough to injure, but just enough to shove him onto his hip, the cup clattering to the carpet and spilling water in a dark stain.

Yeosang gasped at the impact but caught himself from crying out. He went quiet.

He swiftly returned the now empty cup and its try back to the counter, instead retrieving a cloth to wipe up the mess he had caused. 

After, heart hammering, he pressed himself closer to the trainer’s feet instead. He tucked his knees up and folded himself tightly, cheek against the trainer’s boot in silent apology, making himself small and unobtrusive.

He felt the trainer’s gaze settle on him. The leash went slack. A long silence stretched. Then, at last, the trainer spoke: “Good.”

Yeosang trembled with relief. “Quiet. Small. Out of the way. That’s what you do when you don’t know what to do,” the trainer said to the room, voice rising so all the watching omegas could hear.

He nudged Yeosang’s head lightly with his boot. Not cruelly this time.

“You see? He learns. Most omegas forget that not everything can be solved with their attention, sometimes your best purpose is to be out of sight.”

Yeosang let out a shaking breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

The trainer tugged the leash gently to signal he should rise. Yeosang obeyed, moving slowly back onto his knees, then standing with careful grace.

He kept his eyes on the carpet. His face was hot, but a tiny spark of pride glowed in his chest. He’d passed. He heard the scratching of pens on clipboards behind him as the other trainers took notes.

“First part completed,” the head trainer announced coldly. “61599 observation passed.”

Yeosang exhaled shakily and let his shoulders drop just a little. He allowed himself to dissociate a little while the others took their turns trying to assess the trainer’s body language. Yeosang tried to only concern himself with his own work, there was no need to watch the others. 

Slowly the sounds blurred. They became a dull buzz in his ears, the room flattening around him. The warmth of the lamps, the scratch of the carpet under his knees, the press of the collar at his throat all felt heavy and distant.

His mind drifted.

I did good. I passed.

But even that thought felt slow and sticky in his head. He tried to hold onto it, tried to feel the spark of pride again. Instead, the shapes of the other omegas seemed to melt into shadows.

A sharp voice cut through the fog.

“Yeosang.”

He blinked. His heart lurched painfully in his chest. He straightened, trying to focus.

“Up.”

Yeosang scrambled to his feet, bowing quickly. He expected to be led to the edge of the practice stage. Instead, the trainer simply curled two fingers and beckoned him with the smallest gesture. Yeosang rushed forward and dropped to his knees without needing to be told.

“Stand.”

He rose instantly, eyes cast down. The trainer turned slightly, addressing the room.

“Everyone watch. This is how leash walking will work with your owners. Yeosang will demonstrate.”

Yeosang’s heart leapt. Demonstrate. He felt the collar shift on his neck as the trainer took hold of the leash, snapping it on with practiced ease.

He didn’t dare move. The trainer didn’t look at him. He looked at the watching omegas instead.

“When you are on leash, you do not choose where to go. You do not speak. You do not question. You follow.”

He gave the leash a little jerk. Yeosang lurched forward half a step, catching himself, immediately settling behind the trainer’s right side, head lowered.

“See?” the trainer continued calmly. “No resistance.”

Another tug, this one to the left. Yeosang turned quickly, nearly bumping into the trainer’s back before adjusting his angle, hugging close, eyes locked on the floor.

“Good.”

The trainer didn’t praise Yeosang directly. It was for the room.

“For your owners, you will match their pace. Stop when they stop. Turn when they turn. Kneel if they indicate.”

He walked slowly, leash held loosely but with clear direction. Yeosang followed silently, footsteps muffled in the carpet, head bowed so low his hair and ears swung around his face. His heart hammered in his ribs, but he kept his breathing slow.

He felt like he wasn’t even there. Just a collar. A leash. Feet moving when tugged. The trainer paused suddenly. Yeosang dropped instantly to his knees, spine straight, leash pooling loosely on the floor.

He heard murmurs from the other omegas. He didn’t look at them.

“Excellent,” the trainer said to the room. He gave the leash a firm tug upward.

Yeosang rose without needing to be told twice, falling back into place behind the trainer.

“This is what they want,” the trainer said coldly. “Obedience. Precision. No talking. No thinking. Just following.”

He patted Yeosang’s head once, perfunctory. Yeosang flinched at the unexpected contact but held his position.

“This is why we practice,” the trainer finished, voice lowering. “Because if you cannot do this here, you will humiliate yourself in front of your buyers. And you will not be chosen.”

He unhooked the leash from Yeosang’s collar with a click. Yeosang swallowed hard and pressed his forehead to the trainer’s boot in silent thanks.

The last test was submission to physical touch. Yeosang liked this part best, though he would never say so. When the trainer beckoned, he moved quickly, settling onto his knees with careful precision, spine straight and hands folded on his thighs. His heart beat fast with nervous anticipation. This was the moment he always looked forward to in these sessions. The quiet waiting. The knowledge that soon he’d be given permission to be close. It felt like proof that he was wanted even if only for training.

When the heavy hand settled on his head, he leaned into it just slightly, hoping the trainer would notice how willing he was. Fingers threaded through his hair, and he shivered at the slow, practiced strokes, his ears twitching toward the contact. When the trainer scratched behind his ear, Yeosang pressed in more eagerly, letting out a tiny breath he tried to hide. This was what they told him owners wanted; a pet that accepted touch without question, that craved it. When the hand moved down to cup his jaw, brushing lightly over his cheek, he lifted his chin obediently to offer more. Even when the trainer tapped at his mouth, he parted his lips without hesitation, cheeks hot with embarrassment but determined to show he was ready for anything.

When the contact finally stopped, Yeosang held perfectly still, lowering his head slowly, forcing his breathing to calm. His skin was warm all over, a little tingle of shame mixing with stubborn pride in his chest. He’d done it right. He hadn’t flinched or hesitated. He’d proven again that he could be a good omega, the kind worth choosing. In the silence that followed, he held onto that small triumph, silently repeating the words he’d heard over and over: Touch is a gift. Obedience is love. A good pet is always wanted.

The last part of the physical touch simulation was still unfolding when an alarm suddenly shattered the hush with its shrill, mechanical wail. The sound cut through the dimly lit training hall like a blade, bouncing off the red carpet and dark brown walls, making even the trainers jolt in surprise. The omega kneeling in front of the head trainer flinched visibly, eyes wide, breath catching in his throat as the trainer’s hand fell away from his hair with an impatient jerk.

Radios crackled. Barked, garbled commands spilled into the warm, close air. The trainers all turned as one, their boots scuffing the carpet in disciplined, synchronized steps. The head trainer didn’t even look at the line of kneeling omegas, didn’t bother to issue any last barked order to stay put or keep silent.

He just left.

He walked briskly to the door and pushed it open with a hollow thud against the wall. The other trainers followed without hesitation, the grey line of their uniforms disappearing through the frame in seconds. No one locked the door behind them. No one even glanced back.

They didn’t need to. They all knew there wasn’t a single omega in that room who would dare to follow.

When the door swung shut with a dull, echoing finality, silence fell like a heavy blanket. The alarm continued to wail faintly in the hall outside before being abruptly cut off, leaving only the hush of breathing, dozens of shallow, tight breaths, quick little tremors of lungs that dared not be too loud.

Yeosang sat perfectly still on his cushion, leash draped loose and forgotten around his neck. His fingers were folded on his thighs, knuckles pale from the force of his grip. He didn’t look up. He didn’t dare.

Around him, the other omegas did the same. No one spoke. No one even turned to glance at the door that had just slammed behind their handlers. If any of them shifted, it was only to straighten their posture or adjust the hem of their uniform to regulation neatness. The room smelled warm and slightly sour with the fear-sweat of bodies held too still, for too long, but no one fanned their collar or wiped their brow.

And no one looked at anyone else.

Yeosang could feel them there, of course, their presence crowding the small, dim space. The knowledge of dozens of others sitting on identical red cushions, equally tense, equally silent, equally trained. But he didn’t look. He wouldn’t risk meeting anyone’s gaze. There was no safety there. 

It wasn’t even that they were forbidden from talking to each other in that moment. It was that the idea simply didn’t exist.

They’d been taught that bonds were dangerous. That friendships meant alliances, alliances meant disobedience, disobedience meant punishment. So they didn’t just stay quiet, they erased each other.

If anyone shifted or sniffed or cleared their throat, the sound was swallowed instantly by the oppressive hush.

Maybe in another setting, one far away from the rules and constraints of the Omega Facility, that someone might have whispered ‘ What do you think happened?’ Or ‘ Are you okay?’ Or even ‘ That was scary.’

But no voice came. It was as if the alarm had never gone off at all. As if the trainers had never left. As if nothing had happened. They simply sat there, lined up like toys left behind by careless children, heads bowed and eyes locked on the carpet. Waiting for the door to open again

No one knew how long it had been. Minutes, maybe. Or an hour. Or more. The light in the training hall didn’t change as it kept the same dim glow from the overhead fixtures, casting long shadows on the red carpet, painting the brown walls in dull, lifeless tones.

He didn’t look at anyone else in the room. Didn’t even flick his eyes to the side to check if anyone was crying or trembling or sneaking glances at the door. It was easier not to know. Safer.

The only sounds were breath. Soft, almost timid. A cough that was immediately smothered. The faint creak of fabric as someone readjusted their weight.

No one asked aloud if they’d be sent back to their quarters. No one wondered if the trainers had forgotten them. No one suggested they could, perhaps, just go .

They waited because that was what they’d been taught to do. Wait until someone opened the door and told them they could stand, could speak, could leave. And so they stayed on their cushions in that stale, warm hush, eyes downcast, posture perfect, obedient to an order that had never even been given. Because even without a command, they all understood exactly what was expected of them.

Chapter 4

 

The soft inconsistent tap of the keyboard filled San’s quaint home office, pale blue light casting gentle lines across his face. Most of the decorations around felt impersonal save for the occasional photo of Wooyoung tucked into corners of otherwise sterile frames. 

“San-ah,” came a sing-song voice from the doorway.

San didn’t look up, head in his palm, elbow resting on the desk. The voice, like always, was followed by the silent glide of bare feet across polished floors.

“You’re not going to pretend you didn’t hear me, are you?” Wooyoung padded in, his tail swaying lazily behind him. He wore one of San’s oversized button-ups barely buttoned, sleeves swallowing his hands like it was his rightful lounge wear. San wouldn't even be surprised if Wooyoung wasn't wearing anything under it. 

“I’m working,” San said, eyes still on the repetitive documents in front of him. “Which you know, baby.”

“Ugh.” Wooyoung slinked closer, the end of his tail curling around San’s propped forearm as he took a seat on the corner of the desk. “I’m bored . You’ve ignored me all morning. Yet you always act surprised when I suddenly start acting destructive.”

San gave a quiet, weary laugh as he sat back in his chair. “No claws on the furniture again.”

“No promises,” Wooyoung said, smirking as he scooted over on the desk to nestle in over San’s scattered paperwork, leaning back on his hands. He crossed one leg over the other, tail curling possessively. “I need affection. I'm withering.” Wooyoung added dramatically. 

“You’re not withering. You’re thriving. Maybe even over-watered.”

San sighed through a smile and reached up to gently grab Wooyoung’s ankle in front of him, bringing it up to give a light kiss. The hybrid let out a contented hum, already purring low in his throat. He’d never mastered the art of resisting his sweet Wooyoung.

San kept his head low near his ankle but tilted his eyes to look up at Wooyoung while he trailed a couple more kisses up his shin. His hand drifted to Wooyoung’s thigh, grounding him with that simple, familiar contact.

“I’ve missed you,” Wooyoung mumbled nonchalantly, tilting his head to lean in on his own shoulder while watching the show San was putting on below him.

“You saw me at breakfast.” He murmured between kisses.

“And then you locked yourself in here for hours ,” Wooyoung whined. “You're not even pretending to adore me today.”

“I always adore you.”

“Prove it.”

His hand froze against Wooyoung’s thigh for just a second.

Wooyoung caught it immediately. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” San said too quickly.

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes, tail tip twitching in irritation. “Liar.”

“It’s nothing serious,” San said, softening his tone. “Just... work.”

San rested his forehead gently against Wooyoung’s leg for a moment, breathing in the warmth radiating from his skin. Wooyoung’s purring filled the room like comforting white noise. His tail brushed across San’s wrist once, then again moving up to his chin to lift his gaze.

San spoke before Wooyoung could prod again. “They’re pushing harder this year.”

Wooyoung’s ears twitched. “Who?”

“My coworkers. And my father.” San pulled back slowly, eyes falling to the screen behind Wooyoung, now long since gone dark. “It’s the third year in a row I’ve said no. They think it’s suspicious.”

Wooyoung’s expression faltered just slightly.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he said quickly, voice gentle. “You know how this works. People in my position, they expect… appearances. Bringing home a hybrid makes me look stable. Powerful. They want proof that I know how to handle ownership.”

Wooyoung’s tail stopped moving.

San stood, finally, and brought his hands to rest on either side of Wooyoung’s hips, leaning into him without quite closing the distance.

“I’d never let anything happen to you, to us, you know that, right?” he said. “You’re mine, Woo. No one changes that.”

Wooyoung stared up at him with wide, dark eyes, a frown ghosting his lips. “So you’re going?”

“I might have to,” San admitted. “If I refuse again, it’ll draw more attention than just going through the motions.”

Silence settled between them, thick and unspoken. Wooyoung knew how serious San’s job was. As a high ranking military official, appearances were political. They meant a lot in terms of proving his political loyalty.

Then, with a flick of his tail and a dramatic sigh, Wooyoung wrapped his arms around San’s neck and pulled him in closer. “Fine. But I’m picking out what you wear to this disgusting thing.” San couldn’t help but laugh against his collarbone. “You’d do that anyway.”

“And,” Wooyoung pulled back, brows rising, “you will come home early. And we’ll order that spicy tuna bowl I like. And you’ll rub my feet. While apologizing. Profusely.” San smiled, resting his forehead against Wooyoung’s. “Profusely.”

“And,” Wooyoung paused, then whispered, “you won’t bring back someone prettier than me.”

San’s heart twisted.

He cupped Wooyoung’s cheek, rubbing his thumb along the soft skin under his eye. “I don’t even have to bid on anyone babe, you know it's just about appearances.”

Wooyoung drooped slightly, curling slightly into the touch. “Yeah. I know.”

Later, the apartment was quiet, save for the overly dramatic music spilling from the TV of some hybrid-targeted soap opera full of repetitive phrases and moody monologues. The kind of thing Wooyoung only watched when he was either deeply bored or feeling unusually clingy.

San stepped into the living room still unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt, jaw tight from a work phone call that had lasted twenty minutes too long. He didn't say anything, but the weight of him practically thudded through the air.

Wooyoung, predictably, was a blanket heap on the couch, face lit by flickering colors and the faint glow of his phone, which he was half-heartedly scrolling through. His black cat ears flicked lazily toward San the moment he heard him approach.

"You look like someone told you there's an in-person mandatory office meeting," Wooyoung said, barely looking up.

San exhaled a tired laugh. “Worse.”

That got Wooyoung's full attention. He sat up under the mountain of knit fabric, ears forward. "Okay, come here." He held up the edge of the blanket like an invitation.

San didn’t hesitate. He sat heavily beside him and let himself be pulled into the makeshift nest, warm and stupidly scented like Wooyoung’s vanilla bean scent. The moment he settled, Wooyoung crawled right into his lap like he was always meant to be there, head resting on San’s chest. San didn’t even mind the weight. It grounded him.

San was quiet for a beat, fingers instinctively stroking Wooyoung's soft tail. “My father called.”

Wooyoung tensed and his breath held, San felt it.

“And he wants to visit,” he added. “This weekend.”

Wooyoung sat up just enough to look at him with wide, displeased eyes, almost forming tears at the last line. “Are you serious?”

“I wish I wasn’t,” San said, gently pulling him back down. “I said we were busy. He said he was already on the plane. You know how he is.”

Wooyoung groaned. “San… you know he’s going to make me wear it.”

“I know.”

“He’s going to say something horrible.”

“I know.”

“You always say that.” Wooyoung’s voice cracked just a little.

San’s jaw clenched. He wrapped both arms around him tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m sorry, Wooyoungie. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take work off and stay home with you the whole day after. Ill bring home things from the bakery you like, the one with the cream-filled buns.”

“You say that now, but then someone sends you an approval report packet and you vanish into your stupid home office for hours.”

San huffed a soft laugh. “That’s fair.”

Wooyoung didn’t reply for a second, then whispered, “I hate pretending.”

“I know, baby. I hate making you.”

For a while, they just sat like that. The soap opera continued to play in the background, some hybrid crying in the rain while a human screamed after him from a grand stairwell. Wooyoung’s ears drooped. San’s hand never stopped petting him.

They stayed curled up like that, breath warm against one another’s skin, pretending the weekend wasn’t coming.

San hated himself for not being able to protect Wooyoung while his father came. San’s relationship with his father had long since withered into something purely transactional, as cordial on the surface and rigid underneath. They spoke only out of obligation, with empty updates and polite formality masking a deeper, unspoken disapproval. His father was a man of harsh ideals: hybrids were property, not partners; obedience, not affection. The belief ran deep in the family bloodline, just like the hybrids that served them. Wooyoung’s parents had belonged to San’s father seeming flawless on paper, docile and compliant, praised for their obedience. Wooyoung had been bred as a gift for San, as soon as San turned five his father demanded that his hybrids produce his son a hybrid companion. His future ownership inked before either of them were old enough to understand it. 

They had grown up together in that cold household, under watchful eyes and constant correction. But the moment San was able and financially independent he moved them both into a home of their own.

Wooyoung had never belonged in San’s father’s house. From the moment he could walk, he was a contradiction to everything that was expected of him. Fiery where he was meant to be docile, curious when he should have been quiet. His spirit, bright and sharp, clashed painfully with the rigid structure of the household. There was no room for softness or mistakes, only endless correction.

Every misstep, every stray look or laugh too loud, was met with discipline. It wasn’t that Wooyoung was unruly, he was simply too alive for a world that demanded silence from him. San had watched it all with growing helplessness, the reprimands, the disappointment, the way Wooyoung shrank and stewed under it. And so one night, whispered beneath their shared blanket and the hum of a house that never really felt like home, San made him a promise. “When I can,” he said, “we’ll leave. I’ll take you away from here.” He kept that promise the moment he was able. He never looked back. It was a quiet act of rebellion. A promise that Wooyoung would never again be subjected to the same cycle of judgment and control.

Every visit from San’s father followed the same cruel script. The moment he stepped through the door, his gaze would flick to Wooyoung and linger with its sharp, disapproving, dissecting shroud. He always had something to say. “Too slouched.” “Too lazy.” “Too twitchy.” A sneer would curl beneath his words as he listed every imagined flaw in Wooyoung’s appearance, voice laced with disgust. San could never defend him. Not out loud. Not where it mattered. All he could do was force a tight smile and change the subject, gripping his tea cup like it might shatter from the tension in his hands. Wooyoung, dressed in pristine black, would stand silently off to the side like furniture. Collared, polished, humiliated. Sometimes holding a tray, sometimes kneeling, always enduring. The second the door shut behind San’s father, Wooyoung would collapse into him, all the silent restraint dissolving into sobs. And San, helpless during the visit, would finally do what he couldn’t before. Cradle him. Stroke his ears. Apologize. Patch up the pieces and curse a world where loving someone meant keeping them quiet just to keep them safe.

Although the visits had become less frequent after time passed, each one had destructive consequences on Wooyoung’s health. He felt useless... as they both did. It was one of San’s life regrets, not cutting off his father when he could. But his connection to his father was one of the reasons he had his job, being able to work at a high level military position with the privilege of staying at home with Wooyoung, not needing to interact with his often vulgar coworkers. 

San’s job allowed them to live in this penthouse, allowed Wooyoung a spoiled and posh lifestyle. San wondered if it was all worth it. They had multiple conversations, about if San should quit his job and cut off his family. Each conversation ended with Wooyoung assuring him he could withstand the torture of the patriarch’s visits, with the joking promise of a new luxury item Wooyoung wanted San to purchase for him. 

The sun had barely begun to dip when San pulled the curtains shut in the living room, casting the penthouse in soft, muted shadows. Everything was pristine with the furniture in perfect alignment, no trace of Wooyoung’s usual chaos left behind. Even the air felt different. Too still. Too careful.

San stood in the hallway, flipping through a small, worn notepad with a practiced hand. “Left foot folds first when kneeling. Keep your eyes low and sentences short. Present both hands when offering something, and eat from the palm, although I doubt he’ll let you partake with us...” His voice was flat and rehearsed.

Wooyoung sat on the edge of the chaise, ears twitching as his tail curled stiffly around his ankles. He hadn’t said much. His legs bounced with anxious energy, ears twitching from side to side.

“I hate this,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“I know,” San said gently, glancing over. He tucked the notepad away and crossed the room, crouching down in front of him. “Just a couple hours at most, and I’ll make sure he leaves as soon as possible.”

Wooyoung didn’t respond right away. San could see the tension winding tighter in his shoulders, in the way his breath had grown shallow. “He’s going to say things,” Wooyoung finally whispered, voice cracking. “About my hair, or the way I stand, that I move too much-”

“Breathe with me,” San cut in quietly, taking both of Wooyoung’s hands. He placed one over his own chest. “Here. Just breathe with me.”

They sat there in silence for a moment. San kept his breath steady, slow, guiding Wooyoung through each inhale until the tremble in his hands eased slightly.

He walked into his closet, taking out a simple black bag that had been tucked far away. Wooyoung’s least favorite bag...the one that contained his service uniform. It was only taken out for the occasions of San’s fathers visits.

San helped Wooyoung dress, not because he needed the help, but for the silent support. To let him know they were in this together.

When the tension began to melt San reached for the velvet box beside the armchair. He opened it wordlessly, revealing the sleek black collar nestled inside, gleaming like a cuff in a display case. The room seemed to shrink as soon as it was visible.

Wooyoung’s eyes dropped, and his breath caught as tears lined his lids. “I hate that thing,” he said again, quieter now.

“I know,” San whispered. “You don’t have to put it on until he’s at the door.”

The collar was beautiful, sleek and polished a deep black band that gleamed like patent leather, seamless on the outside, elegant to the untrained eye. 

But Wooyoung knew better. Inside, nearly invisible to anyone else, were the tiny spikes San’s father had insisted on having custom made "for discipline," he'd said. Every turn of Wooyoung’s head, every subtle tilt or shift, sent a sharp pinch into the delicate skin of his neck, a constant reminder to hold still, to behave, to submit.

It wasn’t just a restraint; it was a warning, a punishment dressed in finery. When they’d lived under San’s father’s roof, it hadn’t been uncommon for Wooyoung to retreat to their shared room with blood quietly trickling down his spine, the result of being yanked back into place like an unruly pet. That collar had broken him more times than he could count. But it was the one his father would recognize and the one he expected to see and San’s father always knew when something had changed, when boundaries had been shifted without his permission. So Wooyoung wore it, even now, even here in San’s sanctuary. And no matter how tightly he kept his expression blank, the weight of it made his entire body ache.

There was a long pause. Then, with a nod so small it could’ve been mistaken for a flinch, Wooyoung turned around, baring the nape of his neck.

San’s hands were unbearably gentle. He didn’t speak as he fit the collar around him, locking it in place with the precision of someone who had done it far too many times. His fingers brushed over the soft fur behind Wooyoung’s ears, lingering there, apologizing silently.

When it was done, Wooyoung sat frozen. His hands curled into his lap, nails pressing into his palms. His expression was blank but his ears had flattened back, low with shame.

San wanted to scream. Instead, he knelt there and kissed Wooyoung’s knee, just once. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have to do this. I’ll make it quick. I promise.”

The air changed the second San opened the door.

His father didn’t wait for a greeting. He stepped inside like he owned the place, a tailored coat draped over one arm, sharp eyes scanning the apartment like it personally offended him. San’s jaw tightened.

“Still wasting money on unnecessary comforts, I see,” the man said by way of hello, noticing the pink fluffy blankets tucked into a basket. The ones Wooyoung often used to nest around the house. 

San bowed slightly out of habit. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

A scoff. “If you say so.”

Wooyoung was already in position by the time the door closed. He had changed, now gone was the loose luxury of San’s shirt, replaced by a fitted, thin bland shirt that buttoned up to his throat, his ears down, collar fastened snug around his neck. He stood by the wall with his hands tucked neatly in front of him, eyes lowered to the floor.

“Your hybrid,” San’s father said coldly, striding further in, “still doesn’t know how to stand properly.”

Wooyoung flinched.

San didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Not here.

The inspection began immediately. San’s father walked through the apartment like a buyer assessing a cheap listing, pausing to glance at every minor detail with quiet contempt. He paused in the kitchen. Seeing a double for every dish in the sink.

“He’s been using the glassware again.” His tone was flat.

San fought not to react. “He’s careful with them, sir.”

“He shouldn’t be touching them at all .”

Wooyoung didn’t move a muscle, but San could hear the tiny shift in his breath, quick and embarrassed.

It only got worse as the evening went on.

His father sat stiffly on the couch while Wooyoung poured tea while sitting on his knees. The hybrid wasn’t used to having to serve, usually San was the one at his every beck and call. His wrist shook at the unexpected weight of the pot, making the stream of tea dribble down the side of the kettle, creating a puddle on the wooden table. 

The slap came fast.

The sound rang out like a gunshot. Wooyoung staggered slightly, a strangled gasp caught in his throat. He didn’t cry out. He didn't move again.

San didn’t flinch. Didn’t stand. Didn’t shout. He couldn’t . He just sat there with his hands in his lap, every nerve on fire.

“What a disappointment your hybrid is. He certainly never took after his mother or father. Bastard child. You should discipline him more often,” his father said coolly, sipping the tea. “Otherwise they forget who they are.”

Wooyoung stayed kneeling. His cheek burned red, and his tail had vanished under his own body in a desperate attempt to disappear.

“You’re too soft with him, San. You’ve always been. Maybe if you taught him a damn thing or two he wouldn't be such a disappointment. Useless.”

The rest of the visit passed in cold, polite cruelty. More jabs, more small corrections. Not once did San look at Wooyoung.

The clink of porcelain filled the silence as Wooyoung, kneeling off to the side, carefully set a fresh cup of tea on the table in front of San’s father. He didn’t meet his gaze. 

San’s father didn’t even look at the cup. His sharp eyes remained fixed on his son. “You’ve been stalling, Choi San. It’s time you go to the auction this year. Enough with this indulgent fantasy.” He waved a hand in Wooyoung’s general direction. His voice was flat, clinical. “You need a proper hybrid. One trained to serve, not… this failure of a life sentence that we’ve given you.”

San tensed where he sat, fingers tightening just slightly around the cup in his hand. His gaze flicked toward Wooyoung, who hadn’t moved, his back straight, hands perfectly folded in his lap, collar gleaming at his neck like a quiet threat. But San could tell. The smallest tremble in Wooyoung’s shoulders. The way his tail was tucked so tightly against his leg, it barely moved at all.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” San said, after clearing his throat, tone light, diplomatic. “You’re right, it has been a few years. It wouldn’t hurt to make an appearance. But please don’t be fooled, I’m very content with Wooyoung’s presence. He handles the house well.”

His father scoffed. “Handles the house?” He gestured vaguely toward Wooyoung. “He can barely pour tea without trembling. I don’t know how you expect to make anything of yourself dragging around a defective pet. Sentiment is a dangerous thing, San. And weakness will ruin you.”

San didn’t reply right away, keeping his expression neutral. But his hand moved under the table, resting against his leg just where Wooyoung could see it, a silent anchor, something to hold onto without touching.

“I understand, Father,” he said carefully. “I’ll take your advice under consideration.”

San saw the glassy shimmer behind Wooyoung’s lashes, the way his lower lip quivered despite how tightly he pressed it together. His breathing was shallow, shoulders barely holding their form. One more word, one more cutting remark from his father, and he would unravel right there on the floor.

San couldn’t let that happen. Not in front of him.

With a calm, deliberate sip of his tea, San set the cup down and spoke without looking directly at Wooyoung. “Come here,” he ordered, voice sharp and composed. “Kneel at my feet.”

Wooyoung’s head jerked slightly at the command, but he obeyed. His motions were fluid, practiced, like muscle memory had taken over where thought couldn’t. He crawled across the floor, collar gleaming in the lamplight, and settled beside San’s chair.

San lifted his hand and rested it on Wooyoung’s head as he dipped forward, letting his cheek press gently into San’s thigh, tilting it so his face was out of view from his father’s gaze. A perfectly submissive pose.

To his father, it was a show of dominance, of obedience enforced. He gave a slight approving nod. “At least he can follow one order properly.”

But San wasn’t thinking about that. His fingers moved slowly, soothingly through Wooyoung’s hair, petting him like he always did when the world grew too sharp. 

Beneath the quiet stroking, San felt Wooyoung’s hot silent tears seeping through the fabric of his slacks, Wooyoung’s body trembling silently against his leg.

San kept his face neutral, posture relaxed. But his hand never left Wooyoung’s head, anchoring him, shielding him the only way he could. 

San shifted the conversation to something that he could actually find productive: work. They droned on about different work politics and events that would be coming up. San was informed that with new laws passed, he would have several new funding proposals to sift through to approve or deny. San nodded dutifully, understanding the course of his next couple weeks.

At least now Wooyoung could let his mind drift away, the spotlight off of him and now into San’s work. He tried his best to not sniffle as that would be a dead giveaway of his state as if the watery snot seeping straight into San’s pat leg wasn't enough. Wooyoung tried his best to steady his breathing as the men shifted the topic from one to another. 

San’s father stood, smoothing the sleeves of his coat with mechanical precision. “Good. Productive, at least,” he said, more to himself than to San. “You’ve kept your head down. Kept the waters still. That’s what matters.”

San offered a shallow nod, hands still tangled in the cat hybrid's ears. His father’s gaze flicked toward him briefly, no emotion registering on his face. “You know where to look when you’re ready for something better.”

San’s jaw twitched, but he kept his voice even. “Yes, sir.”

His father extended a stiff, formal hand. “Don’t forget the auction. They’ll be watching this time.”

San shook it. Brief. Cold.

Then, without another word or even a final glance toward Wooyoung, his father turned and let himself out. The door clicked shut behind him.

And just like that, the air finally shifted, slightly less suffocating.

San turned immediately, eyes falling to the silent boy on the floor.

“Hey,” he said, gently this time, bending down to try and meet Wooyoung’s level, his face still pressed against his thighs. “He’s gone.”

“Baby. Wooyoungie, I’m here.”

Wooyoung’s back immediately started wracking with sobs.

The sound that left him was more animal than human: choked, helpless, raw. San held him, heart breaking as he felt the sobs wrack his lover’s fragile frame, tail curled protectively under him, ears trembling against San’s chest.

“I’m so sorry,” San whispered. “I couldn’t stop him. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I tried,” Wooyoung gasped, voice hoarse and wet with tears. “I tried to be good, I thought I- I thought I was doing it right-”

“You were , baby. You were perfect . You’re always perfect.”

“He told me I'm worthless bastard a failure nothing more than your life sentence that I'm nothing.” He choked out in between sobs.

“You’re not. You’re not nothing, Wooyoung. You’re my everything.”

San didn’t let go. Not for a second. He let Wooyoung cry until his shirt was soaked and his arms ached from holding him so tightly. He kissed his hair, his ears, his flushed cheeks, murmuring apologies and praise like prayers.

San’s father had been especially cruel this time. Of course he always came with strong criticisms of Wooyoung’s appearance and behavior, and even further Wooyoung could at least expect some sort of physical reprimand… but in all the visits, San’s father had never outright slapped him. Even more, the topic of replacing Wooyoung had never been outright discussed at this extreme length in front of his face. Comments here and there sure, but it hit harder knowing that the auction was right around the corner. And San was actually attending.

This evening had taken quite the toll on Wooyoung. It brought him back to the awful days in San’s fathers mansion. 

San’s hands immediately went to Wooyoung’s collar.

“Let me take this off,” he whispered, fingers trembling around the clasp.

But Wooyoung didn’t move. He just stared at the floor, eyes rimmed red, cheeks tear-streaked and blotchy. His voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper, but each word landed like a knife.

“Maybe I should leave it on.”

San froze.

“Maybe if I wore it more often, I’d actually be better for you,” Wooyoung muttered. “Maybe I wouldn’t embarrass you so much if I just... acted the way he wants. Maybe you really should get someone else. Someone who can kneel without shaking. Someone you can actually take and flaunt at a work dinner or parties and impress others. Someone who can be... desirable. Obedient. A proper hybrid.”

San’s breath hitched. “Wooyoung-”

“I’m trying, San.” His voice cracked. “But I’m always the problem. You can’t even defend me. I’m always making things worse.”

The collar clicked open, and San tossed it away like it burned him. His hands immediately cupped Wooyoung’s face, gently but firmly, guiding him to look up.

“Don’t you ever say that,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Don’t you dare think for a second that I could ever replace you. You are not a burden. You are not a mistake. You are mine.”

Wooyoung’s lips quivered. “Then why does it feel like I’m always failing you?”

“Because he made you feel that way your whole life,” San whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. “But I’m not him. And I love you exactly the way you are.”

He reached behind them for the soft pink blanket folded neatly in the basket. Wooyoung’s favorite, the one that smelled strongly of vanilla bean, San, and safety, the one he always grabbed when he was sick or overstimulated or in need of comfort. San wrapped it around him with practiced ease, tucking the ends beneath Wooyoung’s chin like he was swaddling a baby.

Wooyoung let out a soft, hiccuped breath as his fingers clutched at the fabric.

“I hate that he makes me feel like this,” he whispered, barely audible. “Like I’m worthless. Like I should be... different.”

“You don’t have to be anything but mine,” San murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “You’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to shake. You’re allowed to fall. Now that I’ve got you.”

A warm and heavy and safe silence settled between them. Wooyoung tucked his head under San’s chin, face hidden in the hollow of his throat, blanket curled tightly around his body like armor. His breathing gradually slowed.

“I’m sorry I said those things earlier,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean them. I just... got scared.”

“I know.” San kissed the top of his head. “But even when you’re scared, you’re still the bravest person I know.”

Wooyoung let out a shaky sigh and whispered, “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” San promised, arms tightening around him. “Not ever.”

Wooyoung’s breathing had evened out by the time San shifted beneath him. His lashes fluttered against San’s collarbone, his fingers still curled tight in the pink blanket, a small wrinkle between his brows even in sleep. But the weight in his chest had lifted, just enough for his body to finally give in.

San didn’t speak. Didn’t dare wake him. Instead, he moved slowly, gently gathering Wooyoung into his arms, blanket and all, lifting him without effort.

The apartment was silent as he carried him down the hall, only the soft pad of his feet across the floor and the occasional sleepy sigh from Wooyoung breaking the hush. In the bedroom, the sheets were still rumpled from the morning, but San didn’t bother fixing them. He knelt beside the bed and laid Wooyoung down with painstaking care, easing the weight from his arms without ever letting him go completely.

He tucked the blanket tighter around his shoulders, followed by the comforter, smoothing it over his side. Wooyoung stirred only once, lips parting faintly in a quiet sigh, but never woke.

San slipped in beside him and settled onto his side, watching the soft rise and fall of Wooyoung’s chest. He brushed a thumb over his cheekbone, barely touching. Then, finally, he let his own eyes close, his hand never leaving Wooyoung’s.

Notes:

aghhhhh!!! this is my favorite chapter so far. BUT POOR WOOYOUNG OH MY GAWWDDDD. look what ive done to him WAHHHH

Chapter 5

The water was already drawn when San lifted Wooyoung from the bed, still wrapped in the pink blanket from the night before. Wooyoung stirred, eyes half-lidded, but didn’t resist. Uncharacteristically, he hadn’t said much since last night, mostly from his voice worn thin from crying, his spirit even thinner.

San didn’t push. He simply carried him, slowly unwrapping the blanket as it fell on the bathroom tile, leaving soft kisses to his shoulders and arms as he undressed him piece by piece. After every piece removed from Wooyoung’s frame, San made sure to worship every inch of his skin, making sure Wooyoung felt secure in his presence, doing his best to erase the damage of the previous day.

The bath was warm, steamy, and filled with the gentle scent of lavender. San eased him into the water, sitting behind him, his legs cradling Wooyoung’s hips. He took the loofah in one hand and began to wash him carefully, reverently like he would wash away every one of Wooyoung’s troubles. Like the bruises didn’t make him less worthy, but stronger.

“You’re beautiful,” San whispered, lips brushing against the shell of Wooyoung’s ear. “Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re hurting. You don’t have to be perfect for me.”

Wooyoung’s shoulders trembled slightly. His head tipped back, resting on San’s shoulder as he dissociated off into space.

“I love your skin. I love your voice. I love how your ears twitch when you’re excited, and the way your nose scrunches when you laugh.” San kissed behind his jaw. “I love it when you come to interrupt my work to make sure I'm taking enough breaks. I love when you get excited about a new bakery in town.” San was sure that Wooyoung wasn’t listening anymore, but it didn’t stop him from continuing.

“You don’t have to be obedient. You just have to be you .”

He poured water slowly over Wooyoung’s chest, his hands chasing the warmth down. “I know they taught you to be ashamed of your body… but I’m in awe of it. You’ve survived so much. You’re strong, Woo. Even when you feel broken.”

Wooyoung still didn’t answer but he broke out of his daze to curl his hands over San’s, guiding them back to his stomach, grounding himself in the touch. His eyes welled, but not from pain this time. He turned his face into San’s neck and let himself exhale.

When they were both ready, San helped him out of the bath with care, wrapping a warm towel around his shoulders before drying him off in slow, soothing passes. Wooyoung stood still for most of it, pliant, letting San run the towel gently over his hair, down his arms, along his back. Neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore, it was warm and full of things that didn’t need words.

San pulled out the vanity chair, quietly guiding Wooyoung to sit facing him. He pulled out Wooyoung’s essential skincare products, having his routine memorized after all these years. He reverently applied serum after serum after cream to Wooyoung’s face, knowing well enough that the cat hybrid couldn’t start his day without it. 

San dried himself quickly and offered to grab Wooyoung his favorite oversized sleep wear, a soft, faded, worn from love t-shirt from San’s closet. But Wooyoung shook his head. He instead padded slowly toward the bed, completely bare, eyes half-hooded as he turned back toward San and lifted a hand.

“Come here,” he whispered.

San’s breath caught just a little, shocked from the quick turnaround, but he moved without hesitation. 

“I want you to touch me,” he murmured. San's throat worked around a soft sound, and he nodded.

Wooyoung sat on the edge of the bed, damp tail swishing slowly behind him. San walked up in front of him, standing between Wooyoung’s bare legs awaiting what his precious hybrid would ask of him. 

“Anything for you baby.” San followed Wooyoung’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him down to his knees. 

San’s breath was warm against Wooyoung’s knee, his hands steady as they slid slowly up his hips. The room was quiet, just the sound of water faintly dripping in the bathroom and the soft rustle of sheets beneath Wooyoung as he leaned back onto his elbows, presenting his small cocklet on full display.

He barely had to say it. San understood from the way Wooyoung looked at him, from the way his hand threaded gently through his hair and guided him forward with the lightest touch.

San’s mouth pressed reverently to the inside of Wooyoung’s thigh first, lips lingering, brushing over skin with slow, worshipful kisses. He moved higher, his mouth mapping soft trails across Wooyoung’s tan skin. Every breath he gave was like a vow, a silent promise made against Wooyoung’s skin.

Wooyoung let his head fall back, a quiet plea slipping past his lips. His fingers tightened in San’s hair, but not to direct…just to hold, just to feel.

San’s mouth found his way to Wooyoung’s cocklet, now dripping precum down its small shaft. San pressed a gentle kiss to the head before he began to give small licks. Every once and he would alternate between the licks and sucking lightly, each touch slowly undoing every knot inside of the cat hybrid’s muscles. 

San took his time, savoring the way Wooyoung reacted, offering pleasure without demand. Tongue, lips, and breath all working in harmony, slow and careful, as though he were handling something sacred. Wooyoung’s thighs trembled, back arching in tiny, helpless movements. His tail twitched again, then stilled.

He turned to firmer pressure, taking his whole cocklet in his mouth, sucking, bobbing slightly as the length didn’t require much work. His palms dug pressure into Wooyoung's plush thighs, grabbing at the muscle and massaging them. 

The way San moved felt more like art than indulgence. He didn't rush even when Wooyoung’s breath hitched, didn’t chase the end, he just gave. Gave until Wooyoung’s thighs trembled, his fingers pulled tighter, and his breath cracked around soft, desperate sounds.

When Wooyoung’s body stilled in a shudder of release it wasn’t loud or sharp. It was quiet and aching, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, chest heaving. San worked him through his release and beyond after he squirted it all in his mouth, San lapping up every drop. 

He didn’t move away. He stayed there, arms wrapped around Wooyoung’s waist, holding him gently, pressing soft kisses to his trembling stomach, waiting for his breathing to settle.

Wooyoung blinked at the ceiling, dazed and full of something so much deeper than pleasure.

“Fuck Sannie I love you so much. I’m nothing without you.”

San’s heart cracked open at the sound of those words: raw, trembling, unguarded.

He pulled Wooyoung up into his arms, cradling him like he was made of porcelain, like the weight of those words needed to be held just as carefully as his body.

“And I’m nothing without you.” San pressed his lips to Wooyoung’s temple, then his forehead, then the corner of his mouth. His hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears he hadn’t even realized were falling.

“Don’t say that,” Wooyoung whispered, voice thick but gentle. “You’re everything. You’re everything with or without me.”

“How about we meet in the middle. I need you just as much as you need me. It's us, baby. Inseparable.” San murmured into his ear. 

Wooyoung clung to him, nodding into his chest.  Their skin still damp, hearts pressed close enough to feel each other's stuttering rhythm. 

Letting silence and warmth fill the space between them, San slid one hand tracing slow lines up and down Wooyoung’s back. There was nothing else that needed to be said as just the quiet knowledge of belonging and of love was woven into every heartbeat.

 

San did take Wooyoung out for cream-filled pastries just like he promised. It was a quiet morning, the streets still soft with golden light, and Wooyoung clung to San’s side as they walked. Going out in public meant wearing a collar as federal regulations dictated it, but this one was soft leather, thin and padded, a far cry from the cruel spiked one reserved for San’s father’s visits. It still made Wooyoung’s stomach twist, still made him reflexively hunch his shoulders like he expected to be yanked back but with San’s hand in his, steady and warm, he found he could endure it. Maybe even enjoy it a little, if it meant getting to lick powdered sugar off San’s lips on the walk home.

The rest of the week, San pampers Wooyoung...but really, what’s different? Their days roll on with the same gentle rhythm, like always. San buries himself in work in his home office, eyes tired and shoulders tight from endless calls and paperwork. And like clockwork, Wooyoung drifts in mid-morning or late afternoon, barefoot in one of San’s oversized shirts, declaring it’s “break time” whether San agrees or not. Sometimes it’s a mug of tea pressed into San’s hands, sometimes it’s a blanket dragged across his lap, and sometimes it’s Wooyoung himself, curling into his lap and nuzzling until San finally leans back and breathes.

Silently, the days begin to tick down toward the auction. Neither of them speaks it aloud, but the weight of it hangs in the air between them. Wooyoung doesn’t ask, and San doesn’t offer. But it lingers in the back of both their minds. What if San really does bring another hybrid home? The thought festers in Wooyoung’s chest like rot, too afraid to ask, too afraid of the answer. 

San scowled as he buttoned up his dress shirt, the collar stiff and suffocating in a way that had nothing to do with the fabric. The message had come in that morning, a mandatory in-person meeting at HQ. New project proposals, funding strategies, development milestones. Normally, he’d be thrilled to have a say in anything creative, but he already knew the tone of the room: cold, corporate, and crawling with men who thought like his father.

His coworkers were crude at best, dehumanizing at worst. They never failed to make sly remarks about hybrids, treating them like commodities or trophies, laughing about the newest “obedience protocol” or flaunting the ones they’d just acquired. And San, forced to play along for the sake of appearances, could only keep his jaw clenched and mouth shut, knowing any defense would raise suspicion or worse, concern.

He sighed and looked over his shoulder into the living room, where Wooyoung sat curled on the couch, ears twitching faintly under the soft sunlight. Peaceful, for now. San stepped closer and knelt briefly beside him, smoothing a hand down Wooyoung’s back.

“I won’t be long,” he murmured. “Stay cozy for me.”

Wooyoung nodded, already sensing the tension in San’s shoulders, the unhappiness tucked beneath his neat tie. “Okay,” he whispered, nuzzling briefly into San’s palm. “Come home quick, yeah?”

San gave a faint smile and leaned in to press a soft kiss to Wooyoung’s hair. “Always.”

 

San had barely stepped through the glass doors of the office when the familiar scent of cologne and coffee hit him followed quickly by the grating voices he’d hoped to avoid for at least five minutes.

“Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence,” one of them called from the break area, lifting his coffee cup in mock salute. “We were starting to think you’d died. Or maybe just gone full house pet.”

Another chuckled as he approached, walking backward to face San while the rest of the team filtered toward the main conference room. “You must hate us, huh? The way you’re never around? I mean, I get it… If I had a hybrid curled around my leg all day, I might stay home too.”

San gave a curt smile, jaw tense, as he adjusted the strap on his briefcase.

“Still stuck with that same old cat hybrid?” a third chimed in, voice oily with amusement. “Wasn’t he bred from your family? Talk about hand-me-downs. No offense, man, but if you’re not looking for an upgrade, what’s even the point?”

San didn’t respond. His silence was interpreted, as always, as aloofness not restraint.

“Anyway,” someone else added, already pulling out his tablet, “you are going to the auction, right? I heard this year’s selections are top shape. Real elite stock. Would be a shame to miss it.”

San’s lips pressed into a thin line. He followed them toward the conference room, the hum of their voices continuing behind him. He hated this place. Hated how they talked about hybrids like cars or tech specs, like upgrades to their lifestyles. He hated that he had to pretend it didn’t crawl under his skin.

“I am going this year.” The words dropped like a stone in the room.

A beat of silence, then, “No shit?” one of them barked, halfway between impressed and amused. “You? Finally?” Another let out a low whistle. “Guess hell did freeze over.” San kept his gaze forward, knuckles whitening as he gripped the back of his chair.

“Man,” someone laughed, clapping a hand on his back as they all moved to sit, “now we’ve got no chance. You know no one’s beating San’s bids…guy’s basically royalty.”

“Yeah,” another snorted, flipping through his tablet lazily, “guess we’ll all just sit back and enjoy the scraps.” The room filled with chuckles, light and careless, like they were talking about a high-end art auction instead of real people.

San gave a fake laugh, he hoped it was convincing enough. Before the meeting commenced and the men settled down into their seats. 

As the meeting drew to a close, the noise of papers shuffling and chairs scraping across the floor filled the room. His coworkers were packing up, eager to get out of the stuffy room. But before he could gather his things, one of his more boisterous colleagues slapped him on the back, a grin spreading across his face.

“Hey, you’re coming, right?” the man asked, his voice loud, “Medical exam day at the hybrid center. We get to see them all before anyone else, exclusive , my friend.”

San didn’t look up. His fingers tightened around the edges of his notepad, but he didn’t say anything. He could feel the words coming before they even left the man’s mouth, the knowing, expectant tone that always followed their casual mentions of the auction.

“You’ve got the status for it, no worries,” another coworker chimed in, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. “Think of it as a chance to see if any of them catch your eye. You can’t go to the auction without at least scoping out the prospects this year.”

San’s stomach churned. It felt like someone had driven a wedge between him and the reality he didn’t want to face. In order to keep his cover this year, he knew he had to please his coworkers by making an appearance at the examination day. He internally lamented, but this was his price to pay.

“Sure I’ll come,” he said, the words tasting sour as they left his mouth, but it was easier than explaining anything further. He stood up quickly, grabbing his things and moving toward the door before anyone could press further. 

San's car came to a slow stop at the entrance of the Omega Hybrid Development Institute, a sleek, modern building nestled among a row of competing towering corporate structures. The moment the door opened, the air felt different. It wasn’t a place meant for hybrid comfort; it was a place for business, for selecting, for owning.

As San stepped out, a well-dressed representative, someone who looked far too cheerful for the setting, was already waiting for him. A clipboard in hand, the representative greeted him with a wide smile that bordered on overly enthusiastic.

“Mr. Choi! Welcome! We’re so pleased you could join us today,” they said, their voice dripping with a sense of practiced warmth. “This is a very exclusive event, and we’re honored to have you here. We’ve been expecting you.” He wondered how, but figured it must have been his fathers meddling. 

San merely nodded, offering a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He glanced around as they led him toward the lobby, the walls and fixtures high class, sleek leather and luxurious dark wood. 

The doors opened, and they were ushered into a pristine hallway, where staff were already in place, eagerly awaiting his arrival. Once the doors had closed behind him his eyes took a minute to adjust to the dark low lighting of the institute. The scenery had changed to dark red carpet and dull brown walls. The chatter around him softened, and it became clear that everyone in the room knew exactly who he was. As the representative led him down a sleek corridor, they began talking in hushed tones, eager to share what they had been preparing for the big day.

“We have some exceptional prospects this year, Mr. Choi,” the representative continued, their voice low and reverent. “Our finest hybrids, five in total. We’ve been training them in the facility since their presentations, and we have no doubt that at least one will catch your eye and make a great addition to your lifestyle.”

San didn’t respond immediately, his eyes scanning the sterile walls. “They’re all top-tier,” the representative continued, enthusiasm rising in their tone. “Each one has the skills which reflect the rigid curriculum of the institute. It really just comes down to your physical preference. We’ve made sure everything is in order for today’s examination just as our valued patrons deserve.”

San remained quiet, trying to mask the churn in his stomach. Finally, they arrived at a pair of large, reinforced doors, and the representative stopped, turning to San with a slightly more formal smile.

“Now, Mr. Choi, if you’ll just step inside, we’ll begin the process. You’ll be able to observe the hybrids as they’re examined, from behind the one-way glass. Feel free to take your time.”

San nodded, the tightness in his chest only growing as he stepped forward. He couldn’t ignore the pull, the weight of it. There was no turning back now.

As the door opened and the sterile examination room beyond came into view behind the glass, San's eyes settled on the figures inside. The hybrids, five of them, were being prepped and examined by the staff, their movements slow, purposeful. 

A flame point siamese, a bengal, a white lop bunny, an arctic fox, and a beagle hybrid stood in a single file line, their gazes trained down as the medical staff filed inside. 

San folded his arms and stood near the glass, expression unreadable, jaw set. He didn’t speak as a few of his coworkers filtered in behind him, cracking jokes as they found their places at the window.

“Damn,” one of them muttered under his breath with a low whistle. “That bengal bitch has legs for days. I’ll bet they’re a screamer.”

Another chuckled, nudging San in the ribs. “You seeing this? You could afford all five if you wanted. Gotta say, this batch looks fresh.”

San scoffed and rolled his eyes, hoping that to his coworker it just seemed like he was playing along with the teasing. He tried not to let his discomfort show at the remarks, not at the sterile nudity below, not at the sick feeling creeping into his chest.

The omegas were poked and prodded, each one of them trying their best to remain neutral. “Look at the little one on the end,” someone behind him said. “Shy types are always the most fun to break in.”

That made San blink, his gaze flicking toward the far corner of the room. A hybrid with downcast eyes and snow white bunny ears sat still, being quietly checked over by a doctor. 

Still, San said nothing. He could feel the weight of the others’ gazes, their comments continuing around him like flies buzzing at his ears. “I’d take that one just to watch him cry,” another man muttered with a grin.

The examination intensified.

One by one, the hybrids were instructed into compromising positions bent forward in behind the glass as gloved hands pressed at the inner thigh, just above the gland. Slick shimmered in response, the telltale biological sign that the procedure was working. Behind the one-way glass, the men responded like animals.

“Shit, look at that one dripping already,” someone snorted. “What a mess. Wouldn’t last a night with me.”

“The bunny,” another said, voice low and eager, “he’s got to be the prettiest one I’ve ever seen. Those ears, fuck. Do you think they train them to slick up that much?”

San’s head turned slightly at that. His eyes shifted again to the smallest figure in the room. 61599. His hands splay neatly in front of him, gaze cast downward as a trainer gently spread his thighs apart for inspection. His tail twitched once, betraying his silent discomfort. But he didn’t protest. Not a sound.

A different voice chuckled darkly. “That one’s gonna go for a fortune. You see how obedient he is?”

There was laughter. San didn’t join it. His throat felt tight, the longer he watched.

Yeosang barely moved as the medic pressed against his gland, coaxing more of the faint glisten of slick out of his body. His expression never changed. Not until the fingers withdrew and he was allowed to close his legs again. Even then, the hybrid didn’t look up.

San swallowed hard and looked away, jaw clenching. The others leaned closer, still whispering crude evaluations, fixated on the hybrids like they were sex toys.

He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more...the vulgar interest that dripped from every man in the room or the fact that the hybrids just took it every rough grab or jab of the medical staff.

San made sure he left at the appropriate time, waiting until the final hybrid had been escorted out of the examination room and the other men had dispersed with their laughter and satisfied comments. When a staff member approached, smiling like this was just another elite showroom event, San kept his expression smooth and unreadable.

“We’re very proud of this year’s prospects,” the handler beamed. “Was there anyone in particular who stood out to you, Mr. Choi?”

San’s hands folded behind his back, posture stiff but polite. “They were all… impressive.”

“Of course,” the man nodded, clearly fishing for more. “If you’d like early bidding rights, I’m sure-”

“I’ll make any final decisions at the auction date.” The handler nodded as she politely dismissed the other. 

He didn’t stay to shake hands. Just offered a nod, courteous and clipped, then walked calmly to the building entrance where the valet had brought out his car.

The moment he was alone, a tear slipped from his eye. His hands gripped the steering wheel hard, knuckles pale with the pressure. The silence rang louder than it should’ve.

All he could see behind his eyes was that quiet hybrid’s face. Still. Composed. Resigned. Like he didn’t know there was another way to be touched. San exhaled through his nose, steady and long, but it didn’t do much to settle him. He pulled out of the lot, driving home in silence. 

San entered the apartment with heavy steps and heavier silence. He didn't bother removing his shoes or setting down his keys properly as they clattered onto the entry table like an afterthought. The moment he spotted Wooyoung curled on the couch with a book, soft ears twitching at the sound of the door, he crossed the room and knelt in front of him without a word.

Wooyoung blinked, surprised by the sudden closeness, but immediately set the book aside. “Sannie?”

San didn’t answer. He just wrapped his arms around Wooyoung’s waist and pulled him in, burying his face against the warm plane of his stomach like a man starved of comfort. He held him too tightly, fingers curled into Wooyoung’s sides, like he was anchoring himself.

“I’m sorry,” San finally whispered, his voice hoarse, muffled by skin and fabric. “Today was… awful.”

Wooyoung combed his fingers through San’s hair, ears folding back gently in concern. “What happened?”

“I went to the hybrid center,” San murmured, breath shaking. “It was medical inspection day. My coworkers dragged me there. Said it was a ‘privilege’ to get to see them first. Behind glass. Like… like animals. I only went because it would have been suspicious if I said no.”

He lifted his head then, eyes red-rimmed from the sheer effort it took not to sob. “They were forced into positions. Stripped. Touched. Just so the men watching could decide if they wanted to bid on them.”

Wooyoung’s stomach turned, the horror sinking in fast. “Sannie…”

“They talked about them like they were prostitutes,” San said quietly. “Especially one… a bunny hybrid. I don’t think he even knew there was mirror glass... people were staring right at him. I couldn’t say anything. I just stood there and kept my face blank. I didn’t want them to look at me like I was weak.”

Wooyoung slid off the couch and met him on the floor, wrapping his arms around San’s shoulders. “You’re not weak,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re the only one in that room who cared.”

San clutched him closer, arms trembling from restraint. “I’m so glad you never had to live somewhere like that. I know my father’s house wasn’t perfect, but… you got out. You’re safe. I just- I couldn’t stop thinking of you in a place like that.”

Wooyoung nuzzled against his temple, quiet but firm. “You saved me, remember? You gave me this life. You’ve always protected me.”

San nodded faintly, finally letting his eyes fall shut. “I’m scared, Woo. The auction’s coming. Everyone’s watching. I hate this world.”

“I know it’s a hard topic,” San continued, careful and slow, “but after what I saw today… I can’t stop thinking about those hybrids. About what’s going to happen to them if they go to the people in that observation room.”

Wooyoung looked up at him, quiet but listening.

San took a breath. “They’re going to be bought by men who treat them like pets, or worse. Who want obedience, not humanity. It’s disgusting. I- ” He exhaled sharply. “I can’t just sit by and watch it happen.”

“You want to buy one,” Wooyoung said quietly.

San nodded. “I know I can’t save them all. But… maybe one could have what you have now. Freedom. Safety. A home. Something real.”

There was silence for a long moment, gaze turning to the wood floor below. “It’s not that I don't want to help,” he whispered. “It’s just… if you bring one home… they’ll be nothing like me, right?” His ears drooped slightly, not in jealousy but in something far more fragile: vulnerability. “They’ll be trained. Obedient. Perfect little servants who do everything they’re told without being annoying or loud or bratty.” He glanced away, chewing his lip. “I know I’m a lot, San. I know I’m spoiled and dramatic and not always easy. But I’m me. And sometimes I’m scared that… if someone like that is around, you’ll stop loving all the weird, sharp-edged parts of me. What if you don’t want me anymore like you used to?” ”

“I will,” San agreed softly. “I know it's easier said than to believe Woo but nothing in this world could change the way I think about you. I've spent almost my whole life with you and every year I find ways to love you more. I wouldn’t be sharing my love, I'd be multiplying it. I'd make sure that you feel just as special if not more. You’re always my number one priority.”

Wooyoung continued to look down, considering his words as San continued. “Think about it this way, if I don’t act like them, if I don’t play the part, my father, my coworkers… they’ll never let it go. You know how it is. But if I make a bid, if I bring one home, it’ll keep them quiet. And I’ll know I at least spared one of them from what I saw today. Maybe more of the negative attention will be taken off your shoulders. Think about my father coming over and all he wants to observe is the new hybrid. He wouldn’t be sitting there trying to pick you apart if he had a new hybrid to evaluate.”

He reached down, tilting Wooyoung’s chin gently so their eyes met. “But I’d never do it if you weren’t okay with it. I won’t hurt you like that.”

Wooyoung didn’t speak right away. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his oversized sleeve. Then, in a voice barely louder than a breath, he said, “Okay.”

He swallowed thickly. “I want to help. I do. But… I can’t promise I won’t feel weird about it sometimes. I just- I don’t know how to not feel a little scared.”

San leaned in, brushing his thumb across Wooyoung’s cheek with the kind of care that spoke louder than words. “That’s okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now,” he said gently. “But I promise I’ll keep you in the loop every step of the way. No surprises. No secrets. We’re doing this together.”

Wooyoung gave a tiny nod, the tension in his shoulders easing, just barely. He didn’t look relieved. But he looked understood. And for now, that was enough.

 

San sat back against the couch, one arm still looped around Wooyoung’s waist, fingers idly rubbing small circles over the fabric of his shirt. There was a pause, quiet and careful.

“Do you… want to know about the ones I saw? Just physically. Nothing deep.”

Wooyoung hesitated, then gave a small nod, chewing his bottom lip. “Yeah… okay.”

San exhaled. “There were five of them. All omegas, of course. All looked well groomed and… show-ready, I guess. The first one was a flame point Siamese. Pale skin, almost creamy, with soft orange coloring around his ears and tail. He had big blue eyes, too. Very still.”

He paused, watching for any discomfort in Wooyoung’s face before continuing.

“Next was a Bengal. His markings were really bold with coppery-brown and black rosettes along his back and thighs. Short hair. Built more muscular than the others, and he had a darker, honey toned complexion.”

Wooyoung’s ear flicked, but he didn’t speak.

“There was a bunny,” San went on gently, voice steady. “White. Real fluffy ears, and the biggest eyes I think I’ve ever seen. He had a pink nose, pale skin. He looked small, delicate. Almost fragile.”

He shifted slightly, arm tightening a little around Wooyoung.

“Then there was an arctic fox hybrid. White-gray fur at the tips of his ears and tail. Pale, really pale skin. Very graceful posture. And the last one was a beagle hybrid with freckles across his nose, floppy ears, reddish-brown hair. Kind of golden coloring. Looked a bit more lively than the others, at least in appearance.”

Wooyoung nodded along silently, his fingers curling into the hem of San’s shirt as he listened. When San finished, there was a long pause. The silence stretched pensively until Wooyoung finally mumbled, “Probably don’t want another cat in the house.”

San blinked. “No?”

Wooyoung shook his head slightly. “The flame point… the Bengal. I dunno. I think it’d be too much. Clashing instincts. Territory. I’m already bad enough.” He gave a tiny shrug, almost sheepish. “But the others... the bunny, the fox, the beagle... I think I could manage that. If you think any of them are in danger of going to someone really bad, then… they should be the priority. The one most at risk.”

San watched him, heart tightening, pride and affection swelling at Wooyoung being able to talk through such a hard decision. He nodded once. “Alright. We’ll figure this out together.”

Notes:

UGGHHHHH I LOVE THESE FUCKERS WAHHHHHHHH

Chapter 6

The days passed quietly, almost deceptively so.

San remained as attentive as ever, maybe more than usual, waking Wooyoung with gentle scratches under his chin, making him breakfast just the way he liked it, curling up with him on the couch during quiet moments to stroke his ears while they watched late-night dramas. Nothing San did was unusual, but the intent behind it felt heavier. There was a tenderness laced with purpose in every touch, every glance, every murmured “You’re mine.”

Wooyoung could feel it. He didn’t mention it, but he knew San was trying to remind him without words that nothing was changing between them. That no matter what was coming, Wooyoung was still his one and only. His favorite. His special kitty.

Sometimes San caught him thinking quietly, eyes soft but faraway. At those times, he’d pull Wooyoung into his lap and kiss his forehead, muttering, “I mean it, you know. You’re irreplaceable.”

“I know,” Wooyoung always whispered back. But he still clung to San like he was afraid something might slip through his fingers.

Together, they mentally braced for the auction day. San tried to act normal, tried to keep his voice calm and routine when he told Wooyoung what time he’d be gone. But both of them could feel the pressure building. An unspoken understanding that someone else’s future was about to be decided, and that San might be the only thing standing between that hybrid and a life of misery.

San set the black Amex card down on the kitchen counter and slid it toward Wooyoung without a word.

Wooyoung blinked. “…What’s this for?”

“For you,” San said simply. “You’re in charge of the hybrid’s room.”

Wooyoung tilted his head, ears twitching slightly. “Wait, really?”

“Really.” San leaned against the counter, arms folded as he smiled. “I want it to feel like a home for them. Comfortable. Safe. And honestly, you’re the best person to make that happen. You know what helped you feel less like… a possession. You get it better than I do.”

Wooyoung glanced down at the card again, quiet. His fingers brushed the edge of it like it might disappear if he touched it too fast. “You trust me with this?”

“I trust you with everything.” San nudged it closer. “Pick out anything you want. Sheets, lights, pillows, plushies. I don’t care how much it costs, just make it warm. Make it feel like they’re wanted.”

A slow smile pulled at the corners of Wooyoung’s lips. It wasn’t smug or mischievous this time but it was tender. 

“Okay,” he said finally, picking up the card. “But I’m warning you now. There’s gonna be lots of fairy lights and- and-  candles and blankets and I honestly might have to get myself something as well, just as like a gift for a job well done.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“And I want to pick out their clothes. Something nice. Not sterile and bland like the center.”

“Go wild.”

Wooyoung gave a little hum, already planning in his head, tail curling slowly behind him. And for the first time since the auction talk began, he felt like this wasn’t something being done to him. It was something they were doing together .

San scrolled through his credit card statement the next morning while sipping his coffee, eyes growing wider with every charge. He blinked, then chuckled under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Jesus, Woo…”

But when he imagined the way Wooyoung’s face had lit up while planning it all, the tail swishes, the excited little gasps, the pure pride in his eyes, it didn’t matter.

San closed the banking app and leaned back in his chair, heart a little heavier and lighter all at once. If even one hybrid could come home to warmth instead of fear… if Wooyoung felt more secure and seen through this...

It was worth every cent.

 

San stood silently in the doorway, arms crossed loosely over his chest, one shoulder leaned against the frame. The spare room looked nothing like it had a week ago. Soft lighting now bathed the walls in a golden hue, pale curtains fluttered gently from the open window, and a stack of freshly folded blankets sat in the corner, already color-coordinated.

In the center of it all was Wooyoung, his tail flicking with focused excitement as he arranged a little shelf of plushies with the same care someone might decorate a shrine. He was muttering softly to himself, biting his lip as he shifted a turtle plushie to the left just an inch. Then again to the right.

San’s lips parted, then curled into a smile. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The warmth in his chest said enough. All that effort, all that heart for someone he didn’t even know yet.

“Looks good,” San said finally, voice low and sincere.

Wooyoung startled a bit, glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t sneak up on me, asshole.”

San chuckled, stepping into the room. “I didn’t. I was appreciating.”

San reached out to ruffle his hair. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Wooyoung grinned, but his ears twitched shyly, betraying how much it meant

Later that night the two had gone to their separate rooms. Wooyoung more often than not slept in San’s bed, but also liked the comfort of having his own space. The house was quiet. San lay on his side, one hand under his pillow, eyes open in the dark. He didn’t look at the clock. He didn’t need to. Morning would come, and with it, the auction.

A faint knock, barely audible, stirred the silence.

The door opened with a soft click, and Wooyoung slipped inside in his usual oversized shirt. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. San lifted the blanket without a word.

Wooyoung climbed in, curling into his chest, and San’s arms came around him instinctively. They didn’t speak. Didn’t move much. Just breathed.

The only sound was the low hum of the city outside and the rustle of sheets as Wooyoung shifted closer, tucking his face under San’s chin. San pressed a kiss to his temple, slow and lingering. His thumb traced idle circles over Wooyoung’s back, the same motion he always did when he needed grounding too.

Neither of them slept. But in that shared silence, the fear didn’t feel so suffocating. Because they were in it together.

The morning of the auction arrived slowly, heavy with unspoken tension. San stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie, his suit pristine, each move mechanical, as though his body was on autopilot. Wooyoung stood behind him, gelling and slicking his hair back, making sure not a single thread on his suit was out of place. They were reminded that as much as this was about saving a hybrid, it was also equally about political appearances. San spent enough time away from networking. When he came out into the public eye, it mattered.

With delicate hands, Wooyoung adjusted the collar of San's shirt, fingers lightly grazing his skin. The silence between them was thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Wooyoung didn’t need to say anything. The soft rhythm of his movements and the quiet hum of his breath spoke louder than words could.

San glanced at him briefly, their eyes locking for a moment, both of them knowing this would be one of the last moments of peace before everything changed. Wooyoung didn’t pull away, his gaze lingering, and for the briefest of seconds, it felt like the world outside ceased to exist.

"Be careful," Wooyoung finally whispered, his voice low, but there was a weight in it, something that wrapped around San’s heart.

"I will," San replied softly, his hand brushing against Wooyoung’s, fingers lingering for a brief moment.

Then, the moment passed. San grabbed his briefcase, forcing his shoulders to square, and made his way out, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.

The auction house was a gleaming, sterile place, more a showroom for the wealthy than anything else. When San arrived, the familiar faces of other powerful men filled the space. Most of them were engaged in hushed conversations, exchanging business cards and pleasantries, as though the auction was just another social business networking opportunity. It disgusted him, the ease with which they discussed the lives of others as if they were nothing more than stock to be traded.

San’s eyes swept across the room, his thoughts still heavy with Wooyoung. He couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that gnawed at his gut. He knew why he was here, but the weight of the decision still felt suffocating.

As he walked further into the lobby, a few of the men glanced his way, exchanging knowing looks, a few whispering amongst themselves about the rumors of his interest this year. It felt like a farce, all of it.

San didn’t get far before a couple of sharply dressed men veered from their conversation and approached him. Their eyes lit up with a kind of practiced recognition. Thin smiles, firm handshakes.

“Choi San,” one of them greeted warmly, clapping him on the shoulder like an old friend. “What a pleasant surprise. Your father mentioned you might be attending this year.”

The other chuckled, swirling a glass of champagne between his fingers. “We were starting to think you’d given up on tradition altogether.”

San gave a polite smile, instinctively straightening his posture. “Thought it was time to step up. Figured it was probably time for a new addition, right?”

“Of course,” the first man said, nodding approvingly. “Good man. It’s important. These auctions aren't just about acquisition. They’re about presence. Legacy.”

“Family reputation,” the second added, voice low and knowing. “Glad to see you understand the weight of it.”

San offered a brief chuckle, carefully measured. “I’ve always understood. Just needed the right time to participate.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries about who was bidding, about who had the eye for which hybrid, about which trainers were rumored to have given the 'best obedience results' this year. San kept up his part of the conversation with smooth ease, masking every flicker of disgust that passed behind his eyes.

He knew what this was. This was a performance. He wasn’t just here to rescue someone. He was here to play the part of the dutiful son, the respectable heir, the man his father could openly continue praising at dinners and fundraisers.

And if saving one hybrid was the cost of making that illusion work…then so be it.

With a practiced nod, San excused himself from the group, stepping toward the grand hallway where the presentation would soon begin. The men let him go with satisfied smiles, thinking they’d seen another cog click into place.

San quietly slipped into his designated seat, the plush leather cool beneath his palms as he settled in. The hall was grand with vaulted ceilings, gilded moldings like an opera hall, and lighting deliberately soft to cast a sense of intimacy over what was, at its core, a deeply public spectacle. He smoothed a hand over the lapel of his blazer, the sound of murmuring conversations brushing past his ears like static.

A steward appeared almost immediately beside him, dressed in immaculate black and white, holding a silver tray with two tall flutes of chilled champagne.

“Would you care for a drink, sir?”

San glanced at it, the bubbles glimmering under the light like it was supposed to make this easier. He shook his head, voice steady but low. “No. Thank you.”

The steward nodded and moved on.

San folded his hands in his lap, eyes fixed on the empty stage below. The curtain hadn’t been drawn yet. For now, it was just a hint of polished floorboards below the red velvet curtain and the knowledge of what was about to happen behind them.

He took a slow breath through his nose, his jaw locked in a way he hoped read as calm and professional rather than the tension building steadily in his chest. He’d practiced this face. Neutral, unreadable, safely ambiguous. He couldn’t afford to look too invested or too disgusted. Both would raise questions.

The hum of the audience had shifted into something more focused now. People were settling into their chairs. Glasses clinked. Laughter softened. The lights were slowly dimming in the audience as the stage lights warmed up

A figure emerged from the wings, sharply dressed in a dark tailored suit that reflected just enough light to command presence.

San recognized him instantly. The president of the Omega Hybrid Development Institute. An older man, silver-haired and always smiling in that practiced, unsettling way. The man stepped up to the podium at center stage, tapping the microphone once before his voice echoed through the hall.

“Distinguished guests,” he began, his tone warm and rehearsed. “Welcome. It brings me great pride to open this year’s hybrid auction, a tradition that stretches back nearly seventeen decades. Today is not only a day of selection, it is a celebration of the progress we have made in hybrid development, care, and utility.”

A few polite nods and light claps followed.

“These hybrids have spent years in our care, trained by the best to serve with grace, discipline, and reliability. They are not only companions, but investments. Symbols of status, of tradition, and, if I may be so bold, of good taste.”

San’s stomach twisted.

“We at the Institute are honored to present to you the fruits of our labor. As always, discretion is paramount, and satisfaction is guaranteed. Let the bidding reflect the value of what we offer.”

Another round of light applause swept the room as the man bowed once, then stepped off the stage.

The spotlight dimmed momentarily just before the trainer reemerged, leading in the first hybrid.

San sat straighter in his seat. It was beginning.

The flame point Siamese. Number 51401.

They were beautiful in a way San hated to admit with a striking slender frame, pale cream skin with delicate hints of gold at the ears and tail. Their posture was perfect, movements rehearsed, eyes downcast, submissive to a fault. The moment they stepped under the spotlight, the room shifted. Interest sharpened.

“51401,” the announcer declared. “Flame Point Siamese. Trained in both domestic care and etiquette. Exceptional pedigree. Obedient, responsive, and pleasurable.”

San felt a chill run down his back. He felt awkward staring at the hybrid, completely bare for all of the men to see. “The starting bid is one million Won.” The announcer echoed over the auction microphone.

There was a brief silence before someone two rows ahead lifted a single finger- half a million. A pause, then another man raised two fingers. One million. A thumb, doubling the bid entirely. Another raised his palm- up by five million.

The numbers kept climbing, wordlessly. They purposefully started the bid low so that at least every man could feel like he participated. One man in a blue suit lifted his thumb- doubling the bid again with a smile that made San’s skin crawl.

San didn’t move. He kept his hands clasped, breathing through the rising bile in his throat as the men around him silently battled for ownership. The flame point kept their head bowed, trained to do so, trained not to flinch even as their price turned them into spectacle.

When the gavel finally slammed, the room gave a polite round of applause. San didn’t join them.

One down.

“51401 goes to Mr. Park, at 6.6 billion Won.” The man smirked, pleased with himself as he laid back in his seat. 

Next was the bengal, following in similar fashion, ended up being sold for a whopping 9.3 billion Won. 

The man who claimed him was another familiar face, maybe a distant associate of San’s father, he thought. One of those men who always smiled too wide and asked too many questions about San’s personal life. But he’d never heard anything cruel about him. Not ideal, but not horrifying either.

San sat back, shoulders still tight. At least they hadn’t gone to the worst of them.

But his relief was short-lived. He glanced around. Why hadn’t some of the other men made final bids? The ones he knew to be leering, careless, brutal? A flicker of unease bloomed in his chest. They were waiting. The bunny, the fox, the beagle, any of them could be the target. 

The arctic fox was next.

White fur that shimmered faintly under the overhead lights. Thin but elegant. Pale eyes, almost too cold for someone so young. The fox hybrid stood perfectly still as the auctioneer introduced him highlighting his rarity, his calm temperament, his lineage. San shifted slightly in his seat, eyes trailing the curve of the hybrid’s posture, the subtle twitch of a tail betraying his nerves.

The bidding began. A finger lifted- half a million. Another responded- one million. Back and forth.

San discreetly glanced at the bidders. One was a balding man in his fifties, dressed in deep navy, the other a leaner man with sharp eyes and an impatient mouth. Neither looked particularly warm, but they weren’t the ones San had feared…no slouched cruelty in their posture, no barely-contained hunger in their gaze. Just business.

He sat back slightly. He didn’t love it, but he could live with it.

The bids climbed from the shooting palms, fingers, and fingers again.

Five hundred million. Six. Two men began to assert their dominance, doubling the bid back and forth. Gross displays of wealth, neither wanting to lose to the other. 

San kept his expression unreadable, but inside, he was relieved. This hybrid would probably be okay. Not perfect. Not safe, not loved. But okay.

The petty battle ended in 11.1 billion won, a higher bid than normal, but it was obvious that it was more about the flaunt of wealth than the actual price of the hybrid. 

The beagle hybrid was led onto the stage.

Young. Soft brown ears drooping slightly, posture hesitant but trained as he kept his hands folded neatly in front of him, gaze lowered just enough to be submissive, but not fearful. His tail twitched at every sound, betraying nerves that hadn’t been scrubbed clean by obedience training.

San sat forward just a bit. There was something about the boy’s expression that stuck with him. A sort of restrained hopefulness.

The auctioneer waited, then cleared his throat. “A rare temperament in a canine hybrid; exceptionally loyal, obedient, eager to please. Affectionate disposition. Starting bid: one million.”

No hands. A beat passed. Then another. San felt the awkwardness prickle in the air. His stomach tightened. Why was no one bidding?

And then finally a hand raised with a single finger. One and a half.

A pause.

Then across the room, another man raised two fingers. Two and a half.

San turned slightly in his seat, recognizing the tension immediately. These weren’t men interested in the hybrid. They were sizing each other up.

Corporate rivals. He remembered their logos, having seen on the news that their businesses were competing over the same stocking port. They weren’t here to take care of a hybrid. They were here to win.

The next man lifted his thumb, doubling the bid. Since that, it became a war of thumbs, skyrocketing the bidding process.

San’s throat went dry. The beagle hybrid hadn’t moved an inch, but his ears had folded back slightly now. Tail limp. No longer nervous but resigned. 

San didn’t even register the final number.

The auctioneer’s voice grew distant in his ears, blurred behind the pounding of his own heartbeat. Applause followed, mild and practiced, as the beagle hybrid was led offstage, expression unreadable. Another win for power, for ego. San didn’t look. His eyes were locked on the edge of the curtain, the place where the bunny hybrid would come out next.

The realization sank deep into his chest like lead. They’re going to go for him. All of them.

Cute. Rare. Obedient. The kind of hybrid that didn’t need training because he’d been broken in from the start. The kind men like his father loved to own. San pressed his thumb into his palm, grounding himself. He had to be sharp now. No emotion. No hesitation.

Because this wasn’t just a show anymore. This was him against all of them. And he was not going to lose.

The white lop bunny stepped out slowly, guided by a handler who barely needed to touch him. The hybrid’s head was bowed slightly, posture perfect, every movement elegant and subdued like he’d been rehearsed to glide rather than walk. The light caught on the subtle shimmer of his white-blonde hair and delicate bunny ears that twitched nervously at the noise. He saw the bunny try not to scrunch his face, the lights almost blinding him. 

San heard the shift in the crowd instantly with low murmurs and impressed exhalations. "Purebred?" "Look at that expression. Looks more innocent than we know he really is."

The air changed. The quiet hum of curiosity turned hungry. San’s stomach clenched.

On the stage, the bunny hybrid stood nude in silence with his hands neatly folded in front of him, long white lashes lowering in submission. He was beautiful. Ethereal, even. Exactly what these men were looking for.

San glanced around the room. Fingers already twitched. Whispers and nods exchanged. He could feel it. They’re going to tear him apart.

One man chuckled low to another nearby. “Bet he goes into heat like clockwork.” “High-maintenance, but worth it if he’s obedient.” “Can you imagine the heat response? Bunny hybrids are bred to crave it the eager little things.”

The smiles on the men’s faces weren’t admiring but possessive and predatory . They saw softness and projected submission, saw trembling and imagined desire. They didn’t see a person but simply a need to fill. Something to conquer and own.

The bunny hadn’t even moved since taking his place under the spotlight. He stood exactly as he’d been taught. Silent, restrained, beautifully quiet and as the perfect little prize. 

“Our final hybrid for tonight,” he announced smoothly, “61599. Bunny hybrid. Fully conditioned and listed at the top of his unit. A prized result of the Institute’s most refined breeding efforts.”

The air in the hall thickened immediately. There was a shift, a pulse of hunger and San heard it in the low murmurs, the exchanged glances, the faintest chuckles of delight.

“Starting bid: 5 million won.”

The bid immediately skyrocketed, thumb after thumb doubling it out of any lower man’s reach. 

San didn’t react, only lifted his thumb. “210 million won.”

The bid jumped again. Thumb. “420 million won.”

Before he knew it the bid had jumped up to the billions. 

San kept his gaze steady, letting the chaos unfold a few seconds longer before raising a palm. “6.5 billion.”

Eyes turned toward him now. A few recognized him as not the usual player in these games.

Palm after palm. “7.5 billion won, 11 billion won.”

San was getting nervous. Seeing the drooling men with hunger in their eyes raise finger after finger. 

San lifted up a thumb, doubling it. The auctioneer exclaimed, “22 billion won!” 

Silence. San had made it clear he staked his claim. 

A couple of brave men lifted up a single finger, only adding half millions here and there, now playing for the petty dollars at the top. San wasn't going to let it happen. 

“Going once, going twice, sold to Mr. Choi!” belabored applause filled the room. 

San didn’t move, didn’t blink, he only stared at the stage as the bunny was led off behind the velvet curtain. He could almost distinguish the corners of the hybrid’s mouth trying to restrain a smile. 

Around him, the whispers had already begun. “Thirty two billion? That bunny must’ve really gotten him going.” “Guess San’s not as cold as he looks, huh?” “Figures someone like him wouldn’t want to share. Must’ve wanted a pretty little thing all to himself.” “Bet he’ll keep him locked up. Possessive type, those quiet ones.”

San didn’t acknowledge any of it. He knew how these men thought. How their minds twisted vulnerability into lust. How they mistook his calculated bid for greed instead of protection.

Let them think he was depraved. Let them believe he was just like them. If it meant getting the hybrid out of here safely, they could believe whatever they wanted.

The auctioneer cleared their throat and tapped the mic with a practiced smile, their voice rising above the low hum of whispers still rippling through the crowd.

“If all winning bidders would please make their way down to the front hall to complete your payments and finalize your selections, we would be most grateful. Our staff will assist you from there.”

San stood slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket with careful precision. All around him the low buzz of polite conversation resuming among them. Hopefully he could avoid unnecessary conversations with the men who wanted to question him about his bid. He ignored the lingering glances in his direction. 

As he descended the velvet-carpeted stairs to the payment hall, all he could think about was the bunny. How small he looked on that stage, how quiet. How brutal his fate would be if he was sold to the wrong hands. 

San writes his check with a rushed hand, he wants to get out of here as soon as possible. The official on the other side of the marble desk took it with a curt bow.

“Thank you, sir. Your generous contribution to the Omega Institute will not be forgotten. Your hybrid will be brought to the holding area shortly for verification. Please wait just a moment.”

San barely nodded. He hated these sterile, opulent surroundings, the quiet hum of elitist pride, the knowledge that behind every closed door was a living being who had no say in what happened next.

He tapped his foot. Checked the time. 

The auction staff member approached with a trained softness. “Mr. Choi,” he said smoothly, “before your hybrid is released to your estate, it’s customary to inspect the product in private quarters. Physical confirmation, you understand... it ensures satisfaction and prevents disputes later.”

San gave a tight nod, ‘product.’ Biting down the sharp remark on the tip of his tongue. “Of course.” Knew that walking away now would raise suspicion, especially after bidding so aggressively. 

He followed the man through a polished hallway and into a dimly lit room. A velvet chaise sat in the center, and near it, a figure waited, delicate and still, barely breathing.

“Before I enter, may I ask his name?” San asked delicately.

The man looked at him a little caught off guard before letting his face return to a neutrally polite expression. “Of course Mr. Choi. 61599. Yeosang. White lop bunny hybrid. 20 years of age.” San nodded at him before turning to the door and pressing it open. 

The bunny hybrid stood obediently, dressed in soft white silks that clung to his fragile frame. His long ears twitched at the sound of the door. He didn’t look up. San noticed how pale he was, like he hadn’t seen the sun in years. His skin milky white, blending in almost perfectly with his pale ears and hair. He was gorgeous no doubt but San had other things on his mind. 

San’s chest clenched. He saw the way that the hybrid clearly expected to be touched. San stepped further into the room. Shut the door quietly behind him. He let the silence linger before speaking. ‘Hello,” San started but was at a loss for words. He didn't quite plan exactly for this moment and what to say, he had previously been more focused at actually obtaining the hybrid. 

 “I’m not going to do anything to you,” he said, voice low. “I just want to talk to you. That’s all.”

Yeosang blinked, once. Slowly. He nodded like he understood, but it was clear he didn’t.

Yeosang dropped down to his knees, crawling over in front of San, gaze reaching his crotch. 

San’s throat tightened. “No,” he said again, firm but soft. “That’s not why I’m here.”

Yeosang's expression didn’t change but something in his posture shifted. Just barely. Shoulders tensing. He thought it was rejection. That San had gotten a look and decided he wasn’t good enough.

He bowed his head slightly. “I’ll try harder when you take me home.” San’s heart sank.

San squat down to get on the same level as the hybrid, thoroughly shocking the other. None of his classes had prepared him from this interaction with his new peculiar owner. 

He kept his hands visible, relaxed on his thighs. The room is quiet enough to hear both their breathing.

"Can I ask your name?" he says.

Yeosang glances up, startled. He hesitates before responding, voice barely above a whisper. “My designation is 61599.”

San shakes his head. “I didn’t ask for your number,” he says softly. “What do you want to be called?”

Yeosang falters. His lips part like he might answer, but nothing comes out. Instead, he bows his head again. “I’m here to serve you, call me whatever you may please” he recites.

San’s jaw clenches.

“I know that’s what they told you,” he says, quieter now. “But I’m not asking you to serve me. I want to know you .”

Yeosang’s ears flick. His body tenses.

“…I don’t understand,” he admits, slowly. “I’m not supposed to talk about myself.”

San steps back just slightly, giving Yeosang more space. “That’s okay,” he says. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. I just want to know you . I understand that sometimes they call you Yeosang? Along with your number.”

A pause. Yeosang stares at the floor changing the subject. “I… I’m clean. I’ve been inspected this morning. If you want to touch me, I can stay still.”

“I won’t,” San says gently. “I told you. That’s not why I’m here.”

The silence thickens again. Yeosang is visibly confused, maybe a little bit frustrated, unsure what role he’s supposed to play.

San gestures toward a nearby chaise and lowers himself into it carefully. “Can I just sit with you for a few minutes?” he asks. “No expectations.”

Yeosang blinks at him. His voice is barely audible when he replies: “Yes, Master.”

San's heart aches at the title, but he doesn't correct it. He knows he has to pick his battles.

He simply nods. “Thank you, Yeosang.”

It’s the first time Yeosang has heard his name spoken like that in someone else’s voice, with softness instead of demand.

He stands awkwardly for a moment longer… then slowly sits on the floor at San’s feet, the way he was taught. San doesn’t try to move Yeosang. He watches the bunny hybrid settle, knees tucked under himself neatly, posture perfect. There’s a quiet tension in the air like Yeosang is waiting for a command he doesn’t understand yet.

But San doesn’t give him one. Instead, he leans back in the armchair and rests his hands on his knees, letting out a breath. “Okay,” he says, voice soft. 

“My name’s Choi San,” he begins. “I work in international military logistics. It’s mostly desk work now, which I’m fine with. I spend a lot of time at home.”

Another pause. Still nothing from Yeosang, but San doesn’t need it. He just keeps going.

“I live in a penthouse apartment uptown. It’s a nice place. Cozy. Quiet. And I’m not alone... there’s someone else there with me.” His voice softens further. “He’s a cat hybrid, actually. His name’s Wooyoung.”

At that, Yeosang glances up for the first time. Although it doesn’t quite reach San’s eyes.

San notices but doesn’t react too much. He just smiles a little. “He’s… very different from you. Loud. Opinionated. Dramatic, sometimes. But I’ve known him since we were kids. His parents used to work for mine. I took him in after things got rough.”

Yeosang’s gaze flickers down again. Internally he cringes at the thought of a hybrid so… feral. 

“He helped me prepare for today,” San adds. “Decorated the spare room. Said he didn’t want another cat in the house, so you’re lucky,” he says gently, trying to ease the tension. “In a way he picked you without even knowing you.”

San leans forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees now. “I don’t expect you to know what to say right now,” he says. Yeosang’s lip trembles imperceptibly, but he doesn’t move.

San notices. He keeps his voice steady. “I’m going to take you home today. You’ll have your own room. Privacy. Clothes that fit you, food you like. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

San notices the flicker of confusion in Yeosang’s eyes, followed by something else. Subtle, but unmistakable. Disappointment. Yeosang never learned how to study for a test like Choi San.

He frowns gently. “You’re upset,” he says, quietly. Yeosang doesn’t look up. His fingers curl tighter into the fabric of his uniform slacks, shoulders drawing in slightly. “No, sir,” he answers automatically, voice soft and clipped. “I’m honored to be yours.”

San’s heart aches. He knows that tone too well as the voice of someone who’s been punished for anything but perfect obedience. “You don’t have to lie,” he says, gently but firmly.

Yeosang flinches at that, just barely. It’s almost like he doesn’t know how to exist outside of performance. San leans back again, giving him space. “Did you want me to… do something to you?” he asks, not cruelly, just trying to understand. “Right now?”

Yeosang finally lifts his gaze. There’s a flicker of shame in his wide eyes, but he nods slowly. “I exist to serve you. I want to show you I can be good,” he says. His voice almost seems rough from use. San wonders if Yeosang was ever allowed to talk for this long in his life. 

San lets that sit between them for a long moment.

Then, quietly, “Yeosang… you already are good.”

Yeosang moves without a word.

It’s hesitant, almost unsure, but deliberate. He shifts forward in between San’s legs, hands placed softly on either side of San’s thigh as he inches forward again towards San’s crotch, gaze tilted down in the way he’s been trained. His touch is featherlight, testing. His breath hitches like he’s unsure if he’s doing it right.

San’s hand immediately catches his wrist.

“Yeosang,” he says, gently, but with enough weight to stop him.

The hybrid freezes. He doesn’t look up but instead stills completely, like he’s bracing for rejection or punishment. His ears lie flat against his head. The inklings of tears begin to shine in his eyes.

San softens his grip but doesn’t let go. “I told you. That’s not why I’m here.”

There’s no response. Yeosang stays like that. Kneeling, waiting, his posture betraying a kind of quiet confusion. Like at any moment San will change his mind and let him do what he is supposed to do. 

“I don’t want that from you,” San says. “Not now. Not unless you want it. Not because you think you have to.” Yeosang blinks once. Slowly. Like he’s trying to decipher the words.

“I don’t understand,” he says eventually. His voice is quieter than ever, a fragile murmur. “Am I… not up to your standards?”

San’s expression tightens, a pang of sadness hitting him. His breath leaves him in a sharp, stunned exhale. He realizes then, with a hollow twist in his chest, that Yeosang must have spent years preparing for this. Imagining what being owned would mean, what was expected of him. He’d been taught that obedience and silence and offering himself were the highest virtues he could have, that being touched and used was proof he was wanted. It strikes San all at once, painfully, that Yeosang likely thought he was ready for this moment, that he would please his new owner by giving himself up so completely, so carefully. And San hates the idea that this boy knelt before him believing that service was all he was good for, that he’d failed somehow by not being used immediately.

Yeosang shifts back onto his heels, knees pressed together, wrists held out, face tilted downward in practiced submission. There’s no fear in his eyes, just resignation. A quiet acceptance of what he assumes is inevitable.

It guts San like a knife.

Yeosang flinches just slightly but doesn’t move. “I- I’m sorry,” he whispers. “If I don't please you, I can take the punishment. I won’t resist.”

“Yeosang,” he says, voice strained. “No. No, no, put your hands down please.”

San slides out of the chair and drops to his knees in front of him, gently but firmly taking Yeosang’s wrists and lowering them between them. He doesn’t let go but just holds them loosely, trying to meet his gaze.

Yeosang doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how. He just looks at San like he’s the one who doesn’t understand.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” San says, firmer now. “Ever. That’s not what I’m here for.”

Yeosang sits perfectly still. His hands rest quietly in his lap now, eyes blank and unfocused, like his brain has simply gone offline. The shift is subtle but unmistakable in the way his whole body goes still in that eerie, practiced way. A survival instinct. If he stays quiet, if he doesn’t react, if he becomes something neutral and unobtrusive, maybe he can’t disappoint.

San sees it happen. The light behind those big eyes dims, like a curtain drawn over a window. It twists something deep in his chest.

“Yeosang?” he tries gently.

No answer. Not even a flicker of recognition. He’s retreated somewhere inside himself where the world can’t touch him. Yeosang doesn’t move. But something in his throat clicks like he swallowed down words he wasn’t sure he had permission to say. His ears, once perked, droop slightly forward, covering his eyes. 

San curses himself silently.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

He had wanted to be gentle. To make this transition easier. To show Yeosang, from the very first moment, that he wasn’t going to be like the others. But all he’s managed to do is confuse him, hurt him, and push him deeper into the only survival mechanism he knows: shutting down.

You idiot, he thinks, rubbing a hand over his face. He thinks you don’t want him. That he failed. That he’s already not good enough.

He looks back at the boy curled so neatly on the floor like he’s expecting to be stored somewhere until needed. That sight alone makes San’s stomach turn.

San watches him carefully, eyes steady. He doesn’t sigh or falter this time. Instead, his voice is calm, deliberate.

“Yeosang.”

The hybrid’s ears twitch, lifting slightly at the sound of his name. His blank stare sharpens, focus returning as he hears that clear, direct tone.

“Look at me.”

Yeosang’s gaze lifts quickly and obediently though it’s shy and uncertain, dark eyes flicking up and then down before finally settling on San’s chest. He’s listening now. Waiting for instruction.

San’s mouth firms into a line that isn’t unkind. “Don’t kneel there like that.” He lets the words hang for a beat, watching confusion tighten Yeosang’s brow. “If you want to help me… if you want to be good… come here.”

He shifts slightly, legs apart just enough to make room, and pats his thigh once in a clear, quiet invitation.

Yeosang’s ears perk higher, hope sparking in his eyes. He doesn’t hesitate for long. His hands press against the floor as he moves forward on all fours, careful but quick, clearly wanting to do it right. He pauses only for a second at San’s knees, glancing up as if to check one last time that this is truly allowed.

San gives a single nod.

That’s all it takes.

Yeosang immediately folds himself into San’s lap, pressing in close but still holding himself carefully. Back straight, legs tucked neatly, hands resting gently on San’s thighs. He’s warm and trembling faintly, but there’s an unmistakable eagerness in the way he settles, head tilting down submissively as he waits for approval.

San rests one hand firmly on Yeosang’s back as he pulls him closer to his chest.

“Good,” he says simply, his voice even. “This is better.”

Yeosang’s breath hitches in relief. His posture relaxes by slow degrees, his tail giving the tiniest flick before going still again. He doesn’t speak, but the way he presses just a little closer says enough.

San keeps one arm wrapped securely around Yeosang’s waist, the other hand moving in slow, steady strokes up and down the line of his back. Yeosang shivers faintly at the contact but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans a fraction closer, nose brushing against San’s chest, breath warm and shallow.

San lowers his chin just enough to press his mouth near the soft crown of Yeosang’s hair, his voice pitched low and calm.

“Can I try again?” he asks quietly. “Start over?”

Yeosang’s ears twitch, folding back and then rising again. San feels it beneath his palm how the boy tenses at the question, so he smooths his hand in another careful pass down Yeosang’s spine.

“Let me reiterate. There’s nothing wrong with you,” San says clearly, making sure each word lands. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not… failing me. I need you to know that.”

Yeosang stays silent, but San can feel the faint catch of breath in his chest.

“It’s me,” San goes on softly. “I’m the one who’s… different. I’d like to take things slower. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you here.”

Yeosang’s fingers twitch against San’s thigh, as if testing whether he’s allowed to hold on.

San exhales slowly, the arm around Yeosang’s waist tightening in a subtle hug. His hand settles at the back of Yeosang’s head, cradling it gently, pressing him in closer to his chest.

“You don’t have to offer yourself to me sexually to be good,” he says, voice steady. “You’re already good. You’re enough just being here. If you want to help me… then stay. Sit with me. Let me hold you.”

He feels Yeosang tremble once, a tiny, shuddering breath escaping him.

“I’ll praise you for that,” San promises, his voice firm but warm. “For being here. For keeping me company. That’s all I want from you right now.”

Slowly, carefully, he feels the rigid line of Yeosang’s back begin to loosen under his hand. The boy’s head tilts in closer, resting more heavily against San’s chest. San closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the shape of Yeosang held against him. He resumes tracing those calming lines down his back, over and over, steady as a heartbeat.

“I know,” he says softly, voice low against Yeosang’s hair, “I’m probably not what you expected.”

Yeosang doesn’t answer, but San feels the faintest shift in the way his ears give a small twitch against San’s collar.

“I know you were trained to think owners want certain things,” he continues carefully. “That you’d show them you’re good by offering yourself the way you did.”

He feels Yeosang’s breath hitch against him at that, a tiny, involuntary shiver. San’s voice gentles even more.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Because I’m not going to ask those things of you. I know that’s confusing. I know that might feel… wrong to you.”

“But I want to show you something different,” San says, firmer now. “A different way to be treated.”

Yeosang trembles faintly in his lap, breath catching.

“I know it won’t be easy,” San admits. “It might be hard to trust. But I want to try anyway. If you’ll let me.”

San hopes that Yeosang will be open to his words. They sit there in silence for a couple more beats before San abruptly gets up. Not before softly depositing Yeosang onto the chaise next to him. The human walks to the door where the attendant is waiting just outside the room. 

“I’m taking him home,” his voice firm.

“Alright but first-”

“I said now.”

He signs the remaining papers quickly, barely glancing over them. He doesn't care. He just wants to get Yeosang out of this place. Out of that silence. Out of that blank void where nothing truly lives.

When he returns, Yeosang hasn’t moved. San kneels down beside him carefully.

“We’re going home,” he says, voice low. Yeosang doesn’t respond. But his ears twitch. And when San gently places a coat over his shoulders, Yeosang gets up with practiced precision, standing behind San and waiting for him to move so he can follow two paces behind him.

San hesitates when the attendant holds the leash out to him. It's just a simple strip of leather, polished, sterile. Yeosang stands motionless, still clinging to the rules he’s been forced to live by. His wrists are folded delicately in front of him, posture straight, collar gleaming around his throat. San knows if he were to reach for Yeosang’s hand, the boy would flinch. But if he clips on the leash…

Maybe that wouldn’t scare him. Maybe it would feel like something he understands. His stomach twists. But he takes the leash. He walks over slowly, “I’m going to clip this on, okay?” he says gently. “Just until we get home. I promise.”

Yeosang’s ears don’t twitch this time. He simply tilts his head down, as if granting permission.

San hates every second of it, but he attaches the leash to the small ring at the front of Yeosang’s collar, fingers trembling as he does. Yeosang shifts slightly, eyes lowered. He seems… steadier, somehow. More anchored in the moment. It crushes San, the idea that submission is the only language Yeosang trusts.

Still crouched, San gives the leash a small, almost symbolic tug. Not commanding, just… present.

“Let’s go home.”

Yeosang rises without a word and follows obediently behind him.

 

Notes:

if you dont like to do currency conversions in your head (lol) Yeosang went for about 24 million usd #richboysan

anyways..

thanks to every one who has read so far!! i absolutely cannot wait to share the next couple chapters. hehehheehe. the awkward tension between yeosang and san is going to set up a lot!!!! how do you guys think wooyoung is going to react to meeting yeosang???? EEEEEEKKKKKKK

poor yeosang. he really just does not understand san. its okay baby..... WAHHHHHH

Chapter 7

The moment San steps outside with Yeosang in tow, the light from the midday sun floods over them like a spotlight. San barely blinks, used to the world outside the cold marble walls of that building but behind him, he hears the sharp intake of breath.

Yeosang flinches violently, shoulders curling inward as if the light itself had struck him. His ears flatten against his face while his eyes squeeze shut against the overwhelming brightness, a soft whimper slipping past his lips before he can stop it.

San freezes.

He turns just in time to see Yeosang shrinking into himself, clearly disoriented, his hand coming up trying to shield his face. San doesn’t say a word. He simply crouches down, pops open his briefcase on the curb beside them, and pulls out a pair of designer sunglasses.

“Here,” he says gently, holding them out.

Yeosang hesitates for a second before he blindly reaches out. His hands twitch in hesitation as the material trembles slightly between his fingers as he puts them on. The glasses are too big for his narrow face, but the moment they settle over his eyes, his posture eases just a little.

San’s heart aches seeing the bunny in his own sunglasses. “Thank you, Master.”

When was the last time he saw the sun? Walked outside? Felt a breeze that wasn’t pumped through air vents in a sterile hallway?

He sets those thoughts aside as he opens the passenger door of his sleek black car to gently guide Yeosang in, hand steady on the small of his back. He takes his keys from the valet and silently slips the man some random bills from his wallet. He’s glad to be rid of this place. 

The car ride is quiet at first, weighted with everything that just happened, with the leash loosely draped and Yeosang sitting as still as a statue in the seat beside him.

San doesn’t bother asking if Yeosang wants music as he doubts the hybrid has even been allowed to listen to music of his choosing. Instead, San reaches forward, flicking on the familiar radio station that always seems to be playing some gentle classical piece. Today, it’s a soft piano composition.

He keeps his eyes on the road, not wanting to make Yeosang feel observed. But in the corner of his vision, he notices the way Yeosang’s shoulders slowly, almost imperceptibly, ease downward. The tension in his posture gives way to something quieter. Not comfort exactly, but a soft sigh through the nose, his hands folding gently in his lap instead of clenching.

It’s a small reaction, but it feels monumental. San says nothing. He just lets the music fill the silence between them, driving through the city with the windows up and the sun casting warm lines across Yeosang’s pale arms.

He keeps one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting lightly on the gear shift, the soft notes of the piano still floating through the car. But his thoughts are anything but calm.

The car glides into the underground penthouse parking garage with a low hum. As the engine cuts off, the silence stretches thin between them. San watches him for a moment, then nods to himself. He unlocks his phone and quickly types out a message to Wooyoung.

Wooyoungie 

4:32 PM 

just pulled in. close all the curtains. it’s too bright for him.

 

Then he slips his phone back into his pocket, pushes the door open, and steps out. The moment he opens Yeosang’s door, the hybrid flinches slightly at the shift in light as even the dim garage feels glaring to him.

Yeosang doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even look at San. He simply sits there, still and silent, as if waiting for orders.

San gently takes the offered leash, fingers brushing lightly over the leather. He doesn't yank or pull it. He just holds it, enough to make it clear he wants to lead him.

Yeosang rises without a word, falling into step behind San like a shadow. His movements are smooth but obviously automatic. As they make their way toward the elevator, San keeps glancing back, checking that Yeosang is okay. He's met with the same docile disposition, a completely neutral expression. 

The door unlocks with a quiet click , and San steps into the penthouse first, Yeosang trailing just a half-step behind, the leash hanging loosely between them. The curtains have all been drawn as asked, casting the living room in soft, shaded tones. Wooyoung is standing by the kitchen island, hands wringing the hem of his oversized hoodie. He straightens up the moment he hears the door, eyes flitting from San’s face to the figure behind him.

His smile falters.

He hadn’t fully believed San would come back with someone. Not until he sees the soft shine of a collar and the leash in San’s hand. Wooyoung's heart drops a little. Not in jealousy, but in something closer to unease. The picture in front of him is a little bit haunting and surreal.

Yeosang stands awkwardly by the entrance, posture stiff, eyes trained on the floor like he’s afraid to do anything wrong. Wooyoung can see the way that Yeosang is trying to observe his surroundings through the corners of his eyes, the sunglasses dipping onto the bridge of his nose. The leash twitches once in San’s hand as Yeosang keeps his shoulders squared and still, like a soldier waiting for instruction.

Wooyoung can’t help the way his eyes narrow slightly, watching them. The whole image unsettles him.

San seems to notice. He unclips the leash carefully and places it gently on the entryway table, like it’s just a coat or a key. “We’re home,” he says softly, glancing between the two of them, trying to bridge a silence that’s already stretching too long.

Yeosang doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

“This is Yeosang,” San continues, walking a bit further into the living room, gently coaxing Yeosang forward with a motion of his hand. Wooyoung gives a small nod, trying to be polite. “Hi,” he says. It’s clipped, unsure.

Yeosang glances at him, barely, then bows his head a little like a practiced response. The tension presses like humidity.

Wooyoung stiffens visibly beside the counter, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in a kind of skeptical confusion. Yeosang doesn’t react at all. He simply stands behind San with his hands folded in front of him, his gaze flicking toward the floor, like he’s been placed on display again.

San clears his throat. “Let me show you around.” Wooyoung doesn’t say anything. 

They start with the kitchen, though San glosses over it as he doubts Yeosang has ever been allowed to cook. Then the living room, the home office, the bathroom, and finally the last door at the end of the hall. San pauses outside it.

“This will be your room,” he says, and opens it carefully.

The scent of linen and new wood greets them. The room is simple, but warm. Soft neutrals and warm browns, a plush bed pressed against the window wall, blackout curtains neatly hanging down, a desk, and a shelf filled with books and figurines. There are a few rabbit-themed touches, too subtle to be mocking, just comforting.

Yeosang takes it in silently.

San rubs the back of his neck. “Wooyoung picked most of it out. He… put a lot of care into it.”

Behind them, Wooyoung appears in the doorway but doesn’t step inside. His arms are still crossed.

Yeosang’s eyes drift toward the bookshelf. Then the bed. Then to San again. He seems hesitant like asking questions might be punished, but then he finally speaks.

“Sir?” he asks quietly.

San hums, eyes soft. “What is it?”

Yeosang looks back at the bed, then to San, like he’s trying to measure how far he’s allowed to go. “I understand that this is the room where I’ll be expected to perform,” he says slowly, “but… where should I sleep afterward?”

The air in San’s lungs freezes.

Yeosang looks up at him, eyes wide but calm, as if he’s asking where to store dishes or fold clothes. Like he’s doing his best to follow the rules but doesn’t yet understand what they are.

San stares at him, throat dry. “What do you mean, sleep?” he finally says. “You sleep here. This is your bed, Yeosang.”

Yeosang blinks. “To sleep… overnight? Not just to wait?” It's almost as if he’s waiting for San to laugh at his own joke. 

“Yes. To sleep. Every night. It’s yours.”

Yeosang’s brows draw together. He glances at the bed again, visibly trying to process this. “Would sir prefer instead that I use his personal bed for service?” he says slowly. 

San feels a stab of something awful in his gut.

From the doorway, Wooyoung makes a noise like a scoff he can’t hold in. “Do you really think beds are for sex only?”

Yeosang flinches.

“Wooyoung,” San says quickly, his tone firm.

But Wooyoung’s expression has already hardened. “I’m not trying to be mean,” he mutters, backing away from the doorway. “I just- God, this is insane.”

He disappears down the hall before San can say more.

Yeosang stands silently, hands folded in front of him, his face unreadable again. The stiffness returns to his shoulders.

San steps closer. “Yeosang,” he says quietly, “I don’t want you to be used like that. This room, this bed…it’s for you to rest. That’s it.”

Yeosang doesn’t respond. But San can see the tension in his jaw. He’s not defiant. Just confused. San moves carefully, keeping his voice light as he walks Yeosang through the rest of the room.

The closet doors slide open with a gentle hush, revealing two neat rows of clothes. Most still have tags on them. Soft, breathable fabrics in calm colors. Pajamas. Loungewear. A few options for going outside, if Yeosang ever wants to. San gestures toward it.

“These are all yours. You can wear whatever feels good,” he says. “And if there’s anything you don’t like, or something you need that’s not here, we’ll fix that.”

Yeosang runs his fingers over a shirt sleeve, but his face doesn’t change. He gives a small nod, as if taking notes for an exam.

San opens the en suite bathroom next. Inside, the lights are low and warm. The cabinets are stocked with every type of soap, lotion, and hygiene item he and Wooyoung could think of. Plush white towels line a shelf. A soft bath mat hugs the tiled floor.

“There’s no schedule here,” San tells him. “You can shower whenever you want. You don’t need to ask permission.”

Yeosang tilts his head faintly, as if unsure he heard that right.

San hesitates, then steps back into the main room. “Take some time to rest. You don’t need to do anything right now. Just… get comfortable. I’ll check in with you later, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Yeosang says, bowing slightly. San closes the door behind him. He exhales the moment he’s alone in the hall.

He finds Wooyoung in the kitchen, hunched against the island counter with his arms folded, eyes fixed on nothing. The soda he opened earlier has gone flat beside him. He doesn't look up as San walks in.

“You did not have to act like that,” San says, not unkindly.

He picks at the tab at the top of the can. “That’s just... how I feel.”

San leans back against the counter across from him, crossing his arms. “You've barely even talked to him. Lets not underestimate first impressions.”

Wooyoung finally looks at him, eyes sharp. “And what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, welcome to freedom! By the way, it won’t feel like it for a long time!’ San, we’re in way over our heads.”

San frowns, already knowing where this is going.

“All he can think about is offering himself. And now he’s just sitting in that room, probably waiting to be summoned like it’s a cell. He doesn’t know anything else. What are we supposed to do with that?”

“We teach him, slowly. I never said this was going to be easy Woo.” San says, quiet but firm.

Wooyoung laughs, hollow. “You think this is like getting a puppy? He’s not just confused. He’s- he’s completely wired for a different world. One where he only has value if he’s useful. You saw his face. He doesn’t even think he deserves a bed unless it’s to be used.”

“I did see his face,” San replies. “And that’s exactly why we can’t give up on him.”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “He’s a lost cause, San.”

“No, he’s not.” San steps away from the counter, voice gentler now. “He’s not a lost cause. He’s just lost. And we can show him the way back. Slowly. Carefully. You don’t have to be the one to do it, but I am .”

Wooyoung doesn’t answer, but something about the hardness in his shoulders gives way, just slightly.

Wooyoung’s mouth presses into a thin line.

“Youre right. I don’t know what I’m doing,” San admits. “But I do know he deserves better than what he had. And if this place can even be a fraction of that? Then I’m not giving up.”

Another long pause. Wooyoung finally picks up the soda and pours the rest down the sink. “You’re a better man than me,” he mutters.

San watches him, gaze softening. “You’ve got the biggest heart I know. That’s why this scares you.”

Wooyoung looks away quietly. He has no response. San thinks as he silently fiddles with a dish towel, glancing toward the hallway. “I think…” he begins, looking back at Wooyoung, “it might help if he sees us. Sees how we live. How we talk. He needs to watch, to unlearn things slowly. Observation might feel safer than pressure.”

Wooyoung sighs. “So… what? Like a dinner show?”

“Like a quiet invite,” San corrects. “I’ll ask him if he wants to come into the kitchen while we cook. No expectations. Just be with us.”

Wooyoung says nothing, but he doesn’t protest either. San gives him a small nod and leaves, walking the short path down to Yeosang’s room. The door is still cracked from earlier, but he taps once anyway, soft and respectful.

“Yeosang?” He pushes the door open gently and freezes in place. Yeosang is kneeling in the center of the room. Hands placed neatly on his thighs, back perfectly straight, head bowed slightly like he’s waiting for a command that hasn’t come. San’s stomach twists.

But he tamps the emotion down before it reaches his face. He can’t show pity as Yeosang will only take it as disappointment.

“Hey,” San says softly, stepping into the room like one might approach a wounded animal. “I, um-” San clears his throat, softening his voice further. “Wooyoung and I are making dinner. I thought maybe you’d come sit with us? In the kitchen. You don’t have to help or anything. Just… keep us company.”

Yeosang nods after a pause. It’s small and hesitant, but it’s a nod. “Yes sir.”

San smiles just a little and reaches out an offering hand. “Come on, then.”

He’s silent as ever, barefoot and tentative, hands at his sides. His eyes flit across the room like he’s memorizing the positions of everything. When he steps forward, it’s to quietly make his way toward the far corner of the kitchen, placing himself flush against the wall, out of the way like background furniture.

San’s chest tightens.

“Yeosang,” he says gently before the hybrid can settle there. “Why don’t you sit at the counter stools?”

Yeosang’s steps falter. He looks between San and the stool, and something about the request makes his body tense. Still, he obeys. He sits primly on the edge of the stool, back straight, feet barely brushing the floor.

Wooyoung doesn’t look up. San returns to the cutting board beside him, giving Yeosang time to just be in the space without pressure. The tension is a slow, simmering thing, but they try to carry on naturally while they can feel Yeosang quietly observing them. Wooyoung begins chopping scallions while San sets the pot to boil. Music plays softly in the background as an attempt to fill the silence. 

Then softly, barely above a whisper Yeosang speaks. “Sir, may I ask a question?”

San immediately looks up, surprised but relieved. “Of course.”

Yeosang’s eyes remain fixed on the counter. “Why… do you let Wooyoung handle kitchen utensils?”

Wooyoung freezes mid-slice, knuckles whitening around the knife. He stares hard at the carrots in front of him, visibly working to suppress his reaction.

San doesn’t answer right away. He puts down his knife and turns slightly toward Yeosang, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he speaks carefully, aware of how delicate this is.

“Because this is his home,” he says. “And in our home, we share responsibilities because we trust each other.”

Yeosang doesn’t seem to understand. His gaze flickers briefly to Wooyoung, then drops again.

Wooyoung mutters, “I’m not going to stab anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Yeosang shrinks slightly, his spine folding in toward himself. He didn’t mean offense. It’s clear in the stiff line of his shoulders, the anxious shift of his fingers. He was asking something deeply honest, from a place of unfamiliarity, not judgment. San sighs inwardly.

“Yeosang,” he says, more gently now, “it’s okay to ask questions. Just know… things might be different here than where you came from. That doesn’t mean they’re wrong. We want you to feel safe, and one day maybe…comfortable.”

Yeosang nods, silent again but it's clear he doesn’t quite get it. He doesn’t know how to feel “safe.” Not even quite familiar with what that looks like under San’s context. He probably would have felt ‘safe’ if San had used Yeosang to his full potential and validated that he had done a good job fulfilling his purpose. Safety is obedience. Safety is following the rules. Safety is to please. If San wanted him to feel safe, why isn’t he letting him do the duties he’s trained for his entire conscious life? Why doesn’t he let Yeosang do the things he’s damn near perfect at?

Dinner is nearly finished, the last of the vegetables sizzling in the pan while soft music hums beneath the kitchen light. Wooyoung plates everything with silent efficiency, and San, wiping his hands on a towel, turns to Yeosang with a gentle smile.

“Would you mind setting the table for us?”

“Yes, sir,” Yeosang replies instantly, rising from the stool with silent grace.

He moves with careful, almost mechanical precision as the placemats aligned perfectly and silverware placed down with mirrored accuracy. It’s clear he’s been trained for this. Everything is done without hesitation. When he’s finished, he returns to San’s side and, without a word, lowers himself to his knees beside San’s chair.

San turns to look at the table. There are two places set. His brows furrow, glancing down to where Yeosang now kneels beside him, hands resting neatly on his thighs, gaze cast downward, patient.

“Yeosang,” San says softly, “why didn’t you set a place for yourself?”

Yeosang doesn’t look up. “I’m not permitted to eat at the table,” he says, voice even and quiet. “It’s your meal. I await instruction.”

San feels a pinch in his chest. “What do you mean… instruction?”

“I don’t feed myself,” Yeosang explains, as if it’s obvious. “I’m fed what I’m allowed. However you prefer it, sir.”

It takes everything in San not to react with visible horror. Behind him, Wooyoung pauses mid-step, a plate still in his hand. San slowly crouches beside Yeosang. “You’ve… always been fed by someone else?”

Yeosang’s expression doesn’t change. “Yes, sir. I eat only if my owner permits it. I kneel beside them and they decide how much I deserve.”

San swallows hard. “You deserve to eat whenever you’re hungry, Yeosang.”

Yeosang doesn’t respond to that. He still waits, kneeling beside the chair, clearly expecting San to sit down and feed him. It’s what makes sense to him. San forces himself into motion, stands, and pulls the chair out gently. He sits, trying to buy time, trying to mask the ache forming behind his ribs. Wooyoung sets down the last plate in front of San, hesitating only a beat before placing a third beside the second chair, just in case. But Yeosang remains kneeling, unmoving.

San’s fathers hybrids were never allowed to be in the dining room with them, as they always dined separately in the servants quarters. He supposes that for this reason he doesn’t understand the culture behind Yeosang’s training of what meal time should look like. 

San looks down at the plate in front of him, then back at Yeosang. “…Would it make you feel more comfortable if I gave you food myself tonight?”

Yeosang doesn’t answer at first, but the smallest nod dips his head. San picks up a piece of grilled zucchini and, hand trembling slightly, holds it out. Yeosang parts his lips automatically. He chews and swallows like it’s routine. San’s throat tightens again. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He’d imagined them sitting at the table together. Talking. Laughing maybe.

San can’t keep doing it.

Feeding Yeosang bite by bite feels wrong. Not because of what it looks like but because of what it means. Because Yeosang doesn’t know that he’s allowed to do anything else. “We’re not doing this,” San says gently but firmly, more to himself than to Yeosang, setting down the fork. “Yeosang, please come sit at the table with us.”

Yeosang freezes. His eyes flick to the extra chair, then back to San. There’s a flicker of confusion but he doesn’t question the command. He moves like he’s walking toward punishment.

San pulls the chair out for him, nodding encouragingly. “Here. You can sit next to me.”

Yeosang does. Slowly. Tense.

San slides a full plate in front of him, complete with silverware. “This is yours. You don’t have to wait. Just eat as much as you want.”

Yeosang stares at the plate like it’s a test. Like there’s a trap somewhere in this command. How much is he supposed to eat? He lifts the fork with careful but awkward fingers, almost backward. The handle clinks against the plate.

San and Wooyoung both stay quiet. He tries to scoop up some rice and vegetables, but the fork tilts too far and spills onto his lap. Yeosang stiffens. His throat bobs. He tries again. This time, a piece of tofu slips off the fork and lands on the edge of the plate. His hands shake.

Again. This time, the food drops onto his shirt. Yeosang stares at the mess on his chest, lips trembling. His fingers tighten around the fork. His breathing starts to quicken.

Tears brim in Yeosang’s wide eyes, but he doesn’t let them fall. Crying only means more punishment. He clenches his jaw, furious with himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I- I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to- I’ll- ” He starts to rise from the chair, clearly preparing to get on the floor, probably to ask for punishment.

Wooyoung groans and scoffs, pushing his own chair back slightly. “Are you serious?”

San rounds on him with a look, but Yeosang flinches harder at the sound. “It’s okay,” San says quickly, turning back. He kneels beside Yeosang again, gently holding his hands. “You’re not in trouble. None of this is wrong. You’re just… learning. That’s all.”

Yeosang blinks at him, tears now rolling silently down his cheeks. His grip on the fork is still tight, like if he lets go, everything will collapse. “I don’t know how to be here,” he whispers, brokenly. “I’m trying.”

“And you’re doing a great job, Yeosang. All that I ask is that you try.” 

He keeps his voice soft as he scoots his chair a little closer to Yeosang’s. “Try again,” he says gently. “Here, hold it like this.”

He places his hand lightly over Yeosang’s, adjusting the angle of the fork, steadying it between trembling fingers. “You’re doing fine. Just… take your time.”

Yeosang nods, too fast, too rigid, eyes still shiny with unshed tears. He bites the inside of his cheek and focuses on the plate. His wrist tenses as he guides the fork down. It wobbles then steadies. He manages to scoop some rice on the fork and lift it to his mouth.

It’s awkward. Slow. But he does it. San gives him a small nod of encouragement.

San watches him go, jaw ticking. But he doesn’t follow. Not yet.

Because Yeosang finally eats another bite on his own. And even though his hands are still trembling, and even though he won’t look up from the plate, he’s done it on his own. “You’re doing really well.” 

San misses the look on Wooyoung’s face before the plates even move. Tight lips, narrowed eyes. He’s not going to say anything but the passive-aggressive scrape of ceramic against the table says plenty.

Yeosang flinches at the noise. Behind them, Wooyoung stands up. He gathers most of the plates and silverware in one arm, not bothering to ask if anyone’s finished. His movements are tight, controlled. He doesn’t look at Yeosang as he turns toward the sink, but his sigh carries heavy over his shoulder.

San gently taps Yeosang’s wrist. “You did great. That’s enough for tonight, okay?” Yeosang nods, shoulders still tense, but he sets the fork down with careful fingers.

San offers a small smile. “Why don’t you go wash up? I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

Yeosang hesitates. His eyes flick between San and the kitchen sink where Wooyoung is still turned away, arms rigid as he scrubs plates. But after a moment, he stands and bows his head obediently. “Yes, sir.”

San hates the way that word still slips so easily from Yeosang’s lips. But he doesn’t correct him, at least not yet.

He waits until Yeosang disappears down the hall, footsteps barely audible, before exhaling slowly and pushing to his feet. The air between him and Wooyoung is already thick by the time he steps into the kitchen.

Wooyoung doesn’t look up. “You don’t have to say it.”

“I’m going to say it anyway.”

Wooyoung slams a dish down a little too hard into the drying rack. “I didn’t do anything.”

“No. That’s exactly the problem.” San folds his arms, voice low. “You didn’t do anything while a terrified omega hybrid sat here crying because he dropped a piece of food.”

Wooyoung finally turns, jaw set. “What was I supposed to do, San? Coddle him? Pretend like this whole thing isn’t exhausting to everyone involved?”

San’s eyes narrow. “You think he’s exhausting?”

“I think this situation is exhausting!” Wooyoung snaps, throwing the dish towel onto the counter. “You brought home a broken kid who flinches every time someone breathes too loud and now we all have to tiptoe around him like we’re made of glass. Forgive me if that’s not easy!”

The silence that follows is sharp.

San leans against the counter, tension pulling tight across his shoulders. “He’s not a burden, Wooyoung.”

“I didn’t say he was.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Wooyoung’s mouth opens then closes. His hands tremble slightly where they grip the edge of the counter. “Do you even remember what I was like back then growing up?” he says finally, voice quieter but no less intense. “I was scared too. I flinched too. But you didn’t kneel next to me every time I messed up. You let me figure it out. You let me snap at you. You let me be awful. And now what? He drops a fork and you’re on your knees beside him like he’s going to shatter.”

San’s jaw works for a moment, silent.

Then: “Because he might . You two are very different Wooyoung and you know that.”

Wooyoung looks away. San doesn’t stop. “You had fire. You had the anger to fight. Yeosang doesn’t even think he deserves to eat or sleep on his own accord, Wooyoung. He’s not trying to be difficult. He’s trying to survive.”

Something flickers in Wooyoung’s expression. Guilt, maybe. Resentment. Maybe both.

“You think I don’t see how scared you are?” San continues, softer now. “How hard you’re trying not to be replaced?”

Wooyoung’s throat tightens.

“I am not replacing you,” San says, enunciating every word, stepping closer. “But I am asking you to grow up. You’re not the one who needs saving anymore. So help me save someone else.”

The words land hard. Wooyoung turns his back again, pressing his hands to the sink. For a long time, he doesn’t say anything.

“…I don’t know how to help him,” he says eventually, barely audible.

San lets the silence breathe before responding. “Start by being kind.”

 

Notes:

awwwwwwww my poor babies. all of them. GAWDDDDDDDDDD.

i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has been leaving kudos and comments!!! i love love love reading what everyone thinks so far! my heart is so big.

San and Wooyoung both have such different dynamics, and I can't wait to explore how Yeosang tries to navigate his new world!

Chapter 8

The days fell into a quiet, uneasy rhythm as Yeosang settled into San’s home. He tried hard to learn their schedule, watching carefully for cues on when to wake, when to eat, when to move. San could see how determined he was to adapt to be no trouble at all. But even as Yeosang did everything right on paper, it felt oddly hollow, like he wasn’t really there . He moved through the house with cautious precision, almost ghostlike in his silence. In the mornings, he might follow San into the office and kneel neatly on the floor beside the bookshelf, head bowed, waiting without being asked. Sometimes San would catch him watching, dark eyes unblinking, ears twitching at the sound of typing, but he never spoke unless spoken to. When San would offer him a chair or suggest he relax, Yeosang would hesitate for a moment before settling stiffly on the very edge, hands folded in his lap, like a child waiting for punishment that never came.

In the evenings, it was much the same. Wooyoung would sprawl across the couch, drama playing loudly on the TV, while Yeosang took up his usual post, standing next to the floor lamp like a living decoration. He held perfectly still, hands behind his back or gently resting at his sides, gaze cast politely downward. Even when Wooyoung glanced over, obviously trying to figure him out, Yeosang rarely met his eyes. If he spoke at all, it was in quiet, short responses: Yes, sir , No, sir , If you wish . Wooyoung, for all his bluster, seemed genuinely frustrated by it. Once, San heard him mutter I’m not your damn trainer, under his breath before turning up the volume and ignoring Yeosang entirely for the rest of the night. It wasn’t that Wooyoung disliked him, San thought. He just didn’t know what to do with someone who didn’t know how to be with other people.

San watched all of this with a growing ache in his chest. He could see the way Yeosang always tried to make himself smaller, quieter, safer, like a piece of furniture that wouldn’t dare be in the way. No matter how many times San told him he didn’t have to kneel, or that he could sit with them, Yeosang would obey in the moment, then slip right back into the corner the next day, resetting himself to neutral like he was afraid of assuming too much. It hurt to see. This wasn’t resistance. It wasn’t defiance. It was worse: it was pure, unthinking obedience. The kind that didn’t know how to ask for anything at all. And while San tried to be patient, offering small comforts, gentle words, quiet praise, he couldn’t shake the fear that Yeosang didn’t even understand he could want more.

It wasn’t lost on San that things between him and Wooyoung had changed lately, even if neither of them would say it outright. Their easy rhythm of knowing each other’s moods before a word was spoken felt stilted now. Wooyoung wasn’t cruel to him, not exactly, but there was a wary distance in the way he watched the hybrid drift through their rooms like a ghost. Most nights he sat on the couch with his arms crossed, eyes on the TV but clearly somewhere else entirely. 

San wished he could fix it. But lately, he didn’t even have time to try. The last week had been a nightmare of urgent data reports, budget revisions, and security project proposals piling up like sandbags before a flood. Most nights, San sat hunched at his desk until well past midnight, eyes burning, fingers tapping through line after line of dense text, while Yeosang dozed in a corner without being told, too obedient to even say goodnight. When San would finally turn off the monitor, he’d gently shake Yeosang awake to let him know he could return to his own quarters for the night. He’d find Wooyoung asleep on the couch, blanket tangled around his feet, refusing to share their bed out of some unspoken stubbornness. Even then, San would carry his sleeping body back to Wooyoung’s own bedroom, tucking him in and kissing his forehead before climbing into his own cold mattress in the room next door.

Both San and Wooyoung knew the worst part; Yeosang wasn’t demanding anything of them. He was so quiet, so polite, so easy to ignore . He never asked for company or comfort. He never interrupted San’s calls or Wooyoung’s shows. And it made San sick to realize he was taking advantage of that silence, letting the boy fade into the walls while he lost himself in spreadsheets and strategy briefings. When he did see him kneeling in the corner of his office like an unused tool, or standing beside the lamp while Wooyoung clicked through channels, it twisted something awful in his gut. Because Yeosang hadn’t escaped anything at all. He’d just traded one cage for another, quieter one, and San wasn’t sure anymore that he knew how to break it open.

San adjusted the cuffs of his uniform jacket, glancing toward the living room where Yeosang was quietly dusting a bookshelf he hadn’t been asked to touch.

“Wooyoung,” San called, voice low but firm.

Wooyoung groaned from the couch, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice. “What.”

San shot him a look, then tilted his head toward the hall. “Come here for a second.”

Wooyoung heaved an exaggerated sigh but pushed himself up, padding over in bare feet. “If you’re about to ask me to babysit- ”

“I’m not asking,” San interrupted, voice mild but brooking no argument. He glanced over Wooyoung’s shoulder at Yeosang, who was now mid sweep, wearing some neutral sweatpants and hoodie out of his closet. He dropped his voice even lower. “I have to go in for this meeting. I won’t be gone long, maybe four or five hours. But he’s… you know how he is. He’ll just stand in the corner the whole time or give himself chores if you don’t talk to him.”

Wooyoung snorted. “Yeah.”

San’s jaw tightened. “Wooyoung.”

“Okay, okay,” Wooyoung said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You want me to talk to him. Got it.” He rolled his eyes but there was less venom than usual.

San’s expression softened. “Just… try. Please. I think this could be a really great bonding opportunity for the two of you.”

Wooyoung looked away for a beat, then muttered, “Fine. Go impress your military friends.”

A half hour later, the door clicked shut behind San, and the apartment fell into a strange, heavy quiet.

Wooyoung turned around, arms crossed, glaring halfheartedly at Yeosang, who had tucked himself neatly beside the armchair, hands folded, eyes cast down.

“You know you can sit, like, on the chair.” Wooyoung deadpanned.

Yeosang’s ears twitched. Wooyoung rolled his eyes and dropped onto the couch. “Fine. I’m not your trainer. I’m not gonna bark commands.” He picked up the remote, flicked through channels aimlessly for a moment, then sighed. “Jesus. This is weird.”

Yeosang swallowed. He risked a glance up. “Would sir prefer it if I sat?”

Wooyoung flinched at the honorific. “Just Wooyoung. Not sir. San might be into that shit but I’m not.”

Yeosang blinked slowly, processing. Then he lowered himself carefully onto the chair beside the coffee table, spine straight, hands in his lap.

Wooyoung stared. “That’s… okay. Sure. Whatever.” He rubbed his temples. “Look, I think it's time we actually get to know stuff about each other. So. Talk.”

Yeosang’s ears drooped. His lips parted soundlessly. Then he tried. “...What would you prefer I talk about?”

Wooyoung snorted a laugh despite himself. “You’re hopeless.” He paused, drumming his fingers. Then, more genuinely curious than he’d admit, he asked, “What was that place like? The hybrid facility.”

For a moment he went completely still, the way San hated, retreating into that blank, neutral nothingness. But Wooyoung just watched him, not angry, not pushing. Eventually, Yeosang’s voice emerged, quiet and halting.

“They… taught us how to serve. How to… watch for commands. Be useful.” He swallowed. “Be quiet.”

Wooyoung let out a slow breath. “Figures.” He leaned back. “They probably loved you there. You’re like a teacher’s pet.”

Yeosang blinked again, unsure if that was praise or insult. “I… I tried very hard to be good. To serve up to my expectations.”

Wooyoung’s smile faded a little at that. He picked at the seam of a throw pillow. “Yeah. I get that.”

Yeosang tilted his head in silent questioning. 

Wooyoung hesitated, then huffed a laugh. “Fuck it. Sure. San’s parents were not like facility trainers but might as well have been. I grew up in their house. Had to be perfect. Had to do everything right. Be the good little omega they expected. You fuck up, and they wont hesitate to remind you you’re not family. Just… staff.”

Yeosang’s eyes softened. He didn’t speak, but his gaze didn’t waver, ears lifting a little in open attention.

Wooyoung glanced at him and scowled lightly. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m… sorry,” Yeosang whispered automatically.

“No- ” Wooyoung ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean- fuck. Don’t apologize. It’s not you.” He let out a sigh, slumping back. “Shit. San’s right. You really are just gonna sit there and listen to anything, huh?”

Yeosang hesitated, then nodded once. Earnest. “If you want me to.”

Wooyoung groaned but it was softer this time. He stared at the ceiling. “Whatever. Fine. I guess that’s… nice. Weirdly.”

“My parents were… perfect. Model hybrids. The ideal obedient omega and beta pair for San’s parents. Always quiet. Polite. Did everything right. They were so fucking proud to be part of that family. San’s parents used to trot them out at parties to show off how well-trained they were.”

Yeosang blinked slowly, ears angling forward with quiet, careful attention.

Wooyoung’s laugh was humorless. “They bred me. As a gift. Did you know that?” He cut his eyes at Yeosang, daring him to flinch. Wooyoung scoffed. “Yeah. I was San’s fifth birthday present. Here you go, a perfect little omega playmate for your golden heir. ”

His voice cracked a little around the bitterness.

“Except I was a failure from day one,” Wooyoung continued, the words tumbling faster now, like they’d been waiting too long to get out. “Too loud. Too stubborn. Talked back. Didn’t want to serve. They hated it. They hated me . Always telling me I was disobedient, that I was embarrassing them, that I was the worst thing they’d ever produced. San’s dad would threaten to send me back to the facility for ‘retraining’ whenever I acted up. I think he liked it more anyway to just discipline me himself.”

Yeosang’s brows knit slightly. He watched Wooyoung with that same open, focused stillness. Wooyoung blew out a shaky breath, pressing his fingers hard into his eyes.

“San never treated me like that,” he added, voice lower now. “He always defended me. Said I didn’t have to be like them. Even when I was a little shit about it. He’d fight his parents over me. Got hit for it a few times, too.” He let his hands fall into his lap limply. “But… I dunno. It just sticks. Knowing everyone else saw me as defective. Useless. An omega who couldn’t even be obedient right.”

As Wooyoung’s words spilled out, raw and tangled with years of pain, Yeosang quietly rose from his place on the chair. Without a word, he knelt down beside Wooyoung’s feet, the movement gentle and careful. Slowly, hesitantly, Yeosang’s hand rested lightly on Wooyoung’s thigh as a small, tentative gesture of comfort.

Wooyoung’s breath hitched in surprise, but he said nothing. For once, there was no sharp retort or sarcasm to mask his feelings. The silence between them stretched comfortably, an unspoken understanding filling the space. It was relieving and even almost strange to finally talk like this, even if it was only one side speaking.

He didn’t have many people he could be honest with, and fewer still who seemed to listen without judgment. San was always there, always protective, but it was different with Yeosang. There was no pressure, no expectation. No pity. No forced apologies that Wooyoung had come to dread.

As the quiet deepened, Yeosang rested his head gently on Wooyoung’s lap, his hand still warm on the thigh beneath. The simple contact was grounding, softening the edges of a long-buried loneliness.

For a long while, they just stayed like that. Two unlikely companions, basking in the solace of silence.

Yeosang stayed still beneath Wooyoung’s hand, the steady pressure grounding him in a way words never had. The silence between them thickened, heavy but somehow safe.

After a long moment, his voice came as a quiet murmur, unsure and fragile. “I… I don’t remember much.”

Wooyoung blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I… before the facility,” Yeosang said, eyes tracing patterns on the carpet, as if searching for answers in the fibers. “It’s like… Pieces, but no whole. There are sounds…but no faces.”

He swallowed hard, biting his lip. “Sometimes I think… maybe it’s better that way. So I don’t miss it.”

Wooyoung’s grip on the couch tightened. He exhaled slowly. “That’s… rough.”

Wooyoung sank back against the couch. He definitely hadn’t expected this unraveling, this unexpected thread of something like connection. Usually, it took him years to let his walls slip, even a crack, and even then it was with people he trusted enough.

But there was something about Yeosang. Maybe from his quiet, steady, unassuming demeanor that made it easier. Easier to talk and listen. Maybe it simply was because there wasn’t anyone that Yeosang could go and ‘gossip’ about what Wooyoung had vulnerably told him about his past. 

Wooyoung found himself wondering, not for the first time, if maybe he’d been craving a friend like this for far longer than he wanted to admit. Someone who didn’t expect him to be perfect or obedient or even entertaining. Someone who is just there , without needing much said at all. For once, he didn’t rush to push Yeosang away. Instead, he let the silence settle around them like a shield.

San pushed open the apartment door hours later, unsurprisingly home way later than he had promised before. Shoulders heavy with the exhaustion of a long day, the weight of his work still clinging to him like a shadow. His mind churned with fragments of the meeting from the questions he’d fumbled through to the reports he still had to finalize, the endless ticking clock of expectations waiting at the office. 

He braced himself, half-expecting to walk into chaos. The kind of chaos that came with leaving two hybrids alone in the apartment for hours. Maybe Yeosang would be curled in a corner, overwhelmed and silent, or Wooyoung glaring at the TV, bristling with frustration. Maybe they’d be at each other’s throats or worse, retreating further into their walls.

But when San’s eyes swept the room, the scene was nothing like what he feared. Instead, he found Wooyoung and Yeosang seated side by side at the dinner table. Wooyoung’s hand reached out slowly, hesitating just for a moment before offering Yeosang a small bite of avocado toast. Yeosang accepted it carefully, his eyes wide and fixed on the simple kindness, his body relaxed in a way San hadn’t seen before.

The soft click of the door closing behind him was swallowed by the gentle silence that wrapped around the two boys. San’s breath caught, and he let out a barely audible sigh of part relief, part something deeper, a fragile hope blooming in the spaces between exhaustion and doubt.

For a moment, the endless pressure of his work, the looming deadlines, the complicated webs of duty and expectation… all of it faded into the background. All that mattered was this quiet connection, this slow, careful bridging of walls that no one else seemed able to reach.

San’s throat tightened with emotion. He swallowed hard, blinking away the sudden sting of tears. This was why he had fought so hard to bring Yeosang here. To give him a chance at something more than obedience and silence.

San lingered just inside the door, taking in the scene with a quiet, reverent awe that he didn’t even try to hide. Yeosang was leaning slightly toward Wooyoung, his gaze locked on the careful movement of Wooyoung’s hand as he offered another small piece of toast. The hybrid’s lips closed gently around it, eyes flicking up once in shy gratitude before dropping again.

San’s heart twisted at the sight, in that painful, wonderful way that made his eyes sting. He cleared his throat softly, not wanting to startle them but needing to break the moment before he fell apart right there in the entryway.

Wooyoung jerked slightly at the sound, blinking like he’d been caught in something private. He scowled automatically, withdrawing his hand and dropping it onto the table with a thump.

“Oh, you’re back,” he drawled, trying for casualness and failing just a little. “Congratulations on surviving your Very Important Meeting.”

San’s mouth quirked despite himself. He stepped further in, setting his work bag down carefully. His gaze lingered on Yeosang, who sat blinking up at him, posture so still and attentive that it hurt.

Then San’s eyes softened, turning back to Wooyoung. “Looks like you two managed to have a nice afternoon.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, crossing his arms defensively. “Yeah, well. Don’t make a big deal about it. I was bored. Figured I’d feed us before he starved to death waiting for permission.”

But his voice cracked on the sarcasm just enough that it gave him away. San huffed a quiet laugh and walked over, placing a warm, heavy hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Wooyoung grimaced. “Ugh. Don’t get sappy on me.”

But he didn’t shake San off. San squeezed once, firm but gentle. “Seriously. Thank you. I can see… you got along. Really well.”

Wooyoung scowled down at the table, muttering something unintelligible. But the tips of his ears were pink. San’s eyes flicked to Yeosang again. The hybrid’s hands were folded neatly in his lap, eyes lowered but not empty. There was something different there now of a safety that hadn’t been there before.

 

As the days slipped into weeks, the apartment found its new rhythm.

San would catch it in small, unexpected moments: Yeosang hovering awkwardly in the doorway to the living room until Wooyoung snapped, “Just sit down already,” and Yeosang obeying instantly, looking almost relieved to have been told what to do. Or in the kitchen, where Wooyoung, arms crossed, would bark, “Hand me the salt. No, the other one. God, you’re helpless,” while Yeosang scurried to comply, ears flicking but eyes shining with focus.

Unlike San’s careful, patient questions, “Yeosang, would you like to try helping? Do you want to pick where to sit?” Wooyoung never bothered with asking. He simply told him. “Put that there. Sit here. Hold this.” And Yeosang seemed to adore it, the clear lines and simple certainty of it, the comfort of knowing exactly what was expected.

One evening, San watched from the hall as Wooyoung flopped back onto the couch with a theatrical groan.

“Yeo! Get the blanket. My feet are cold.”

Yeosang blinked, ears perking, before darting off to the hall closet. He returned with the blanket folded with near-military precision and carefully draped it over Wooyoung’s legs.

Wooyoung didn’t even thank him, just muttered, “Finally,” before wiggling his feet until they were snug.

Yeosang, instead of looking hurt, simply settled cross-legged on the floor at Wooyoung’s side, face soft with satisfaction.

San felt something in his chest twist, a warm, bittersweet wave. He understood it then: Wooyoung was offering Yeosang something neither of them had words for. Not freedom, not quite. But structure without cruelty. Command without fear. Rules that felt safe.

Even more, for all his complaining, and certainly he’d never own up to it, but Wooyoung was starting to check the rooms automatically to make sure Yeosang was there. He’d curse under his breath if he noticed Yeosang standing too stiffly in the corner and snap, “Closer. Don’t just lurk.” And Yeosang would scuttle obediently to his side, visibly calmer.

San watched it unfold quietly, heart tight with gratitude and relief. Because in Wooyoung’s own prickly, brash way, he’d built them both a strange, necessary bridge. 

Dinner that evening was quiet, the sound of cutlery against plates, the muted hum of the city beyond the windows. San watched the two of them across the table, Wooyoung shoveling rice into his mouth with theatrical annoyance, Yeosang eating small, careful bites while sneaking glances at Wooyoung as though waiting for approval on the correct pace.

San cleared his throat, setting his fork down. “So. I’ve been thinking.”

Wooyoung didn’t look up. “Dangerous.”

San ignored him. “We should talk about making a schedule.”

That got Wooyoung’s attention. He froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, frowning. “A what now?”

“A daily schedule,” San explained, tone patient but firm. “Something clear and consistent. Times for meals, chores, work, rest. Expectations for who does what. So there’s no confusion.”

Yeosang’s ears perked instantly, eyes going wide. He straightened in his chair so quickly it made the wood creak.

San’s heart warmed at the sight. “It’ll help all of us,” he added, voice gentler now. “Especially you, Yeosang. So you’ll always know what to expect. When you’re supposed to do things. Where you’re supposed to be.”

Yeosang nodded vigorously, ears flicking with what was unmistakably excitement. “Yes. Please.”

Wooyoung let out a long, theatrical groan, leaning back so far in his chair it almost tipped. “Ughhh. So what, now I have assigned chores ? What am I, ten?”

San shot him a knowing look. “You’ve been living here like you’re ten. It’s time to help out.”

Despite the jab, he couldn't really argue that it wasn't true. Wooyoung, for all his sharp tongue and theatrical scowling, had long settled into the lifestyle of a rich, spectacularly unbothered housewife. He did almost no chores beyond rummaging for snacks, spent hours draped across the couch in silky loungewear with the TV blaring the latest dramas, and had online shopping carts perpetually full of designer hoodies and imported skin care. Packages routinely arrived at the door in glossy wrapping, the only real sign of his tireless “effort” around the apartment.

Wooyoung scowled. “I help. I… offer moral support.” 

Yeosang looked at him, wide-eyed and earnest. “I can do most of them. I don’t mind. I want to.”

Wooyoung’s retort died in his throat. He slumped a little, mouth twisting in a resigned scowl. “Don’t look at me like that. Shit. Fine. I’ll do… some .”

San bit back a smile. “That’s all I ask.”

After a long productive discussion, the three of them finally settled on a neat, color-coded chore chart taped proudly to the fridge. It was divided into daily tasks like sweeping, dishes, and tidying the living room; weekly jobs like laundry, bathroom scrubbing, and trash duty; and a rotating cooking schedule that even Wooyoung begrudgingly agreed to join. San felt a little guilty that Yeosang wanted to take on almost all the chores, but at the same time understood that Yeosang needed to feel like he had purpose. Wooyoung took the easiest chores, of course, but San figured that with all the time the two might hopefully be spending together that Wooyoung might pick up more slack than he’d realize. San picked up most of the cooking, allowing for a balance between home cooked meals and takeout. The chart gave their days a new sense of order, the promise of shared responsibility clear in every carefully written box and highlighted name.

The next day, Yeosang knelt on the cool tile floor, sponge in hand, carefully scrubbing around the base of the toilet with precise, quiet focus. Every movement was neat and deliberate, the faint scent of cleaner wafting through the small bathroom.

Wooyoung sat perched on the edge of the sink counter, legs swinging idly, phone in one hand as he gestured wildly with the other.

“I’m telling you, this week’s episode was insane,” he ranted, eyes flashing with indignation. “She found out her real father is the company chairman she’s been trying to destroy, and then the fiancé- ugh, don’t even get me started. The nerve of that man. Instead of actually helping her take him down, he tries to convince her to side with him in hopes that she will be left in the will.”

Yeosang nodded silently, pressing the sponge carefully into a corner. He didn’t say much, but his ears stayed tilted toward Wooyoung, flicking now and then to show he was listening.

Wooyoung squinted at him, nose wrinkling. “You’re not even watching it, but you’re my captive audience, so I’m gonna keep going,” he warned, voice dropping into mock-seriousness.

Yeosang just offered the barest flicker of a smile without looking up, wringing out the sponge with steady hands.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes dramatically and kept going, voice bouncing off the tile walls. “So then she slaps him in the lobby, in front of the entire board , and he just stands there like an idiot. God, I live for it. You’d hate it though. Way too much crying.”

Yeosang shifted to the next spot, trailing the cleaner in neat lines along the grout. “I don’t mind,” he murmured softly.

Wooyoung blinked, caught off guard for half a second before smirking. “Yeah, well. Don’t get any ideas about watching it with me. I don’t need you sobbing on my shoulder, okay?”

Yeosang only dipped his head in acknowledgment, pressing the sponge firmly into the tile.

Wooyoung watched him for another moment, phone lowering in his lap. He wouldn’t admit it out loud god forbid but there was something comforting about it: Yeosang quietly working, listening without interrupting, not asking anything from him except the simple, easy company.

“Hey. Why do you like cleaning so much?”

Yeosang paused, sponge hovering over a patch of tile. He blinked slowly, gathering his thoughts with the same care he used to scrub the floor. Finally, he spoke, voice quiet but certain.

“Because… a good omega should have a purpose. It’s important to be useful.”

Wooyoung’s mouth twitched, something sour settling in his gut. He swung his legs irritably against the cabinet. “What, so you think I’m a bad omega? Because I don’t spend my days scrubbing toilets?”

Yeosang’s ears twitched at the edge in his voice, and he shrank back a little, shaking his head quickly. “No. That’s not what I meant.” He looked at the floor, words coming haltingly. “I just… want to be good. That's all I know. Cleaning is simple.”

Wooyoung scoffed. “Bullshit. No one likes cleaning. Come on. There’s no way you actually enjoy it.”

Yeosang’s hands stilled on the sponge. His gaze dropped further, voice even quieter. “...It’s not my favorite.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Then what is?”

Yeosang swallowed. “Higher-level duties. Serving. Pleasing.” His eyes flicked up once, then away. “Intimately. That’s what the facility valued most. That’s… what I’m best at.”

Wooyoung froze, the playful mockery dying on his tongue. He felt something cold coil in his stomach at the flat, matter-of-fact way Yeosang said it, like describing the weather.

He shifted uncomfortably on the counter, suddenly unable to meet Yeosang’s eyes. His fingers drummed nervously on his thigh before falling still.

“Yeah, well,” Wooyoung muttered, voice cracking with unease. “That’s not gonna be your job here. Got it?”

Yeosang just nodded once, subdued, returning to scrubbing the floor in careful, perfect strokes.

Yeosang didn’t seem to notice Wooyoung’s discomfort, or if he did, he didn’t react to it. He simply lowered his head and resumed his cleaning with a single-minded precision that was almost unsettling. Sponge moving in tight, even circles. Rinsing it just so. Wringing out the extra water with neat, practiced motions.

Wooyoung watched him without speaking, chin perched on his knee. He couldn’t help noticing how Yeosang’s eyes tracked every patch of tile, checking and double-checking to make sure nothing was missed. Even the little crevice at the base of the toilet got the same careful attention. There was no irritation in Yeosang’s face, no complaint on his lips but just focused obedience, the silent determination to do it right.

For a while neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the quiet squelch of the sponge, the trickle of rinsing water, and the slow, rhythmic breathing of two people who were suddenly too aware of each other.

Wooyoung swallowed hard. He’d never admit it, but he felt his chest twist with something he couldn’t name, watching Yeosang work like that. Like someone who genuinely didn’t know how to just exist without being useful.

He said nothing, though. Just sat there, legs swinging idly again, watching every careful, perfect stroke of Yeosang’s sponge as the bathroom fell into an uneasy, reflective silence.

 

San leaned back in his office chair, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, eyes stinging from staring at endless project proposals and budget sheets. He could hear the hybrid pair faintly from down the hall, Wooyoung’s sharp voice raised in mock outrage about something or other, Yeosang’s quieter, patient responses. The muffled thud of footsteps and the occasional clatter of dishes or vacuum.

He let the sounds wash over him for a moment, closing his eyes. Even buried in deadlines and meetings, he couldn’t stop the small, relieved smile that crept across his face. He loved hearing them like this. The two people he cared about most in the world finding their own rhythm, in that strange, messy, somehow-perfect way.

It hadn’t escaped San’s notice how Yeosang gravitated more and more to Wooyoung’s blunt directions, how Wooyoung, despite all his griping, had adopted this unspoken older sibling-esque role. He’d caught them before at the dining table with Wooyoung shoving a plate closer and deadpanning, “Eat,” while Yeosang blinked in mild surprise before obeying, looking oddly content. Or the time he’d peeked into the living room to find Wooyoung half-sprawled across the couch complaining about a drama while Yeosang sat at his feet, head tilted attentively like it was the most important story in the world.

It made San’s chest ache, in that raw, grateful way. This was exactly what he’d hoped for when he’d brought Yeosang here. Not just freedom from the facility, but to start on a path of connection. Safety. A family, even if it was weird and imperfect and stitched together from the scraps of old hurts. 

Of course, part of him felt guilty too. Work had picked up lately, keeping him busier than he liked, stealing hours he wanted to spend with them. He hated missing things, like those quiet moments of trust building between them, the subtle shifts in Yeosang’s body language, the way Wooyoung had started to sound less annoyed and more protective.

But even if he felt distant sometimes, he couldn’t deny how good it was to see it. To know they were finding their own way without him always needing to guide it.

San sighed, forcing his focus back to the spreadsheet. But his smile lingered, soft and a little wistful. No matter how chaotic the world outside was, at least here, at home, something right was finally falling into place.

Before he knew it, the office door had opened slightly more, with a Wooyoung-shaped figure entering, padding on soft toes to avoid being prematurely sent out of the way. Wooyoung lingered at the threshold for a second, watching San with an expression that tried for annoyed but failed at hiding something softer underneath.

“Hey,” he muttered finally, voice low, almost hesitant once he got to the edge of the desk, seeing San’s face behind the large monitor. “You… busy?”

San looked up from his screen, blinking at the sight of him, guilt immediately pricking at the back of his throat. “I- yeah. But I can stop. What’s up?”

Wooyoung shifted from foot to foot, arms crossing over his chest protectively. He wouldn’t meet San’s eyes. “Feels like I never see you anymore.”

San’s breath caught. The words were quiet. Honest in a way Wooyoung usually avoided.

He opened his mouth, but Wooyoung didn’t give him time to answer. He moved forward in a few decisive steps and climbed into San’s lap, straddling it carefully, but without his usual mocking flourish.

“Woo- ”

“Don’t. Just- ” Wooyoung’s voice cracked, and he ducked his head to hide it, pressing his forehead against San’s shoulder. “Let me. Okay?”

San’s hands came up automatically, wide and steady on Wooyoung’s hips, thumbs brushing gentle circles. His chest ached with guilt at how small and tired Wooyoung felt curled up against him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His voice was rough with it. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

Wooyoung was quiet for another breath, just letting himself be held there, arms looped around San’s neck. Then, with a restless shift, he straightened a little in San’s lap, planting his knees to either side of San’s thighs so he could rise up, just enough to force San to tilt his head back.

San blinked at him, eyes wide and questioning, but Wooyoung didn’t answer. He studied San’s face for one raw, vulnerable heartbeat, lips parting like he might say something soft. Then his expression hardened with intent.

He leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t a request, it was a taking. Wooyoung pressed their mouths together hard, fingers sliding up into San’s hair and tightening with unspoken frustration and need. He kissed San with a bruising sort of hunger, like he was angry at him for making him feel so starved for it in the first place.

San let out a soft sound of surprise, fingers flexing against Wooyoung’s hips. But he didn’t fight it. He didn’t even try to guide it. He just let Wooyoung have him. Tilting his head to give more, matching the fierce press of lips and tongue as best he could.

Wooyoung’s breath came ragged between kisses, nose brushing against San’s cheek, swallowing down every little sound San made. He took what he wanted, deep and possessive, making sure San felt every ounce of hurt and longing that had built up in his absence.

Once he’d started, it was like a dam breaking. He dove back in, hungry, teeth catching on San’s lower lip and tugging just enough to make him gasp. San’s fingers held him there , letting Wooyoung take whatever he needed.

The kiss turned messy, almost desperate. He moaned low in his throat, a sound he tried to swallow down but couldn’t quite contain. His fingers fisted in San’s hair, pulling just enough to make San’s breath hitch.

Then he shifted, rolling his hips forward in San’s lap in a slow, unconscious grind.

San let out a stuttering exhale, his own hips twitching involuntarily at the friction. He opened his mouth to say his name, to tell him to slow down, but Wooyoung swallowed it with another needy kiss, rocking down again in a way that was anything but subtle.

San’s heart pounded in his chest. His hands clenched hard at Wooyoung’s sides, caught between wanting to guide him and just losing himself in it.

“...Wooyoung?”

The voice was soft. Hesitant. Both of them froze.

San’s eyes flew open over Wooyoung’s shoulder just in time to see the door cracked wider, Yeosang’s big eyes blinking at them in confusion. His ears twitched forward curiously to the way Wooyoung was draped over San in his lap, the air in the office heavy and unmistakable.

Wooyoung’s entire body went rigid. He pulled back just far enough to look at San with wide, mortified eyes, breath coming in shallow bursts like he forgot that being caught was something that could even happen in his own house.

Yeosang’s voice was even softer, puzzled. “Wooyoung? Are you… busy?”

San felt heat crawl up his neck and burn in his ears. His hands stayed on Wooyoung’s hips, too stunned to let go yet.

Wooyoung didn’t even look back at Yeosang at first. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead into San’s shoulder with a strangled groan that was equal parts frustration and embarrassment.

“Fucking hell, ” he muttered.

San swallowed and cleared his throat carefully, voice hoarse and uneven.

“Yeosang,” he managed gently, “maybe… wait in the hall for just a minute?”

Yeosang blinked again, ears twitching in confusion. But he nodded dutifully. “Okay.”

For a long moment after the door shut, silence hung heavy in San’s office. Wooyoung stayed slumped in his lap, breathing hard against his shoulder, face hot enough to burn.

Wooyoung slowly lifted his head, glaring at him with humiliated ferocity. Their eyes locked for a beat. San’s mouth twitched. “You gonna… go talk to him?”

Wooyoung closed his eyes with a pained noise. “ Fuck. ”

But he slid reluctantly out of San’s lap anyway. He straightened himself with jerky movements, muttering curses under his breath the whole time. At the door, he paused, shooting San one last scathing look, one that had no real heat behind it, only embarrassment and a resigned sort of fondness.

Out in the hall, Yeosang stood exactly where he’d been told, hands folded in front of him neatly, ears perked forward expectantly. He looked up as Wooyoung emerged, gaze sharp and unreadable.

“Come on,” Wooyoung muttered, brushing past him. “Let’s talk. Somewhere else.”

Yeosang followed obediently, silent but watching him intently.

They ended up in Wooyoung’s bedroom. The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the distant sound of San shuffling around in the office, trying to recover.

Wooyoung flopped onto the edge of his bed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Okay. Say what you wanna say.”

Yeosang didn’t sit. He stood, back straight, ears angled forward in that unsettlingly direct way he had when he was focusing.

“Why do you get to do that with him?” Yeosang asked flatly.

Wooyoung blinked, lowering his hand. “Huh?”

Yeosang’s voice was deceptively calm, but there was an edge under it. “San says he doesn’t want me to do that. That I’m not supposed to yet. He always stops me. But you’re allowed to?”

Wooyoung blinked again, thrown off balance by the question, by the hurt and confusion simmering in Yeosang’s tone.

He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “It’s… different,” he tried lamely.

Yeosang’s brows pinched faintly. “How? Am I not good enough? Is there something wrong with me?”

Wooyoung felt the words hit him like a slap. The last thing he expected was for Yeosang to confront him like this. It didn’t really match the quiet and meek Yeosang that had followed him around all these past couple days. He sat up straighter, scowling without real anger. “Hey. Don’t say it like that. That’s not…he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to.”

Yeosang’s eyes narrowed, voice quiet but clear. “Well, you want to. And I want to. But he only lets you.”

Silence stretched between them. He sighed heavily, scrubbing at his hair. “San and I- We’ve known each other forever. We’re… complicated. It’s not at all about you not being good enough.”

Yeosang didn’t answer. He just kept looking at Wooyoung, his ears flicking back a little, tail stiff with tightly controlled agitation.

Wooyoung rubbed his hands over his thighs, trying to find the right words. “He’s trying to give you time. Space. You’ve had enough people pushing you to do that shit when you didn’t get a choice. San doesn’t want to be one of them.”

Yeosang’s lip quivered almost imperceptibly. “But you get to,” he whispered, voice cracking despite himself.

Wooyoung felt something sharp in his own chest at that. He softened, shoulders dropping.

“I don’t… get to,” he said quietly. “It’s not a prize. He doesn’t want you to feel like you’re supposed to do it. I don’t want you to think you have to, either.”

Yeosang didn’t respond, but his eyes shone with something hot and frustrated.

Wooyoung’s face twisted. He let out a breath. “Look… I didn’t mean to make it weird. I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Yeosang finally looked away, ears lying back. “I want him to want me too,” he admitted so quietly it was almost a whimper.

Wooyoung’s heart broke a little.

He slid off the bed slowly and stepped closer, waiting until Yeosang would look at him again. When their eyes met, Wooyoung’s was softer than Yeosang had ever seen it.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “He does. He wants you. Just… not like that. It's… difficult, Yeosang and I'm not quite sure how to best explain it in other terms.”

Yeosang’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow. He didn’t answer, but his hands curled into small, helpless fists at his sides. Wooyoung hesitated, then sighed and reached out, tugging him in by the wrist until Yeosang let himself be pulled against his chest.

They stood there in the quiet room, Yeosang’s forehead pressed to Wooyoung’s shoulder, breathing shaky, while Wooyoung rested a hand on his back, rubbing slow circles in silent comfort.

Finally, Wooyoung gave a quiet sigh, pressing his lips to the top of Yeosang’s head in a brief, awkward kiss. His voice came out lower, softer.

“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s late. This is… a lot. Let’s not do any more tonight, okay?”

Yeosang didn’t answer at first. He just sat there, pressed against Wooyoung’s chest. Then, slowly, he nodded once.

Wooyoung loosened his grip carefully, like he didn’t want to startle him. His hands settled lightly on Yeosang’s shoulders, guiding him back just enough to see his face. He searched those big eyes, watching them dart away shyly, ears flattening in quiet shame. Yeosang still wasn’t quite used to holding eye contact with others. 

“C’mon,” Wooyoung said more gently than he meant to. “Go get some sleep. You can… I dunno. We’ll talk more tomorrow if you want. Or not. It’s fine.”

Yeosang swallowed hard, eyes lowering to the floor. His voice was a bare whisper. “Okay.”

Wooyoung watched him turn, shoulders slightly hunched, tail limp with defeat. He shuffled toward the door with small, careful steps, like he was trying not to make any sound at all.

When he paused at the threshold, he risked one last glance back over his shoulder, his face carefully blank but his eyes wide and searching.

Wooyoung felt his chest squeeze. He forced a small, tired smile. “Goodnight, Yeosang.”

Yeosang blinked once, then nodded silently, before slipping out into the hall and closing the door with barely a click behind him.

Notes:

ahhhhhh!!!!! this has got to be my favorite chapter to far LMAO there's SOOOOOO much to dissect here.
first of all im laughing my ass off at wooyoung's blunt ass literally becoming like Yeosang's safety in such a weird but wholesome? way and at the same time wooyoung almost getting a little friend!!!! i dont think he realizes how much he needed one ahhhhh
second of all ughh yeosang in his own way trying to be good for wooyoung and get the praise and reassurance from him is just AHHH MY HEART they have their ups and downs but its on the ups
third of all it BREAKS my heart for yeosang to just be so fucking confused!!! he really has spent so long thinking that intimacy and servitude is how you measure value, and when that gets taken away from him he just doesnt get it!! its okay sangie!!! youre gonna learn!!!!
fourth of all THANK YOU SO SOS OS SOSOOSSOSOSOSOS SOS SO SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO HAS KUDOS AND COMMENTED IM SOBBING AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it makes me wanna give you all a million chapters every day hahahhaahhaha

Chapter 9

Wooyoung lay sprawled on his back, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling of San’s bedroom overhead. The room felt heavy, the silence pressing in at his temples. He could still feel the shape of Yeosang in his arms. The way he’d gone from brittle defiance to something small and hurt so quickly.

He let out a slow, shaky exhale. He hadn’t meant for it to get that weird. He hadn’t meant for Yeosang to feeL rejected. Or like he was something San kept at arm’s length on purpose.

Wooyoung chewed the inside of his cheek, turning onto his side. The clock on his nightstand glared back at him. Late, but not too late.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He could just go to sleep. Pretend it didn’t happen. Talk tomorrow. But that didn’t sit right, either. His stomach twisted. He hated the idea of Yeosang curled up alone in that big, unfamiliar room, worrying he’d done something wrong.

With a muttered curse, Wooyoung sat up. He ran both hands over his face, pushing his hair back before letting it flop messily forward again. He looked over at San’s sleeping figure, not wanting to bother the other. 

He didn’t even know what he was going to say to the bunny hybrid. It wasn’t like he had some magic apology lined up. He just would have to try.

Slowly, he got up and padded to the door, cracking it open carefully so it didn’t creak too loudly. The hallway beyond was dim and hushed, the kind of silence that felt fragile if you breathed too hard.

He hesitated on the threshold for half a breath, then slipped out, shutting it quietly behind him. His bare feet made no sound on the floor as he made his way toward Yeosang’s room. He felt weirdly self-conscious, like he was intruding, but there was this low, stubborn pull in his chest that refused to let him go back to bed until he’d checked in.

He paused just outside Yeosang’s door. Lifted a hand to knock. Let it hover there. He bit his lip. Finally he just knocked, soft and tentative.

“Yeosang?” he called quietly, voice low enough not to carry too far in the sleeping apartment.

He shifted from foot to foot, heart thumping in an annoyed, anxious rhythm as he waited for any kind of answer from inside.

Wooyoung waited outside the door, biting at his lower lip when no answer came. He knocked again, just barely louder.

“Yeosang?”

Silence. But the light was on, he could see it, a thin glow under the door. That alone made something uneasy twist in his gut. He’s in there.

Wooyoung’s fingers tightened around the knob, hesitating for half a breath longer before he slowly turned it and pushed the door open. The room was… too quiet. And pristine.

The bed was untouched. The blanket perfectly smoothed, the pillow still plump and unrumpled like no one had even sat on it. Nothing looked moved. No shoes kicked off haphazardly, no little messes of someone settling in.

It was like a hotel room waiting for a guest who never showed up. Wooyoung’s throat tightened. He stepped inside, gaze sweeping the corners, heart knocking harder.

“Yeosang?” he called again, softer now. Nothing.

He frowned deeper, moving toward the far side of the room. The bathroom attached to the room was empty, everything still set just as Wooyoung had set it up for the day he arrived.

His eyes flicked over the small dresser, the empty chair, and finally settled on the closet door.

He felt his stomach drop. Slowly, he reached out and pulled the door open.

There, huddled small on the closet floor, was Yeosang. He was tucked in tight against the back wall, knees pulled up, arms around them, ears laid flat against his head. 

But worst of all was his face.

Yeosang didn’t even look at him at first. His eyes were open, unfocused and distant, blank in that terrifying way Wooyoung had seen only a few times before. Like he wasn’t even there .

“Yeosang,” Wooyoung whispered, voice cracking.

The sound seemed to pull at something in Yeosang’s head. He blinked once, slow and disjointed, his eyes struggling to focus on Wooyoung standing over him.

For a moment there was nothing in his expression but confusion, like he was waking up from a dream he didn’t understand. Then the fog cleared a little, and something close to shame flickered over his face. He shifted minutely, trying to straighten himself, but it was stiff, robotic, and he winced as if realizing he’d been cramped there for too long.

Wooyoung just stood there for a second, speechless.

His chest felt tight, breath sticking in his lungs at the sight of Yeosang. So small, so lost, hiding himself away like he didn’t even deserve the bed in the room they’d given him.

He swallowed hard, words tangled behind his teeth.

“Yeosang,” he said again, softer this time. Almost pleading.

Yeosang blinked at him, pupils trembling slightly, like he’d been caught somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat as he stared down at the figure of Yeosang curled up in the closet’s tight, dim space. The realization slammed into him with a crushing weight: Has Yeosang been sleeping in here all these nights?

No pillow. No blanket. Nothing. Just the cold, hard floor.

His mind spun, chaos flooding through him like a storm he couldn’t control. How long had this been going on? A week? Two? How had neither of them noticed?

The respect they'd tried to give Yeosang’s privacy shattered instantly. He’d never imagined the boy was retreating so completely, so painfully, into such a small, lonely space. Anger, pain, and helplessness churned together, twisting tight inside his chest. His voice, when it came out, was raw and loud, too loud and far from what he meant to say.

“What the hell are you doing in here!” Wooyoung snapped, eyes wide and voice cracking.

Yeosang flinched at the sudden outburst, ears flattening against his head. He didn’t answer, only shrinking tighter against the closet’s cold wall.

Wooyoung swallowed hard, the weight of his own fury sinking in, but the ache in his chest didn’t ease.

Wooyoung’s voice rose, sharp and jagged, fueled by a storm of hurt he couldn’t quite untangle. “You idiot, why don’t you get the fucking message?!” he snapped, pacing the cramped room as frustration clawed at his chest. “We bought you a goddamn bed for a reason. You’re not supposed to be sleeping in a closet like some kind of stray!”

Yeosang said nothing. He just sat there, curled tight, ears pressed flat, absorbing the harsh words like a punch to the gut.

The weight of Wooyoung’s anger filled the space, growing too loud, too sharp.

“You just don’t fucking get it do you?! Do we have to tell you every goddamn thing to do around here? We can’t even trust you to sleep in a fucking bed we told you was yours?!”

And then-

The bedroom door slammed open with a sudden, heavy thud.

San appeared in the doorway, eyes wide and alert, just waking from the commotion. His gaze flicked between Wooyoung’s flushed, heated face and Yeosang’s shrinking figure in the closet.

San’s eyes narrowed, searching Wooyoung’s face for answers. “What’s the problem?” he asked, voice calm but firm, sensing the tension thick enough to choke on.

Wooyoung didn’t mince words. “He’s been sleeping in the fucking closet,” he said bluntly, frustration spilling out in harsh syllables.

San’s brow furrowed deeply as he processed the revelation. He took a steadying breath, then nodded, knowing this was not a battle to be fought in anger. “Alright,” he said quietly, “go take a moment. Calm down.” He gestured toward the door with a tired but resolute look.

Wooyoung hesitated for a second, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

San turned back to the small figure curled on the closet floor. Kneeling down gently, he lowered himself to Yeosang’s level, heart clenching painfully as he met those distant, haunted eyes. The boy looked broken deep inside.

Guilt washed over San like a tidal wave. How had he missed this? How had they all missed it? His hands trembled slightly as he reached out, wanting to offer comfort but afraid to break the fragile silence.

San’s voice dropped to the softest whisper, almost like a lullaby meant for a frightened child. He knelt close enough that Yeosang could feel his warmth, but not so close as to overwhelm.

“Yeosang,” he murmured gently, barely more than a breath, “can you… look at me?”

Yeosang’s eyes flickered, heavy and distant, like he was wading through thick fog inside his own mind. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his gaze just enough to meet San’s. The connection was fragile, like a cracked glass trying not to shatter.

San’s heart clenched at the vacant confusion in those big eyes. He pressed on softly, careful not to startle him further.

“Why… why have you been sleeping in the closet?”

Yeosang’s voice was faint, voice barely above a whisper, coated with uncertainty. “I… I haven’t had an occasion to use the bed.”

San blinked, surprised by the quiet confession.

“The bed?” he asked, tilting his head gently.

Yeosang nodded slowly, eyes dropping back down. “Since you haven’t… been… intimate with me…” His words trembled, the thought hanging heavy in the air like a sad truth he’d long accepted.

San’s voice softened even more, gentle and patient as he searched Yeosang’s hesitant eyes. “Yeosang, I’m not angry with you,” he said slowly, as if carefully placing each word. “But don’t you remember on your first day here how I told you that the bed belongs to you now? You get to use it for resting and sleeping. Not for intimacy.”

Yeosang blinked slowly, his gaze flickering uncertainly between San’s face and the floor. The confusion in his eyes deepened, like he was trying to grasp something unfamiliar yet desperately wanted to understand.

San reached out, his fingers brushing lightly over Yeosang’s trembling hand, anchoring him gently. “You don’t have to wait for anything to use your bed,” he said softly. “It’s your space. Your comfort. You deserve rest, just for being you.”

A faint shudder passed through Yeosang’s small frame, and his ears twitched forward slightly as a subtle sign of engagement, maybe even hope. He looked up again, meeting San’s steady gaze with a fragile flicker of trust.

San’s heart ached with a fierce tenderness. “I want you to feel safe here,” he continued. “No conditions, no expectations. Just rest when you need it. Okay?”

Yeosang swallowed hard, lips parting as if to speak, then closing again. San smiled gently, squeezing Yeosang’s hand once more. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let me help you get to your bed. So you can sleep properly tonight.”

San carefully helped Yeosang to his feet, supporting him with a steady hand on his back. The room felt heavy with unspoken words, but San said nothing more, letting his quiet presence fill the space. Together, they moved toward the neatly made bed. San pulled back the sheets to guide Yeosang to sit down gently, easing him onto the soft mattress. Yeosang’s hands trembled slightly as they rested on his sides as he laid down, and San tucked the blanket lightly around him, careful not to rush or startle.

San stayed seated at the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly atop the blanket that now covered Yeosang’s small, still form. The soft, even rise and fall of Yeosang’s chest was the only sign of life. His eyes were open, unfocused, staring somewhere past the room, past San, as if he were drifting just beyond reach.

It shattered San’s heart. He swallowed the lump in his throat, willing the sting behind his eyes to go away, but it wouldn’t. The way Yeosang just lay there, so quiet, so still that it didn’t feel like rest. It felt like retreat.

San leaned down slightly, brushing a hand gently through the soft strands of Yeosang’s hair. “You’re okay now,” he murmured, voice trembling. “I’ve got you.”

No response.

He closed his eyes briefly, breathed in deep. “Try to sleep, Yeosang,” he whispered, coaxing. “Just close your eyes. I’ll stay until you do.”

For a long moment, nothing happened. But eventually, Yeosang’s eyes began to flutter, slowly blinking shut, lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks. His breathing evened out, faint and delicate.

San didn’t move until he was sure. Until Yeosang had drifted into something that resembled sleep. Maybe not peaceful, but at least no longer alert and bracing.

He rose quietly, tucking the blanket one last time around Yeosang’s shoulders. His hand lingered for a second too long. Then he forced himself to step away.

Out in the hallway, with the door gently pulled shut behind him, the tears finally escaped. They fell hot and silent, streaking down San’s face as he pressed his back to the wall and slid down to the floor, burying his face in his hands, the weight of everything crashing in on him. The tears came in slow, aching waves he couldn’t hold back anymore.

It gutted him to think about that closet and how stark and empty it had been. There hadn’t been anything to clean up. No pillow, no blanket, not even a damn towel laid down to soften the floor.

Yeosang hadn’t tried to make it comfortable. It hadn’t even occurred to him.

It was as if he hadn’t been trying to create a place to sleep at all, just somewhere to put himself away . Like moving a misplaced object back to the right shelf. Tucking himself out of sight so he wouldn’t be in the way.

That thought twisted deep in San’s chest until he wanted to be sick. He dragged a shaky breath in, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand. His vision was blurry, his heart pounding with helplessness and guilt. He had told himself he was saving Yeosang from that place, giving him a home, a family, freedom .

And Yeosang hadn’t even believed he deserved the bed.

Wooyoung had been pacing aimlessly, restless and guilty, unable to settle after he’d stormed out. He’d heard his own voice echoing in his head, angry and raw, and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

He rounded the corner quietly, bare feet scuffing against the floor, and froze.

San was there, slumped against the wall outside Yeosang’s door. Shoulders shaking. Face buried in his hands. Silent tears still streaked his cheeks, catching in the hallway light.

His breath hitched, and before he could even think, he was moving. He dropped to his knees beside San without hesitation, the hardwood biting into his skin unnoticed.

“Hey-” he breathed, but the word cracked and died in his throat.

San startled a little, lifting his head just enough to look at him, eyes red and wet and pained.

They didn’t say anything else. They couldn’t. Wooyoung just wrapped his arms around San’s shaking shoulders, pulling him in tight. San went easily, burying his face in Wooyoung’s neck, fingers curling into the back of Wooyoung’s shirt like he was clinging for life.

They held each other there on the floor, breath uneven, chests heaving with shared grief and guilt. Wooyoung let his long black tail wrap around San as well, seeking as much proximity as possible. Neither spoke. There was nothing left to say. 

They both felt it pressing heavy between them, the bone-deep realization that they’d failed him. That they hadn’t seen. Wooyoung closed his eyes against the sting of his own tears. He pressed his cheek to San’s hair and tightened his hold, as if trying to keep them both from falling apart.

Eventually, San drew in a long, shaky breath and wiped at his damp cheeks with the back of his hand. He gave Wooyoung’s shoulder one last squeeze before shifting, his arms sliding under Wooyoung’s knees and back. Without a word, he lifted him in a careful, steady bridal carry, ignoring Wooyoung’s small, watery protest that died almost immediately in his throat.

San carried him down the hall to their shared bedroom, setting him gently on the edge of the bed before climbing in beside him. He pressed their foreheads together, voice hoarse but sure.

“Tomorrow,” he promised quietly. “We’ll talk about all of this tomorrow. We’ll figure it out.”

He exhaled, closing his eyes, letting the smallest relief seep in. “For tonight… he’s in the bed. Hopefully… he’ll stay there.”

Wooyoung just nodded, sniffling once before curling himself tightly around San, arms hooking around his ribs, legs tangling.

San wrapped him up just as fiercely, holding him close, grounding them both.

The morning light was softer than usual when San finally cracked his eyes open. It took him a moment to register the quiet stillness of the room. No alarm, no soft padding of feet, no distant clatter of dishes in the kitchen. He frowned faintly at the clock on the nightstand.

They’d slept in. Way in.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the dull ache of last night’s emotions still lingering like bruises. Beside him, Wooyoung let out a small, sleepy groan, turning over and curling into himself a little. San watched as the other hybrid clumsily reached for his own tail, pulling it close to his chest in that endearing, vulnerable way he did when half-awake.

A tiny, exhausted smile tugged at San’s lips. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair off Wooyoung’s forehead before carefully pulling himself out of bed. He paused at the door, giving Wooyoung one last look as he blinked bleary eyes open, offering him a quiet, reassuring nod before slipping into the hallway.

San padded silently to Yeosang’s door. He hesitated a moment, breathing in, before turning the knob and pushing it open just enough to peek inside.

He froze. Yeosang was still in the bed. San’s heart did a strange, fragile lurch.

Not only had the hybrid stayed there all night (an unspoken milestone he hadn’t dared to hope for) but he was still asleep. But as the moment of relief washed over him, another thought struck San like a cold wave: Yeosang was never the last one up. He was always so painfully, perfectly punctual.

San’s brows drew together, worry sparking in his chest. Was he okay? He took a cautious step closer, watching for any flicker of movement.

“Yeosang?” he whispered softly, as if afraid to shatter the moment.

San stepped quietly into the bedroom, bare feet whispering over the floor. He didn’t want to wake Yeosang if the hybrid genuinely needed the rest, God knows he’d earned it after everything. But San’s eyes scanned carefully, checking for any sign of distress: the tension in his limbs, the crease of fear on his brow.

Instead, he was met with something heartbreakingly gentle. Yeosang was curled on his side, face turned into the pillow, ears drooping loosely and relaxed. His breaths came slow and steady, chest rising and falling in a calm, even rhythm.

San exhaled quietly, his own shoulders dropping a fraction. Relief pooled warm and tentative in his chest. Good. He’s sleeping. Really sleeping.

He took another slow step forward, just to be close, just to make sure. He was about to turn and leave him in peace when-

“San.”

San jerked his head around. Wooyoung was in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, ears flicking and tail twitching behind him in visible agitation. His eyes were wide and shining with alarm.

San’s stomach dropped immediately. “What?” he whispered, voice low but urgent.

Wooyoung swallowed hard, nostrils flaring slightly as he glanced past San to Yeosang’s sleeping form. He looked back, gaze serious.

“San,” he said again, but quieter, rougher. “He… he has a scent.”

San blinked, uncomprehending. “What do you-”

Wooyoung’s throat bobbed, voice tight. “He’s… he’s in heat. It’s starting. His first real one.”

The words dropped like stones in the quiet room. San felt the blood drain from his face. He turned sharply to look at Yeosang again who seemed still peaceful and entirely unaware.

But suddenly every soft breath felt charged with meaning. Every twitch of his ears, the faint flush in his cheeks. San hadn’t noticed. Couldn’t have noticed. He was human, meaning he couldn't smell it.

But Wooyoung could. San’s heart pounded, an anxious rhythm in his ears. He swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady even as his chest squeezed painfully.

San’s breath caught in his chest. He turned away from Yeosang’s sleeping form, hands trembling slightly as he raked them through his hair.

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I- I can’t do it, Wooyoung. I won’t. I can’t be the one to- ”

Wooyoung stepped forward, face pinched tight with exasperation, voice sharp but hushed. “San- ”

But San was rambling now, breath shallow, words falling out in a rush. “He won’t even know what he’s saying yes to. He’ll be in pain. He’ll beg and it won’t be real. I won’t take advantage of that. I won’t. It’s wrong. It’s- ”

“San.”

San flinched at the sound of Wooyoung’s voice.

Wooyoung’s eyes were flaring with something fierce and pained. He grabbed San’s wrist and tugged him hard out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

“Not here,” he hissed, voice strained. “We’re not having this argument over him while he’s asleep.”

San swallowed hard, letting himself be dragged down the hall until they stopped in the living room. Wooyoung let go of him abruptly, pacing in front of the couch, tail lashing with frustration.

San’s voice cracked again, lower now, pleading. “I can’t , Woo. I can’t do that to him. You know what it’s like. He’ll be out of his mind. He’ll think he has to. He’ll offer himself. And if I touch him then, if I let him, it’s not real consent. It’s-”

Wooyoung spun on him, eyes blazing. “Do you think I don’t know that?! You think I don’t know how it works?! But San, it’s his first heat. You don’t get it. They’re bad . Painful as fuck. He’s probably been on suppressants ever since he presented. If he’s alone in there, it could really hurt him. Mess him up in the head forever.”

San’s mouth worked silently, chest heaving.

Wooyoung threw his arms wide in exasperation. “You help me with mine!” he snapped.

San recoiled like he’d been slapped.

Wooyoung’s words faltered immediately. He blinked, confusion cutting through his anger. “You- San. You literally help me through mine.”

San’s face crumpled, a tortured sound ripping from his throat. “That’s different , Wooyoung! And you know that! We had known each other much longer and built a steady foundation together before we were intimate with each other. We were able to discuss things beforehand. Limits, likes, preferences. I can’t do any of that with him.”

Wooyoung’s mouth opened and closed, stunned into silence. His tail flicked once, lower this time.

San scrubbed at his face with shaking hands. His voice was hoarse, breaking. “I can’t be the one to do that to him. I won’t. I won’t be another owner who uses him when he can’t- when he won’t say no.”

Wooyoung threw up his hands in frustration, his tail flicking sharply as he let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine,” he said, voice rough but resolute. “I guess I’ll have to do it.”

He paced a few steps, then glanced back at San, eyes softening a little despite the tension. “But you gotta know... I’m another omega. I don’t really know how much I’ll be able to do, or if it’ll even help.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his usual sarcasm. “It’s gonna be hard for him. For all of us.”

Wooyoung took a steadying breath, voice quieter but firm. “But I’m gonna be there for him. I’ll make sure he’s not alone.”

San said nothing. His throat tightened with a knot of guilt and helplessness. He wanted to say something to ease the weight in his chest but the words caught in his throat. Because, deep down, he still couldn’t shake the fear that no matter what they did, Yeosang would be taken advantage of.

Wooyoung’s voice dropped, steady but fierce, cutting through the thick silence between them.

“I only know a fraction of what he’s about to go through,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Hell, who even knows if that omega institute ever told him about heats at all? What if he has no idea what’s coming for him?”

He took a breath, voice roughening. “San, it’s going to be scary as fuck. And if you think you’re taking advantage of him, fine. Believe that if you want. But I think it’s worse to just abandon him when he needs us most.”

Wooyoung stepped closer, voice sharp and low. “If you wanna help on the sidelines, fine. Stock waters, bring food, toys, whatever. But don’t you dare give Yeosang the wrong idea. If he catches even a whiff of your scent and you’re not there to help him through it, it’ll drive him into rejection. It’ll hurt him.”

San’s chest tightened, the weight of Wooyoung’s words settling heavy and undeniable. He swallowed hard, knowing deep down Wooyoung was right.

Wooyoung’s jaw clenched, resolve hardening in his eyes.

“I’m going to stay with him,” Wooyoung said quietly but firmly. “Until he wakes up. Hopefully, he’ll be somewhat conscious before the first wave hits.”

Without waiting for a response, he pushed off from the wall and moved toward the door.

Before San could say anything, Wooyoung was already slipping out, leaving the living room and San alone with the heavy silence hanging between them.

The moment Wooyoung stepped into the bedroom, it hit him like a wave.

Yeosang’s scent was soft, delicate, and had pretty much doubled since Wooyoung was last in this room. It clung to the air now, warm and syrupy-sweet jasmine, with an undertone of something desperate beginning to bloom beneath it. It was heady, sharp around the edges, the way scent got when a heat was preparing to crest.

Wooyoung’s brows furrowed as he stood in the doorway, his own scent of eucalyptus was already trying to stabilize and ground the space. It didn’t do much. Not against this.

This is going to be bad, he thought grimly. Hopefully not more than three days.

He stepped deeper inside, casting a glance at the still form in the bed. Yeosang was curled tightly under the blanket, a hint of sweat starting to sheen across his brow. His ears twitched restlessly.

San’s scent wasn’t much in the room yet, thank god. The citrusy wood scent that clung faintly to him could have easily sent Yeosang into spiraling confusion. San hadn't ever sensed his own scent before. Being human, he’d never caught a trace of it but Wooyoung had truly smelled it the first time they’d shared a bed in their teens.

But even that would be too much now.

Wooyoung crossed the room quietly, setting down his box of sanitized sex toys down at the foot of the bed before easing down to sit on the edge of Yeosang’s bed. He reached out carefully, hand brushing through the soft waves of Yeosang’s hair, coaxing comfort into each stroke.

Yeosang stirred beneath the touch, a low sound catching in his throat as his legs shifted restlessly under the blanket. His breath hitched, and Wooyoung could hear the faint rustle of limbs twisting in the sheets, his body caught between sleep and the first warning tremors of what was coming.

He watched the way Yeosang’s body moved under the thin blanket, his involuntary twitches and turns, his breath catching now and then in uneven rhythms. His ears flicked against the pillow, a flicker of discomfort making his nose scrunch slightly.

Wooyoung’s chest squeezed uncomfortably.

He swallowed hard and let his gaze soften, remembering that not that long ago when Yeosang wouldn’t even speak unless ordered, wouldn’t move unless given permission. He’d been like a ghost in the penthouse, haunting the corners, waiting for cues no one was giving.

But lately… things had changed.

The closet incident had nearly broken them all, but even with that setback, Yeosang had been getting… better. He’d started sitting at the dinner table with them without being ordered first. Started offering small, careful opinions, only about things that were insignificant such as Wooyoung’s drama or the weather. Started following Wooyoung from room to room like a quiet, diligent shadow. Eager to please. 

He was becoming somewhat of a person in front of them.

Wooyoung’s jaw tightened. He was scared. Scared that this would ruin all of that slow, hard-won progress. That Yeosang probably wouldn’t understand what was happening to him. That he’d think he was failing again. That he’d beg in that quiet, desperate way he had and Wooyoung wouldn’t know how to fix it.

Yeosang’s breathing hitched sharply, and a rough, pained groan slipped from his throat. His body arched slightly under the blanket, legs curling in and then kicking out in restless, unfocused discomfort.

He watched for another moment, hoping that it might pass, that Yeosang would settle again. But it didn’t. The groan turned into another, softer whimper, and his ears pinned back tight against his skull.

Shit.

Wooyoung’s hand stilled in Yeosang’s hair, pressing a little more firmly as if to ground him. He swallowed hard and made a decision.

He couldn’t just let him slip under. If Yeosang woke up too deep in the fog, it would be nearly impossible to talk him down, to explain anything. They needed to do it now , while he was still halfway reachable.

“Yeosang,” Wooyoung murmured, voice low but firmer than before. His thumb brushed against the shell of one soft ear, stroking gently. “Hey. Come on. Wake up for me.”

Yeosang made another sound, closer to a confused whine, shifting again beneath the blanket. His nose wrinkled, his brows knit tight, but his eyes didn’t open.

Wooyoung leaned down, pressing closer, voice tightening with urgency.

“Yeosang. Wake up. Come on, bunny, look at me.”

He gave the other’s shoulder a gentle shake. Not rough, but enough to disturb the heavy, feverish sleep.

Yeosang let out another strained groan, breath catching, eyes fluttering unevenly. His lashes trembled, ears twitching in confusion. Wooyoung saw the moment he almost surfaced, that flicker of confusion that meant he was hearing him, even if it was through a haze.

“That’s it,” Wooyoung whispered, his thumb stroking Yeosang’s cheek now, voice cracking just slightly. “Come back here. I need you awake, okay? Just for a little. Just so we can talk.”

His own heart pounded painfully in his chest as he waited, watching Yeosang’s eyelids flutter with growing awareness and praying he hadn’t waited too long.

“Hey, bunny,” Wooyoung murmured, squeezing his wrist lightly to keep him grounded. “Good. Stay with me, okay? I need you to listen.”

Yeosang blinked at him, confusion and feverish heat clouding his gaze. His ears twitched miserably against the pillow.

Wooyoung softened his voice, but kept it firm enough to hold Yeosang’s wandering focus. “You’re in heat, Yeosang. That’s what this is. It means your body’s gonna go through a lot for a few days. You’ll be really sensitive to scents. You’ll get cramps in your stomach. You might feel hot or restless or- ”

He didn’t get to finish.

Yeosang’s face crumpled all at once, a strangled sob tearing from his throat. His eyes flooded immediately with tears that spilled hot down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, voice cracking so badly it was nearly inaudible. “I’m sorry- I didn’t know- I didn’t mean- ”

Wooyoung’s heart lurched painfully.

Yeosang was trying to sit up but his body shuddered with heat, so he just curled forward slightly instead, sobbing into his hands, shaking his head like he was denying the entire situation.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know this would happen- I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I don’t even know how I- ”

Wooyoung felt his throat close up.

“Stop,” he said quickly, grabbing Yeosang’s wrists and gently pulling them away from his face. “Hey. Look at me.”

Yeosang barely managed it, eyes huge and wet and so fucking guilty , like he’d just ruined everything.

Wooyoung swallowed hard, voice cracking with its own unsteady emotion.

“Don’t apologize for this. Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. This isn’t your fault. It’s your biology , Yeosang. You can’t control it.”

Yeosang’s breath was hitching in these little broken gasps, and he tried to turn away, but Wooyoung wouldn’t let him. He squeezed his wrists, not painfully but tight enough that Yeosang felt it.

“I’m going to help you,” Wooyoung said, steadier now. “I’m going to help you through all of it. Whatever you need. However you need it. Do you understand me?”

Yeosang just trembled, fresh tears spilling, lip wobbling as he sniffled.

“I’m so… I’m sorry…” he whispered again, voice dissolving into another sob.

Wooyoung let out a broken sound of his own, pulling him in and wrapping his arms around Yeosang’s shaking frame.

“God, you’re so fucking sensitive right now,” he mumbled sarcastically into Yeosang’s hair, one hand stroking between his ears. “It’s okay. It’s okay . I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you. I promise. I’ve got you.”

Wooyoung kept stroking Yeosang’s hair until the sobs quieted to hiccuping little sniffs. He pressed his cheek against the top of the bunny hybrid’s head, trying to think of the gentlest way to get the information he needed.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Yeosang. Look at me.”

Yeosang’s damp eyes lifted reluctantly, lashes clumped with tears.

Wooyoung wiped a tear off his cheek with his thumb. “Have you… ever had a heat before?”

Yeosang blinked at him, confused and glassy-eyed. Slowly, he shook his head.

“N-no. They gave us injections every week.” His voice went quiet. “I think that… stopped them.”

Wooyoung bit back a curse. He forced a small, wry smile instead, stroking Yeosang’s ear. “Great. So you’re doing this blind. Figures.”

Yeosang shifted uncomfortably. His nose twitched, and his ears flicked forward. He blinked, sniffed the air again and then his pupils dilated slightly.

“…Wooyoung,” he whispered, sounding startled. “I… I can smell you.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrow arched, but his tone was warm, teasing. “Yeah? Bet you can. Eucalyptus, right?”

Yeosang nodded, not because actually knew what eucalyptus smelt like, but just wanting to agree with Wooyoung. 

“You like it?” Wooyoung asked softly, almost coy.

Yeosang flushed immediately, his gaze darting down. He hesitated, but finally gave the tiniest nod, ears drooping in embarrassed admission.

Wooyoung chuckled low in his throat. “Want me to scent you? Might help.”

Yeosang bit his lip, but peeked up at him through his lashes, nodding again this time more certain, though no less shy.

Wooyoung didn’t waste time. He shifted them so Yeosang was facing him better and leaned in, nuzzling firmly against Yeosang’s neck. His nose dragged over the sensitive skin below the ear, and he pressed slow, deliberate kisses there, leaving his scent thick and strong.

Yeosang gasped, the sound thin and needy. When Wooyoung pulled back slightly to scent lower, Yeosang let out a shaky, shameful little moan, hands clutching at Wooyoung’s shirt.

The sound made Wooyoung smirk.

“Oh? Is my little bunny getting excited to smell others for the first time?”

Yeosang’s face went crimson , ears shooting straight up before folding forward in mortification. He tried to shrink back, whimpering in embarrassment.

Wooyoung just laughed, warm and wicked. He cupped Yeosang’s cheek, thumbing the red flush there, voice softening despite the tease.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he murmured. “It’s supposed to feel good. That’s the point.”

Yeosang shivered under the praise, eyes wide and glassy with need he barely seemed to understand.

Wooyoung let his thumb rub along Yeosang’s jaw, studying him carefully, making sure those teary eyes were clear enough to actually understand him before he kept going.

“Hey,” he said quietly, but firmly. “Listen to me. We need to talk about what’s going to happen, okay?”

Yeosang swallowed hard, gaze fixed on Wooyoung’s face with that puppyish, attentive desperation. Wooyoung sighed. God, he’s so obedient. It was heartbreaking. But they had to do this right.

“Your first wave hasn’t really hit yet. You’re going to feel it soon. It’ll get a lot worse... like, a lot . Not to uhh… scare you… but uhhh... when it does, you’re going to want... things. Badly. So I need to know if you’re okay with me kissing you during it. If you want that.”

Yeosang blinked, and then almost aggressively nodded, ears flopping with the motion.

Wooyoung’s mouth twitched at the eagerness, but he didn’t laugh this time.

“Okay,” he went on, tone lower. “If it gets bad enough for sex, is that okay with you? If you want that, are you okay with me doing that with you?”

Yeosang’s eyes went impossibly wide for a second before he nodded again, even more forcefully, a pink flush staining his cheeks. Wooyoung huffed out a breath, feeling something loosen in his chest. But he wasn’t done.

“And toys? If you want help, if you need them, is that okay?”

Another eager nod. Wooyoung’s heart clenched. He let his hand drift to Yeosang’s hair, smoothing it down carefully. “Bunny… I need you to understand something important.”

Yeosang blinked up at him, waiting obediently.

“This isn’t about performing for me. Do you get that?”

Yeosang’s brows drew together, puzzled, but he didn’t argue. He just hesitated, then whispered: “I’ll be good. I’ll do it right.”

Wooyoung let out a small groan of frustration, not at Yeosang, but at what those words meant. He caught Yeosang’s face between both hands and forced him to meet his eyes.

“No,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. “It’s not about being useful . It’s about you . About your pleasure. It’s supposed to feel good for you. For both of us.”

Yeosang blinked, wet lashes trembling. He clearly didn’t quite understand, confusion still swirling in his eyes. But he nodded anyway, eager to agree, to comply, to please. Wooyoung sighed, pressing his forehead gently to Yeosang’s.

“Okay,” he murmured. “We’ll work on that part later. For now…” He pulled back enough to see Yeosang’s face, his tone softer. “Your heat’s gonna start for real soon. Before it does, why don’t we just… cuddle? Be close. Get you used to my scent. That’ll help.”

Yeosang blinked at him for a moment, then slowly, shyly nodded one last time. Wooyoung smiled. Relieved . He guided Yeosang back down onto the bed, tucking the blanket around them both, letting Yeosang bury his face in Wooyoung’s neck, inhaling deep, shaky breaths of eucalyptus, grounding himself before the storm. He could feel the bunny’s little breaths puffing warm against his collarbone, the soft flick of those ears against his jaw.

God, Wooyoung thought, pressing his lips to Yeosang’s hairline with an exasperated fondness. He’s so fucking cute it’s not even fair.

Another moment passed in silence but for the sound of their breathing. Yeosang shifted just enough to get even closer, fingers curling lightly in Wooyoung’s shirt like he was terrified of being made to let go. Wooyoung’s heart twisted, but he let his hand rub soothing circles along Yeosang’s back, fighting off a reluctant, wry smile at how easily this little bunny hybrid had wormed his way under his skin.

Wooyoung felt the steady rise and fall of Yeosang’s breathing even out against his chest, the bunny’s body finally going lax in what he thought was sleep. For a moment, he let himself relax too, arm draped snug around Yeosang’s waist, thumb absently tracing the curve of his spine.

He actually dozed off, Wooyoung thought, eyebrows lifting just slightly in surprise. The poor thing must already be so deep into it to crash like that, even with all the heat brewing in his body.

But then he felt it.

A subtle shift at first. The slightest roll of Yeosang’s hips, pressing forward against Wooyoung’s thigh. Then again, more deliberate. Wooyoung tensed a little, glancing down to see Yeosang’s face slack, eyes fluttering but still closed, ears twitching erratically.

Shit.

He considered waking him. Really considered it. But Yeosang didn’t seem fully aware, and Wooyoung could feel the faint, needy little whimpers vibrating against his chest. He exhaled shakily, pressing his lips together in thought.

Ultimately, he let out a small sigh and tightened his arm around the bunny’s waist just enough to keep him close, but not enough to stop him.

“…Okay,” he whispered into Yeosang’s hair, voice softer than he meant. “Go on then, bunny. Do what you need.”

Yeosang kept grinding slowly, unconsciously chasing that relief, the friction warm and needy. And Wooyoung just held him, keeping them both steady, letting him have this small comfort for as long as he needed it.

Suddenly, Yeosang’s motions grew less restrained, more urgent in their sleepy clumsiness. He buried his entire face into the crook of Wooyoung’s neck, snuffling, breathing deep, as if trying to drown in the eucalyptus scent that rolled off Wooyoung’s skin.

Wooyoung held his breath as he felt those soft ears brush against his jaw, and then Yeosang let out a slow, needy exhale, warm and wet against his throat.

“Shit,” Wooyoung whispered, feeling the heat from Yeosang’s body radiate even more, slick and damp where he rubbed eagerly against Wooyoung’s thigh.

He tried, really tried to keep himself steady. I can handle this, he told himself, letting one hand rub gentle circles along Yeosang’s back, soothing, grounding.

But then Yeosang moaned.

Not a quiet whimper. A full, breathy, desperate moan that vibrated right against Wooyoung’s ear, needy and raw and absolutely shameless.

Wooyoung felt his whole body jolt with arousal, blood rushing hot and immediate between his own legs.

“F- fuck,” he hissed under his breath, fingers flexing hard into Yeosang’s hip before he forced them to relax.

Yeosang just kept going, hips rocking harder, breath hitching with another shaky moan that was downright obscene in Wooyoung’s ear.

Wooyoung squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Shit shit shit.

He really hadn’t planned on getting turned on. But fuck if this bunny wasn’t making it impossible.

Wooyoung was trying desperately to keep his breathing even, fighting the heat pooling low in his own belly, when he felt Yeosang’s lips part against his neck.

At first it was just breath hot and needy. Then a whisper, raw and pleading, almost cracking in the middle.

“…W-Wooyoung… please. Need… help.”

Wooyoung froze. He pulled back just enough to see Yeosang’s face. Those big, teary eyes were open now, but glassy and unfocused with arousal. His pupils were blown wide, ears pinned so far back they were nearly flat against his skull. His lips were wet, slightly swollen from the way he’d been pressing them to Wooyoung’s throat.

Holy shit, Wooyoung thought, heart punching hard against his ribs. He’s really… he’s asking for it.

He felt something tighten painfully in his chest equal parts sympathy and want.

“Oh, bunny…” he breathed, brushing his thumb over Yeosang’s wet cheek. He forced his voice to stay calm, gentle, even though his own cock was twitching in his pants from how needy Yeosang sounded. “You… you want help?”

Yeosang nodded immediately. Desperate. Eager. Humiliatingly honest.

Wooyoung’s own breath shook. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to center himself, before leaning in to press their foreheads together.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m gonna help you, okay? Whatever you need.”

Yeosang made a soft, broken noise somewhere between a sob and a whimper of relief and surged forward, pressing their mouths together clumsily.

The kiss was wet, messy, and uncoordinated. But Yeosang didn’t care, mouth opening hungrily under Wooyoung’s, whimpering again when Wooyoung’s hand threaded into his hair to steady him.

Wooyoung let out a groan of his own this time, unable to help it. He kissed Yeosang back with languid, rolling heat, tongue sliding against the other’s in slow, deliberate strokes meant to soothe and inflame all at once.

Yeosang keened, rocking against him more desperately, the scent of needy omega flooding the room like a drug.

Wooyoung tightened his grip on Yeosang’s hip, pressing back just hard enough to ground him as he pulled away just enough to pant:

“Easy, bunny. We’ve got time. Let me take care of you.”

Yeosang whimpered again, but he nodded, eyes shining wet and desperate, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps as he chased Wooyoung’s mouth for another kiss.

Wooyoung forced himself to slow the kiss, panting softly as he pulled back just enough to look at Yeosang’s face. The bunny was flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, eyes glazed and half-lidded, mouth wet and parted, tiny needy noises falling from him as if he didn’t even realize.

Fuck, Wooyoung thought. He’s really… just ready to take whatever I give him.

For a moment, Wooyoung hesitated. His hand ghosted along Yeosang’s cheek, thumb brushing gently against that trembling lower lip. He tried to imagine letting Yeosang be in control here. Asking him to set the pace, to take what he wanted.

But he could see the way Yeosang blinked at him, confused and pleading, hips shifting up in mindless offering. This was all he knew. The facility had trained him for this. Taught him to lie back and be good.

Wooyoung swallowed, stomach twisting uncomfortably at the thought. He forced himself to push that sick feeling aside. Now wasn’t the time to lecture him about choice. Now was the time to help. Instead of asking again, Wooyoung shifted, sliding a leg over Yeosang’s hips to straddle him carefully. Yeosang let out a sharp and delighted gasp his hands flying immediately to Wooyoung’s wrists like he was afraid he’d be made to let go.

“There,” Wooyoung breathed, trying to keep his voice steady even as he felt his own cock twitch at the desperate look on Yeosang’s face. “You like that?”

Yeosang nodded so frantically his ears flopped, mouth falling open with an eager whine.

Wooyoung let out a low, humorless huff of air, leaning down to kiss him again.

God, he’s good at this.

Yeosang kissed back immediately, hungrily, like he’d been starving for it all his life. His mouth worked perfectly under Wooyoung’s, opening just enough, tongue shy but willing, tilting his head exactly the way Wooyoung wanted.

It made something ugly coil in Wooyoung’s gut.

How many times did they make him practice this? How many times did they tell him this is all he was worth?

He forced those thoughts away. For now. Instead, he rocked down slowly, grinding against Yeosang’s crotch with just enough friction to make the bunny gasp and writhe under him.

“That’s it,” Wooyoung murmured between kisses, voice low and hot. “Good boy. Let me make you feel good.”

Yeosang whimpered again, clutching Wooyoung tighter, nodding frantically, ears flicking with pleasure. And Wooyoung kissed him harder, determined to give him this , at least. Some sliver of comfort. Some illusion of safety, even if it had to look like this.

Yeosang’s hips bucked up again, harder this time, chasing Wooyoung’s weight with a broken little sob of frustration. “W-Wooyoung,” he whimpered, voice cracking painfully in the middle. “Please. More. I- I don’t know- I don’t- please, please-”

Tears began to bead along his lashes, trembling before spilling down his flushed cheeks. His mouth worked silently for a second, trying to form words that wouldn’t come, every breath shuddery and desperate.

He cupped Yeosang’s face in both hands, thumbs swiping at the tears. “Hey, hey, bunny. Look at me.”

Yeosang’s big wet eyes snapped up immediately, wide and panicked, ears trembling.

“It’s okay,” Wooyoung said softly, fighting to keep his voice calm despite the heat in his own body. “I know. I know it’s a lot. You don’t have to know exactly what you need yet. That’s my job, okay?”

Yeosang gave a pitiful little nod, sucking in a breath that hitched and broke.

“Can I take our clothes off, hmm?” he asked gently, rubbing slow circles over Yeosang’s hips. “It’ll help. I promise. I’ll make you feel better.”

Yeosang blinked at him, tears slipping down freely now. His lip trembled once before he nodded sharply with desperation in a way that made Wooyoung’s chest ache.

“Y-Yes,” Yeosang gasped, voice high and breaking. “Please. Please, Wooyoung. I want- I want it- ”

Wooyoung let out a shaky breath, pressing another gentle kiss to his wet cheek.

“Okay,” he murmured, voice firm and soothing at once. “Good boy. Let’s get you comfortable, alright? I’ve got you. I promise bunny I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

Yeosang’s sob cracked into a moan at the praise, hands clutching Wooyoung tighter, body arching in offering even as he kept crying, hot and needy and helpless.

Wooyoung kissed Yeosang’s forehead one last time before gently pulling back, his hands ghosting down the trembling curve of the other’s sides.

“Okay, bunny,” he whispered, voice warm and low, like a promise wrapped in silk. “Let’s get you out of these, yeah?”

Yeosang nodded, frantic but trusting, eyes never leaving Wooyoung’s face as he laid back against the pillows with his chest rising in sharp, uneven breaths. He looked so pliant like that, so soft and afraid and trying to be good, even through the tears that clung stubbornly to his lashes.

Wooyoung worked slowly. Carefully. His hands moved reverently, as if undressing something precious. He pushed Yeosang’s shirt up, revealing pale, trembling skin underneath, the muscles in his stomach fluttering from the waves of heat still rolling through his body. Wooyoung leaned down and kissed just above his waistband, feeling the way Yeosang’s breath caught in response.

He helped the bunny sit up just enough to pull the shirt over his head, then ran a soothing hand down his chest as Yeosang melted back into the sheets, whimpering softly. Each motion was deliberate, slow, as if to remind Yeosang that he had all the time in the world now.

He took the bunny hybrids pants off next, not before asking his permission one last time, which Yeosang gave eagerly. Pulling off the fabric, he watched Yeosang’s cute little cocklet slap against his lower belly, standing in anticipation. Yeosang didn’t really seem to be shy about being nude in front of Wooyoung. 

His own clothes came off next folded neatly beside the bed, though his hands shook faintly as he worked. Not from hesitation, but from the way Yeosang was looking at him: like he was something sacred. Something he didn’t know how to touch.

Wooyoung gently stroked a hand down Yeosang’s side, watching the way the bunny trembled and clung to him, need pouring off of him like heat. His scent was thick now, sweet and dizzying in the room, and his cock pressed insistently against Wooyoung’s hip, leaking and neglected.

Wooyoung cupped Yeosang’s face again, tilting it just enough to meet his eyes.

“Baby,” he murmured, voice quiet but purposeful. “Would it help if you used my mouth?”

Yeosang blinked. Hard.

Like the suggestion didn’t compute right away.

“I mean,” Wooyoung clarified softly, brushing his thumb along Yeosang’s cheek, “if you want to. You can fuck my mouth, bunny. I’ll let you. Might help get some of that tension out.”

Yeosang’s eyes went comically wide. His mouth parted, but no sound came out. He looked stunned like the offer had short-circuited his brain.

“W-Wooyoung…” he whispered, ears twitching. “You… I can…?”

Wooyoung smiled gently, leaning in just enough to nuzzle their noses together. “Yes, sweetheart. You can. If you want. It’s okay to want something.”

Yeosang’s breath hitched, and his entire face flushed red, ears folding down in disbelief. His voice came out fragile. “They never… said that. That I could…” He trailed off.

“I know,” Wooyoung said softly. “But I’m saying it now.”

Yeosang’s hands fluttered helplessly at Wooyoung’s shoulders, eyes already glassy again. He looked so overwhelmed but not in fear. In awe.

“I wanna try,” he said, voice trembling. “I want to… please.”

Wooyoung kissed him slow and tender, filled with pride. “Okay, bunny. Come here.”

He slid down the bed without hurry, hands gentle on Yeosang’s thighs, guiding him carefully as the bunny sat up, then knelt above him, panting hard, every inch of him buzzing with anticipation.

Wooyoung let his hands rest on Yeosang’s hips, grounding him, but quickly, Yeosang’s hands searched to hold Wooyoung’s. “You set the pace. You stop when you want. I’ll squeeze your hand if I need a break, alright?”

Yeosang nodded quickly then again, slower, more sure. His hands shook as he watched as Wooyoung used his mouth to take ahold of Yeosang’s small shaft.

Wooyoung welcomed him with ease, relaxing his jaw and breathing through his nose, eyes half-lidded as he watched Yeosang’s expression shift into something utterly undone.

The bunny moaned immediately, so high and soft it could’ve broken glass. His hips twitched forward on instinct, then pulled back as if afraid he’d done it wrong.

Wooyoung gave him a reassuring squeeze in his hand, encouraging. Go on.

And Yeosang did carefully at first, then with more confidence, slowly rocking his hips into Wooyoung’s mouth with desperate little gasps.

The sight alone of his flushed chest rising and falling, ears flopped down, face contorted in raw pleasure was beautiful.

Yeosang didn’t speak. Didn’t even beg. He just panted, soft whimpers spilling from him as he fucked Wooyoung’s mouth like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

Wooyoung didn’t flinch as Yeosang came the first time, a sudden gasping, biting back a sob as his whole body tensed and shook.

Wooyoung swallowed around him, firm hands now bracing the bunny’s hips, letting him ride it out even as tears threatened to spill from Yeosang’s eyes. The hybrid was panting desperately, clearly overwhelmed, whining these soft broken little sounds that tore at Wooyoung’s heart.

But Wooyoung didn’t stop. He let Yeosang slump for a moment, catching his breath, trembling and glassy-eyed. Then, gently, Wooyoung eased his mouth off just enough to murmur against the slick head of Yeosang’s cock,

“Not done yet, sweetheart.”

Yeosang shuddered, blinking wet lashes, confusion sparking. “W- Wooyoung-”

Wooyoung stroked his thigh, coaxing. “You need more. Trust me. I know it’s a lot. But you’ll feel better if you give me everything, bunny. Come on.”

Yeosang whimpered, tears welling up again, but he nodded shakily.

“Good boy,” Wooyoung praised, before swallowing him back down.

This time he used some more dynamic motions, swirling his tongue and switching pressure, careful not to overstimulate too sharply but enough to keep Yeosang on that feverish edge. He felt the way Yeosang twitched and bucked, the broken moans that turned to hiccupping sobs.

“P-please,” Yeosang gasped, voice cracking. “It’s, it’s too-”

But Wooyoung didn’t stop, just hummed low around him, and Yeosang cried at the vibration, fingers tightening in Wooyoung’s hair. Yeosang keened high and desperate when the second orgasm ripped through him, his whole body going taut before collapsing in exhausted, overwhelmed surrender.

Wooyoung held him the whole time, swallowing every pulse of him, making sure to get it all. He kept a gentle hand stroking Yeosang’s hip even as he pulled back, letting the spent cocklet fall free, slick and twitching, but softer now.

Yeosang was sobbing openly, breath coming in ragged gasps, ears pressed flat in shame.

Wooyoung shushed him softly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before guiding Yeosang into his arms.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice wrecked but soothing. “Good boy. That’s it. That’s what you needed.”

Yeosang didn’t speak, too busy crying into Wooyoung’s shoulder, but he didn’t pull away. He just clung tighter.

Wooyoung wrapped both arms around him and pressed kisses into his hair, heart heavy but sure.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into those flattened ears. “You did so good for me. You’re gonna be okay.”

And he rocked them both gently, preparing himself for the long, brutal days ahead. Because this was only the beginning and Wooyoung would be damned if he let Yeosang face it alone.

Notes:

DPIAFYOXANWIEUYQOFPIAWMEGZOYFUGSDONGHS AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
ITS HAPPENING ITS HAPPENINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
holy FUCKKKKKK yawl. YAWLLLLLL.

let me hear all your thoughts. this was by far my favorite chapter to write!!!!!!

i love all of you guys!! thanks for reading!!!

Chapter 10

Yeosang’s heat refused to die down. It clung to the room like a feverish fog, his scent saturating every breath until Wooyoung’s head spun with it. Even after hours of helping, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from him with his mouth and hands, Yeosang’s body still trembled with restless needy energy. Wooyoung could see the exhaustion in his glassy eyes, could feel it in the slack way Yeosang collapsed against him after each wave, only to start whimpering minutes later for more. It was beyond cute, but it was starting to wear Wooyoung out, too, dragging at his own energy and scent responses. Huffing, he pressed a kiss to Yeosang’s sweaty temple and gently eased him off of his chest. Then he reached for the box of toys he’d stashed at the bedside earlier. He cracked the lid open, eyeing the contents like he was planning a battle strategy. 

Wooyoung paused, fingers hovering over the box, and let out a quiet sigh of relief. For all the intensity, for all the raw, overwhelming need that had reduced Yeosang to pleading sobs more than once, there was one saving grace in all of it: 

Yeosang was actually telling him things.

Not everything, he was still shy and uncertain, but enough. Enough that Wooyoung didn’t have to guess blindly every single time. Enough that Yeosang would whisper, voice shaking, “It’s starting again,” instead of trying to hide it away like a shameful secret. That tiny sliver of trust, hard-won and fragile as glass, felt priceless. Wooyoung swallowed thickly, brushing sweat-damp hair off Yeosang’s forehead and murmuring a gentle, “Good. Thank you for telling me.” It made all the difference, knowing Yeosang wasn’t suffering in silence.

Wooyoung wiped a bead of sweat from his temple and sat back on his heels for a second, catching his breath. His gaze drifted to the bedroom door, and for a moment, he let himself think about San. 

If San were here helping this would be so different. They could have taken shifts, given each other breathers, even bonded in the weird, messy way they did over anything that challenged them. Wooyoung wouldn’t be alone trying to handle Yeosang’s trembling need and sobbing apologies.

He understood why San had said no. Really, he did. That stupid noble streak of his. The fear of crossing a line. But Wooyoung couldn’t stop the frustrated twist in his gut. Because this was always going to happen eventually. Getting another hybrid hadn’t just been about saving Yeosang. It came with this. With heats. With responsibility. For fucks sake Yeosang was a hole being. And now Wooyoung was the one kneeling on the floor, breathless and sticky and trying so fucking hard not to be mad about being the only one here. He exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face, then looked back at Yeosang, who was watching him with glassy eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, voice softening. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Wooyoung sifted through the box with practiced fingers, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion tugging at his bones. He paused over a long, sleek silicone vibrator, turning it in his hand thoughtfully before holding it up where Yeosang could see.

“This one okay?” he asked, voice low and careful, watching for the slightest flinch or hesitation.

Yeosang blinked at it, red-eyed and breath shuddering, his expression almost studious. There was recognition there, if not perfect familiarity. A sense that he at least understood the purpose, even if it was still something slightly new. His ears twitched once before flattening slightly in submission, and he gave a small, jerky nod.

“Okay,” Wooyoung said softly, trying to be reassuring even as his heart squeezed. He set the toy aside carefully and grabbed a couple of other options. Ones slightly smaller, easier to manage, backups in case they needed to switch it up. He set them on the mattress within easy reach before turning back to Yeosang.

“Alright, bunny,” he murmured, voice gentle but firm now as he brushed sweaty hair from Yeosang’s forehead. “Need you to turn over for me. Present. Just like that. Can you do that?”

Yeosang swallowed hard, lashes damp, then slowly rolled onto his stomach. He tucked his arms under himself and lifted his hips, tail twitching and curling shyly to the side. Wooyoung’s throat went tight.

“Good,” he praised softly, voice warm, even if the sight twisted something sharp and protective in his gut. “Good boy. Just stay like that for me. I’m gonna help you, okay?”

He waited for the little nod he’d learned to expect before finally settling behind him, one hand braced on the small of Yeosang’s back, the other reaching to smear some of the slick escaping around his rim. He let himself breathe for a moment, steadying. 

“Gonna take good care of you,” he promised, voice a hush, meant for Yeosang’s ears alone.

Wooyoung instructs Yeosang to take a deep breath before he pushes the first finger in. He can tell that it's satisfying to Yeosang, but not nearly enough. Thanks to the omega’s biology, he can quickly insert another finger before Yeosang is almost completely worked open. 

“You okay?” Wooyoung asked carefully. “You still want this? You sure you’re alright if I… put it in?”

Yeosang’s throat worked around a swallow, breath coming in shallow, wet little pants. But he nodded once, ears twitching with anxiety and wanting.

“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely, voice cracking. “Please.”

Wooyoung exhaled slowly, letting his own racing heart ease.

“Good bunny,” he praised softly, brushing Yeosang’s hip with his thumb. Then, steady and patient, he lined up the tip of the long silicone toy, guiding it with careful pressure. He felt Yeosang tense, whimper, but didn’t rush.

“That’s it,” he soothed. “Breathe. Doing so good for me.”

When it finally sank in all the way, snug and deep, Wooyoung kept his hand on it, feeling Yeosang clench reflexively. He reached for the remote and clicked it on to just the lowest setting, the gentlest possible buzz.

Yeosang let out a shuddering moan, his whole body jerking slightly at the stimulation, the sound cracking and pathetic in its desperation. Wooyoung’s heart twisted painfully at it.

“There,” he whispered, pressing a comforting palm to Yeosang’s back, rubbing slow circles. “There we go. Let it help you, bunny. Just relax. I’ve got you.”

With a strangled, lewd moan, he pushed back on it, grinding helplessly to seat it even deeper, the low setting apparently not enough for his already over-sensitized body. Wooyoung watched in stunned silence as Yeosang lost all sense of rhythm, rocking back in desperate, wanton movements.

The sounds he made were guttural, cracked with whines and pleading gasps, lewd enough that Wooyoung felt his own face heat at the pure, unfiltered hunger pouring out of him.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung whispered under his breath, biting back a laugh that was half nerves and half raw relief.

Because despite the intensity, despite how much Yeosang was clearly gone in it, this at least meant Wooyoung could catch a break. He could stay close without having to use his mouth or hands for a while, could catch his breath while still making sure Yeosang was getting what he needed.

He sat back a little on his heels, hands resting on Yeosang’s hips in a grounding hold.

“Good boy,” he crooned, voice husky but steady. “That’s it. Get what you need. I’m right here.”

Yeosang let out another strangled cry, rocking so hard that the toy squelched obscenely with every thrust, slick running down his thighs. Wooyoung exhaled shakily, letting his thumb stroke slow, comforting circles on Yeosang’s hip even as he squirmed.

God, he thought, swallowing. At least he’s getting some relief. At least he’s not in too much pain.

Because watching him like this was both devastating and a small mercy. Wooyoung would take it. He’d take anything that kept Yeosang from curling up in a ball and crying from the pain.

“Good,” he whispered again, softer now. “Good bunny. Just keep going.”

The days that followed blurred into a feverish rhythm of rising waves and shaky reprieves. Wooyoung moved on instinct, cycling through the carefully chosen toys in the box beside the bed. Switching from slim vibrators to plug styles, using his fingers to stretch and prepare, always watching Yeosang’s face, always listening for even the smallest sound of discomfort or hesitation.

But Yeosang never asked him to stop.

He cried out, moaned, pleaded in broken whispers but never once tried to pull away. If anything, he kept asking for more , every whimper thick with desperation. His body burned hot, soaked in sweat, twitching and writhing through each wave. Wooyoung did everything he could to keep the heat at bay. And when the toys weren’t in use, he was curled tightly around Yeosang, scenting him, whispering praise into the shell of his ear, letting him nuzzle into his neck and shiver against his chest.

“You’re doing so good,” Wooyoung told him over and over again. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until the final wave hit as a sharper, heavier slap than all the others that Wooyoung reached for the last resort.

The knotting toy.

He had hesitated before, not wanting to push Yeosang too far. But the omega was wrung out, sobbing from the need building with no relief. His body was begging for what it instinctually craved.

So Wooyoung slicked the toy generously, whispered gently to Yeosang, and eased it inside.

The reaction was immediate as Yeosang gasped, then wailed , clinging tightly to the sheets as his body seized around the inflating knot, locking down with desperate instinct. Wooyoung held him through it, gently stroking his trembling back, whispering soft encouragement even as Yeosang sobbed through the intensity.

It took a while of long minutes of soft panting, full-body shudders, and the sweet agony of satisfaction finally met, but eventually, something shifted.

Yeosang’s cries quieted. The tension in his muscles started to ease. His scent, which had been thick and spiked with need, began to settle into something softer, calmer.

The heat was breaking.

By the time the knot deflated and Wooyoung carefully removed the toy, Yeosang had gone boneless against the sheets, utterly spent.

Wooyoung didn’t say anything at first. He just gathered him up gently in his arms, cleaned what he could, and pulled the blankets over both of them. He pressed his face into Yeosang’s hair, scenting him deeply, murmuring soft nothings while Yeosang lay limp and dazed in his arms.

“You did it,” he whispered finally, voice raw with emotion. “It’s over. You did so, so good, bunny.”

Yeosang made a tiny noise, too tired to speak, but his head nuzzled closer into Wooyoung’s chest.

They stayed like that. Entwined, quiet, safe. As the last remnants of the heat faded away, Yeosang finally drifted off into the first real sleep he’d had in days.

After an hour Wooyoung huffed, adjusting his grip as he half-dragged, half-carried Yeosang toward the bathroom. It was like hauling a sack of flour that sighed pitifully every few seconds.

“God, you’re dead weight right now,” Wooyoung grumbled, though there was no real heat in it. His arms were already sore, but he refused to let go.

Yeosang didn’t even seem aware. His head lolled against Wooyoung’s shoulder, ears flattened limply, breath coming in soft, uneven huffs. His eyes cracked open only to flutter shut again, dazed and glassy with the leftover fog of heat and exhaustion.

Wooyoung managed to maneuver him into the bathroom, narrowly avoiding slamming them both into the doorframe. He practically collapsed onto the floor himself as he settled Yeosang against the shower wall. The bunny hybrid slid bonelessly down until he was slumped on the cold tile.

“Hold still,” Wooyoung muttered, as if Yeosang was capable of anything else right now.

He turned on the water, adjusting it to a warm spray before grabbing the shower head. Yeosang flinched a little at the first touch of water but didn’t protest. Wooyoung let out a slow breath in relief. It was weirdly easier like this, with Yeosang too far gone to even try to be modest or stubborn about his independence.

He worked methodically, carefully scrubbing sweat and lingering slick from pale skin, fingers gentle around the sore insides of Yeosang’s thigh glands. Every so often Yeosang would let out a little sigh, eyelids fluttering, but he didn’t resist.

“Yeah, okay,” Wooyoung mumbled under his breath, rinsing the sponge and wringing it out. “Guess it’s up to me to make sure you don’t smell like a goddamn brothel when you’re finally conscious enough to be embarrassed.” The hybrid didn’t seem to really react one way or another to Wooyoung’s comment. 

He rinsed Yeosang’s hair last, taking care not to get soap in his ears, smoothing the wet strands back from his forehead.

“Honestly,” Wooyoung sighed, his voice finally softening with something like affection, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

Yeosang’s only response was a sleepy, nonsensical mumble, eyes drooping shut again as the warm water sluiced over him.

And Wooyoung, even as he wiped sweat off his own brow, felt a small relieved smile twitch at his lips.

In the days that followed, Yeosang became a near-permanent fixture at Wooyoung’s side, as if the remnants of heat had melted whatever final barrier stood between them. Since Yeosang had now adopted his newfound sense of smell, he could now sense Wooyoung’s emotions on a much clearer level. He still had a lot of learning to do, but was now able to quickly recognize when Wooyoung was feeling distant, sensitive, happy, or angry.

Wherever Wooyoung went, Yeosang followed as a soundless and soft, never demanding, never asking shadow. He didn’t need to. He existed in the sunlight of Wooyoung’s presence, always waiting to be touched or given a task. He basked in proximity as though it were oxygen, a quiet yearning fulfilled not by words but by presence alone. Still perfectly obedient, still gentle and silent, but visibly soothed by the feeling of being wanted. Of being useful. It was obvious he didn’t just like being close to Wooyoung but that he needed it. And Wooyoung didn’t mind, exactly. Not when Yeosang curled up next to him like a small animal seeking warmth while watching a drama, not when he reached out with tentative fingers just to make contact while simply walking together down the hallway. 

But it was hard to ignore the way San’s eyes lingered across the room, like someone watching through glass. Longing, hesitant, always too late. Of course things were tense once the two hybrids had emerged following the three intense days of Yeosang’s heat. Wooyoung noticed, of course he did. And maybe he felt a little bad. But San had made his choice, drawn his own invisible lines in the sand. And Yeosang had simply drifted toward the person who let him cross them.

San hadn’t been gone, not really. His presence was still woven into the apartment as the smell of his coffee in the mornings, the sound of his office door clicking shut mid-day, the quiet creak of the floorboards at night when he made his way back to bed. Sure, after the heat he made sure that both hybrids were hydrated and fed, but lately, the distance had become more than physical. It was a kind of polite detachment, like San had made himself smaller so Yeosang could breathe, giving him space that now felt too wide, too empty.

Wooyoung noticed the way San lingered just outside the living room when Yeosang fell asleep with his head in Wooyoung’s lap. He saw the way San’s eyes softened, then dimmed, when Yeosang instinctively leaned into Wooyoung’s side for comfort. Especially how at night San would hold Wooyoung tighter, like a wordless plea of please don’t forget me.  

San was still t here, but he wasn’t being let in. Not by Yeosang, and not by himself either. And for all Wooyoung’s teasing and sarcasm, he had a heart that noticed when someone he loved was starting to feel like a guest in his own home.

“Hey,” Wooyoung said one afternoon, glancing over the rim of his tablet at where Yeosang was quietly dusting the bookshelf. “Let’s bake something.”

Yeosang blinked, ears perking slightly. “Now?”

“Mmhm. For San,” Wooyoung added, stretching. “He’s been locked in that office for like three days straight, and if I have to listen to him sigh through another data report, I might throw his monitor out the window.”

Yeosang hesitated. Then, with that same quiet eagerness that always shone through when he was given direction, he nodded. “Okay. What should we make?”

“Something sweet. I mean, he deserves it.” Wooyoung scratched at his neck, suddenly a little flustered at his own sincerity. “Plus,” he added with a grin, “I want to see if your whisking technique is as perfect as your floor scrubbing.” 

Yeosang flushed, but the faintest smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. The idea of doing something for San stirred something warm in his chest.

The kitchen quickly descended into chaos.

Flour dusted the air like a cloud, settling on Yeosang’s hair and shoulders until he looked like a powdered donut. He held the whisk like it was a foreign weapon, turning it in his fingers before Wooyoung finally burst out laughing and guided his grip.

“Like this, bunny,” Wooyoung corrected, fingers curling over Yeosang’s in demonstration. “It’s literally just stirring. You can scrub floors for hours but you can’t mix butter and sugar?”

Yeosang’s ears flattened in embarrassment. He tried again, tongue peeking between his lips in concentration. “You know I've never been allowed to use utensils.” he mumbled. 

That admission made Wooyoung’s chest ache. He didn’t tease after that. Instead, he softened, tapping Yeosang’s nose with a floury fingertip. “You’re doing fine. No one cares if it’s messy. It’s supposed to be fun.”

Yeosang’s eyes flicked up to Wooyoung’s face, uncertain. Then he gave a single, careful nod and went back to work.

It took three times as long as it should have. First, Yeosang had trouble cracking the eggs without getting shells in the bowl. Wooyoung had to fish them out, grumbling theatrically about “ruined artistry” while Yeosang apologized over and over. When they finally rolled out the dough, Yeosang kept pressing too hard with the cookie cutters, squishing the shapes beyond recognition. But Wooyoung only snickered, telling him that “abstract cookies” were the new trend.

By the time they were frosting the cooled cookies, Yeosang’s posture had relaxed. He was bent over the counter, brows furrowed in the most serious expression, carefully dragging brown icing over one of the round shapes. Wooyoung glanced over.

“…Is that supposed to be me?”

Yeosang’s ears twitched. “It’s you and San.”

Wooyoung squinted. One cookie had a blobby swirl of brown for hair and wide icing eyes, with a red heart in the middle. The other had a messy brown scribble that Yeosang insisted was San’s serious eyebrows.

“It’s terrible,” Wooyoung said flatly, but his mouth split into a grin.

Yeosang’s nose wrinkled and he looked away shyly. “I’m… trying.”

Wooyoung bumped his shoulder playfully. “They’re perfect.”

When they were finished, the tray was filled with cookies, some shaped like stars, others like hearts, and a few that could only be described as blobs. But they were decorated with ‘real care.’

They cleaned up as best they could, Yeosang’s eyes going wide when Wooyoung discovered frosting smeared in Yeosang’s hair. Yeosang tried to apologize again, but Wooyoung shut him up by smacking a dollop of icing onto the tip of his nose. By the time they finished, the whole apartment smelled sweet and warm.

Yeosang looked down at it uncertainly, wiping a bit of icing off his fingers with a damp cloth, his ears twitching. “Will he… like them?” he asked, voice small.

Wooyoung turned to him, then gently picked up the tray and handed it into Yeosang’s hands. “He’s going to love them,” he said with quiet certainty.

Yeosang blinked. “Are you… not coming?”

Wooyoung shook his head, offering a smile that was a little softer than usual. “Nope. You should bring them.”

Yeosang’s brows pulled together in confusion. His arms curled slightly around the tray like it was too delicate to carry alone. “But… you helped make them.”

“That’s not the point,” Wooyoung said, tapping Yeosang lightly on the nose with a floury finger. “You’re the one who made the stupid little San cookie. You’re the one who worked your ass off trying to whisk butter like it was a bomb about to go off. You should be the one to give it to him.”

Yeosang stood there, hesitating. Wooyoung could practically see the gears turning.

“Yeosang.”

The bunny hybrid looked up.

Wooyoung’s tone shifted, a little more serious now. “He wants to spend more time with you. I can tell.”

Yeosang’s ears slowly pricked up.

“I think… he just doesn’t know how to do it without thinking he’s being forceful,” Wooyoung added. “But if you come to him it’ll show him otherwise.”

Yeosang didn’t understand it completely. Not yet. But he nodded, obedient as ever, and turned to carry the tray carefully out of the kitchen with both hands like it was some kind of peace offering.

As he walked away, Wooyoung called after him, voice just a little smug. “Tell him the San cookie was your idea.”

Yeosang didn’t answer. But Wooyoung saw the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile.

San was seated at his desk, shoulders hunched, glasses slightly crooked from where he’d rubbed his face one too many times. His screens were still glowing with open data reports and half-written emails. He hadn’t noticed the soft knock at the door, or maybe he just assumed it was Wooyoung bringing him another mug of coffee.

It wasn’t until the office door creaked open that San glanced up and froze.

Yeosang stood there, clutching a tray of cookies like it was a mission he’d been programmed for, his back perfectly straight, eyes pointed downward in quiet reverence. He didn’t say anything right away. Just stood in the doorway, trembling slightly with the effort of holding something out and not immediately being told whether he’d done well.

San blinked, stunned. He straightened slowly. “Yeosang?”

Yeosang took two tentative steps in. His lopped ears were angled forward, hopeful and alert, but his voice when it came was so soft San barely caught it.

“Yeosang?” San’s voice went instinctively gentle. He leaned back in his chair, blinking as his heart did a slow somersault.

The hybrid didn’t quite meet his eyes, gaze fixed just slightly down and to the side. His fingers flexed around the tray. “Wooyoung said… I should… bring these to you,” he murmured, each word sounding rehearsed and polished for obedience.

San’s chest tightened. Oh.

Cookies. The tray was colorful but simultaneously terrible from the little icing shapes that looked like a 5-year-old had decorated them…. But that made them the most beautiful damn thing he’d ever seen. 

“You made these?” San asked, voice going warm and thick.

Yeosang’s ears flicked. He nodded once, stiffly. “Yes, sir. And Wooyoung too.”

“Yeosang,” San said, his voice going too emotional for his liking. “These are… amazing. Really. They smell wonderful.”

Yeosang seemed to process that, looking down at the tray like he was checking to see if maybe he’d brought the wrong thing.

San pushed back from his desk and slowly got up. He approached carefully, palms held open and unthreatening. “Can I… take them?”

Yeosang obediently lifted the tray a little higher.

Their fingers brushed as San accepted it. He felt the tremble in Yeosang’s hands, the way the tray rattled just slightly. It made something ache so deep in his chest he almost couldn’t swallow.

He forced himself to smile. “These are incredible, Yeosang. Really. Thank you. I mean it.”

Yeosang’s eyes darted up to his, fast, as if checking for sarcasm. Then back down.

San cleared his throat. The silence was awkward, but he didn’t want to fill it too quickly. He wanted Yeosang to have the chance to say something if he wanted.

Yeosang finally said, very carefully, “Wooyoung said… you might… like it if I brought them.”

San let out a quiet, watery laugh. “He was right. I… I love them. I love that you made them. I love that you brought them.”

Yeosang’s fingers twisted together at his waist now that they were empty. He looked so lost, so careful.

After a long, slightly awkward silence standing in front of each other, he watched Yeosang stand there so stiffly, like he was waiting for his next command, something twisted in his chest.

Wooyoung wouldn’t dance around this so much, San thought. He’d just tell him what he wanted.

San took a breath. He softened his voice but made sure it had a firmer, more confident edge.

“Yeosang.”

The hybrid immediately straightened more, ears flicking up. “Yes?”

San met his eyes, steady and warm. “I’d like you to come sit by my desk with me while I work.”

Yeosang blinked rapidly. The stiff lines of his shoulders slowly eased, eyes going bright, almost shining with relief. His ears twitched in surprise, but then he gave a small, eager nod. Without a word, he lowered himself to the floor and settled quietly at San’s feet, resting his head gently against San’s thigh.

San swallowed past the sudden flutter of warmth in his chest. After a few moments of tense silence, he hesitated, then reached down slowly to pet Yeosang’s soft head and long white ears. His fingers moved almost unconsciously as he got back to work, gently stroking the fur.

Yeosang let out a tiny, satisfied sigh at the petting, but it didn’t end there. His body shifted subtly, inch by inch, until he was nestled even closer. San felt the weight of Yeosang’s cheek pressing higher on his thigh, dangerously close to where the fabric of his slacks strained a little tighter.

San tried to ignore it at first, clearing his throat and tapping at his tablet with more focus than necessary. But Yeosang’s soft furred ears flicked, brushing his wrist as he typed. Then Yeosang pressed again, nuzzling even further up.

“Yeosang,” San said carefully, voice tight.

Yeosang looked up at him with wide, guileless eyes. Shiny and innocent they felt like a punch to the gut. His pink nose twitched as he inhaled deeply, clearly scenting San with open, delighted hunger. Then, deliberately, he angled his face even closer to San’s crotch, letting out a small content sound as he rubbed his cheek there, like he’d found the perfect spot.

San’s entire body went stiff. Heat crawled up his neck.

“Yeosang,” He cleared his throat again, alarmed at the crack in his voice. “That’s… ah, that’s enough, okay?”

But Yeosang only blinked up at him with those starry, obedient eyes. He paused as if considering, then let out the softest whine, pressing even closer with careful, instinctive slowness that made San shudder.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what Yeosang was doing. Tempting him without even realizing it, the way an omega knew how to do best. And San knew that Yeosang was trying to make him break on him.

San exhaled shakily, forcing himself to grab Yeosang gently by the shoulders and ease him back a few inches.

“Yeosang,” he said, softer this time. “Look at me.”

Yeosang’s ears flicked and he obeyed instantly, eyes wide with that bottomless well of trust.

San’s chest twisted.

“I need you to stay down here. Be good. Just… just rest against me, alright?” He gave a strained smile. 

Yeosang blinked again, as if genuinely puzzled why that hadn’t been allowed, but eventually nodded, settling back to lie his head more properly on San’s thigh. His tail flicked, exposing his annoyance at the limitation, but he obeyed.

San let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He returned to his work, but his fingers still trembled as they stroked Yeosang’s hair.

Yeosang didn’t mean to be clingy. At least, he didn’t think he was acting any differently. But for San and Wooyoung, it was like living with an entirely new hybrid. Ever since his heat ended and his scent-sensitivity remained switched on, Yeosang seemed drawn to them in a way that was both baffling and unexpectedly endearing. If San sat on the couch, Yeosang would quietly curl up on the floor in front of him, pressing one ear against San’s socked foot and closing his eyes in near bliss. If Wooyoung lounged with his phone, Yeosang would end up draped half over his lap, nose buried in Wooyoung’s armpit.

What neither of them had expected was how instinctual it was. Yeosang didn’t even realize what he was doing. He just needed their scents. Needed them on his skin, in his lungs, around him. It was like watching a once-silent shadow grow real dimensions: Yeosang, who used to apologize for existing, now seeking them out, not with words but with presence. San watched in quiet awe, realizing how much the ability to smell them had brought Yeosang out of his shell. Even things Yeosang would never have dared to initiate before, like casually laying his head in someone’s lap, clinging lightly to their arm now became shy, instinct-driven demands for closeness. It was disarming, sweet, and so terribly unexpected for both of them that they didn’t even know how to begin to say no.

The three of them were gathered in the living room, bathed in the low golden light of the floor lamp as something forgettable played on the television. Wooyoung was curled up at one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath him and a throw blanket pooled around his waist. San sat cross-legged on the floor, back against the couch, half-focused on an open file folder in his lap. Yeosang, of course, was nestled closest wedged quietly beside Wooyoung’s thigh, resting his head against the curve of his hip like it was the most natural place in the world to be.

It was a rare kind of quiet. Soft, comfortable, and warm. Out of nowhere, Wooyoung tilted his head thoughtfully and asked, “Have you ever made a nest before?”

Yeosang blinked. He shifted a little to look up at him. “Nest?”

Wooyoung nodded, nonchalant. “Yeah, like… a comfort pile. Pillows, blankets, maybe something that smells good.” He smirked a little, nudging Yeosang with his knee. “It’s an omega thing.”

Yeosang’s ears perked slightly in confusion, his brows pinching. He looked down, thinking hard. “Is it… something I was supposed to learn?”

San looked up from his papers. “No,” he said gently, “it’s okay. It’s probably not something you’re expected to know.” His tone softened even more when he added, “But it might be something nice to learn.”

Yeosang’s expression remained uncertain, but there was the faintest flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he glanced back toward Wooyoung. “Is it like… a task?” he asked. “Something I should get good at?”

Wooyoung gave a quiet little laugh, affectionate and unhurried. “Not a task,” he said. “It’s for you. Just you. For comfort. Safety. You get to make it however you like.”

“A nest is basically… an omega’s safe space. Think of it like an instinct thing. When we’re stressed or happy or sad or in heat, or just want to feel secure, our brains tell us to build a space that’s soft, warm, and contains the smells of the people we trust. It’s comforting. Makes us feel safe.”

Yeosang didn’t know what to say to that. But something about the idea that he was allowed to build a space that was his own, made of softness and scent and want compete with his ingrained sense of selflessness. 

Wooyoung watched Yeosang’s ears flick thoughtfully and continued, voice gentle but matter-of-fact.

“Most omegas like to have a fixed nest in their room, you know? One spot they keep ready all the time. Blankets, pillows, stuff that smells like the people they trust. It can be as big or small as you want.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Me? I’m weird. I don’t really keep one set up forever. I like moving it around, switching blankets in the living room, grabbing San’s workout shirts if I’m feeling sad or anxious. I just drag what I need to wherever feels right that day.”

He smirked, like he was sharing a secret. “It drives San a little nuts, but it works for me. But there’s no rules for it. It’s about what makes you feel good. Some omegas like having one spot that’s theirs all the time. Some like to build and rebuild. It’s personal.”

Yeosang blinked slowly, gaze turning a little inward. He seemed to be chewing on that idea, ears lowered in thought. For the first time, he really considered it, what he would want his nest to look like, what would make him feel safe.

Wooyoung leaned forward on the couch, propping his chin in his palm as he watched Yeosang fidget with the hem of his shirt.

“Do you wanna try making one tonight? Your own nest?”

Yeosang’s eyes darted up and then down again quickly, ears twitching with uncertainty. His fingers twisted harder at the fabric. “I… I don’t know. I… don’t want to take anything…” His voice faded, small and apologetic, as if he was confessing something terrible.

Wooyoung smiled gently, voice patient and knowing. “You’re worried about stealing our stuff?”

Yeosang’s ears went flat, eyes widening like he’d been caught.

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung huffed out a tiny laugh, shaking his head. “You’re such a good bunny it’s ridiculous. Listen to me.” He dropped his teasing tone and spoke with deliberate calm. “You don’t have to take anything personal if you’re not ready. We can get literally any fabric or blanket in this house. Except that pink blanket. That's mine.”

“You can even use towels if you want. And if you want them to smell like us?” He shrugged easily. “We’ll just rub our scents on them for you. It’s that simple.”

Yeosang blinked, absorbing that, mouth parted a little. His fingers finally stilled. Wooyoung watched him closely, recognizing that look. That flicker of desperate, unspoken want .

“You don’t have to feel bad for wanting this,” Wooyoung added more quietly. “It’s literally what you’re supposed to want. It’s okay to want to be comfortable.”

Yeosang swallowed hard, still silent, but this time he didn’t look away.

Wooyoung gave Yeosang’s knee a little pat before leaning back against the couch.

“Okay,” he said, voice lighter now, coaxing but firm. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I want you to go pick out some things for yourself. Just you. Take your time. Don’t think about what we’d want you to pick. Pick what feels nice to you.”

Yeosang’s brows furrowed like that was the hardest command he’d ever heard. He opened his mouth, then shut it, hesitating.

Wooyoung chuckled softly. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s your nest. Your space. No one else’s. This is the whole point. It’s gotta feel right to you . ”

Yeosang’s fingers toyed with the seam of his pants. “And… then what?” he asked, voice small.

Wooyoung smiled wide. “Then you bring them back here. And we’ll help scent them for you. Make them smell like home.”

Yeosang’s ears twitched, posture stiff with uncertainty, but Wooyoung could see the gleam in his eyes. That barely-contained excitement he didn’t know how to express.

Wooyoung softened his tone, dropping the teasing. “Don’t rush. Seriously. Look around, see what you want. Grab anything that feels good. Even if it’s just one thing, that’s okay.”

Yeosang nodded very slowly. Then he stood, casting one last nervous glance at San and Wooyoung before padding silently out of the room, steps cautious but determined.

Wooyoung watched him go, exhaling a little laugh through his nose. He turned to San, who looked surprised at how easily Yeosang obeyed.

“Look at him go,” Wooyoung murmured, smirking.

Wooyoung noticed San watching him with that soft, unbearably fond look that always made him squirm if he caught it unexpectedly. He frowned immediately, trying to play it off with attitude.

“What?” he snapped lightly, folding his arms across his chest, but his voice didn’t have any real bite.

San’s lips quirked. He shook his head slowly. “Nothing. Just… I’m really happy you’re here for him.”

Wooyoung blinked, thrown for a second. He tried to scoff, but it came out weaker than he intended. “Don’t say sappy shit like that.”

San’s gaze didn’t waver, steady and full of gratitude. “I mean it, Woo. You’re… really good for him. He trusts you. That’s special.”

Wooyoung felt his throat tighten unexpectedly. He rolled his eyes dramatically to cover it up. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta be.”

But despite the deflection, there was a traitorous warmth curling in his chest. He didn’t plan to get this close to Yeosang. He didn’t plan to care. But damn if the bunny hadn’t wriggled under every defensive layer he had.

He shifted on the couch, arms still crossed but the tension leaking away. “...He’s not so bad,” Wooyoung muttered, quieter. “Kinda annoying how fucking sweet he is.”

San’s smile softened even more. Wooyoung huffed and looked away, but inside, he let himself admit it: He really loved that bunny. Maybe more than he was ready to say out loud.

“Do you think… I’ll ever get to have that with him?”

Wooyoung turned to look at him. San was still staring at the space Yeosang had just walked through, his brows slightly furrowed, fingers nervously twisting at the hem of his sleeve. “I mean… I don’t want him to feel pressured. I don’t want to take anything from him. I just…” He trailed off, then sighed, defeated. “I see how safe he feels with you. He still feels obligated to serve me. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever get to be safe for him, too.”

Wooyoung was quiet for a beat. He knew San well enough to see the layers of guilt buried under the softness and how much he’d been holding back, how afraid he was of crossing some invisible line.

“You are good for him,” Wooyoung said finally. “In a different way than me. But that’s not a bad thing. I think you need to realize that maybe he won’t shatter as easily as you think he will.”

San’s eyes met his, uncertain.

“He likes being near you,” Wooyoung continued, voice gentler now. “Even if he doesn’t always know how to ask for it yet. Give him time, San. He’s still unlearning everything. But I think… yeah. I think one day, if you’re patient, he’ll be the one who wants to give that to you.”

San swallowed, a faint, hopeful flicker crossing his expression. “You really think so?”

Wooyoung smiled, soft and a little crooked. “Yeah. I do. You’re easy to love, San. Even Yeosang’s gonna figure that out eventually.”

Yeosang padded back into the living room with careful, deliberate steps, arms not nearly full enough.

San and Wooyoung both turned toward him, conversation dropping away instantly. Their eyes landed on what he was carrying: a small washcloth folded so precisely it might as well have been for display, one lone sock, and a hand towel.

San felt his stomach sink. Yeosang was so earnest, so careful it hurt to look at. Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to take anything real from them. He’d clearly picked the most worthless, unobtrusive things on purpose, like he didn’t want to burden anyone by wanting anything better.

San’s mouth opened, instinct rising up to say, ‘ Yeosang, you can pick whatever you want. Bigger blankets. My shirts. Anything.’

But before he could say a word, Wooyoung shot him a sharp, warning glance.

San blinked, startled.

Wooyoung’s eyes softened almost immediately as he turned back to Yeosang. He patted the couch cushion beside him.

“Come here, bunny,” he said warmly. “That’s perfect. Seriously. You did such a good job.”

Yeosang hesitated, watching them both carefully, before creeping closer, clutching his tiny collection like it was precious treasure.

Wooyoung didn’t miss the way Yeosang’s ears were slightly lowered, prepared for disappointment or scolding. So he reached out immediately, taking the little pile from him with exaggerated care.

“Look at these,” he praised softly, tilting the items in the light. “Exactly what we need. These are gonna hold our scents so well. Good choices, Yeosang. Really good.”

Yeosang’s eyes lifted, ears twitching at the praise, uncertain but hopeful.

San felt his chest twist painfully at that. But he stayed silent. He swallowed the instinct to push or correct. Watched instead as Wooyoung carefully set the little pile on his lap and beckoned Yeosang to delegate who should scent what item.

Because maybe Wooyoung was right. This was his pace. His choice. And if Yeosang could only ask for scraps right now, then they were going to make sure those scraps felt like the most cherished things in the world.

San and Wooyoung worked in careful, hushed synchrony on the couch, taking their delegated fabrics like priceless artifacts. They pressed them to their necks, rubbed them against the insides of their wrists, their chests, even their hair. Wooyoung cracked a little grin and rubbed it into San’s collar too, just to make sure it picked up the deep citrus-wood trace San carried everywhere.

San didn’t say anything, too busy trying not to cry at how heartbreakingly tiny and worn these offerings were. He forced himself to focus on the task.

Wooyoung, for his part, kept murmuring encouragement. When they finally finished, Wooyoung gathered the tiny freshly scented pile in both hands and turned to Yeosang, who had been watching with giant, unblinking eyes from the edge of the rug.

“Here you go,” Wooyoung said gently, handing them over. “All ready.”

Yeosang reached out with both hands and took them back like they were made of glass, holding them tight to his chest. His nose twitched once, twice, inhaling deep, ears flicking in delight.

And then without a word, without a single glance back, he bolted .

The flurry of pale hair and twitching tail disappeared down the hallway in an instant. They heard the muffled sound of his bedroom door clicking shut behind him.

San and Wooyoung sat frozen in stunned silence, blinking at the empty space he’d left.

San finally let out a bewildered laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “...Did he just run away with them?”

Wooyoung was grinning, eyes suspiciously bright. “Yeah. He did.”

They exchanged a long look.

San’s voice cracked a little as he added, “Guess he really wanted them.”

Wooyoung just nodded. “Good. He deserves to want something.”

Notes:

WHO ELSE FUCKING CRYING IN THE CLUBBBBUHHHHHHH

 

(me)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE KUDOS HOLY FUCK!!!!!!! I appreciate every single one of you!!!!

Chapter 11

Yeosang worked methodically, dusting the low shelves in the living room with slow, careful strokes. He was so intent on keeping the dustrag folded perfectly in his hand, making sure every surface was spotless, that he didn’t seem to notice Wooyoung at all.

Which was remarkable, really, because Wooyoung was not being subtle.

“-and I’m telling you, Yeosang, the way they ended the last episode is criminal.”

Yeosang’s ears twitched. He didn’t answer, just moved on to realign a stack of coasters.

Wooyoung huffed, trailing behind him like an impatient puppy. “Don’t ignore me. I'm right! They killed off the best character!”

He swatted gently at Yeosang’s button tail, which flicked in mild annoyance.

“Mm,” Yeosang finally offered, voice small and uncommitted.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Ugh, you’re impossible.”

He scanned the shelves, looking for anything interesting to derail Yeosang’s housework, when his eyes snagged on a battered old cardboard box, half tucked behind a stack of San’s files. He tilted his head, curiosity piqued.

“What’s this?”

Before Yeosang could answer (he didn’t know anyway), Wooyoung crouched down and yanked the box free, sending a light cloud of dust into the air. Yeosang paused his cleaning to watch, ears back and alert.

Once the lid flipped off Wooyoung let out a delighted gasp. Inside sat a jumbled assortment of watercolor paints, some brushes with frayed ends, a little stack of warped paper.

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung breathed, tone suddenly reverent. He picked up a cracked but serviceable palette. “Look at this! We have watercolors!”

Yeosang blinked at the box, nose wriggling like he was trying to figure out its purpose.

“…What is it?” he asked, voice quiet, a little wary.

Wooyoung’s grin spread like sunshine.

“Oh, bunny. We’re gonna have so much fun tonight.”

Yeosang just stared, dustrag limp in his hand.

The apartment was warm and quiet, the only sound was the soft rustle of Wooyoung fussing at the kitchen table, arranging supplies with meticulous care. His lips were pressed in focus, brows drawn as he adjusted the angle of each brush and palette like it actually mattered.

San barely got out a muttered, “I just need to finish this report,” before Wooyoung appeared beside his office desk and tugged him away from his laptop.

“Nope. Sit. You already had dinner in the office,” Wooyoung said, pushing him down into a kitchen chair with all the force of a determined younger sibling.

San huffed a quiet laugh, shoulders slumping in defeat. Yeosang stood nearby, watching the whole thing with wide, curious eyes, his hands folded neatly in front of him like he was waiting to be summoned.

“Yeosang,” Wooyoung called, waving him over. “Come sit too.”

Yeosang obeyed immediately, sliding into the seat across from San with his back perfectly straight, ears perked and alert. In front of each of them were paper towels, tiny palettes of watercolor pans, a few old brushes, and cloudy cups of rinse water. The setup was amateur at best, but arranged with care.

Yeosang blinked down at the materials, then looked up, uncertain. “Wooyoung… is this something I was supposed to learn?”

His voice was soft, tinged with worry.

Wooyoung paused mid-brush, then burst out laughing. “No, dummy.”

Yeosang flinched slightly at the word, shrinking in on himself, but relaxed when Wooyoung nudged his elbow gently, the gesture light and reassuring.

“Wooyoung,” San cut in, mild but firm. “Be nice.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but his voice was softer this time. “It’s like when we baked cookies, remember? There’s no right way. You just… do what makes your heart happy.”

Yeosang’s mouth opened slightly in realization, a small breath of “Oh,” escaping before he looked back at the paints.

San squinted at the setup. “So… we’re painting?”

“Watercolors,” Wooyoung corrected dramatically, eyes gleaming. “It’s sophisticated.”

San snorted. “Sure it is.”

Wooyoung ignored him and turned his full attention back to Yeosang, his voice warm with encouragement. “Pick any color you want. Paint whatever you want. That’s the only rule.”

As soon as Wooyoung found that dusty old box with his old paints inside, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted a night that would pull them closer, something simple and safe, where Yeosang wouldn’t have feel watched or judged. 

Yeosang stared down at the palette. His brush hovered over the colors, trembling slightly, his brow furrowed in concentration. He kept sneaking glances at Wooyoung and San, watching how confidently their hands moved across the paper

“What are you painting?” he finally asked, eyes locked on Wooyoung’s page.

Wooyoung didn’t look up. “You can’t copy me.”

Yeosang’s ears dipped. “I wasn’t going to… I just wanted to know.”

Wooyoung sighed, “A tree. A really messed up, half-dead tree.”

San chuckled from the other end of the table. Yeosang turned to him hopefully.

“What about you, San?”

San glanced up, raising his brush like a baton. “I’m attempting a landscape with a mountain." 

Yeosang’s brush still hadn’t touched the page. His shoulders were tense, his brow furrowed deeply.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he admitted quietly, looking down. “I’ve never really seen anything.”

There was a pause.

Wooyoung leaned forward on his elbows, eyes soft now. “You don’t have to paint something real, Yeosang. Just think about the colors you like or something that makes you feel safe. It doesn’t have to be something real if you don’t want it to be.”

Yeosang blinked down at his page. Something he liked. Something that made him feel safe.

His thoughts spiraled.  The way Wooyoung draped blankets over him. The way San patted his ears. His nest. The small, precious moments that had started to take root inside him.

Quietly, without announcing it, Yeosang dipped his wet brush in red.

It took him ten minutes of careful, painstaking work to paint a single, lopsided red square in the middle of the paper. There was no shading or dimension, just a bright, simple block of color.

He stared at it, then set down his brush with care, folding his hands in his lap.

Wooyoung glanced over and squinted. “What is that?”

Yeosang flinched. “It’s my nest.”

Wooyoung blinked. San looked over from his seat, his eyes softening immediately.

“You mean the washcloth we scented for you?”

Yeosang nodded silently. Wooyoung smiled, wide and beaming. “Well, shit. That’s actually really cute.”

Yeosang’s ears perked slightly, his cheeks warming.

San turned to Yeosang, who had been watching the exchange quietly, ears twitching with interest.

“Have you ever had wine before?” San asked.

Yeosang’s eyes widened a little. “No. What does it taste like?”

“Like grapes that died and came back better,” Wooyoung said, already halfway to the wine cabinet.

Yeosang stared at him, clearly more confused than before.

San shook his head. “Ignore him. It can be sweet or bitter. It usually makes you feel warm. Sometimes a little silly.”

Yeosang hesitated for just a moment, then looked up. “I want to try it. With you.”

That made Wooyoung squeal as he pulled out a bottle with his tail flicking excitedly behind him. He was already babbling about flavor profiles and snack pairings as he grabbed glasses and clumsily arranged them on the table.

San watched him go, shaking his head with quiet amusement. Yeosang followed Wooyoung’s movements with bright, fascinated eyes.

When Wooyoung returned, he poured a generous splash of pale wine into Yeosang’s glass, setting it down with great ceremony.

“That’s enough,” San said gently, already bracing himself. “You know you two aren’t supposed to drink that much.”

Wooyoung ignored him, though he didn’t pour any more. He slid the glass over. “Try.”

Yeosang blinked once, then lifted it to his nose first, scenting it cautiously. The faintest scrunch of his nose. Then he took the tiniest sip, eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the taste.

Wooyoung held back a laugh. “Verdict?”

Yeosang lowered the glass. “Strange.”

San snorted.

Wooyoung wiggled his brows. “Strange good or strange bad?”

Yeosang didn’t answer at first. He took another tiny sip, more thoughtfully, before setting it down carefully. He just gave the smallest nod. He didn’t want to offend Wooyoung by telling him the drink he had picked out was bad. 

Wooyoung reached over, ruffling his hair. “Good enough for me.”

The table had gone quiet except for the sound of brushes scratching paper. Yeosang was bent intently over his second painting. His brows were drawn in concentration. He dabbed his brush carefully onto the page to make a little grey blob that vaguely resembled a sock.

Wooyoung watched from the side, trying not to laugh too obviously. “Is that your sock?”

Yeosang didn’t look up. “Yes.”

“It’s cute.”

Yeosang didn’t respond, but he kept painting, tongue peeking out between his teeth.

Wooyoung’s grin turned sly. He nudged Yeosang’s nearly-empty wine glass closer to himself, topping it off without a word. Then he set it back. Yeosang noticed the movement, blinked once, then quietly picked it up and drank without question.

San, busy with his own brushstrokes, caught the motion too late. “Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung widened his eyes, all faux-innocence. “What?”

San gave him a flat look. “That’s his third glass.”

Wooyoung shrugged. “He’s fine. Look how chill he is.”

“He’s quiet because he’ll drink anything you put in front of him. Yeosang, please give me that.”

Yeosang obediently handed the glass over without protest, blinking slowly as the tips of his ears had become more and more pink.

San set it out of reach before turning his gaze back to Wooyoung. “You’re done too.”

Wooyoung picked up his brush again and went back to painting his tree, but not without a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

He glanced over and snorted. “Look at him. Yeosang, your ears are so red! Are you feeling tipsy?”

Yeosang paused mid-brushstroke. He blinked, expression very serious as he seemed to take inventory of his own body.

“I feel,” he said slowly, “very warm.”

He blinked again. “And a little… swimmy.”

San let out a muffled laugh into his hand. 

“…Your cheeks are pink too,” Yeosang noticed, “Are you tipsy?”

Wooyoung barked out a laugh. “Yeah, maybe a little .”

Yeosang just stared at him. Then, almost shyly, his lips twitched in the smallest smile. San rolled his eyes fondly and slid Yeosang’s glass farther across the table. “That’s enough from both of you.”

He stood with a quiet sigh, stretching his back. “Don’t move. I’ll clean up.”

Wooyoung waved him off with a hiccup of laughter, too distracted by Yeosang to argue. The bunny hybrid blinked slowly, swaying just a little in his seat, eyes struggling to focus.

San began gathering the scattered brushes and palettes, the clink of cups filling the silence while the two hybrids tracked his movements with lazy fascination. He gave them a final glance on his way to the kitchen.

“Be good while I’m gone.”

Yeosang turned to Wooyoung with wide, slightly unfocused eyes. His ears twitched. Wooyoung bit back a grin, visibly restraining himself.

“Come here,” he said softly, voice full of affection. “C’mon, bunny. Let’s go to the couch. I want to cuddle you.”

Yeosang flushed deeper but nodded. “O-Okay.”

He stood slowly, wobbling. Wooyoung was up in an instant, slipping an arm around his waist to steady him. Together, they shuffled to the couch and sank into the cushions. Wooyoung pulled Yeosang close, wrapping him up with practiced ease, tucking his head beneath his chin, petting gently between his ears. His tail swished in contentment.

Yeosang melted almost immediately, the tension slipping from his frame. He nuzzled into Wooyoung’s neck, mumbling half into his skin.

Yeosang recalled there were very few things that compared to this feeling of being warm with wine. Certainly nothing he ever consumed in the facility would have ever had this effect. He could feel his emotions become a bit heightened, and his filter start to dissolve, like some of the walls inside of him had begun to retreat. 

“You’re warm.”

Wooyoung smiled, brushing back a soft strand of hair from Yeosang’s temple. 

Yeosang didn’t laugh. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “At the facility… we were never allowed to do things like this with the other hybrids.”

Wooyoung glanced down, suddenly more alert.

“Nobody had a scent. There wasn’t touching like this unless you were ordered to with a trainer. It wasn’t…” Yeosang blinked slowly. “It wasn’t soft. Well, sometimes the trainers were nice to me, but I never knew what it meant. The next day they could act like it never happened. I don’t even know a single thing about any of the omegas in my unit.”

Wooyoung softened his hand on the bunny hybrids ear. “Yeosang…”

Yeosang continued, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on Wooyoung’s pants. “We were taught to be useful. If your trainer didn’t like you, you got punished, and then you just worked harder. It didn’t matter how you felt. Or what you wanted.” His voice got even softer. “Feelings just got in the way.”

There was a pause. Wooyoung didn’t speak, didn’t push, just waited.

“But you…” Yeosang’s brows drew in slightly, struggling for the words. “You make everything confusing. I didn’t think I was allowed to feel this kind of thing.” He swallowed. “And now I don’t know what to do with it.”

Wooyoung’s heart stung a little at that. He cupped Yeosang’s cheek, thumb brushing gently against his skin.

Yeosang’s ears twitched, his gaze fluttering up. “I really… really really like you.”

Wooyoung let out a soft breath, trying not to grin too wide. “Aww… is little bunny in love with me?”

“Wooyoung?” he asked in a small voice.

Wooyoung hummed contentedly. 

“...Can we… kiss?”

Wooyoung froze for half a second. Then he let out a tiny, strangled squeak of glee, immediately shoving his face down to capture Yeosang’s lips in a soft, slightly sloppy kiss.

Yeosang made a tiny surprised noise but didn’t pull away, his hands fisting in Wooyoung’s shirt, sighing into the contact. When they broke apart, both of them breathless and a little dizzy, Wooyoung grinned so wide his face hurt.

“God, you’re too cute,” he whispered. Yeosang just blinked at him, eyes glassy and dazed, ears twitching madly.

San returned from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. He stopped short at the sight of them on the couch. Yeosang curled against Wooyoung, cheeks flushed, ears twitching faintly, the two of them tangled together like something out of a cozy painting.

A quiet laugh escaped him, more fond than scolding. “Seriously?”

Wooyoung grinned without shame. “Go away, San. We’re bonding.”

Yeosang peeked up at him, bashful and content all at once, before ducking back into the warmth of Wooyoung’s shoulder.

San just shook his head and walked over. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Wait!” Wooyoung sat up suddenly, dragging Yeosang with him. “I have the best idea.”

San arched his brow. 

“Truth or dare,” Wooyoung announced.

“It’s a game,” Wooyoung said, turning to face the bunny hybrid with a bright spark in his eyes. “You ask someone: ‘truth or dare?’ If they pick truth, you ask them a question and they have to tell the truth. If they pick dare, you make them do something. Something silly. Or embarrassing.”

Yeosang still looked unsure. “What kind of questions?”

“Anything you want,” Wooyoung replied. “But we’ll be nice. Nothing too crazy”

San sighed as he lowered himself onto the floor in front of the couch. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”

“You’re already playing,” Wooyoung said, smirking. “So you might as well commit.”

They all sat in a circle on the floor, knees touching. The wine made everything warm and easy, and the lighting was soft enough to make the room feel like a bubble, tucked safely away from the world.

Wooyoung clapped. “I’ll go first. Yeosang, truth or dare?”

Yeosang straightened, eyes wide. “Um… truth.”

“Lame,” Wooyoung teased. “Okay. What’s your favorite thing in the whole house?”

Yeosang paused, thinking seriously. He looked around the room. His eyes landed on the sock he’d painted earlier, then flicked to San, then to Wooyoung. His ears twitched shyly. “The couch.”

Wooyoung stared. “The couch?”

“It smells like you,” Yeosang said simply, then glanced at San. “And San.”

San mouth grew a soft smile. Wooyoung just reached over and gave Yeosang’s knee a little squeeze.

“Oh. My turn?” Yeosang said softly. He turned to San. “Truth or dare?”

San raised a brow. “Dare.”

Yeosang froze. “Oh.” He clearly hadn’t planned that far ahead. “Um…”

“Come on, bunny,” Wooyoung said with a grin. “Make it count.”

Yeosang’s face scrunched with thought. Then, very seriously, “I dare you to… hold Wooyoung’s hand.”

There was a beat of silence. Wooyoung let out a howl of laughter.

“God, that’s the cutest dare I’ve ever heard,” he said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. 

Yeosang looked sheepish. “Did I do it wrong?”

“No,” San said with a soft smile as he reached out and laced his fingers with Wooyoung’s. “It’s perfect.”

After a couple rounds of tailoring the game to Yeosang’s level, asking each other to grab random household items, doing handstands, and other nonsensical things, the room had turned light and playful. Yeosang still tried to keep a neutral face, doing his best to observe each of their reactions to gauge how the game worked. Yeosang liked the part of the game where all he had to do was follow orders, but making San and Wooyoung do things had been a little difficult. As the rounds went on, the three of them started to ask more questions, the tipsy buzz making them a little more enthusiastic.

Wooyoung had just dared San to kiss the top of Yeosang’s head, which he did without hesitation, a soft press of lips between twitching white ears. Yeosang had blinked up at him with wide, startled eyes, but hadn’t pulled away.

Then it was Yeosang’s turn. He hesitated, nose scrunching faintly. Something settled awkwardly in his stomach. 

“Truth,” San offered, voice gentle.

Yeosang swallowed.

He didn’t look at either of them at first, fingers twisting in the hem of the too-long sleeves Wooyoung had loaned him. His voice came out softer than usual, but not unsure.

“Why did you bid on me?”

The question settled like fog. Yeosang lifted his eyes, a little glassy, but focused.

“You’ve said you wanted to give me something better. But that isn’t really a whole answer, is it?” he asked, earnestly. “You could have picked any of the others.”

San's jaw tightened. He didn't meet Yeosang’s gaze right away.

“Yeosang…” Wooyoung started, a low murmur.

But San raised a hand slightly, just enough to silence him. He took in a breath and then he looked at Yeosang.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t really a whole answer. You deserve the truth.”

Yeosang blinked.

“I had to be there,” San said. “At the auction.”

“It’s expected. My position, my family, they notice when I skip things like that. People talk. It’s politics.”

Yeosang didn’t move. Not even a twitch. San’s voice stayed calm, low.

“I didn’t go looking for you specifically. I didn’t expect I'd be rescuing anyone. Until we came to observation day.” He exhaled again, and for once, he looked tired. “I saw how they treated you all in there Yeosang. I made up my mind that if I could save one of you, and maintain my social appearances, I could at least make something right. And get my father and coworkers off my back with a convincing enough bid.”

Yeosang’s breath trembled, barely audible. His ears were completely still.

“So I picked you,” San said, softer now. “Because I saw the men who were eager to bid on you in that auction. I couldn’t let you go to them.”

Silence followed. And then, a whisper from Yeosang, barely audible.

“So it wasn’t about me.”

Wooyoung sat up a little straighter, gaze flicking between them. San reached forward slowly. Not to touch, but to make sure Yeosang was looking at him.

“It is now.”

Those three words hung suspended in the air. But for Yeosang, the warmth in his chest twisted into something unsteady and hollow. Wooyoung didn’t say anything, just rested a hand on Yeosang’s thigh, gently grounding him. And for the first time all night, Yeosang didn’t lean into the touch.

The game was over.

He just sat there, blinking slowly. His lashes were damp. He wasn’t crying, but something hot had begun to press behind his eyes. The wine made him feel a little more vulnerable, honest, and even a little angry. His fingers curled into fists in the fabric of his sleeves.

San looked at him cautiously. “Yeosang...”

“So that’s it?” Yeosang cut in, voice quiet but shaking. “You didn’t want me . Not really. I was just there. You just-”

San sat forward, concern rising. “That’s not what I said-”

Yeosang shook his head. “But it’s true. You didn’t want me. You just wanted to do something nice. ”

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment his expression crumpled, confused and angry and desperate all at once.

“I trained my whole life to be wanted,” he said. “I studied harder than everyone else. I passed every behavioral mark, every exam, I got praised for being perfect. And now I’m here, and I’m-”

His voice cracked, ears flaring red at the tips, the wine affecting him more than he could comprehend. “I’m terrible at everything.”

Neither San nor Wooyoung moved.

“I don’t know how to bake. I can’t hold a whisk right. I don’t understand how to play your games, or make your crafts, o- or eat without asking, or sit on a couch without permission, or-” He hiccuped on his own words, shoulders trembling.

“You’re never going to use me,” he said bitterly. “Not like I was meant to be used. So what am I even supposed to be ?”

The room was too quiet. Even Wooyoung wasn’t smiling anymore. Yeosang tried his best to force back the surfacing tears. Tears never got you sympathy, they got you punishment. 

“I don’t know how to be this kind of person,” Yeosang whispered. “And I hate being bad at it.”

“I never meant to make you feel unwanted,” San said, voice quieter than before. “But I get it. I should’ve told you the truth sooner.”

Yeosang’s ears twitched, barely.

“I don’t want to use you, Yeosang,” San said, slower now. “But I want you. I want to love you Yeosang, and that's going to look different from what you were taught at the institute.”

Yeosang’s eyes only filled with fresh tears.

“Why?” he whispers. “Why would you want that?”

San falters. “Because… I care about you.”

Yeosang flinches like the words sting. His ears twitch low, and his brows furrow.

“But I haven’t done anything,” he says, a little more sharp now. “You won’t even let me be what I was made for. And I suck at everything you want me to do. I’ve never done anything for you.”

His voice cracks, breath picking up. Frustrated in a way that runs deeper than words.

“You say you want to love me, but that doesn’t make sense. Love is for omegas who earn it.”

San’s eyes soften with something like heartbreak.

“That’s not true.”

Yeosang shakes his head hard.

“It is. I was the best in my unit. I memorized every simulation test. I got the highest obedience scores, the best discipline, I-”

His voice breaks again. His hands fist in his lap.

“And none of it matters here. I don’t know what you want from me.”

San scoots closer, gently kneeling so he’s eye-level. His voice is soft, but sure.

“Yeosang. I don’t want anything from you. I want you. I want to get to know who you are on the inside.”

Yeosang stares at him like that’s the cruelest thing he’s ever heard.

“But then how do I deserve it?”

“You don’t have to.”

“That doesn’t make sense! ” Yeosang snaps.

“Love given freely, regardless of achievements, mistakes, or worthiness. It’s not a prize or a reward. Yeosang, love is getting to know you for you. Love grows in quiet ways. Like how I’ve learned that your nose twitches a little when I pet your ears, or how you always grab that red washcloth when you’re nervous. Or how your eyes light up when Wooyoung calls you bunny.” 

Yeosang’s ears flicked.

“I didn’t ask you to do any of those things. You didn’t perform them to impress me. They’re just you . And the more I learn about you, the more this love grows.”

Yeosang looked like he didn’t know whether to cry harder or run. His hands trembled in his lap, clutched tight like he was holding himself together by sheer force. San didn’t move closer, just softened his voice, giving Yeosang space to breathe.

“I know it’s going to be hard,” San said gently. “I’m asking you to accept a life that’s the opposite of everything you were trained to believe. To let go of obedience as your only value. That’s not easy. But I promise you this. What you’ll find here, with me, with Wooyoung… it’s better than anything they ever promised you in that place. Not easier. But better.”

Yeosang’s throat bobbed with the effort to swallow down emotion. His eyes flicked to San’s, then dropped just as quickly, afraid of what they might give away.

San continued, slower now. “I want us to really know each other. All of us. Not just the parts we’re used to showing. I want to learn what makes you happy, what makes you laugh, what foods you hate, what movies make you scared. I want to know what scares you, what comforts you, what you dream about.”

Yeosang stared at him, eyes wet and wide. His voice cracked when he spoke. “I don’t know what I like.”

“You don’t need to know right now. We’ll find out together.”

Yeosang’s lips parted like he wanted to protest again but no words came. His fingers loosened slightly. He didn’t look any less overwhelmed, but something in his posture had changed. San let the silence stretch for a moment, watching Yeosang’s face, still unsure, still trembling, but listening.

“I know it’s scary,” San said, voice low and steady. “Doing things you’ve never done before. Feeling things you were told you shouldn’t feel. It’s uncomfortable and it’ll make you want to run back to what you know.”

Yeosang’s fingers curled slowly against the fabric of his pants. He didn’t look up, but he wasn’t pulling away either.

“But I want more for you than that. I want you to have experiences that break the box they put you in. You deserve more than just obedience and praise for performing the same routine every day.”

“I don’t want you to shrink,” San said. “I want you to expand. To explore. To try weird things and fail at them. To laugh so hard you snort. To taste foods you’ve never had. I want you to grow into someone who’s fully alive. Even if it’s uncomfortable at first. Especially then. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll be right here with you. So will Wooyoung. We’ll figure it out together.”

The days passed quietly, but not without change. San kept his promise. He didn’t push Yeosang to become someone else overnight. Instead, he started making space, again and again, for Yeosang to step into. 

“Come sit with me a while,” San would say, tapping the edge of the guest chair as he pulled it beside his desk. 

At first, Yeosang would sit in silence, hands folded neatly in his lap, eyes watching the quiet flick of San’s fingers over the keyboard. But San never let the stillness stretch too long without reaching across it.

“You know, today they sent me a report with the wrong time stamp on it again. That’s the third time this month. Do you think they do it just to see if I’ll notice?” he’d ask, voice playful.

Yeosang would blink, then shake his head gently.

San would keep talking. About the mindless grind of paperwork. The process of filing documents into the online system. The ridiculous number of acronyms in military documentation. Sometimes he’d ramble about upcoming inspections or about Wooyoung blowing up his phone with drama theories while he was trying to focus.

It wasn’t deep conversation. Not yet. But it was welcoming. And slowly, Yeosang began to respond. Just small things. A quiet hum of agreement. A soft, startled laugh at one of San’s sarcastic comments. A question, barely louder than a whisper, “What happened after that?”

San never missed it. Every word from Yeosang felt like a gift. He never rushed him, never turning the moment into something heavier than it was. Just gentle nods, a warm smile, and always, always room for more.

San had seen the way that Wooyoung and Yeosang had gotten closer over the past weeks. Wooyoung had worked for that closeness. He coaxed it gently, matched Yeosang’s pace, and filled every silence with warmth until Yeosang felt safe enough to speak. And now, it was San’s turn to try. Not as the quiet caretaker in the background, but as someone willing to step forward, to offer his own presence with the same open hands.

If he wanted Yeosang to know he was loved for who he was, not just protected, then he’d have to build something real between them.

He’d ask Yeosang about the dramas he and Wooyoung watched at night on the couch.

“Did they kiss yet?” San would ask from his desk, pretending to scroll through his inbox.

“No,” Yeosang would murmur, ears tilting back with a shy smile. “But they almost did.”

“Tragic,” San replied. “You’ll have to give me a full review when they finally do.”

Yeosang didn’t say yes. But the next afternoon, he padded into San’s office holding a cup of tea in both hands and offered quietly, “They kissed. Episode fourteen. But it was because they fell on top of each other.”

And just like that, they talked. Not all at once, and never for very long, but enough. About the sunset from the penthouse view. About the smell of rain. About whether the hummingbird on the balcony would come back. About if Yeosang thought the villain in the drama was redeemable.

Yeosang was still quiet, still shy. But he was beginning to speak with the confidence of someone who knew he was being listened to.

San glanced up from his monitor just in time to catch Yeosang shivering. Today the bunny hybrid sat curled in the armchair by the window, sleeves tugged over his hands, his shoulders slightly hunched in the oversized scented sweater Wooyoung had loaned him.

San frowned gently. “Is it too cold in here?”

Yeosang blinked and shook his head, but another shiver betrayed him.

San leaned back in his chair, then held out an arm, voice soft. “Come here. Sit with me for a bit.”

Yeosang hesitated before standing quietly and padding over on light feet. San pulled him into his lap without a word, arranging him comfortably so that Yeosang’s legs curled across the armrest and his cheek rested on San’s shoulder.

He was warm. Softer than San expected. And he relaxed quickly, tension slipping out of his frame like it had been waiting for a reason to go.

“There,” San murmured, one hand brushing gently down Yeosang’s back. “That better?”

Yeosang gave a tiny nod, already leaning heavier against him. His breath evened out slowly, his nose right against San’s scent, unknowingly getting a little drunk on it. San returned to clicking quietly at his laptop with one hand, while the other stayed at Yeosang’s back, tracing slow circles that seemed to lull him further and further into stillness.

By the time San glanced down again, Yeosang was completely asleep. His nose twitched faintly in a dream, and his ears had gone slack against San’s neck.

San didn’t move, didn’t dare.

He just sat there in the quiet hum of his office, cradling the small, sleeping weight in his lap, heart full in a way that made the cold feel like nothing at all.

Notes:

hehehhehehehheheheehhehe buckle up for the next chapter...

Chapter 12

The living room was dim and warm, lit only by the soft blue glow of the TV. A movie played, something animated and nostalgic, one that Wooyoung says he would have liked as a kid. He lounged lazily across the length of the couch, feet stretched into San’s lap, a bowl of popcorn tucked between them. Yeosang sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them, tucked into a blanket like a little dumpling, his ears twitching with every loud noise from the speakers.

Looking back to how different things were when Yeosang first came home, it had taken weeks to get here. Weeks of discomfort, of delicate negotiation, of learning how to live together. They had both tried to convince Yeosang so many times that he could sit on top of the couch, but Yeosang remained stubborn, saying that the floor made him feel much more at ease. 

San wasn’t really watching the movie. He kept glancing down at the way Wooyoung’s tail thumped happily now and then against the cushion, or how Yeosang unconsciously leaned into the scent-marked throw blanket around his shoulders, still clutching his red washcloth. He didn’t say anything, but his chest ached in the best way.

He could’ve lived in this moment forever.

Then his phone buzzed.

San’s hand instinctively moved to silence it, but he saw the name on the screen and froze. A drop of dread slipped down the back of his neck like ice.

“Sorry, I need to take this call, don’t worry about pausing it for me.” San's voice cracked out as he ducked out of the living room. 

Yeosang and Wooyoung bared glanced away before the TV had caught their attentions again. 

San ducked into the hallway and shut the door to his office with a quiet click , pressing the phone to his ear so tightly it made his fingers ache.

“Hello, sir,” he said stiffly.

His father’s voice crackled through the line, deep and perfectly enunciated, rich with self-satisfaction. “There you are. Good of you to answer. Busy evening?”

San swallowed, willing his voice steady. “Just spending time with them, sir.”

“Them.” His father let out a small huff of amusement. “Your bunny hybrid and the other, yes? Well, I’ll say I’m relieved. Finally stepping up to your responsibilities.”

San didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His father always filled the silence himself.

“You know,” his father continued, “I’ve had no fewer than three associates this month alone tell me how impressed they were that my son attended this year’s auction. That you honored tradition. That you placed the highest bid. Contributions like that, they’re philanthropic, San.”

San squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It reflects so well on us all,” his father went on. “Our family’s reputation. And on you personally. I’ve had so many inquiries about your work lately. Seems you’ve really stepped up, hm? Must be that you finally have a proper hybrid at your feet. Someone keeping you focused.”

San flinched, heat rushing up the back of his neck. His jaw worked silently.

“I hope you understand,” his father added, voice smoothing into something mock-gentle, “I’m only telling you this so you’ll see how important it is that you maintain these standards. I plan to visit soon. I’m eager to see if he’s as well-trained as the auction claimed.”

San felt bile rise in his throat. He gripped the phone harder, until his knuckles turned white.

“Sir,” he managed finally, voice hoarse, “may I ask when you plan to visit?”

“Oh, don’t sound so nervous,” his father chuckled, perfectly at ease. “We’ll settle on a date shortly. Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll perform adequately. After all, he’s been there… what, about two months? Plenty of time to learn how to adapt to you and your lifestyle. You’ll have him in shape for company by then, I’m sure. Now that I think of it, his suppressants have most likely worn off by now. Did you get to enjoy him properly?”

San let the words roll over him like acid. His chest felt like it was caving in.

“Anyway,” his father finished breezily, “I’m sure we will catch up soon. I just wanted to let you know how proud I am that you're finally upholding this tradition in your family’s name. Don’t disappoint me now, son. I’ll be in touch.”

The line went dead. San didn’t move.

He stood there in the dim office, staring at the floor, phone lowering slowly from his ear. His heart thundered painfully. He felt like he couldn’t draw a full breath.

Outside the door, the muffled silence of the living room pressed in on him, a reminder of the two hybrids waiting there and of what he’d heard in his father’s voice.

He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, exhaling shakily, willing himself not to fall apart right there. He had to tell them. God, how the fuck was he going to tell them?

San lingered at the office door for a moment longer, pressing his palm flat against the wood as if he could steady himself with it. His father’s words still rang in his ears like a curse.

Don’t disappoint me.

He swallowed hard, forced a breath in, and turned the knob.

The movie was still playing in the living room. Its bright, happy soundtrack was a jarring contrast to the pit forming in his stomach. He took in the scene before him, Wooyoung, sprawled sideways over the couch, half-dozing but pretending to watch; Yeosang, sitting very primly below him, eyes focused on the screen, a smile absentmindedly forming on the corners of his mouth.

For a brief, bitter moment, San wanted to pretend. He wanted to sit back down, drape an arm over the back of the couch, let the evening roll on like nothing had changed.

But Yeosang’s eyes flicked up at him, bright and trusting. Wooyoung lazily turned his head, quirking a brow.

San’s chest tightened.

He cleared his throat. “Can I… Can I talk to you both for a second?”

Wooyoung immediately sat up, blinking blearily. “Uh oh,” he said, though his voice was teasing. “You look like someone died.”

San’s mouth twisted. “Not quite. But it’s… It’s important.”

Wooyoung’s smile dropped. He paused the TV before he swung his legs off the couch and patted the cushion next to him for Yeosang, who obediently came up to sit beside him. San hated the way that small motion made his heart clench even tighter.

He perched on the arm of the opposite chair, elbows on his knees. For a moment, he just stared at the floor, searching for the right words.

Finally, he looked up.

“My father,” he started slowly, voice rasping, “just called. He… He wants to come visit.”

Silence.

Wooyoung’s eyes widened in horror.

Yeosang, on the other hand, perked up a little.  

San closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling shakily.

“It’s… He’s not… He’s not like us,” San forced out. “He’s going to expect certain things. Certain behaviors.”

Wooyoung was already bristling, fingers drumming on his knee. 

Yeosang just blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “What does he expect?” he asked softly.

San’s voice cracked. “Obedience,” he said. “Submission. Perfect manners. He’s going to want to see you both… collared.”

Yeosang’s ears twitched. He didn’t look upset. If anything, he sat up a little straighter, like a student being given instructions. “I understand,” he said with quiet clarity.

San felt like he’d been stabbed.

Wooyoung made an ugly noise in the back of his throat. “Oh great ,” he snapped. “Fantastic. Just fucking fantastic , San.”

San didn’t fight him on it. He just hunched forward, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

The living room was silent.

Yeosang tilted his head a little, glancing between them. He looked… puzzled. Almost eager. Like he was waiting for more instructions.

San let his hands fall to his lap. He looked at Yeosang, swallowing hard.

“I’ll explain everything you need to know,” he said hoarsely. “We’ll… We’ll make sure you’re prepared. I promise.”

Yeosang simply nodded once. “If it pleases you,” he said carefully.

San felt something inside him crack.

Wooyoung made a strangled noise and shot up from the couch, pacing away from them both.

San didn’t stop him.

San pressed his palms together hard enough that his knuckles went white. He forced himself to look at Yeosang’s open, innocent face. The bunny hybrid was sitting so straight, so alert, ears perked like he was desperate for any command San would give. It made San want to be sick.

He cleared his throat, voice cracking at first. “Yeosang.”

Yeosang blinked, ears twitching. “Yes, sir?”

San swallowed. Hard. “Listen to me very carefully, okay? This is… important.”

Yeosang nodded obediently, eyes locked onto him.

San’s chest squeezed so tight he thought he wouldn’t get the words out. “When my father is here… it’s going to be best for you to act like they taught you at the institute.”

Yeosang’s expression didn’t change much. If anything, it smoothed over further. He nodded again, perfectly calm. “Of course. I understand.”

San flinched as he dragged a hand over his face. His voice was rough, nearly breaking. “Yeosang. I need you to understand that I don’t want that from you. Not normally. Not ever.”

Yeosang’s brows pinched faintly. His head tilted. “But… it is what you need me to do now?”

San’s heart cracked clean down the middle as he forced himself to hold Yeosang’s gaze.

“Yes,” he choked out. “But only while my father is here. It’s not… It’s not real. It’s not what I want from you. It’s not what you deserve. I might do or say things while he is here that might make you think otherwise. I'm not proud of it but… it's what I have to do.”

Yeosang blinked slowly, as if digesting this. His ears flicked once. “If it will please him… I will do it.”

San let out a guttural sound as he pressed his hands to his eyes.

“I know you will,” he whispered. “I know you’re good. I know you’re so good, Yeosang. But it fucking kills me to ask you to do it. It goes against everything we have worked toward.”

Yeosang’s expression softened minutely. He didn’t fully understand, San could tell. But he gave a very small, practiced smile, the one they must have taught him to use when trying to soothe their owners.

“It is alright,” Yeosang said gently. “If it will make things easier. I will be very good for you.”

“His presence,” San continued carefully, “is really hard for Wooyoung.” He paused, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “My father doesn’t treat Wooyoung well. He calls him nasty names, and sometimes he gets physical when Wooyoung messes up.”

Yeosang simply nods, as if all of this is the most normal information to be processing.

“Wooyoung tries his best to follow all the rules, similar to the ones they taught you at the institute, but it’s really difficult for him, since he never grew up there. He gets put under so much pressure, and sometimes it breaks him.”

San reached out, placing a gentle hand on Yeosang’s shoulder. “I wanted you to understand why Wooyoung might seem… different when my father is around. It’s not because he doesn’t care or isn’t strong, but it’s because he’s carrying a heavy burden.”

Yeosang’s gaze lifted, meeting San’s with quiet resolve. “It's okay,” he said softly. “I can be good enough for us both.”

San managed a grateful but heartbroken smile. “We will get through this. Together.”

San watched Yeosang’s calm, almost serene expression, and felt a strange, heavy twist in his chest. Despite everything he’d warned him about his father’s harshness, the cold atmosphere Yeosang would face, Yeosang seemed unfazed, maybe even quietly accepting.

A painful thought crossed San’s mind. This man, this cold and rigid figure, was probably exactly who Yeosang expected would come to claim him at that auction. Someone who demanded obedience without kindness, someone who would treat him as property rather than a person.

San’s heart ached at the idea. He’d promised himself he would never be that person to Yeosang, but now he was haunted by how deeply Yeosang’s past had been shaped by cruelty and how close that darkness still hovered around them. He swallowed hard, conflicted and unsure of how to voice the complicated mix of guilt, anger, and fierce protectiveness stirring inside him.

Yeosang moved through the rooms with a practiced, almost mechanical grace, falling seamlessly into his natural cleaning duties. His hands swept across surfaces, wiped down tables, and rearranged cushions with the kind of precision and care drilled into him at the facility. Even though Yeosang was normally very thorough with his work, this behavior was becoming obsessive. Tweaking the angle of lamps by mere inches, or fluffing the pillow several times before reaching the right shape. 

In the living room, Wooyoung sat slumped on the couch, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he dissociated from the mounting pressure. The familiar weight of dread settled over him like a heavy fog. San’s father would be there the next day, most likely in the morning.

He watched Yeosang work, admiring the bunny’s quiet determination but feeling powerless against the anxiety knotting in his own chest. Despite the outward calm, the room was thick with the unspoken fears of what was to come of the looming visit, the harsh judgments, and the fragility of their sanctuary. Wooyoung’s fingers twitched, restless, as he tried to anchor himself in the moment, silently wishing he could shield them all from the storm.

It sucked. To feel like Wooyoung had built such a safe place here, away from that wretched mansion, away from the constant pressures and scrutiny in his old life. It reminded him, even a small visit from San’s father could make him feel like that could all relapse in an instant.

San stepped quietly into the front room, to check on them both, his heart sinking at the sight of Wooyoung slumped on the couch, his usual fire dimmed under the weight of stress. The lines of tension etched across Wooyoung’s face cut deeper than San expected. He hated seeing him defeated, worn thin by the constant pressure of their situation.

He could tell that the uneasiness about his father’s visit wasn’t just Wooyoung anxiety about his own performance, but for Yeosang as well. As much as the two of them wanted to believe that Yeosang would act just as his father expected, they would never be able to predict what could happen. One wrong action from his father could undo all the fragile progress that they had built so painstakingly slow with Yeosang.

Right then, San made a decision. With a soft sigh, San looked down at the worn leather collar in his hands, specifically the one Wooyoung despised most. Its sharp, unforgiving edges inside had been a cruel reminder of control and punishment, something Wooyoung had never fully shaken off. San held it up gently, watching Wooyoung’s eyes flicker with recognition and discomfort.

Then, with deliberate calm, San bent, then snapped the front buckle clean off, the collar falling apart in his hands. “Oops,” he said quietly, a small smile breaking through. “Looks like you can’t wear this one anymore.”

Wooyoung blinked, a few tears slipping free as the weight of the gesture settled in. It was more than just a broken collar. A silent vow that San saw him, valued him, and refused to let that cruel part of their past remain its hold here. Wooyoung’s chest tightened, tears of relief and happiness spilling over as San wrapped him in a gentle, understanding embrace.

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered with worry as he wiped at the tears still clinging to his cheeks. “Why? What if… what if your father notices? He’ll just make me get a new one. One even worse. He’ll think I broke it myself.”

San shook his head gently, his voice steady but quiet. “The hope is that he won't. He’ll be too busy analyzing Yeosang, watching every move he makes. He won’t even pay attention to you or what you’re wearing.”

He gave Wooyoung’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “For now, we just hold on to this little victory. I’ll keep you safe in every way we can.” 

San then switched his gaze to the bunny hybrid as he bustled quietly around the living room. He was so quiet it was easy to forget he was even there, but impossible not to notice the difference he was making.

Yeosang was preparing much more extensively for San’s father than either of them had expected. The two had already done the major tasks, vacuuming, sweeping, and decluttering. San’s stomach twisted as he realized what the bunny hybrid was prioritizing.

Yeosang was folding away the living room blankets, San realized bitterly. The ones that he and Wooyoung left around for nesting on bad days, piled on the couch in a clear, messy claim of omega territory. Yeosang bundled them away, not only into the blanket basket, but out of sight entirely. 

He moved next to the kitchen table and gathered the decorative mugs and plates they’d lazily let sit. Yeosang stacked them carefully, out of sight, wiping the table until it shone. San watched the bunny glance at the floor near the couch where Wooyoung sometimes sat with a snack, eyes flicking quickly over any crumbs. He even went as far as flipping the couch cushions, avoiding evidence of overuse. 

San swallowed hard. It wasn’t just cleaning. He was scrubbing them out of the space. Erasing evidence that hybrids lived here like people. 

The evening air had turned cool, drifting in through the cracked window, but Yeosang was still moving. Quiet and graceful as always, but there was something else tonight. A hollow sense about the way he carried himself. Not the usual shy poise San had come to know, but a kind of rigid precision. Not a single movement wasted. San leaned against the doorway of the hall, arms crossed, watching as Yeosang smoothed his bedsheets for the third time.

“You already made my bed earlier,” San said gently.

Yeosang flinched like he’d been caught. He stood up straight and lowered his head. “Yes, sir. I wanted to make sure it was correct.”

“It was correct.”

Yeosang paused for only a beat before folding the edge of the blanket over one more time, tighter. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

San’s jaw clenched. He was able to let go of correcting Yeosang all the time from calling him ‘sir’, but as the day went on Wooyoung had noticed that his title had also turned permanently into ‘sir’. He didn’t even seem to notice he was doing it anymore.

San tried to tell himself it was just the stress. Yeosang had probably never been more in his element of serving, cleaning, and pleasing. Doing everything right. But there was something chilling in how naturally the mask came back on. How easily Yeosang slipped into this overly submissive role like muscle memory. Like a headspace.

When Wooyoung peeked into the room, San nodded toward Yeosang and mouthed, He’s slipping.

Wooyoung frowned immediately, eyes scanning the bunny hybrid, and came to stand beside San.

“Bedtime,” Wooyoung said lightly, stepping forward. “Come on, pretty bunny. You’ve done more than enough today.”

Yeosang blinked at him, slow and uncertain. “I can wipe down the dining chairs before I rest. There’s still time. It won’t take long, I promise-”

“Nope. Not happening.” Wooyoung’s voice was firmer now. “Let us take care of you tonight.”

Yeosang opened his mouth to protest again, but San finally stepped in, touching Yeosang’s shoulder.

“Let us,” he repeated, quieter.

That finally stilled him.

Together, they guided Yeosang to sit on the edge of the bed. Wooyoung pulled the covers back while San knelt down and gently helped Yeosang take off his slippers. Yeosang watched them both with wide, confused eyes, like he didn’t quite know what to do when the roles were reversed.

“You’re safe, Yeosang,” San said softly. “You did plenty of work today and we are very proud of you. This isn’t the facility. You don’t have to earn your bed. You just get to sleep in it.”

Yeosang’s lashes fluttered as he processed that. Slowly, he allowed San to guide him back under the covers.

“And no sleeping in closets,” Wooyoung added pointedly, his tone teasing, but his eyes serious. “We will check.”

Yeosang flushed faintly, eyes darting down. “Yes, sir.”

They tucked the blankets around him, layered them soft and high, and San reached for Yeosang’s little red washcloth, the one he asked them to scent. He placed it on the pillow right next to Yeosang’s head. 

Yeosang seemed to deflate from the wound up stress of the day.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” San offered gently, pulling up a chair.

Yeosang didn’t say anything. But his hand reached out from beneath the blanket, small and hesitant, until it curled lightly around San’s sleeve.

San sat there, frozen for a second, before his other hand came up to cover Yeosang’s. A silent promise. I’m not going anywhere.

Wooyoung dimmed the lights, and the room sank into quiet warmth, he quietly dipped out of the room, letting the other two have their moment. After a few minutes, Yeosang’s grip loosened, and his breathing evened out into sleep.

San didn’t move for a long time. He just sat there, holding Yeosang’s hand, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest. Because as much as Yeosang had been trained to serve, San was starting to realize that what Yeosang needed more than anything was to be kept .

San closed Yeosang’s bedroom door softly behind him, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His shoulders ached with tension. The quiet in the apartment was heavy now, the kind that settled like dust after a long day of holding everything together.

He turned down the hall to his own room, mentally rehearsing tomorrow’s plan. Keep it concise, keep it calm, keep his father off Wooyoung’s back, protect Yeosang from slipping too far into that dark, obedient headspace.

But all those thoughts ground to a halt the second he stepped into the bedroom.

Wooyoung was there, already curled up on San’s side of the bed. He was in one of San’s oversized hoodies, sleeves falling past his wrists, his tail tucked tight against his stomach. The glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows over his face. He looked so small.

He wasn’t looking at San directly. Just sort of blankly at the bedspread, blinking too often, biting the inside of his cheek. His ears flicked a little when San entered, but he didn’t move or say anything.

San’s heart cracked.

“Woo,” he breathed, voice catching.

That was all it took.

Wooyoung sucked in a shaky breath, his shoulders hitching as tears immediately spilled over. He didn’t sob yet. He just let the tears run, mouth trembling, eyes pinched shut.

San crossed the room in two big strides and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. He cupped Wooyoung’s cheek and felt damp heat against his palm.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered. “Come here.”

Wooyoung didn’t even argue, just lurched forward into San’s arms. He clung tight, fisting San’s shirt in both hands. His tail thumped limply against the mattress as he shook with suppressed sobs.

San hugged him close, one arm iron-clad around his shoulders, the other cradling the back of Wooyoung’s head. He rocked them gently, pressing kisses to Wooyoung’s hair, his temple, anywhere he could reach.

“I know, I know,” San murmured against him. “You were so good today. So strong for him. For both of us.”

Wooyoung let out a whimper, muffled in San’s chest.

San’s hand stroked slow circles on his back. “It’s okay to let go now. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Woo.”

Wooyoung hiccupped, sniffling hard, finally letting himself sob properly. He clutched San tighter, like he’d crawl inside him if he could.

San just held him. Let him cry.

When the worst of it passed, Wooyoung’s voice was small and wrecked. “I don’t want to be scared tomorrow. I don’t want to mess it up. I hate feeling like this. I hate feeling like he has so much power over me.”

“You won’t,” San promised fiercely, tipping Wooyoung’s chin up so their eyes met. “You won’t mess anything up. I won’t let him hurt you. You hear me?”

Wooyoung’s lip wobbled. San pressed their foreheads together, breathing with him, grounding him.

“I hate the collar,” Wooyoung whispered.

“I know,” San said, voice cracking a little too. “I hate it too. That’s why you’re never wearing that one again.”

Wooyoung closed his eyes, more tears slipping free.

San lay them both down then, carefully, gently, pulling the blankets up around them. He let Wooyoung lay right on top of him, hands combing slow and steady through his hair. He didn’t care if they fell asleep like this, sweaty and tear stained. He just cared that Wooyoung felt safe enough to fall asleep at all. And as Wooyoung’s breathing finally evened out, damp cheeks pressed to his chest, San kept petting him and whispering, “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

San had just begun to think Wooyoung had finally calmed enough to drift off, his breathing slower, his limbs no longer clinging quite so desperately…when a quiet voice broke the silence.

“…San.”

He glanced down, brushing a few stray hairs from Wooyoung’s eyes. “Hmm?”

Wooyoung pouted faintly. “Need sleepy kisses.”

San huffed a soft laugh, the sound warm against the crown of Wooyoung’s head. “You do, huh?”

Wooyoung just nodded into his chest, making a tiny demanding noise and lifting his chin expectantly.

And who was San to ever deny him?

He kissed him. Slow, gentle, unhurried kisses. A little salty from the remnants of tears, but intimate in that quiet, sacred way only late night kisses could be. He let Wooyoung take the lead at first until he silently asked otherwise. 

Wooyoung started to become needier, the worry and all bleeding out through the way he clung to San’s shirt and tilted his face up for more.

San thought maybe he’d gotten his fix until he felt a slow shift against his thigh, a tentative press of hips, barely there.

San stilled.

Another slow grind followed, softer this time with a quiet moan, like a question asked without words. Wooyoung didn’t speak, just buried his face deeper against San’s neck, his body trembling faintly, like he was ashamed of needing more but couldn’t stop himself from asking.

San’s hand moved instinctively to his back, rubbing slow circles.

“Wooyoung,” he whispered, voice low, “What do you need right now?”

“Please. Please touch me, San.” 

San’s response was immediate. His hands slid down the familiar slope of Wooyoung’s waist, pausing at the curve of his hips before anchoring firmly on his ass cheeks. He knew exactly how to steady him, how to ease that trembling tension that lived just beneath his skin. When his palms found their place, grounding and warm, Wooyoung exhaled with a shaky sound that wasn't quite relief, but close.

San used the pressure on his grip to help Wooyoung grind down on him, his own cock responding to the friction. 

He melted fully into San’s mouth, the insistence giving way to sleepiness, lips responding slower with each pass. San kept going. Little kisses. Featherlight ones. Soft ones. One on his nose. His temple. His bottom lip again.

At some point, Wooyoung stopped kissing back altogether, still tilted upward, lips barely parted.

San smiled to himself. Out like a light.

Carefully, he adjusted them both just enough to get comfortable under the blanket without jostling him too much. Wooyoung curled instinctively into his side, one hand still holding onto San’s shirt.

San pressed one last kiss to his forehead and whispered, “Sleep well, my love.”

He closed his eyes too, listening to Wooyoung’s breathing steady into sleep. And for a little while, the world outside of this room could wait. This was all that mattered.

Morning light cut pale and cold into the living room, catching on the polished floor and the carefully arranged furniture. The apartment didn’t look like it usually did. It had been scrubbed within an inch of its life the day before, all blankets neatly folded away, no stray cups or pillows out of place. Even the scent in the air was somehow sterile, like all traces of their homey warmth had been deliberately scrubbed away.

San straightened the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, smoothed the lapels of his charcoal suit. He looked every bit the perfect businessman, but the muscle in his jaw ticked and he kept glancing at the door, unable to settle. The fresh pot of tea sat on the coffee table on its finest tray, steam curling lazily up, waiting. Watching.

To the side of the living room, standing like they’d been lined up for inspection, were Yeosang and Wooyoung.

Wooyoung looked miserable in his plain, high collared black service uniform and simple trousers, arms folded tight over his stomach. He wore his more casual collar, a thin black stripe with a small gold tag. Although he still lamented wearing it, it was a million miles better than the spiked one that San had broken for him. He kept worrying his bottom lip, eyes flicking to the door then away again, like he was forcing himself to hold position. His tail twitched restlessly behind him, betraying his anxiety even though he was trying so hard to look still.

Yeosang, in contrast, was the picture of calm obedience. He wore a pale gray tunic and black slacks that were deliberately plain, no distracting patterns or bright colors. His hair was carefully smoothed, ears held in a neutral position. He stood slightly in front of Wooyoung, nearest to the door on purpose, positioned like a living shield, ready to draw the first attention to himself. His hands were folded neatly in front of him, gaze cast slightly down, back perfectly straight.

Unlike Wooyoung’s visible dread, Yeosang seemed eager. Settled into something that felt familiar. His expression was clear of nerves, as if this was what he’d been trained for. What he understood. The tense air of anticipation that made Wooyoung’s shoulders hunch only made Yeosang stand taller, more composed.

San watched them both, heart twisting. He took a breath, but it didn’t steady him much. The apartment felt like it was holding its breath too, waiting for the knock that would signal his father’s arrival and the performance would begin in earnest. He made sure to adjust both of their collars as a last touch, Wooyoung wearing his more simple one and Yeosang wearing the one he had since the institute.

San’s voice was low but steady as he faced Yeosang and Wooyoung, the heavy silence of the room pressing in around them. “I know this visit is hard.” He glanced between them, catching the worry in Wooyoung’s eyes and the calm mask on Yeosang’s face. “I’ll do everything I can to make it quick. To keep things from getting worse.”

He took a slow breath, choosing his words carefully. “Again. I know you might see me say or do things that seem like I agree with my father.” His jaw tightened. “But it’s all for show. None of it means I’m on his side.”

San softened his tone, reaching out just a little as if to bridge the gap between the formal tension and the unspoken bonds in the room. “When he leaves, we’ll spend the rest of the day just… together. No pressure. Just us.”

Before either of them could respond, a curt, deliberate knock echoed sharply through the apartment. The sound sliced through the moment like a blade, and San’s heart skipped.

He stepped toward the door, masking the storm inside. 

The moment the door clicked open, the air shifted.

San’s father stepped inside without waiting for a greeting, his heavy footsteps echoing as his sharp eyes immediately began surveying the apartment with ruthless precision. He was a man who saw every detail as a mark of worth or failure.

San’s jaw tightened, the familiar knot of tension settling low in his chest.

“Hello Father,” San tried not to choke out. “We’ve been preparing for your visit.”

The man’s gaze flicked to the living room first. Everything was spotless and pristine. It was true, how the penthouse truly looked unlived in. The furniture gleamed, surfaces polished to a cold shine. There wasn’t a dish in sight, nor a single item hinting at casual disarray.

San’s father’s eyes narrowed, taking in the sharp contrast to the chaos he might have expected.

“Impressive,” he said flatly, the word dripping with an undercurrent of something almost grudging.

Yeosang stood quietly, head bowed in perfect submission near the door. His posture was flawless, hands folded neatly in front of him, ears lowered as he waited silently. San’s father’s gaze landed on him with a flicker of interest.

“This one,” he said, voice sharp and cold but undeniably appreciative, “finally understands what it means to serve. He seems to be worth the price you paid.”

San’s heart clenched. The praise was not warm, but it was praise nonetheless and it came with a weight that both lifted and crushed. “Thank you father. We’ve been more than satisfied with Yeosang’s addition to our home.”

Behind Yeosang, Wooyoung stood stiffly near the wall, the tension radiating off him like heat. His eyes were downcast, the small collar at his neck gleaming starkly under the harsh lighting. Compared to Yeosang, he seemed out of place.

His father barely acknowledged the comment, his eyes already scanning the kitchen. He paused at the sink, inspecting the absence of the usual clutter.

“I see the boy has learned to respect boundaries.”

San’s father’s eyes flicked back to Yeosang, a cruel smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Finally, a hybrid who knows his place and how to keep this... disorder in check.”

Yeosang’s fingers twitched just slightly, but his expression remained composed, his obedience absolute.

San fought the urge to reach out, to reassure. Instead, he forced himself to stay still, watching his father like a hawk.

The older man moved with a predator’s grace, picking apart the apartment for anything that might be amiss, but there was nothing. Every inch bore the unmistakable mark of Yeosang’s manicured care. San’s father’s scowl deepened in confusion, as if trying and failing to find fault.

“Perhaps this hybrid will finally be the one to reflect well on you,” he said, eyes cutting in Wooyoung’s direction, voice low and heavy with expectation.

San’s chest tightened with conflicting emotions. The twisted praise towards the bunny hit harder than any insult. It meant Yeosang was living the nightmare San wanted to shield him from but it also meant San’s father was finally acknowledging a kind of success.

He cleared his throat, trying to wrench the conversation away from his father’s praise.

“I was going to update you on the budget revisions at headquarters,” San said carefully, gesturing stiffly toward the living room. “They want us to adjust for the new vendor rates this quarter. It’s been a headache.”

His father exhaled dismissively but followed him into the living room, eyes flicking once more over every pristine corner before settling onto the couch with imperial arrogance.

“Typical. You should be supervising those idiots directly,” he said. “You’re too hands-off. I’ve told you before.”

San bit back a sigh, lowering himself onto the other end of the couch.

As he opened his mouth to speak again, his father lifted a hand to snap his fingers once, indicating that one of the hybrids should begin tea service. 

But before the sound could even begin, Yeosang was already there.

He had slid forward on his knees, silent as a shadow. His back was straight, his posture perfectly aligned in trained submission. He reached the coffee table without a sound, the tea service already set out with polished ceramic cups and a steaming pot he had prepared earlier.

Yeosang’s fingers were sure but delicate as he lifted the pot, pouring the dark tea in a single, unbroken stream without a spill, without even the faintest tremble. He switched hands expertly for the second cup, adjusting the angle with immaculate grace.

The only sound was the quiet gurgle of the liquid filling the cup.

San’s father watched it all with surprised eyes.

Yeosang finished pouring, placed the pot down softly, and sat back on his heels, setting each of their cups in front of them, making sure the handles were in the correct positioning for easy holding. He finished with his head bowing low with practiced humility. His ears drooped slightly in show-perfect submission.

San’s father let out a small, surprised breath, almost a huff of amusement, when he looked at San, there was that damn smirk.

“Well,” he drawled, voice slick with something that might have been approval if it hadn’t sounded so cold. “Finally. A hybrid who understands unspoken orders. I didn’t even need to say it.”

He picked up his cup and sipped, watching Yeosang like one might admire a perfectly trained hunting hound.

“Efficient. Quiet. Obedient.” His voice was deceptively smooth. “Without him,” Gesturing to Yeosang’s slender frame, “You might have forgotten true social manners all together.” He mocked. 

San forced his jaw to unclench. He could feel Wooyoung stiffening behind him, silent at his usual post by the wall, ears flat, tail curled tightly around his thigh.

San turned back to his father, voice tight.

“Yeosang has been very diligent.”

His father gave a short, satisfied nod, his fingers tapping the rim of the cup.

“I can see that. Makes up for the other one.”

Wooyoung didn’t flinch at the words, but San could see the way his eyes blinked just a little too slowly. A trained response. Locking down the hurt.

San’s father finished his sip of tea and set the cup down on the table with deliberate precision. His sharp gaze flicked once again to Yeosang, who hadn’t moved an inch from his kneeling posture.

“Impressive,” he mused, voice smooth like oil. “But serving tea is basic obedience. Let’s see how well he handles attention.”

He leaned back against the couch and gestured lazily with two fingers.

“Come here.”

Yeosang didn’t hesitate. He pressed his palms to the floor in perfect silence until he was directly kneeled at San’s father’s feet. Then he settled back on his heels again, posture flawless, head bowed just so, his hands resting obediently in his lap.

San’s stomach twisted. He could see how good Yeosang was at this. 

His father’s mouth curved in satisfaction.

“Excellent. Look at that. Properly deferential.”

Wooyoung didn’t move from the wall. But San saw his jaw tighten.

San cleared his throat. “Father, he’s still settling in. There’s no need-”

But his father ignored him completely, reaching down.

He grabbed Yeosang’s long bunny ears roughly, stroking them with a harsh cadence, uncaring for the bunny below. His father’s fingers then smoothed over the soft fur with a careless, claiming sort of fondness. He turned one ear between his fingers appraisingly.

“Very well-bred,” he remarked. “I’d heard all the excitement about him. Plenty of people were ready to spend a fortune. You’re lucky you placed the final bid. It looks good on you for staking your claim, honoring tradition. I even heard they’re adding your name to the plaque of generous benefactors.” He let the ear flop back against Yeosang’s head and gave the top of it a firm pat, like rewarding a dog.

“That’s kind of you to say, sir. I only did what I felt was appropriate. I’m grateful it’s been viewed favorably.” San humbly responded.

Yeosang stayed perfectly still except for the slightest tremor in his breath.

San’s father let out a quiet, cruel laugh.

“I don’t know how you resisted for so long to this, San. Even I’m tempted by your prize here. A real beauty. You did well to finally listen to me. It’s not complicated, San. You want results? Choose quality stock. Train them. Reward them. Discipline them. That’s all it takes.”

San’s jaw tightened so hard he thought his teeth might crack. He forced a polite smile.

“He’s… very diligent, yes.”

He shot Wooyoung a look. Wooyoung hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked. His eyes were glassy, distant. San wanted to scream.

His father kept his grip in Yeosang’s fur, as though he’d forgotten he was holding him.

San cleared his throat, voice as smooth and practiced as ever.

“Actually, sir, I wanted to ask your opinion on the new policy changes at work.”

He shifted forward slightly, subtly forcing his father’s gaze back to him.

“They’re restructuring some of the department roles. I’m weighing whether to take on the added position lead they’re offering me. It'll mean longer hours, of course, but they claim the increased budget will finally be approved.”

He offered an earnest, respectful tilt of his head.

“I’d value your thoughts. You’ve navigated enough reorganizations to know what’s worth accepting.”

For once, he hoped his father’s insufferable love of lecturing would work in his favor. Anything to make him let go of Yeosang, and stop staring at Wooyoung like an eyesore. He needed to get them through this.

San’s father, pleased to have been asked for his opinion, leaned back with the self-satisfied air of a man about to hold court.

“They’ll promise you resources, San, but watch their allocation models. Never accept a budget until you see how they plan to distribute it across divisions. You don’t want your department saddled with legacy costs while they pad the executive bonuses. They’ll bury it in Q3 forecasts and act shocked later.”

He waved a dismissive hand.

“And don’t let them rope you into recruitment if they won’t approve your salary band adjustments. You’ll look incompetent when you can’t retain staff. It’s transparent to anyone who knows the game.”

San nodded dutifully, eyes flicking once to Yeosang, who had grown still as a statue, pressed at his father’s feet. His father didn’t even seem to notice he was still gripping Yeosang’s ears absently while lecturing.

San’s gaze then shifted to Wooyoung.

He was still standing off to the side in perfect posture, but San could see the tiny tremor in his fingers where they were folded, the restless tap of one foot against the floor, the way his eyes glazed over in that distant, miserable way.

San’s chest ached. He cleared his throat softly, interrupting his father’s droning just enough to turn toward Wooyoung with carefully neutral authority.

“Wooyoung,” he said quietly, the gentleness buried beneath a veneer of command that wouldn’t draw suspicion.

Wooyoung flinched at the sound of his name. His eyes darted up.

“Come here,” San said, beckoning with two fingers. “Kneel here with us.”

His father paused mid sentence, glancing at Wooyoung with faint disdain, but then snorted, clearly approving of San’s correction.

Wooyoung swallowed hard, and San watched him battle himself for a moment before obeying, padding over on silent feet. He dropped to his knees beside San, close enough that San felt the tension bleed from his own shoulders. Wooyoung’s eyes flickered once to San’s, and in that moment, San hoped he could say enough with just that look. We’re almost done.

After what felt like an eternity of stilted conversation about quarterly reports and departmental strategy, San seized a pause in the discussion and inclined his head slightly.

“Thank you for taking the time to visit, Father,” he said smoothly. “I know you’re busy. I appreciate your guidance as always.”

A practiced dismissal wrapped in courtesy.

His father glanced at the clock with a faint grunt of approval. “Yes, I’ll let you get back to your work. And to… them.” He gave a perfunctory gesture toward Wooyoung and Yeosang, the former still kneeling obediently at San’s feet.

He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his tailored coat. “You’re learning, San. Truly. It’s good to see. I’ve told the others you’re finally stepping up, that you understand the weight of our name. Don’t make me regret telling them that.”

San bowed his head just enough to be respectful. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”

His father let out a soft, almost grudging chuckle. “I’m sure you won’t.”

He turned his attention down to Yeosang, still kneeling in silent submission, and nodded once in clear approval.

“He really is a credit to you. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. If you want my advice? Invest in a proper collar for him. Not that cheap imitation thing. A real one. You’ve put enough into acquiring quality stock, you should show it.”

San felt his teeth grind together behind his polite smile.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll… consider that.”

“Do.” His father didn’t wait for a reply, simply turning toward the door.

San followed him, opening it with a professional flourish.

“Goodbye, Father.”

His father paused on the threshold. For a moment, something almost like paternal pride flickered across his severe features.

His father paused halfway through the doorframe, as though remembering one last important directive. He turned, pinning San with that hawkish stare.

“Oh, and San,” he said, voice deceptively casual, “I expect you’ll be making a proper debut with your new bunny at the next company event.”

San blinked, momentarily thrown off. His heart sank into a cold pit in his stomach. That expectation had never been voiced before, not with Wooyoung.

His father smirked faintly at his silence. “Don’t look so surprised. It’s expected now. People will want to see the investment you made. It reflects well on the family, on the company’s leadership. A man who knows how to handle his assets.”

He didn’t bother waiting for agreement.

“I’ll tell them to expect it. Don’t embarrass me.”

San felt something tighten painfully in his chest. He swallowed, pasting the only polite response he could manage onto his tongue.

“Of course, sir. We’ll be ready.”

His father’s approving nod was sharp and final.

“Good.”

With that, he turned and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

San didn’t move.

He just stood there for a moment, the quiet of the apartment settling like lead around him.

His jaw clenched so hard it ached, dread clawing up his spine at the idea of parading Yeosang in front of that entire world of his father.

Finally, San closed his eyes. He let out a shuddering exhale before turning slowly back toward the living room, where Yeosang and Wooyoung still waited in anxious silence. Hoping that his father had by now entered the elevator and had become completely out of earshot. The last polite smile fell from his face, replaced by a haunted, exhausted grimace.

He didn’t even have time to take another breath before the sound of retching echoed down the hall. San’s head snapped toward the bathroom door.

“Wooyoung-”

But Wooyoung was already gone, sprinting the second the door had closed behind San’s father. He hadn’t even tried to hide it. A strangled, wet gag sounded again. San winced.

He turned his head back to the living room, to where Yeosang still sat. The bunny hybrid hadn’t moved an inch from his perfectly practiced kneel at the coffee table.

Big brown expectant eyes blinked up at him calmly, ears just faintly twitching. Like none of what had just happened was strange. Like being grabbed and inspected and praised as obedient “stock” was simply the way of the world.

San’s heart twisted painfully. For a moment, he considered going to Yeosang first and asking him to stand, praising him for his perfect performance, trying to coax him out of that rigid mindset. But he hesitated.

Yeosang didn’t look frightened. He didn’t look hurt. He looked settled. San knew that look. It was the same look Yeosang had worn once his auction bidding had reached the highest out of all the hybrids that day. Compliant. Blank. Safe, in a twisted way.

San clenched his fists at his sides. He wanted to shake him. He wanted to scream that it wasn’t normal. That he didn’t have to sit there like that.

But the sound of another dry heave from the bathroom snapped his attention back to Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, who did know better. Who had fought tooth and claw to survive this shit, and couldn’t stand to watch it all play out again in front of him.

Wooyoung needed him now. He took a slow step back, locking eyes with Yeosang for just a moment.

“Stay here a minute, okay?” he said softly. Yeosang blinked once. He nodded. Perfectly obedient.

San forced a brittle smile and turned on his heel, jogging down the hall toward the sound of retching. He found Wooyoung hunched over the toilet, his tail wrapped around himself so tight it trembled.

“Wooyoung.” Wooyoung didn’t even look up. He heaved again, but nothing came out this time, just a horrible dry sob in its place.

San dropped to his knees behind him immediately. He didn’t hesitate, gathering Wooyoung up against his chest despite the sweat and tears.

Wooyoung tried to push him off weakly at first. “Don’t- fuck, San, don’t-”

But San wouldn’t let go.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s over. He’s gone.”

Wooyoung shook his head frantically, ears flicking down, eyes squeezed shut.

“I can’t , I fucking hate it, I can’t do that again,” he choked out.

“I know,” San whispered, voice cracking. “I know. I’m so sorry. It’s over. I swear. It’s over.”

Wooyoung let out a broken sob and buried his face in San’s chest. San held him tighter, wishing his promise could actually hold weight.

Outside in the living room, Yeosang sat exactly where San had left him. Perfect posture. Silent. Waiting. And for a moment, San’s heart shattered in two directions at once.

Notes:

hehehehehe oh my god???? who wrote that???? wtfffff??????????? ................ god my poor baby woo this author is SICK and TWISTED.

i wanna say thank you to all my lovely commenters!!! whether you've left one comment or one on every chapter, i love love love reading and responding to comments they make my heart so big!

thank you all for 200+ kudos!!!!! wtf!!!!!!!!!! y'all are so kind!!!!!!

esgonnagetworsebeeforeitgetsbettah

Chapter 13

Wooyoung had taken to sitting by the living room windows for hours at a time, curled up on the broad sill with a pillow hugged tight to his chest. Outside, the city skyline stretched in shimmering glass and distant traffic hum, but he never seemed to look at it. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, his tail wrapped so tightly around his waist it barely twitched.

He didn’t talk much anymore. If San asked a question, Wooyoung would just nod or shake his head. If Yeosang hovered too close, Wooyoung would snap a sharp “go away” without even looking at him.

The shift in Wooyoung could be felt immediately. Their sunshine had hidden behind the clouds. 

Yeosang didn’t understand. He tried everything he could think of. He brought steaming cups of fragrant tea on a little tray, placing them beside Wooyoung’s hand with quiet, hopeful eyes. Brought random lone socks covered in his scent, only for Wooyoung to shove them aside without a word. 

Another day, Yeosang had shyly approached behind the couch and stammered, “Can I give—massage you? Help?” His voice was trembling, earnest, ears quivering. Wooyoung had turned on him then, voice cracking with anger he couldn’t contain.

“Stop trying to be so perfect all the damn time. Go be good somewhere else.”

Yeosang had flinched like he’d been struck, ears flattening, and retreated down the hall in silence. He still tried again later, always trying, but Wooyoung wouldn’t let him.

San wasn’t blind to it. But work was relentless. He’d be stuck on long calls in his office, door cracked, hearing the snatches of raised voices or worse the brutal quiet afterward. When he did come out, Wooyoung would soften a fraction for him, answering in small words, but still never meeting his eyes.

The prior night, San had found Yeosang sitting on the floor outside Wooyoung’s door, clutching his favorite scented washrag to his chest, eyes red, like he had gone to ask Wooyoung to re-scent it only to be turned away at the door. 

San didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to explain that this wasn’t something a massage or a cup of tea could fix.

This past day, Yeosang spent most of his time lounging quietly in San’s office, curled in the corner on a floor cushion. He wasn’t curling up to San or playing with his ears the way he sometimes did when relaxed, he just sat there with polite stillness, eyes occasionally flicking to San at the desk.

San was grateful for the company. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Every now and then he’d glance up from his reports to find Yeosang watching him, and they’d share a small, tentative smile.

“Hey,” San said eventually, voice low and careful so he wouldn’t startle him. “Could you do me a favor? I left my nail file in Wooyoung’s bathroom, I think.”

Yeosang perked immediately. “Yes, sir,” he said softly, obediently rising.

San watched him go, a small twist in his heart.

Yeosang padded quietly down the hall, pausing at Wooyoung’s bedroom door. It was cracked open just enough to see inside.

Wooyoung was curled on top of the covers, tail draped over his legs, bundled in one of San’s old sweatshirts. He didn’t look up. His thumb kept scrolling on his phone in slow, dead movements, eyes glassy like he didn’t see the screen at all.

Yeosang swallowed. He opened his mouth, hesitated.

“Wooyoung?” he tried softly.

No answer. Not even a flick of the ears.

He lingered, wanting to say more, wanting to ask if he needed anything but the last time he’d done that, Wooyoung had snapped at him so sharply he’d flinched.

So he stepped inside the adjoining bathroom instead, careful not to make noise.

The nail file was on the counter, but Yeosang paused when he spotted something in the little trash bin by the sink: crumpled foil packaging. His ears twitched. An empty package of recently used scent blockers. 

His nose quivered. That was odd. He never expressed anything to Wooyoung about needing to dampen his scent?

He stared at it for a moment, ears lowered in confusion, then resolutely turned away. It wasn’t his business. He was supposed to be helpful, not nosy.

Yeosang picked up the nail file and quietly left the room. He didn’t dare disturb Wooyoung again.

Back in San’s office, he shut the door behind him and stepped forward carefully, offering the nail file in both hands.

“Thank you,” San said, accepting it with a small, grateful smile. “How’s Woo? Still in bed?”

Yeosang nodded once. “Yes, sir. He’s on his phone.”

San exhaled slowly, tapping the file against his palm. His eyes clouded with worry.

Yeosang settled back on his cushion, tucking his feet neatly beneath him. He sat still, watching San’s expression darken with thought. San absently turned the nail file over in his hands, his eyes fixed somewhere past the desk.

San let out a slow sigh, pressing his thumb into the file’s rough edge. “I’ll talk to Wooyoung tomorrow,” he said finally, voice low. “He’s not okay. He’s holding way too much in after that visit. It’s normal for him to struggle after my father comes, but not for this long.”

Yeosang blinked, ears shifting forward with polite attentiveness.

San shook his head once, jaw tense. “He tries to pretend he’s fine when he’s not. Or he just shoves everyone away altogether. I hate it when he does that. But it’s my job to notice. He shouldn’t have to ask for help.”

He sounded angry at himself.

There was no doubt, Wooyoung had a troubled past. The damage San’s father had done not only to him physically and mentally while living in that house might never come undone. Every time his father visited, it was almost just like sending him straight back there. Sometimes San wondered if Wooyoung even realized how deep it went. It was like watching someone try to cauterize their own wounds with anger, pushing everyone away before they could see him bleed.

At a loss for words, they both went quiet for a moment. 

“San?”

San snapped out of it, blinking over at him. “Hm? Yeah?”

Yeosang hesitated. His ears wavered once, twice, before settling low against his hair. His voice was small, shy, but not fearful.

“May I ask about something?”

San’s brow furrowed. “Of course.”

Yeosang’s fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt. His gaze flicked to the side, avoiding San’s eyes.

“Your father… during the visit… he mentioned getting me… a better collar.”

San’s expression went instantly blank. Yeosang didn’t seem to notice the way San tensed. He was too focused on getting the words out.

“I was wondering… if that would be okay?” he continued softly, voice picking up just a hint of eagerness he couldn’t hide. “A… nice one. With your name on it.”

San swallowed hard. Yeosang’s eyes lifted to his, earnest and glowing with shy excitement. He set the nail file down carefully, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

It was already enough of a shock that Yeosang had actually asked for something at all. He forced himself to speak, voice rough with emotion he was trying to hide.

“You… you want that? Even…?” The rest of the sentence died in his throat. He really couldn’t believe how different his two hybrids were. 

Yeosang nodded immediately, almost like he was afraid San would say no if he waited too long.

“Please. I want to be good. I want everyone to know I’m yours.”

San had to look away for a second. His jaw clenched. Yeosang’s tail tip twitched nervously, but he didn’t take it back. He just waited, like he was prepared to hear no but desperately hoping he wouldn’t.

San finally drew a breath, let it out.

“... Okay,” he said hoarsely.

Yeosang’s ears perked so fast they wobbled. San swallowed again, voice a little steadier now. “Yeah. We can do that. We’ll… look together. Something you really like. Something that’s yours.”

His tail gave an excited little thump. San watched him for a long moment. The brightness in Yeosang’s eyes. The way he was trying to hold back his joy and failing adorably.

San couldn’t decide if this was the worst thing in the world, or the best. “Alright, bunny,” he said softly. “We’ll find you something perfect.”

Yeosang let out a tiny, happy sound, quickly muffling it behind his hand. San forced himself to look away before he did something embarrassing. He picked the nail file back up, pretending to work on the rough edge of his thumb.

 

The next morning felt like it was trying to be normal. San was at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping eggs and mumbling about getting groceries later. Wooyoung stood beside him, slicing fruit with the precise, irritated focus of someone determined not to talk.

Yeosang, dutiful as ever, sat at the dining table carefully laying out forks, knives, and napkins. He glanced at them every few seconds, big ears perked, trying to gauge the mood.

San let the silence hang until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned, spatula still dripping a little oil.

“Hey… what’s on your neck?”

Wooyoung froze. San squinted. Sure enough, there was a clear little sticker barely visible on the side of Wooyoung’s neck, on his scent gland. So subtle you wouldn’t see it unless you were standing close.

“Is that… a scent blocker?”

Wooyoung’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look up.

“It’s nothing.”

“Wooyoung. Why would you even-”

“I SAID it’s none of your business!”

The blade thunked against the cutting board a little too hard.

San blinked at him, confusion turning quickly to worry.

“Wooyoung-”

San reached over, fingers hooking under the edge of the sticker before Wooyoung could twist away. It peeled off with a quiet, sticky sound.

Wooyoung hissed.

“Give it BACK.”

San held it up, frowning.

“Why the hell are you wearing this? You don’t-”

Scent blockers? Wooyoung hadn’t used those in years.

Was he… embarrassed ?

San’s brow furrowed. Maybe Wooyoung thought the stress had soured his scent so badly he didn’t want Yeosang to smell it. Maybe he felt dirty, humiliated by how anxious he’d been since San’s father left.

It twisted something painful in San’s gut. Wooyoung slammed the knife onto the counter.

“I TOLD YOU. It’s none of your fucking business!”

His voice cracked.

Yeosang jumped at the table, ears folding back, wide eyes darting between them.

San’s own voice softened automatically.

“Woo. Hey. Calm down,”

But Wooyoung was already storming off. He ripped the patch out of San’s fingers, but crumpled it in his fist instead of putting it back on.

“Don’t fucking follow me.”

He turned on his heel, stalking down the hall. The door to his bedroom slammed so hard a framed photo on the wall rattled.

Yeosang flinched again. San stood frozen at the stove, spatula still in hand, eggs starting to burn.

Yeosang’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“…should I still set his plate?”

San swallowed. “Put it on a tray. I’ll… I’ll figure it out.”

San tried to act like everything was fine. He washed dishes with too much force. Yeosang wiped down counters no one had touched.

Eventually, San retreated to his office, pretending to work but really just staring at the screen.

Yeosang, quiet and obedient, finished clearing the table. He carefully plated Wooyoung’s share of breakfast on a tray, fruit, toast, and scrambled eggs.

He carried it down the hall, tail bobbing slowly behind him, ears flicking nervously.

When he reached Wooyoung’s door, he hesitated. He balanced the tray on one hand and knocked softly.

“Wooyoung…? I brought breakfast.”

No answer. Yeosang’s nose twitched.

He frowned. Sniffed again.

His eyes widened slightly. The tray trembled in his hands.

It wasn’t subtle anymore. Even with the remnants of that blocker, Wooyoung’s scent was leaking out under the door. Heavy and unmistakable.

Yeosang’s cheeks flushed. His pupils went a little wide. He swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably.

“Oh…”

He turned carefully, clutching the tray tight. His feet hurried back down the hall. He didn’t even bother knocking on San’s office door before he pushed it open.

“San—”

San looked up, startled. Yeosang was breathing a little fast, eyes still wide.

“…I think… I think something’s wrong. I can smell it. He’s… I think he’s in heat.”

For half a second, San just sat there. His stomach dropped. Heat. The preheat. The stress. The fights. Wooyoung snapping at Yeosang over nothing. Avoiding San’s touch. Keeping Yeosang at arms distance. Hiding his scent. San shoved his chair back so hard it nearly toppled.

“Stay here,” he ordered, voice already tight as he strode past Yeosang.

But Yeosang, worried, followed anyway, padding along behind him. San’s heart was hammering. He couldn’t smell anything. That fact alone made him feel helpless and furious.

He hit Wooyoung’s bedroom door with his knuckles, hard.

“Wooyoung. Open up. Right now.”

There was silence. San turned the knob. Locked. He knocked again, more forceful.

“Woo. Open the door. I know you’re in there.”

He didn’t get an answer, but he heard something shift. Yeosang stood just behind him, ears laid back. San pressed his forehead to the door, exhaling hard.

He hated this. He couldn’t even confirm it himself. He had to rely on Yeosang’s nose.

“It’s heat? You’re sure?”

Yeosang nodded once, solemn. “Smells… heavy like mine did.” San swallowed. His mouth felt dry.

“Fuck,” he muttered. He straightened, knocking gently this time.

“Woo. Please. Open the door. Let’s talk. If you’re in preheat you can’t be alone right now.”

Still silence. San glanced back at Yeosang. The bunny hybrid’s expression was so worried it made San’s heart ache. He tried again, softer.

“Wooyoung. Baby. I’m not mad. I’m worried. Just let me see you.”

He heard a muffled noise from the other side. San cursed under his breath, pressing his palm flat to the door like he could reach through it.

“Okay. Okay. It’s alright. I’m going to get the key.”

He gave Yeosang’s shoulder a squeeze before moving down the hall, every nerve in his body screaming to hurry.

Coming back, San shoved the key in the lock with shaking fingers. He forced himself to take one deep breath before turning it.

“Wooyoung. I’m coming in. Last warning.” No answer. He turned the knob.

The door swung open to the dim room. Curtains drawn. The blankets on the bed were kicked half to the floor.

Wooyoung was on the floor beside the bed, knees pulled to his chest, fingernails raking over the inside of his arm with enough force to leave raw bloody lines. His hair stuck to his sweaty face. His breathing was ragged, broken by quiet, awful sobs.

He didn’t even look up.

“Fuck,” San breathed. He rushed forward, dropping to his knees.

Yeosang hovered in the doorway, ears laid flat in horror.

“Wooyoung. Stop it. ”

San grabbed Wooyoung’s wrist before he could claw himself again. Wooyoung fought, weakly but desperately, trying to jerk free.

“Let me go—get off —I don’t want—”

“ Wooyoung. Look at me.”

But Wooyoung didn’t seem to hear him. He just kept babbling.

“Defective—fucking broken—I can’t—I’m worthless—I’m worthless , I can’t—”

His voice cracked into sobs.

“Hey. Hey! Stop it.” He held both of Wooyoung’s wrists in one hand, “Look at me. Look at me. ”

But Wooyoung’s eyes were wild and unfocused. His breathing had increased into small gasps.

San forced his tone calm and level, even though his own throat was tight. He recognized the signs.

“Yeosang,” he said without looking back, “you need to leave the room. Now. ”

Yeosang flinched. He didn’t want to go. “San—”

“ Now. ”

Yeosang’s ears flattened even further. He took a hesitant step back.

“Please,” San added, voice softer but firm. “I need to help him out of this headspace. I can’t have you be in here for this.”

Yeosang swallowed hard, looking at Wooyoung with something close to panic. Then he backed out of the room, pulling the door mostly shut behind him.

The moment they were alone, San let himself assess Wooyoung. His beautiful, infuriating, hurting Wooyoung.

“I’m right here,” he whispered, tightening his grip just enough to keep Wooyoung from scratching himself raw. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

But Wooyoung was shaking his head frantically, fighting weakly, voice cracking in hysterical sobs.

“Don’t—don’t touch me—get off—I’m not good, I’m not good enough—I’ll ruin everything—I’m—They’re gonna find out—”

San wanted nothing more than to pull him into his chest. He knew that Wooyoung was extremely fragile in this headspace. It wasn’t entirely clear if he could recognize San or not. Touch could backfire when someone was that far gone.

All he could do was try to stop Wooyoung from hurting himself.

“Stop. Stop. ”

“You’re not worthless,” he breathed, voice shaking. “I don’t care what that bastard ever told you. You’re San’s. You hear me? San’s. You don’t get to do this to yourself. Only San gets to tell you what you are, and you’re perfect.”

Wooyoung let out a sound halfway between a sob and a scream. San held on tighter to his wrists.

“Breathe. Just breathe with me.”

He hadn’t meant for it to happen that morning.

He remembered waking up and aching. That strange, infuriating heat-haze clinging to the edges of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to will it away.

He couldn't afford for his symptoms to affect him today. He was obligated to serve the family in the morning hall. There was no room for excuses.

He’d washed quickly. Scrubbed so hard his skin turned pink, because he wasn’t supposed to let the other hybrid staff smell him like that. He’d buried the scent under too much soap, washing his slick inner thighs until they turned red.

But it didn’t work. He knew it the moment he carried that shaky tray of silver teapot and porcelain cups into the dining room. The older man’s eyes flickered to him, face wrinkling in disgust.

He tried to keep his head down. But the intensity of his own need was crawling up the back of his throat. The room felt too hot. He wobbled, the tray rattling.

He heard it. That clipped, cold voice.

“Disgusting.”

No one was supposed to show signs of heat. He knew that. He’d swallowed and lifted his chin anyway.

I can do it, he’d told himself. I can serve properly. I can do this.

But it hadn’t mattered. Because they could see it. The slick rapidly forming around his front, the wet patch spreading around his inner thighs darkening the fabric.

He remembered the way the words rained down on him, sharp as broken glass.

Shame. Filthy. Pathetic. Defective. 

That he was lucky to even be kept. That real purebred hybrids would never dare behave this way in front of their betters. That he was a stain on his parent’s pedigree.

Wooyoung had clenched his fists until his nails cut his palms. He tried to speak up. Tried to explain that it wasn’t his fault, that-

“No,” he spat back, voice trembling but fierce, “I’m not disgusting. It's normal for an omega to-”

The punishment came swift, hands striking with a sharpness that bit deeper than the pain. He remembered the slap.

And the second. He remembered tasting blood in his mouth.

He remembered telling them to stop. That earned him the real punishment.

They’d dragged him by the spiked collar. Forced him to his knees on the stone floor of the servants’ quarters. Tied his wrists behind his back so tight he couldn’t feel his fingers. They made sure he wouldn't be able to pleasure himself at all. To seek any release.

They left him there. Door locked. Hot. Sweating. Burning up from the heat pulsing in his veins. Crying against the stone, drool and snot smearing over his cheek.

He remembered panting like an animal, praying for relief.

That night, when the house went quiet, he managed to work the ties loose in his haze of fog. His wrists were raw and bleeding, but he slipped out the door.

He remembered how big the hall felt. How dizzy he was, every scent blurring.

He went to San’s room. He couldn’t stop himself. He just wanted help. He wanted San’s voice. He wanted someone to soothe the burn in his skin. He knocked first. He was crying.

But before San could even answer,

He remembered screaming, the door slamming shut in his face, San’s voice behind it shouting, ‘Wait—stop—don’t—’

He remembered being dragged backward down the hall, kicking.

Begging. Not for forgiveness. For San. 

They didn’t listen. They locked him back in the servants’ quarters. He remembered how quiet the house got after they threw him in.

How he sobbed himself hoarse until morning.

 

The memory wouldn’t let go. It clung to Wooyoung’s chest like claws digging in deep.

When the past receded, it didn’t leave him calm. It left him trembling. He could still feel the sting of the slap, the ugly word disgusting rattling in his skull like a curse he couldn’t wash off. He was on the floor, knees scraped against the wood, breathing ragged. His clothes stuck to his skin with sweat and slick. Every muscle was tight as if waiting for the next blow.

And there was blood. Fuck. Why was there blood? 

This place didn’t feel like the old mansion, but it didn’t feel like San’s apartment. It felt like the servants’ quarters. It felt like shame. Like locking himself away.

Wooyoung dug his fingers into his hair, pulling, trying to ground himself. A whimper escaped, cracked and pitiful, as he rocked in place, having his wrists yanked out of his hair.

He didn’t hear San’s voice at first, just the roar of blood in his ears, the phantom weight of that cold, judging gaze.

He whispered, “ I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I’ll be good this time.”

San had seen this before, but it never got easier watching the boy he loved slip back into that place. This was trauma.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Wooyoungie. Look at me.”

The words weren’t magic, but they seemed to pop him somewhat out of the headspace. Wooyoung’s eyes lifted, unfocused and red. San’s heart clenched. He wanted to fix it. To wipe the slate clean of every awful word San’s family had ever thrown at him. But that wasn’t how healing worked. What Wooyoung needed was anchoring.

“You’re here, at the apartment,” San reminded him quietly. “You’re not there. You’re with San. Safe.”

Still no reply or any sense of recognition. Just trembling muscles and labored breathing. San hesitated looking around the room for certain items before standing and crossing to the dresser. He grabbed the fleece blanket folded on top. Then the hoodie Wooyoung refused to admit he slept in. Lastly he grabbed the old knit scarf he had clumsily made that Wooyoung always insisted was “too ugly” to wear.

He returned to Wooyoung’s side and knelt again, holding out the soft bundle of things.

“Can you help me?” he asked, voice still low. “Can you give this a place?”

Wooyoung blinked slowly, eyes flicking from San’s face to the clothes in his hands.

“I like this soft blanket,” San continued, choosing each word carefully. “I think you could find a really cozy place to put it. Don't you?”

It gave him something to do. Something his body wanted to do anyway, but buried under the noise of the flashback. Sure enough, after a long beat of silence, Wooyoung reached out and took the blanket. 

He crawled toward the bed on stiff limbs. His heat haze still lingered on his face but the panic was fading now. He laid the blanket down with more care than coordination, then tucked the hoodie against a pillow after pressing it to his cheek after San had handed it to him next.

Next he handed over the scarf. Then a clean t-shirt that smelled like detergent.

Wooyoung paused with the clean shirt in his hand, seemingly upset that it was so bland of scent. At that moment, San had come up with an idea. He quickly stepped into the adjoining bathroom, gathering the first aid supplies. When he came back out, he found Wooyoung scenting the clean shirt, and used the opportunity to use his distraction to bandage up his bleeding forearms.

“You’re doing so good.” San murmured. 

Finally, the little impromptu nest was built. Crooked and soft and undeniably Wooyoung. When he crawled into it, curling up like he’d always belonged there, San let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. When Wooyoung quietly reached for him, fingers grasping San’s shirt he didn’t hesitate.

He settled beside him inside the nest, letting Wooyoung climb halfway into his lap, arms tight around his waist. San stroked his back in long, grounding motions, the way he always liked.

Yeosang waited.

At first, he stood just outside the bedroom, back pressed against the wall, hands twisted tightly in the hem of his shirt. He didn’t try to spy, but he listened anyway, trying to piece together what was happening through Wooyoung’s broken, panicked gasps, and the choked whisper of “I’ll be good, I’ll be good.” Then San’s voice. Direct but soft. 

Yeosang’s ears flattened. His body felt like a taut string, vibrating with tension he didn’t know how to release. He didn’t understand what was happening. He knew something had triggered Wooyoung’s heat, most likely the stress of San’s fathers visit.

Yeosang couldn’t help but feel like he was useless. Something in him flipped, then. A frantic, misguided instinct. He scrambled across the hallway, as he moved erratically, snatching up objects that had any sort of lingering scent from the two of them. They weren’t comforting in any traditional sense, but it was the only logical solution Yeosang could come to in his own panic.

A mug from the counter with San’s chapstick stain on the rim. Wooyoung’s Ipad from the couch. Two damp towels from San’s bathroom that still held the scent of clean sweat and shampoo. A toothbrush. His sock and washcloth. One of San’s old notebooks that had been abandoned on the table.

He really wanted to steal something warm. Something soft. A hoodie, maybe. One of San’s workout shirts. But that felt off-limits.

So instead he hunched near the floor just outside that closed door, breath tight in his chest, and started stacking his collection into a shape that was by every technical definition not a nest.

It was a strange, sad, erratic little pile.

The towels were too damp. The mug swished dangerously with old coffee. The toothbrush was jammed awkwardly in between the folds of the towel. The sock and washcloth barely had any of Wooyoung’s scent on them after all this time of pushing him away. 

But Yeosang didn’t stop, because it wasn’t about comfort anymore, it was a distraction from the panic. Tears sat unshed in his eyes, but his face remained neutral, inside he was crumbling in silence. Knees to his chest, arms folded tightly around his legs, he stayed.

 

Back inside the bedroom, the tension had shifted.

Wooyoung was still trembling, but the sharp edge of the panic had dulled under San’s calming voice, under the steady pressure of his hands guiding him through the haze. He wasn’t sobbing anymore, but every part of him was taut, stuck between his instincts and his shame, caught in a purgatory of wanting and not feeling allowed to want .

San knew this territory well. The way Wooyoung’s body ached with need while his mind screamed filthy, wrong, undeserving. It was a cruel echo of old punishments that had confused desire with degradation.

But San wasn’t confused. He knew exactly what Wooyoung needed. He also knew that Wooyoung couldn’t ask for it directly. Not now, not like this. Outside the heat haze, the usual Wooyoung would confidently ask San for anything, but this headspace went deeper than that boldness ever could.

“Let me help,” he said quietly, voice like velvet-wrapped steel. “You’re burning up, Woo. You can’t sit in this alone.”

Wooyoung blinked up at him, eyes glassy. His hands trembled where they clutched the sheets. “But I—I don’t want to be—”

In heat , San finished his sentence softly in his head. “I'm sorry baby, the heat is gonna happen, but I'm gonna be here for my beautiful kitty. I’m gonna give him everything he needs.”

“But I’m-”

“Beautiful. You’re beautiful. And I’m going to take care of you. Just like I always do.”

Wooyoung made a soft half-broken, half-relieved sound, and San used it. He leaned in, pressing a grounding kiss to his forehead, then his temple, then lower, down his neck. Slowly, he drew Wooyoung into his arms, holding him like something sacred.

“I’ve got you,” San murmured. “Let go.”

And Wooyoung did. Bit by bit, San felt the resistance melt away. He let himself take the weight of every decision, so Wooyoung didn’t have to. When San took the lead because Wooyoung was too fragile to make those choices alone, that was the kind of control Wooyoung trusted.

San eased them both onto the bed with Wooyoung straddled over his hips and pressed into his chest. After giving a quick kiss to the top of his head, he brought both his calloused hands up to scratch behind Wooyoung’s cat ears, each of them giving a little flick before they melted off tension. 

As Wooyoung clung to him, San eased his hands down the line of Wooyoung’s spine, fingertips grazing every dip and ridge, touching him like he was grounding him, the firm pressure releasing the tension in his muscles. 

“Good boy,” San whispered, his breath warm against the shell of Wooyoung’s ear. “You feel how much I love your beautiful body?”

Wooyoung shuddered against him, a soft, keening noise catching in his throat as his hips shifted instinctively. San didn’t comment on it, simply moving forward with kisses beneath Wooyoung’s jaw, slow and reverent, tracing the edge of his pulse with his lips.

“I love your body,” San murmured against his skin. “Every inch of it. Every part you’ve ever tried to hide from me. Every part you show me every day. Every new thing I will learn about it every week.”

One of San’s hands slid under the hem of Wooyoung’s loose shirt, palm smoothing over the taut muscles of his stomach until his thumbs reached the sensitive buds on his chest, worshipping them, reminding Wooyoung through every gentle stroke that there was no shame in being touched like this.

Wooyoung’s nails dug slightly into San’s shoulders as he pressed closer, trembling but not pulling away.

“You’re perfect, kitty,” San said, dragging his lips across Wooyoung’s collarbone. “So good. So, so good for me.”

The praise made something in Wooyoung break open. A small, wrecked sound slipped from his lips as he tucked his face into the crook of San’s neck, clutching his scent like a lifeline. His thighs trembled where they bracketed San’s hips, his tail curling around San’s wrist without thought.

The tail guided San’s wrist down to his ass, silently asking for more. 

“That’s it,” San cooed. 

He guided Wooyoung to lie back against the pillows, keeping one hand cradling the back of his head while the other continued its slow, loving path over his body down his sides, along his hips, up his ribs like he was memorizing him. 

And Wooyoung let him. Because when San touched him with this patience, praise, and unwavering devotion, he didn’t feel broken anymore. He felt loved.

San kept his touch light, fingers dragging over the small bulge in Wooyoung's shorts. His thumb brushed over a spot underside his shaft that made Wooyoung twitch and gasp softly, throwing his head back against the pillows.

“There,” San whispered. “You like when I touch you here, don’t you?”

Wooyoung nodded without lifting his head, face still pressed back into the pillow. His cheeks were flushed, breath shallow and fast.

“You don’t have to say anything,” San murmured, letting his fingers trace the same spot again. “Just let me hear how good I make you feel.”

A soft moan slipped from Wooyoung’s lips. San pressed another kiss to his sternum, then another to the center of his chest, just above where his heart was racing beneath delicate skin. 

He slid the shirt up and off slowly, waiting for any sign of tension. But Wooyoung didn’t resist. He just let his arms lift above his head, letting San undress him. When the shirt was gone, San took a moment, his eyes drinking him up in awe.

Wooyoung’s body trembled under the weight of San’s gaze. He curled in a little, self conscious even now. “Don’t look at me like that…”

“Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?” San said softly. “I can’t help it, baby.”

He leaned down and kissed the dip between his collarbones, then moved lower, lips mapping out a slow path across the soft plane of his stomach. Wooyoung’s breathing hitched, his hands finding their way into San’s hair, fingers flexing without thought.

“You’re doing so good,” San reminded him again, voice thick with emotion. 

Wooyoung made a whimpering sound that nearly undid him. San kissed along the edge of his hipbone right above his waistband, tongue flicking out against the skin there. 

His hands stroked down Wooyoung’s thighs, easing them open just a little more. He looked up once, asking for approval to remove Wooyoung’s shorts, before the cat hybrid nodded eagerly, the storm of the heat haze beginning to demand attention when San finally slid the shorts down his hips, revealing flushed skin and trembling thighs. His cocklet twitched against his stomach, slick already beading at the tip. He touched Wooyoung’s hips with both hands, thumbs drawing slow, grounding circles into his skin. Wooyoung’s tail flicked, then curled possessively around San’s forearm. The haze was clawing deeper into him, pushing instinct to the surface where it warred with shame, habit, confusion. His thighs shifted restlessly, seeking friction.

San leaned in and licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, slow and deliberate. Wooyoung sobbed. He writhed, hips stuttering up into San’s mouth without meaning to, driven by nothing but heat and hunger. His hands clawed into the sheets above his head, arms trembling from the effort of holding back.

But it wasn’t enough. Even when he came, shuddering and gasping San’s name like a lifeline, it wasn’t enough. There was no real release when fire inside still demanded for more. 

He caught Wooyoung as his body tried to twist away, too sensitive to be touched and too desperate not to be. He caught his hips in the motion, forcing Wooyoung to bend over and present, pressing his upper back down into the mattress to prevent him from escaping. 

He could feel Wooyoung rutting back against him, breath coming in sharp pants. San didn't dare tease Wooyoung any longer, guiding one hand between them and lined himself up.

Wooyoung didn’t hesitate. His hips jerked backward, trying to sink down before he’d even fully processed what he was doing. San caught his waist, steadying him, guiding him slowly, making sure he didn’t hurt himself.

The stretch made Wooyoung keen, head thrown back, his body convulsing in tight little jerks. He clutched the sheets, every muscle locked between pleasure and the unbearable need for more. His tail thrashed, hips fighting to press back faster than his body could handle.

San held him firm as he pressed one hand flat between Wooyoung’s shoulder blades, keeping him down, the other anchored tight around his waist as he set the pace.

The sound of skin on skin filled the room, slick and wet and obscene, and Wooyoung cried out with every snap of San’s hips. He was completely lost to instinct, to rhythm, to the one person who wouldn’t let him break apart.

San could feel it. The way his body tightened around him, how every tremble meant more, not enough. So he gave him everything. He reached beneath Wooyoung’s body, hand curling around his cocklet, already slick and leaking again, oversensitive but needy. He stroked in time with his thrusts, coaxing him toward another edge.

He came again with a scream muffled into the mattress, his whole body seizing and then going limp, clenching hard around San as if trying to pull him deeper, keep him there, and fill the ache. San bit back a groan, keeping his rhythm just long enough to ride Wooyoung through it before he followed, grinding deep with a low moan, burying himself to the hilt as he came inside him, breath stuttering at the sheer intensity of it.

Wooyoung didn’t last long once it was over.

The moment San eased out of him and carefully helped clean the worst of the mess, Wooyoung’s body gave out entirely. He was boneless, dazed, still murmuring faint little whimpers of overstimulation even as San gently wiped him down and tucked him under the covers.

“Shh,” San whispered, smoothing back damp strands of hair from his forehead. Wooyoung curled instinctively into the pillow, cheeks still flushed, tail twitching faintly before going still.

San stayed a moment longer, watching the way Wooyoung’s chest rose and fell, the way his lips parted slightly in sleep, still trembling from the remnants of heat. He looked younger like this. 

San kissed his temple once more, then stood.

He padded out of the room barefoot and quiet, his body still aching in places, but his mind focused. Wooyoung would be out for at least a little while, the first wave always took the most out of him. San just needed to grab the weighted blanket from the couch to lay over him, something he always knew helped.

But when he turned into the hallway and nearly tripped, it wasn’t over the edge of the rug.

It was Yeosang.

Curled in on himself just outside Wooyoung’s door, back to the wall, knees pulled tight to his chest. Surrounded by a pile of scavenged items like a small desperate shrine.

San stared, frozen for a moment. The hallway light was dim, but not dim enough to hide the exhaustion on Yeosang’s face. How his arms were curled tightly around himself, like it meant protection. How his floppy ear laid open draped over the top of his head, like he was trying his best to hear any sort of progression coming from the room. How his cheek was pressed to the hardwood like he didn’t think he was allowed anything softer.

He was asleep. San crouched slowly, heart squeezing painfully in his chest. Without a word, he gently gathered Yeosang into his arms.

The bunny hybrid stirred only faintly, a soft breath hitching as his head came to rest on San’s shoulder. He didn’t wake. Just nuzzled weakly against San’s chest like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to the world.

With careful steps, San carried him into the room. He eased down onto the bed, shifting pillows and blankets until there was space. He settled against the headboard and laid Yeosang down gently to his left, his cheek resting against San’s chest.

He figured that both Wooyoung and Yeosang would be better off waking up together. Most of Wooyoung’s trauma induced panic had passed with the first crash, and San could already sense that the worst of the headspace had lifted. He’d be drowsy, maybe clingy, but no longer trapped in that raw, reactive state where even touch felt dangerous. 

And Yeosang needed proximity too. Maybe not in the same urgent, fevered way, but in the quieter sense. The ache of being forgotten, of being outside looking in. San didn’t want either of them to wake up alone and think they were separate from this.

Wooyoung shifted just slightly, his body sensing the movement in the mattress, and instinct pulled him in, curling into San’s side.

San exhaled slowly, one arm curled protectively around Yeosang, the other around Wooyoung, cradling them both like gravity itself wouldn’t hold them unless he did.

Yeosang made a soft noise in his sleep, breath evening out quickly as warmth cocooned around him. Wooyoung buried his face deeper into San’s neck with a small, contented sigh, his scent no longer laced with panic, just the fading edges of heat and safety.

San stared at the ceiling. For tonight, this was enough.

Notes:

Hai hai!!!! I’m on vacation!! so I’ll be posting the next couple chapters when I get slivers of service!!!

I’m so excited to read your comments, although it might be a while before I am able to respond :(

BUT I PROMISE I WILL!!!!!!! <3

Chapter 14

 

San woke to the sound of a broken half gasp-half whimper. At first, he thought it was a dream. The room was warm, dim with early light spilling through the curtains, his body sunk deep in the mattress, one arm stretched over

Wait.

He blinked again, forcing the sleep from his brain just as another soft, shaky moan echoed faintly against the sheets.

San pushed himself up on one elbow. And there they were.

At the foot of the bed, tangled in blankets and each other, Yeosang and Wooyoung moved together fluidly, desperate in that way heat made everything feel. Wooyoung was straddling Yeosang’s lap rocking down in needy, helpless little motions that made San’s blood run hot and cold at the same time.

Yeosang looked completely gone, too. Eyes hazy, lips parted around a soundless gasp, arms around Wooyoung like he was the only thing tethering him to the ground. His hands moved slowly over Wooyoung’s hips, guiding him through the next wave, taking all of him with a tenderness San felt down to his bones.

San dragged a hand over his face, trying to rub the last of sleep from his eyes.

How the hell did I sleep through this?

Wooyoung wasn’t being quiet. The soft, breathy cries were muffled only slightly by Yeosang’s shoulder, where he kept trying to bury his face. 

San could see the shine of slick already pooling at the base of Yeosang’s stomach, soaking into the sheets beneath them. Yeosang gritted his teeth as Wooyoung rocked down again, every little movement slick and hot and just shy of overwhelming. His hands gripped tight around Wooyoung’s hips, but he couldn’t give more than that. Not what Wooyoung’s body was truly aching for.

As an omega he wasn’t built for it. He knew that. But damn it , he wasn’t going to stop trying.

Wooyoung whimpered as he moved, tail flicking in sharp motions, already frustrated with the lack of stretch, the emptiness that even Yeosang’s careful thrusts couldn’t fill.

Yeosang’s lips brushed his jaw. “I know,” he whispered against his skin, breath shaky. “I know. Just let me try.”

He wasn’t enough. But he wanted to be just for a little while.

And then San shifted behind them.

Both hybrids froze.

Wooyoung’s head turned first, he spotted San’s tired eyes before he was already halfway into his lap, straddling his hips with needy, impatient movements.

"Shh," San murmured, brushing Wooyoung’s messy hair back, but his voice was half-swallowed by Wooyoung’s groan as he ground down against him. His heat was raging again and San knew better than to make him wait.

He lined himself up with practiced care, and Wooyoung whined, trembling, his knees tucked in tight around San’s waist. His hands found hips instinctively, catching him as he panted and writhed. The first thrust made Wooyoung cry out. Relief and overwhelm made his body jolt, curling into San as he gasped for breath. San held him steady, not thrusting again just yet, just letting Wooyoung breathe with it. But the cat hybrid couldn’t wait much longer as he rocked forward frantically against San’s chest. San caught Wooyoung’s hips again, pinned them down, and thrust up into him slow but deep. Wooyoung’s mouth dropped open in a silent cry, nails digging into San’s back.

And still it wasn’t enough. Wooyoung’s hands fumbled behind him, reaching blindly. Fingers curling around Yeosang's arm, dragging him forward with all the desperate strength in his body. Yeosang crawled closer, heart pounding, when Wooyoung grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

San watched him kiss Wooyoung undone in his arms, like they both were each other’s only source of oxygen. The bed rocked quietly beneath them, soft breathless gasps turning guttural, and Yeosang clung to Wooyoung’s shoulders, lips dragging down to his neck, whispering something that got lost in the haze.

San couldn’t hear the words, but the effect was instant. Wooyoung sobbed, his back arching, body trembling so hard San had to catch him again. His walls clenched tight with a desperation that made San curse under his breath, barely holding back as the heat wrapped around him like a fire.

He didn’t last a second longer. The moment Wooyoung cried out Yeosang’s name against his throat, San followed with a low, guttural moan, thrusting deep one last time as the tension finally snapped. His grip tightened around Wooyoung’s hips, holding him there through the aftershocks.

Wooyoung slumped forward in his arms, boneless and shivering. Yeosang gently pulled back, brushing sweat-damp hair from his flushed face, his expression soft and full of love. His lips were swollen and eyes wide and dazed.

San wrapped them both up, arms anchoring around their limp, shaking bodies. He cradled Wooyoung close between them, his own chest heaving, heart pounding through the quiet that followed.

The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the fan and the uneven breathing of the three tangled bodies. Sweat clung to skin, hearts still thudding in the wake of it all.

Wooyoung was the first to go still, his breath evening out, lashes fluttering shut against San’s chest. A tiny whimper left his lips even in sleep, but it was the kind born of spent exhaustion. San shifted slowly, brushing Wooyoung’s damp hair back again and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He adjusted the covers gently, making sure the hybrid was warm, his legs no longer bunched up awkwardly. One of Wooyoung’s hands still clung loosely to Yeosang’s wrist.

“He’s okay,” San murmured to Yeosang, voice barely above a whisper. “For now.”

Yeosang nodded beside him, quiet and wide-eyed, his flushed skin already cooling. His hair was a mess, sticking to his forehead, lips still pink and kiss-bitten.

San touched his arm lightly. “Come on. Let’s eat something. And drink. Before the next wave hits.”

Yeosang blinked, like he hadn’t even considered the idea of food or water. But he nodded, following San carefully as they untangled from the bed without waking Wooyoung. He gave the sleeping hybrid one last glance, tucking the edge of the blanket around his waist before padding barefoot into the hall.

The kitchen lights were too bright at first. San dimmed them, grabbed a bottle of water and silently offered it to Yeosang, who took it with both hands and drank like he’d forgotten how thirsty he was.

San pulled open the fridge and reached for a few easy things: sliced fruit, leftover rice, anything bland and cold. His body ached, but it wasn’t the kind of exhaustion he resented when it meant Wooyoung had finally found sleep.

While Yeosang chewed slowly at the counter, San leaned back against the sink and finally spoke again.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “For being there for him. Are you feeling okay?”

Yeosang’s eyes darted up. He swallowed hard, and for a moment, his ears flicked down shyly, like he didn’t know what to do with the praise.

San continued gently, “I know it’s not easy, especially not like this. But he needed you.”

Yeosang looked down at his hands, then back up at San, and gave a tiny nod.

 

The rest of Wooyoung’s heat came in steady waves, each one leaving him more raw than the last. Through it all, San was there to hold him steady, strong arms grounding him as his body twisted and burned with need.

Yeosang stayed close, never far from reach. When San grew tired, he kissed Wooyoung's spine and whispered soothing words that eased the worst of the panic. He brought water to Wooyoung’s lips between waves, wiped sweat from his forehead, and curled around him when he shook too hard to breathe. He couldn’t offer everything Wooyoung’s body craved, but what he could give he gave without hesitation.

By the time the last tremor passed and the final wave ebbed from Wooyoung’s body, both hybrids were completely spent. Yeosang’s limbs were trembling with exhaustion, and Wooyoung could barely lift his head, eyes fluttering shut the moment his body was allowed to go still.

San didn’t say much. He just moved carefully, scooping Wooyoung up first, then coming back for Yeosang. The shower was warm and quiet, full of soft steam and slow movements. San did his best to prop them up on the bath floor. He washed Wooyoung’s hair with careful fingers, then turned to Yeosang, brushing suds down his arms and back, letting the water carry away what was left of the long, frenzied nights.

Neither hybrid said a word. They let San move them, hold them, clean them. Both of them boneless, pliant, clinging gently to him and each other with the kind of trust that made San’s chest ache.

By the time the water ran clear and their breathing had finally evened out, San leaned down and pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads.

The living room was warm with the smell of dinner and the low hum of cartoons playing in the background. Yeosang shifted slightly on the couch, his fingers absently carding through Wooyoung’s hair. The cat hybrid had barely moved for hours, curled tight against Yeosang’s chest with his nose pressed to the side of his neck like he was still chasing the comfort of scent. Yeosang didn’t mind. If anything, the weight of Wooyoung in his lap reminded him with every steady breath that they’d made it through.

Slowly, Wooyoung began to stir. Yeosang felt the shift even before the first words came.

“Mm—why... my arm…” Wooyoung’s voice was groggy, raw with the rasp of sleep. He blinked down, eyes catching on the thick bandages wrapped around his forearm, and panic sparked immediately behind his glassy gaze. “What- what happened?”

Yeosang stiffened slightly, instinctively tightening his arms around him, voice gentle. “You, uhm, had a panic attack. You scratched yourself badly.”

Wooyoung sat up a little, breath catching. “I did that?”

Before Yeosang could answer, footsteps crossed the hardwood.

“I’ve got it,” San’s voice came from behind them, steady and low. He stepped into view, wiping his hands on a towel, concern etched between his brows but calm nonetheless.

“You don’t have to remember it all,” San said as he crouched beside the couch, meeting Wooyoung’s wide eyes as he quickly took both of the hybrid's temperatures. “You were triggered. It hit hard and fast. But Yeosang and I were with you the whole time. You didn’t go through it alone.”

Wooyoung swallowed thickly, blinking down at the bandages again.

“You were scared,” San continued, his voice softer now, “but you let us help you. And Yeosang,” He glanced up at the bunny hybrid, giving him a quiet look of praise that made Yeosang’s ears twitch shyly. “Yeosang was incredible. You calmed down when he touched you. I think his scent carried you through more than anything I could’ve done.”

Wooyoung’s lips parted, eyes swinging back to Yeosang. A little dazed still, but full of gratitude. “You stayed?”

Yeosang nodded slowly. “Of course I did.”

And for a beat, no one moved. Then Wooyoung collapsed forward again, burying his face against Yeosang’s chest and letting out a long, shuddery sigh. He didn’t speak, but the weight of him leaning back in said everything.

San stood, a hand resting gently on Wooyoung’s back for a moment before stepping away again. “Dinner’s almost done. Try to eat something, both of you.”

Yeosang’s fingers resumed their soft rhythm through Wooyoung’s hair, letting the sunset haze and the aroma of the cooking lull them back into each other.

After dinner, San stood by the window, eyes cast out over the city, but his thoughts were elsewhere. His father’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, 

“I expect you’ll be making a proper debut with your new bunny at the next company event. Don’t look so surprised. It’s expected now. People will want to see the investment you made. It reflects well on the family, on the company’s leadership. A man who knows how to handle his assets. ”

San’s jaw flexed.

The next event was less than two weeks away. One of those stiff, self-congratulatory company galas packed with high ranking military and executives. It wasn’t optional. Not when attendance doubled as loyalty.  

San already got enough slack from his company letting him work from home. When events came up, his presence mattered the most. 

San exhaled through his nose, folding his arms as he leaned against the window frame. The very thought of bringing Yeosang into that kind of space made his stomach twist. The sneering smiles. The quiet appraisals. The veiled questions about obedience and value. They were all exactly like his father, just more practiced at hiding it.

He wished he could forget, but Yeosang had remembered.

He had brought it up just before Wooyoung’s heat, asking if San thought they might look at nicer collars sometime soon. His tone was eager, like he wanted San to be proud of him.

San had nodded, because how could he say no? Not when Yeosang had already come so far, asking for things of his own. 

After the post heat chaos had worn off, he asked if Yeosang might like to go out and visit some shops together. Somewhere quiet, somewhere low risk. Just the two of them. 

Instead, Yeosang’s ears perked. His whole face had gone bright, tail twitching at the tip with excitement. San had never seen him look so proud.

He honestly expected more hesitation from the hybrid, not knowing when was the last time Yeosang had been in public. He assumed that the lack of hesitancy came from his unwavering trust in San’s protection over him. He was right, San would never let anything happen to him.

He hadn’t said it outright, but San knew exactly what this meant to Yeosang. A chance to show the world that he belonged to someone. That he was good. That he was wanted.

And even if San’s gut churned at the thought of leashes and ownership laws, of collars as proof of personhood, he also understood Yeosang's world. The system had shaped him this way. Praise, obedience, and visibility were the only currencies he'd ever known.

San closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn’t protect Yeosang from everything. But maybe he could give him this.

Yeosang could hardly keep still.

He bounced lightly on his heels in front of the mirror, fussing with the hem of his shirt before smoothing it down again for the third time in a row. His ears flicked forward, alert and eager, and his tail twitched behind him in loose, excited arcs.

“Is this okay?” he asked, turning halfway toward this bed where Wooyoung sat perched, knees hugged to his chest. “Or is it too much?”

Wooyoung blinked. “It’s... nice. You look really nice.”

Yeosang beamed, cheeks going warm under the praise. He turned back to the mirror, smoothing his hair this time, not even trying to hide the smile that curled at the corners of his mouth. San was in the next room getting dressed, leaving Yeosang to pick out something he felt ‘presentable’ in. 

“Maybe I should tuck the shirt in,” Yeosang mumbled, half to himself, already doing it. “What if we see someone San knows and I look sloppy...?”

“You won’t,” Wooyoung said quickly. “You never do.”

He was trying to mean it, he really was, but his voice came out thin, like it had to squeeze through something thick in his throat. Yeosang didn’t notice, or maybe he pretended not to. He was too busy adjusting his collar, standing tall and practicing how to hold his hands in front of him, playing with different ways to tuck his thumbs. 

“Do you think… do you think it’s stupid?” he asked softly, eyes catching Wooyoung’s in the mirror.

Wooyoung’s stomach clenched. “No. Not at all.”

Yeosang turned toward him, studying his face carefully now. 

Wooyoung nodded. “I think it’s important. For you. You deserve to be proud.”

He didn’t mean to sound so distant. He didn’t mean for his shoulders to be tucked so high, or his arms wrapped so tight around his legs. But his whole body was wound tight with unease, a quiet buzzing under his skin like warning static. The thought of going outside tightened something in his chest.

“Thanks, Woo,” Yeosang said, stepping closer. His hand reached out, brushing lightly over Wooyoung’s knee. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

The question was gentle but it made something twist behind Wooyoung’s ribs. He looked away quickly, tightening his arms around his legs again.

“I just…” He forced a quiet laugh. “You should go without me.”

Yeosang blinked. “Why?”

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” Wooyoung said, carefully keeping his voice light. “To go out with San, to get your collar. I’d just be a distraction.”

Yeosang’s brow furrowed, confused. “That’s not true,”

“It is,” Wooyoung interrupted gently. “I don’t want to take away from your experience.”

Yeosang was quiet for a long moment. “But… you’re not taking anything from me.”

Wooyoung smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know. But I want you to have this. All of it. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

His heart was pounding so hard it hurt. The thought of crowds, of leashes, of people being out there had his pulse racing and palms damp. But Yeosang didn’t need to know that. Not yet. Not when he looked so beautiful and excited and brave.

Yeosang slowly nodded, still studying him with those wide, earnest eyes. “Okay.”

“I want to hear all about it when you get back,” Wooyoung added quickly, nudging his knee into Yeosang’s.

Yeosang smiled, softer this time. “I’ll tell you everything.”

 

San clicked the leash into place with a soft click, the polished metal catching in the hallway light. The loop clipped to Yeosang’s old worn leather collar, too tight against his throat now but it would do until they found something better. Yeosang didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he beamed the second the leash settled in front of him.

“Are you ready?” San asked, voice low, testing.

Yeosang nodded with barely restrained excitement, then turned back toward the living room. Wooyoung hadn’t moved from the couch. Yeosang padded over in his socks. “We’ll be back soon,” he promised, kneeling by the couch and reaching for Wooyoung’s hand.

Wooyoung offered it wordlessly, lacing their fingers together and giving it a gentle squeeze. He looked up at Yeosang and tried to smile, even if it wobbled at the edges. “Have fun, okay?”

Yeosang leaned in to nuzzle against his cheek. “I wish you were coming.”

Wooyoung swallowed, but tried to keep the air light. “You won’t even notice I'm not.”

San hovered near the door, he met Wooyoung’s eyes. Not a word passed between them, but something settled in San’s gaze, we’ll be back soon. I’ll take care of him.

Wooyoung nodded faintly, mouthing a silent thank you.

San led Yeosang out and into the private elevator, the leash coiled gently in his palm. Yeosang stood close, his ears twitching at every soft ding of the descending floor count.

He twitched excitedly as soon as the elevator doors opened to the underground garage. Before they reached the car, San pulled out a pair of sunglasses for the hybrid, remembering that the unfiltered sunlight was harsh on his sensitive eyes. He bent down to slide them gently onto Yeosang’s face.

Yeosang blinked behind the dark lenses, lips parting in awe. 

The ride down to the luxury mall was full of air and motion and curiosity.

Yeosang hadn’t been in the car since the day San brought him home from the auction. But today, the silence wasn’t tight with fear. He leaned forward slightly in his seat, hands folded neatly in his lap, eyes darting to every window they passed. Buildings. People. Trees blurred in the distance. He stared like he was drinking in every inch of the city.

San drove slowly, not wanting to rush him.

At a red light, he glanced over. Yeosang sat bathed in morning sun, sunglasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose, the leash coiled in his lap like a ribbon. There was awe in the way he looked at the world.

San’s throat tightened just a little.

He doesn’t even know how beautiful he is, he thought. And they’re all going to see it.

The collar shop was tucked into the quieter wing of the luxury mall with a tasteful brass plaque above the glass doors and a display window lined with velvet busts, each adorned with gleaming collars.

As soon as they stepped inside, Yeosang fell a step behind San. His posture shifted almost imperceptibly by his shoulders drawn in, chin lowered, hands folded neatly in front of him. The leash hung loosely from San’s hand, but the weight of it suddenly felt heavier.

San hated it, but he didn’t flinch. This world wasn’t kind to softness. He reminded himself why they were here. Yeosang wanted this.

“Welcome,” said a man in a tailored slate gray suit as he stepped from behind the showroom counter. His eyes flicked between San and Yeosang quickly evaluating, but his smile stayed polite. “Looking for something new?”

“Something a little more refined,” San replied smoothly. “We’re preparing for an upcoming company function.”

“Of course,” the man said. “We can start with some of our more classic designs. Something tasteful for a formal setting.”

He gestured toward the left wall, where a glass case displayed collars in every shade and texture. Some deep velvets, soft matte leathers, brushed silvers, engraved plates, even delicate inlays of stones and stitching. The man pulled open a drawer beneath the case and laid out a small selection of templates for viewing.

San kept his hands behind his back, letting the man talk through materials and features. He didn’t glance at Yeosang directly. That would be a giveaway, as asking for input could be read as weakness. Instead, he watched from the corners of his eyes.

Yeosang’s gaze lingered slightly longer on the pale gray suede with small embedded diamonds. His ears didn’t move, his expression didn’t shift but San noticed the way his fingers twitched ever so slightly when the shopkeeper laid a matching version in midnight blue next to it. Too harsh. Yeosang didn’t react.

San pointed to the pale gray. “That one.”

The shopkeeper smiled approvingly. “Very subtle. Pairs well with most formal attire. I’d recommend a polished silver tag to match.”

Yeosang’s shoulders loosened just slightly.

San nodded. “That’ll do.”

He kept his voice level, authoritative. He didn’t say Is that alright with you? he simply moved through the process, pretending it was all for himself. But he saw Yeosang’s throat bob with a quiet swallow, a small breath in, the only sign that he was satisfied. He was trying so hard to be perfect. And San had never wanted to hold someone so gently in his life.

San was in the middle of picking out gemstones embellishments and tag engravings for the collar when the bell above the shop door chimed softly.

Yeosang’s ears twitched, and San glanced up from the velvet-lined display tray just in time to see another pair enter. A sharply dressed man stepped through the door first, followed closely by some sort of feline hybrid who trailed behind him in silence.

The shopkeeper turned with a polite bow. “Welcome, sir. I’ll be with you momentarily.”

The man gave a brief nod, eyes scanning the boutique interior before landing on San and Yeosang. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “That collar looks incredible. Very regal.”

San dipped his head, his tone smooth. “Thank you. It’s for an event.”

Yeosang couldn’t help but glance toward the new hybrid out of the corner of his eye. His posture was flawless with his hands clasped and chin slightly dipped.

The man stepped closer to the display case, politely guiding his hybrid behind him. “What kind of event?”

“The next military gala,” San replied casually.

That made the stranger laugh under his breath. “Seriously? Small world. I will also be attending.”

San’s brow lifted slightly. “No kidding. What is your position?”

“I just got promoted earlier this year into one of the regional development offices. It came with a lot of… expectations.” His eyes slid toward his hybrid, who remained utterly still behind him. 

San nodded once, not knowing what to make of the man in front of him. 

The man extended his hand with easy confidence. “I’m Kim Hongjoong, by the way.”

San shook it. “Choi San.”

Hongjoong’s grip tightened just a fraction at the name, his confident smile flickering ever so slightly. 

“Choi… That’s a name I didn’t expect to hear.” His eyes narrowed just a bit, searching San’s face with a mix of curiosity and something unreadable.

San met his gaze evenly, unflinching. “Ah yes, my family is usually involved in much of the event’s organizational board.”

Hongjoong swallowed, a subtle shift in his posture betraying a sudden weight pressing down on him. He quickly masked it, smoothing his expression back into calm. “Well, it’s an honor, truly. Meeting a Choi… Your family carries quite the reputation.”

San’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile, but his eyes stayed sharp. 

Hongjoong gestured behind him. “This is Seonghwa. I… got him from an overseas auction last month. Caracal hybrid.”

Seonghwa didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“He wasn’t supposed to be in the running,” Hongjoong added more quietly, almost like an afterthought. “But they brought him out anyway. I didn’t mean to bid but… I could. So I did.”

San’s expression flickered and Hongjoong seemed to notice.

“I see. His breed is exceptionally rare. This is Yeosang, he is also a relatively new addition to my household.” He gestured behind him, where Yeosang also did not move or speak. 

Hongjoong’s smile softened slightly as his eyes flicked briefly to Seonghwa, who remained motionless behind him. “It’s… a lot to take in sometimes,” he said lightly, voice just low enough to suggest more than he let on.

San’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened just a fraction. “The expectations are never small.”

Hongjoong’s smile grew a little warmer. “Ill let you get back to your shopping. Hopefully I can be looking forward to seeing you at the gala? It’d be good to get to know you better, being new to all this, I don’t really know many people yet.”

San nodded smoothly, his expression carefully neutral. “The gala is a good place to meet people. I’m sure that we will run into each other one way or another.” 

Hongjoong returned the look with a slight nod. “Absolutely.”

San gave the smallest courteous nod, then shifted his attention back to the case before them. “We’ll take this one,” he said smoothly, his voice cool and final.

The shopkeeper hurried forward, carefully boxing the finished piece in a velvet-lined case as San slid his black card across the counter without sparing a glance at the total. 

Behind him, Yeosang stood perfectly still, but his ears were twitching ever so slightly with barely contained excitement.

“Thank you for your help,” San said, his tone still dipped in polite authority as he turned slightly toward Hongjoong, offering a faint, parting smile. “We’ll see you at the gala.”

Hongjoong inclined his head. “Looking forward to it.”

San didn’t linger any longer. He collected the box and turned on his heel, guiding Yeosang with the lightest tug of the leash as they exited the boutique.

The car ride was quiet, save for the hum of the engine. San’s sunglasses still sat snug over Yeosang’s nose, the hybrid turning his head toward the window to take in the passing cityscape, but his hands were fidgeting in his lap.

When they pulled into the underground garage, San parked in his private space, reached for the box, and opened it slowly like it was something sacred. He turned toward Yeosang, who was already practically glowing with anticipation, trying so hard not to squirm.

“Come here,” San said gently, voice now intimate in the closed cabin of the car.

Yeosang scooted forward obediently between the seats, presenting his neck with practiced grace. San’s fingers brushed under his jaw as he unbuckled the old collar and slipped it off with reverence, setting it aside.

Then, he lifted the new deep grey suede leather band with small tasteful crystals set at the center. It was embellished with the silver tag in the center, labelled with ‘ property of Choi San’. As much as that label made San’s heart boil in his stomach acid, he knew it really would mean everything to Yeosang, as well as all the people about to meet him at the gala debut. 

He fastened it around Yeosang’s throat with a soft click .

Yeosang exhaled shakily. His posture remained perfect, but his cheeks flushed pink, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. The glow in his eyes said everything.

“You look stunning,” he murmured, and for a moment, San’s fingers lingered on the tag, the pads of his thumb tracing the engraved letters like a silent vow. His gaze flicked upward slowly, meeting Yeosang’s eyes through the soft amber tint of the sunglasses.

Yeosang didn’t move, didn’t breathe. His eyes, wide and unblinking, stared up at San bright and trembling.

San stayed like that for a moment longer, letting the silence stretch between them until it wrapped around the car like a cocoon. Then, his hand shifted sliding from the tag to the curve of Yeosang’s jaw, gently tilting it up.

Yeosang’s breath hitched just as San leaned in, pressing the lightest kiss to his cheek. It was barely more than a brush, but it rippled sparks.

Yeosang’s ears twitched violently, the tips already a deep red. His face followed suit a second later, flushing from his cheeks down to the curve of his neck. His lips parted, but no sound came out except for the softest exhale.

“Th–thank you, sir,” he finally stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

San smiled faintly, thumb still resting against Yeosang’s flushed skin.

 

The penthouse door soon after clicked open, and Yeosang all but bounced inside, the late afternoon sunlight catching the glint of his new collar as he stepped out of his shoes.

“Wooyoung!” he called brightly, voice echoing down the hallway as he slipped off his sunglasses. 

Wooyoung appeared a moment later, curled in one corner of the sunken couch, a blanket draped over his legs and a lukewarm mug cradled in his hands. He managed a smile, soft and practiced. “Hey, you’re back.”

Yeosang practically beamed. “Look.” He stepped closer, lifting his chin to show the collar, delicate grey leather. The engraved tag caught the light. “San picked it out. Well… I think I helped a little.”

Wooyoung’s smile froze for half a second before he nodded, taking in the collar. “It’s beautiful. It suits you.”

Yeosang’s nose scrunched in quiet delight, fingers brushing the edge of the crystal like he still couldn’t believe it was real. “And the shop was so clean, and there were so many options, and there was another pair there too. San found out that they are also going to the gala and that he might see us there!”

“That’s exciting,” Wooyoung said, voice carefully level.

“I hope so.” Yeosang sat beside him, bouncing slightly with energy. 

“Sounds like a big day,” Wooyoung murmured.

Yeosang nodded rapidly. “It was! But I missed you.” His voice dipped slightly. “I wish you’d come with us.”

Wooyoung’s throat tightened. He reached out to straighten the tag on Yeosang’s collar, his fingers light, stomach dropping when he read the inscription. “I’m glad you had a good time. I really am.”

But inside, the buzzing started again. That awful pressure in his ribs and the ache of knowing Yeosang was everything he had once been trained to be. Obedient, desired. The kind of hybrid who looked stunning on a leash and proudly shown off. The kind of hybrid San could take to a gala.

Wooyoung tucked his hands back beneath the blanket. “You’re gonna look incredible at that event.”

Yeosang’s eyes sparkled. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Wooyoung said with a smile that felt too heavy to hold.

 

Later that night, Wooyoung lay curled in San’s bed, already under the blankets. He hadn't said much since dinner, only trailed after San silently as he moved through the penthouse. Now he watched from the corner of his eye as San moved through his nighttime routine: locking the doors, tucking Yeosang into his bed making sure he wasn’t in the closet, shutting off the lights one by one.

Wooyoung would be lying if told himself he wasn’t some iteration of jealous. Today he’d caught himself watching Yeosang more than he meant to. Watching the way San smiled at him, patient and fond. The way Yeosang blushed so easily. 

It was everything Wooyoung had once gotten in glimpses before he learned how sharp his tongue was, how easily he could irritate. Before he'd needed the reminders to behave. Before he'd realized that someone like San wasn’t supposed to end up with someone like him. Before he realized he couldn’t go outside.

The mattress dipped as San got in beside him.

He turned onto his side with a sigh, pulling the covers up to his chest. Wooyoung could feel the warmth of him in reach.

 He waited until the lights were out before whispering into the dark.

“Do you ever wish you’d left me behind?”

San stilled. “What?”

“Back at the mansion.”

Wooyoung’s voice was raw, but steady. “When we finally walked out that day. Do you ever think maybe instead you should’ve started clean? Left me there and found someone like Yeosang instead?”

San didn’t respond right away. Wooyoung could feel him thinking, choosing his words, or maybe trying not to sound hurt.

“Why would you even say that? Where’s this coming from?”

Wooyoung bit his lip, eyes fixed on the ceiling though he couldn’t see it in the dark.

“It’s just… he’s so good. You don’t have to remind him of almost anything anymore. You don’t have to argue or explain or deal with him sneaking out to break the rules just to get your attention.”

His voice cracked a little. “He’s everything I was supposed to be.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then the blankets rustled, and San shifted closer until they were face to face in the dark. His hand reached under the covers to find Wooyoung’s, wrapping his fingers around it gently.

“Don’t ever say that,” he said. Low. Firm.

Wooyoung blinked, surprised by the weight in his voice.

San leaned in just enough to press his forehead to Wooyoung’s.

“It wasn’t even a choice.”

Wooyoung’s breath caught.

San’s voice was quiet, but unwavering. “The moment I realized I could take you with me, I did. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t need to.”

His hand slid gently up Wooyoung’s arm, anchoring him there.

“You were mine long before I ever signed anything. And not just cause my father ‘made you’ for me.”

Wooyoung squeezed his eyes shut, not because he didn’t want to cry, but because he didn’t want to believe how badly he’d needed to hear that. 

“I’m not like Yeosang,” he murmured, voice thick.

San smiled faintly. “You’re not supposed to be.”

A warm pause stretched between them full of unsaid things.

“You’re stubborn, and dramatic, and you challenge everything I say.” San shifted, his hand brushing Wooyoung’s jaw. “And still, there is no version of this life where I’d leave you behind.”

Wooyoung looked at him in the dark, his eyes glossy.

“You really mean that?”

San leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple, then his cheek, then finally resting his lips against his hairline.

“I’ve never meant anything more. You give my life color, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung let himself believe it. He tucked himself in closer to San’s chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

And for the first time in weeks, Wooyoung slept without dreams.

Notes:

Yay!!!!!! It’s my birthday today.. so I thought I’d drop a chapter for my lovely readers… and some new characters!!!! Yippie!!!

I’m still in the middle of nowhere on vacation, once I get more service I promise to respond to everyone’s comments from last chapter!! Love you all so much!!!!

Chapter 15

The quiet buzz of the bathroom fan filled the space with the soft snipping of scissors. Wooyoung leaned in close, his fingers gentle as they tucked a few strands of Yeosang’s hair behind one long ear. His other hand worked carefully with the shears, preserving the length but shaping and trimming soft clean ends.

Yeosang sat obediently on the closed lid of the toilet, a towel draped around his shoulders, his back straight and still like he was back in training although now there was a relaxed softness to him now that had bloomed in recent weeks. His head tilted slightly under Wooyoung’s touch.

“Almost done,” Wooyoung murmured, blowing a loose hair off Yeosang’s cheek. “You’re lucky you have enough hair to blend my uneven layers.”

Yeosang’s lips twitched. “You say that every time.”

“That’s because it’s true every time,” Wooyoung said smugly, but his voice lacked its usual bite. He wasn’t really trying to tease. His focus lingered on Yeosang’s face, softer now, thoughtful.

The silence stretched a little longer after that, both hybrids swept up in the comfort of a simple mundane moment. 

Then, Yeosang asked gently, like he was afraid of breaking the peace between them.

“Wooyoung… What were your parents like?”

The question hung in the air like steam before Wooyoung stilled. His hands lowered, shears paused mid air and for a moment he didn’t say anything.

Yeosang blinked and began to shift, as if to take it back, but Wooyoung stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I just haven’t thought about them in a long time.”

Yeosang didn’t press. He just waited, eyes forward, letting Wooyoung decide.

Wooyoung turned the scissors over in his hand once before he set them gently down on the sink.

He exhaled. “They weren’t really… parents. Not the way you’d think.”

Yeosang looked up at him, expression open, patient as he met Wooyoung’s eyes through the mirror.

“They weren’t bad,” he said finally. “Not in the way people usually mean when they say that. They never hurt me. They never yelled. Honestly, I don’t think they even knew how to raise their voices.”

Yeosang watched quietly, listening.

“They were… good,” Wooyoung said, the word tasting bitter. “To San’s father. They were bred for obedience. Not love.”

He glanced away from the mirror, like he couldn’t bear to see Yeosang’s expression anymore. His voice dipped quieter, almost like he was embarrassed to admit it.

“They weren’t mates,” he muttered. “Not really. They were just assigned to make me. And when I was born, I was a job too, but one they were never trained on how to do. They didn’t know what to do with me. They were kneeling waiting for orders while I was trying to figure out why no one hugged me when I cried.”

The silence that followed was full, before Wooyoung let out a humorless laugh. “I think they were more in love with seeking San’s father’s praise than they ever loved each other or me. They didn’t really have personalities.”

He turned his gaze back to the mirror, to Yeosang’s reflection, who hadn’t looked away. Still quiet. Still patient. But now his eyes had softened, his mouth turned down in something like sadness.

“I don’t blame them now,” Wooyoung added, shrugging. “They were exactly what they were trained to be. Perfectly polished and perfectly quiet.”

His jaw flexed once. “I just grew up knowing I wasn’t supposed to be anything more than that either. When I was younger I used to try really hard to get them to look at me.”

Yeosang didn’t speak. Just listened, eyes wide in the mirror.

“I’d show them drawings, or tricks I could do. I’d ask them questions just to make them talk to me like I was their kid, not just…” He swallowed. “Not just a reminder of who I was supposed to belong to. But they never knew what to say.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting both palms on the edge of the sink. “They’d smile. Bow their heads. And then go back to whatever task they’d been given. Like my existence wasn’t real unless San’s father gave them permission to acknowledge it.”

A faint, bitter laugh left his throat. “I don’t think they even knew they were doing it. They weren’t trying to hurt me. They just couldn’t be anything else.”

He straightened, expression shuttered for a moment. “I had to raise myself. Figure out how to process anything on my own. The only things I ever got told were that I was supposed to be ‘special’ and that I was made for San. That my whole purpose was to be someone else’s servant.”

Yeosang’s brows drew in at that.

Wooyoung’s lips pressed together, the bitterness giving way to something more vulnerable. “So yeah. I talked back. I didn’t kneel when I was told. I ran my mouth, I rolled my eyes, I slammed doors when I was mad.” His gaze flicked to Yeosang’s through the mirror, “Because if I didn’t I started to feel like I was disappearing.”

He exhaled again, shoulders tight. “It took me a long time to realize I wasn’t broken for wanting more than that.”

Yeosang was quiet for a moment, the gentle snipping of the scissors the only sound between them. But his eyes lingered on Wooyoung’s in the mirror, soft and thoughtful.

“What was it like with San? Back then.”

“At first?” he said, voice low. “I kinda hated him.”

Yeosang looked at him in surprise.

“I mean,” Wooyoung clarified quickly, “not because of anything he did. Just that he was the reason I was born and indirectly the reason my parents ignored me. The reason I was told over and over again that my life was already decided.”

His hands began moving again, slower now. “I wanted more than anything to belong, but just not in the way San's family expected of me.”

He shook his head, a small laugh escaping. “But it didn’t take long to realize San was the only person in that whole house who actually saw me as a person.”

Yeosang’s eyes softened further. Wooyoung continued, voice quieter. “San wasn’t allowed to help me, not really. He had to be perfect, you know? Obedient and respectful to his father. But he’d sneak me scraps from the kitchen when I didn’t finish my chores in time. He’d lend me his books, let me sit in his room when the rest of the staff were told not to let me ‘cling.’ He wasn’t supposed to talk to me unless it was an order,” A beat. “but he always did.”

Yeosang stilled his hands entirely now, comb resting lightly against Wooyoung’s head. “He was kind.”

Wooyoung nodded once. “The kindest. Even when I screamed at him, even when I said I hated him for being born into that mess. He just took it and he held me like he would erase it all if he could. He carried a lot of guilt.”

He swallowed hard, setting the scissors down carefully on the counter. “He didn’t have anyone else either growing up in that mansion, and maybe that’s why it worked.”

They were quiet again. Then Wooyoung gave a weak laugh, brushing some hair off Yeosang’s shoulder. “Bet you weren’t expecting that much drama during your haircut.”

Yeosang smiled softly, then leaned into him just a little. “I like knowing,” he said. “I like knowing you.”

Wooyoung gave Yeosang’s shoulder a warm gentle squeeze as he stood. 

Then Wooyoung cleared his throat. “C’mon. Hair’s everywhere.”

Yeosang nodded quickly, brushing loose strands from his lap and crouching to help. Neither of them said much as they worked. Yeosang swept with focused precision while Wooyoung used a damp cloth to catch the larger tufts clinging to the tile.

Once everything was clean again, Wooyoung dusted his hands and padded barefoot toward the hallway. “I swear, if that juicing machine doesn’t get delivered today, I’m staging a protest. Its already a week late.”

Yeosang tilted his head, intrigued, and followed close behind. “Juicing machine?”

Wooyoung pulled open the fridge, crouching dramatically to reveal a drawer stuffed to the brim with oranges, apples, carrots, cucumbers, beets, and ginger root. “It’s the new trend,” he said seriously, gesturing like a salesman. “All the celebrities swear by it. Supposedly good for your skin and energy…probably cures heartbreak too.”

Yeosang leaned closer, eyes wide. “All of that from juice?”

“Well, no, but,” Wooyoung stood up and shut the fridge with a grin. “It’s supposed to be good for you, and it looks cute in a glass. I already planned out, like, five combinations.”

Yeosang smiled faintly, still unsure but enchanted anyway.

Just then, the front door opened with the soft click. San stepped inside holding a large, clearly heavy box in both arms. Of course on the side in bold letters: PREMIUM COLD PRESS JUICER

“I assume this is yours,” San said dryly, arching a brow at Wooyoung as he set it down on the counter with a grunt.

Wooyoung gasped, eyes lighting up. “You got it! It actually came!”

“I got a notification that it was left downstairs,” San replied, slipping off his shoes. “Figured I’d spare the poor delivery guy another complaint from the concierge.”

“I take back every mean thing I’ve said about you this week,” Wooyoung beamed, already grabbing scissors. “Yeosang, this is going to change our lives.”

San’s eyes flicked to Yeosang, who was watching everything with quiet curiosity. “Our lives?” he echoed.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung said. Yeosang’s cheeks went a little pink at that for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. San rolled his eyes with fondness before he retreated back into his office. 

Yeosang found his place sitting primly on the counter stool across from Wooyoung, hands folded in his lap, watching with quiet fascination as Wooyoung hovered around the kitchen, muttering to himself about ratios and flavor profiles like he was preparing a cooking show.

“Okay,” Wooyoung finally said, opening the fridge drawer again. “Let’s start simple. Classic. Just carrot.”

He turned and grabbed a long, vibrant carrot from the pile and handed it off without looking. “Here. Hold this for me-”

Wooyoung blinked. Then turned.

Yeosang was holding the carrot obediently in one hand. The other half, however, was already in his mouth, his cheeks puffed slightly as he chewed. “...Sorry,” he mumbled, ears twitching. “It smelled really good.”

Wooyoung froze. And then absolutely lost it.

“Oh my god, ” he wheezed, doubling over the counter with laughter. “Carrots!? Are you serious right now?”

Yeosang blinked, confused. “I'm sorry..?” 

Wooyoung waved him off mid-cackle, already digging in his pocket for his phone. “Nothing. It’s just, hold still, you’re literally a bunny, Yeosang. This is like, fate.”

He snapped a photo just as Yeosang, still mid chew, gave a mildly puzzled look toward the camera.

“Is it bad to like carrots?” Yeosang asked, concerned.

“No, baby, no,” Wooyoung wheezed. “It’s perfect. I’m gonna frame this. San’s gonna scream.”

With a grin still tugging at his lips, Wooyoung turned back to the juicer, grabbing a few more carrots before pressing them into the funnel with flair. The machine hummed to life, and a rich orange liquid began to drip into the glass beneath.

He passed it over with a little flourish. “Alright, fellow connoisseur. First taste.”

Yeosang accepted the glass carefully, sniffed it like he’d seen Wooyoung do with wine, and took a sip.

His eyes widened. “It’s really good!”

“Of course it is.” Wooyoung preened, leaning both elbows on the counter. “Only the best for my bunny.”

Yeosang blushed faintly, fingers tightening around the glass as he sipped again.

By the time the sun began to dip low over the skyline, the juicer had been put through hell.

The kitchen counters were covered in colorful cutting boards, pulp bowls, and a growing collection of half-filled glasses, each one labeled with ingredient list sticky notes

San’s office door creaked open just enough to let a pair of hybrids pass through, shoving three shot glasses onto his desk with an impatient, “Pick a winner. Or die.”

San raised an eyebrow at the array of orange, red, and suspiciously green mixtures threatening to stain his paperwork. “Do I get to ask what’s in them?”

“No,” Wooyoung called. “We don’t want your opinion. Just your verdict.”

Yeosang popped his head over the cat hybrid’s shoulder, “I juiced the second one.”

“I’m terrified,” San muttered, but dutifully took a sip of each. He visibly flinched at the first one. “That one had celery. Didn’t it?”

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK,” Wooyoung cried from the hallway, already storming off. “You have no taste. IT'S GOOD FOR YOU. ”

San just looked over at Yeosang, who beamed and gave a tiny nod of thanks before disappearing after him.

Fifteen minutes later, both hybrids were sprawled across the couch with sickeningly full bellies with a drama episode paused at the opening scene.

“I don’t feel good,” Wooyoung groaned, clutching his stomach dramatically.

Yeosang made a small whimper in agreement and slowly slid down sideways until his head landed against Wooyoung’s thigh.

“Too much juice,” he mumbled.

Wooyoung grumbled right back, carding a hand through Yeosang’s soft hair. “I’m gonna explode.”

Yeosang just nuzzled his head further into Wooyoung’s thighs, hoping he could escape from the stomach pain.

Wooyoung clicked the remote and let the drama start up. As the episode unfolded with its usual melodramatic twists, he curled tighter around Yeosang, moving him so that he practically sat across Wooyoung’s lap, the cat hybrid’s arms tucked around his middle, squeezing lightly every now and then like he couldn’t help himself.

Wooyoung’s brows pulled together as the drama picked up steam. Some scandal involving the CEO’s long-lost twin and an affair with a rival’s daughter. His foot bounced rhythmically, mouth half open as he muttered, “No way she just said that.”

Yeosang blinked up at the screen, already lost.

He tried, really, but he could never keep up with who was related to who or which betrayal they were currently fighting about. The storylines moved so fast, and everyone’s faces sort of blended together in a blur of sleek hair and intense stares.

But Wooyoung loved it. And Yeosang loved that.

So instead of trying to understand the plot, Yeosang let himself melt closer into Wooyoung’s side. His cheek nestled against the other hybrid’s collarbone, his nose brushing just under the hem of his shirt where skin met scent. That’s what he really liked.

Wooyoung always smelled faintly of bright and clean eucalyptus. It made Yeosang’s head feel light and his limbs soft, knowing that a little piece of the essence of Wooyoung was flowing through his system. 

He didn’t even notice he was nuzzling in deeper until Wooyoung absentmindedly curled an arm tighter around him, never looking away from the screen. He probably didn’t even realize how Yeosang’s breath hitched just a little.

Yeosang closed his eyes and sighed, letting the unfamiliar drama swirl past him like background static, more focused on the rhythm of Wooyoung’s chest rising and falling, the way that scent anchored him.

He didn’t know why it made him feel so safe. But he was always left just a little dazed after Wooyoung would inevitably get up and argue with the TV screen after the episode’s end credits were rolling. 

“No, because she knew the whole time and still slept with him, like- are you stupid?” Wooyoung was practically yelling at the television now, sitting up in outrage, his finger pointed like he was about to storm into the scene himself.

San walked in from the hallway with a laundry basket in one arm and a deeply unimpressed look on his face.

“Wooyoung,” he said flatly, “you need to be quiet. It’s a drama, not a court trial.”

Wooyoung whipped around, hair falling in his face. “I am quiet!”

“You’re not,” San replied, already setting the laundry basket down. “I could hear you there and I can hear you now. Too loud. ”

Wooyoung spun around dramatically, the blanket falling from his shoulders. “You’re just mad because you know I’m right! The writing is terrible this season and I will be heard!”

San gave him a look. “Be heard quieter.”

Yeosang sat tucked in the corner of the couch, wide eyed, hiding a smile behind his fingers as the two bickered. He watched as Wooyoung pointed an accusatory finger in San’s direction.

“Oh, you wanna go, Choi San?”

San smirked. “If I held you at arms length you couldn’t even land a punch.”

“Say that again to my face, you beige linen corporate sellout-”

Wooyoung lunged, clearly not meaning to do anything serious, but halfway across the room his foot caught the edge of another blanket still draped off the couch. He went down with a completely undignified squawk, arms flailing before crashing onto the plush carpet with a thud.

There was a beat of silence.

Yeosang blinked, stunned, before then a small breath left him, and before he could stop it, a deep laugh bubbled out.

Both San and Wooyoung froze like statues, turning toward him slowly.

Yeosang’s hands flew up to his mouth, eyes wide like he’d done something wrong, but the little grin stayed on his face tucked shyly at the corners.

Then San dropped to his knees.

Like actually dropped, hands coming up to cover his face as a few unmistakable tears welled up. His shoulders shook.

“San?!” Wooyoung scrambled up off the floor, bolting to him and wrapping both arms around his waist in panic. “I'm the one that fell? Why the hell are you crying? That's supposed to be me.”

San pulled his hands down just enough to reveal a watery smile. “He laughed,” he whispered. “Yeosang actually laughed.”

Yeosang blinked again, face going pink. “I- I wasn’t-”

“You laughed,” Wooyoung said, gasping as he looked over his shoulder at Yeosang, stunned like he’d just witnessed a shooting star.

“I just-” Yeosang’s voice was small, flustered. 

“Don’t ever stop,” San said immediately, still sitting on the floor, now openly wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. “I will trip Wooyoung every day if it means you laugh again.”

Wooyoung scoffed playfully and gave a soft punch to San’s shirt, “Oh whatever!”

Yeosang just stared, overwhelmed and shy and a little delighted. He hadn’t meant to do anything important. But now San was crying, and Wooyoung was laughing, and just for a second, it really felt like home.

San finally wiped the last of his tears, checking Wooyoung for actual injury, then settled onto the couch. Wooyoung had Yeosang pulled under his arm on one side, so San took the other, slotting in close and draping a blanket over the three of them like it was instinct.

Yeosang sat stiffly for a moment, sandwiched between them, his cheeks still flushed from all the fuss. His hands folded nervously in his lap until San gently tugged one of them under the blanket, letting Yeosang's fingers rest against his side.

“Okay,” Wooyoung exhaled dramatically, grabbing the remote again. “Starting the next episode, but I promise no yelling.”

San raised an eyebrow. “You’ve said that before.”

“I mean it this time,” Wooyoung grumbled. “I’ll whisper my rage.”

Yeosang laughed softly under his breath.

As the opening theme song played, the glow from the screen washed over their faces, soft and flickering. Yeosang slowly leaned his weight into San, his shoulders relaxing more and more with every passing moment. Wooyoung’s hand found his hair again, absentmindedly stroking through it. San’s arm rested across the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing Yeosang’s shoulder in the quiet.

By the time the episode had finished, San's head had dipped forward slightly, lips parted as he breathed deep in sleep. Wooyoung was tucked into Yeosang’s shoulder, his arm looped lazily across his waist. The television was still flickering, playing the next episode quietly, but Yeosang wasn’t watching.

His hands were resting gently on the blanket, fingers fidgeting. His chest felt tight, though nothing was technically wrong. His mind had wandered to places it didn’t usually go when he was with them. The uncertainty of Wooyoung’s heat, and the days of neglect that had persued the days before. The constant measuring and observation of Wooyoung’s mood. The mix of the unfamiliar ache he’d been feeling more and more lately, after so many good things.

He shifted slightly, unsure of the feeling building in his chest. He swallowed. His voice came out as a whisper, uncertain.

“Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung stirred, blinking groggily. “Mhm?”

Yeosang hesitated. “Will you sleep in my room tonight?”

The question was barely audible, and his eyes darted away. But Wooyoung was already sitting up, brushing sleep from his face.

“Of course I will,” he said gently, without hesitation.

Yeosang's shoulders dropped in relief. Wooyoung looked over at San, still peacefully asleep on Yeosang’s other side, then leaned in and gave his arm a little shake.

“San,” he whispered. “Hey. Come on, move to your bed. We’re gonna sleep in Yeosang’s room.”

San blinked, confused for a second before nodding wordlessly. He yawned, stretching once, then gave Yeosang’s arm a reassuring squeeze before shuffling toward his room.

Yeosang stood slowly, following Wooyoung down the hall. The quiet pads of their footsteps echoed gently, the lights dim and soft.

Once in his room, Yeosang climbed into bed first, and Wooyoung followed, tucking himself in beside him.

There was a moment of quiet as Yeosang turned to face him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Wooyoung offered a little smile, reaching over to pull the blanket higher around Yeosang’s shoulders.

“Anytime,” he said. “You don’t have to ask. I'd never pass up an opportunity to cuddle with my favorite carrot eating bunny.”

Yeosang curled close to Wooyoung under the covers, his head nestled against his chest, fingers resting lightly on his ribs. He’d stopped trembling a while ago, soothed by Wooyoung’s steady presence, but his body was still humming with a different kind of need.

“Woo,” he whispered, tilting his head up, his voice soft and pliant, waiting for the little hum of agreement from the cat hybrid.

“Are we okay?” Yeosang quietly muttered out. 

Wooyoung froze up a little under Yeosang’s touch, “Of course we’re okay bunny. What’s troubling you?” 

Yeosang hesitated for a good while, trying to mix different combinations of words in his mind, figuring out which one correctly summarized his thoughts. 

“Before your heat… I thought that maybe you didn’t like me anymore.” 

Wooyoung deflated as he knew exactly what Yeosang had been referring to.

He let out a breath, one arm coming up to wrap around Yeosang’s back, pulling him a little closer. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of Yeosang’s sleep shirt, brushing along the warm skin of his spine, soothing in the way that always made Yeosang melt a little.

“Bunny,” Wooyoung said gently. “I was hurting. But not because of you.”

Yeosang nodded against him, but the tension in his hand gave him away. “You barely looked at me.”

“I know,” Wooyoung admitted. “I was stuck in my head. Comparing myself, thinking stupid things. But that was on me. I just needed a minute to catch up to everything I was feeling.”

Yeosang shifted up, resting his chin on Wooyoung’s chest now, eyes wide and honest. “I kept trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

“Oh baby,” Wooyoung said, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing under Yeosang’s eye. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Will you kiss me?”

Wooyoung looked down at him, eyes catching the gleam of the moonlight. He grinned.

“God, you're spoiled,” he murmured, brushing Yeosang’s bangs off his forehead. “I just held you and now you’re asking for more?”

Yeosang blinked up at him, lips slightly parted, pink and wanting. “Please?”

Wooyoung sighed dramatically. “Fine,” he teased, shifting to hover just above him, his voice dropping low and sweet. “But only because you’re cute.”

The moment their mouths met, Yeosang melted like wax under a flame.

It wasn’t shy or tentative. Yeosang kissed like he needed to prove it. His hands slipped around Wooyoung’s waist, pulling him in closer, his lips parting easily. Wooyoung deepened it with a little hum, smiling into it, already dazed by how naturally Yeosang responded like he was made to be touched and adored. Every fluid movement convinced Wooyoung more and more than he would do anything for Yeosang.

A big part of Yeosang needed this intimacy. Although sharing both of their heats was the most amazing experience, Yeosang needed to do this for them both while they were lucid. He needed to show Wooyoung how much he loved him. 

“You’re insatiable,” Wooyoung whispered against his lips as they broke for a breath.

Yeosang’s eyes fluttered open, his pupils blown wide, mouth kiss-swollen. “I like it when you touch me,” he said simply, pressing his cheek against Wooyoung’s shoulder. “It makes everything stop buzzing in my head.”

Wooyoung’s chest ached, but he didn’t show it. Instead, he rolled them gently so Yeosang was tucked safely beside him again, his fingers stroking along Yeosang’s hip as he leaned in for another kiss.

“Well,” he murmured with a grin, “if it’s for medicinal purposes…”

Yeosang giggled against his lips light and breathless while he pulled him back down. They kissed again. And again. And again.

Yeosang didn’t want to sleep. Not with Wooyoung beside him. Not when he felt so warm and safe and full of want. His fingertips trailed across Wooyoung’s side in slow patterns, memorizing the shape of him in the dark. Wooyoung lay still, breathing steady, until finally he cracked one eye open.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

“You’re so pretty,” Yeosang replied.

Wooyoung huffed a little laugh, surprised. “You’re dangerous when you get comfortable.”

Yeosang didn’t smile this time. Instead, he leaned in, brushing their mouths together again soft and deliberate. His hand slid from Wooyoung’s side up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking along the edge of his jaw. When Wooyoung kissed him back, he felt Yeosang’s whole body arch closer, almost instinctively, like a flower leaning into the sun.

It deepened again easily. Yeosang’s legs slipped between Wooyoung’s, breath hitching slightly when Wooyoung’s hand settled on his thigh.

“You want more?” Wooyoung whispered, eyes locked with his.

Yeosang nodded.

“Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Please. I need it.”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, before it shifted to hunger. He leaned in to kiss down Yeosang’s jaw, his neck, the sensitive dip behind his ear. Yeosang shivered, hands clinging to Wooyoung’s shirt like a lifeline.

“Okay,” Wooyoung murmured against his throat. “But we go slow.”

Yeosang nodded again, already breathless, heart fluttering in his chest like wings. He was so open, so ready for affection, for closeness and every little touch soaked in meaning.

Clothing was pushed away with care, fingertips learning new pieces of each other. Wooyoung’s hands were gentle but sure, coaxing soft gasps from Yeosang as he explored him while memorizing the sounds he made and the way he arched and twisted under him.

Yeosang didn’t hold back. He moaned, whispered, whined softly when he wanted more. He kissed Wooyoung with everything he had. No shame, but pure unadulterated love.

“God, you’re so good,” Wooyoung whispered as he guided Yeosang through it, voice warm and low. “You’re perfect like this.”

Yeosang’s eyes fluttered closed, his body trembling as he clung to him. “I just want to be good for you.”

“You already are.”

Wooyoung kissed down the slope of Yeosang’s neck again, tasting the heat of his skin of his jasmine scent. Yeosang gasped softly, clutching at his shirt like he was afraid to be left behind in the moment. He was trembling from the unfamiliar weight of being cherished. Every kiss, every brush of Wooyoung’s hand was given without expectation. And that made it all the more overwhelming.

Yeosang’s hands hovered, unsure, before finally sliding along Wooyoung’s sides. He wanted so badly to do this right. His fingertips explored with delicate, precise strokes, just like he’d been taught to anticipate, please, and serve. But Wooyoung paused, caught his wrists gently.

“You don’t have to think so hard about it. Just touch me like you want to.”

Yeosang swallowed, his face flushing deep pink. He nodded, a little breathless, and when he touched Wooyoung again, it wasn’t with the crisp, practiced gestures he had been trained for or the rash desperation of his heat, it was with sober curiosity. Gentle fingers sliding along his hip, feeling the soft give of skin, the flex of muscle beneath. Wooyoung guided him with murmured encouragement, shifting closer, moving in a rhythm that Yeosang could follow.

In the midst of their handsy exploration, both of the hybrids simultaneously slid their hands into the other’s fronts, gently cupping, both cocklets beginning to drip with excitement. Yeosang wrapped his hand around the small shaft, caressing the tip while he used soft dragging movements. Wooyoung moaned just a soft, unguarded sound, Yeosang’s lips parted in wonder. That changed something in Yeosang. He grew bolder. His hands moved with more certainty, not chasing approval, but seeking connection.

His kisses turned needy, clinging, as if he were trying to memorize Wooyoung’s mouth from the inside out. Not just because he was good at it. But because he wanted him to feel it and know how much he needed him.

Wooyoung mirrored Yeosang’s pace, but he could tell that the other was so focused on pleasuring Wooyoung that he wasn’t paying much attention to what was being done to him. Every time Wooyoung let out a soft sound Yeosang’s eyes fluttered, lips parting like it was the only oxygen he needed. His hands moved more eagerly, more earnestly, desperate to keep coaxing those sounds out of Wooyoung, like they were proof he was doing something right.

“Yeosang…” Wooyoung gasped, tilting his head back into the pillow as Yeosang kissed down his throat with slow, determined reverence. “You don’t have to-”

“Please, please let me,” Yeosang murmured quickly, interrupting, his voice breathless and heavy with need. “I need to.”

Wooyoung looked down at him, flush high on his cheeks, the dark gleam of his eyes clouded with hunger for validation. Not even from Wooyoung directly, but from the sounds he could pull from him. Like every whimper and groan was a ribbon being tied around Yeosang’s spine, holding him upright.

Wooyoung shuddered as Yeosang’s mouth moved lower, pressing kisses that felt more like worship than desire. And he realized then, Yeosang wasn’t trying to perform. He wasn’t following training. He was unraveling. Losing himself in the intimate discovery that he could affect someone like this. That he could be the cause of something so tender and powerful.

“You like hearing me, huh?” Wooyoung teased, trying to catch his breath as he threaded a hand into Yeosang’s soft hair and ears. “You’re a little addicted.”

Yeosang nodded in approval but his attention was elsewhere as he ducked back down to Wooyoung’s lower body. He made quick work of ridding Wooyoung of his offending pants before he dove back into dragging his tongue all over Wooyoung’s length. Yeosang took in deep breaths in between licks, trying to get Wooyong’s eucalyptus scent as deep into his nostrils as he could.

Yeosang looked up at him, dazed. “I… I didn’t know it would feel this good. Hearing you. But it's different too, because it makes me feel good doing it.”

Wooyoung laughed, a little breathless, pulling Yeosang up by the shoulders so their chests were pressed close. “It’s okay, baby. Keep going. You can make me feel good, if that’s what you want.”

Yeosang blinked at the movement, as if only now remembering that he was being touched at all. His body was flushed, aching, but he’d barely noticed it as his mind had been so full of Wooyoung. Wooyoung rolled his hips against him slowly, just enough to make Yeosang gasp. “See?” he whispered. “You don’t have to choose between giving and receiving.”

Yeosang bit his lip, breath hitching again. “I don't want you to think about anything else. I want all of your attention.”

Yeosang's hands stilled on Wooyoung’s waist, his breath a little unsteady as something new flickered behind his eyes. A thought had bloomed quietly in his head as his fingers tightened slightly in decision. 

“I… want to try something,” Yeosang said softly, lifting his gaze to meet Wooyoung’s.

Wooyoung blinked, a bit dazed from the lingering touches, moving some sweaty hair from Yeosang’s forehead.

“Yeah? What is it?”

Yeosang hesitated, licking his lips. “I… want to tie your hands.”

There was a beat of silence.

Wooyoung’s brows rose slightly in surprise, but there was no judgment, only curiosity. “Oh?”

“I want you to feel everything,” Yeosang said, a little breathless now, the words pouring out before he could second-guess them. “I want to give you everything, and… and if you can’t touch me, then all you’ll be able to do is feel . ”

His voice got smaller. “Is that… okay?”

Wooyoung stared at him for a moment longer, and then something melted in his expression. “Fuck, you really are dangerous when you’re confident.”

Yeosang blinked. “So…?”

Wooyoung smirked, crossing his arms above his head with a lazy roll of his shoulders. “Tie me up, pretty bunny.”

Yeosang flushed instantly, the tips of his ears going pink but he moved with surprising focus, glancing around before tugging one of the spare pillowcases off a nearby throw. 

His touch was gentle as he guided Wooyoung’s wrists and knotted the makeshift restraint around one of the bed’s headboard slats. He kept checking Wooyoung’s face as he did, unsure if he was doing it right, as the knot was pretty shitty, but Wooyoung bit his lip and smirked up at Yeosang in adoration anyway. 

Yeosang paused to take it all in: Wooyoung, laid out bare and beautiful, chest rising and falling in anticipation. He looked vulnerable in a way Yeosang hadn’t expected to see from somebody underneath him. He could have never imagined having this much control over somebody else in his life. 

Yeosang whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to his collarbone. “Now all you can think about is me.”

Every inch of skin was given attention from fingertips, lips, to tongue. Every sound Wooyoung made was a spark in Yeosang’s chest, fueling him, guiding him. He was single minded in his devotion, the act no longer about earning or training. It was about Wooyoung . About learning him and mapping him.

Yeosang knelt between Wooyoung’s spread thighs, as he reached with careful fingers, brushing along the inside of Wooyoung’s thigh, watching how the other’s breath caught at the touch. Slowly he slicked his fingers with the existing slick Wooyoung had produced and pressed one in, easing it past resistance with a soft patience. The other hand found its place caressing Wooyoung’s length, hands working in tandem. 

He watched Wooyoung’s face the entire time, transfixed. Every flick of his ears, every subtle arch in his back, every tiny, strangled sound. Yeosang filed each of them in his brain.

“More?” he whispered.

Wooyoung nodded, breathless, tugging weakly at the restraints.

Yeosang added another finger, curling them gently inside, searching and watching for the way Wooyoung gasped, his legs shifting, hips pushing down. The noise he made was soft and high, and it shot straight to Yeosang’s chest like lightning.

He set a slow rhythm, dragging his fingers in and out with delicate precision, twisting just right, pressing into the spot that made Wooyoung keen. Yeosang’s eyes never left his face. It was like watching the most mesmerizing painting come to life under his hands.

Wooyoung was unraveling quickly, chest rising in stuttered breaths, mouth falling open as his body chased the edge.

But just as his thighs began to tremble, just as his muscles tensed, Yeosang stopped.

Wooyoung let out a broken sound, blinking up at him in disbelief.

“Why-”

“I’m not done.” Yeosang said quietly, gently pulling his fingers out. “I don’t want this to be over.”

Wooyoung let out a wrecked laugh, dropping his head back against the pillow. “You’re cruel.”

Yeosang leaned forward, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I want to remember how you sound when I touch you. I want to keep feeling every part of you.”

And he did it again.

Again and again, bringing Wooyoung to the edge, watching him fall apart, only to pull him back from it each time. Each denial made Wooyoung softer, shakier, moaning openly now with no filter, the way his voice pitched and broke making Yeosang ache.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Yeosang whispered as he pushed his fingers back in, deeper this time, his thumb brushing low and slow at the base. “You’re mine right now, okay? Just mine.”

He wanted Wooyoung to beg. Not out of power play, but because it meant Wooyoung needed him. Because for once, he was the one who held the warmth, the pleasure, the affection and he wanted to give it all at his own pace. 

Wooyoung could barely answer. His thighs were trembling, wrists flexing against the restraint, chest rising in fast little bursts as he moaned and whimpered Yeosang’s name like a prayer.

“Please—please, Yeosang—”

But Yeosang just kissed his stomach and whispered, “Not yet.”

Wooyoung’s eyes were glassy, tears clinging to his lashes from the sheer intensity of it all. His entire body trembled, slick with sweat, thighs taut and quivering. He was writhing under Yeosang’s relentless attention, wrecked sounds pouring from his mouth with no restraint left to bite them down.

“Yeosang—please—please, I can’t—” he gasped, hips twitching uselessly into the air. His chest heaved as sob like moans spilled out of him, and his voice cracked with overstimulation. “I need—please, I need —”

Yeosang froze, the tone slicing through him.

He looked up, watching as Wooyoung blinked against flowing tears, head turned to the side like he was ashamed of how undone he’d become. The weak tie of the pillow strained as his fingers twitched open, desperate to reach.

Yeosang leaned forward immediately, cradling his cheek, his voice so soft it almost didn’t match the way he had been pushing him to the edge all night.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. You can let go now.”

The moment his fingers curled inside again hitting just right, Wooyoung shattered.

His entire body tensed, then arched up violently, a sob tearing from his throat as the orgasm crashed over him with unrelenting force. His hands, no longer choosing to stay bound, slipped right through the flimsy knot and grabbed onto Yeosang’s shoulders with shaking fingers.

He screamed, loud and desperate, as if his whole body had been holding back a tide and it finally slammed free. His nails dug into Yeosang’s arms, and his back arched, a beautiful, broken cry echoing around the room as his body convulsed.

Yeosang held him through it, murmuring softly, his hands stroking Wooyoung’s length, pressing kisses to the inside of his trembling thigh. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you…”

Wooyoung’s breathing stuttered and collapsed into hiccuping gasps, completely limp in Yeosang’s arms. His head fell back onto the pillow, lashes fluttering shut, his fingers still clutching at Yeosang’s skin like he was afraid he’d disappear.

Yeosang kissed his knee, then his hipbone, then slowly worked his way up until they were chest to chest. He cupped Wooyoung’s jaw gently, brushing his thumbs under wet lashes, and whispered again, more reverent this time, although Wooyoung was already slipping into sleep before he could register what the bunny hybrid had said. 

The soft clinking of silverware and glass filled the kitchen as Yeosang and Wooyoung sat side by side at the table, still sleepy but content. Wooyoung had his cheek resting on his hand, still blinking lazily, while Yeosang sat upright, ears perked slightly as he watched San move around the kitchen with practiced ease.

San brought over their plates one by one and set down two tall glasses of freshly pressed juice beside them.

“Grapefruit and kiwi,” he said, taking his own seat with a quiet sigh. “Supposed to be good for focus. And digestion.”

“Mm,” Wooyoung mumbled, already sipping.

San raised an eyebrow. “Glad you two are up early. I wasn’t sure after…” he trailed off with a falsely thoughtful hum, then added lightly, “...whatever that shrieking sound was coming from Yeosang’s room last night.”

Wooyoung choked.

His entire face flushed crimson as he sputtered into his juice, coughing violently into his elbow.

Yeosang, completely unfazed, just reached for his fork. “Oh,” he said casually. “Wooyoung let me tie his hands to the headboard last night.”

San froze, not anticipating the outright answer, although in hindsight he should have expected it. Wooyoung let out an incoherent wheeze, nearly knocking over his plate as he kicked Yeosang hard under the table.

“Yeosang! ” he shrieked.

Yeosang blinked, confused by the reaction. “What? That’s what happened.”

San had both hands covering his mouth, but it was useless as he was absolutely wheezing with laughter, trying not to fall sideways in his chair. “You really said that with your whole chest, huh?”

Wooyoung buried his face in his arms, groaning into the table. Yeosang just took a bite of potato and chewed. “San asked.”

Notes:

beige linen corporate sellout. LMAOOOOOOO

Chapter 16

San had his phone wedged between a tense shoulder and ear, scrolling idly through his cufflink case.

“Make sure you speak to Admiral Han, thank Minister Park, and check in with Taewon before dessert,” his father said briskly on the other end. “Avoid Shin. At least leave before the second bottle is opened.”

San hummed low in acknowledgment. “Anything else?”

“That’s enough.” A brief pause. “You’ll handle the rest.”

The line went dead. San slipped the phone into his pocket without missing a beat. He sighed to nobody but himself before checking in on the hybrids. 

At the dining table, Wooyoung was bent over Yeosang with the kind of focus he rarely gave anything but dramas. A small array of brushes, powders, and palettes were spread out in organized chaos over the table.

“Close your eyes for me,” Wooyoung murmured. Yeosang obeyed instantly.

A soft sweep of shimmer went across his lids. “Perfect. Your eyes are really going to shine with this color.”

Yeosang’s lips twitched into a shy smile.

Wooyoung tilted his head, studying him from another angle before brushing a little highlighter along his cheekbones. “You make my job easy Bunny, you’re already beautiful.”

Yeosang blinked at him, ears angled forward like he was collecting every word.

“Little more here,” Wooyoung said, dabbing at the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to blind them under the lights. Most beautiful hybrid there.”

Yeosang shifted in his chair, clearly pleased but trying to keep still for the brush in Wooyoung’s hand. His gaze softened, following Wooyoung’s face like the words alone could anchor him.

Wooyoung smiled faintly, leaning back to take in the whole picture. “Almost done, bunny. Just one more touch.”

He picked up a thin brush and traced the lightest shimmer along Yeosang’s jaw, then leaned away with a satisfied sigh. “There. If San doesn’t parade you around like the crown jewel you are tonight, I’ll be offended.”

San stepped into the room, straightening the cuffs of his suit jacket as he came in. The dark fabric hugged his frame just right and clean lines made his shoulders look sharper. The faint trace of his cologne drifted ahead of him.

Both hybrids froze.

Yeosang’s eyes swept over him like he’d forgotten how to blink, lips parting open in a gape before he caught himself. Wooyoung wasn’t much better, his gaze dragging from San’s polished shoes all the way up to his hair, perfectly styled, a slow grin creeping onto his face.

San slowed, feeling their stares. “What?” he asked, his voice a little quieter than usual.

“Nothing,” Wooyoung said, smirk still firmly in place.

Yeosang shook his head. “You look…” His words drifted off but he finished with an eager nod.

A faint flush rose in San’s cheeks as he looked away. “Thanks,” he muttered, running a hand down his sleeve like it needed straightening.

Quickly changing the subject, San spoke softly, “Wooyoung, would you mind helping me find something in my closet?”

Wooyoung looked up hesitantly before setting his makeup brush down, giving Yeosang a smile before following San back into the hallway.

As they both made it to the closet, San in front of him stood giving Wooyoung a knowing look as if trying to see past his composed surface and gaze into the swarm of his mind. 

Wooyoung swallowed slowly, the weight of those silent words pressing down on him. It became harder and harder to hold San’s steady gaze, so he let his eyes drop, blinking back the tightness in his throat.

San waited quietly giving Wooyoung the space to gather himself. The silence between them was thick but comforting. After a long moment, Wooyoung’s shoulders trembled, and a single tear escaped, trailing down his cheek. He hastily wiped it away, embarrassed, but San reached out gently, brushing it off with the softest touch.

“You don’t have to hold it in,” San whispered.

Wooyoung blinked up at him, eyes glossy, before letting the tears fall more freely, finally allowing the flood of emotions he’d been bottling up.

San didn’t say anything else. He just stood there, steady and present as the one safe place Wooyoung could lean on.

 

The grand chandeliers set a warm light on the royal blue velvet curtains throughout the grand venue as San stepped through first, his posture immediately shifting. Yeosang could feel the way his shoulders squared, jaw set, and eyes pointed sharp. The subtle warmth reserved for Yeosang folded neatly away behind a mask of polished authority. In this room San was a leader and a force to be reckoned with.

Yeosang followed close as his collar gleamed under the lighting. He moved with practiced grace, gaze bowed just enough to show submission, yet there was a quiet pride flickering in his eyes only hoping to mask his eager desire.

As the room’s chatter rose, San’s presence cut through it like a blade. His voice was smooth but firm, exchanging brief, measured pleasantries with military officials and socialites alike. They never spent long talking to one single person, as San tried his best to keep conversations surface before the other could ask intrusive questions. Yeosang could tell that there was a long list of people San was required to talk to. 

He was undeniably commanding. Yeosang could tell every gesture was precise and had purpose. In some conversations he might turn to adjust Yeosang’s collar mid sentence, asserting a sort of unspoken power. In others he might unexpectedly switch what side Yeosang was standing next to him, as to show that the bunny would heed his every call. 

Yet when his gaze softened toward Yeosang in private moments, it was a secret touch of tenderness hidden beneath the sharp exterior. Yeosang couldn't help but shiver at the drastic shifts in San’s demeanor. 

From his position just behind San’s shoulder, Yeosang let his gaze wander. Never openly, but the words of the business conversations slid past him, names and figures and politics that weren’t his to hold. Instead, he studied the other hybrids.

You could tell a great deal about a man by the leash in his hand. Some paraded around sleek leopard or wolf hybrids, their sharpness meant to mirror the predatory weight of their owner’s presence. Others had chosen delicate prey hybrids such as sheep or trembling fawns representing a living ornament meant to make their handler’s dominance more glaring.

It was almost easy to see who was full of bluster and who wasn’t. Men who needed the spectacle of their hybrid to announce their status usually had very little to stand on without it. The truly high class, the men whose names didn’t need explanation, carried themselves without theatrics. Their hybrids were understated and proof enough that their worth didn’t require a performance.

Yeosang filed these observations away silently, the way he always did, though his attention returned to San every few moments, proud to stand where he stood.

It didn’t take long for the attention to find him.

A tall man in a dark, impeccably tailored suit crossed the floor with a confidence that made other guests turn. Yeosang recognized the subtle shift in San’s posture as he greeted the man with an incline of his head.

“Choi,” the man said, clasping San’s hand firmly before his gaze dropped to Yeosang. “And this must be your newest addition. We all can't help but buzz about the Choi San’s big bid at the auction this year.”

Yeosang bowed his head slightly, holding still as the man reached forward, brushing his thumb along the rim of one ear. The touch lingered just long enough to feel proprietary. San’s smile stayed in place, the sort he wore when there was no room for argument, only strategy.

“Exceptional,” the man murmured, releasing him at last. “You’ve done well.”

“Thank you, sir,” San replied smoothly, and Yeosang felt the leash slacken again only when the man moved on.

San’s pace was steady as they moved through the crowd, pausing now and then when a familiar face hailed him. 

“Choi,” he greeted warmly, clasping San’s hand with a firm shake before his attention dropped to Yeosang. His eyes swept over him appraisingly.

“So this is the famous bunny everyone’s talking about,” the man said with a low chuckle. “You think you paid a grand sum for him? Just be glad I wasn’t there that night.” His grin widened, almost predatory. “I’d have been ready to spend double.”

San’s answering smile was perfectly polite, his grip on the man’s handshake neither too loose nor too firm. “Then I suppose it’s fortunate for me that you had other plans,” he replied evenly. “It might have gotten expensive for both of us.”

The man laughed, clapping San on the shoulder as though they’d shared a joke, before melting back into the crowd with a parting nod.

Yeosang felt the faintest brush of San’s fingers against his lower back, guiding him onward. San’s expression hadn’t changed, but there was a slight tension in his posture, read like a quiet warning.

Later, another guest approached. No doubt a younger officer, cheeks pink from booze. His eyes locked on Yeosang’s ears almost immediately, and before he’d even introduced himself, his hand was halfway there.

San’s grip shot out, catching the man’s wrist before it could make contact.

“I’m afraid that’s off limits,” San said evenly, his tone polite but final. “If you’ll excuse us.”

The man stammered something about meaning no offense, but San had already turned, guiding Yeosang away with an unyielding hand at the small of his back. The brief flicker of relief that warmed Yeosang’s chest was hard to hide, so he didn’t bother trying.

With each passing conversation, Yeosang could tell that San was starting to get burnt out. At least Yeosang had the favor of being able to tune out most of the talk that had happened above him, but he recognized how San had been playing mental chess throughout each of these conversations. Some men pestered San about upcoming policy changes, budget reports, or even petty work drama. San navigated every answer, trying his best to respond with something understanding, yet measured enough to give nothing away. It was a balancing act, offering just enough to appease without committing to anything. 

In a break of conversations, a moment where nobody had dragged him from the end of one conversation to the next, San finally found a stretch of unoccupied chairs along the edge of the room, just far enough from the thick of the crowd that the hum of voices dropped into a more tolerable murmur. He sat heavily, resting one arm on the back of the chair, the other hand still loosely holding Yeosang’s leash.

Yeosang lowered himself to the floor at San’s feet without a word, folding his legs neatly under him and placing his hands in his lap. His gaze stayed down, but he could feel the faint pull in the leash from San, asking him to be close. Yeosang happily leaned over enough so that his head could rest against San’s thigh, and let his head be softly pet.

“Long night already?”

San glanced up to see Hongjoong approaching with his half quirked smile, Seonghwa just a half step behind him, posture as rigid as ever.

“Something like that,” San replied, voice low, starting to rise in order to properly greet Hongjoong.

Hongjoong’s mouth curved knowingly. “No, please, stay seated. I’ll take the one next to you.” He slid into the chair without waiting for an answer, resting his forearms on his knees. He lightly tapped the slack of the leash in two quick motions, signalling for Seonghwa to kneel next to his chair. 

Yeosang let himself steal a sidelong glance. The caracal hybrid’s ears were tipped in soft black, the tufts curling slightly forward. His expression was neutral, with a tinge of anxious observation, enough tension in his jaw just enough for Yeosang to notice.

San leaned back slightly in his chair, stretching one leg just enough to ease the ache in his calf. Hongjoong mirrored the posture though there was a faint glint in his eyes, like he was studying the man in front of him as much as making small talk.

“Busy night for you,” Hongjoong said, voice even but warm, one hand resting loosely on his knee. “I’ve seen you shake more hands in the past hour than I think I’ve done all quarter.”

San let out a small breath of a laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “For me, events like these come with a very long checklist of people who I either need to see, or apparently need to see me.”

“Seems like you manage just fine,” Hongjoong replied. His gaze drifted briefly to Yeosang, then back. “Though I suppose having him at your side helps.”

San’s fingers brushed Yeosang’s leash almost absently. “He’s… well suited to events like this.” The pause was deliberate, neither praise nor dismissal.

Hongjoong tilted his head slightly. “As you know Seonghwa’s my first,” he said after a moment, “One day I was sitting at a desk, the next I was driving to the airport to pick up someone I knew nothing about except the price I wrote on the check.”

“That’s one way to enter the lifestyle,” San said mildly. There was a faint edge of amusement in his tone, but no judgment.

Hongjoong huffed a laugh. “Let’s just say I’m still learning the ropes. Most of the people here… seem to have been doing this for years.”

San’s eyes tracked the room briefly before returning to Hongjoong. “Years don’t always make for better judgment.”

That earned him a quiet smile from Hongjoong, one that didn’t quite match the empty pleasantries exchanged elsewhere in the room. “Refreshing to hear.”

San’s gaze shifted briefly to the hybrid kneeling quietly. “Caracal,” he said evenly, the faintest note of curiosity threading his tone. “Not a common sight here.”

Hongjoong’s mouth quirked in a small smile. “I simply couldn’t resist, I mean, he’s the most gorgeous specimen I've ever laid eyes on. No price tag could have ever deterred me from acquiring him.” His fingers tapped absently against the arm of his chair as he fondly looked down at Seonghwa.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Seonghwa’s gaze didn’t waver from the floor, but Yeosang caught the way his ear twitched at the mention of his breed, the smallest betrayal of awareness in an otherwise perfectly still frame.

A waiter drifted past with a tray of champagne flutes, the golden liquid catching the light from the chandeliers. Hongjoong lifted his hand to wave them over, smiling as if the simple act of being offered a drink was a pleasant surprise.

“Here,” he said, taking two glasses before the waiter could even finish offering the tray. He held one out to San with a casual warmth. “Can’t let you walk around empty handed at an event like this. People will think you’re either working or plotting.”

San accepted it with a small nod. “Or both.”

Hongjoong laughed under his breath and took a sip as his gaze drifted across the ballroom, his expression sharpening in recognition. “Ah, there’s someone I need to speak with,” he murmured to San, already rising from his seat. “Would you mind keeping an eye on Seonghwa for just a minute?”

Before San could answer, Hongjoong leaned down and hastily handed the long thick leather leash to San. “Thank you,” he said quickly, then slipped into the crowd.

San adjusted in his seat, the weight of two leashes now resting in his hand. Yeosang’s, which he had grown used to, and Seonghwa’s, which felt foreign in contrast. Yeosang knelt at his other side, quiet as ever, but San caught the flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

At first, Seonghwa remained perfectly still, gaze fixed ahead, back straight. But within a minute, San noticed the subtle shift in the way his breathing began to quicken, and the tension in his shoulders.

His ears twitched once, twice, then started flicking in restless, almost frantic bursts.

Yeosang noticed too, smelling the sour scent emanating from Seonghwa before anything happened. His head tilted slightly toward San, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them. A couple of nearby guests glanced over, catching the movement from the corner of their eyes.

San acted before it could draw more attention. He reached out, laying a steady hand on top of Seonghwa’s head. The movement was gentle but sure, stilling the chaotic twitch of his ears. Leaning forward just enough to keep the words between them, San spoke low and even.

“You’re alright,” he murmured, his voice a quiet anchor beneath the swell of music and conversation. “He’s just over there. You’re safe.”

Seonghwa’s breathing hitched, but he didn’t pull away from the touch. San kept his hand there, the pressure a wordless reminder that someone was watching over him. Yeosang stayed still beside them, his gaze forward but his focus clearly fixed on Seonghwa’s recovery.

The moment held, fragile and contained, until Seonghwa’s breathing began to even out again.

San kept the firm pressure on the caracal’s head a moment longer, feeling the faint tremor beneath his palm. It didn’t take a soldier’s training to see it. This wasn’t simple nervousness. This was fear that had been learned somewhere deep, the kind that sat under the skin and came alive the second its anchor slipped away.

Seonghwa hadn’t even tried to mask it. One moment he was composed, the next he was unraveling. San didn’t know the story, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the possibilities. He doubted Hongjoong was the type to hurt him; the man’s sharp smile hid plenty, but cruelty didn’t seem to be one of them.

And yet the way Seonghwa came apart so fast, as though the ground had tilted beneath him the second Hongjoong stepped away, spoke of something else.

Dependence? Maybe the kind born from prior years of unpredictability, or maybe from a desire to be kept safe. San was well aware of loose regulations on overseas breeding mills. Whatever it was, Hongjoong had either never seen it this clearly or had somehow chosen to ignore it. Because surely, if he’d known Seonghwa would react like this, he wouldn’t have left him so casually.

San kept his face neutral, the picture of a man simply waiting for a friend to return. But inside, the observation settled heavily, slotting itself alongside the dozens of other quiet truths he’d collected tonight.

When Hongjoong reappeared through the crowd, weaving his way back to their table, San let his expression shift into something easy and unbothered. Hongjoong sank into his chair, the confident smile of a man who’d just finished a pleasant conversation.

“So,” Hongjoong said lightly, taking back the thick leather leash from San. “Did he behave for you?”

The question was clearly meant as a joke, but Seonghwa’s head shot up, ears pinning flat, eyes wide in sudden panic. He looked straight at San, the unspoken plea clear as day. Don’t tell him.

San met that gaze for just a second, then smoothed it away with a warm, professional smile. “Perfect,” he said without hesitation. “As always.”

Something in Seonghwa’s shoulders eased instantly. He leaned back toward Hongjoong’s legs as the man crossed one ankle over his knee, the leash falling slack between them. Whatever tension had been coiled in him, it loosened in that quiet relief, and San said nothing more.

Hongjoong’s hand had fallen into an easy, practiced rhythm, stroking over the length of Seonghwa’s ears and combing lightly through the hybrid’s hair. The motion seemed second nature and Seonghwa leaned into it like a plant finding sunlight.

Hongjoong started talking about the man he’d gone to speak to, some superior in his company. He offered names San didn’t recognize, summarized their exchange in the polite, vaguely boastful way people did at these events. 

San nodded at the right moments, keeping his expression polite, but on the inside he was no closer to understanding what exactly was going on between the two of them. Seonghwa’s earlier unraveling, the way his breathing had quickened and his ears had twitched without Hongjoong nearby, didn’t seem to be on Hongjoong’s radar at all. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

It puzzled San how easily Seonghwa had come apart, and how easily Hongjoong had left him in the first place. The man didn’t seem cruel, didn’t carry that cold, heavy presence San had seen in so many hybrid owners. But whatever their bond was, it wasn’t simple.

The gala wound down with speeches that dragged on far too long, stretching even longer depending on how much champagne the speaker had managed to sneak between toasts. San sat through them with a practiced, neutral expression, though inside he was practically counting the seconds until they could leave.

By the time they slipped away, Yeosang trailing obediently at his side, the night had already settled into that heavy, late hour quiet. The drive home was wrapped in silence, too tired to fill it, but several things mulled in San’s mind. 

When he finally eased the car into the private garage beneath his building, he killed the engine and leaned back in the seat with a quiet sigh. Yeosang’s eyes, half lidded from fatigue, turned to him curiously.

San’s voice broke the stillness, no longer to contain the sentiments filling his mind. "Hongjoong and Seonghwa… what do you make of them?"

Yeosang hesitated, not wanting to somehow offend newfound friends of San. “Seonghwa is very obedient.” he said at last, “And very beautiful. And Hongjoong takes a lot of pride in him.”

It was the kind of answer that felt safe so San could agree with and move on. San gave a short nod, eyes flicking toward the windshield, but didn’t move to exit the car.

“Maybe,” he said after a moment. “But what happened tonight… seemed odd.”

Yeosang looked at him then, a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. San didn’t elaborate immediately as his gaze lingered on the darkened windshield for a couple beats. 

“Did Hongjoong know… how Seonghwa would react when he left him like that? If he walked away so easily, maybe he didn’t realize how deep Seonghwa’s panic runs.”

He turned slightly to glance at Yeosang, searching for any reaction.

“It makes me wonder how much Hongjoong understands about him. I know it's not my place but I can't help but think about it.”

Yeosang hummed thoughtfully, but couldn’t figure out a response. It felt a little invasive to have an opinion on the matter. 

San’s thoughts flicked back to that desperate look Seonghwa had given him. The one that said loud and clear that Seonghwa didn’t want Hongjoong to know how badly he’d lost control.

“Are you alright?” San’s voice was gentle but steady, changing the topic with care. “After everything tonight.”

Yeosang hesitated a moment, eyes flickering up to meet San’s before dipping back down, as if weighing the right words. “I’m good,” he said finally, voice small but sure. “I liked showing everyone who I belong to.”

San’s chest tightened at the words. There was an innocent pride that Yeosang wore. A way of proving himself in a world that demanded it. But beneath it, San felt a sharp protectiveness flare to life.

“I don’t like how those men thought they had the right to just come up and touch you,” San said lowly, a hint of growl threading through his tone, the action even foreign to himself. “Most of the time, I couldn’t stop them because they outrank me... but that doesn’t mean I want you to think that’s okay. Especially men coming up and outright trying to buy you off my shoulder. You belong to me, Yeosang. No one else.”

He reached out slowly, hand brushing lightly against Yeosang’s jaw, tracing a delicate line as if to underline the words with touch. “No one touches you except me and Wooyoung. Understand?”

Yeosang’s body shivered at the statement, a flush spreading from the tips of his ears down to his neck. His breath caught slightly, and his eyes widened, shimmering with something fragile and eager all at once. The possessiveness in San’s voice wasn’t harsh or cruel, but it was fierce and deeply  tender. It was everything Yeosang could have ever needed.

“I…” Yeosang’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but it carried a weight that surprised even him. “I like that.”

San smiled softly, leaning in just a little, so close that their breaths mingled. “Good. Because I’m not letting anyone else get close to you. Not like that.”

Yeosang’s gaze flickered up, and in that quiet moment, beneath the muted light of the garage, something unspoken passed between them

“Yeosang, when we first met, I kept my distance not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t want you to think that being close to me meant you had to do things you felt obligated to do.”

He paused, searching Yeosang’s face, wanting him to understand. “I know what that kind of pressure felt like. It’s why I was careful, why I let you set the pace. I didn’t want you to feel like intimacy was a performance or an obligation.”

Yeosang blinked, his expression softening, encouraged to listen.

“Wooyoung and I,” San continued, voice lighter, “we built something different. It took time, and it wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. A space without those old rules and without power playing a part. Where respect and care were the foundation.”

He reached out, his hand finding Yeosang’s. “I want that for us. Not just as owner and hybrid, but as two people who care deeply for each other. I've said this before, but I want to show you what real love looks like, not expectation. I mean it now more than ever.”

Yeosang’s breath hitched, a flicker of hope and uncertainty mingling in his eyes.

“You don’t have to perform for me. You don’t have to be ‘good’ for me. I want to be close to you because I want you, not because you have to.”

Yeosang hung onto every word, nodding eagerly at San’s possessive tone. Warmth swam violently in his stomach, loving this side of San. 

In their apartment, Yeosang had been changing. He’d started to speak more of his mind. He’d even begun to ask Wooyoung to do things with him, not just agreeing mindlessly. They had built something steady, tested through rough waters, their drunken argument, San’s father’s visit, Wooyoung’s preheat, but in a weird way, San started to see the pieces. 

San knew it wasn’t Yeosang’s fault. Yeosang had been raised in it. But San couldn’t ignore how heavy the repetition in their conversations had started to feel. How many times could he tell Yeosang, I want to give you more than this , before the words started sounding hollow?

Tonight, in the quiet after the noise, watching Yeosang’s eyes light up when he talked about belonging to San made him realize that maybe the problem wasn’t that Yeosang wanted to please. Maybe it was that no one had ever let that instinct coexist in a permanent place.

San had thought keeping his distance would protect Yeosang from pressure. Now he realized it might have been keeping him from something else entirely. Security. The sort of closeness that wasn’t forced but settled in naturally, the way Wooyoung had eventually taken up every corner of San’s penthouse without asking.

It wasn’t just about freeing Yeosang from what he’d been taught. It was about replacing it. Filling that empty space with something that felt steady enough to stake a claim in. Not a leash in public, but a tether in the heart. Something that wouldn’t dissolve the moment they stepped into a gala or crossed paths with San’s father.

Yeosang’s need to belong, to be wanted, was carved into him as deeply as San’s need to protect him. And for the first time, San saw how those things didn’t have to be at odds. His possessiveness wasn’t about control, it was about claiming Yeosang in a way that no public leash or collar could touch.

If the world outside their apartment demanded Yeosang’s obedience, then San’s world would give him something else entirely. 

The click of the front door echoed through the apartment, and before San or Yeosang could even react, Wooyoung was there closing the distance between them with quick desperate steps. He wrapped his arms around them both, pulling them in tightly. It was uncharacteristically urgent, as if his walls of sarcasm and attitude wore down the longer they were gone.

Wooyoung pressed his face gently against Yeosang’s soft hair, inhaling deeply. “You smell different,” he whispered. He then smashed his face against Yeosang’s neck, who yelped in surprise, trying to replace old lingerings of cologne and scent with his own deep eucalyptus.

Yeosang blinked again in surprise but relaxed into the warmth of Wooyoung’s touch. His heart fluttered in a way he couldn’t quite explain with the way Wooyoung’s scent wrapped around him.

San watched from right behind them with a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Wooyoung rarely showed this much vulnerability, but especially after a night like this, it felt right.

Wooyoung pulled back just enough to look at both of them, his eyes soft but shadowed with lingering worry. “I don’t like being alone,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. 

San stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Wooyoung’s back, steady and reassuring. “We’re right here.”

Yeosang reached up slowly, brushing his fingers against Wooyoung’s cheek, a shy smile lighting his face. Wooyoung’s lips responded with a quirked smile, his breathing finally slowing as the knot of anxiety began to unravel.

San’s gaze swept over the two of them. Wooyoung still clung to Yeosang like he might vanish if he let go. The sight pulled something deep in his chest, a warmth that was an unshakable claim. Mine. Both of them.

Without a word, he reached out, gathering them into his arms until they were all pressed together, his hands firm at their backs. “Alright,” he murmured, voice low but resolute, “enough standing around. It’s late, and we’ve all had a long day.”

Wooyoung let out a little huff of protest but didn’t resist when San began steering them toward the bedroom. Yeosang followed with small, quiet steps, his fingers brushing lightly against San’s as if to reassure himself he was still being led.

Inside, San pulled back the covers and guided them both in, Wooyoung curling automatically against one side of him, Yeosang slipping in on the other. The bed seemed to shrink around them, the space filled instantly with warmth, tangled limbs, and the mingling of scents. San tucked an arm securely around each of them, one palm resting on Yeosang’s hip, the other settled on the curve of Wooyoung’s shoulder.

San let his thumb trace grounding circles into Yeosang’s side, feeling the hybrid relax by degrees. On the other side, Wooyoung’s head fit perfectly beneath his chin, his exhales soft and even now.

San stayed awake long enough to feel both of them sink fully into sleep with Yeosang’s steady breaths on one side and Wooyoung’s faint murmurs on the other. The weight of them against him was his anchor. Only then did San allow his own eyes to close, the warmth of both hybrids bracketing him as sleep finally pulled him under.

Wooyoung stirred first, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he blinked awake. Yeosang was already shifting slightly, still tucked under San’s arm. His ears twitched at the sound of Wooyoung’s faint yawn.

San, however, remained dead to the world, chest rising and falling with his hand still loosely curled around Yeosang’s waist as if even in sleep he refused to let go completely.

Wooyoung caught Yeosang’s sleepy gaze and smushed a finger to his lips, tipping his head toward the door. A silent invitation. Yeosang hesitated for half a heartbeat, glancing back at the sleeping man before gently slipping out from under his arm. 

Wooyoung busied himself by pulling down a mixing bowl and rooting through the cupboards. “Pancakes?” he asked casually, already setting out the ingredients. Yeosang nodded with a small smile, they worked without much need for words moving around each other in the small space as though they’d done it a hundred times.

“So…” Wooyoung began, his tone light, “did you see anyone interesting at the gala?”

Yeosang’s ears twitched, his lips curling into a faint smile. “I saw Seonghwa again,” he said softly. “The caracal hybrid. He’s really beautiful. I like him.”

Wooyoung paused mid-flip, glancing over with a raised brow. “ Like him?”

Yeosang tilted his head, still smiling a little. “I mean… I think I'd like to spend more time around him.”

Wooyoung made a mock-scandalized noise, setting the spatula down. “Excuse me? You’re not allowed to have other crushes.” He poked Yeosang’s side with the spatula handle. “Am I not enough for you?”

Yeosang let out a startled laugh, shaking his head. “It’s not like that-”

Before he could finish, warm arms slipped around his waist from behind, pulling him back against a solid chest. San’s voice came, low and still thick with sleep, brushing against the shell of Yeosang’s ear.

“Crush?”

Yeosang froze, his heart kicking up, especially when San’s lips pressed lazily to the curve of his neck.

Wooyoung smirked, clearly enjoying the way Yeosang flushed and squirmed. “Yeah, apparently bunny boy here has a thing for some beautiful caracal.”

San hummed in mock disapproval, tightening his hold. “Mmm… I don’t think I like that.” Another slow kiss to his neck. “You’re mine, remember?”

Yeosang ducked his head, ears flicking forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “I remember.”

Wooyoung leaned an elbow on the counter, grinning. “Guess Seonghwa’s out of luck then.”

San chuckled, his voice warm but still carrying that playful edge. “Definitely out of luck.” He gave Yeosang one last squeeze before letting him go just enough for Yeosang to breathe again.

San leaned his weight against the counter, watching Yeosang with a lazily sharp gaze that made his skin feel too warm. Every time Yeosang passed by, San’s hand brushed his hip or lower back, enough to remind him exactly where he belonged.

Wooyoung caught on to the game instantly. “Careful, San,” he drawled, sliding a plate onto the table. “You keep touching him like that, and I might start wanting him for my breakfast.”

Yeosang’s ears twitched up, his face going pink again. Shy as he was, he most certainly didn’t shrink away from this attention. If anything, he seemed to lean into it, basking under the unspoken tug of war.

“Not happening,” San murmured, and before Yeosang could slip away to fetch anything else, San caught him by the wrist and tugged him close. In the next breath, Yeosang was seated in San’s lap, the heat of his thighs settling across San’s own. His pulse jumped, but his body settled almost immediately, pliant and warm, as if this was exactly where he was meant to be.

Wooyoung just smirked at the sight, sliding the plate of fresh pancakes right in front of them. “Since you two are so clearly busy, I guess I'll have to take care of the serving,” he teased.

San picked up his fork, speared a bite, and held it to Yeosang’s lips without looking away from him. By the second fed bite had him relaxing back against San’s chest, letting himself be doted on without hesitation. 

​​San still wasn’t entirely used to moments like this…Yeosang in his lap, his arms wrapped around him, guiding bites to his mouth. Not long ago, he might have worried it was taking something from Yeosang, that it was stripping away choice. But he’d come to understand it differently. This wasn’t control; it was possession in the way Yeosang seemed to quietly yearn for like a reminder that he was wanted and safe. San’s hold tightened slightly as he lifted the fork again, offering the next bite to waiting lips.

 

Notes:

oooooooooo!!!!!!! the gala finally came!!!!!!! maybe it didn't go how you thought it would ~~~~ im absolutely loving this new side of San

on another note, please take this test that i found about your ao3 'purity score' LMAOOOO and tell me what score you get.... i know yall will at least knock some checks off with this fic LOLOL

I got a seven HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA

https://hakuhakuwu.github.io/How-Messed-Up-is-Your-Fanfiction-Taste/fanfictiontest.html

Chapter 17

San was slouched on the couch with a mug of coffee balanced in one hand, phone in the other, scrolling through his todo list. Yeosang sat cross legged on the rug a few feet away, absently combing his fingers through the soft fur of the blanket draped around him. 

San’s voice broke the quiet. “I’ve got a few errands to run this afternoon. Nothing exciting, just groceries and picking up some dry cleaning.” He stood, stretching the sleep from his limbs, and padded toward the kitchen to set his mug in the sink.

Yeosang’s ears twitched at the mention of errands. The thought of San out there, suddenly sparked something in his chest.

If I went with him, everyone would see. They’d see the way his hand rests on my leash, the way I stay close. They’d know I’m his.  

The image came to him easily, San standing tall, Yeosang tucked against him. Just like they were at the gala. People might look at them together and Yeosang could bask in it, knowing each glance was proof that San had chosen him.

“Could I,” He hesitated, biting his lip before trying again. “Could I come with you?”

San glanced over his shoulder, brow lifting slightly. “With me?”

Yeosang nodded, shy but certain. “I want to see more of what you do… while you’re out.” His voice tried for casual, but the faint flick of his tail betrayed him. Please say yes, he thought. Please let me show them I belong to you.

For a moment, San just looked at him. Yeosang didn’t usually ask to leave the apartment.

San’s mouth curved into a small smile as warmth blossomed into his heart. “Sure. If you want to.”

The words sank into Yeosang like sunlight. He rose quickly, the blanket slipping from his shoulders, and padded to the entryway. From the row of hooks by the door, his eyes went straight to the smooth leather of his leash. His fingers curled around it instinctively, and a thrill chased down his spine. 

San leaned in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching him. The sight of Yeosang choosing it for himself made something stir in his chest.

Yeosang’s fingers tightened around the leash, the leather coiling loosely in his palm, and then before he could think better of it he darted off down the hall. His bare feet padded quickly against the hardwood as he ran, ears perked and tail twitching with excitement.

“Wooyoung!” he called softly as he pushed open the familiar door.

Inside, the cat hybrid was curled up on his bed, back against the headboard, tablet glowing faintly in his hands. His long legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankles, and his tail flicked lazily across the blanket in slow arcs. His eyes looked utterly absorbed, but lifted them at the sudden intrusion.

“Why’re you barging in like that?” Wooyoung asked, a touch of mock irritation, though the corners of his mouth betrayed a smirk.

Yeosang, breathless, held up the leash in both hands like a prized offering. “San said I could come with him outside! We’re going to run errands, and I thought maybe… you’d like to come too.” His voice was bright with hope, cheeks pink from his dash down the hall.

Wooyoung blinked at the leash, then at Yeosang’s glowing expression. For a moment he said nothing, then his tail stilled, curling tight around his ankle.

“I’m not going.” The words were simple, but flat, final.

Yeosang’s ears drooped, his enthusiasm dimming like a flame snuffed out. “Oh,” he whispered. He shifted the leash awkwardly in his hands, still standing there in the doorway.

Wooyoung set his tablet down on his lap and sighed, eyes softening. “Not my thing. You go. You’ll like it.”

But Yeosang couldn’t understand why Wooyoung had never once stepped beyond the walls of the apartment. The refusal felt like a rejection of the joy bubbling in his chest.

“But…” Yeosang started softly, his eyes flicked to the curtains drawn tightly across Wooyoung’s window, then back to his face. “You’ve never come outside. Don’t you want to see it? Just a little? With San, it’s safe.”

Wooyoung’s jaw flexed. “I don’t need to go outside to be safe, Yeosang.” His voice was sharper now, not cruel, but defensive in a way that made his ears flatten back.

Yeosang flinched, his chest tightening. He’d thought this would be a happy thing to share, something that would make them both feel closer to San, closer to each other. Instead, Wooyoung’s refusal left him standing small and uncertain in the doorway.

“I just…” Yeosang’s words caught, then tumbled out in a rush. “I thought it could be nice, all of us together. People would see, they’d know we belong.”

Wooyoung’s tail lashed once against the bedspread. “I don’t care what people see.”

The silence after was heavy, pressing in between them. Yeosang’s ears drooped low, and something stung at the back of his throat. He didn’t understand. How could Wooyoung not want to be shown off like he deserved? Wasn’t that what every hybrid was supposed to want?

Wooyoung must have seen the hurt in his expression, because his voice softened again, quieter. “Go on, bunny. San’s waiting for you.”

But Yeosang didn’t move right away. His fingers dug into the leash, a knot of frustration and sadness building in his chest, something he didn’t have the words for yet. He wanted to belong here, with both of them. Why did Wooyoung make it so hard?

San’s voice carried gently from the hallway. “Yeosang?”

Both hybrids’ heads turned toward the doorway. San leaned against the frame, eyes flicking between them with quiet understanding. He’d heard enough to piece it together.

For a moment, San didn’t say anything, just stepped into the room and rested a hand on Yeosang’s shoulder. The tension in the bunny hybrid’s body was immediate, taut as a bowstring, and San’s palm slid down in a soothing stroke. “Come on,” he said softly. “We don’t want to be out too late.”

Yeosang opened his mouth like he might argue, but San gave him a small shake of the head, a reminder that pressing Wooyoung wouldn’t change anything.

“Wooyoung,” San added, his tone even but not unkind. “We’ll be back before long.”

The cat hybrid only nodded, eyes cast down toward his lap.

San ushered Yeosang gently out into the hall, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. As soon as they were alone, Yeosang’s breath came quick and uneven, ears drooping low.

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Yeosang whispered, guilt pooling in his chest.

San crouched over slightly so their eyes met. His hand smoothed over Yeosang’s arm, grounding him. “You didn’t. That’s just how he is. Some things aren’t so easy for him.”

“But why doesn’t he want to come?” Yeosang’s voice cracked, his confusion raw. “It would be better if we were all together. People would see-”

San cut him off gently, brushing a thumb against Yeosang’s knuckles where they clenched around the leash. “People don’t matter right now. Just me. And you.” His voice softened, weighted with reassurance. “That’s enough, isn’t it?”

Yeosang blinked up at him, heart tugging painfully at the certainty in San’s gaze. Slowly, he nodded, though the ache in his chest didn’t fade.

San squeezed his hand, then stood and took the leash from him with calm finality. “Let’s go, bunny.”

The late afternoon streets buzzed with life, people and a few leashed hybrids walking quickly through the downtown streets. San hadn’t spoken much since they left the apartment, but his hand rested at the small of Yeosang’s back, steering him effortlessly through the crowd. Each brush of San’s thumb was a reminder of his claim.

And Yeosang bloomed under it.

Every glance that lingered on his collar made his chest swell with pride. They were looking, they were seeing, and all they would ever know was that he belonged to San. That San wanted him close.

In his head, Yeosang spun fantasies as they walked of people whispering to themselves about the beauty at San’s side, marveling at how obediently he kept pace. He pictured them envying San, envying the strong hand on his back, the leash that bound them. He wanted them to envy. He wanted them to know.

When San stopped at the curb, waiting for the light, Yeosang inched closer until his shoulder brushed against San’s arm. San glanced down at him, and Yeosang tilted his chin just slightly, inviting the look.

San’s lips twitched. Without hesitation, he tugged gently on the leash, pulling Yeosang that little bit nearer until he was pressed to his side. The movement was small, but it sent heat rushing through Yeosang’s body.

Yeosang’s ears twitched happily. He wasn’t just following anymore. He was being paraded. The crosswalk sign lit up. San guided him forward with a hand at his back and a quiet, “Stay close.” Yeosang did. He couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

“This one’s better quality,” San murmured mostly to himself, comparing two different cartons of eggs before setting one into the basket. He moved with quiet efficiency as Yeosang followed closely, hands folded in front of him, his wide eyes darting between San and the endless shelves.

Then Yeosang paused. His gaze caught on a brightly colored box at the end of the aisle. He’d seen Wooyoung gnawing on them before, the faint crumbs dusting the tablet he always read from. Yeosang lingered, staring at the box, then glanced quickly at San.

He didn’t speak, just tugged gently at San’s sleeve with two fingers, and then pointed. His eyes were soft, almost shy, as if asking was a risk.

San followed his gaze and blinked, confused for half a beat before it clicked. “You think Wooyoung would like those?” he asked quietly.

Yeosang’s cheeks warmed, and he gave a tiny nod.

Something in San’s chest cracked open at the sight. Yeosang wasn’t picking for himself but for someone else, trying to be part of their small world together. San’s hand rose almost without thinking, cupping Yeosang’s jaw, his thumb brushing across the shy flush of his cheek.

“Yeosang,” San said, his voice low, reverent. “I’ll buy you anything you want. Anything.”

Yeosang’s breath caught, his lashes lowering at the weight in San’s tone. He hadn’t been asking for himself, but San’s words wrapped around him anyway, possessive and warm. He leaned, just slightly, into San’s hand, his lips parting like he wanted to believe it.

San held his gaze a moment longer, then dropped the box of chips into the cart. He ruffled Yeosang’s hair lightly, pulling him closer with the leash as they moved down the aisle.

San had turned briefly to reach for a jar on the top shelf, his back just a few steps from Yeosang. Out of nowhere, a small hand shot forward and yanked sharply on his bushy bunny tail. Yeosang froze, letting out a quiet, instinctive squeak that was part shock, part fear. His body stiffened, ears flattening against his head as he tried to step back and push the child’s hand away, but he couldn’t without risking choking himself with the leash. In his flustered panic, his claws swiped lightly along San’s shoulder.

“Hey!” San spun around, alarm snapping through him. The child’s small frame stumbled backward, squealing in surprise, as San quickly brushed them aside with a mix of urgency and protectiveness.

San’s eyes immediately found Yeosang. His heart clenched at the sight of the bunny hybrid trembling slightly, ears pinned back, hand cupping protectively over his tail. “Yeosang,” he murmured, moving closer, hands hovering just in case. “Are you hurt?”

Yeosang’s eyes lifted nervously, and he shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I’m okay,” he stammered, though the faint scratch on San’s shoulder told a different story.

The child’s lips quivered, tears welling up, and they sniffled. “I just… I wanted to give him a flower.” holding out a crumpled blossom from the corner of the store.

San exhaled slowly, crouching slightly to bring himself down to the child’s level. “I know,” he said softly, voice gentle but firm. “But you don’t get to pull on him like that. He’s mine. Do you understand?” San’s other hand moved to rest lightly on Yeosang’s back, steadying him. He glanced once at the crying child, giving a small, polite nod. “Thank you for the flower,” he said softly, “but you have to ask next time. Yeosang needs to be safe.” The child nodded, eyes full of tears before he ran back to his parents out of sight.

Yeosang’s ears drooped almost instantly as his gaze dropped to San’s shoulder, the fabric of his crisp shirt slightly torn from the tiny scratch he’d left in panic. “I… I’m so sorry, San,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I’m a bad… I’m a bad hybrid…”

San immediately stood up to meet him at eye level, one hand brushing the messy fur back from Yeosang’s ears, the other resting lightly against his trembling side. “Shh,” he said softly, shaking his head with a reassuring smile. “You’re not bad. You were only trying to get my attention. That’s all. Nothing else matters.”

He looked up at San, guilt written across his features, but there was a flicker of hope at the calm warmth in San’s voice. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t mean to,” San repeated firmly, his eyes gentle but steady. “You were scared. That’s all. I understand. It’s okay.”

He reached down and very carefully examined Yeosang’s tail, brushing through the fur and giving it a soft, measured squeeze. Yeosang winced faintly at the tenderness, the sore spot from the tug of the child’s hand still tender. “Your tail’s sore, isn’t it?” San murmured, brushing lightly along the base. “Let’s make sure you’re okay. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Yeosang pressed his face against San’s chest, letting out a tiny shiver. The combination of guilt and lingering panic from the incident made him feel small and fragile, but San’s steady presence and the soft, possessive way he held him began to ground him. “I just… I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Yeosang whispered again, voice muffled into San’s shirt.

San chuckled softly, shaking his head and running a thumb along Yeosang’s shoulder. “You didn’t hurt me, little bunny. Just a scratch on my shirt. That’s nothing. You needed me. That’s what matters.”

Yeosang slowly unfurled himself a little, ears flicking forward slightly. San continued to check the tail, ensuring it wasn’t sprainted too bad, and whispered soft reassurances, letting Yeosang feel the calm, possessive protection he so desperately craved in the outside world.

The sliding doors of the grocery store parted with a whoosh, and the afternoon air hit Yeosang against his stinging tail. He walked close to San, so close his shoulder brushed against the man's arm with every step. San carried the heavy bags in one hand, the other resting lightly against the small of Yeosang’s back.

Yeosang kept his head lowered, ears drooping, his fingers twisting the edge of his sleeve. He couldn’t stop replaying it. He felt like a bad hybrid, the kind who caused scenes. San had told him it wasn’t his fault, but still, shame stuck in his chest like a stone. 

At the institute they would have punished him and made sure he learned his lesson. San let it go like it was nothing.

They were almost to the car when a sharp voice cut through the parking lot.

“Excuse me!”

San’s grip on the grocery bag tightened. He turned, expression even but his shoulders tense. A uniformed officer strode toward them, hand resting casually on his belt. His gaze landed on Yeosang first, and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Got a word of an unruly hybrid inside,” the officer said, his tone clipped. “That wouldn’t be him, would it?”

Yeosang froze. His ears shot up, trembling, before flattening flat against his head as his throat closed tight.

San’s voice came calm, controlled. “There was a misunderstanding with a small child. Nothing more.”

“Uh-huh.” The officer didn’t look convinced. “Let me see his license.”

San set the bags down at his feet and slid his wallet from his pocket, pulling out the thin cardstock card. He handed it over with deliberate care, gaze steady on the man’s face.

The officer flipped it between his fingers, eyes narrowing as he read the details. “61599-Yeosang,” he muttered. Then louder, “Look, sir, you need to keep a better handle on him. They’re your responsibility once they’re collared. Plus, this is only a temporary permit card, about to expire. You need to speak with Registration Services for his permanent card.”

Yeosang flinched at the word. Temporary. Temporary meant he wasn’t fixed here, wasn’t secure. It meant San could change his mind. That if paperwork wasn’t right, if a card expired, he could be taken back, reassigned, lost. The thought struck like ice through his veins of San realizing the burden, handing him back because it was easier than fighting for him.

His fingers curled tighter into San’s sleeve, claws catching in the fabric before he realized. He couldn’t stop staring at the card in the officer’s hand, as if it held the power to decide whether San kept him or let him go.

“Is that all?” San asked, voice cool enough to sting.

The officer huffed. “Not quite. I’ll need to see your license as well, sir. Standard procedure.”

San reached into his wallet again and offered over his ID. The officer glanced at it, started to read the name aloud before he promptly stopped.

“Choi… San?” His whole posture shifted, back straightening, eyes widening just slightly before dropping respectfully. He looked back at the card, then up at San again, color creeping up his neck. “I- apologies, Mr. Choi. I didn’t realize- ”

His voice changed on a dime, no longer sharp. “Of course, there’s no issue here. Must have been a simple misunderstanding. Please, forgive the inconvenience. Truly.”

San’s jaw ticked, though his face remained unreadable. He took the card back slowly, tucking it into his wallet before crouching to pick up the groceries. “We’re done here.”

“Yes, of course, sir. Have a good afternoon.” The officer stepped back, suddenly all courtesy and smiles, as though he hadn’t just scolded San in public.

Yeosang watched the whole thing with wide eyed confusion mingling with awe. He clung impossibly closer to San as they walked the last few steps to the car, his thoughts tumbling. The world bent around San in a way it never bent around him. For Yeosang, authority meant punishment, control, and being small. But for San it meant people bowed their heads and backed away.

He obviously saw this at the gala, but for a random lowly officer to recognize San simply based off of his name, made Yeosang shudder a little bit. Just how known was he?

The glow of Wooyoung’s tablet bathed both of their faces as they huddled close on the couch, knees knocking together under the blanket draped across their laps. Wooyoung tapped aggressively at the screen, scrolling through a hybrid boutique website with a dramatic sigh.

“We deserve this,” he declared, “A little shopping spree.” He paused, smirking. “I haven’t bought anything in ages.”

Yeosang tilted his head, blinking. “Ages?”

“Yes,” Wooyoung said firmly, not missing a beat. “I’ve been deprived.”

Yeosang’s brow twitched, skeptical since just yesterday Wooyoung had several packages arrive, but he didn’t argue. He leaned a little closer, eyes flicking over the scrolling images of sheer long sleeves, fun colored graphic tees and short embroidered pants. The colors and styles blurred together. He didn’t have the practiced eye for fashion that Wooyoung did. “You think we need new clothes?”

“We don’t need them,” Wooyoung admitted, biting his lip as he zoomed in on an outrageously expensive jacket. “But we deserve them. You especially. You can’t just wear the same three outfits every time San ‘parades’ you around.”

The mention made Yeosang’s heart flutter, but he quickly ducked his head, ears warming. “I wouldn’t know what to pick,” he murmured.

Wooyoung’s grin turned sharp and mischievous. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Leave it to me. I’ll curate your entire wardrobe. Trust me, bunny, you’ll thank me later.”

“But… I already have clothes,” Yeosang said softly. His hand brushed at his sleeve, the one Wooyoung had carefully chosen when he’d first come here. “A whole closet full. You picked them out for me. Isn’t that enough?”

Wooyoung groaned like Yeosang had just suggested they eat plain rice for the rest of their lives. “Those were just starter clothes, Bunny. Basics. Neutral stuff so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself.” He flicked his hand dismissively, scrolling past another page of jackets until he found something so loud Yeosang couldn’t imagine ever wearing it in public. 

“Plain grey tees are for background characters, Bunny. You’re not background. You need clothes that announce you when you walk into a room.”

Wooyoung scrolled with efficiency, tossing items into the digital cart like he was born for it. Yeosang couldn’t even imagine himself in half of these things.

“Wait-” Yeosang leaned closer, ears twitching nervously as the total climbed higher and higher in the corner of the screen. “Wooyoung, won’t San be… upset? That's like… a lot.”

Wooyoung snorted, not even glancing away from his tablet. Click. Add to cart. “Please. Trust me, I’ve spent farrrrrr worse. San’s used to me.”

Yeosang’s brow furrowed, whispering like it was a secret, “But what if he gets angry?”

Finally, Wooyoung turned to him with a grin so shameless it made Yeosang’s chest tighten. “Bunny, if San hasn’t throttled me by now, he’s not going to. He’s a total pushover when it comes to me,” Wooyoung poked Yeosang in the chest with the end of his stylus. “and you. Especially you. He’ll melt the second you put any of this on.”

Yeosang’s ears drooped and fluttered, equal parts embarrassed and soothed, while Wooyoung tossed some trendy stitched sweatpants into the cart without hesitation.

Wooyoung was halfway through comparing two different pairs of boots when his grin shifted, sharp and plotting. Without warning, he flicked over to the digital cart and checked out, not even double checking his cart before purchasing everything. 

He opened a new tab, typing in only a few letters before the website autofilled.

“Okay…” he drawled, voice laced with mischief as the thumbnails loaded. “Now this is where it gets fun.”

Yeosang tilted his head, leaning closer. His ears perked as delicate silks and laces filled the page. Pastel ribbons, sheer slips, intricate bralettes stitched with fine embroidery.

His breath caught. Not out of embarrassment, but pure fascination. His eyes lingered on every piece, following the shimmer of pale lace, the way it seemed designed for softness and attention.

“You have stuff like these?” he whispered, not tearing his gaze away.

Wooyoung scoffed loudly, like the question was an insult. “Of course I do. But mine wouldn’t work for you.” He waved a hand dramatically. “My taste is sharper. Black lace…leather accents…red feathers. That innocent angel thing?” He eyed Yeosang up and down, smirking. “That’s all you.”

Yeosang blinked at him, ears flicking uncertainly, but his eyes betrayed how captivated he was.

Wooyoung leaned in, his smirk deepening into something wicked. “Want me to get you a set, bunny?”

Yeosang’s cheeks flushed pink, though he didn’t look away from the glowing screen. His hand curled in the fabric of Wooyoung’s sleeve, hesitant but aching with curiosity.

“...Yes,” he whispered. His chest tightened with a strange, fluttering excitement. But then the glow faltered, his hand retreating from Wooyoung’s sleeve. “But… what’s the point?” His voice dipped, uncertain. “San hasn’t… he hasn’t wanted to be with me like that.”

Wooyoung’s smirk only grew sharper, eyes glinting with feline mischief. “Oh, sweet bunny,” he purred, dragging the lingerie set to the cart icon. “Maybe San’s answer then isn’t the same as San’s answer now.” He tapped the screen with a flourish, adding it to their growing pile.

Yeosang’s head lifted, a tiny spark of hope betraying his careful worry.

Wooyoung leaned close, lips curling like he was sharing a delicious secret. “And let me tell you this. There isn’t a man named San alive who could resist seeing you in something like this. Sweet white lace, bows tied just for him…” He tilted his head, expression downright devilish. “San wouldn’t stand a chance.”

He squirmed against the couch cushions, thighs pressing together, a nervous little whimper in his throat. His chest rose and fell too quickly, ears twitching as though they couldn’t decide if they should hide or perk.

“Wooyoung…” His voice trembled, lips caught between his teeth. “You- you can’t just say things like that.” It came out almost like a plea, like he couldn’t take the weight of it, like every syllable had gone straight through him.

Wooyoung’s grin turned downright wicked, his amber eyes glinting like a cat who had cornered something fragile and sweet. “Can’t I?” he whispered, voice curling low and dark.

Before Yeosang could answer, Wooyoung’s tail slid forward, deceptively gentle, the soft fur brushing up his throat before curling snug beneath his chin. It tilted Yeosang’s head up with deliberate ease, exposing the curve of his jaw, forcing his gaze into Wooyoung’s.

Yeosang gasped softly, startled, but he didn’t pull away. His hands gripped the couch below him.

Wooyoung leaned in close, that devil’s smile flickering before he erased the space between them, pressing his mouth to Yeosang’s in a kiss that was hot and searing, nothing shy or tentative about it. His tail held Yeosang in place, demanding the bunny take all of it, the teasing and the promise and the raw heat behind it.

Yeosang shuddered, his fluttering chest collapsing into the kiss, all his bottled excitement spilling free at once.

San sat hunched at his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard, the glow of his monitor lighting the hard lines of his face. But the moment the office door cracked open, his eyes lifted as they softened instantly when he saw who it was.

“Hey,” he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. “Here to keep me company?”

Yeosang padded in quietly, his steps feather light on the hardwood. He nodded, fingers fidgeting at the hem of his shirt. “Yes.”

San leaned back in his chair, already readying himself to push the work aside. He could tell right away something was tucked behind that shy yes. The little crease between Yeosang’s brows, the way his ears twitched nervously.

“There’s something on your mind,” San said gently. He didn’t phrase it as a question.

Yeosang hesitated at the edge of the desk, chewing the inside of his lip before finally lifting his gaze. His voice was soft, almost swallowed. “Do you… do you know when my next heat will come?”

For a beat, San just blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. The papers on his desk and the numbers on his screen didn't matter anymore. His chest tightened, and he sat up straighter, giving Yeosang his full attention.

“I…” San cleared his throat, searching for steady ground. “I hadn’t thought about it. Are you…” his voice softened, careful, “feeling like it’s coming soon?”

Yeosang’s ears twitched, his hands clasping together in front of him. “Not yet. But… I thought maybe you would know.”

San thought for a moment, piecing together the calendar in his head. It had been weeks longer than he’d realized. His brows knit together, worry flickering at the edges of his calm expression.

“It’s probably soon,” he said softly, voice lowering as though the words were delicate. His gaze lingered on Yeosang, gauging every twitch of his ears, every shift of his hands. “How are you… feeling about that?”

Yeosang hesitated, the question pulling him taut. His throat bobbed in a swallow, and his gaze drifted toward the floor, as if the answer were written there instead of inside him. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice a near whisper. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

San’s chest ached. He leaned forward in his chair, quiet but steady, not letting Yeosang’s gaze slip away. “You won’t be a burden, Yeosang. Not ever.”

Yeosang shifted his weight from one foot to the other, ears flicking with nervous energy. His lips parted once, closed again, then finally he forced himself to speak.

“Does it mean that maybe you’ll spend this heat with me?”

San’s breath caught, the words landing heavier than Yeosang could have known.

Yeosang’s fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, knuckles blanching. He pushed through the fear of rejection, his voice dropping to something almost pleading. “That’s all I really want, San. Not because of the heat-” his eyes darted up, shimmering with fragile conviction, “but because I want you. I want you to know that I choose this. And I trust you.”

San stared up at him, startled, caught off guard by the rawness of it.

“If that’s what you really want…” San rose from his chair, closing the small distance between them. He tilted his head to meet Yeosang’s gaze, his hand coming up to cradle the back of his neck. “Then, yes. I’ll be there with you. All of it. I’ll make sure you’re safe, and that you never feel alone in it again.”

Yeosang’s ears twitched, chest tightening with relief, but San’s voice dropped lower, rougher, threaded with the possessive edge Yeosang had come to crave.

“You’re mine to take care of.”

The words made Yeosang’s breath hitch, body taut with shivers. San’s thumb brushed lightly along the curve of his throat, grounding him, claiming him without force.

“I’ll give you what you’re asking for,” San went on, steady now, as though promising a vow. “But it won’t just be about your heat. It’ll be about you knowing you’re chosen. Mine.”

Yeosang’s lips parted, trembling between relief and dizzy excitement, his whole being soaking up the reassurance like sunlight. He didn’t know how to say it. How to explain the bloom in his chest at San’s words. 

“I… I am yours.”

San sat back in his chair, one arm sliding automatically around Yeosang’s waist as he guided him into his lap. Yeosang settled without hesitation, small hands pressing against San’s chest before he curled into the crook of his neck. His nose buried into San’s collarbone, breathing in deeply, almost greedily, the faint, warm scent that clung to him.

San felt the soft brush of his ears tickle his jaw, the heat of his breath ghosting over his skin. His free hand stroked absentmindedly down Yeosang’s side grounding them both.

San’s touch slowed against Yeosang’s side, the weight of the moment pulling taut between them. Yeosang tipped his head back just enough to look up at him, eyes wide and shimmering, pupils blown with longing.

For a heartbeat, neither moved. Their breaths mingled, shallow and quick, the silence louder than any words could be.

San’s chest tightened as if something inside him snapped taut, and when Yeosang’s gaze dropped to his mouth, San leaned in before he could think better of it.

Their lips met softly at first, like testing the surface of something fragile. Yeosang responded instantly, tilting into him, lips parting with practiced ease. San drew in a sharp breath, startled by the sweetness, the skill threaded through every movement. Years of training, he realized, not innocence. A pang twisted in his chest at the thought, but then Yeosang’s mouth pressed more insistently against his, and all he could do was fall into it.

The kiss deepened without hesitation, Yeosang pliant yet certain in every tilt and pull, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. San’s hand slid from his waist to the back of his neck, holding him closer, grounding himself in the softness, in the way Yeosang kissed like it was both duty and desire.

When they finally parted, just barely, San kept their foreheads touching, breath ragged, lips tingling. Yeosang’s eyes fluttered open, dazed and shining, his chest rising against San’s.

San swallowed hard, thumb brushing Yeosang’s cheek. “God,” he whispered, though it was more to himself than Yeosang. “You’re… dangerous.”

And Yeosang smiled, small and shy but glowing, as if a single kiss had confirmed what he’d been aching to believe all along. That he truly belonged.

“Feeling better now?” San murmured, tilting his head just enough to glance at him.

Yeosang gave the faintest nod, already tucking closer, eyes sliding shut. “Mm.” His voice was muffled against San’s throat, so quiet it nearly disappeared under the faint tapping of San’s keyboard.

Yeosang shifted slightly in San’s lap, lifting his head just enough to peek up at him with a hesitant expression. His ears twitched nervously. “Um… San?”

“Hmm?” San hummed without looking up from his work, thumb still brushing lightly along Yeosang’s side.

“My… temporary license…” Yeosang’s voice was small, almost swallowed by the quiet room. He wrung his hands a little, tail flicking anxiously. “It… it’s still temporary. What if something happens? What if it… um… runs out before… before it’s permanent?”

San’s free hand paused on the keyboard, tilting his head back to meet Yeosang’s eyes. He softened instantly, noticing the tiny crease of worry furrowing his face. “Hey,” he said gently, tilting Yeosang’s chin up with his fingers. “It’s okay. I’ve got it handled. It's very simple paperwork. Nothing’s going to happen to you, Yeo. You’re mine, and no one’s taking that away.”

Yeosang’s ears relaxed just slightly, and his shoulders lowered as he leaned back into San’s chest, reassured by the warmth and confidence radiating from him. “O-okay,” he murmured, still shy, but comforted.

San pressed a soft kiss to the top of Yeosang’s head. “You don’t have to worry about any of that. Just stay here, with me.”

Yeosang’s breathing had evened out in San’s lap in a matter of minutes. His ears twitched occasionally as he drifted further into sleep. The tension of the day had finally bled out of him, leaving him utterly spent. San kept a gentle hand on his side, careful not to disturb him, as he reached for his keyboard again.

Opening the registration portal of the Omega Hybrid Institute, San clicked through quickly, entering Yeosang’s details with ease. Within minutes, the official license request was submitted, and San leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing at the other links on Yeosang’s profile.

There it was.

A series of historical records from the facility. Every past evaluation, every note from instructors, every training log, medical notes, every punishment report. San paused, his fingers hovering over the mouse.

Yeosang stirred slightly, tail twitching against his leg, but remained asleep. San’s gaze softened as he considered the files. Do I really want to know? he thought. He could only imagine the correction methods they came up with. How they shaped and bent Yeosang’s mind to get him to believe he was nothing more than a servant.

San exhaled quietly, leaning his head back against the chair. For now, he decided to wait. Yeosang was here, safe in his lap. Maybe some things were better left in the past for now. 

Pushing the keyboard aside, San brushed a strand of hair behind Yeosang’s ear, murmuring softly, “I love you so much Bunny.”

Notes:

ahhhhhhh!!!!! things are moving along!!! (I mean goddamn we just hit 100k words mark) i'm dying to hear your thoughts!!!!! Should San look into Yeosang's files????????????

 

also, i'm going to try to update more on Sundays maybe???? I hear a lot of you telling me how I always post when you're at work LMAOOOOO

Chapter 18

Wooyoung sat perched on the counter, tail lazily swishing as he scrolled his tablet with one hand and picked grapes from the bowl with the other.

The sound of the front door opening made Yeosang’s ears twitch from where he stood, wiping the counters down.

“Wooyoung!” San’s voice carried into the room, sharp and commanding in a way that made both hybrids instinctively stiffen. “Front room. Now.”

Yeosang blinked in confusion, but Wooyoung was already on his feet in a blur, practically skipping around the corner. His squeal echoed down the hall. “My babies!”

San came into view a moment later, arms overloaded with packages stacked up to his chin, smaller parcels dangling precariously from in between his fingers. His expression was tight, jaw set, clearly unimpressed as he dropped the mountain of shopping onto the floor with a thud.

Yeosang peered over the kitchen entryway, wide eyed.

“We need to talk about your spending.”

Wooyoung circled the pile like a predator about to pounce, giddy with delight. “Don’t look at me like that, San,” he sang, crouching down to tear into the first box. “You won’t stay mad for long. Most of these aren’t even for me.”

San raised a brow, brushing his hands off against his trousers. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Oh, it will,” Wooyoung said with a wicked grin, shooting Yeosang a knowing look. “Because most of these” he tore open the tape with his claw, tugging out a sleek black long sleeve top, “are for our pretty bunny.”

Yeosang froze, ears flicking high and his cheeks burning as both sets of eyes landed on him.

“Sit,” Wooyoung ordered, grabbing San by the wrist before he could escape. He shoved him down onto the couch with surprising strength for someone smaller, ignoring San’s grumbled protest. “You’re going to thank me for this later.”

San opened his mouth to argue, but Wooyoung was already tearing open boxes like a man possessed, tossing tissue paper and plastic wrap onto the floor. He began making chaotic piles of tops, bottoms, sets, and shoes, muttering to himself about color palettes and silhouettes.

“Okay, bunny, first round!” Wooyoung chirped, tossing a cutout long sleeved top at Yeosang.

Yeosang blinked, catching it against his chest. “Oh- now?”

“Now. Go on. Model for us.” Wooyoung clapped his hands, practically vibrating with excitement.

Yeosang ducked behind the hallway corner to change, not because he was shy of his nudity, but because Wooyoung insisted it would make the reveal better. When he stepped back out, the fabric hugged his figure in ways he never imagined. The sleeves slashed open to show glimpses of skin, the hem cropping high above his waist. He smoothed his hands down, ears twitching nervously.

Wooyoung let out a low whistle. “Oh, that’s hot. Look at you.” He gestured for Yeosang to turn. “Spin, spin.”

Yeosang did, shy but compliant. He glanced once at San only to find him sitting stiff on the couch, lips parted, gaze pinned to him like he couldn’t look away.

Heat rushed to Yeosang’s cheeks.

Next came cargo pants, oversized streetwear, and layered mesh shirts, then sleek trousers paired with silk button ups that clung to his waist and shoulders. Every outfit brought a new calculated hum from Wooyoung, who either grinned and clapped or wrinkled his nose and barked, “Nope. Return pile.”

Yeosang found himself laughing softly at Wooyoung’s blunt verdicts. And to his surprise, he loved the way the clothes felt. Some made him feel powerful, others elegant, others… more up Wooyoung’s alley.

Still on the couch, San was as silent as stone, eyes fixed on him no matter what he wore. His cheeks were flushed, throat working every time Yeosang smoothed fabric over his sides or turned for inspection.

Yeosang’s heart fluttered. He’d never been treated like he was someone worth dressing. For most of his life he wore the same uniform, day in and out.

By the next hour, two towering piles dominated the floor. One marked for returns, one bursting with keeps. Yeosang sat in the middle, smoothing folded fabric with delicate fingers, while Wooyoung’s tail flicked back and forth satisfied.

Two small boxes, though, remained conspicuously untouched. Wooyoung had stashed them behind a pillow early on, every so often casting a glance at San to make sure he hadn’t noticed.

“Alright, session over,” Wooyoung announced, clapping his hands. “San, you’ve seen the runway show. Back to your office.”

San raised a brow. “Kicking me out of my own living room?”

“Yup.” Wooyoung beamed, hands on his hips. 

San rolled his eyes but stood, leaning down to press a kiss first to Wooyoung’s cheek, then softer to Yeosang’s temple. “Great show Bunny. I’m glad you’ll finally have more variety in your closet.”

The words made Yeosang’s chest tighten. He hugged San around the middle, cheeks burning. “Thank you for all of it. I-I know it’s your money, and I…” He trailed off, ears dipping, but San only smiled and ruffled his hair gently.

When San finally left, the sound of his footsteps fading toward his office, Wooyoung grinned like the devil.

Each of the hybrids took armsfulls of Yeosang’s new clothes, dumping them on his bed so that they could hang them all up in his closet. Wooyoung helped Yeosang organize them so that he could easily know which outfits went together. 

“Okay, bunny,” Wooyoung whispered, slipping into the room with the hidden boxes balanced in his arms. His grin gave him away long before the packages hit the bed. “Now for the fun part.”

Out spilled an array of pale silks and delicate lace flowers, the straps and ribbons twisting in intricate details.

Yeosang’s whole body leaned forward instinctively. 

“Pick one.” Wooyoung prompted with bright eyes.

Yeosang’s hand hovered for only a second before he brushed over the neat folds of fabric, the lace cool beneath his fingertips. He pulled free a set of white barely there silk cups framed in embroidery that looked like pressed flowers, stretching from his shoulder to his hip bone. On the bottom it was paired with sheer panties, also mirroring floral designs. 

His eyes shone. “This one.”

Wooyoung’s smirk widened immediately. “Knew it.”

Yeosang nodded quickly, almost bouncing with anticipation as he rushed to slip it on. His eagerness made him clumsy as the silk twisted against his chest and the lace straps caught on the curve of his wrist. He tried again, jaw set in determination, but the straps refused to cooperate.

With a soft huff, his ears flicked back, and he looked up at Wooyoung. “Can you…?”

Wooyoung was already off the bed, tail swishing behind him like he’d been waiting for the invitation. “Hold still,” he murmured, posing Yeosang in front of the mirror as his fingers slid over Yeosang’s skin from behind. He straightened the lace cups so they rested flush against his chest and smoothed the straps flat across his shoulders.

He then looked up, letting his gaze rake over the result from the mirror’s reflection. The silk clung to Yeosang’s slim frame like water, the lace tracing over his pale skin, the embroidered edges kissing along his collarbones. His bunny tail peeked out beneath the hem, soft fluff framed by all that careful design.

Wooyoung’s smirk softened, tilting toward something almost possessive. “Perfect.”

Yeosang turned a little, watching the way the fabric moved against him. A smile tugged wide at his lips. “I love it.”

Wooyoung let out a low laugh, the sound rough with want. “There’s no point buying you more lingerie, bunny. Because all I want to do,” he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around him from behind, ghosting his lips against his neck, “is take it right off of you.”

Wooyoung’s arms tightened around him from behind, lips ghosting along the curve of Yeosang’s neck before pressing a slow kiss just beneath his ear. His voice was a low murmur against his skin.

“Look at you, Bunny…”

His hands slid upward, palms flattening against Yeosang’s stomach before gliding over the fabric that clung to his torso. He traced deliberately, fingers spreading to outline the lines of lace where it framed Yeosang’s chest. “Tell me Bunny,” his thumbs brushed over the embroidered edges, pressing them flush against his skin, “didn’t I do a good job picking this out for you?”

Yeosang’s ears twitched, his eyes fixed on their reflection. His lips parted slightly, a breath shuddering out as he nodded his head.

Wooyoung’s mouth moved lower, teeth grazing lightly over the slope of his shoulder. He continued, dragging his hands down to his waist, fitting his palms into the slim curve with possessiveness. 

Yeosang leaned back into him instinctively, chest rising and falling faster as Wooyoung’s touch mapped every inch of fabric. His own hands twitched at his sides, unsure what to do with the growing heat pooling beneath his skin.

Wooyoung caught the hesitation and chuckled softly against his throat. His hands smoothed lower, gliding along the flowers until his fingers hovered at Yeosang’s cocklet, bulge just barely peeking through the delicate fabric. 

Yeosang’s breath stuttered, his cheeks flushed as he finally whispered, “Wooyoung…” The sound breaking into a small plea.

In the mirror, Wooyoung’s eyes locked their gazes as his lips brushed the hollow of his throat in another lingering kiss. “You love it,” he murmured. His hands slid back up in one long stroke, curling possessively over Yeosang’s chest again. “And I love you like this.”

“God, look at you,” Wooyoung growled softly, his voice vibrating against Yeosang’s skin. Yeosang’s reflection blurred, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

Wooyoung’s hands slid down again, gripping Yeosang’s hips firmly, pulling him flush against his body. He bit at his neck this time, sucking hard enough to leave color.

“Wooyoung please,” Yeosang gasped, the name tumbling out broken, needy.

“That’s it,” Wooyoung murmured hot against his skin, breath ragged now. His hands traveled lower, gripping Yeosang’s thighs, thumbs pressing into the delicate flesh beneath. “I could just sink my teeth into you. I can’t stand it, bunny. I need-” He cut himself off with another kiss, open mouthed and hungry against Yeosang’s throat.

Yeosang let out a helpless sound, his hands finally rising to clutch Wooyoung’s wrists where they held him, as if grounding himself. Wooyoung dragged his hands up again, palms flattening over Yeosang’s chest as he breathed harshly against his ear. “Do you hear yourself? Do you know how good you sound when I touch you like this?”

Yeosang could only whimper, trembling against him, the mirror catching every flushed, desperate detail.

“Beautiful,” Wooyoung rasped, biting down hard at his collar. “Too beautiful for me to stop now.”

Wooyoung let out a low sound and suddenly spun him away from the mirror. In one swift motion he pushed Yeosang back onto the mattress, the bunny hybrid landing with a soft gasp, ears splayed against the comforter.

“Wooyoung- !”

But the protest dissolved the moment Wooyoung followed, crawling up over him, pinning Yeosang’s hips with his own. His tail flicked behind him, sharp with restless energy, as his hands pressed firmly into Yeosang’s waist.

“No more looking in mirrors,” he muttered, voice low and desperate. “I need you here. Right under me.”

Wooyoung kissed him like he’d been starving for it, lips parting his easily, tongue sliding against his until Yeosang whimpered into the heat of it.

Yeosang’s hands scrambled up, clutching at Wooyoung’s shoulders, his body arching instinctively to meet the weight pressing him down. The silk strained with the movement tugging against his thighs, but he didn’t care. He only cared about the way Wooyoung kissed him, holding him there like he’d never let go.

When Wooyoung finally pulled back, it was only to trail his mouth lower with kisses landing hard against Yeosang’s jaw, his throat, down to the embroidered edges of lace at his chest. His hands roamed restlessly, tugging the delicate straps, skimming over every curve of silk.

“You’re mine like this,” Wooyoung breathed against his skin, lips swollen from the kiss, eyes dark with hunger. 

Suddenly, he froze mid kiss. His nose twitched, nostrils flaring as the change hit him all at once. Yeosang’s sweetness, already intoxicating jasmine, suddenly sharpened dangerously close to tipping into preheat.

“Shit,” Wooyoung muttered, pulling back just enough to breathe, to think. His eyes flicked down at Yeosang, who blinked up at him, lips kissed swollen and eyes dazed.

“W-what’s wrong?” Yeosang asked, breathless, ears flicking nervously.

Wooyoung smoothed his hands over Yeosang’s sides, grounding them both as his tail lashed behind him. “Your scent is spiking.” He softened his tone quickly, not wanting to make it sound like a reprimand. “Bunny, your body’s trying to start your heat. If I keep going, it might come on a little more intensely than we want.”

Yeosang’s eyes widened, the heat in his cheeks blooming brighter with embarrassment. “Oh.”

Wooyoung dipped his head, kissing his forehead gently to soften the sting. “Hey. Nothing’s wrong. It just means we got a little wound up, and we should… calm it down before your full heat crashes in.” He sat back on his heels, reluctantly peeling himself away. “C’mon. Pajamas. We’ll cuddle. That way we can feel good without pushing it too far.”

For a moment Yeosang just lay there chest still heaving. He wanted to protest, but the serious edge in Wooyoung’s voice anchored him. He knew Wooyoung was right.

“…Okay,” he whispered, ears drooping shyly as he pushed himself up.

Wooyoung gave him a crooked smile and tugged him to his feet, brushing his hands down Yeosang’s arms like reassurance. “That’s my good Bunny. Let’s save all that for when it really counts, yeah?”

Yeosang ducked his head, flustered but glowing faintly at the praise.

Within minutes, the silk was discarded and replaced with soft cotton. Wooyoung tossed his own shirt over his head before crawling back onto the bed, patting the space beside him. Yeosang climbed in immediately, burrowing against his side as Wooyoung wrapped his arms around him tight. His nose was flooded with Wooyoung’s calming eucalyptus scent.

Everything melted into quiet warmth, the steady rhythm of Wooyoung’s breathing against his hair. Yeosang curled closer, chest still fluttering with excitement despite the calm.

“San… he said yes.”

Wooyoung’s ears flicked, his eyes opening with interest. “Yes to what, bunny?”

Yeosang swallowed, fingers twisting in the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt. His cheeks burned hot, but he pushed the words out anyway, excitement trembling under his shyness. “He said he’ll… he’ll be with me. During my heat.”

For a second Wooyoung blinked, and then the slow, wolfish grin spread across his face. “Did he now?” His tail swished against the sheets, smug satisfaction dripping from his tone. “You mean…” he drawled, voice low with teasing, “I’m gonna have to share you this time?”

Yeosang flushed deeper, ducking his face against Wooyoung’s chest as if that could hide the giddy little smile tugging at his lips. “That’s not… it’s not like that,” he mumbled, though his tone betrayed how thrilled he really was.

Wooyoung let the teasing lilt in his voice fade, his smirk softening into something gentler. He pressed a kiss to Yeosang’s temple, lingering there as his hands skimmed soothingly along his sides.

“Hey,” he murmured against his skin. His lips quirked into a smaller, fond grin. “you know what this means, right? Me and San are gonna take such good care of you during your heat. You won’t have to lift a finger. Just let us spoil you.”

Yeosang’s ears twitched at that, his chest rising quick and light beneath Wooyoung’s palm. For a moment he was quiet, biting back the first rush of nervousness that wanted to tumble out. But then he shook his head, gaze shining as it lifted to meet Wooyoung’s.

“I’m not nervous,” he whispered, the words shy but steady. “I’m excited. Excited to spend time with you both. Together.”

Wooyoung’s grin curved wide again, this time laced with something more tender than smug. His thumb traced slow circles over Yeosang’s hip, holding his gaze like a promise.

“That’s all I needed to hear, bunny,” he said, voice dropping low and certain. 

Wooyoung stretched out beside him, propping himself on an elbow. “You know…” he started slowly, “if San’s going to be with us this time, we should probably make sure you’ve got a proper nest ready.”

Yeosang blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “Proper?”

Wooyoung’s smile tugged crooked, affectionate. “Mm. Last time you gave me a washcloth and called it a nest. Cute, don’t get me wrong, but ideally it’s supposed to be bigger. Something you can lay in and be surrounded by scents during your heat.”

The bunny’s cheeks flamed, embarrassment chasing quickly across his features. “I… I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t.” Wooyoung leaned in, pressing a quick kiss against his temple before pulling back to meet his eyes. “But you’ll know now. Come on.” He nudged Yeosang’s side playfully, coaxing him upright. “Let’s go raid the whole place. Every blanket, every pillow, every stuffed animal you’ve got and we will bring it back here.”

Yeosang’s shyness melted into something bright, almost childlike, his excitement sparking at the idea. “Really? All of them?” His ears perked, and he sat up fully, glancing toward the bedroom door like he was already picturing the haul.

“Really.” Wooyoung confirmed, tail flicking in amusement. “I’ll even help you carry them all. But you get to decide where everything goes. It’s your nest, bunny.”

That was all the encouragement Yeosang needed as he scrambled off the bed, tugging Wooyoung after him.

Yeosang darted down the hallway, arms soon piled high with throw blankets he’d stolen from the couch. His ears twitched wildly as he all but dove onto San’s bed, dropping the fabric and immediately burrowing into the middle of San’s large comforter. Wooyoung trailed after him at a slower pace, shaking his head but smiling as he tossed another pillow onto the pile.

“Easy, bunny,” Wooyoung said, watching as Yeosang rolled himself in a tangle of fabric. “Don’t get too off track, remember? We’re building.”

Yeosang peeked up from inside San’s comforter, cheeks flushed, eyes hazy. He gave a little roll onto his back, kicking his feet like he was swimming in it, the faintest whimper leaving him at the deep, grounding scent.

“It smells like him,” Yeosang mumbled, voice muffled in the folds.

Wooyoung’s mouth twitched, fond despite himself. “Come on back to your room Bunny. We still need to place all these items.”

With a determined nod, Yeosang scrambled upright again and padded off, leaving Wooyoung to sigh and follow. 

Yeosang went back and forth, like he was hunting throughout the house, returning to his room to drop off the bounty of soft items he had caught. 

This time though, Yeosang left his room clutching a handful of stuffed animals. After he had found San in the kitchen, he presented them to him like offerings, eyes wide and expectant.

San blinked. “Uh- Thank you?”

“He wants you to scent them.” Wooyoung supplied, arms folded, standing protectively behind Yeosang.

The realization hit San all at once. Yeosang’s flushed cheeks, the restless little twitches of his ears and tail, the impulsive nesting behavior. Preheat. His chest warmed with an almost ridiculous rush of happiness.

“Yeosang…” he said softly, reaching to ruffle the bunny’s hair, “I’ll give you anything you need, alright? Anything.”

San took his time with each of the stuffed animals that Yeosang had handed him, making sure to thoroughly rub each of them on his neck and inner wrists. Even though he himself couldn’t distinguish his own scent, he had enough practice with Wooyoung’s scenting requests to know how best to rub his woodsy citrus scent over everything that Yeosang needed.

Yeosang’s breath hitched, gaze heavy on him. Then, without hesitation, he lifted a hand and pointed directly at San’s chest.

Both San and Wooyoung froze.

“…You mean the shirt?” San asked, incredulous.

Yeosang nodded firmly, lips pressing together like he was trying not to demand it outright.

Wooyoung snorted first, covering his mouth to muffle his laugh. “Oh my god, he actually-”

San broke into a grin, tugging the shirt over his head in one smooth motion. “Here,” he said, tossing it gently into Yeosang’s waiting arms.

Yeosang hugged it to his chest like a treasure, nose immediately buried in the fabric. His whole body relaxed in one long sigh, foot thumping on the ground, ears drooping with contentment as he then turned and padded back into his nest with it clutched tight.

Wooyoung shook his head, still laughing. 

San only watched, heart tugging at the thought of Yeosang curled up with his shirt.

Yeosang worked in silence, his small hands tugging and fussing over every corner of the bed. He stacked pillows high, then tore them down again. He spread a blanket across the mattress, only to wrinkle his nose and shove it aside moments later. Every motion was sharp, ears flicking with each wrong adjustment.

Wooyoung sat cross legged on the floor, watching. He didn’t say anything yet. Just let the quiet thrum of Yeosang’s instinct fill the room, let him build and tear down and build again. His chest swelled with something he couldn’t quite name, a warm, aching pride at seeing Yeosang finally let his omega instincts guide him.

But then Yeosang’s movements began to falter. His hands shook as he tried to tuck the stuffed animals into the pile, only to pull them out again, scattering them across the floor. His lip trembled, and he pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes like he could rub away the sting before it started.

“I can’t-” His voice cracked, thin and frustrated. “It’s not right. I don’t know how to make it right.” His ears folded flat, tears already spilling despite his effort to hide them. “It’s supposed to feel safe but it just-” He cut himself off with a broken sob, curling down onto his knees at the edge of the bed.

Wooyoung was up in an instant. He slid onto the floor beside him, wrapping an arm tight around Yeosang’s trembling shoulders. “Hey, hey, bunny,” he murmured, pulling him close until his cheek was pressed against Yeosang’s temple. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Yeosang hiccupped, clutching fistfuls of the blanket in frustration. “I’m messing it up. I’m-”

“You’re not messing up anything,” Wooyoung cut in firmly, though his voice stayed soft. He rubbed small circles along Yeosang’s back, grounding him. “Look at this-” he motioned towards the large fuzzy blanket that spread over the length of the bed. “This is the perfect foundation right here.”

He gently tugged Yeosang’s hands away from the crumpled fabric and helped him up from the floor, steadying him until his legs stopped trembling. “See? You already made sure it covers the whole bed. That way, it’ll stay warm no matter how we curl up on it.”

Yeosang sniffled, his lip wobbling. “But it still doesn’t-”

“And these,” Wooyoung interrupted softly, brushing his fingers along the pile of pillows gathered at the head of the bed. “Perfect for your head, baby. You thought about that without even realizing it.”

Yeosang’s ears twitched faintly at the praise, though they still drooped low.

“And this?” Wooyoung shifted, patting the circle of stuffed animals Yeosang had pushed to the sides of the mattress. “That’s a barrier. You already built one without me even saying anything. Safe, cozy, and it keeps us all tucked in together. Don’t you see how good you are at this?”

Yeosang blinked at him through wet lashes, overwhelmed, unsure if he could believe it. His throat worked around a quiet, “Really?”

Wooyoung smiled, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “Really. You’re doing so good, bunny. This is your nest. And it’s already perfect because you made it.”

That desperate edge in Yeosang’s tears filled with the sense of not being enough was one Wooyoung knew all too well.

He remembered his own preheats, the way the smallest thing could unravel him. A pillow out of place, a blanket too rough, even San being just a minute too slow to answer his call felt catastrophic when the haze began creeping in. Vulnerability sharpened everything, made the world feel too big, too loud, too unsafe.

“Hey,” Wooyoung murmured, slipping closer, curling his body around Yeosang’s without hesitation. He spoke low, the way San always did for him when his chest felt too tight. “I know it feels heavy right now. Everything does before a heat. You’re not wrong for feeling it, bunny.”

Yeosang hiccuped against him, ears trembling.

Wooyoung gave one last soothing stroke down Yeosang’s back before pulling away just enough to meet his watery eyes. “Why don’t you try it now, hm? Go curl up in your nest, see how it feels. You’ll see it’s already good.”

Yeosang hesitated, lips wobbling, but after a soft nudge from Wooyoung he finally climbed onto the bed. His hands fussed with the blankets for a moment longer before he sank down, burrowing into the circle of pillows he’d built. The tension in his shoulders eased the tiniest bit, his ears flicking as he tested the space.

Wooyoung stayed where he was, leaning against the side of the bed, giving him that space. “See? Looks cozy already,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Yeosang peeked over the top of a pillow, cheeks pink, lower lip jutting in the slightest pout. His little hands reached out in the air making grabby hands. “...Come in.”

He grinned, unable to resist. “See? You didn’t ruin anything. You made a perfect nest.” He climbed onto the bed, slipping into the nest carefully, letting Yeosang pull him down until they were tangled together among the blankets.

Yeosang made a humming noise of agreement, but the sudden shroud of Wooyoung’s deep eucalyptus scent pulled him into a deep sleep. 

When he stirred again, the room was muted with a heavy fuzz around his brain. His cheek was pillowed against solid warmth, a head hand stroked his ears, grounding him before the fog in his head could catch up. Wooyoung’s lap. 

Voices drifted above him, hushed but clear enough to thread into his haze.

“Think the first wave’s already started?” San’s voice, quiet from the doorway.

Wooyoung’s hand moved absently over Yeosang’s hair, the touch protective, soothing. “His scent’s changing. Getting thicker. I’d say he’s already in it.”

“You really like taking care of him, don’t you?” San whispered fondly.

“I, I don't know… I guess it gives me purpose, like I can be the person for him that sometimes I wish my parents were for me.” Wooyoung admitted shyly.

San smiled back at him with a look of utter completeness.

Yeosang’s lashes fluttered, a dazed whimper spilling out before he could stop it. The air felt too heavy, too hot, every inch of his skin prickling. The comfort of Wooyoung’s eucalyptus scent blanketing him should have been enough. But instead it only fed the ache rising in his belly, curling sharp and desperate.

Confusion fogged his thoughts. Why did it feel so unbearable? Why did his body feel like it was burning alive, like nothing could touch the fire spreading through him?

His throat worked around a tiny sound, plaintive and needy. He shifted against Wooyoung without realizing it, his face turning to bury into his stomach, trying to ground himself, trying to breathe.

Wooyoung glanced down at him quickly, thumb stroking over his flushed cheek. “Bunny?” he murmured.

From the doorway, San straightened, his gaze steady but faintly tense.

Yeosang’s breath hitched, his body curling tighter in Wooyoung’s lap. His ears pressed flat, trembling, and his eyes opened glassy and unfocused. He tried to swallow, but the sound that broke out of him was wrecked, small and pleading.

“H–hurts,” he whimpered, fingers twisting in Wooyoung’s shirt. His voice cracked, thick with desperation. He realized how far away San was standing from the bed. “Please… Wooyoung… S–San…”

The raw ache in his tone made Wooyoung’s chest tighten. He didn’t hesitate, bending low to kiss Yeosang’s damp temple, his hand stroking over his burning skin. “Shh, We’ve got you, bunny. I know. It’s starting.”

San moved quickly from the doorway, taking the plea as an invitation into Yeosang’s nest, crossing the room in a few strides. His voice was steady when he crouched beside them. “Yeosang,” he said softly, tilting his chin so their eyes met. “I’m here. We’re both here.”

Another broken plea slipped out, his body arching into the touch of San’s hand against his cheek. “Please.”

San’s thumb smoothed across his flushed skin, then he leaned down, pressing his mouth gently to Yeosang’s forehead. Wooyoung’s lips followed, brushing kisses over the curve of his ear, down to his jaw.

Yeosang gasped like they were air itself, his fingers clinging harder to both of them. Every kiss, every stroke of their hands, only slightly dulled the wildfire at his skin, pulling the flames back into something he could bear.

“You’re doing so good.” Wooyoung murmured against his temple, kissing him again, slower this time. “Let us help, bunny. Just breathe, yeah?”

San’s hand slid down to cradle the back of his neck, firm and steady. He pressed a kiss to Yeosang’s parted lips, tender but sure. “That’s it. We’ve got you.”

Yeosang’s answering whine broke into a sob, the soft kisses sparking only frustration. His hips twisted restlessly, his body flailing side to side in the nest. His ears pressed flat against his head, tears welling at the corners of his eyes.

“N–no- ” he gasped, voice cracking. “Not enough. Hurts.” His thighs pressed together, then kicked out, his body seeking friction anywhere it could find. “San- please- need- ”

Wooyoung caught his wrists gently, pinning them against the blankets before Yeosang could hurt himself in the frenzy. “Bunny, breathe.”

But Yeosang only shook his head violently, panting, slick already soaking through the layers beneath him. He was incoherent now, reduced to single words that tore from his throat, desperate and needy.

“San- ” His voice broke into a sob. “Inside. Please, please- I need- ”

His body tensed, pupils blown wide, scent flaring heavy in the air. San cupped Yeosang’s face firmly, forcing those wild, glassy eyes to meet his.

“Yeosang,” San said low, grounding, even as heat pooled in his own stomach at the sound of that begging tone. “You’re asking me to be inside you. Are you sure, Bunny?”

Yeosang’s answer was immediate, a frantic whine paired with a desperate lift of his hips toward him. “Yes- yes, please- need you- can’t- hurts- ” His ears quivered with every shuddering sob.

Wooyoung leaned close, kissing the tears from Yeosang’s cheek before looking up to San. “It's hitting hard. He needs it, San.”

San’s breath caught as he peeled the damp fabric from Yeosang’s trembling body, every inch of slick stained skin revealed and entrusted to him. His chest ached with awe. He could sit here and admire Yeosang’s body, worshipping it for hours, but that's not what Yeosang needed. 

Wooyoung adjusted himself so that Yeosang leaned back onto his chest, holding him from behind and offering security. 

San knelt at the foot of the bed, taking in the picture in front of him. Yeosang, naked, slick running down his thighs, skin flushed and sheen with sweat. Wooyoung, flushed face from the effects of Yeosang’s scent, looking down fondly at the bunny hybrid, watching his every expression. His heart couldn’t be any fuller. 

San shook himself from the trance. He took each of Yeosang’s knees, each of them falling apart pliantly. Yeosang’s perfect little cocklet flushed an angry red, almost screaming at San about the urgency of the situation.

When San finally pushed forward Yeosang gasped and arched. His body, so taut with need, pulling San’s thick length right inside of him to the hilt. Yeosang melted all at once, the sound that tore from his throat raw with relief. Wooyoung kissed his temple, murmuring praise against sweat damp skin as he rolled each of Yeosang’s nipples in his fingers.

San buried his face briefly against Yeosang’s knee, grounding himself. He wasn’t just easing the ache of heat. He was showing Yeosang something he should’ve always known: that love could feel like safety, that desire could feel like care. Not like a chore.

“I’ve got you, bunny,” San whispered again, voice hoarse with emotion as he began to move, each touch nothing but devotion.

San’s rhythm shifted, no longer the tentative gentleness he started with. His hips snapped forward with force, driving into Yeosang again and again. The sound of it filled the room, wet and obscene, each thrust drawing broken cries from Yeosang’s throat. His head lolled against Wooyoung’s shoulder, spit sliding unchecked from the corner of his mouth, bliss wrecking every ounce of composure he might’ve once clung to.

San gritted his teeth, barely holding back his own unraveling at the sight. The heat pouring off Yeosang was unbearable, intoxicating.

Yeosang hadn’t ever dared to dream of giving himself like this. Not out of duty, not under command, but out of desperate need. And now, San was the one filling that ache. Not silicone. Not the cold, unfeeling hands of the institution.

Yeosang wailed, back arching, clutching at Wooyoung’s arms like he might fly apart if not for the cage of warmth holding him together.

Wooyoung caught San’s gaze over Yeosang’s shoulder, his lips parted, breath unsteady from the thick scent flooding the room. The look they shared was wordless, San reading Wooyoung’s desire. He leaned forward, bridging the space, pressing his mouth to Wooyoung’s in a heated kiss over Yeosang’s trembling body.

San groaned into it, one hand tightening on Yeosang’s thigh to steady himself. 

Yeosang came without warning, his entire body seizing tight around San with a strangled cry. Slick and heat flooded over San’s thighs, his nails raking down Wooyoung’s arms as if to claw himself deeper into their grasp.

San slowed his thrusts instantly, instinct guiding him not to push too far, not to overwhelm Yeosang’s trembling body in the aftermath of release. His chest heaved as he fought to ground himself, hips still rolling shallowly.

But the moment he began to ease back, to pull away, panic flared in Yeosang’s eyes. His breath hitched, hands flying down to clutch at San’s forearms, nails biting into skin.

“No!” His voice cracked, desperate and raw, tears clinging to his lashes. “Don’t! Don’t go. Need- please- stay, San-”

San froze, every muscle in his body locking at the sheer terror laced through Yeosang’s plea. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Yeosang’s damp temple, voice breaking as he soothed him.

“I’m not leaving you, bunny. I’m right here. Always right here. And Wooyoung is right behind you baby.”

Yeosang sobbed, the sound guttural, and dragged San closer with weak, trembling arms, his legs tightening around San’s waist like he could fuse them together. He blindly leaned his head back into Wooyoung’s scent gland, forever his safe space, and took a large sniff.

Wooyoung smoothed Yeosang’s hair back, kissing the crown of his head as his other hand stroked San’s back. His voice came steady, grounding both of them. “Don’t pull out of him, I think his omega is interpreting it as rejection.”

San swallowed hard, his heart twisting at the revelation. San lowered himself down, chest to chest with Yeosang, caging him gently against Wooyoung’s body, refusing to pull away.

Yeosang went still beneath them, lashes fluttering as his body sagged. For a long, quiet moment, San thought he had slipped under completely. 

Minutes passed, and they spoke in low voices above him about mundane things. Wooyoung teased San about how hopelessly wrecked he looked, and San only rolled his eyes. Wooyoung huffed a laugh, scratching gently behind Yeosang’s ear.

Then, with a soft noise Yeosang stirred. His body shifted, muscles stretching, and he blinked up at them hazily with his pupils still blown wide with lingering need.

San’s hand stilled on his hip. “Hi baby. You awake?”

Yeosang only hummed, gaze darting between them before he moved with sudden, surprising purpose. He rolled onto his stomach, presenting without hesitation, ass raised high up in the air while Wooyoung’s small bulge came into view. He reached for Wooyoung’s pajama pants with grabby hands, pulling him close until Wooyoung understood, his breath catching as Yeosang mouthed at him with clumsy desperation.

“Oh, baby…” Wooyoung whispered, his voice tight with fondness and arousal. He let Yeosang free his cocklet, guiding it into his mouth. 

San’s chest tightened, struck by the sheer hunger in the display. Yeosang’s body screamed for fullness in every sense.

Without wasting time, San moved up behind him, steadying himself as he lined up once more. His hands traced Yeosang’s waist and the sultry bow of his spine. San pushed in and Yeosang moaned around Wooyoung, the vibrations of his need making Wooyoung groan in turn. San’s jaw clenched, fighting the rush of heat in his own blood as he watched how pleasuring Yeosang in turn pleasured Wooyoung.

“Perfect,” San whispered hoarsely, bending low to kiss the sweat beading along Yeosang’s spine. “So perfect like this.”

Yeosang whined, muffled around Wooyoung, and pushed back into San with restless, needy rolls of his hips. It wasn’t careful anymore but desperate, chasing friction. San gritted his teeth, trying to pace them, but Yeosang wouldn’t be contained. He clenched around him, body writhing, whimpers breaking against Wooyoung’s cocklet until his whole body went taut. The release tore through him again, sudden and sharp, his thighs shaking as slick gushed down between them.

San slowed immediately, holding Yeosang steady, easing him through the shuddering climax. But unlike before, his muscles went completely limp, his mouth slipping off Wooyoung with a wet gasp. A trembling sigh left his lips before his head lolled into the nest of blankets, finally claimed by exhaustion.

“Bunny?” San whispered, stroking his damp hair back. But Yeosang was gone to the world, breath evening out, chest rising and falling with the heavy pull of true sleep.

San’s heart clenched at the sight. Relief washed through him. It meant the first wave had finally burned itself out. With steady hands, he carefully slipped free, and Yeosang whimpered faintly in his sleep, his body clenching around the absence. Wooyoung soothed him with a murmur, reaching for the soft, silicone plug they had readied. He pressed it in gently, sealing him with the snug stretch, so that when he stirred again, he wouldn’t wake to emptiness.

Together, he and Wooyoung tucked Yeosang into the nest at the side of the bed, layering soft blankets over his spent form. The bunny hybrid curled instinctively into the warmth, ears twitching once before he drifted deeper.

Only when he was settled did Wooyoung glance back at San, eyes flicking down his body. His lips curved, sly and knowing. “You didn’t come,” he said softly.

San blinked, suddenly aware of the ache straining in him, the heat that had been pushed back again and again in favor of caring for Yeosang. “It doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “He needed- ”

“It matters,” Wooyoung interrupted, crawling toward him with slow, deliberate grace. His scent spiked, rich with arousal now that Yeosang’s haze no longer primarily consumed the room. “You’ve been so focused on him, you forgot about yourself.”

San tried to protest, but Wooyoung’s hands were already on his chest, guiding him down against the mattress. He leaned in, mouth brushing San’s ear as he whispered, “Let me.”

Before San could answer, Wooyoung swung a leg over him, straddling his hips. The sly tilt of his mouth softened into something warmer as he sank down slowly, taking San in with a shiver. His hole welcomed San’s thick girth easily, showing how turned on he had become watching the man pleasure their bunny hybrid. San’s breath stuttered out, his hands gripping Wooyoung’s thighs without thought.

Wooyoung’s head fell back, a groan spilling past his lips, before he leaned down to kiss San deeply. “Your turn,” he murmured against his mouth, rolling his hips in a slow grind that made San’s vision blur.

San groaned low in his throat, every muscle strung tight as Wooyoung moved slowly above him, deliberate in every roll of his hips. It was tormenting, and Wooyoung knew it. His smirk was proof enough.

“Too slow?” he murmured, nails dragging lightly down San’s chest. His pace stayed maddening, shallow and careful, as if he had all the time in the world.

San’s head pressed back into the pillow, a hiss slipping from between his teeth. “Wooyoung…” His voice was already fraying at the edges, heat simmering after being denied for too long.

The omega hybrid leaned down, lips brushing San’s jaw as he whispered, “You spent yourself taking care of him. Let me take care of you.” He punctuated the words with a sharp snap of his hips, making San jolt with a groan.

For a moment, Wooyoung slowed again, kissing him deeply, savoring the way San trembled beneath him. But the teasing only fanned the fire higher, and soon Wooyoung’s rhythm changed. His pace quickened, the drag of him taking and giving in equal measure, the mattress creaking beneath their bodies.

San’s hands gripped his thighs, fingers digging hard, urging him faster. All the restraint he’d forced on himself with Yeosang broke apart now, flooding him with raw, pent up need.

Wooyoung chased it with him, sweat beading on his skin as he slammed down harder, gasping into San’s mouth. “God, you feel good.” The words spilled out between kisses, his voice ragged with need.

It wasn't careful anymore. It was frantic. A desperate attempt to wring out every ounce of tension, every ache that had been building through hours of control. Their bodies met in a fevered rhythm, the air thick with their mingled moans and the slap of skin on skin.

San’s release built quick and hard, his body coiling beneath Wooyoung’s relentless pace. He clutched him closer, groaning into the crook of his neck, giving in at last to the wave crashing through him.

Wooyoung didn’t stop riding him through it, chasing his own high with greedy rolls of his hips. He leaned back, head tipping with a sharp cry as his body seized in climax, spilling against San’s stomach as his muscles clenched tight around him.

They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs with sweat slick skin pressed close.

For the first time all night, San’s body felt loose, the ache gone, replaced by a warm thrum of release. Wooyoung tucked his face against his neck, whispering between soft, tired kisses, “Better?”

San’s laugh was breathless, his hands smoothing over Wooyoung’s back. “Better.”

 

Notes:

hai hai ~ ill be updating again this week because I CANNOT WAIT to give y'all the next chapter 🧍‍♀️

Chapter 19

“It was… a lot,” he murmured, voice barely audible above the hiss of the shower. His ears twitched, drooping slightly, eyes glossy with unshed tears. Hormones still unbalanced after so long on suppressants made the comedown from his heat harsh and unrelenting. Every muscle felt raw, every nerve alive, and the emotional surge was as sharp as the physical ache.

Wooyoung’s hands were gentle as they lathered soap over Yeosang’s shoulders, chest, and back, moving slowly to not rush him. “Shh, bunny,” he murmured softly, brushing damp hair from Yeosang’s forehead. “It’s okay. It's all over now baby.”

San leaned close from the other side, warm fingers gliding over Yeosang’s arms and sides, coaxing little shivers of comfort from him. “Don’t hold it in,” he said quietly. “Let it out so that you can let your pheromones balance out correctly.”

Yeosang’s lips trembled, and a few tears slipped freely down his cheeks. He nodded and sniffled again, hiccuping as he leaned into their touch, soaking up the reassurance and gentle hands on his skin. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t have to be perfect. He didn’t have to be strong. He just needed to feel loved.

Wooyoung kissed the top of his head, and San pressed a soft nuzzle to his temple. Together, their warmth and care washed over Yeosang in a way no instruction or training ever could. He cried quietly into the shower, the mixture of relief, exhaustion, and post heat haze blurring him, letting himself be held, cleaned, and cherished.

Wrapped in a loose blanket around his shoulders, Yeosang leaned against Wooyoung, head resting on his chest as they sat on the penthouse balcony. The sun had climbed high enough to cast a warm, golden glow, and the breeze teased strands of Yeosang’s hair across his flushed cheeks.

Wooyoung’s arms stayed snug around him, tail flicking as he hummed, content to let Yeosang soak in the sunlight. It had taken quite the amount of convincing to get Wooyoung to come out on the balcony, but after Yeosang had mentioned it would probably be better if they didn’t sit around in all of those sex pheromones he had obliged. After the intensity of his heat and the closeness inside the apartment, the soft breeze was grounding.

“It’s… nice,” Yeosang murmured, voice soft. “The light doesn’t hurt my eyes anymore like it used to.” He tilted his face up, letting the breeze wash over him, inhaling the mix of city air and the faint scent of flowers from a nearby planter. “I wanna be outside… like all the time.”

Wooyoung smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I know, bunny. You’ve been cooped up for so long. You deserve this.”

Yeosang closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I like being outside with you.” His voice was almost reverent, awe threading through the simple words. 

Wooyoung kissed the top of his head gently, although he didn’t give an answer.

After a while, Wooyoung shifted, standing slowly. “I… Uh… think I’ll go back inside for a bit. Keep reading my book.” He nodded toward the slightly ajar balcony door. “You stay here a little longer if you want. I’ll check on you soon.”

Yeosang let out a soft sigh, settling deeper against the couch and letting the breeze wrap around him. “It’s… really nice,” he repeated, more to himself than anyone else, the sunlight and wind brushing against his skin in a way that felt almost nurturing. 

He leaned back slightly, eyes half closed, letting the golden rays warm his face and the soft wind tease at his ears, thinking that maybe the outside wasn’t as frightening as he had imagined.

Yeosang shifted from the cushioned balcony couch to sit cross legged on the smooth tile floor, leaning against the railing. The sun warmed the top of his ears, and he let his hands rest on his knees, observing the world below. People bustled along the sidewalks, some walking their hybrids, others chatting with friends, a few carrying little bundles of groceries. Every movement seemed fascinating, and his tail twitched subtly as he followed each passerby with wide, curious eyes.

Then he noticed a small commotion further down the block. Tables were being unfolded, boxes of baked goods lifted into place, colorful signs taped to stands announcing a bake sale fundraiser. Yeosang’s ears perked, his heart giving a little jump. The aroma of fresh bread and sweet pastries drifted up faintly, teasing his bunny senses.

A small smile tugged at his lips. He couldn’t resist. Curiosity bloomed inside him like sunlight through a window, warm and insistent. The bake sale seemed harmless, cheerful, and he could get things for them all to try! His tail flicked back and forth, ears pressed forward in anticipation. The thought settled firmly in his mind.

Yeosang practically skipped into San’s office, tail flicking behind him. He paused at the doorway, noticing San looking up from his paperwork.

“Hi baby,” San said softly, eyes narrowing with concern. “How are you feeling? After last night… your heat- ”

Yeosang’s face broke into a bright smile. “I’m feeling great! Really! And- San! There’s a bake sale just down the block!” His ears twitched as he gestured enthusiastically toward the window. “I really want to go. It’s only a little way, and I could-”

San’s brow furrowed. “Yeosang… I'm too busy to go with you right now. I have a stack of papers and an online meeting.”

Yeosang’s ears drooped slightly, then perked again with determination. “I can go by myself! If you… if you wrote me a note and let me borrow my license, I could show anyone asking!”

 San hesitated, studying the eager, hopeful expression on Yeosang’s face. He could see the genuine excitement in his eyes. Yeosang had probably seen it once in a drama Wooyoung watched that hybrids were sometimes allowed to go outside alone if they had documented permission.

“You’d really be okay to go by yourself?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes! I promise I’ll be careful,” Yeosang said earnestly, clasping his small hands together. “Please, San. I just want to see it… it looks really yummy.”

San’s heart softened. He rubbed his forehead, then exhaled slowly. “Alright, if you're sure,” he said at last. He dug out a notepad and pen, scribbling a note: 

This hybrid is property of Choi San. He is allowed to be outside under my documented permission to visit a bake sale and then promptly return home.

He added his signature, the date and time, his address, then carefully stamped it with his business seal for legitimacy. He took out Yeosang’s hybrid license, along with some cash bills.

Yeosang practically leapt for joy, ears twitching, tail flicking happily. “Thank you, San! I’ll be so careful, I promise!”

San gave him a wary smile. “I expect you to be. And come back quickly. I’ll be checking the time. If you aren’t back in 30 minutes…”

“Yes, sir!” Yeosang chirped, nearly skipping out the door with the note tucked carefully in his pocket.

Yeosang padded quietly back toward the living room. He paused when he saw Wooyoung lounging on the couch, book in hand, completely absorbed in his story.

It struck him that the trip to the bake sale would be far more enjoyable if Wooyoung came along. That way, Wooyoung could pick out the treats he liked, and they could share the excitement together. But Yeosang knew better than to ask directly. Wooyoung would probably refuse outright. He could be so stubborn about those things.

Yeosang stood there as a multitude of thoughts came across his mind. How could he get Wooyoung to come outside? A small smile spread across Yeosang’s face as an idea formed. 

Bounding over, he crouched beside the couch and placed a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Hey, Wooyoung,” he chirped, voice full of barely contained excitement. “I have a surprise for you!”

Wooyoung looked up slowly, one eyebrow arched, looking to see if Yeosang held anything in his hands. “A surprise? Yeosang… What kind of surprise?” His tone was cautious, but a flicker of curiosity showed through.

Yeosang’s ears twitched, tail flicking behind him. “You have to do exactly what I say.”

Wooyoung hesitated with suspicion written across his face. “Yeosang… I don’t know… I’ve learned the hard way that your ‘surprises’ can be unpredictable.”

Yeosang’s ears drooped briefly, then perked back up with determination. “I promise! It will be great.”

Wooyoung studied him carefully, reading the sincerity in his wide eyes. He assumed there really wasn’t much that the bunny could do after all, being up in the apartment. After a beat, he sighed, “Alright… fine.”

Yeosang’s face lit up as he hopped to his feet. “You have to put on the blindfold and headphones first!”

Wooyoung groaned, holding up his hands in mock surrender. 

Yeosang figured the less that Wooyoung knew the better. If Wooyoung even heard the faint beep of the elevator, he’d back out. There were so many things that Wooyoung has shown Yeosang, way out of his own comfort zone. Maybe going outside was just one of those things for Wooyoung. He just had to show him.

Yeosang’s small hand guided Wooyoung carefully, fingers curling around his arm to steady him. He tried to anticipate each step, turning this way and that. 

Blindly, Wooyoung tried to map out where they were going in the penthouse. He felt the tiled floor turn into carpet and then tile again.

They took several turns, and for a moment, they simply stood still. Wooyoung tensed beneath Yeosang’s hand, eyebrows furrowed. This has to be a game, he thought, lips pressed into a thin line. He’s just walking me in circles around the penthouse. 

They walked some more, Wooyoung at this point feeling completely disoriented. Then the wind hit him. A cool, unexpected breeze brushed against his face and arms, carrying faint smells of the city streets below.

Wooyoung’s stomach twisted instantly. His breath hitched. Were they on the balcony? Wooyoung didn’t feel right about that. Being completely deprived of his senses and out on the balcony was out of his comfort zone. 

Panic flared through him, sharp and uncontrollable. His hands clutched at the blindfold, ripping it off in a sudden motion, knocking the headphones to the ground. The bright sunlight and wide open space assaulted his senses.

They were not on the balcony. They were far beyond that. 

Wooyoung’s knees weakened as ice flowed through his veins. His body stiffened. Every instinct screamed danger. His lungs refused to work, overwhelmed by the movement around him. The world felt impossibly vast. He couldn’t even move. He froze, eyes wide and unblinking, paralyzed by panic.

He was outside. The sidewalk stretched endlessly before him, people moving in all directions like they were closing in, their voices overlapping in a chaotic, unintelligible roar. The sunlight reflected off windows and cars, bright and relentless, stabbing at his eyes and making them water.

His legs felt like lead. His hands fisted against his chest, nails digging into skin as his body shook uncontrollably. He tried to call out to tell Yeosang he couldn’t, but his throat constricted, voice lost in a strangled rasp. Where was Yeosang?

The noises around him became indistinct, a jumble of sound that he couldn’t process. Horns, footsteps, chatter, all blending into a deafening pressure that pounded in his skull. His ears rang. His heartbeat thundered so loudly he could almost feel it in his throat.

His vision blurred with tears, as he staggered backward, searching desperately for anything solid, anything safe. His balance failed him, as his foot caught, sending him tumbling down onto the cement.

Yeosang’s soft voice called from beside him, sounding questioning and concerned, but it didn’t penetrate the thick fog of panic that had enveloped Wooyoung. He could hear nothing, see nothing. His entire body was alive with terror, every muscle taut, ready to flee but unable to find an escape.

San’s pen hovered above his paperwork, but his mind had already drifted. The neatly stacked documents blurred together as he thought of Yeosang. If he was doing alright outside. His 30 minutes were almost up.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as his thoughts turned toward the Omega Hybrid Institute. The tab was still there in his browser. The files in the facility’s database had been gnawing at him for days, and he could no longer ignore them. 

He knew there was no question that Yeosang had a dark and disturbing past. Even from the snippets of how San saw Yeosang behave in the house shortly after bringing him home, even remembering what it was like to watch Yeosang through that one way mirror during examination day.

A sharp breath escaped him as he opened the portal, fingers trembling slightly despite his usual calm. The summaries, punishment logs, and behavioral notes awaited him with dark green colored links. He knew it would be difficult, but he needed to see the full picture of what Yeosang had endured. It was his responsibility to know about Yeosang’s past. 

He debated which file to load first.

He took a shallow breath and clicked on the first punishment log. Why not just bite the bullet.

It was… almost benign. The most recent incident recorded Yeosang being demoted to scrubbing floors for an infraction. Not pleasant, certainly, but manageable. San exhaled slowly, a flicker of relief easing his chest for a fraction of a second.

But he knew the real darkness lay in the logs further back. Hesitant, he scrolled to the previous entry, fingers trembling as he opened it.

And then he saw it.

The details made his stomach knot and his throat tighten. The words were clinical, but the images they evoked were anything but. Yeosang had been punished on a mounting bench. The log described him being restrained, and thrusted into by a machine until he had passed out. 

He leaned back in his chair, mouth dry, fingers gripping the edge of the desk as nausea coiled in his stomach. His vision blurred slightly at the edges, heart hammering against his ribs. He could almost hear Yeosang’s small broken body trying its best to make sure no reaction was given, just taking anything he thought he deserved.

San swallowed hard, trying to ground himself, but the words on the screen refused to fade. Every line was a hammer striking at his chest. How could anyone treat a living, thinking, feeling hybrid like this? And yet here was his Yeosang, alive, soft, trusting, brave enough to venture outside by himself. 

How could Yeosang ever learn to trust anyone after a life like that?

His hand shook, not from fear, but from a mingling of rage and sorrow. He wanted to close the browser, to shield himself from the evidence of cruelty, but he couldn’t. He had to see everything.

Yeosang being sent to sit in a room for hours. Yeosang being locked in a tiny dark cage. Yeosang being forced into a silence collar. Yeosang being chained up to a wall with a gag shoved down his throat. Yeosang being slapped. Yeosang spilling tea on the supervisor. Yeosang taking obedience classes. Yeosang learning how best to pleasure his owner. Yeosang being deprived of food. All of it. Detailed. 

How? How was this the same hybrid that he held under his care? How was this the same Yeosang that had learned to laugh? To paint? To scent? To learn how to sleep in a bed every night? How had he been able to grow from the trauma and torment that he was subject to in this nightmare of a facility?

San blinked, suddenly aware of how long he had been staring at the files. His chest tightened as a surge of adrenaline hit him. Yeosang’s time outside was up. He should have been back by now.

“Yeosang?” His voice sounded too loud in the still office, reverberating off the walls. Silence.

Again. Nothing.

“Wooyoung?” His tone rose, sharper this time, panic threading through every syllable. 

Again. Still nothing.

San’s stomach dropped. He bolted from the chair, papers scattering across the desk as he searched through the entire penthouse. Nothing. 

Fuck. San raced toward the elevator. Heart hammering, mind flashing between worst case scenarios. What could have happened? Wooyoung can’t go outside.

The elevator doors slid open with a mechanical hum, and he didn’t even wait for them to fully separate before squeezing his body out. By the time he reached the street, the lobby doors were swinging behind him and the cold evening air hit his face. He scanned the sidewalk, heart in his throat. People bustled past, oblivious to the storm raging in San’s chest. 

San’s eyes locked onto the two figures just outside the building. Wooyoung was curled up against the wall, body taut, eyes shut with terror, rasping for breaths. Yeosang hovered beside him, small hands reaching out, voice breaking as he tried to soothe him. Tears ran down his own cheeks, obviously distraught from not expecting the reaction that Wooyoung would have.

“I’m sorry, Wooyoung! I shouldn’t have! Please, please, just come back inside!” Yeosang’s voice was raw, desperate, the words tumbling out faster than he could manage. His own chest heaved as he cried, caught between panic for Wooyoung and guilt for what he’d done.

San’s stomach tightened. Without thinking, he bolted forward, hands grabbing Wooyoung first, wrapping him in his arms with his face tucked into his neck to pull him away from the wall. Wooyoung let out a startled yelp, panic fueling his stiff resistance, but San held firm, heart hammering. He hoped that Wooyoung would recognize his scent, as not some random person trying to steal him away. 

“Yeosang!” San barked, yanking on the smaller hybrid’s hand with an urgency that left no room for argument. Yeosang stumbled but didn’t resist, his own relief that San was there mingling with the guilt coursing through him.

San carried Wooyoung’s trembling frame while pulling Yeosang to the building’s entrance. The hum of the elevator doors opening felt like a lifeline. Once they were all packed into the small space, he pressed the button to the penthouse with a furious slam of his palm.

The doors closed, cutting off the city noise, and San’s control finally broke. His chest heaving, he whirled to Yeosang, voice loud and trembling with anger.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?!” His words echoed off the metal walls. “Do you even understand how dangerous that was?!”

Yeosang flinched at the shouting, tears spilling freely, his gaze staying on San, guilt written in every line of his face.

San’s voice rose, trembling with fury. “There is a reason that Wooyoung does not go outside, Yeosang! A reason!” His chest heaved as he glared at the trembling bunny hybrid. “I have no idea how you even got him out here in the first place, but there is no way in hell he did it willingly.”

Yeosang’s shoulders curled inward, ears flattened so tightly against his head it almost hurt. His lips trembled, but no words came out. The tears streaming down his cheeks fell faster as he shook his head desperately.

San’s eyes flashed with something close to panic as he looked between the fragile boy in his arms and the bunny hybrid in front of him. “He doesn’t even have a collar on! Do you understand what could have happened if an officer saw and reported him?!” His words shook with fury. “Do you want me arrested? Do you want Wooyoung taken away? Do you want both of you locked back in a facility?!”

San was spiraling out of logical control. Deep down he knew he was blatantly stretching the truth. The most he would get for a collarless hybrid was a hefty fine. Maybe he shouldn’t have looked at Yeosang’s files while already being anxious about his solo venturing outside.

Yeosang sank to his knees on the elevator floor, shoulders shaking as he sobbed into his hands. The doors dinged, announcing their arrival at the penthouse.

San finally tore his glare away from him, focusing instead on the trembling weight in his arms. Wooyoung’s breaths came out ragged, too fast and shallow, his chest rising and falling as if every inhale fought against his body. His fingers clutched desperately at San’s shirt, knuckles white, face pressed into the crook of San’s neck like he could hide there from the world.

San’s expression shifted, frantic. “Breathe, Wooyoung. Just breathe for me, baby,” he murmured, voice low but rushed, all of his energy redirecting into coaxing Wooyoung through the panic. He adjusted his hold, rocking him slightly as he strode down the hallway, ignoring Yeosang completely now.

The bunny hybrid was left kneeling on the elevator floor, tears streaking his face, chest heaving with guilt. He didn’t move. He couldn’t.

San reached Wooyoung’s room and shouldered the door open, carrying him inside. He laid him carefully onto the bed, one hand firm on his chest to remind him he wasn’t alone, the other smoothing over his damp hair as his rasps turned to choking gasps.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re not outside anymore,” San whispered fiercely, repeating the words over and over like a mantra. 

The elevator doors sealed shut with a hollow clang, leaving Yeosang trapped inside as the car began its slow descent back toward the ground floor. His breath hitched, chest caving in as the silence pressed in around him.

Tears streaked his cheeks, but it wasn’t enough to release the crushing weight inside him. Shame coiled like barbed wire in his chest, digging deeper with every breath. San’s voice still rang in his ears, sharp and furious, cutting deeper than any punishment the facility had ever devised.

There is a reason Wooyoung doesn’t go outside.

San’s rage hadn’t been vague frustration. It had been personal. Yeosang had broken something so fragile that it could never be repaired. 

His hands trembled as he pressed them to his face, muffling a sob. He couldn’t shake the image of Wooyoung curled up in terror, gasping for air, while San had turned his fury on him. He had ruined everything. Their home. Their trust. His place.

He broke Wooyoung’s trust .

The realization clawed up through him, merciless.

He didn’t belong there. Not with them. Not after this. They’d never have him back. He could have gotten them all in serious trouble.

San had given him kindness when no one else ever had, had trusted him enough to let him sleep in a bed, to sit on a couch, to eat when he was hungry, to paint, to laugh. Wooyoung had trusted him enough to share his space, his heat, his interests, his clothes, his comfort. And Yeosang had destroyed it all.

The elevator slowed to a stop, the ding echoing hollowly in his ears.

Yeosang’s decision came as quickly as the shame that swallowed him. He couldn’t go back upstairs, not after what he’d done, not after seeing the hatred in San’s eyes. Forgiveness wasn’t possible. Not this time.

He wasn’t wanted anymore.

He wasn’t worthy.

So he would go.

His tears blurred the world as the doors slid open, spilling him out onto the empty lobby floor. And for the first time in his life, Yeosang chose to run, not because he was told, not because he was punished, but because staying was unbearable.

Notes:

...oh! 🫣

 

(the thought of Wooyoung and Yeosang breaking down on the street and nobody stopping to help them ;( )

Chapter 20

Yeosang’s legs carried him faster than his thoughts, his hurried steps clicking against the pavement as he darted through the streets. His breath came shallow, uneven, as he kept his head down, hoping no one would notice the tears streaking across his face. He turned corner after corner, bumping shoulders with strangers who muttered curses at him. Each impact made him flinch, his heart leaping with terror, but he kept moving. He couldn’t stop.

The sky above was dark, heavy with clouds that smothered what little light the city lamps provided. Everything blurred together. His mind scrambled for direction, but each turn only tangled him deeper into unfamiliar streets. What was he even looking for?

That was when the truth clawed its way into his chest.

He didn’t know the way back.

His steps faltered, breath hitching. He had nowhere to go. No one waiting for him. He had left the only place that had ever given him comfort, and even that was ruined now.

Maybe he could find the way back to the facility. Back where punishment was harsh but simple, and at least he would know where he belonged.

The idea twisted through his ribs like a knife. They would take him back, yes, but not without severe punishment. Not without stripping away every ounce of the fragile freedom he had touched. Hybrids who were returned were never bid on again. They were locked away, branded as failures. No one wanted sloppy seconds.

Yeosang’s eyes caught the glow of a convenience store sign ahead. The bright hum of fluorescent lights drew him in wordlessly. He pushed the door open, a bell chiming overhead, the sudden cool air washing over his damp skin.

Aisles of neatly packed snacks and drinks blurred before his eyes. He reached instinctively into his pocket, fingers brushing over the bills San had given him for the bake sale. His stomach twisted sharply, guilt and longing stabbing him all at once.

San’s voice, San’s face, the warmth of being told he deserved kindness all flooded back. His heart dropped into his stomach, but he pushed the thought away before it could crush him entirely. He doesn’t want me anymore.

He tightened his grip on the money and walked stiffly to a shelf, pulling down a bag of prepackaged carrots. His motions felt clumsy, mechanical. At the counter, the clerk eyed him with a puzzled frown.

Yeosang didn’t meet the man’s eyes. He slid the bills across the counter, not even knowing how much the item cost or even how much the bills even were worth. He only hoped it was enough.

The register beeped. The clerk gave him change with a questioning glance that lingered, but said nothing. He wondered if maybe the man would report him.

Yeosang clutched the plastic bag like it was an anchor and shuffled out of the store, the bell above the door chiming again, releasing him back into the cold dark.

Yeosang walked and walked, his steps aimless. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, only to keep moving, to keep his mind from splintering into panic. If he stopped, if he let himself think, the crushing weight of what he’d done would suffocate him.

The streets grew quieter as he drifted farther from the city’s center. A patch of dark green came into view, iron gates standing open, and he felt his chest loosen slightly. A park.

He wandered inside.

Crickets sang somewhere in the distance. Yeosang walked past benches and lampposts, his eyes scanning the trees, the open lawn, the small pond that reflected the faint shimmer of the moon.

It was beautiful. Peaceful.

Maybe he could stay here.

The thought slipped in quietly, almost comforting. He could sit under the trees, watch the stars, maybe even hide well enough that no one would force him to leave.

But the fantasy crumbled as quickly as it formed.

Hybrids couldn’t live by themselves. They weren’t allowed. He wasn’t allowed. Even if he tried, what then? He had no skills, no knowledge of how the world worked. He was trained for obedience, not survival. He couldn’t even trust himself to count the correct amount of bills to buy something.

Still, he sat down on the cold park bench, pulling his knees to his chest. The stars scattered across the sky above him, brilliant against the deep black, and for a moment he let himself imagine he could stay like this forever. Just him, the quiet night, the universe stretching endlessly above.

Yeosang tilted his head further back, ears twitching faintly as he fixed his gaze on the sky. The stars glittered, patient and eternal, so far away that they couldn’t be touched. They didn’t have to try. They didn’t have to earn anything. All they had to do was sit in the dark and shine.

His throat tightened.

Maybe if he had done his job well enough, he could have been like that too, something lovely to look at, something wanted simply for existing. 

He curled tighter on the bench, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. The cruelest part was that he believed, once, that was what he was supposed to be. Pretty. Useful. Obedient. A perfect decoration for someone else’s life. And yet even at that, he had failed.

Yeosang had gotten too bold. Too comfortable. It was only a matter of time before he screwed up. He wasn’t made for this life that San had built him. San had too much confidence that Yeosang could be ‘more’. He was never going to be enough for San. Of course, it was only a matter of time before he ruined it.

The ache in his chest deepened. San should have known better. He should have known Yeosang wasn’t made for the small penthouse shaped freedom he was given. It wasn’t in him to flourish outside of rules, to shape a life with his own choices. He wasn’t built for it. This new world San kept placing in his hands, all the softness and kindness and choices only revealed how ill suited he truly was.

The night pressed heavily around him. His breath came uneven, and he forced his gaze to stay locked on the heavens. If he looked down, if he let the world creep back in, he might fall apart.

The stars blinked back silently, indifferent to his yearning.

Rhythmic, steady, approaching along the jogging path there were footsteps. Yeosang’s shoulders tightened as instinct screamed to keep his head down, to not be noticed. But when he glanced up, his heart stuttered.

The man jogging past looked familiar.

Sharp features, small frame, hair tied back neatly despite the sweat beading at his temple. He slowed as his eyes caught Yeosang’s trembling figure on the bench.

He slowed to a stop, his running shoes crunching against the gravel. He blinked, doing a double take, and then his eyes widened.

“Yeosang?”

It was Hongjoong.

Yeosang froze, his bag of baby carrots clutched tight against his chest. Hongjoong was already stepping closer, brows knitting in disbelief.

“What are you doing here? At this hour? Where’s San?”

The name hit Yeosang like a blade twisting in his chest. His lips parted, but all the words tangled in his throat. For a long moment he couldn’t speak, only stare at the ground until the words forced their way out, small and broken.

“...He doesn’t want me anymore.”

The silence that followed was sharp, tense. Hongjoong shook his head immediately, disbelief flashing across his face.

“Yeosang, that can’t be true.” His tone was firm.

His shame was too heavy, crushing down on his chest until it hurt to breathe. If he explained, if he admitted what he’d done, Hongjoong would know for certain that San had every right to hate him.

Hongjoong’s expression softened as he took in Yeosang’s trembling posture, the raw redness in his eyes, the way he seemed so utterly lost under the lamplight.

“Yeosang,” he said gently, crouching down so they were eye level. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. It isn’t safe. Why don’t you come with me for now? Until we figure this out.”

Yeosang’s heart thumped unevenly.

“With you?” His voice was fragile, disbelieving.

Hongjoong nodded. “I’m not sure exactly what happened, Yeosang, but you don’t deserve to be out here all by yourself. It’s going to get freezing tonight, and no matter what happened, I know San doesn’t want you out here freezing. ”

Yeosang stared at him. Maybe Hongjoong would accept him into his family. Maybe Seonghwa would let him stay. The thought filled his chest with a fragile, flickering hope, one he didn’t dare say aloud.

For now, he just nodded weakly, tears threatening again. “...Okay.”

Hongjoong didn’t push. He didn’t ask any more questions, didn’t press Yeosang for explanations he clearly wasn’t ready to give. He simply reached out, curling his warm fingers gently around Yeosang’s hand.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you inside.”

Yeosang let himself be led.

The world dulled as their footsteps carried them along the quiet streets, the steady rhythm of shoe against pavement lulling him into something weightless, something numb. The lamplight overhead blurred into soft streaks. The sound of cars somewhere far away turned into static, muffled and unreal.

His body moved, but it didn’t feel like his own. He was floating just above it, watching from somewhere else, letting Hongjoong’s hand be the anchor that tugged him forward each time he threatened to drift too far.

He stared at the ground, at the shifting shadows of their feet. Left. Right. Left. Right.

A faint tremor shook through his shoulders, but he didn’t even know if it was from cold or from the heavy weight inside his chest.

Somewhere in the blur of it all, Yeosang realized he hadn’t spoken again. And Hongjoong hadn’t asked him to. 

By the time they reached Hongjoong’s tall apartment building, Yeosang barely registered the doors sliding open, or the hum of the elevator, or the faint scent of cinnamon clinging to Hongjoong’s clothes. He just followed.

The apartment door clicked open, and Yeosang followed Hongjoong inside. The space immediately felt different than San’s penthouse as dim warm lighting pooled across soft wooden floors, books and trinkets lined the shelves, and the air smelled faintly of tea leaves. It was very much lived in.

But what caught Yeosang’s attention wasn’t the home itself.

At the entryway, kneeling on the floor with his hands folded neatly in his lap, was Seonghwa. His posture was perfectly straight, shoulders tense, head lowered. It was as if he had been sitting there the entire time Hongjoong had been out.

Hongjoong broke into a wide grin, completely at ease with the sight. 

“Seonghwa! I’m back,” he said cheerfully, setting his keys down. “Sorry I was out so long.”

He stepped forward and ruffled Seonghwa’s soft hair like it was the most natural thing in the world, then gestured for him to rise. “Come on, join us in the living room, yeah?”

Seonghwa lifted his head. His eyes flicked to Yeosang, and for a moment, surprise slipped through his otherwise composed mask. His gaze lingered just long enough for Yeosang to feel the unspoken question before he quickly looked away, following Hongjoong’s lead.

Yeosang didn’t find it strange. He had seen hybrids wait like this before, perfectly still and obedient until their owner returned. If anything, it seemed pretty normal to him.

Hongjoong led the way into the living room, dropping onto the couch with an easy sigh. He patted the cushion beside him, though Seonghwa hesitated before kneeling before him. Yeosang remained standing, hands twisting together, unsure where he fit.

“Seonghwa baby,” Hongjoong began, his tone soft and warm, “you remember Yeosang. He’s… going to be staying with us for just a little while. Just until things get sorted out, okay?”

Seonghwa’s eyes darted back to Yeosang again, wide for the briefest moment before shuttering into something unreadable. He pressed his lips together, shoulders tightening, but gave a small nod. 

Hongjoong, oblivious to the tension, smiled brightly at them both. “It’ll be nice, right? Like a little sleepover?”

“Alright,” Hongjoong said after a quiet pause, clapping his hands softly on his knees as if that settled everything. “It’s late. Why don’t you both get ready for bed? Seonghwa, show Yeosang where everything is, yeah? Make sure he’s comfortable.”

Seonghwa froze for half a second before nodding once, sharply. He rose to his feet, his movements quiet but stiff, and tilted his head toward Yeosang in silent instruction.

Yeosang followed obediently, clutching the hem of his shirt as Seonghwa led him down the short hallway. The caracal hybrid didn’t speak, didn’t even look directly at him, but his presence was heavy. They slipped into the small bathroom together, Seonghwa wordlessly reaching into the cabinet for a spare toothbrush and setting it on the sink. 

Yeosang lowered his gaze, murmuring a soft thank you that went unanswered.

Back in the living room, Hongjoong pulled his phone from his pocket. His fingers hovered before he finally pressed San’s contact. The dial tone stretched, each ring lengthening the frown on his face. No answer.

Hongjoong exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering under his breath. He quickly tapped out a message.

KIM HONGJOONG 

10:57 PM

I’ve got Yeosang here. 

 

The reply came not as text but as an incoming call almost immediately, San’s name flashing across the screen.

Hongjoong answered without hesitation.
“San? Hey- it’s me.”

Seonghwa laid the folded pajamas on the counter, his motions almost robotic. He stayed close, head tilted slightly, waiting for Yeosang to take them.

Yeosang accepted the set with a quiet nod. Neither of them said a word. Silence filled the tiled bathroom, only broken by the soft rustle of fabric as Yeosang began to change. He pulled his shirt over his head, dropped it to the floor, and slipped out of his pants without a second thought.

Seonghwa didn’t look away. His gaze tracked Yeosang’s movements with a flat steadiness. He didn’t shift or fidget, except for his never stilling ears, only watched until Yeosang slid into the pajama bottoms and pulled the top over his shoulders.

Yeosang smoothed the fabric, exhaling softly through his nose. Seonghwa reminded him a lot of the omegas back at the facility. In a twisted way, it comforted him.

Seonghwa picked up Yeosang’s discarded clothes, folded them neatly without being asked, and set them on the counter again. His hands lingered a second longer on the fabric, then withdrew.

The two of them stood in the small bathroom, the hush stretching on. Their eyes met briefly, neither speaking. 

Seonghwa’s footsteps were noiseless on the hardwood as he led Yeosang down the short hall. When he pushed open a door, Yeosang blinked in surprise. The room wasn’t at all what he expected.

It was overflowing with personality. Soft blankets stacked in mismatched colors, shelves crowded with little trinkets and charms, small plants trailing leaves from the windowsill. The warm amber light from a bedside lamp pooled across a rug woven with bright patterns. It looked lived in and cared for. 

Yeosang’s chest tightened. How could someone like Seonghwa live in a place like this?

But Seonghwa’s face didn’t change as he turned down the covers. His motions were practiced, precise, as if the decorations were invisible to him. He gestured silently for Yeosang to climb in. Obediently, Yeosang did, slipping under the sheets without a word. Seonghwa joined him a moment later, lying stiffly on his side, back straight as though bracing for inspection.

The door creaked as Hongjoong entered, with a bright smile at seeing the both of them cozy under the covers. “There you are,” he said softly, smiling at the sight. He crouched beside the bed, brushing his hand fondly over Seonghwa’s hair. “Good job, Hwa. You did really well helping Yeosang get settled.”

Seonghwa blinked, his expression unreadable, but his ears twitched wildly at the praise.

Hongjoong looked between them both, his voice dropping lower. “I just got off the phone with San. He’ll come in the morning to pick you up, Yeosang. So for tonight, rest easy here, okay?”

Yeosang swallowed, his fingers tightening in the blanket. The reassurance didn’t settle him, it only made his chest ache worse. He forced a nod, eyes slipping away.

Hongjoong’s smile lingered for a moment, then he pressed a light kiss to Seonghwa’s forehead. “Sleep well, both of you.”

When he left, the room fell back into silence. The eclectic colors and cozy decorations seemed to spin around Yeosang’s head. 

He could already see San’s sharp eyes, the anger in his voice, the disappointment etched deep into his face. Maybe he wouldn’t even yell. Maybe he’d just force Yeosang to live through what he’d lost. He’d go back to the penthouse and they’d act like he wasn’t even there. That was worse than yelling.

And Wooyoung… Yeosang’s stomach twisted. How could he ever face him again, after what he’d done? He pictured Wooyoung’s small frame in San’s arms, gasping for breath, and the shame felt like acid under his skin. 

They’d be better off without me. San should have never bid on me in the first place.

He bit his lip hard, but the tears still came, hot and unrelenting. He tried to muffle them, burying his face into the blanket, praying Seonghwa wouldn’t notice. It was pathetic, crying like this in someone else’s bed.

Minutes dragged by, his silent sobs tapering into shaky breaths. That was when he felt fingers brushing his hand under the blanket, tentative at first, then curling gently around his own.

Yeosang froze. Seonghwa hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t even shifted, but his hand was there, warm and steady against Yeosang’s trembling one. A quiet anchor. 

Yeosang’s chest hitched again, but this time the tears blurred into exhaustion. Slowly, his grip tightened around Seonghwa’s hand, holding on like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

Sleep pulled him under that way, with their hands interlocked beneath the covers.

When Yeosang stirred awake, for a moment he didn’t remember where he was. The sheets smelled different. He could sense Seonghwa wasn’t next to him anymore.

Then he heard the door crack open. Hongjoong’s voice came in gently. “Hi Yeosang. Wake up, San is here.”

The words struck like a stone dropped into his chest. Yeosang bolted upright, the blanket tangling around his lap. Already?

His breath stuttered, his heart refusing to climb into a full panic because there was no time, just the sudden, bone deep urge to run. He couldn’t face San. Not after last night. Not after ruining everything. If he moved fast enough, maybe he could slip past Hongjoong, maybe disappear into the city before-

The door slammed open.

San filled the frame, moving past Hongjoong without hesitation. His eyes landed on Yeosang instantly, and Yeosang braced himself for fury, for disappointment, for the harsh words he knew were waiting.

But none of that came.

San’s chest heaved, like he’d sprinted the whole way there, and his gaze… wasn’t angry at all. It was raw, laced with something Yeosang couldn’t make sense of.

“Yeosang.” San’s voice cracked in a way Yeosang had never heard before. He dove forward, crushing Yeosang in a tight hug.

Yeosang’s throat closed up, his lips parting but no words came. He didn’t understand. He’d been sure San would hate him, would yell and scream and tell him how horrible he was. 

San buried his face in Yeosang’s hair, breath shuddering. “God, Yeosang… we thought we lost you. I thought someone had taken you, or that you were- ” His voice cracked again, muffled into Yeosang’s shoulder. “I was so scared something had happened to you. I didn’t even have your license to fill out a police report.”

A police report? Yeosang froze, the warmth of San’s body pressed so close it nearly burned. This wasn’t anger. This wasn’t punishment. It was… relief?

San leaned back just enough to look at him, his eyes glassy, rimmed red. “I’m so sorry. For the things I said, for the way I yelled at you. I regret every word. You didn’t deserve that. None of it. I-” His breath caught, and he pulled Yeosang even tighter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Yeosang blinked rapidly, confusion tightening his chest. His lips parted, a whisper slipping out before he could stop it. “But… I was the one who ran away. Who brought Wooyoung outsi-” he gulped the last of the sentence down.

San’s breath hitched, as if the words cut him deeper than any blame could. He shook his head fiercely, one hand cupping the back of Yeosang’s neck.

“You ran because of me. Because I failed you.” His voice dropped, low and breaking. “That’s not your fault, Yeosang. It never was. I was clouded by… fear and emotion. I had no right to yell at you like I did. There’s no way you would have known how Wooyoung would have reacted outside. We… never told you about his…”

San’s words faltered when he realized they weren’t alone. He glanced up to see Hongjoong still lingering by the doorframe, watching their reunion with wide eyes.

The man gave an awkward, nervous smile, then wordlessly slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Yeosang was left trembling in San’s arms, his thoughts spinning. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. This couldn’t be San’s fault. It had to be his. It always was. He was selfish. Naive. Unworthy. A hybrid like him had no right to expect anything else.

But San was still holding him, still speaking with that same raw, desperate conviction.

“I don’t care what happened,” San whispered against Yeosang’s temple. “All I care about is you home with us, Yeosang. Please don’t ever do this again. Don’t leave. I don’t ever want to lose you again.”

The plea was quiet but so heavy that Yeosang could hardly breathe beneath the weight of it. His chest ached. His heart wanted to believe it, but his mind refused. Still, he nodded faintly, his voice catching. “Yes, sir.”

San exhaled shakily, pressing his lips briefly to Yeosang’s hair before easing him back. “Let’s gather your things.”

It didn’t take long changing out of the pajamas Seonghwa had lent him and grabbing his shoes by the door. 

At the entryway, Hongjoong and Seonghwa waited. Seonghwa knelt dutifully, his eyes flicking curiously to Yeosang before lowering again. Hongjoong fidgeted, looking between them with the guilty air of someone who wasn’t sure if he’d crossed a line.

San extended a hand, his grip firm. “Thank you. For everything. For finding him, for keeping him safe. If you ever need a favor… anything at all… you know who to come to.”

Hongjoong blinked, caught off guard, but he nodded quickly. “Of course. I’m just glad he’s alright.”

San leaned in a fraction closer, lowering his voice so only Hongjoong could hear. “And please… this stays between us. No one else needs to know about tonight.”

Hongjoong’s expression flickered, then settled into a serious nod. “Understood.”

San gave his shoulder a grateful squeeze, then guided Yeosang gently toward the door, his hand never leaving the boy’s back.

The drive stretched in silence. San’s hand rested on the wheel while his other never left Yeosang’s knee. Yeosang stared down at it, chest tightening with every passing second.

Finally, his voice slipped out, fragile and hesitant. “...Wooyoung?”

San’s jaw tightened. He kept his eyes on the road. “I’m not going to lie to you,” he said quietly. “He’s… not in great shape.” A pause, heavy and deliberate. “It’s going to take time. A lot of time to rebuild his trust. But you’ll get back there with him. I know you will.”

Yeosang nodded faintly, his throat bobbing, guilt pressing against his ribs until it hurt. He couldn’t imagine Wooyoung wanting to look at him again, let alone forgive him.

San exhaled, the sound edged with weariness. “There’s something I should’ve told you sooner. About Wooyoung. He… he doesn’t go outside just because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t. He has a version of severe agoraphobia. It's a type of fear. It started back at the mansion, when we were living under my father. He…” San’s grip on the wheel tightened, voice dipping lower. “He developed it there. That’s why he never leaves the penthouse. Why being pushed outside like that was unbearable for him.”

Yeosang’s heart lurched. He lowered his gaze, shame hot and suffocating. “I… I didn’t know.” His voice cracked, and he pressed his lips shut before it could betray him further.

San’s hand gave a light squeeze against his knee. “That wasn’t your fault, Yeosang. Wooyoung doesn’t really like talking about it, so I guess that's why we never did. It was an important part of him that you were missing.”

But the guilt clung anyway, heavier than ever.

“The last time Wooyoung was outside was when we left the mansion and I took him to the penthouse. That was… several years ago now. Even that move nearly broke him, and it was to leave everything that had ever hurt him behind.”

His thumb rubbed absently against Yeosang’s knee as if to anchor both of them. “He didn’t eat for days. Wouldn’t speak. Just… shut down completely. It took everything I had to get him back again to get him to feel safe, even a little. He’s come a long way since then.”

Yeosang’s breath stuttered, and now I've ruined it all, his chest tightening as if the words pressed in on his lungs. 

“When we get back… it’s probably best if you give Wooyoung some space. He’s… processing. His body went through shock and he needs time.”

Yeosang’s throat tightened. Space. That sounded like banishment. His fingers curled against his knees, nails digging into the fabric of his pants.

San glanced over, catching the tremor in his expression. His tone softened. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care for you. He loves you, Yeosang. He has for a long time. But right now… his body is protecting itself the only way it knows how. And I need you to let him, even if it might seem counterproductive.”

The words settled heavily inside Yeosang’s chest. Love. The idea of Wooyoung still loving him felt impossible, undeserved. He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands, trying not to crumble under the weight of San’s reassurance.

Notes:

shit!!!!! what do y'all think of seonghwa and hongjoong's dynamic now?????

also shoutout hongjoong for saving the dayyyyyyyyy ¬‿¬ ¬‿¬

also FUCK I LOVE YOU ALLL like honestly all the love in the comments, all the kudos and bookmarks??? YALL ARE TOO GOOD TO ME WHAT THE FUCK I HAVE A HEART BONER FOR YOU ALL